by E V Lind
“Clean yourself up,” he sneered. “You disgust me.”
A flash of something lit in his wife’s eyes but it was quickly dispelled. Replaced instead with the quiescence he demanded as his right. He readjusted himself and zipped up his pants.
“Don’t be late again.”
*
Do you want to die, bitch?
Beth jolted awake as Dan's voice echoed in her head. She stared out the bus window into the inky darkness outside. They'd long since left the city. The interior lights in the bus were dimmed and around her all she could hear were the intimate sounds of the few passengers aboard sleeping. Beth ached to move, to stretch out the kinks and pains that had become her constant companions but she didn't want to disturb anyone. There was a sense of isolation in being the only one awake among them all, aside, of course, from the bus driver who'd paid little to no attention to his human cargo as they'd filed on board.
Beth eased the crumpled ticket from her pocket and stared at the printed words of her destination. It was almost impossible to read the words in the darkened cabin of the bus but she hoped like hell that the hundred miles she could afford on her ticket would be enough distance between her and Dan Henderson to keep her safe. Until she found a way to get some more money and go even further it would have to be, because if he found her... Beth swallowed against the sharp, bitter tang of fear in her mouth.
By the time the bus rumbled into the transit center a couple of hours later, Beth was beginning to wish she'd thought this out just a little more. Maybe she should have stayed another night at Colleen's. That way she wouldn't have been wasting any of her precious funds on a bed for the night here. She rejected the idea immediately. No doubt her visit to the bank had sent up some flag in the system—some way to let Dan know that she'd surfaced again. While finding a bed for the night here might be an unnecessary use of funds, she literally couldn't afford to look back.
She'd done the right thing putting distance between her and Dan—but that had been all she'd focused on. Now, she was all too aware of the frightening world out there and, at this moment, she really had no idea of where to go to next. She didn't want to leave a trail of where she'd been, but by the same token she didn't want to become an easy target to any shadow dwellers in the streets around the bus stop, either.
"Excuse me," Beth caught the bus driver's attention before he closed the door and swung the massive transport away from the curb. "Is there a hostel near here?"
"You walking?" the driver grunted.
She nodded. He stroked his chin then gestured down the road.
"Head down there and turn left. Then go up the fourth street on your left. There's a hostel about halfway up. From here it should take you about fifteen minutes."
"Thank you," she said.
From what the driver had said, it sounded as though it would take her a lot longer than fifteen minutes to find the hostel. It was late; could she safely walk that on her own? She thought again of the money she had left after buying her bus ticket hiding deep in the lining of her coat. Even if she found a cab at this time of night, she couldn't risk it, it would be one more person who'd remember her face, the rasp of her voice, where she went. Beth had no other option but to walk.
A biting, cold wind whipped through the buildings and down the street as she made her way through the dark downtown center. She kept her head up, her posture erect and her ears open for the sound of any potential threat as she focused on keeping one step going after the other. The shoes she'd bought at the thrift shop began to rub across the backs of her heels as she crossed the bridge and kept going along the riverside path, but she forced herself to continue—even past the motel that beckoned with its floodlit parking lot and welcoming front entrance. She'd bet the beds were soft and the rooms were warm there, but it would be an indulgence she couldn’t afford.
By the time she made her way up a steep road cut into the hillside she could feel the warm stickiness of blood in the back of her shoes. She ached to stop, to relieve the jagged pain of her raw heels, but knew that if she did she'd probably not make it any farther. She couldn't give up. Not now.
Ahead, she spied a sign on a pole and as she drew nearer she noted the welcoming lights that glowed on the front porch of a sprawling Colonial. Beth stumbled on the front steps as she made her way onto the large veranda and read the notice nailed beside the door. The rates seemed reasonable. It was only for one night and there was safety in numbers. Especially when those numbers were itinerant strangers like herself. She pushed open the door and stepped inside a large lounge, instantly enveloped by heat and the sounds of voices coming from a small group seated in front of a massive open fire.
"Can I help you?" a man asked in lightly accented English as he set down his pipe in an ashtray and rose from one of the chairs by the fireside. He could have been any age between fifty and a hundred, his weathered features were deeply wrinkled, his hair a shock of white in desperate need of a haircut. His eyes were pale blue and seemed to look straight through her.
"I need a bed for tonight."
"A bed." He looked at her more keenly and then to the floor at her feet before lifting his eyes to her face again. "And your luggage?"
"I..." Could she be refused accommodation because she had no luggage? "I put it down at the bus stop while I asked for directions to your address. When I turned around it was gone."
The man looked at her a moment longer. "Have you reported it stolen?"
"Not yet. Tomorrow."
Beth felt his eyes bore into her as if testing the truth of her story. Whatever he saw in her face must have satisfied him on some level because he finally gave a small nod.
"You look tired. Come, I'll show you a room where you can sleep."
A flood of relief coursed through her body and she followed the man down the corridor. His slipper-covered feet made next to no sound on the faded carpet runner. She was surprised when old and traditional architecture suddenly gave way to new, and they entered a different wing in the house.
"It's a shared room, I hope that's not a problem," the man said as he knocked and then opened the door to a room lined with bunk beds.
