The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold

by Regina Doman

  In another moment she was climbing down and the next minute she was on the ground, sprinting down the alleyway to the street, her purse and shoes clutched in one hand. There was a chain fence, four feet high. Her stocking feet numb against the wire, she clambered over, tearing her tulle underskirt. Then she ran down the road, hoping for a taxi, praying for a taxi.

  At last she stopped and debated about putting on her shoes. And darn, her coat was still at Rob’s house. She noticed that her hands and arms were black with grime from the fire escape. Just great.

  There were no taxis in sight, but there was a police car parked by the side of the road. Murmuring a prayer for help and understanding, she hesitantly walked up and knocked at the window.

  “Sir—” she managed to say to the black-browed officer sitting in the front seat.

  “Yeah?” the officer seemed to scowl at her. His rough voice didn’t sound friendly. “What’s the matter?”

  “Could you give me a ride home?”

  “A ride home? What’s wrong with calling a taxi?”

  “I don’t have any money,” she admitted.

  The policeman surveyed her torn dress, bare feet, and black-streaked arms. “What happened to you?”

  Rose paused, not sure if what had just happened to her was a crime or not. If not, should she bother him with the details? “I just got into a—disagreement—with a guy I was out with and climbed out the window.”

  “You thinking of pressing charges?” She couldn’t tell if he was kidding.

  “I’d like to talk to my mother first—”

  The man sighed. “What’s your name?”

  “Rose Brier—”

  The radio crackled and the officer picked up a receiver, muttered some numbers into it, then turned around and scrutinized her again. Rose wished that she had listened to Blanche and worn a longer dress. She felt so wretched outside, in the rain, in her stocking feet. Before she could stop herself, she sniffled.

  “Wait a second. Brier. Doesn’t your mom work in the emergency room at NYU?” the officer looked at her again.

  “Yes, sir,” Rose managed to say. “Her name’s Jean.”

  “Yeah. Jean. I know her. Where do you live?”

  Rose gave her address.

  “That’s not far,” he mused. “All right. Get in the back. But next time you go out, bring money for a taxi, okay?”

  Rose nodded gratefully, swallowed, and got into the police car.

  When she got home, she thanked the policeman and got out. She ran up the steps and banged on the door, waiting for Blanche to open it. No one answered. Biting her lip, she knocked again and again, but no one came to the door.

  Where was Blanche? As she stood there, trying to collect herself and deal with this new problem, someone shouted at her. She turned around. It was the policeman, who was still there.

  “Isn’t anyone home?” he yelled to her from the car.

  “My sister’s supposed to be, but no one is answering the door,” Rose said, red-faced.

  “Don’t you have a key?”

  “No.” Rose truly felt like a fool. The officer put his hand over his eyes, muttering something.

  Rose banged on the door again, but the house was silent. Silent.

  At last the policeman said, “Come here.”

  As she carefully walked down the steps, he said, knitting his black brows, “Where’s your mother?”

  “At work.”

  He pulled out a car phone and punched the buttons, shaking his head. “I’m amazed girls like you survive in New York,” he remarked, then spoke into the phone. “Emergency Room. Let me speak to Jean Brier. Jean? This is Officer Cirotti. I’ve got your daughter Rose here. Yeah, she’s all right. She doesn’t have the key to her house…That would be very helpful, yes. I’ll be waiting with her.”

  Officer Cirotti hung up and looked at Rose with that intimidating stare. “Your mother is coming home. You can wait with me in the car until she gets here.”

  “Thank you,” Rose breathed, and got back into the car.

  Chapter 12

  BLANCHE was swimming out of a river, slowly, and each stroke cramped her arm. Was it because the river was so black? It was draining her strength away, like a long illness.

  But what she needed was sleep—long, white strokes of sleep. The black waves turned to white foam, which drifted easily and carried her into light, to the shore, to the day—

  Her eyelids fluttered open stiffly. There was grey before her eyes, and something like a snowfall—a cloud hovering over her, sifting out the sun… .

