by Vremont, Ann
Danny didn't say anything, just took them from Chris and handed them back to me.
"Oh, Rapunzel..." Chris cast a mournful look at the hair cascading over my shoulder.
It earned him a low growl from Danny. "It'll grow back - probably." Catching my gaze in the rear view mirror, Danny spoke to me. "You, lie down on the seat. You can look at the ceiling or the floor, that's it. I don't know how de la Royo finds you, but I don't plan on drawing a map for him."
I obeyed - almost. I kept my eyes on Chris instead, who was still staring at my soon to be much shorter hair.
I let my gaze drift at last to the ceiling. "Do you think the cops are looking for us, too?"
Danny answered with a firm, "Yes."
"Oscar would have disabled the video this time. Leaving the exit door alarm engaged was an accident. So how do they know who was there?"
"The blood," Danny answered. "Any Phoenix cop that's worked homicide or been within a hundred feet of a murder scene has a DNA profile in the system. From me, they have you, and from you -- Chris. So, yeah, the cops are looking for us and so is..." He hesitated, his voice dropping to an almost superstitious pitch. "...de la Royo."
"Why no news reports?" Chris asked. "Or does Robles just not watch TV?"
"For all the department knows, I'm still undercover. They're not going to release the story - not yet. They won't even do an APB or bolo until they get desperate."
Chris started to say something more but Danny raised his hand. For now, there would be no more questions, just orders and grim silence.
***
Looking up at the ceiling gave me too much information. I knew we were heading south. I knew the utility poles and occasional palm tree were spaced out at greater intervals. We were out of Phoenix, probably almost out of Ahwatukee. I rolled onto my stomach and stared at the back of the front seat for the next forty minutes.
The car slowed, turned and came to a stop. Danny got out, telling me to stay down, and then he opened the door by my head. "Look at me, Lee. Just me."
I pushed up onto my elbows and looked at him.
"You have any idea where we are at?"
About ten minutes before, we'd gotten off what I assumed was I-10 by its direction and the steady wind bump of passing semis. Above us, I could hear a plane, relatively big and low altitude, telling me we weren't far off from an airport. "North side of Casa Grande," I offered.
He blinked, his mask slipping a little, but he didn't confirm my guess.
"I feel every little difference." I shrugged, trying to explain it better. "The way the road curves, its surface, which side of the car is hotter because the sun is shining direct on that side."
Brushing my explanation aside, he picked the scissors up from the floor and handed them to Chris. "I'm going to get some supplies. Don't leave any of her hair in the restroom."
Chris responded with a reluctant bob of his head. Danny stood up and motioned me out of the car. We were parked about two feet from the outside bathroom door of a gas station/party store. It wasn't a national or local chain. The paint on the walls and door were peeling and the lock was busted.
I waited by the door, watching Chris get out and circle the station wagon. He went into the restroom first, and I followed him in. He stopped and turned to me.
"You're limping." I bent and ran my hand around his knee. It was swollen. "I don't understand, when did you sprain it?"
He didn't answer, but I saw the same shadow of vulnerability he'd shown at the dance. "Hey," I tried. "You know my big secret now-"
He shook his head. "It's nothing. Quit stalling, Rapunzel, so we can get this over with."
I faced the mirror, and watched his reflection. Mindful of Danny's warning, he put some wet paper towels in the sink and tied the first thick strand of my hair in a loose knot. He caught my gaze on him in the mirror and offered me an apologetic frown before the first snip. For the first few minutes, the only sounds came from the scissors and the rustle of clothes.
He tugged at me, tying the knots and it reminded me of last night - before I'd officially dragged him into hell. He had tugged my hair in the parking lot, controlling me. The tugs had been followed by licks and small bites.
Behind me, I could hear his breathing deepen. He shifted closer to me, until the little tug was enough to make me innocently brush against him. He was almost done, just one band of hair, narrower than the rest, remained. He tied it off, cut it and slid the scissors into his back pocket.
