From Dust

by Freya Barker

  Unclipping the pen from the top, I start scanning the form, immediately reminded of how little I really know of this woman. Last name? Fuck. I’ve kissed her, observed her closely—too closely—for almost a month, and although I know the tilt of her head, can wax poetic about the color of her hair and will never get the flavor of her out of my mind, I know nothing. Skipping over the last name, I can fill out address, but I’m stopped again when it comes to insurance. Crap. I’m thinking I’m safe in assuming she doesn’t have any, and there’s no way I can slip her in under mine. Next of kin. I hesitate here. With only one option open to me, I quickly fill it out, ignoring the small pang of guilt at my deceit. On a roll now, I return to ‘last name’ and scribble the first thing that comes to mind before putting the clipboard down and scooting my chair closer to the bed. Picking Syd’s hand up, I kiss her palm and tuck it under my cheek when I put my head down.

  The rustling of paper pulls me out of my catnap. “So, Mr. Lucas, is it?” The same nurse is back and flipping through the papers on the clipboard. “And Ms. Bird is your fiancée?” She looks at me with a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. I just shrug my shoulders. “Fine, I’ll let Dr. Sanders know. He should be coming around soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Just as she walks out the door, Syd’s fingers start moving in my hand and when I turn back to her, her eyes are quietly observing me.

  “Who’s Ms. Bird?”

  Syd

  I’ve been lying here with my eyes closed, just enjoying the sensation of a warm cheek and bristly stubble against the palm of my hand. It distracts from the aches and pains everywhere on my body.

  I know who it is. Funny that—I don’t even need to rely on sight or hearing to have that confirmed. His smell is the first thing that registers; a hint of sea and nutmeg, mixed in with the scent of clean man.

  I’m about to make it known I’m awake when I hear footsteps approaching and decide to play mum a bit longer. I don’t feel like answering the inevitable questions yet.

  “Who’s Ms. Bird?” is the first thing I ask Gunnar when I hear the nurse leave. His beautiful green eyes turn to me and he sports a little smile.

  “It’s all I could think of on the spot,” he says, his eyes scanning my face before looking down at our hands. He hasn’t let go yet. “I realized how little I really know of you when they had me fill out the papers. I may have embellished a bit.”

  “The last name or the part about the fiancée?”

  He looks up from under his heavy eyebrows. “They wouldn’t tell me anything and you were out. Didn’t have a choice.” He leans in closer. “I think the ruse will only hold up so long though. The cops are here too. Have a feeling they may not be easily turned away with a false last name.”

  I turn away for a moment, trying to gauge the impact this all will have. I may be done with anonymity, at least for those who want to dig.

  “Sorry, Syd. Had no choice, really. The EMTs were already there when I found you—or rather, you found me.”

  I look at him and the regret is obvious in his words, and also mirrored on his face. All at once, another face pops up in my mind, one twisted in anger, and my body starts to shake at the memory.

  “It was him ... Jack ... f-from the pantry?” My teeth are starting to chatter as the flood of memories start to wash over me.

  “Shhh...” Gunnar sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his arms. A hiss escapes me as a sharp pain stabs my side. “Fuck. Sorry.”

  He’s gentler now, but the soft sounds he makes with his lips pressed to the side of my head do little to stop the tumble of thoughts in my head. The phantom smell of rotting fish permeates my senses and I can still feel the brutal, foreign hands touching me. Sounds and images assault me and just like that, I’m back over the cutting table, being held down by the weight of his body. I fight and scramble, a keening sound coming from my very core. Something is holding me down and panic wants to pull me under. I struggle until a different smell starts filtering through, familiar and comforting, along with a deep rumbling voice in my ear, hushing me.

  “Shhh, I’ve got you, little bird. No one can touch you. Hush...”

  I open my eyes to see a bright hospital room; not a dark and dirty fish shack. My racing heart slows as, what I recognize to be Gunnar’s arms, surround me, rocking me gently back and forth. A sob works its way out, quickly followed by another—and another until I’m crying and sobbing loudly. I turn my face into his neck, inhaling the scent of sea and nutmeg.

  “Is he dead?” I manage to whisper through my tears.

