by Lyn Gardner
“That’s a goddamned lie!”
Robin had finally gained the upper hand, and it was all she could do to keep her expression stoic. “No, it’s not, Pam. You did it, and you did it three times, and each and every time, Declan backed away. He kept you at arm’s length for I don’t know how long as we tried to calm you down, but you were completely out of your mind.”
“You fucking cunt! If you ever tell anyone, I’ll—”
“What? You think it would taint your reputation? Tarnish the gold on your star? Well, let me enlighten you, Pamela. Do you want to hear the best part of the worst fucking day of my life because there’s one little tidbit that no one knows about except for Declan and me? And honestly, every time I think about it, it actually makes me laugh.”
“Let me guess. When you and your fucking bastard boyfriend watched the pigs take me away in handcuffs?”
“No, Pam. Believe it or not, I never found that funny, but if I did, it pales in comparison to this,” Robin said as she walked out from behind the protection of the small island. “After Declan and I listened to your hysterics for over an hour, and after we watched you stumble and stagger your way from room to room gathering your shit while destroying everything of mine in your path, you came out of the bedroom wearing only a tank top and panties. And in the midst of your next tirade, in the midst of all the obscenities, threats and spit flying out of your disgusting mouth, you dropped your drawers...right...in front...of Declan.”
Pam’s jaw fell open, and she took a step backward as she glared at Robin. “That’s bullshit! I didn’t do that.”
“Oh yes, you did,” Robin said, slowly bobbing her head. “Do you honestly think I’d make something like that up? I write mysteries, Pam, not comedies.”
“You’re fucking lying.”
“No, Pam,” Robin said, eyeing the woman up and down. “I’m not.”
Pam was an expert on distortion, molding her history and her life to her advantage, and while her education had not been as represented, she did own a PhD in Robin Novak. It had taken months, carefully jotting down observations in a mental notebook to discern her body language, her expressions, and even the slightest inflection in Robin’s tone. Nothing had gone unnoticed, and Pam’s heart began pounding in her ears. Robin was telling the truth.
Supreme beings do not make mistakes, but Pam had. A shameful, humiliating blunder that had been lost in the muck of a drug and alcohol-induced blackout, but now...now it would never be forgotten.
She could dilute its strength with alcohol and alter its memory with cocaine, but in the light of day, in the sobriety before drunkenness happened again, this would return. This misstep made Pam look like a fool, and she’d now forever be the brunt of someone else’s joke. This gaffe would be the reason cackling, mocking and raucous, would fill living rooms and neighborhood bars, echoing off walls as tears of laughter rolled down cheeks.
Bile rose in Pam’s throat, her gaunt face becoming almost skeletal as it twisted with malignant hatred, and as she was consumed by the indignity of it all, her lips curled into a venomous sneer. “You fucking bitch!” she bellowed. “This is all your fault! If your life wasn’t so fucked up—”
“My life?” Robin screamed. “The only thing wrong with my life is that you were jealous it wasn’t yours! It wasn’t Declan’s photos that pissed you off; it was the fact I owned the walls they hung on. It wasn’t his novels on the shelves that lit your fuse; it was because my furniture wasn’t hand-me-downs, left behind by the previous tenant. My friends, my way of living, my success...you wanted it all. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”
“Because I deserve it all!” Pam howled. “And I’d have gotten it, too, if it wasn’t for you. You drove me to drink. You drove me to—”
“Wait. I drove you to drink? And I suppose I shoved the cocaine up your nose, too? Or how about all the jobs you couldn’t hold down? Was that because of me, too? Did I somehow warp your work ethic years before we even met?”
“Shut up!”
“What about the lack of friends, Pam. How exactly did I make them disappear?”
“I said shut up!”
“Why?” Robin said, waving her arms about. “If all the things wrong in your life are because of me, tell me how I did all these things! Tell me, Pam. Tell me!”
“Is everything okay back here ladies? It’s getting kind of loud.”
Pam whipped around and glowered at Judy. “Get the fuck out of here!” she screeched, and as her hands turned into fists, she took a step in Judy’s direction.
“Don’t you dare—” The rest of Robin’s words were swallowed up in a gust of wind that ripped through the kitchen, its power funneled toward only one thing. The force knocked Pam back a couple of steps, and if it weren’t for the wall stopping her momentum, she would have fallen on her ass.
It took a second for Pam to steady herself, and her eyes shifted between the two other people in the room, sizing them up with deadly glares of hatred and contempt. Judy was too far away to have shoved her, so that left only one other person. The woman she had momentarily turned her back on.
“You dare to lay a hand on me?” Pam shouted at Robin, and snatching up her empty beer bottle, she cracked it against the edge of the island. The glass shattered, sending shards all over the room. Judy and Robin both turned, trying to avoid the flying glass, but those bits and pieces were the least of their worries for Pam held in her hand the broken neck of the bottle, its edges jagged and razor sharp.
Spittle gathered at the corners of Pam’s mouth as she fixed her eyes on Robin. “When I’m done with you,” she growled, holding up what was left of the bottle. “Declan is going to puke every fucking time he has to look at you.”
