Dust to Dust: A Broken Fairy Tale

by S.P. Cervantes

  I step into the cool water, hoping it will help to clear my head, but the second the water hits my feet I feel nauseous and have to get out. I glance back at myself in the mirror and decide to fight through it and sober up in the uncomfortably cold shower. My dad will be home later, and I know he still wants to have that talk I vaguely remember cutting off last night. Whatever he wants to say about John Waters and his family is best handled when I am of sound mind. I just need to freshen up and get my pep back in my step. I. Feel. Like. Hell.

  After mustering up the energy to wash my hair, I finally step out of the bathroom and throw on another pair of sweats and make my way to the kitchen. My dad had made coffee before he left that is sadly too old to drink. I pour it out and begin gagging at the smell of the burnt coffee. I place the pot in the sink, and grab a glass of cold water instead and a slice of bread, heading out to the deck for some much-needed fresh air. It is much colder today, and I am thanking the Lord above for that. I walk over to the side of the house and sit on the same bench that Holden and I frequented growing up. Our bench. For so long I’ve avoided this bench, not wanting to remember the many nights I’ve spent sitting here with Holden. Now, in this moment, I can honestly say I’ve never loved a place more. I lean back against the pillows on the bench, letting the cool breeze drape over my aching body.

  After who knows how long, I get up and drag myself inside to the TV. The fresh air and rest is clearly working and I am confident that by the time my dad gets home, I’ll be able to actually act like a human being. I click mindlessly through the channels, pausing when I come to Reservoir Dogs. That was my first introduction to the twisted, amazing mind of Quentin Tarantino, and a movie Holden and I have watched together a thousand times. I am so glad that Holden isn’t here with me right now, because he would have been picking on me all day and surely made me watch this as punishment for my stupidity last night. I’m not sure if my stomach can handle this right now. I decide to turn on Duck Dynasty, and laugh at Si.

  The sun begins setting, making the room darker, perfect for napping. It’s seemed like the longest day even though I’ve only been out of bed for a few hours. I begin to feel overwhelmingly guilty for wasting the day away like I have. I decide to call Ellie and Sophie, reminding myself that I deserve to waste the day away every once in a while. Sophie is giggly and giddy telling me about the Halloween party they went to last night, and was excited that everyone loved her Cinderella costume. Ellie is busy filling me in on her state project that she and Marcus have been slaving over today. She had to research New Hampshire and write an essay all about the beautiful state. Problem is, Ellie did not recognize the beauty of New Hampshire; she would have much preferred some place like Florida or California. Kids. When Marcus gets on the phone, I thank him repeatedly for taking on this project with Ellie. He only laughs and tells me to wait until I read the directions for the project on the Revolutionary War that I have to do with her. Apparently he made it out easy with this one. It is nice that we can talk like friends some times, rather than enemies. At least there was an upside to my accident.

  Talking to the girls pepped me up just enough to go into the kitchen and try to get something together for dinner for when Dad gets home. I open the jam-packed refrigerator and laugh out loud. You would think a family of five lived here with the amount of food my dad has squeezed into the fridge. His answer to everything is to eat and drink, a true host. I pull out a few chicken breasts, some cream of mushroom soup, and turned on the slow cooker. I can let these slow cook for an hour and go on a quick run along the beach. The cool sea air is just what I need to get me past this hangover and back to the real world. Running always seems to cure me of anything: stomachache, stress, headache, heartache. Holden keeps trying to encourage me to run the New York Marathon…maybe next year.

