Force

by A.R. Rivera

My Dearest Abigail

  Can someone please explain to me what the hell just happened?

  It seems I’m asking myself this question too often these days and it’s not getting any easier to answer.

  At first, I wanted to believe that I wasn’t in my home world. Even when Eli said ‘macaroni,’ the safety-word that was supposed to identify him as the one among a potential many, I’d already heard it from another version of him and the phrase was instantly devalued.

  It was Abi that convinced me I was in the right place. The truth was in her small smiles and the way she wore her hair but mostly embedded in the way she seemed to loathe me.

  Now, standing inside this grimy gas station bathroom trying to scrub the blood from my clothes, I want to think that what’s happened to Eli wasn’t my fault. But that isn’t true either. He was in this mess because I asked him to help and now he’s dead because he said ‘yes.’

  I don’t know when or where I changed. I just did. Maybe my mind is on overload. I’ve seen too much. Done too much. How is a person supposed to cope, to go through life day to day, breathing, being, and knowing how they’ve damaged so many people? Innumerable people.

  Take Abi for instance. I traveled for sixty-seven days. We were together for over five hundred. And in that time we probably had about two-hundred fights. Most of them were my fault, admittedly, but still. All it took for her to go off with someone else was sixty-seven days.

  Sixty-seven days pass. I come back and she’s with someone else for nearly three years? Married? But not married to just anyone, no, because that would be too simple. No, my Abi is with the one person I counted as friend.

  But in the end, he wasn’t even that, was he? He was just another person looking out for number one and he was afraid to die. In my mind, I see the panic in Eli’s last gaze and a shiver runs through me.

  And back to Abi. What am I going to do about Abi?

  I can’t get her out of my system any more than I can wash the blood from my jeans.

  I understand that for her, our time apart was much longer. I imagine her sixty-seven days—or three years—ago, sitting there in her duplex apartment, watching it be picked apart by those vultures from DHS after I left her on the side of the road.

  She waited.

  And I never called.

  One year later, a geeky, little nerdy Physicist came to her door with a letter. My heart in a letter, my final goodbye. It’s not like I expected her to spend her life pining but, I never expected she’d move on with the guy who brought her the letter.

  So, I was gone for nearly four years and she was lonely. Still, doesn’t explain Eli.

  And now he’s gone. They’re both gone.

  I’m not sure when I accepted them as a couple, but somewhere between kissing her again and finding Eli dying on the floor of his garage, I must have. Because all I can think about right now is making sure that Abi is safe.

  When I leave the gas station bathroom dressed in the only set of clothes I have because the others were inside the dryer, I have to hold my bag in front of me to keep most of the blood from being seen by the other pedestrians.

  I’m six blocks or so away, on the other side of the freeway and can still hear sirens. It makes me want to open a wormhole, but I don’t want to do that if I can avoid it. I don’t want to leave her alone again. I just have to figure out how to face her, and not just in the metaphorical, better-sack-up sense, but in the most realistic way.

  I know exactly where Abi would go when she’s out of options. She’d go home, to her mother’s house. But before I head over, there are a few problems to consider. First, I can’t risk leading Daemon to her. Second, I am supposed to be dead. And third, Abi’s mother always hated me. So I can only approach her if she’s alone. There will be plenty of time for planning during the long walk to her mother’s house.

  It’s been seven days, here in my home world. It’s been longer for me because I went to World Two.

  I found Abi at her mom’s place, but couldn’t get anywhere near her. There were always at least three people in the house, and as far as I could tell, she was never alone for any length of time.

  After watching for several hours, one of the paid security guards on her parent’s property spotted me and I had to run.

  I kept going until well after nightfall until I found myself outside LA. Then, without even a second thought, I knew what I had to do and where I wanted to go.

  My feet were covered in blisters, but I walked a little further and found an isolated place to cross. A rest area near I-5. When I arrived on the other side, I found the nearest pawn shop and sold one of the gold bracelets I got off the dead Native.

  It got me enough cash to stay for eleven days at the Holiday Inn. I booked a room by the pool, where the crowded spring breakers kept the parties going most of the night. There was enough noise so I didn’t have to think.

  I had to get some distance from what happened. I had to.

  But I couldn’t stay away, not when there’s so much left to say. So this morning, when I got up, I picked apart a blueberry muffin with my coffee and decided today was the day. I walked over to the World Two police station and used the Threestone to suck up all the energy on the grid to open a gateway.

  I’ve come back to see her, to find out how she’s doing.