As soon as Pam took a step toward Robin, Judy launched herself at the woman, but the velocity of her intervention was no match for the momentum of Isobel’s.
Again, a burst of wind appeared out of nowhere, its strength ten times stronger than it had been before. It knocked Pam backward into the wall like a feather in front of a fan, and as she slid to the floor, unable to move in the cyclone caused by a spirit named Isobel, the temperature in the room dropped below freezing.
This time, Isobel’s onslaught didn’t evaporate so quickly. The blast of gale-force winds kept Pam pressed hard up against the wall, and as her lips began to turn blue, the broken bottle fell from her hand, shattering into pieces when it hit the floor. In the blink of an eye, the air was still again.
Judy’s jaw went slack, her eyes darting back and forth between Robin and the disheveled woman slumped on the floor. Her mind raced, random thoughts entering and exiting seemingly at the speed of sound, but none contained the answer she was looking for. What had just happened? What had just happened?
Like snakes pulsing under her skin, the veins in Robin’s neck and temples throbbed. The beat of her heart hammered in her ears, the percussion growing louder as memory after memory engulfed her mind. Flashbacks to browbeatings that had left her cowering and condemnations that had left her contrite. The endless deceptions so cunningly orchestrated that Robin had questioned her own sanity, and then there was the humiliation and the feeling of being utterly helpless and utterly worthless. Robin had once been crippled by the woman on the floor. Turned into a human punching bag with each word a blow, each accusation a punch, each strike further disconnecting Robin from her own wants, her own needs, and her own life.
Robin’s expression grew thunderous, her face contorting as she was consumed by bitterness. Her eyes blazed with fury as all restraint was lost, and taking two steps, she dropped to her knees in front of Pam. Grabbing the woman by the chin, Robin forced Pam to look at her.
“You are a pathetic excuse for a human being!” Robin shouted. “How long did it take, Pam? How long did it take for you to figure out how to get to me? A day? A week? A fucking month! How long before you had everything you needed to turn me into your puppet?”
Pam tried to twist out of Robin’s reach, but Robin gripped Pam’s chi
n even harder. “I’m not through!” she yelled, looking Pam in the eye. “You are the personification of evil. You’re sadistic, and you’re cruel. You take joy in hurting others, in tearing us apart, piece by fucking piece. You’re nothing but a parasite, a blood-sucking insect that burrows her way into peoples’ lives and leaves nothing behind except pain, but I’m still standing you fucking bitch!”
Robin let go of Pam’s chin and took hold of her jacket, yanking the woman off the wall until their faces were only a few inches apart. “You spent months ripping me to shreds like a buzzard over road kill. You picked apart every detail of my life, pointing out everything you despised over and over again until I was like a top spinning out of control. I was running around like an idiot, trying to fix things that didn’t need to be fixed because the only thing that needed to be fixed was you!” Robin released her hold on Pam’s jacket, and the woman fell back against the wall. “You need help, Pam. You need doctors and padded cells and...and jackets that tie around the back because you’re a fucking psychopath!”
Robin sprang to her feet and glared down at Pam. “Now, for the last fucking time, get out of my fucking house! What happened a minute ago, that wind, well that was a ghost named Isobel—”
“I don’t believe in fucking ghosts, you stupid bitch,” Pam snarled, clambering to stand. “I believe in teaching you—”
“Be careful,” Robin said, glaring down at the woman. “Be very careful, Pam, because whether you believe in ghosts or not, I’m telling you right now if you lay one finger on me or lay one finger on Judy, Isobel will come back, and when she does, I won’t stop her until you don’t have any skin left!”
Pam took a step back, Robin’s screech so loud it caused ringing in her ears. Her eyes darted back and forth between Judy and Robin as she thought about her options. Was there really a ghost? Would the wind start again? Pam straightened her spine as the slightest of tightlipped grins smudged its way across her face. Robin was no match for her, no match for the deviousness Pam could muster, the threats she could hurl, or the torment she could cause. Fueled by that grandiose perception, Pam took a step in Robin’s direction, but before her foot found the floor again, strands of Robin’s hair began to flutter...in a breeze.
Pam blanched, her palms dampening as she watched more of Robin’s hair lifting in what was slowly becoming wind. Pam narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like the feeling of fright, the feeling of weakness and uncertainty, but her heart had begun to race, and it wasn’t because of the thrill of the hunt. Swallowing hard, Pam shook her head. “Fuck this shit,” she growled as she glared at Robin. “This isn’t over, baby. Trust me. You haven’t seen the last of me!” Pushing past Judy, Pam stomped out of the apartment in her high-heeled boots.
Judy rushed over and touched Robin on the arm. “I’ll be right back. I just want to make sure she leaves.”
Judy didn’t wait for an answer, and trotting after Pam, she held her tongue and her breath as she watched the woman’s infantile display. In the big kitchen, Pam cleared the island of the pans Judy had set out to dry that morning with one sweep of her arm, sending them banging to the floor in every direction. In the dining room, the blue-bagged clown was sent flying with a shove, and the serving pieces nestled behind the plate rails of one hutch were snatched up and thrown to the floor, the old pottery shattering on impact. The reception podium was next, Pam hip-checking it into the stairs as she strode by, and as she yanked open the front door, she turned around long enough to give Judy a dirty look before kicking the coat tree to the ground.
