Promises

by Susan Rodgers

  But even more so, a loner for most years of her life, Jessie did not know how to let down her walls enough to ask for help.

  True, realistically she knew they would want her to reach out. But there was still the tiniest part of her that believed she was alone, unlovable, as do many people who walk this world today. A part of her died the day of her twelfth birthday, the day her father was wrenched mercilessly from her life, and her mother’s mind along with him. A remaining part of Jessie’s own tired mind was lost when Rachel died, and another part with Sandy after her. Little bits had been torn from her each night Jessie’s stepfather climbed into her bed, and even more the day Deuce had left her bleeding on the plush white rug in his office. Tradd Street, where Sandy died, had ruthlessly claimed the largest chunk of all. What was left was fragile and unstable. What remained of Jessie was barely hanging on. Even though it seemed over the last many years of unconditional love and care from Charles and Dee, and even Charlie and his family, the Drifters family and, especially, Josh, that she was shedding her unstable past, growing anew…the growth was small and unstable, not yet deeply rooted.

  Jessie was at risk, yet she still felt too small and vulnerable to involve her loved ones in the disaster she knew was Deuce McCall. She wanted to defeat the man, the bully, the poisonous snake from Charleston. The city she had loved so dearly - still loved, in fact, for its history, splendor, gracious Southern kindness and hospitality - felt inaccessible to her because of Deuce. So many beautiful things could be visualized beyond him, like Charleston, like family and friends and love. As if he were a thunder and lightning storm and, in the distance far beyond, enveloped in a serene gentle mist, was a rainbow.

  So late at night she sat, paced, fretted and worried, and sometimes she gave in to the despair and cried heartily into the cold bathroom tiles where she hoped Josh could not hear her. But she decayed quickly in those two weeks. Barely able to stomach food, Jessie lost weight. Her friends at Drifters grew increasingly worried. Finally, with Dee’s blessing, Jonathon called in Jessie’s physician, who did a few tests and gave her some meds to decrease her stomach pain, believing her when she said the cause was gastro intestinal.

  One day on set, after the others had mostly finished eating lunch and Jessie was with the doctor for the second time in two weeks, Stephen wandered over to Josh. He yanked out a chair beside him at the lunch table and sat backwards, his arms wrapped around the backrest. Glancing down at Josh’s plate, which was still half full, Steve watched his friend push broccoli and wild rice around with a fork.

  He nodded towards the food. “Not hungry?”

  Josh grumbled and set the fork down next to his plate. He shook his head. He appeared as despondent as during the season one shoot, when he and Jessie were trying to sort out where they fit in with each other.

  “Something’s up,” he said. “And I can’t put my finger on it.”

  Stephen shrugged. “Look, if she picked up some food poisoning, it can linger. Jessie’s a fighter. She’ll be fine.”

  Josh sat with his back to Stephen and stared down at the uneaten food. He reached out and, with one finger, pushed the plate away. A strand of loose hair fell from behind one ear and landed in front of a cheek, hiding his true emotions from his friend and separating him from the rest of the world.

  “I don’t think she’s sick, Steve,” he said, not looking at his cast mate. “Well, maybe, but not from food poisoning. From something else that’s troubling her.”

  Steve was quiet as he waited for Josh to explain. He had the same gut feeling.

  Josh turned then, and looked at him. “I think something happened that day, at Agassiz. Something that upset her, or pissed her off. I don’t know exactly.”

  “She was fine all day,” Steve considered. “She didn’t get sick until she was at the restaurant. Suddenly. Like with food poisoning.”

  “That’s what doesn’t add up,” Josh considered. “If something had happened at Agassiz, then she would have been pissed off earlier. But she was fine. She was the usual old Jessie - happy, fun, laughing…I don’t get it.” He paused. “Actually, I take that back. She was the new Jessie - happy, fun, laughing. Now she’s the old Jessie again, sad, distant, maybe even scared, I think.”

