by Cimms, Karen
* * *
Monday morning, Kate parked her Saab on the street in front of the resource center. She was reaching into the back seat to pull out the bag with the two quilts she had completed over the weekend when she heard someone calling to her.
“Hey! You!” The young woman, Sonja, waved, then darted across the street. She was wearing sunglasses, but the remnants of a dark purple bruise below her eye were still visible. A bandage clung to her earlobe.
“How are you? Is everything all right? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanna thank you. I’m sorry I run off like that. I was scared, ya know. My husband gets pretty wired sometimes, and he was havin’ a bad day.”
Lots of people have bad days, Kate wanted to say, but that didn’t give them the right to use their partner as a punching bag. “Where’s your little boy?”
“With his dad. I told him I had to go to the store. I been looking for you, but you ain’t been around.”
“I don’t work every day, and I took a day off.”
“Must be nice, a day off.” She smiled, and Kate saw that she was missing her left upper bicuspid. Her husband must be right-handed. The thought nauseated her.
“So you went back to him?” It wasn’t her place to ask, and she knew she sounded accusing, but that didn’t stop her from asking.
The girl’s smile fell. “Hey, look! I didn’t come for no lecture. I just wanted to say thanks. That’s all. Like I said, he was havin’ a bad day.”
She couldn’t stop pushing. “Do you need help? There are places where you can get help.”
“Jesus, what’s your problem?”
“Nothing.” That wasn’t exactly true, but still. “We can help you.”
The girl waved her hand dismissively, then took off across the street.
Kate had to wait for a car to pass but called after her. “You might not get away next time. And what about your little boy? Huh?”
As soon as she could cross, she did. She followed Sonja down an alley, her voice echoing between the two buildings. “My husband’s father nearly beat him to death when he wasn’t much older. He almost died, but he got away, and he grew up to be a very talented musician.”
The girl reached the end of the alley and hesitated, staring back at Kate.
“He even won a Grammy.” Kate stepped closer. “Don’t you want your little boy to grow up to be something special? Don’t you deserve better too?”
“You’re a crazy bitch,” Sonja shouted. She slipped behind a box truck. By the time Kate reached the truck, she caught a glimpse of her as she disappeared down another alley, her voice echoing in Kate’s head: You’re a crazy bitch.
“Yeah, well . . . Tell me something I don’t know.”
* * *
On Thursday, Kate arrived at the center early, sunburned from a day of doing nothing but floating in the pool with a pitcher of margaritas nearby. She had gotten so drunk from the combination of alcohol and sun that she’d flipped off her raft at one point.
“Whew!” Samatar laughed when she walked into the kitchen. “Look at you. I should melt some butter, Ms. Lobster.” His quick, rolling speech made his words hard to understand, but she got the gist of it.
“Funny.” Her bra strap dug into her tender shoulder as she raised her arm to put her purse in the cabinet above the counter. She grimaced.
He shook his head. “You want good color, you should be born Somali. Not try to cook yourself!”
Even frowning hurt. She had covered her face with aloe last night and again this morning, all the while hearing Joey’s voice lecturing her about wrinkles and UV rays.
“I fell asleep in the sun,” she said, hoping to end the conversation. She didn’t mention she had been drinking and floating in her in-ground pool at her oceanfront home.
He teased her a few more minutes before interrupting himself. “Almost forgot. Amy wants to see you.”
She tossed her apron on the counter and headed to the office. She was about to knock when Amy noticed her at the open door.
“Ouch! What happened to you?”
“This is what I get for taking it easy. I won’t do that again.”
“Seriously!” Amy rifled through some papers on her desk. “Here we go. Have a seat.”
Kate eased herself down, wincing from the shock of the cold plastic chair against the heat of her well-done legs.
“We had a visitor,” Amy said. “Do you remember the young woman who was here last week with the little boy? The one who was hiding from her husband?”
“Of course.”
“She showed up yesterday morning, looking for refuge. We got her squared away in protective housing through the Domestic Abuse Resource Centers. She and her little boy are safe, thanks to you.”
Kate studied Amy’s face, unbelieving. Safe? Because of her? “Really?”
“She said you talked her into coming back.” Amy folded her hands in front of her. “When did you see her?”
“The other day. I was getting out of my car, and she came from across the street. Said she wanted to thank me.” Since it wasn’t possible for her face to grow any redder, she plowed on. “I feel bad, but I kind of yelled at her. I asked where her son was, and when she said he was with his dad, I told her she might not be so lucky next time. I don’t remember everything I said, but she didn’t seem too receptive.”
“Well, something hit home,” Amy countered. “In fact, she wrote this out for you before they left. I hope you don’t mind. I told her your first name.” She handed Kate an envelope.
Dear Kate,
Thank you for caring about me and Tomas. I thought about what you said.
My boy likes music too.
Sonja
P.S. I’m sorry I called you a crazy bitch.
Kate swiped at her eyes and laughed.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
She grabbed a tissue from the box on Amy’s desk, grimacing when she tried to blow her sunburned nose. “I’m glad she listened. Where is she?”