  “No. Unfortunately,” he bites out. “He’s in the hospital.”

  “Here?” I pull back, feeling the panic build again. Gunnar’s warm eyes hold steel when he tells me, “He will never lay a hand on you again. He’s under guard and barely hanging on.”

  Slightly reassured, I try to shift from the odd position on the floor we somehow ended up in, but my body protests. Gunnar sees the wince I’m not able to hold back and immediately gets up, with me in his arms. It’s only when he puts me back in the bed that I fully take in his face. It’s covered in scratches that weren’t there before. I clap my hands over my mouth.

  “Did I do that?” I whisper, horrified.

  He runs his hand down his face and looks at the blood on his palm before turning his eyes to me. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to cup my cheek. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad that whatever happened to you hasn’t killed your will for survival.”

  I flinch at his words. They strike close ... too close, and he doesn’t miss it, but before he can say anything, the door opens to an older gentleman in a white coat. I presume he’s the doctor, which he confirms when he introduces himself.

  “Ms. Bird, glad to see you awake. I’m Dr. Sanders, and this is?” He indicates Gunnar.

  “I’m—” he starts.

  “He’s—“ I say at the same time, but before he has a chance to finish his sentence, I quickly add the rest of mine. “—my fiancée.”

  I can see from the surprised look on Gunnar’s face he wasn’t expecting that, but the truth is, I don’t want to be left alone with anyone, at least anyone other than him. His surprise makes way for a small smile as he grabs my hand with one, and sticks the other hand out to shake the doctors.

  “Gunnar Lucas.”

  “Right, you’re the gentleman who found her,” he says, pointing at Gunnar’s bloodied shirt—something I hadn’t even noticed yet.

  “More like she found me, but yes, I came in with Syd.”

  “Interesting name, Syd. Is that short for Sydney?” Dr. Sanders looks at me questioningly. A quick glance at Gunnar’s face shows me a similar expression.

  Resigned to the fact I’ll likely no longer be able to hide my identity, I concede. “Yes, it’s Sydney.”

  “Do you mind if I call you Sydney or would you prefer Syd?” he asks gently.

  “Either is fine.”

  “Right. Well, Sydney, you’ve sustained some injuries that will heal with some simple rest. You have some nasty abrasions on your face, but only the cut right at your hairline needed stitches. It was done very carefully to minimize scarring and what little there may be will likely be hidden by your hair.”

  My hand automatically goes to my face to explore. The doctor smiles at me encouragingly.

  “Also, your ribs are tender but I don’t think they’re broken. Regardless, the treatment would be the same; rest. The stitches should come out in a week, which is about when I’d want to see you anyway to see how you are healing otherwise.” At this point, he leans forward and asks me softly, “This next part may be uncomfortable for you to hear and I think it’s perhaps a good idea for your fiancée to wait outside. I can get a nurse if that makes you more comfortable.”

  The moment Gunnar stands and starts pulling his hand back, I hang on tightly, sending a wordless plea with my eyes. The little reassuring nod is for me when he sits back down, before he turns to the doctor.

 
“Sorry, Doc. Syd wants me to stay and I promised I wouldn’t leave her.”

  Dr. Sanders is obviously waiting for me to say something. “I’m ready, but he stays.”

  “Very well. I’m not sure how much of what happened you remember, but—“

  “Every. Single. Second.” I interrupt him.

  “Right. We found evidence of sexual assault, Syd. Couldn’t find evidence of actual intercourse, but you were bleeding when you were brought in. Not a lot, but enough for us to investigate. We found some tearing of your perineum; the skin between your—“

  I raise my free hand to stop him from going on. The other hand is wrapped in Gunnar’s, squeezing hard, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s clenching his jaw so hard I’m worried he’ll break a tooth.

  “His fingers,” I whisper. “Three I think.”

  “Jesus...” This from Gunnar, who doesn’t let go of my hand, but grabs his neck with the other one, tilting his head back and raising his eyes to the ceiling.

  “It’s still rape, Sydney,” Dr. Sanders says. “Even if there was no penile penetration. The police are outside wanting to talk to you. I can hold them off a little longer, but eventually they will have to question you.”