But the hair didn't land in the sink with the rest of the cuttings. I turned, still wedged between his body and the sink, to find him looping the strand and then easing it into his front pocket. Reaching up, I took his face in my hands and stared at him for a second.
"Don't you hate me?"
A rueful laugh followed by a moment's silence before he shook his head. "Last night, at the ball, I didn't know how I was going to live without you." He put his hands on my hips and leaned against me. He rubbed his cheek against mine and then kissed near my ear. "That hasn't changed, Lee."
From outside, I heard the station wagon's door shut. "Danny's done."
"Yeah." A slow nod and then he kissed me again, this time on the mouth with a slow, lingering sweetness. "I'm not afraid of you, Lee. And I don't care if there are a dozen de la Royo's. I'm not going to stand aside and let anyone else hurt you."
I blinked, crying my first blood tears in front of him - in front of any human. He thumbed it away, kissing me one last time as he did so. When he broke from me, he gathered up the wet paper towels that held my hair.
"You, uh, need to..." Blushing, he glanced at the toilet.
"I'm fine."
Nodding, he handed me my hair and opened the door for me. Danny was in the front passenger seat. I climbed into the back. He glanced back, nodded once at the job Chris had done and then went back to drawing on the map he was holding.
When Chris came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, they went over the route Danny wanted him to drive. It was quick, no words spoken for me to overhear.
And then Danny got out of the car and slid into the back seat with me. He had a blue bandana in his hand and he motioned for me to lie down with my head in his lap. Casting one last look at Chris, who had gone from reasonably relaxed to tight faced, I obeyed.
He tied the bandana around my eyes as Chris started the car and we pulled back onto the road.
Danny's hand rested on my collar bone. "Tell me how he knows where to find you."
"I don't know that he does," I started. "He gets in my head, senses what I'm feeling. But he pulled me to the church both nights. He didn't find me, he brought me to him."
"He talked like he knew all your secrets -- at least the ones from before."
Blind, straining to hear all the nuances of his voice, I nodded. "It's in the blood, what he took from Army had the memories Army had taken from me."
He had been stroking my collar bone as I answered and he stopped. He was thinking about the memories, about his blood in me. About what I knew about him.
"Did he drink your blood?" I asked.
Danny shook his head. "He made it clear I was beneath him." He paused, thinking it through. "Has he had your blood since what he took from Army?"
"He bit me in the church." I wrapped my hand around his.
"So he knows what you know...what Lazaro knows-"
I shook my head. "Maybe not. It's like Lazaro isn't you...I can't find those memories in your blood. Even now. But Oscar is...experienced."
Danny extracted his hand from mine. He tapped the top of the front seat. "Pay attention to the route, Chris."
"Which way are we driving, Lee?" he asked.
It took me half a second to get my bearings. "West."
"I'm sorry."
It took me another half second to realize Danny hadn't spoken the words to me but to Chris. The station wagon was old, with a deep back seat, and I felt Danny maneuvering until I was full on the seat and he was on his side, half leaning on me. Feeling his hand cov
er my breast, I gasped.
I started to ask him what the hell he was doing, but he covered my mouth with his as he began to gently knead my breast. I shook my head, squirmed against the touch I'd been aching to feel for so many weeks. His hand went under my t-shirt, finding and unhooking the front clasp of my bra. I could feel the heat of his hand, was certain it would leave his palm print on my skin long after he withdrew.
Kissing his way down to my ear, he asked me again. "Which way are we driving?"
Had we changed directions? I tried to concentrate but he sucked my lobe into his mouth at the same time his hand drew my nipple taut, stretching and kneading the flesh. I could hear the hot rush of his breath, feel it against my neck. And then his hand was moving down, over my stomach to the top button of the jeans I wore.
I shook my head, fought weakly to stop his hand. In the front seat, I could hear Chris breathing. It was like a bull, tethered and caged.
"Stop." Far from a command, the word came out half-whisper, half moan. "Don't do this...to him. Please."
"What direction are we headed, Lee?"