  “She’s not feeling well. That could account for how she’s acting. How is she at home, away from here?”

  Josh rested an elbow on the back of his chair, and then looked away. He spoke as if he were talking to the wall, remembering, removing himself to someplace else. “Like she’s two people. She barely functions. She goes through the motions, you know? It’s as if she’s locked in her mind somewhere and hardly knows I’m around. Scarcely talks, then when I speak to her and try to pull her out of it, she looks up suddenly, as if she doesn’t know where she is, and then is surprised to see me there. Then at night, in bed,” he blushed, embarrassed, “she hangs onto me as if she’s terrified to let me go. We make love, and it’s good, and I think okay, maybe everything is going to be all right…then I wake up in the middle of the night and she’s in the bathroom with the door locked, or pacing the house, or outside sitting on the deck, shivering to death.”

  He looked intently up at Steve, then. “I’ve seen her crying, too, Steve. Something’s tormenting her, only I have no idea what, except that it seems to be related to that day in Agassiz, and when I question her about it, she changes the subject or leaves the room, saying that she just isn’t feeling well.”

  Steve watched him, his brows knitted together in thought and contemplation. He inhaled deeply. “Any idea, Josh? What it is that’s bugging her?” He said it in a way that revealed he had his own idea, and that he figured Josh knew what it was. But he wanted Josh to admit it, to say it out loud.

  Josh shot him an icy stare. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “But I thought she was okay with all that.”

  He was referring to the negative attention he’d been getting from the media as a result of his relationship with Jessie. But things had settled down lately, for the most part. Yes, of course there were still the odd rumors and nasty comments on radio shows and in the rag bags, but Josh and Jessie usually avoided those. Only occasionally in public were people cruel. There had indeed still been the odd glares here and there at Agassiz, but he and Jessie just held each other tighter and tried to let them slide off. They had to have thick skin in order to be together. Crap had to slide off like water on a duck’s back.

  Josh sighed and rubbed a hand roughly over and over his face as if that might help exorcise the demons that were hanging over him and Jessie these days. “Maybe it’s Dee,” he said quietly. “Jess can let everything else go fairly easily, but she cares about Dee, and what she thinks.”

  “Dee’s still being shitty?”

  Josh laughed sardonically. “Like she’s waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Hell, for all I know, she probably thinks I’m beating the shit out of Jessie or something.”

  “What’s Charles been like?”

  “He tries a little harder, but it’s obviously a stretch for him to be all right with me. I think he knows that if he doesn’t reach out a bit, that Jessie won’t go around there as much anymore. But I feel like it will be a while before he trusts me. Dee, on the other hand…hah. Sucks. She’s passive aggressive. Sweet as roses to Jessie, but either ignores me altogether or gets her digs in where she can. Drives Jess crazy.”

  “Maybe that’s it, then,” Steve said, pondering. “Jessie’s pretty close to Dee. Maybe she’s starting to feel the distance growing between them. That would be hard on anyone, to feel like she’s got to make a choice between two people she loves.” Seeing the stricken look on Josh’s face he quickly added, “Well, not a choice exactly, Jessie’s head over heels in love with you. But even so, it must suck for her. Add the media crap and the insensitive assholes out there who treat you like shit, and that’s enough to give anyone ulcers.”

  Josh nodded. “Well, if that’s the case, then I hope to hell she opens up about it soon. Because I’m worri
ed about her.” His dark eyes peered painfully up at his good friend.

  Steve was quiet, but he reached a hand out and gave Josh’s shoulder a pat. Also distressingly obvious was the fact that Josh was worried about them as a couple. He was worried about Josh and Jessie.