"No, that'll be fine. Thank you."
"And I imagine you don't want to register, do you?"
She felt a clutch in her chest. He'd seen right through her already? She met the hostel manager's cool stare with trepidation. Was he going to hold that over her? Try and force her into doing something she didn't want to do?
"I—"
"It's thirty dollars for the night, thirty-five if you need a towel and bathroom supplies."
Beth dug into her pocket and pulled out enough bills and coin to make up thirty-five dollars. It was probably an unnecessary extravagance but she desperately craved the warmth of a shower and the illusion of cleanliness that soap would provide.
The hostel owner took the money and gestured down the hall.
"The women's bathroom is on the right. The showers are coin operated and run for three minutes."
He took a clutch of keys from his pocket and opened a cupboard, taking out a folded towel and sealed packet containing toothbrush, toothpaste, mini shower gel and conditioning shampoo, which he pressed into her arms.
"You'll be gone early?"
Beth heard the directive in his voice. He didn't want her here. No doubt he sensed trouble hanging around her like a dark aura, but he wasn't the type to turn her away either.
"Yes, I will. And thank you again. I...I'm grateful."
He nodded brusquely and went back down the corridor toward the main house. At the end he turned.
"No trouble, y'hear."
Then he was gone, back to his pipe and company by the fireplace, no doubt.
Beth clutched the towel and packet to her as if they were a lifeline, and made her way to the large communal bathroom. She chose the shower stall farthest away and pulled the door closed behind her.
She slid her feet out of her shoes, hissing slightly as the abraded skin of
her heels shrieked their discomfort. Removing the rest of her clothing was done with an economy of movement—she had little energy left to spare. Her stomach growled. It had been a hell of a long time since the snack bar she'd had for breakfast at Colleen's. Beth's fingers trembled as she pushed a coin into the slot and reached for the shower faucet. She turned the water up as hot as she could bear, stifling a moan of pain as it coursed down her legs and seared the wounds on her heels.
This kind of pain was nothing, she told herself. She'd certainly endured worse. Yet for some reason it was enough to open the floodgates and all of a sudden, she couldn't be certain if her face was wet with the water streaming from the shower head or with tears. She didn't have time to collapse, she told herself, nor could she afford to waste the water pouring over her body as the timer ticked over.
Beth quickly shampooed her hair and allowed its length to rinse free of foam as she pushed her fingers through the silky, dark strands. A memory flashed through her mind. Of fingers knotted painfully in her hair as Dan forced her to her knees. She pushed the memory back to the dark recesses from whence it had come—focused instead on stroking shower gel over her body. She was accustomed to the scars, the permanent reminders of Dan's legacy to her, but as her hand stroked over the new firmness to her lower belly she was reminded again of the life he'd inadvertently given her.
Bitch! Whore! You think you're good enough? You'll never be good enough to have my baby!
"I'm good enough," Beth whispered into the water teeming over her face, sluicing her body clean. Her legs buckled beneath her and she slid into a huddle on the shower floor. "I am."
FIVE
Riverbend, OR, August 1941
Dear Diary,
Sunday, and the minister droned on about the war in Europe. To my shame, I didn't listen. I couldn't. Jonathon was in church today. My eyes found him without any effort on his part...or mine. And he looked back at me. I was immediately lost. I don't understand these feelings that come over me when he looks at me like that, but I know I like them. And I like the warmth in his eyes, that secret message that gleams there and tells me that when he looks at me he feels the same way.
I kept my head down and I didn't think Mamma had noticed, but I was wrong—very wrong. She sees everything. Even so, that tiny moment of communion he and I shared made it worth having to serve Mamma and Aggie their midday meal while my stomach remained empty. Even the pigs dined better than I today.
I spent this evening in penance—instructed to think of the suffering of those in Europe instead of filthy, lustful thoughts. My knees still ache and will no doubt continue to ache tomorrow.
I don't care. He is beautiful. I will seek him out again if I have the opportunity. He excites something within me that makes me certain there is more, so much more, to life than to serve and obey. Mamma would wish me not to know of these things. She would wish me to believe such things are evil, as she believes all men are evil. But surely, they cannot be so bad, or why else would he have been created so?
SIX
The metered water had long since stopped before she could summon the energy to pull herself upright and dry her body off. She shivered both with the cold and in distaste as she pulled her underwear and T-shirt back on. She'd have appreciated the chance to rinse her things out and put them on clean in the morning, but the hostel owner had made it clear he didn't want her to hang around. Besides, it wasn't as if she had anything else to wear overnight.
The blisters on her heels were another problem. She had nothing with her to dress them. Perhaps tomorrow she'd get something. The thought of dipping into her meager funds again so soon sent another chill down her spine. But if she didn't, her feet would be worse than useless in those shoes.
Others were in the bathroom now and as Beth pushed open her stall door she saw a couple of women cleaning their teeth at the long vanity set with four individual basins. She nodded as they greeted her but avoided eye contact. Aged mostly in their early twenties, they should have been her peers. Instead, they seemed so young to her, so carefree. She both envied and hated that about them. She'd been like that once upon a time, but she could barely remember it. That life had ended with Dan.