  She stirred, and felt satin between her fingers. Sequins around her middle. The dress. But no, on top of that was something softer than satin, soft and unimaginably smooth. Puzzled, she stroked and squeezed it, and felt flannel and silk between her fingers.

  Now, she was perplexed in her reverie. How had she sunk into silk?

  She tipped her face up towards the ceiling. The air was chilly, but she was warm beneath her covers, in a bed …

  A bed? Quickly she sat up. Bemused, her hair falling over her face and obscuring her vision, she turned her head back and forth, trying to discover her sanctuary.

  It was misty and dim, and the air yielded when she touched it. Then her fingers made contact with what she realized were cascades of lace curtain hung around the bed. The comforter she lay beneath in her satin prom dress was white quilted silk, so soft that it confused the fingertips.

  Like a mermaid escaping seaweed, she unwrapped herself from her cocoon and parted the sheer curtains with a finger. Outside the world sharpened in focus: an ivory-and-grey papered room with three huge windows overlooking the pinkish grey skyline of the city at earliest morning. It was still raining.

  Shivering, she stepped onto an angora rug at the base of the round couch of a bed. Her purse lay on her cloak, which was folded over the back of an elaborately padded and flounced ottoman of white satin. Silken balloon curtains sagged from the three windows, like heavy eyelids.

  Wondering, she wrapped herself in the cloak and looked for her Chinese slippers. They were nowhere to be seen. She padded out of the room in her nylon stockings. She found herself on carpet in a darkly papered hallway leading out into a living room with sweeping skyline windows. A creeping fear stole over her. Where am I? She glanced to her right, and saw a balcony. Tiptoeing close, she saw a curved staircase stretching down, curving around the outside wall of the room nestled in what seemed to be the center of a building. A majestic frosted chandelier dripping with crystal hung from the center of the domed ceiling. Shadows wreathed the room below.

  There were two voices, talking. “Is Mrs. Foster okay?”

  “Yeah, but she’s real shaken up. I called Steven before I left, and he’s coming down from the university tonight. The place was trashed, Bear. Completely.”

  “And it’s gone,” Blanche recognized Bear’s voice, flat and tired.

  “Yes. I could kick myself—and you. I wanted to move it to a safer place, but you just had to have it around to use as bait for antique dealers.”

  “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

  “Not really, considering what’s happened now. So do you still think this guy is a figment of my imagination?”

  “I guess not. He’s doing exactly what we predicted he would do, if he existed.”

  “The question is, can we stop it, now that we’ve started it. Before someone else gets hurt.” The last words were emphasized.

  “Okay. I get the hint. We’ll go underground a bit further. I know.”

  “Bear, no more of this visiting stuff. We’re in danger. Anyone who knows us is in danger. And not just from amped-up teenagers with quick tempers.”

  “I didn’t know things would get so out of hand at the prom.”

  “The point is, you never should have gone. You shouldn’t have been seen anywhere near that place. How do you know that’s not how he found out about us?’

  There was a pause. “You’re right,” Bear said at last. �
�I guess I thought, it’s been a long time. I’ll take the risk.”

  “Well, the principal certainly hasn’t forgotten you.”

  “Those kids going after me—” Bear said suddenly, “mixing me up with Shaky’s goon—that couldn’t have been part of the bigger picture, could it have been?”

  The other speaker seemed to ruminate over this. “Who knows? I don’t think so, but we don’t know who this guy is. We don’t know what kind of weapons he has. All we know is what he wants.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bear said.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. But Bear, this is the end of the lady friends.”

  “You’re right,” Bear said dully. “I should have never drawn them into this.”

  “Bear, how much do these girls know about you? I know you’ve been discreet, but girls like to talk, and—”

  Blanche heard the sound of someone jumping to his feet.

  “Look, brother. If you’re suggesting that the Briers were the ones who ratted on us, you’d better shut your big mouth right now.”

  “Take your paws off me, big brother,” the voice said mildly. “My, touchy on that subject, aren’t we?”