  From outside, the giant white and brick three-story, colonial looks empty. California Palms line the horse shoe driveway set between sections of neatly trimmed grass and squared hedges.

  In all the time I’ve known Abi, I’ve only been inside her parents’ house twice. Only once was I permitted upstairs.

  It’s a huge risk. But I need to see her, so I have to do this.

  The window I plan on climbing through is the second from the left on the second floor. This point of entry should get me closest to, if not inside, her childhood bedroom. Trouble is I can’t remember exactly which window it is.

  I know Abi’s still here. Not only because this secluded compound is where Eli sent her, but because this place has always been her retreat—the place she goes to relax and recharge. It’s the place she used to come to whenever we had a big fight. Each time we broke up, I’d come here to find her and apologize.

  I’m sure what happened has broken her. And if she wanted me to track her down, she’d be here.

  It’s been tough, thinking about Eli.

  Elijah Thacker. The guy who used to tell me silly things like, ‘in all your getting, get understanding.’ The guy who couldn’t remember if he locked the car when he left the driveway could reach into the furthest cosmos and pluck knowledge like low hanging fruit. I barely reconnected with him. Nothing went the way it was supposed to, and now... he’s gone. He lied to me. Betrayed my father's legacy, and horned in on my relationship with the one girl that mattered and then he died.

  It’s all wrong. Everything has gone wrong. I don’t pretend to possess a mental capacity anywhere near Eli’s, but it seems to me that the Universe owes me something.

  The vast, powerful heavens, with all the checks and balances—the unyielding sun that gives us daylight and the moon with its’ reflections each night. The planets largest bodies of water, the very ones that make life on earth possible are kept in check by that same moon.

  Spring, Summer, Winter, and Fall—each taking place in their appointed time in an endless, repeating cycle.

  Now, everyone I care about is either gone or dead.

  Yeah, Universe owes me big time. I’m hoping it will repay me with the grace to get Abi back.

  After watching the house for nearly an hour, trying to determine how many people are in and around the two-acre compound, I strike gold.

  An older woman in a wide brimmed hat emerges from the front door, and is escorted to the carport where she’s chauffeured away in a stretched, pearl white Benz. The Winston’s are as Old Money as it gets in LA. It’s Spelling money with Marshall respect, courtesy Big Tobacco, though not one of them smokes.

&nbs
p; Abi’s mother has just left the building.

  I wait another ten minutes in case they’ve forgotten something or are just making a quick trip. When the road leading up the house stays quiet, I sneak through the hedges that line the road leading to the driveway.

  Most homes in this area have security gates out front. This one does, too, but... apparently, they never change the passcode, because when I punch it into digital panel, no alarms blare and the gate swings open.

  Moving as fast as I can, I creep across the open lawn to a side door near the carports and spot a mounted security camera pointing its eye at the entry.

  “Shit,” I mumble, making my way to the back area where I plan to climb up to the second story. But that plan goes to shit when I see that they’ve remodeled—actually, removed the posts and balcony that used to wrap around the second floor.

  Every point of entry is either locked or has an obvious camera.

  I’ve got to go through the front if I’m to see her and considering I’ve been openly creeping around out here and have yet to be arrested, I take that as a sign that it’s safe to knock.

  The doorbell chimes in a short melody. It’s one of the odd things about this house. Abi’s mother thinks having an old-fashioned doorbell gives the place character. A small distinction known only to those allowed on the threshold of the prestigious Winston family.

  A very old woman with white hair and olive skin answers the door. She’s wearing a pastel track suit and a belt with a half dozen pouches—a cell phone, pepper spray, and several round housings for retractable leashes in assorted colors peek out from the tops. One hand holds the backside of the door and the other hangs onto a small, long-haired pooch.

  Her eyes bulge and I take a step back, having no idea what to say.

  “Mrs. Thacker has been expecting you.”

  The sound of Abi’s married name pushes me another step back.

  The over-sized door swings wide. The little dog in her arms shifts and growls. The woman shushes him with a short hiss and sets him on the floor. He scampers off in one direction as I’m led through the foyer, into the parlor, and told to wait.

  The furnishings are deep red and gold, accented with dark, polished wood. Tiffany lamps on ornate tables surround a plush sofa. I find my seat, an out of place chesterfield lining the opposite wall. It offers the best view of the door. Swatches and fabric samples cover the center table.

  All these months, I’ve missed her. I’d planned a whole speech, but giving any part of it here would be wrong. Still, right now, I can’t think of anything else but those carefully mapped words.

  I feel a tightening in my chest and shove my fists into my eyes. It’s like a recurring nightmare. If only the shock could wake me.

