In the Shadow of Revenge

by Patricia Hale

  I set my fingertips on the planchette. A jolt of electricity traveled up my arms and coursed through my chest. I jerked my hands away. The sensation stopped the moment I broke contact. I stared at the board as though it was a living thing, took a breath and reached for it again. As soon as my fingers touched the heart-shaped disc, I felt the flow and asked my question. Where is he? The planchette didn’t move, but pain seared through my head and I saw Amelia through the windshield of a car. She was naked from the waist up. Her jeans were down and bunched around one ankle. There was a man beneath her sitting on the passenger seat. She straddled him, one leg bent on either side. Smoke curled above their heads. I squinted to see his face. He was smoking a cigarette while they... Jesus, Amelia, you know how to pick ’em, I thought. Then she started to cry and my head split in two. I jerked my hands away from the board and knocked over the fluted vase beside me on the table. Stitch meowed and took off for the kitchen. Immediately the image was gone.

  “Cecily,” Ben called from the bedroom. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I yelled. “Just dropped something.”

  I packed up the board, turned out the lights and headed for the bedroom. Ben had already gone back to sleep. After returning the board to the trunk, I tucked myself in beside him and my headache receded along with my fear. Now I was just pissed. I’d done what Hilary wanted, and the board gave me shit. The last thing I needed was a peephole into Amelia’s one-nighters.

  Chapter Five

  All the next day I couldn’t shake the image. It wasn’t what I’d asked for, but I had to question what it meant. Why in the world did I need a window into Amelia’s love life? And I’m using the term “love” loosely. Love had never played a significant role in Amelia’s life. She was an only child, something I envied, but her parents never doted on her like you’d expect. It was more like they’d had her because that’s what couples did when they got married. But once she existed, they didn’t know what to do with her, so she’d been shipped out to a series of day cares while they continued with their lives as college professors. Her dad taught chemistry, her mother, microbiology. Parenting was done from a distance and expectations were black and white. As intelligent as they were, they had no concept of the grays of childhood.

  By Sunday night I was driving myself crazy trying to figure out the reason the Ouija showed me Amelia in such a precarious position and I’d spent the entire weekend preoccupied. Luckily, Ben required no explanation. Monday morning when I got to work, I called her.

  “Yo,” she said when she answered.

  I didn’t want to tell her about the Ouija board so I danced around it. “What did you do this weekend?”

  “You mean who?” She laughed.

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  “I’m just screwing with you. I went hiking with Matt from the store and then we stopped for dinner on the way home. Yesterday I did laundry and cleaned my apartment. Exciting enough for you?”

  “Are you seeing Matt?”

  “He’s gay.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sound disappointed. Were you hoping I got laid so you could live vicariously through my wild sex?”

  “Shut up.”

  She laughed.

  “You up for a drink at Gritty’s after work?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. Six?”

  “See you then.”

  I sipped my latte and guiltily admitted to myself that I was disappointed. I’d wanted her to tell me about some guy she’d met and that they’d done it in his car so the image would make sense. The board had sent me that vision for a reason. I just had to figure out what the reason was.

  At six o’clock, Amelia and I stepped into Gritty’s in time to nab two vacant stools at the end of the bar, a rarity. Around us a patchwork of suits and Carhartts swallowed Summer Ale. I scanned the room and the outside deck for Ben. He’d said he’d meet us if his current case allowed. No dice.

  The bartender approached and set a Black Russian in front of Amelia with a wink. There are places where I like to be recognized—Gritty’s isn’t one of them. He turned his face to me and raised his eyebrows.

  “Pinot Grigio,” I said.

  “Do you think we’ll be visiting rehabs for the rest of our lives?” Amelia took a sip of the opaque black liquid and sucked an ice cube into her mouth.

  Hilary was our primary topic whenever she was in rehab. We’d rehash her life looking for a way to help her: a new approach, a new doctor or a new hospital. “Looks that way,” I said.

  “I keep telling myself each time will be the last and she’ll finally get it together.”

  “Forever the optimist.”

  “Somebody has to believe in her.”

  I took a swallow of wine and let it dissolve the lump Amelia’s comment created in my throat. “I believe in her. But I can’t just conjure up some spell that’s gonna fix everything.”

  “She thinks you can.” Amelia looked at me from the corner of her eye and took another swallow. “I think she believes you owe her that.”

  “I know she does,” I said.

  “So where’s Ben?” Amelia glanced around the bar.

  “You know as well as I do that he’s got his head submerged in a law book somewhere. Work is his job and his relaxation.”

  “I guess you can’t complain with the paycheck he brings home.”

  I shrugged. “It’s nice, but...”

  “But what?”

  A blond hopeful slipped onto the stool beside Amelia and nodded his hello. There goes our conversation, I thought. He was late thirties trying to pass for a decade less. A too-tight T-shirt emphasized pumped pecs and biceps.