  I throw on running pants and grab a zip-up to keep me protected from the wet air. I scoop up my headphones and cell, glancing down to see if Holden has called yet. Other than a quick text this morning, I haven’t heard a thing. While my heart is telling me to just pick up the phone and call him if I want to hear his voice, the thirty-four-year-old in me tells me to back off and give the man some space. I begrudgingly decide to listen to my adult side and shut the door behind me, leaving the porch light on for my dad. I pause at the stoop and glance over to Holden’s house, feeling a pull, as I have almost every day of my life. It is an odd feeling to love the same person in so many different ways. I realize now that I have always loved Holden. Even when I was married to Marcus, I still loved him. Holden and I have a bond that is so much more than anything I could ever imagine. He was my first best friend, my first love, and now I know my last. I zip up my jacket as if I am trying to keep these warm feelings inside me and start off jogging down the dimly lit street. As messed up as some parts of my life are right now, I have never felt more whole. I have always thought of myself as broken. I never thought I was good enough to feel the kind of love and safety in a relationship that I do now. I’ve told myself for too long that no one could love someone with the baggage that I have. But Holden seems to love me even more because of it. My imperfections are what he says makes me so perfect. Today, I’m going to believe it…even as I feel my belly bounce slightly over my sweats. I find myself sucking in my waist as if someone can actually see it flopping about. Flopping may have been an exaggeration, but let’s admit it ladies: anytime you feel things jiggle on your body that aren’t boobs, you subconsciously adjust.

  “Roar” by Katy Perry begins playing, forcing me to a faster pace as I cross over Mantoloking Blvd. to the beach across the street. I want to feel the sprinkles of salt water buffeting against the sand while I run tonight. My hangover is washed away as the wind whips my ponytail behind me, filling me with the peace I crave. My thoughts are focused on the good in my life, making me feel like I am soaring along the firm, damp sand. I could run for days when I focus on my thoughts, the music a soundtrack for my life. Imagine Dragons turns on, and my heart melts. This song has Holden all over it. There is so much pain in both of us—so much that we didn’t want to let people in. First it was Holden, leaving me because he thought he was too broken, his life too damaged. He learned before me that our demons are what make us stronger, make us more perfect for each other. If it wasn’t for him, I’m not sure I would have ever totally let my walls down and exorcised my demons.

  My phone chimes, interrupting my daydreams. I look down, instantly smiling when I see a message from Holden.

  Holden: How’s my babe?

  I stop and catch my breath before responding.

  Me: Better. Went on a run on the beach. Wish you were with me

  His response is instant.

  Holden: Alone?!

  Crap, I should have known better.

  Me: Just on my way back. Have dinner cooking for Dad.

  Avoidance is the best policy here.

  Holden: Are. You. Alone?

  Crap. “Safe and Sound” begins to boom from my phone. Double crap!

  “Yes, I’m alone, but I am just around the corner,” I lie. I have been so caught up in my thoughts, that I am at least three miles away from home now. I feel safe. The sun hasn’t set yet, although it surely will by the time I get home. Instinctually, I begin a light jog heading home.

  I can feel his frustration through the phone, hearing the quiet deep breath he’s taking before speaking again. At least maybe he won’t unleash on me. I haven’t really given any thought at all that this run would be dangerous. I have to be more cautious now.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Camryn?” Not really holding back, is he?

  I pick up my pace. “I know,” I say, panting into my earpiece. “I wasn’t thinking. I lost a few thousand brain cells last night and was trying to recover some with the fresh air. Get the adrenaline pumping. You know, since I don’t have you here to get it going.” Flirting will bring him down a notch.

  “Not going to work, Cam,” he says firmly, but I can tell he’s smiling. “Just get that
tight ass of yours home and call me the second you turn down our street.”

  “Will do,” I huff. “I’m busting my ass to get home in twenty minutes. Call you then.”

  “I have a surprise for you tonight. Are you going to be home all night or are you and Mr. D heading out?”

  Stop talking and let me run! “Staying in. Making dinner. Call you soon.” I take in a deep breath and hang up, knowing he will understand being a runner himself.

  Holden: You didn’t tell me you love me.

  I smile and rolled my eyes.

  Me: Love u. Leave me alone!

  Holden: Stop rolling your eyes. Love you more

  Me: Shhh

  Holden sends a few more texts while I am running, knowing he is disrupting my pace. Typical overprotective Holden. I turn the corner to our street and slow to a walk, stretching my arms above my head. I look up at the clear night sky, relaxing in the peaceful quiet that lulls this peaceful town into a cozy calm. My dad’s car is in the driveway, but the porch light is now off. Thanks a lot, Dad.