  “I broke up with you the day before you went missing.”

  Uncovering my eyes, I find Abi standing between me and the swatch covered coffee table. So close and, by the set of her mouth, I can tell she remains utterly inaccessible.

  “I remember.” The sparkle in her eyes is gone. Completely. Looking into her dull blue orbs, it’s like looking into deep space. There’s beauty, but none of it is for me.

  She crosses her arms. “Best thing I ever did.”

  “Probably,” I don’t want to see her contempt. Feeling it is enough. “But you did take me back.”

  “I felt sorry for you. There’s a difference.” She says, stepping back to sit on one of the chairs.

  I want to disagree because that’s just not true. Then, considering everything she’s going through, I’ll give her that one.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” She mumbles. “I wasn’t supposed to end up alone.”

  “You aren’t alone.”

  She doesn’t respond but keeps going. “We had plans. We were going buy a bigger place. We put it off, though. That was a mistake.”

  I draw a deep breath and lock my eyes on her, sitting there in her skinny jeans and loose t-shirt. Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, her mouth drawn down into a frown.

  “Ab, I-”

  She bolts up from the chair to thrust a finger in my face. “Don’t you dare apologize!” One angry swipe across my cheek solidifies her sentiment. As if there could be any doubt. “I’m a widow because of you! There aren’t enough sorry’s in the world to make up for what you took!”

  The fact that she’s justified and completely right about all of this escapes me. The best I can do is fall into old habits.

  “I tried Abi. It was too late when I found him. I didn’t see anybody in the area and I came here as soon as I could. I wanted to protect you from all of this.”

  “You should have stayed gone. You never should have come back!”

  The sound of paper crinkling draws my eyes from my feet.

  Abi’s got a folded paper in her hand. An envelope that she rips in half and in half again. And again.

  I recognize the scrawl on the outside. “Is that my letter for you?” It sure as hell looks like the goodbye letter I left; the one Eli delivered—the paper traitor that sparked the beginning of their relationship.

  “I want you to know that I never read it.” When I look from the bits of paper on the floor to her, her smooth features are twisted in rage. “I bet you want to know why.”

  “I poured my heart into that letter. You really never read it?” She can’t have kept it all this time and not opened it.

  “You know, G, you’re really good at starting things,” Abi says and offers a cruel smile. “It’s finishing that you’ve always had trouble with. Or so I thought.” She wipes her eyes, strolling casually around the room, stepping on the bits of fallen paper. “Do you happen to remember the opening line of your letter?”

  “I, uh…something like, ‘if you’re reading this—”

  “No, no,” She wags a finger at me. “That was the second line. I want the very first one.” She starts circling me again and I cannot understand what’s happening.

  I must look as confused as I feel because she goes on. “It was, ‘My dearest Abigail.”

  She stops and stares at me and I swear I feel her frigid gaze slicing into my flesh. “Do you remember when you first asked me out?”

  “At work.”

  She nods. “What line did you use on me?”

  I don’t get where this is going, but there’s no way she can fault me for my creative pick-up line. “I said that I really liked your ass.” I want to smile at the memory of her standing in her work uniform beside the crane machine that was filled with stuffed characters from one of those Shrek movies. Abi was holding the talking donkey she’d just won.

  “And then you asked me out.” She adds.

  “You said ‘yes.’ I must’ve done something right.”

  “We talked all through our first date. Do you remember?”

  “Of course,” I say. “I took you to Knott’s Berry Farm.”

  “What was I wearing?”

  “Blue jeans, yellow Chuck Taylors, and a green Sound Garden t-shirt.”

  Her chin trembles. “When is my birthday?”

  “May 20th.”

  “Where was I born?”

  I have to think about it. Did we ever talk about that?

  “Abi, what are you trying to prove with all of this?”

  “The first night we talked, after you asked me out, I made fun of your name. Remember?”

  I try and recall. Some vague memory of her mock-asking if my life was anything like the Jerry Springer talk show pops up. “Sort of.”

  “Well, I felt bad after. I could tell that I hit a nerve, so I told you how I had no right to tease because I was named for the city I was born in.”

  She’s been standing in front of through these last few rounds of questions. Now, she begins to circle again. “Which brings us back to your shitty letter.”

  Okay, now I’m pissed. “Do you know how long that took to write? How scared I was that you’d actually have to read it?”

  She’s behind me
. “Maybe you should have addressed it to the right person.”

  I whip around to face her.

