by John Osborne
“Okay. I have another idea, if you have time in the morning. Chester’s mother, Janet, might be able to help us. We should visit her.”
“Do you think she would talk to us?”
“Any time I’ve spoken with her, she’s been kind. She’s the only person left who lived in the Big House besides Chester. The story around town is they haven’t spoken since Anthony died last year and Chester moved her out. She lives in the nursing home by the hospital.”
“What a happy family,” Noah said as he sipped his wine.
Another huge yawn overtook Willow.
“I’m going to leave,” Noah said. “You need to get some sleep.”
“No, please don’t go yet. I’ll be okay. I just need to rest a minute.” She sipped some wine and set her glass on the end table. She smiled at him and yawned again. Noah laid a sofa pillow in his lap and patted it. Willow drew her legs up onto the sofa and lay on her side facing him with her head on the pillow. Her wings drooped sideways to the floor, which looked very uncomfortable to Noah. He stretched forward, gently pulled them back up onto the sofa, and then laid a pillow on top to hold them there. Willow was fast asleep, her breathing already the slow measured pace of deep slumber.
Noah contemplated the beautiful little person before him. He brushed her hair back and examined the perfect ear and its golden dragonfly.
Seven short days since I found you. Found, not met.
Found you again.
He had known she would lay her head, unconcerned, in his lap and sleep, as sure as he knew the shape of his own hands. How he knew was a mystery. More baffling, he could not imagine being anywhere but here, now, with her.
What word fits her?
Fairy friend, yes, but more. Girlfriend? Trite, applied to the wonder of Willow Brown. Lover? Perhaps, one day.
I’ve got it: Mine.
Willow’s eyes began to dance. Noah leaned down, kissed her cheek, and whispered into her ear.
“Sweet dreams, little fairy.”
Noah woke about one o’clock, at almost the same moment Willow did. She lay with her eyes open, unmoving, as if trying to get her bearings. She rolled over half onto her back and looked at Noah, knocking the pillow off her wings. Her cheeks showed some color, though she still looked tired. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. Her wings moved up in concert with her arms and fluttered. She propped her head on an elbow and smiled.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Oh, about three hours.”
“You’re kidding! I guess I was tired. Did you sit here underneath me the whole time? You must be miserable.” She made a move to rise but Noah stopped her with a hand on her waist.
“I’m fine,” Noah said. “I slept off and on, too, and when I wasn’t asleep, I enjoyed watching you.”
And looking at you.
They stayed still for another minute before Willow spoke.
“This is enjoyable, but I have an ache in my back that needs some serious stretching.” She sat up and swung her feet to the floor, then twisted and turned at the waist to work the kinks out. Noah dodged her wings. “Sorry.” He stood slowly to work out his own aches and walked to the bathroom.
When he came out Willow waited in the kitchen for the same purpose. He grinned and went to the front room to pull on his boots. When Willow came out of the bathroom, he was pulling his coat off its peg.
Willow stood at the bottom of the step with her hands on her hips. Noah gazed at her in silence.
So beautiful.
Willow tilted her head to one side and smiled. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I was thinking you’ve changed. You seem more confident. You’re aggressive about going after Jones, willing to take some real risks. You also seem more patient. I couldn’t believe you tolerated all my questions today.” He paused. “Come to think of it, you didn’t cry all day. I think that’s a first. Of course, we didn’t fight all day, which is another first. I’ve seen several new sides to you today.”
Willow twisted her upper body side to side, as a child might, her eyes twinkling. “Do you like all my new sides?”
“I forgot to mention the smart-aleck bully side. I’m not sure about that one. I still like your back side best though.”
Willow rolled her eyes and sighed. She climbed the two steps up to the stone entry platform and put her arms around Noah. He stroked her hair with one hand and slid the other under her wings and pulled her close.
“Thank you, Noah, for everything you’re doing for me. I know you could be spending your time on better things.”
Noah took her head in his hands and turned her face toward him. “What? And miss out on all the adventure?” He leaned down and kissed her, leaving her with glowing cheeks. “And the kissing. I like the kissing. That’s the real reason I keep coming back.” She shoved him. Noah chuckled as he opened the door and pushed the gate back.
“Noah, you can stay if you like. It’s late and you’re tired. Eight o’clock will be here before you know it. You can stretch out on the couch and I’ll go up to my little fairy bed.”
Noah hesitated.
Do you want to go down that road so soon after we ran off into a ditch?
He turned his thoughts away from Willow. She frowned slightly and shifted her wings, probably feeling the tingle. “I better not,” he said. “I need to catch up on email and send some files to the magazine.”
He felt Willow’s disappointment, but then his arms prickled and the feeling stopped. She couldn’t keep it out of her face, though. “Okay. Good night, Cowboy.” She peered up at him expectantly.
Low risk, Noah, go for it!
Noah encircled her in his arms and gave her a long, gentle kiss. When he released her, he was glad she was breathless.
“Good night, sweet fairy.”
Noah didn’t check his email when he arrived at the motel. It could wait until morning.
Fifteen
Morning rolled around fast, as Willow had said. Noah flew through his email, sent some photo files off to headquarters and jumped in the shower. By seven forty-five, he was clean, shaved and presentable. He skipped making coffee. Willow would have some ready for him.