I couldn't answer him.
"We can stop," he whispered and slid the zipper down on my jeans. "Change places. It'll drive me crazy, knowing...but how else do we get our location out of your head, Lee?"
I squirmed, feeling the first stroke of his finger against my clit.
"You want Chris back here?" He stroked me again, asking "Here?" with a hot whisper that had me arching against his hand.
"I don't want this at all."
"You'd tell him to stop, too?"
"Yes!"
"And would he, Lee?"
He slid a finger into me and I cried my "Yes" again.
"Then it's me, baby."
The car accelerated -- not so fast that we'd get pulled over, but fast enough for me to sense the tension and anger in the front seat. I clutched at Danny's shirt.
"Don't," I pleaded.
Danny was deaf, merciless. He kissed me. My blood fangs were out, showing my frustration, and he slid his tongue across them as he pushed a second finger into me. I pushed my thumb against his shoulder, right where Oscar had stabbed him. He answered with a sharp bite to his lip that dripped his blood into my mouth.
Tasting him, I gasped again. His pain, his lust - both flooded my mouth one small drop at a time. I came, shaking and crying, but the name falling from my lips was "Chris."
And when Danny had wrung the last of my orgasm from me, he started all over again.
Chapter Nine
An eternity of tears and ecstasy passed, first over asphalt and then over loose gravel. The station wagon stopped, the driver side door slammed shut and Chris walked away at a fast clip.
Danny pushed at my chest as I tried to rise. "Stay. He's on the porch. Let him cool down."
He removed the bandana from my eyes, the fabric spotted a deep purple from my tears.
I wanted to punch him. Instead I curled my hands against my breasts. "You didn't...shouldn't have..."
He blinked away my protest. "Whatever keeps us alive. Whatever keeps you alive."
"I could leave-"
"Not happening." He closed his eyes for a second and let his forehead rest against my shoulder. His weight sagged against me. He was exhausted, breathing hard. Harder still I could feel the press of his erection against my hip. He'd driven me to climax ... I stopped to count - five times. Each more expertly coaxed from my body than the one before it.
Just his hands and his mouth and the slow flowing ribbon of blood from his cut lip.
Thinking about Chris listening to each moan, I tried to sit up again but Danny pushed me back down.
"You'll wait here, eyes closed, until I take you into the house."
Glaring at him, I shook my head.
"You're so worried about Chris, yet you're willing to lead Oscar straight to him?"
I slugged him, but there was no strength in the punch.
He sat up and exited the wagon. He opened the rear door and I heard the rustle of bags as he pulled the supplies out. From there, I heard him cross to the building, onto the porch where tense whispers were exchanged. Something was dragged across the porch and then the front door opened.
Minutes passed as they were inside the building together and then Danny came back out, making me cover my eyes with my hands as he led me inside.
It was a cabin. The main room was a combination kitchen and living area. A door led into a bedroom, to which Chris had retreated, his back to me. The curtains on the windows were all drawn - leaving me no way of knowing which set of mountains they looked out on.
I turned back to the bedroom. Danny's hand fell gently on my shoulder. "Sit."
When I shot him a hard look, he turned me towards a framed mirror that hung on the wall. My jeans were still unzipped, the fabric marked by dampness at the juncture of my thighs. I'd tucked only half my t-shirt back in. The bra, I realized, was still on the station wagon's floor. When he told me to sit again, I sank onto the couch and buried my face against a throw pillow.
Danny left us both to tend our wounds while he went over to the refrigerator. He turned the settings to a lower temperature and started unpacking the bags he'd brought in. Milk, bread, mayonnaise, tuna, not a lot of variety but enough to keep them going for a few days. I watched Danny make a sandwich and take it and a glass of milk into where Chris still sat in the bedroom.
Passing back in front of the couch, he stopped for a second. "So you don't eat...food?"
"Not without throwing it up."
He grunted, as if I'd just answered his next question, and then he made himself a sandwich and ate it standing over the sink. When he was done, he sat in a recliner next to the couch. After a few minutes, he placed something in my hands.