  “Put your eyes back in your head,” I whispered when she turned to me and flashed a smile of approval. “We’re together, remember?”

  She laughed and rubbed her shoulder against mine. “You’re not gonna be here all night, are you?”

  The guy looked at her, holding her gaze for longer than a casual glance.

  “Another round?” the bartender asked.

  “Ya, and whatever he’s drinking.” Amelia jerked her thumb toward the newcomer.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You look lonely.”

  His smirk confirmed that he understood there was an offer on the table and that if he played his cards right he’d be the night’s big winner. I was both awed and irate at Amelia’s overture. I elbowed her and she turned to me.

  “What?”

  “We have stuff to talk about.”

  “What?”

  “Hilary.”

  “That’s all we ever talk about.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the blond.

  “Dobbs,” he said, shaking her hand and then reaching for mine, which I reluctantly gave him. “J.D. Dobbs.”

  “You live in Portland?” Amelia asked.

  He shook his head. “Used to, years ago, but I moved to the west coast.”

  “How come?”

  He shrugged. “Sun.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” Amelia poured her Black Russian down her throat and smiled at the bartender, who put another one in front of her like he’d been waiting for the opportunity.

  There was something about Dobbs that made me tingle, and not in a good way; more like the sensation of a tick on tender skin. He provoked the same feeling I got in the courtroom when some asshole would cry because he’d just broken his two-year-old’s arm and needed one more chance to prove he was the world’s best dad. But Amelia worked Dobbs with the skill of a marksman homing in for the kill or maybe it was the other way around.

  “Off with his head,” I whispered into her ear, vying for attention.

  “Not now,” she scolded.

  I pushed off my stool, leaving it rocking against
the wooden floor. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “Be right back,” I heard her say as she came after me.

  “What is wrong with you?” She slammed the ladies’ room door behind her.

  “I thought we came here together.”

  “We came for a drink.”

  I felt the beginnings of a headache and wondered if I should tell her about the board and the vision, but part of me still shied away from admitting there was a connection, even though I’d never been prone to headaches and now I was having another one.

  “I blew off Ben to be with you.”

  “Ben blew you off ’cause he’s Joe Lawyer and he’d rather read about tax law than relax and have a drink. Don’t put me in the middle of your issues.” She air quoted the last word.

  “We don’t have issues,” I said.

  She laughed. “You don’t have anything.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You know what I mean, Cecily. I don’t want to argue.”

  “Tell me what you mean.”

  “It’s just, you know, your relationship’s a little plastic.”

  “Our relationship is fine. It’s good.”

  “It’s easy and clean.”

  “So what?”

  “Mess builds strength.”

  “So now you’re an expert on long-term relationships?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Her words felt like a slap and I retaliated. “Excuse me for wanting to hang out with you. I see you’ve already unzipped that guy’s pants.”

  “And you’re jealous.” Amelia smirked and stepped up to the sink. She pulled the elastic from her braid and her hair fell from its coil in waves to her waist. “Look,” she said. “You’ve got Ben sitting home waiting for you. Hilary’s holed up in another hospital for God knows how long. Is it okay if I have a life too?”

  “He’s a loser.”

  “He’s hot.”

  “In a Ted Bundy sort of way.”

  “Jesus, I’m just having a drink with the guy.”

  “Well, I don’t like him.”

  “You don’t like anyone that threatens the pact,” she said. “But we’re big girls now.” She pulled open the door to the ladies’ room.

  “I’m going home,” I told her.

  “Kiss your Ken doll for me,” she said over her shoulder.

  I watched her walk back to the bar, my head pounding. I was scared, but not sure why. I left Gritty’s and walked across the parking lot to my car wishing Amelia was less attractive, or less manipulative or at least less horny. She had a way of going after a guy like he was the only one in the room, or on earth for that matter. An hour under her spell and they were at her mercy, buying drinks and making promises. Their generosity as well as their hopes went unrequited. Amelia was still searching for the guy who would excise her guilt. What neither of us knew at that moment was that he’d just taken the seat beside her.

  Chapter Six

  When I got home Ben was already asleep. The lamp on the bedside table cast shadows onto the law books that lay open and scattered across the blanket. I turned off the light and went into the kitchen for a final glass of wine before calling it a day. Sitting on the couch in a darkened living room, I tried to remember the face on the guy in my dream and wondered if Amelia was still at the bar with Dobbs.

  At nine-thirty I picked up Stitch, ignoring his perturbed glance, and set him at the foot of the bed. I took his spot beside Ben and curled up close; an early night wouldn’t hurt me either. In his sleep, Ben wrapped one arm around me. Amelia’s comment about my plastic relationship popped into my head. Comfortable was how I preferred to describe it. Stability might not be exciting, but it’s consistent.