  I nod, terrified of what is coming; afraid everything is going to catch up with me and I’ll drown for real this time.

  “Let’s get this over with so I can take you home,” Gunnar mumbles beside me.

  “Since you have no concussion and don’t appear to have any internal injuries, technically you can be looked after as well at home as in the hospital. You did go into mild shock, and normally we would admit you. However, I get the feeling you’d probably feel safer at home, but I strongly suggest you not be alone for the next forty-eight hours as a precaution. I would also like you to see a counselor to help you work through the assault.” The doctor puts a careful, but consoling hand on my shoulder and I discover I’m crying.

  I don’t know if I want to talk to a counselor. I don’t know if I want to see the cops. I don’t know. I feel so out of control, and I don’t even know what to say next. Gunnar steps in and turns to Dr. Sanders. “I’ll make sure someone is with her at all times. Give us ten minutes and we’ll talk to the cops.” He squeezes my hand. “Okay, Syd?”

  I answer with a simple nod and the doctor seems to take that as his cue. Promising to get me appointments for a follow-up with him and a counselor, he walks out, closing the door behind him, leaving Gunnar and I alone.

  Gunnar’s thumb is softly stroking the skin of my hand as he sits on the edge of my bed, quietly. I have my eyes averted, feeling ashamed, guilty, and fearful of being even more exposed than I already am.

  “Syd?” His voice rumbles beside me. “What do you need?”

  What do I need? I need to be where I was twenty-four hours ago. The urge to escape from the events of tonight, and what is yet to come is equal. Part of me wants to retreat again, wants to get a bottle and disappear into it, but that’s a line I can’t cross. Another part wants to come clean—tell all—and just purge the guilt, the shame, and the fear. I take in a shaky breath and decide to open up, just a little.

  “I don’t know what I need. I’ve long ago stopped thinking in those terms. What I should do is face forward. Deal with this and then leave it behind me, but I’ve been a coward for so long, hiding in the shadows. I just don’t know where to start,.” I finally lift my eyes and only find compassion in Gunnar’s face, who quietly listens. “I can’t believe I fought him off. For someone who’s spent years destroying her life, I’m surprised at how strong the will to live—to fight—is in a situation like that. I’m not used to wanting to see another day for five years now.” His slight nod encourages me to go on, but when I try to pull back my hand from his, he holds on tight, not allowing me to create distance. “You’ve been good to me, Gunnar, but I’m afraid to tell you. I’m so afraid that when you find out, you’ll turn me out, and I wouldn’t blame you. You, the kids, Viv—you’ve helped me believe in a future I didn’t think I had or even wanted.”

  “Not gonna turn you out, little bird.” He says, shaking his head, but I’m not so sure.

  I breathe in deeply through my nose and rip the band-aid off. Looking down at my hands, I push the words out. “Five years ago, I lost my son. The pain was more than I can handle, and I started drinking to numb myself. I was too drunk to even attend his funeral.” I swallow hard to dislodge the persistent lump of guilt stuck in my throat. “My family fell apart with me at the center, hell-bent on destroying myself and everything around me. My family was ... unpleasant; before, during and after. One particularly hopeless day, I ended up on the psychiatric ward at Mass General and was held for seventy-two hours. When they were up, I checked myself out and walked away from the hospital, my family, and my life, such as it was.” I take a deep, shuddering breath and risk a glance at Gunnar’s face. His eyes are on me but I can’t read him. All I can see is the twitching of the muscles in his jaw. Only a small squeeze of my hand is indication he wants me to continue. “My job was gone, and I didn’t leave a whole lot of goodwill behind. I ended up in Portland where I coasted on fumes for a while, but eventually drinking myself numb cost me a job and a roof over my head. One morning I woke up on the wharf with no idea how I got there and ready to end my misery. Something stopped me. That’s when I found the shed, got dry, and kept to myself. Time ceased to exist as one day just turned into another.”

  I feel his hand come up to my face and brush away the tears from my cheek. The compassion in his face is back, and I haven’t even told him everything yet, but there is one thing he deserves to know.

  “I haven’t had a drink since that day at the edge of the water and I had the isolation and the cold at night to keep me numb, until Viv.”