  I grab the hide-a-key from one of the fake rocks on the walkway and open the door, walking into a completely dark house. “Dad?” I call, feeling a nervous ping in my stomach. Something is not right. I can feel it in every nerve. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up. I slowly take out my phone, backing up to the front door.

  I start to dial Holden’s number and call out for my dad again, turning to go out the door and look for those handy officers who seem to always be patrolling my house.

  “Put the phone down or I’ll shoot his head off,” a deep voice instructs coldly.

  I don’t need him to tell me whose head he is threatening to blow off. Dad’s. I quickly scan the street to look for any sign of the officers who have been my shadow since I arrived yesterday. Where the hell are they?

  I do the only thing I can think of and press the call button on my phone before tossing it face down on the couch. I don’t want him to see the phone is on, but hope Holden can still hear me.

  “Please, just let him go. I will do whatever you ask—just don’t hurt my dad,” I yell, enraging the intruder.

  The man comes around the corner, revealing himself and my terrified-looking dad. He was one of the biggest men I have ever seen, more like a giant. His broad, impossibly muscular body is covered in a rough looking black leather jacket. His dark curly hair hangs over his deep-set, menacing eyes. He glares at me, and then without a word, slams the base of his gun against my father’s temple, sending him tumbling like a ragdoll to the floor.

  “Dad!” I say, running over to his side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something coming fast at me. Before I can react, something crashes against my head, turning everything to black.

  Chapter Fifteen

  My mind begins to work before my body. I can hear muffled voices somewhere close to me talking. My thoughts are disoriented as I try to figure out what is happening. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. I become increasingly aware of my body as I start to gain my consciousness. My hands, tightly secured behind my back, tingle as if they are asleep. My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds when I try to lift it and force my eyes open to make sense of what is going on. The voices seem far off now, so I put all of my concentration into opening my eyes. Someone has my dad.

  The reality of my situation hits me like a freight train with that one thought. Until now, I couldn’t make sense of what is happening, and why my hands are behind my back, or why I can’t open my eyes. I remember now. I had just gotten back from my run. I had a bad feeling when I walked through the door and then I tried to call Holden. Oh God, I hope he heard something. I hope he’s gone into Rambo mode and has all of Ocean County heading here. I hear my dad’s name and am instantly reminded of the helpless look of his bloodied and bruised face. I remember the defeated look on his face when the man walked up with a gun to his head. I feel sick just thinking of him like that, the worry, the heartbreak, the fear! My beautiful daughters’ innocent faces assault my thoughts. I can only thank God that they are not here with me now, facing the paralyzing fear that is beginning to take over. I can’t let it, though. I can’t let fear take over or I’ll lose. I’ll never get out of this alive if I act carelessly.

  This cannot be happening. I can feel my body becoming my own again, and slowly and carefully begin to open my eyes to get a hold on my surroundings. I have no idea if I am still at my dad’s house, or if I’ve been taken away. I look through the slits of my eyelashes, afraid someone is here with me, just waiting for me to wake up so they can beat me, kill me, do whatever they have in mind. It’s dark, but I can tell I am still at my dad’s. I look at my hands to see that I am tied down to his favorite chair in the living room. I don’t see my dad anywhere. The large driftwood coffee table is right in front of me, covered with splatters of blood. I’m not sure if it’s mine or my dad’s but the fear I have been trying to suppress is threatening to choke me. I try to focus on my daughters while I look around the room for any sign of my dad or the intruder. I can still hear muffled voices in the distance, but can’t tell if one was my dad or not. The sound of my heart is pumping in my ears, making it difficult to focus. I silently repeat the Hail Mary, and quietly try to lift the chair I am secured to so that I can try to find my phone that could still be on the couch or get the attention of the officers who could possibly be outside, thinking they are keeping me safe. I rock my body back and forth, trying to get the momentum I need to lift this enormous leather chair. I am trying my best to be careful, constantly looking in the reflection in the sliding glass doors that will give me warning of someone coming around the corner. The squeaking of the leather makes me cringe and silently curse my dad for choosing such a noisy fabric. It is the one item in the house that is truly my dad’s. My mom had never let him decorate one part of this house, with the exception of this damn chair. If I had been tied to any other, I could have been up and out the door by now.