A tremor ran through her. She didn't want to think about him— almost fearful in case doing such a thing might conjure him up out of thin air.
She made her way over to a free basin and brushed her teeth while awkwardly holding the bundle of her coat, jeans and shoes under one arm. Her mouth finally fresh, she started to rinse out her socks, lathering in a tiny measure of her shower gel. She had to wash them and pray they’d dry overnight on the radiator she’d spotted in the bunk room. The thought of putting them on again, with the blood from her raw heels caked into the weave, was more than she could bear.
A soft hand on her shoulder made her start. Her eyes flicked up, met a concerned blue-eyed gaze in the mirror.
"Haben Sie einen Verband für Ihren Füßen?" the girl asked.
Beth shook her head, not understanding what the girl meant. The girl pointed to Beth's heels and repeated her question, this time in English.
"Have you, um, bandage, ja? For your feet?"
Beth shook her head again and was rewarded with a smile from the other girl.
"I fix for you."
Before Beth could stop her, the girl rummaged in her toilet bag and took out a small tube of salve and a handful of self-adhesive dressings. She bent and gently smoothed the cooling salve on Beth's wounds before covering them each with a dressing. Then she stood up and pressed more dressings into Beth's hand.
"For tomorrow, ja?"
Tears pricked at Beth's eyes. The unbidden kindness of a total stranger was a blessing she had no idea how to accept. She gave a shaky smile in response and nodded again, not trusting herself to be able to speak past the lump of emotion that choked her throat.
Later, as Beth lay on the narrow bunk in the communal room she forced herself to relax. All around her others settled down to sleep, murmuring in languages she couldn't understand. For some weird reason it made Beth feel as if she was in a cocoon of anonymity. And with it, an acceptance that while she didn't understand them, nor did they have to understand her.
Her lips twisted wryly at that final thought. Understand her? Understand what she'd been through? She didn't understand it herself. It wasn't as if she'd been a particularly dependent personality. Before Dan, she'd been much like the girls who now surrounded her. Confident, friendly, carefree.
She'd just started the final year of her fine arts degree when her parents were killed. They'd been driving to surprise her for her twenty-first birthday when they lost control of their car on a wet road. Their life insurance had covered their debts—debts they’d incurred so she could go to college in the first place—leaving little else. Once Beth’s guilt and the worst of her grief had abated and she'd begun to feel as though she could continue her life without them, she’d realized she didn't want to go back to college. At least not straight away. So, she'd found a job bussing tables at a busy café near Downtown Portland. The days were so demanding she didn't even have time to think about her loss and at night she was so exhausted she would fall into bed, her body and spirit so worn out that all she could do was sleep.
And then, about a year later, she'd found Dan. Or, more correctly, he'd found her.
Even though he wasn't particularly handsome, she'd been instantly taken with him. Older, of average height and build but carrying himself with a self-assurance that made him look bigger, stronger, than the boys she'd known in college. She hadn't seen any reason to distrust him—even less so when she'd found out from one of the other staff that he was a cop. A detective, no less.
He'd been so subtle. A smile, a nod when he came in. Sitting in her section. Then a conversation a couple of weeks later. He'd been friendly. Caring. Alone and grieving for her parents as she did, she'd lapped it up like an abandoned puppy. She began to look forward to seeing him, missing him like crazy when he didn't show for a few wee
ks. Then, when she'd begun to think she might not see him there again, he'd turned up and asked her out.
He'd been shy about it, endearing, and it had hit her straight in the heart and pushed her headlong in love. It wasn't long after that they'd become lovers. He'd been gentle—at first, anyway—taking her virginity with a consideration that made her love him even more. But about six months later the cracks started to show. He'd fly off the handle at her when something went wrong—whether it was her fault or not. After a while she'd reached a point where she'd do anything to please him—anything to avoid upsetting him again. He loved her, didn't he? And she wouldn't be able to bear it if he left her. She'd be completely alone, again.
They'd been seeing one another for a year before she discovered he was married, but he'd assured her the marriage was over. He was only staying in the house for his sons' sake. She'd believed him. Maybe she'd just wanted to, rather than face the fact that he was lying. She’d believed him for two and a half years, accepting one excuse after the other, until that day she'd been out in her car and seen him drive past with his family. His whole family. Without a second thought, she'd followed him to the ball park where Dan's two boys had piled out of the car and he'd solicitously helped his beautiful, blonde pregnant wife to the stands. Watching him with her, Beth knew he'd lied to her. He'd hadn't been planning to leave his wife at all.
That was when she'd decided to break things off. It had been a turning point for her and she'd decided she was better off alone than with a liar. What she hadn't realized was that he'd seen her car as she'd cruised by, and later that night he'd come to her house and he'd shown his displeasure with a harsh slap across her face. One that had seen her crack her head on the wall behind her and then slump to the floor in shock.
Of course, he'd been so apologetic that first time. Even crying as he begged her to forgive him, all the while reminding her that she'd driven him to it. Over and over he'd said he didn't want to lose his kids and he couldn't afford for his wife to see Beth and use her against him. More fool her, Beth had believed every word.