  “I’m in no mood for jokes.” A chair creaked.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. But no more fraternizing, okay? I’m taking off. Get rid of that girl as soon as you can and follow me. Rendezvous number thirty-two. Got it?”

  “Right. What about the other one?”

  “That’s my department. I’ll keep it safe. If I were you, I’d be worrying about what I was going to say to Steve when he sees his tux.”

  “If he doesn’t kill us for putting his mom in danger, I doubt he’ll kill me for this.”

  “Ah. Good point.”

  There was the sound of a door opening and closing quietly. Blanche saw a tall dark-haired figure in a tuxedo cross the room and come towards the steps.

  Guiltily, she came towards him and stood at the top of the steps.

  He looked up and saw her. His face was tired and his tuxedo was stained and torn, but his voice attempted to be cheerful. “Blanche, you’re awake!” he said, coming up the steps to her. “What happened to you?”

  “I just faint sometimes,” Blanche admitted. “I have a heart condition. Mother says it’s a stress reaction.”

  “Poor kid.” Bear put a hand on her cheek. “Probably the last thing you needed was to end up in a fistfight.”

  “I guess I must have given you a scare.”

  “Well, yes. Especially when you didn’t come to right away.” The strain was creeping into his voice. “I was going to take you to the hospital.”

  “I think I fell asleep,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  He took her by the hand and led her down the steps. “Well, it’s not as though you could help it.”

  They reached the ground, and Blanche looked around, shivering. “Bear, where are we?”

  “No place important,” he said brusquely. “Come on, you’ve got to get home. Your mother must be freaking out.”

  “Well, Mom trusts me with you, so maybe it’s okay,” Blanche murmured.

  “Yeah, but I better get you home. I don’t know what your mother will think of me now that I bring you back all bruised like this.”

  “Bear, you’re upset about something. What’s wrong?” She halted, holding him.

  “Look, it’s nothing to do with you. Don’t worry. It’s just something I’ve got to take care of,” he said, clamping his mouth shut. That stubborn look came over his face, and she knew it was no good pressing him.

  “I’m going to see you get home, and then I’ve got to leave.”

  She wondered if he knew what she had heard. All of a sudden, she staggered and Bear seized her shoulders.

  “Are you still dizzy?”

  “I am,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.” Tears began coming. She hated being weak, especially at a time like this.

  Without a word, Bear picked her up in his arms and carried her. “Just close your eyes and forget all about this,” he said. “Forget you ever saw this place, just forget it and I’ll get you home.”

  “Where are my shoes?” she whispered as he pulled the hood of her cloak over her face.

  “I don’t know. Maybe in the school parking lot,” he said. “Just lie still and relax.”

  With her head against Bear’s chest, Blanche shut her eyes. When you were weak, you were weak. She just had to accept it. But she didn’t mind being carried, at least not by Bear.

  She was distantly aware of entering an elevator and then being carried out of doors. She heard the faint noises of traffic, and saw the grey glow of early, early morning and smelled the City smell. Bear flagged down a cab and set her gently inside.

  “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” she whispered to him.

  He paused, one hand on the door. It looked as though he were debating with himself, and she wondered if he was thinking of what the other boy had said about “no more visiting.”

  “Okay,” he said finally. “I do want to make sure you get safely home.” Getting into the cab, he told the driver where to go. She leaned against his side gratefully. Just a little longer… .

  After awhile she asked in a low voice, “You’re leaving us for good, aren’t you?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Yes,” he said. “I have to go away.”

  “We’ll miss you,” she said, suddenly shy again.

  “Maybe we’ll see each other again, some day. I hope so.”

  “Are you going to say good-bye to Rose and Mother?”

  He stared straight ahead. “I think you’ll need to do that for me.”

  “Okay.” She looked at his profile. His eyes were half-shut, and his jaw was tense. His mind seemed to be somewhere else.

  Her fingers felt for the necklace around her neck. Dad had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday. Trembling, she felt for the clasp.