  In the midst of my frustrating attempts of getting up with this chair, the man who had a gun to my dad’s head turns the corner into the living room and is heading my way with death in his eyes. I stop in my tracks and stare him right in the eyes, not wanting my fear to show. I want to memorize every inch of his malevolent face in case I do get out of this and need to identify him. He is much older than I thought when I first saw him earlier, maybe fifty. His oily curly hair is stuck to his pock riddled face, either from grease or sweat, I’m not sure. He lowers his dark, almost black eyes to me and lets out a taunting laugh.

  “Ah, look at you. Beautiful little lady.” He slowly paces towards me, each step making bile rise in my stomach. Think, Camryn. Think!

  “Who are you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. “Where is my dad?”

  “Oh, I plan to let you get to know me real well, sweetheart.” He rubs his hand across my face, causing me to flinch away.

  “Where. Is. My. Dad?” I repeat slowly, putting emphasis on each word. I will not let him intimidate me.

  He pulls a gun out of his stone washed jeans and points it at my head with a crazed look in his eyes. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear another word from you.” He presses the barrel of the gun into the temple of my forehead, forcing me to close my eyes. This is it. I am going to die today. I am not going to cry. I am not going to give up.

  He laughs again, deep and menacing. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it good for you.” He takes out a smelly blue and white bandanna, tying it tightly around my mouth and making it hard to breathe. Eyes burning into my skin with wicked desire, he leans over and licks my face. His rough, sticky tongue slowly traces from the base of my chin, inching up towards my ear. I turn away, trying to remain calm and think of a way to get the attention of the officers who are sure to be back out front by now. Holden has to have tried to call me back by now. His overprotective behavior has to be for a purpose other than to drive me crazy. He has to save me. He’s always saved me. My throat tightens up at the thought of his face, and a tear threat
ens to betray me.

  Pock Face (that’s what I’ve decided to name him) torturous assault is interrupted by voices outside the front bay windows. He came. We both look at each other with opposing expressions: mine victory, his defeat. Or is it? A devious smile crosses his face and he walks over to the entryway, pressing his back flat against the wall, with his gun cocked and ready for whoever was coming to save me.

  A quick, soft knock comes at the door, followed by three rapid knocks. Pock Face’s stance instantly relaxes and he glowers my way. “I’m not done with you yet.” He licks his lips slowly. “Not by a long shot. The last thing you’ll ever feel is me inside you.”

  I swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. My heart is pounding with anticipation, worried Holden is going to be walking in to an ambush. There are voices outside and that means whoever it is, is not alone. If it is Holden, I have to do everything in my power to save him from walking straight into the intruder’s gun. I have to save him, just like he is trying to save me. Just like he’s always saved me.

  I take in a deep breath and yell at the top of my lungs, “Holden, no!” just as Pock Face is opening the front door.

  He shoots me an annoyed look that says so much more, and steps aside, smiling broadly. “You’re early.” He bends down and is hugging someone. Someone very small. Not Holden—no, not even close. My head feels heavy with confusion.

  What.The.Hell.

  Mary Waters is glaring at me over Pock Face’s shoulder with a disapproving smirk.

  She looks away, ignoring the fact that she just walked into my house to see me tied to a chair with a gag around my mouth. Instead, she casually looks around the room. “Where is Bobby? I saw his car in the driveway. I told you to make sure he wasn’t home. You’ve complicated things.”

  Pock Face holds up his hands in defense, seeming like a little boy. “He just showed up, Mrs. W. He’s back there.” He leans in and whispers something in Mrs. Waters’s ear.