  I flipped my pillow over seeking out the cool cotton underside in an attempt to ease the pressure inside my head. Since leaving the bar, the vise above my ears hadn’t let up for a minute and I was sure that if I reached up and touched the spot there’d be a dent. I closed my eyes and willed my thoughts somewhere else, anywhere else.

  As I drifted into sleep, Dobbs came out of the darkness and I searched the periphery for Amelia’s face. It was the last thing I remembered before my cell phone’s Rainforest ring tone interrupted. “Isn’t it still night?” I said to no one in particular, fumbling to silence the frogs and crickets erupting from the nightstand. I glanced at the clock: 3:15 a.m. “Hello?”

  At first there was no sound and I said hello again, irritated that I’d been woken up for nothing. Then I heard a whine, a tiny fragile sound like a newborn kitten. “Hello?”

  “Cecily...”

  “Amelia? Are you all right?”

  Only the sound of her whimpering came from the phone. I threw the comforter back and swung my feet over the side of the bed.

  “Who is it?” Ben asked, his voice thick with sleep.

  I didn’t answer him. I already had one leg in the jeans that were lying on the floor. “Are you okay?” I yelled into the phone. “Are you hurt?”

  No answer.

  “Amelia.” I jiggled the phone as though I could shake her voice out of it and then checked to see if I’d lost the connection. She started mewing again. “I’m coming over,” I said.

  “I’m not home.”

  “Where are you?”

  Ben leaned up on one elbow. “What’s going on?”

  “Sshh.” I waved my arm to quiet him.

  “Where are you?” I said again.

  “In my car.”

  “Where?” I squeezed the phone, fear and irritation colliding.

  “Gritty’s parking lot.”

  “Gritty’s? What the hell...” I stopped. It didn’t matter. “I’m on my way.”

  I grabbed the car keys off my dresser and looked at Ben from the doorway. “I gotta go,” I said.

  “Wait a minute. For God’s sake, talk to me. Who was on the phone?”

  “Amelia.”

  I heard the bed creak as he stood to come after me, but I was already halfway down the hall and couldn’t waste time trying to explain something I didn’t know.

  “Cecily, stop. You can’t just go running out in the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

  He was slowing me down and I was getting pissed. I whirled around to face him. “I don’t have time for you right now. Amelia needs me.” I opened the apartment door and hurried down the stairs pulling a sweatshirt over my head.

  “See what I mean?” he called after me. “You and your friends, still a pack of nine-year-olds.” Above me, the door slammed.

  * * *

  It takes exactly eight minutes to drive from my apartment to Gritty’s. I ran two red lights to make it there in six, scared to death at what I was going to find. Over and over, Hilary and I had warned her about picking up men in bars. Who knew the dangers better than the three of us? But she laughed us off every time. Images of knife penetrations into smooth white flesh and the red mottled skin of strangulation flip-flopped in my head.

  A few cars remained in the deserted parking lot left by patrons who had the sense to abandon their vehicles rather than risk an OUI or worse. I pulled up beside Amelia’s Jetta, my heart working overtime. The driver’s side window went down and I saw her face. She was white and scared, but there was no physical damage that I could see.

  “Get in,” she said.

  I went around the front of both cars and slipped into the passenger side of hers.

  She groped for me in the dim morning light and wrapped her fingers around my wrist.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  I could barely hear the words coming from her mouth and I leaned closer to her face.

  “It’s him,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Him,” she said again.

>   My mouth went dry and my body trembled like it had already processed the information before I’d cleared it through my head. I knew what she was saying. There was only one him in our vocabulary, but I had to have it spelled out. “Tell me,” I said and grabbed her arms, pulling her around to face me, “Say it.”

  She kept her eyes on mine. “The tattoo,” she said. “I saw the skull.”

  “Are you sure?” I could hardly hear my voice over the rush in my ears.

  “Of course I am. You think I could mistake that?” She started to cry and covered her face with the palms of her hands. “Cecily,” she whined. “I fucked him. I fucked Hilary’s rapist.”

  There are two words that come to mind when I look back on that moment. One is elation, the other fear. I’d done it. I’d taken out the board and not only had it heard me, it had answered. I took Amelia’s hand and squeezed it, consoling her with, “It’s okay,” and “You couldn’t have known.” While my heart hammered with anticipation.

  Chapter Seven

  It was 4:00 a.m. Tuesday morning when we left Gritty’s and drove together through the empty streets of downtown Portland, leaving Amelia’s Jetta behind. I had a feeling neither of us would be showing up for work that day. Thoughts skittered through my head like billiard balls, bouncing off one another, but leaving no clear game plan. I’d brought this on by pulling out the board. I could hear my mother ranting about the evils it let loose. There was no denying my ability. The board must go back in its grave at the bottom of my trunk.