  Unable to disguise their anxiety, the boys shoved back the chairs and headed off towards the cast trailers to review lines before the long afternoon of shooting started. Jessie watched from her own trailer, which the doctor had just left. Josh’s head was hanging low, the suspenders from his muddy 1860’s pants drooping from his hips, the brown well-worn boots barely clearing the soft spring ground as he trudged along. For the thousandth time in two weeks she had to fight to keep the tears from flowing, because if she started to cry here Jessie doubted if she could stop, and she was afraid of what she might admit if someone with caring, kind eyes like Maggie tried to encourage her to spill the beans. She knew her shit was affecting the mood of the cast and crew, but she also knew there were powerful demons at play here that had to take precedence over Drifters.

  Jessie shoved a fist into her mouth and sucked in a big breath, which made her tender belly hurt even more. She watched Josh disappear behind his trailer, and she reached out and placed a hand on the window as if with a look or a touch she could control him, and keep him in her life, safe and happy. Jessie shook her head in frustration. She had not been able to contrive a way to accomplish that task. All she could do now was wonder when the malevolent Deuce McCall would strike next, and how. She was being controlled like the puppet horses in the musical War Horse, beckoned towards a raging battle of which she wanted no part.

  A soft moan captured her attention. Surprised and somewhat horrified to discover that it had come from between her own lips, Jessie crooked her elbows on the small cream-colored table and laid her tired head on her equally exhausted arms.

  The next day, a Saturday, she had the answer she sought. And then the good was over and, at least for a time, the evil won.

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  Jessie spent the night at Josh’s place, clinging to him and whimpering in what little sleep she managed to grab. He felt he had nothing left to give her that she would accept with the exception of love and affection, so he held her tight and brushed the sweaty wisps of auburn-tinted hair away from her flushed cheeks as Jessie cried in her sleep. He ached to know what abysmal dreams haunted the girl he loved.

  In the early morning, with splashes of naive pale-white daylight tickling the duvet, Jessie held up the covers so Josh could climb in for a second cuddle after his shower and shave. She breathed in the spicy scent of his aftershave and laid cool hands on his warm smooth cheeks before heading out to rehearse with her dancers.

  Later, while on break, she read a text from Stephen. It had been sent an hour earlier but she kept her phone in her dressing room while she was working. Now, she grabbed her bag and tore out of the rehearsal hall, the feeling of dread from the last two weeks escalating and sucking the life out of her as she ran towards the red Mustang.

  Steve’s text read Josh tires slashed he ok call me. Jessie didn’t bother calling. She needed to see for herself that Josh was physically unhurt. She knew he’d be pissed, both at the pain in the ass of having to get the tires replaced, but also at the people out there in the world who insisted on bullying him. He was also likely to be somewhat embarrassed at the attention - she expected he’d called the police, yet part of her wished he hadn’t. Because, if McCall had anything to do with this - and she figured there was a fifty-fifty chance that it was indeed his handiwork - then involving the police would only piss the Southern “gentleman” off further.

  Crossing the Burrard Bridge, Jessie could see powerboats and sailboats taking advantage of the gorgeous sunny spring day. People were also out in droves cycling, running, strolling their babies, or walking the myriad of small and large dogs one could find in the city. Once again she found herself wishing to be one of them, a normal person left alone by visions of the past, an ordinary mortal with no special cursed gifts that attracted an unreasonable amount of attention from a man like McCall. Frowning, she swerved to avoid a boy on a bicycle who cut in front of her, and then she gunned the gas pedal for Josh’s street.

  The first thing she saw was a police car parked behind his truck in the driveway. The second thing she noticed was Matt’s Audi. The third thing she spied was a small clump of people standing on the left side of Josh’s truck. Jessie looked around for unknown vehicles, and then pulled up behind the Audi and steeled her nerves before opening the door. She was still wearing her dance leggings, over which she’d thrown her brown embroidered cowboy boots. She’d covered her white tank top with a soft pale yellow cashmere cardigan that she hadn’t taken the time to button. The loose hair that escaped her bun was wispy around her face, encircling the fear and anger that bubbled beneath the surface. She gently pushed her car door closed and then walked almost on tiptoes towards the little group of men, her heart pounding relentlessly.