“I don’t know. DARC has several private homes throughout southern Maine that are used as protective housing for abused women. They can live there for a while until they can get on their feet. They can go back to school or get some training so they can get a job. They have access to day care and counseling. It’s a wonderful system. Unfortunately, there isn’t always room. We were lucky to get them situated so quickly.”
Kate pushed herself from the chair. “You made my day, maybe even my year.”
“I’m glad. You better get back before Samatar gives me hell for keeping you too long. He’s really come to depend on you.”
Kate clamped down on her lip to try and keep from grinning like a fool. It was a good feeling.
“Oh, one more thing,” Amy called after her. “Sonja said you told her your husband was a famous musician.”
Nope, nope, nope. Damn it. “I’m sure I didn’t say famous.”
“She said he won a Grammy.”
Kate backed out the door. “That was a long time ago.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “I got to—you know.”
The mention of Billy, even if not by name, brought with it a glut of emotion. And even though it was unnerving to have Amy sniffing at the fringes of her personal life, her fear of discovery was overshadowed by the knowledge that she might actually have made a real difference in the life of a mother and her little boy.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Fog swirled around the field. The boulders had disappeared, and there was no place to hide. It didn’t matter; she was tired of hiding. The beast rumbled in the distance, and the ground vibrated. Cold rain hit her bare shoulders and trickled over the same strapless leather dress she had worn a year earlier on her birthday. On her feet were black stiletto boots.
Horses whickered. Two riders approached the clearing and dismounted. The first removed his helmet. A tangle of dark curls spilled forth.
“Joey!” She ran to him, arms outstretched, but he waved her off.
&nbs
p; “There’s no time.” He tugged off his armor and slipped the chain mail over her head. It dropped heavy and cold against her shoulders, and she staggered under its weight. He handed her the helmet as the other rider moved closer. Eileen! Kate hadn’t seen her friend since the night she died in a barrage of Sedge Stevens’s bullets.
Kate tried to hug her, but like Joey, Eileen hastened Kate to ready herself. She slipped her own breastplate over Kate’s chain mail and secured it in place, then handed her a great longsword. Kate could scarcely lift it, let alone swing it through the air.
“What are you doing?” She pulled away. “I can’t do this.”
Her panic began to subside when the third rider appeared from the mist.
“Look! He’s here.” She tried to hand the sword back to Eileen.
“You must,” Joey said.
“It’s time,” Eileen added.
“No, see. He’s coming.” Kate pointed toward the rider, who remained near the edge of the forest.
The beast roared from beyond the clearing. It was just a matter of time before he entered the circle.
Kate shook her head. “I can’t do this. Call him.” She pointed to the horseman. “He can’t just sit there. I need him.”
The ground shook so violently she nearly lost her footing. Familiar laughter sent shivers down her spine. She looked fearfully to the far end of the field and saw the tall, thin shadow, the one she thought was her mother.
Eileen mounted her horse. Joey remained close, but the third rider watched from the distance.
A frightening realization unfurled within her. “You’re dead. So is Eileen.” She pointed at the rider. “Is he dead? Is that why he’s here?”
Joey ignored her questions and handed her a dagger as long as her forearm. He fastened a sheath about her waist.
“Stop that.” She spun away from him and called out to the phantom rider.
“Aren’t you going to help me? I need you!”
“Stop it, Kate.” Joey grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “He can’t save you. You knew this going in. You have to save yourself.”
She pushed back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I knew no such thing!”
The laughter from across the circle grew louder. Crows cawed from the trees, alive with leaves of black.
“It’s a fine day for the crows,” a booming male voice called from across the way.
Her blood ran cold.
“This is it, Kate,” Joey said. “It’s you or them.”
He motioned with his head toward the other side of the circle. The monster was now visible, snarling and pacing, not far from its two followers.
“I c-can’t.” She was near collapse from terror. “I can hardly walk.” She gestured at her ridiculous boots.
“Use your wits. I have faith in you. We all do.”
Joey mounted his horse and rode to the edge of the circle. When he reached Eileen, they swung around to face her. The third rider hadn’t moved.
The ground shook. The monster had two horrid heads, both of them angled at her. It smelled of burned flesh and decay. Grasping the sword with both hands, she raised it onto her shoulder and took a step. Her heels sank into the ground, and she struggled to walk.
The beast charged, and as it closed in, she swung. She missed it and nearly pitched herself over with the heft of her sword. The monster lunged again, and she swung, catching its arm. The vibration of the blow ran up the shaft and into her arm, nearly causing her to drop the sword. The creature screamed, but across the clearing, she heard laughter. The cry of the crows grew louder.
She sidestepped, trying to remember how the warrior had fought the creature. She mimicked his moves, circling the beast. When it sprang forward, she shifted to the side and swung with all her might. The sword hit bone, digging in, and was wrenched free of her grip. The beast pulled it off with a horrid scream and flung it out of her reach. Then it dropped its two heads and rushed her.