***
Robin stood alone in the kitchen, loathing her own existence. This was the thing she had sworn she’d never do again, the thing she had berated herself for, condemned herself for, ridiculed herself for, and hated herself for, yet she had let it happen again. By allowing Pam to push her buttons, by allowing Pam to get her angry, Robin had once again become a puppet on Pam’s strings. However, even with that awareness, Robin couldn’t stop herself. Nothing she had learned over the past several months could prevent her rage from building. No knowledge gained could halt the fury that had invaded her mind like a cancer. No insight stopped the words she used because the only thing Robin wanted to do was hurt Pam as much as the woman had hurt her. She knew it was wrong. She knew it wasn’t who she was and her stomach flipped.
She dashed to her bathroom, heaving up what little she had eaten that day, but her retching couldn’t rid her of the shame. Robin pushed herself to her feet and seeing blood on the rim of her toilet, she looked down at her hands. When had she clenched her fists so tightly that her nails had broken through the skin on her palms?
Robin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and pulling her sweater and turtleneck over her head, she dropped them to the floor and rushed into her bedroom. The closet doors were no match for her mood, the bi-folds slamming open and then almost closed again before she stilled them long enough to grab a compression shirt. She tugged it on, but as she looked down at her jeans and the old sneakers speckled with paint, she shook her head. Why did it matter?
***
Judy closed and locked the front door, and turning around, she leaned against its surface. “Jesus,” she said under her breath. A moment later, she saw Robin sprinting toward her.
“Christ, Robin, are you okay?”
“Get out of my way,” Robin said as she tried to open the door.
“What? Why? Where are you going?”
“I’m going for a run!” Robin yelled, fumbling with the latch for the deadbolt.
“Robin, you’re not dressed for a run,” Judy said, grabbing Robin by the arm. “You need to just calm down and—”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Robin said as she yanked the door open, sending Judy stumbling backward. “You’re not my fucking mother! You don’t know what I’ve been through! You don’t know shit!”
“Robin, listen to me,” Judy said as she put herself between Robin and the open door. “It’s cold, and it’s supposed to rain.”
Robin shoved her way past Judy. “Ask me if I care,” she said, glaring at Judy through tear-filled eyes for a second before dashing down the stairs. “Ask me if I fucking care!”
***
The forecast hadn’t been wrong, and a few minutes after Robin ran from the house, the rain began. It started as a mist, fine and barely noticeable, it drifted to the earth in silence, but it wasn’t long before the drops of water could be heard hitting the road and the roof of the porch. With her breath steaming in the air, Judy stood just outside the front door, watching the water splash off every surface it touched. She flipped up the hood on her jacket more than once, going to the end of the walk to look up the road, but with shoulders slumped, she'd return to the protection of the overhang and sigh. Darkness soon fell over Mackinac, and as the sun traded places with the moon, and the day became night, Judy went back inside and began to remove every trace of Pam’s visit.
The broken dishes and beer bottle were swept up and tossed in the trash, and the clown was returned to his place on the dining room table. Judy tucked his blue shroud firmly under his feet so even the red tips of his floppy shoes couldn’t be seen, and returning to the foyer, she picked up the plastic bags Robin had brought home, now scattered all over the floor. The podium was beyond repair, the thin plywood sides no match for the oak of the staircase, and after stacking the wood off to the side, Judy righted the coat rack which had survived intact. She picked up all the pots and pans in the kitchen and gathered the papers that had been blown off the counter, and after it was all done, Judy poured herself a glass of wine and waited. It was excruciating.
She paced the rooms for the remainder of the first hour, traveling from the parlor to the kitchen and back again, and whenever she heard a sound outside, Judy would dart to the windows. She prayed to see Robin coming up the walk, but it wasn’t to be, and eventually, she settled in the parlor, staring off into space as she sipped her wine.
She had so many questions, so many concerns abou
t what had happened earlier, and so deep in her thoughts, Judy didn’t hear the front door open. She did, however, hear it close.
Judy leapt from the sofa, dashing into the foyer to find Robin still facing the closed door. “Robin? Are you okay?” Judy waited, afraid to move for fear Robin would bolt again. “Robin, talk to me. Are you all right?” Again, Judy paused, and as she did, she noticed Robin’s clothes. “Jesus, Robin, you’re soaking wet. You’ve got to be freezing. You need to get out of those clothes.” When Robin didn’t move, Judy raised her voice. “Robin! Goddamn it, talk to me!”
Robin knew she should speak, but everything was out of focus. Blurred by exhaustion, fogged by the cold, and distorted by pain, Judy’s words were muffled and distant as if she was at the other end of a long, dark tunnel. Robin could smell the polish on the door and the faint hint of the vanilla potpourri in the parlor. She took a slow, uneven breath. Thank God she made it.
Her nose was cold, yet the rest escaped her. She had no idea her clothes were soaked through. She had no idea her sneakers were filled with water. She had no idea how much damage she had done to herself, but when she turned around and heard Judy’s gasp, Robin knew it was bad...and then her world went black.