Noah began to feel Willow’s emotions when still near the Big House. Every day their emulation abilities improved, but Willow’s were growing faster. Every time he came here, she was better at sensing his approach. She was waiting outside the cottage as he crossed the clearing.
Fairy magic is strong.
She was clad in jeans and a green sweatshirt. Noah gave her a quick kiss at the door and they sat down to breakfast. Hot oats, toast and cantaloupe, joined by some great coffee, made a satisfying meal. Conversation was at a minimum; when Willow ate, she stayed focused. She finished first, including a second helping of oats, and then watched Noah. He could feel her impatience peak as he finished.
“Let’s snoop!” she said with a devilish grin. She sat down before her laptop and hit keys in rapid succession. Noah sat in an extra chair positioned beside hers. The screen flickered and a password prompt appeared. Willow entered the code and studied the screen, crunching M&M’s as she worked. Noah tried to follow what she was doing but soon fell behind, lost in directories, sub-directories, and multiple windows.
My fairy knows her stuff.
“So, what are we looking at?” he asked.
“Sorry. I’m learning his directory structure to see where he keeps his files. Later we’ll check his Internet logs to see where he surfs.” Willow hunched forward and squinted. “Damn it!” she muttered. She opened a drawer, pulled out gold wire-rimmed glasses, and put them on. She looked sideways at Noah. “No smart remarks, please.”
Who? Me?
Willow studied the screen. Noah’s attention wandered since he wasn’t involved in the process.
I think you’re cute in glasses. I like how a woman looks in wire rims. But I like how you look in anything … or nothing at all.
After about ten minutes of intense activity and
no conversation, Willow sat back. “Okay, now we’ll sort. The snooper will give us an ordered list of directories and sub-directories by access frequency, leaving out system and program data. We’ll see what he likes to do.”
“How long will that take?”
Willow pushed a function key on the keyboard. “It’s done.”
Noah leaned in to get a look. The directory names meant nothing. The name of the first directory on the list was “wb.”
“Might as well start at the top,” Willow said. She clicked the mouse pointer on the first line and a window filled the screen containing a dozen folders, each marked with a thumbnail photo. The folder names were two or three letter combinations, and every tiny photo was a head shot of a young girl. Willow double-clicked a folder titled “rlm.” The new window displayed a dossier. Willow gasped and put a hand over her mouth.
“Rebecca Lynn McCoy” was the title atop the window. A complete version of the thumbnail photo filled the left half of the screen. The jeans-clad little girl was bare to the waist, posed in an outdoor forest setting. The right half of the screen gave information about her: age, height, weight, color of eyes, and grade in school. The street address was blank but the city was a town in Ohio. There was a web site link and a phone number that Noah recognized as a Chicago area code. The girl’s chat room name appeared as well.
“What is this?” Willow whispered.
“I’m not sure,” Noah said. This wasn’t the girl from the picture in Jones’s house; she seemed younger. The dossier said she was ten. Both girls had short blonde hair.
Willow sat frozen, so Noah reached for the mouse and closed the folder. Each tiny thumbnail was a different girl, but all similar in appearance. Noah found the photo from the dresser, on a folder called “aw.” He hesitated, and then opened it.
This girl’s name was Angie Williams. She was more mature, completely nude, in a revealing bedroom pose, her face taut and fearful, the smile forced. Willow moaned, took her glasses off and stood up. Her disgust and anger heightened Noah’s own feelings. She paced the room, wringing her hands as she walked.
Angie was twelve and lived in St. Louis. Her eyes were brown. Rebecca’s were brown, too. The replica girl in the chest at Jones’s house had brown eyes and blonde hair, too.
Uh-oh.
Noah opened more folders to confirm a suspicion.
“Unbelievable,” he said.
Willow stopped pacing and turned to him in anguish. “Noah, we have to do something. He’s been looking for a girl to … I can’t even say it! Do you think he wants to … buy one of these girls or …” She stopped, unable or unwilling to say more.
“Willow, there’s more here you don’t understand.” He closed the folder and redisplayed the thumbnail directory. “Come here, you need to see this.” Willow stood behind him. “Willow, all these girls look alike. They all have short blonde hair and brown eyes. Like yours.”
Shock spilled out of her soul and rolled over him.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“They’re all about your height and weight, and look at the directory name. ‘wb.’ Willow Brown.”
Willow backed away from the computer as a wave of rage flooded into Noah. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Jones is going to pay for this. Even if he’s not hurt anyone he’s still going to pay.” She paced the room again.
Noah let Willow’s anger settle while he perused two more folders. He had considered telling her about the sex doll in Chester’s closet, but thought better of it. By not telling her the moment he found it, he was protecting her again, which wouldn’t sit well.
Better that you rage at Chester.
Willow stopped pacing and stood with her arms folded across her chest, calmer, but looking both thoughtful and frustrated. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “Just look at me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at me, Noah! I’m no bigger than a child. Look at my face.” She touched her hands to her cheeks. “Round little cheeks like a cherub. I never wear makeup. I’m as flat-chested as any of those girls. Do you know where I buy almost all my clothes? I shop in the girl’s department, because I can’t find anything to fit me in the women’s. I even wear training bras like a girl! If I didn’t have big pectorals I wouldn’t have any breasts at all!”