  “Bear, I want to give you this,” she said, letting the thin chain come off into her hand. “To remember us by.”

  He looked at the small golden key she placed in his large hand and said nothing. Instead, he closed his hand over hers and squeezed.

  “I’m sorry I made you go to the dance with me.” He heaved a sigh. “It really turned into a disaster.”

  “I don’t think I’m sorry,” she said. “But I—” She couldn’t go on.

  “But what?” He pressed her hand.

  She was silent for a moment, and he said, quickly, misunderstanding her. “That’s all right. You don’t have to say anything.”

  “No, it’s not that,” she insisted. It’s just that…” and once again words failed her.

  The taxi turned onto her street and came to a stop. He looked at her. She returned his gaze, and then quickly got out of the taxi, pulling her cloak around her. He followed her out as she ran up the steps to the door in her stocking feet and rang the doorbell.

  “Blanche, ” He said her name, hanging back by the taxi, hands in his pockets, looking earnestly at her.

  “I—” The words wouldn’t come. Could he tell? Someone inside was opening the door, and Blanche grabbed it and resolutely held it shut for a moment as she blurted, “I think I’m falling in love with you. That’s all.”

  She hadn’t meant to say that much. She saw his face for a second, dazed but elated, then she turned away from him, opened the door, and hurried inside past her bewildered sister.

  Rose, wrapped in her bathrobe, stood in the doorway, gaping. Bear waved at her with a happy smile, then jumped back into the taxi. It pulled rapidly away into the dawning grey light.

  Chapter 13

  ROSE LAY drowsing in her bed Sunday afternoon, picking idly at the chipped polish on her nails. Climbing down a fire escape and over a fence had taken its toll on the burgundy enamel. Her cheeks colored at the thought of how foolish she had been last night—her hair and makeup and nails had been sophisticated enough, but apparently she had left her brains behind. Why couldn’t she be sensible and aware of t
hings, like Blanche? Her older sister never would have gone to Rob’s party, let alone be caught with him in a bedroom. Rose castigated herself remorsefully, and then forgot about it seconds later as another, more attractive thought entered her mind: the mystery of Bear. She thought it was wonderful that Bear had taken her sister out to the prom—although Blanche had been strangely reticent about the romantic possibilities therein. Blanche’s story of the fistfight, her fainting, and her awakening, narrated over a plate of pancakes cooked by Mother early in the morning, had held Rose spellbound. Despite her weariness, she had hardly been able to sleep, mulling over the new paradox.

  Rose yawned fitfully in her bed. “Are you awake, Blanche?” she asked.

  “Sort of,” Blanche said from her burrow of quilts and pillows. She continued to follow her own thoughts. In a way, Bear leaving was a good thing. After all, she didn’t know what could have happened if he had stayed. She would have dated him, she supposed, but it would have been strange and uncomfortable and different. For now, she was safe. Though that was poor comfort as she lay curled up in bed, wondering where he was and worrying about him. But it was the one dry crust she was offered.

  “I just can’t figure out how Bear got you into such a gorgeous apartment,” Rose said, yawning again. “It boggles the mind.”

  “That makes two of us,” Blanche said dryly. Both she and Rose discussed the mystery of the previous night over and over, but they couldn’t come to any conclusion about it.

  “Do you think we could figure out what street it was on?” Rose asked thoughtfully. “Maybe if we walked around some nice Manhattan neighborhoods …”

  “I really have no idea. I didn’t get a good look at where we were, and even if we found the right building, then what? It’s impossible to find out who owns those kinds of places. Rich people buy those apartments on the top floors of buildings so they’ll have privacy!”

  “A penthouse!” Rose breathed, her arms folded under her head. “How in the world—”

  “Maybe his brother owns it,” Blanche had a sudden thought. “His brother was there.”

  “You know, he never told us much about his brother,” Rose bit a half-colored fingernail and speculated. “Maybe their mother was rich, and she left him all the money without giving Bear a cent. Maybe that’s why Bear didn’t like to talk about him.”