Kate pulled the dagger from the sheath as it neared and jabbed it into a meaty shoulder. As the monster fell, it swiped her, lifting her off her feet and throwing her onto her back, knocking the wind out of her. She struggled to breathe as the creature circled her. It was bleeding, but it barely slowed in its pursuit.
Gasping for air, she rolled to her side, pulling her leg up and shielding her face as the monster descended. Pain shot through her leg and into her hip as it toppled onto her. It felt as if her leg had snapped from the weight of the beast, which was now crushing her into the rocky ground. Her knee was pressed against her shoulder, and the muscles in her thigh burned as if they’d been set on fire. Liquid, warm and sticky, seeped over her shoulder and down her arm. The stench was nauseating.
She pushed with all her might, but the monster wouldn’t budge. She shimmied to the side and pushed with her uninjured leg, managing to wiggle until she was almost free. She looked for help, but she was alone. The mist had lifted, and the rain had stopped. The sun shone down through the trees, once barren and bare but now in full leaf. She pulled and twisted her painful leg, gaining movement as her foot began to slip from the boot. She dragged herself along the ground, covered in blood and dirt. With no small effort, she pushed until finally her foot jerked free of the boot and the monster. She rested on her elbows, panting. She tugged off the other boot and stood.
Barefoot and bloodied, she staggered toward the longsword and picked it up. Then she hobbled back to the monster and poked it carefully, making certain it was dead.
She leaned closer. “I’ll be damned.”
Sticking out from the creature’s chest just about where its heart would be was the sharp, stiletto heel of her boot. It had snapped off in the monster’s chest, piercing its heart and killing it instantly.
Joey had said to use her wits, although it seemed more as if her instinct for survival had finally roared to life, or maybe just dumb luck. Regardless, the beast was dead. It hadn’t slunk off the field to fight again.
It was over.
She was alone. Joey, Eileen, and the mysterious warrior had vanished. The specters that accompanied the monster were also gone. In their place stood two stone pillars.
Kate limped from the clearing and set out in the direction from which Joey and Eileen had come. She kept moving until she heard the sound of rushing water and followed it into the woods until she came upon a stream. First, she drank. Then she pulled off the armor and waded in, splashing and scrubbing until she had removed all of the monster’s blood. When she finished, she fastened the dagger around her waist, lifted the great sword, and climbed the embankment. Her body ached and she still couldn’t feel her leg, but she was no longer afraid.
She’d nearly reached the path when she heard the stomp and whicker of horses. Moving as fast as her numbed leg would allow, she emerged from the forest to find Billy standing beside two horses. He looked as young and beautiful as the first time she laid eyes on him.
“I knew it was you.”
He held out the reins to the white horse. Unable to feel her leg to climb into the saddle, Billy lifted her easily and set her atop the horse.
“Why are you helping me now, but you wouldn’t help me before?”
He climbed onto his own horse before answering. “I’ll always be there if you want me, but only you can fight your demons. Otherwise, they’ll just keep coming back.”
He made a noise, and the horses began to move.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
* * *
Kate woke with a start. Electric pins and needles shot through her right leg. She couldn’t move, and for the briefest second, she couldn’t remember where she was or if there might actually be a monster on top of her. She pulled herself up, and her arm sliced the dark until her fingers found the lamp.
The monster turned out to be Charlie. Snoring away, he lay draped over her leg, which had fallen asleep. She wrenched herself free and tried to stand to get her circulation moving again. Then she limped into the k
itchen and poured herself a glass of water. She carried it out onto the deck and sat in the rocker.
A riot of stars pierced the moonless night sky. The ocean was black as well. High tide. She’d come to know its rhythm as well as she knew her own.
Home.
This was home. Yet there remained an ache inside her that no therapy or medication could mend. Knowing her family was well was no longer enough. But was she ready to face them?
“Jesus, Kate. You killed a goddamn monster. You should at least be able to figure out how to apologize to people who love you.”
She ducked inside and picked up her cell phone: two forty-five a.m. Without giving herself time to rationalize or debate, she punched in the numbers.
It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. And when a sleepy male voice answered, it took every ounce of strength she had not to hang up.
Chapter Thirty
It was already too late, but that didn’t stop Kate from doubting if she was ready to tackle her past. At her next session, Liz insisted she was.
“I don’t think you would have acted on that impulse if you weren’t truly ready.”
“Yeah, but what if I was just responding to the dream and thought I was strong enough?”
“A dream is just a little play your subconscious puts on in your head. It gives you the opportunity to role-play, if you will, and resolve issues in a way you can’t always resolve when you’re awake. From what you’ve told me about your son, he’s supportive and sensible. Do you really think you have anything to fear seeing him face to face?”
“Fear? No. I’m just afraid he might try to convince me to go home. I’m not ready. I don’t want to go back.”
“Those are two different things,” Liz said. “Not ready is one thing. Not wanting to is very different.”
Was that it? She didn’t want to go back? At this moment, no, she didn’t. She wasn’t the same person she was a year ago, not by a long shot, and she still had a lot of baggage to address.
“I’m not sure which,” she said finally. “Maybe a little of both.”