  She crosses her arms. “That first night when I explained about my name, you were too busy staring at my boobs to remember that I preferred Abi over my full name, Abilene. As in, a city in Texas. Not Abigail.”

  Not Abigail? My first immediate reaction is to question the universe I’m in. But then I have no doubt that I’m in the right place this time. I asked to come here. And then my mind races over those far away memories of our early days while she makes silent circles around the parlor room, letting me absorb this massive oversight—another major error that I was never aware I made.

  In typical Abi fashion, when I mention that she could have corrected me at any point, she gets more angry.

  “You told me one time while I was distracted and never brought it up again. All your mail was addressed to Abi. A-B-I. How was I supposed to know? Should I have gone through your wallet?”

  The last trip around, she stops in front of me, stares directly into my face, dead eyes glossy. “I wish I never met you.”

  She aims to hurt me and hits the bulls-eye. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Breaking up with you was the smartest move I ever made.”

  “What else is new?” I challenge, pounding my chest, inviting the next round.

  She shoots again, with bigger ammunition aiming right for my heart. “I hate you.”

  I stagger back, stunned to see how much she means it. “Abi…”

  “Say that name one more time, and I’ll call Homeland Security myself.”

  When is it going to stop hurting? Not today obviously because Abi wants to make this occasion as painful for me as it is for her. It’s God-awful knowing I’ve pushed her so far. Still, there’s this part of me that can’t believe she’d be so harsh.

  I step in, reacting to the pain. “Call yourself? What, is the maid off duty?”

  She swoops in, taking another swing at me. I aim to block her, but don’t move in time. Her fist collides with my ear. I go low, take her by the elbow and twist her around. She tries to get away, but I wrap both my arms around her, hugging her arms to her sides and her back to my chest. I’ve got her upper body locked in a vise.

  “Calm down.”

  She stomps my foot in response. “Shut up.”

  I groan and Abi shifts forward. I can tell she’s trying to kick me in the balls.

  “Don’t,” I warn.

  “I’m not listening to you anymore!” She screams, tossing her head back to butt me across the nose. The first and last thing I notice is her hair radiates the strong scent of apples. After she makes a landing, I can’t smell a thing.

  Gripping her tighter, ignoring the pain of what feels like two broken toes and a gushing nose, I force myself to focus solely on her. Her frame is rigid. I move closer, keep my knees together, and tilt my head away from hers, trying to cover all the bases, though my nose is dripping. With my mouth dangerously close to her ear, I confess.

  “I came to apologize and give my condolences, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

  She bends away, arching her shoulders. Through her pain, I can just make out her sentiment. “I... hate you.”

  “I know.”

  She bursts into tears, sagging into me.

  “No matter how much you may hate me, you should know that I was with him, and his thoughts were with you.”

  She wails and it breaks me, but I think she deserves to know. “You were the best thing that ever happened to m— to Eli. He wanted you to know that he loves you.”

  Incredibly, the volume of her sorrow increases.

  My throat strangles shut. After two deep breaths, it’s working well enough to offer the selfish truth. “You’re the only girl I ever loved and... Eli was my only friend.”

  She wails, jerking her arms to loosen my grasp. I let her go. Abi tosses herself onto the nearest surface—the coffee table. She looks so small, so helpless.

  I stand and wait. For what, I don’t know.

  Her face is buried in her hands until she peeks through her fingers and sees me. In a single moment, she evolves from awash-with-tears to raging-hell-fire. She’s back on her feet, cursing like I’ve never heard before, throwing her hands up into the air. She wheels around and kicks the coffee table over, then lambastes me with a shot to my shoulder and another to my face. I keep standing there, letting her scream at me. She needs this, and God knows I deserve it.

  But when she goes to smack me a third time I grab her wrist.

  She keeps repeating herself. “I hate you, G.” “Everything is your fault!” “Leave me alone.” “You ruined my life!”

  “My baby will grow up without a Daddy.”

  It’s the last one that really does me in because I remember feeling the small swell of her stomach when we kissed.

  Then, everything happened so fast, the moment was forgotten.

  Now I know... this really is over.

  Not just because she hates me, but also because I think a part of Abi has always hated me, and part of me was always drawn by that. Even though that more about my fucked-up head than it does her, I have to be honest. The exclamation point marking the end of our relationship is placed right after that fact that Abi is having Eli’s baby.

  Abi is folded over, holding herself and bawling. I’ve never seen her in so much pain.

  She loved Eli enough to have his baby—something I can’t say she ever would have done for me.

  As I turn to respect her wishes and leave, she says my name and I freeze.