Numb, I glanced at the box. It was the hair dye meant for Chris. "Not tonight."
Not looking at me, Danny got up and turned the television on, the volume too loud for the little room. Still not looking at me, he sat back down in the chair.
"Just take it to him, Lee."
I gripped the box, the packaging crumpling around the bottles inside, and stood up. I wanted to throw it at Danny, not go into the bedroom and take one more thing away from Chris.
Pivoting on my heel, I turned toward the bedroom.
"Lee..."
I didn't look back at Danny. I knew he would still be staring at the television. I said nothing, just waited for him to finish his sentence - whatever it would be.
"...shut the door on your way in."
***
I stood in the bedroom, my back against the closed door. Chris was on his side, facing the wall. The only light in the room came from the bathroom, its door cracked open a few inches. A torn shade and shattered ceramics from a broken lamp littered the floor. He must have broken it while I was still in the car.
I knelt beside the bed and picked up the broken pieces. There was no waste basket in the room, so I opened the drawer on the night stand and put them inside. When I was done, and Chris still hadn't moved, I went into the bathroom. Sitting on the side of the tub, I slowly opened the package of hair coloring and read the directions.
I heard his weight shift on the mattress but didn't look up to see if he was facing me. Earlier in the day, he had said he couldn't imagine living without me. I found it hard to imagine he still felt that way.
Piercing the tube for the colorant, I heard his weight shift again and then the tentative brush of his shoes against the wood floor. I mixed the color and developer together as his lower body slowly came into view.
His limp had worsened.
I didn't ask him about it, just slid the plastic gloves that came with the dye onto my hands and stood up. "You should take your shirt off."
Mute, he peeled the shirt away and then sat down on the toilet seat. While he waited, I went into the bedroom, grabbing the wind-up clock that had wound down a long time ago. I turned its crank a couple dozen times and placed it alongside the sink's basin.
I started to work the dye cream into his hair.
"How long?"
"Ten minutes, once it's all in." I thought he would say something more after that, if only to tell me he hated me. But he stayed silent the whole time the dye was in his hair.
"Lean over the tub," I said when the ten minutes were up. I turned the water on, reworking the dye and then rinsing it from his hair. The bathroom was small, our movements awkward and cramped. By the time the water from his hair ran clear, I was almost as wet as Chris.
"There, sit up."
He twisted until he was sitting on the side of the tub next to me.
Snagging the only towel from its rack, I tried to hand it to Chris. "You can dry it now."
He didn't move, just let the towel sit in his lap.
I snatched the towel back and braced myself against the anger and accusations I expected him to hurl at me. Words I hadn't had to listen to for months started running through my mind. Bitch, cunt, whore, slut. I hadn't deserved them before. Now? Probably.
When he didn't say anything, I lifted the towel to his wet hair and started to gently rub. The darker hair looked odd - not bad, just not Chris.
"Your shirt's wet."
"How long" and "your shirt's wet." Those definitely weren't the recriminations I'd been expecting. I looked at his face, followed his gaze and then twisted uncomfortably away when I saw what he'd been looking at.
The water had made the pale yellow top transparent, clinging to my breasts and showing him the shape and color of my nipples.
Chris put a hand on my shoulder before I could stand up.
"You said my name, Lee. When Danny..." He couldn't finish, couldn't say what Danny had been doing to me. "Why?"
"I didn't want to hurt you." I'd been crying and coming, conflicted with the taste of Danny's love on my tongue and his masterful touch between my legs while knowing Chris was hearing every little sob and moan.
"This is so fucked up," he whispered in my ear.
I nodded, trying not to cry. I had no right to. He'd been the one hurt by it, just as Danny was likely hurting now.
"I still love you." His hand was at my waist and he started to pull my shirt up.
I let him remove the top, my guilt turning to something else at the sound of his soft little groan. He palmed my breast as his mouth found the curve of my neck and softly kissed me.