  I lift my chin, looking him straight in the eye. “I lied to you by omission because I knew if you found out, you’d never have allowed me to work at The Skipper, let alone keep an eye on your kids. And I wanted that chance so badly. I needed that push to get me unstuck. Viv’s touch was the first human contact I felt in a very long time, but it wasn’t until I felt yours that I instinctively knew I was safe.”

  Gunnar’s face is impassive and this time when I pull back my hand, it slips easily from his. He immediately gets up and paces the room until he stops at the foot end of the bed, looking down at me.

  “What’s your name?” His voice sounds as raw as I feel.

  “Sydney Donner. I’m thirty-nine years old and have a degree in accounting. My parents are James and Marilyn Donner, and I have one older sister, Sofia. My husband’s name is Jacob Webster, although I guess he probably isn’t my husband anymore since he served me with divorce papers when I was in the hospital. I left them behind in my room, but I did sign them. For reasons of my own, I don’t want them to know where I am. I want to build again, and not on the ruins of my past. That’s where my family belongs.”

  Gunnar seems shocked at my vehemence. “Christ, Syd—you only get one family.”

  I can’t help but snicker at that. “Right. They have never been kind to me and finding out what I’ve become is definitely not going to change that. They’re part of the baggage I want to leave behind.”

  He sits down beside me and I’m instantly warmed when he grabs my hand off the blanket. “That’s a fuckload to process, and I have a feeling I have just been given the surface, but thank you. I figure that was scary and painful for you.” He leans in and his lips press gently to my forehead.

  “I want to move forward, Gunnar, but the truth is I’m an alcoholic. And given what I just told you, I think I should go back to Florence House until I can figure something out.”

  “Like hell you will!” Gunnar jumps up and I inadvertently shift away from him. The move doesn’t go unnoticed and he immediately sits back down and grabs my hand again. “Look, truth is I care about you. Fuck. The kids ... they care about you. Viv, Dino, and even Matt. You’re making a difference to all of us. I can’t imagine the agony of losing a child,
and frankly just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach, so what do I know? I do think neither of us has a clear head right now and honey, you’ve just survived another major trauma. So, I propose for now we focus on you getting better. Promised that doctor I’d look after you and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now let’s talk to the police so we can get out of here.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Gunnar

  What a fucking bitch of a night.

  I’d been afraid she might’ve been sexually assaulted when she came running at me half-naked and bloodied, but I had to fight not to stalk that bastard’s ass in the hospital and make sure he ended up dead. Reigning that anger in was taxing enough in itself, but then she started coming clean and my emotions were all over the place—still are. It didn’t help that Sergeant Winslow took his sweet time having Syd rehash every detail of what happened three fucking times. The woman was wrung out by the time the nurse came in with her discharge papers and told him it was enough, that Syd needed rest. She never gave him any more personal information than her name and where she lives, and when he asked how long she’d worked for me and had lived there, she became evasive. She told him ‘for a while’, that she’d left Boston and had ‘bounced around’ a little before starting at The Skipper. Winslow looked dubiously at both her and I, but didn’t push the issue, at least not yet.

  My eyes wander to the clock on the wall; Five in the morning. After Syd fell asleep in the car and I carried her to my bed, I woke up Tim, who’d fallen asleep on my couch. I told him a condensed version of what happened before he headed home, ensuring me he’d call in the morning. I didn’t share anything about Syd’s history. Not quite ready to address that myself, but now in the early hours of the morning, lying on the couch in my living room, I can’t stop the thoughts crowding my head. The way she looked running towards me, the complex mix of relief, horror, and rage. It worries me that she’d so completely lost her way in the past that she used the bottle as a solution. A definite button for me, since that had been—and apparently still is, according to the children—Cindy’s solution of choice: a bottle and oblivion. Only difference is, I get it in Syd’s case. I do, but it’s also obvious to me that no matter how much she wants to move forward, she has a history that you can’t just bury and forget. That shit always comes back up and causes more destruction. She has a lot to work through, and how willing is she? Fucking hell. It’d be so much easier if I didn’t care, if I could just back away. I’ve got kids to think of, an understaffed pub, and sharks in the water. Not to mention a custody issue that won’t be easily resolved.