  Josh was giving an account to a youthful officer of what he discovered when he went out to his truck that morning. Pausing mid-sentence, he looked up at Jessie and curiously watched her narrow her eyes and glare at the nasty slits in his flat tires. This latest incident would not improve Jessie’s mood from the last few weeks, of that he was certain.

  Charles laid a hand on Jessie’s shoulder and then continued a low-key discussion with Matt. Stephen, arms crossed, stood frowning behind Josh and watched Jessie.

  Things had been changing over the last few weeks, but Jessie still held out hope that she could figure things out, that she could end this assault on her nerves and on her psyche. But now, her eyes searching Josh’s truck for signs, any signs, her hope came crashing to a screeching halt, like some of the bikes she’d seen at Agassiz, dirt spraying everywhere as the rider demanded the tires stop moving. Stephen, in a casual white button down shirt, long green checked shorts and a baseball hat on backwards to keep his blonde locks at bay, saw Jessie gasp in horror at the moment she realized the wait was indeed over.

  She spotted, lying conspicuously on the asphalt next to Josh’s left back tire, a dagger.

  The young Vancouver police officer later described it as a hunting knife; it was about six to eight inches in length overall. It had a steel blade with a wooden handle; one distinguishing feature was a steel guard separating the blade from the handle. The weapon also had a worn lanyard looped through a small hole. But what Jessie’s eyes landed on, and what caused the bile to rise in her belly, was a symbol embossed in the top of the blade, just under the guard. It was a Celtic knot with a stylized B in its center. Jessie knew that the name Deuce was a nickname, that his real name was Booth. She had also seen the knife before, sickeningly, stained red with Sandy’s blood. This was not a supposed fan of Jessie or Charlie’s sending Josh a message. This was clearly Deuce sending Jessie a sadistic memo. And it read You are mine.

  Knuckling her hands into fists, Jessie forced her eyes upwards. She stared hard at Josh, her angry eyes frozen into icicle shards. He paused from giving his statement, chilling when his eyes met hers. He felt the world give way beneath his feet; for balance, he reached out a hand and grabbed the side mirror by the driver’s door. Jessie stared at him, unblinking, curling and uncurling her fists, feet a shoulder’s width apart, her heart racing and blood pressure pounding in her ears.

  She could hear the sound of that knife even now, as it destroyed the first boy she’d ever loved. Thwunk, thwunk, thwunk, thwunk, thwunk, thwunk. Six times Deuce drove the wretched blade into gentle hazel-eyed Sandy’s chest and belly as she watched, bound and helpless, less than six feet away. Deuce untied her just in time for Sandy to die in her arms as Deuce stood over them laughing, before pointing her, crawling, sick, towards the door of his grand downtown Charleston home. He sent her away with the same message then, too. You are mine. And he told her that he would always know where she was, and with whom, and that he would find her again someday. That s
he must never try to prosecute him and, anyways, no one would believe her if she did, because he was a respected businessman in the city, the state, in more than one state, in fact.

  Jessie had been numb for so long that becoming famous hardly registered in her mind. She would not have cared if Deuce had found her and killed her. All those years with Charlie, she would have gladly accepted and welcomed death. But now, with Josh and her friends on Drifters, everything had changed. She cared about herself again. She loved people who loved her back. And Deuce had figured that out. That’s why he was here, destroying her life again. Because he knew that she had come back to life, finally, and he couldn’t have her back in the land of the living because then he would not be the master who would own her. And he would not destroy her by killing her because then he wouldn’t have what he desired most - Jessie herself. Instead, he would hurt the person she loved most in the world - Josh. He would kill him the same way he killed Sandy.

  Later, Josh, backed up by Stephen, would confirm that on that dark sunny morning he was witness to the final light going out in Jessie’s eyes. He watched as, like some robot whose power source had suddenly been extinguished, Jessie’s shoulders slumped and her fists uncurled and the soul-light in her eyes flickered and then - suddenly, hopelessly - was gone.