Noah shook his head. “No, no, no, don’t ever think that way, Willow. Perversion has its own evil beginnings, regardless of what anyone does. You did nothing to give Jones these ideas. He has a fixation on you, but you did not cause it. Evil lurks around, ready to latch onto any convenient outlet.” Noah stood and walked to her. She glared at him in frustration. Willow didn’t seem inclined to unfold her arms, so he stepped closer and encircled her in his arms anyway. He held her for a few moments and then stepped back. He took her face in his hands and lifted it, and proceeded to make a detailed study of it, frowning in concentration, turning her head this way and that, pushing it first back so her chin was pointing almost up, then forward until it nearly touched her neck. He continued to frown but Willow was softening.
“You’re right,” he said, as if he had confirmed some great secret of science. “They are round. Like your other cheeks.” Willow shook her head, unfolded her arms, grabbed his head and shook it, but she laughed.
“Noah Phelps, do you ever think of anything besides my butt?”
Noah considered this for a moment with the same concentrated frown as before. “Rarely,” he said with a smirking grin. He took her face in his hands again. “Willow, anyone with a brain only needs to spend thirty seconds with you to know you’re a mature woman, and one look into your eyes says it, too. You are not to blame for Chester Jones’s black, perverted heart.”
“Thank you, Noah. You always know how to bring me down to earth.”
“Except when you’re flying.”
“True enough.”
“Sweetheart, let’s get out of here and go see Jones’s mother.”
Willow nodded her assent and sat long enough to shut down the snooper program. They donned coats, hats, and shoes and left. Noah took Willow’s hand and led her to the truck in silence. He felt her relax as they walked deeper into the woods, which always brought out her fairyness.
Noah opened the door for her to get into the truck. By the time he climbed in, she had slid to the center.
“Feeling better?” he asked. She nodded. Noah started the truck and put it in gear. “By the way, I like women with big pectorals.”
Willow punched him in the shoulder.
“Ouch!”
Noah detested nursing homes. Most homes he had visited failed to preserve the dignity of their residents no matter how they tried, and he hated the pervasive odors.
Noah let Willow lead the way into the building, preferring to slink in behind her. She dashed down the central passage to the nurse’s station, flitting past the wheelchair-bound hall dwellers who drooled and spoke to no one and everyone. Whenever she passed one of these pitiable souls or a group of them, they grew still, their eyes following her movement down the hall, the haggard faces lit with serenity. Her magic billowed behind her as she strode the corridors, unaware.
After a brief stop at the nurse’s station for directions, Willow forged ahead, not slowing until Noah called to her. He needed her magic, too, and caught up and took her hand. Only then did she sense his discomfort.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know this would bother you.”
“It doesn’t bother me exactly. It’s uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem to affect you at all. The people I mean.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That didn’t occur to me.” Willow squeezed his hand. “We won’t be long, I promise.”
Mrs. Jones rated a private room in the VIP section. The open door revealed a typical nursing home space with tile floor, concrete block walls and harsh fluorescent light, tempered somewhat by the bright sunlight coming in a south window beyond the bed. Next to the bed sat a rocking chair, where a small whi
te-haired woman rocked, reading a book. Wrinkles and age spots covered her face, but it retained a pleasant expression even caught unaware. A white sweater covered her print cotton dress.
Willow tapped on the door and the old woman looked up.
“Mrs. Jones?” Willow said.
“Yes, come in.” Inquisitive, piercing blue eyes regarded them as they stepped into the room. Recognition lit the old woman’s face. “Why it’s Willow Brown. How nice to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mrs. Jones,” Willow said. “I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”
“How could anyone forget such a sweet little face?” A wonderful smile of a hundred lines crinkled her features. “And who’s this handsome young man you’re leading?”
“Mrs. Jones, this is Noah Phelps.” Pride filled her voice, he was glad to hear. “He’s a friend who’s in town for a few days.” The old woman turned her deep blue eyes to Noah and smiled.
Noah removed his ball cap. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Willow, come sit down and talk to me. And call me Janet.” Noah moved a straight-back chair for Willow to a spot next to the old woman. “Noah, you can sit on the bed.”
“No rules against sitting on the bed?” Noah asked as he settled on the too-soft mattress.
A sly smile crinkled the old woman’s features. “Not in this wing. My Anthony and I paid for it.”
The two women began a conversation about various mundane topics, mostly polite inquiries about health and weather and the local gossip. The older woman was high-spirited and soon they all laughed at her stories of nursing home life. Janet and Willow held hands as they talked. Reclusive Willow conversed like an old hand at nursing homes.
You seem at ease here.
Her hair shone gold in the bright sun, and she glowed, not in the fairy sense, but she looked … healthy, that was the word. Her beautiful skin seemed silkier; her cheeks had a rosy bloom, and her eyes were darker. Fuller lips graced her little mouth. Nature had applied its own makeup to her beautiful features in a way many women spent a fortune to attain.
