by Terri Reid
She swept out of the room and returned with a tray and two pewter mugs. “This is the last of the apples,” she said, handing Ben a mug. “I added lots of sugar and spices because they were a little tart.” She joined him on the sofa.
Ben took a sip. His mouth puckered. The cider tasted medicinal. Nonetheless, it warmed his stomach. “Is your dad okay?” he asked politely.
“He’s at the hospital. Periodically they have to drain the fluid around his heart.”
“Oh.” Ben had gotten the impression that Mr. Weiderman was at home. He was aware she was watching him. To cover his self-consciousness, he blurted out, “I’m sorry about your mother. I mean, about what happened to her.”
She reached over to touch his hand. “You were sweet to attend the funeral. I knew you would come.”
He stole a glance and discovered she was watching him, her cheek resting against the sofa. “Neighborly support,” he said, echoing his mother’s words.
“Have you forgotten what I said, Benjamin? That we have unfinished business, you and I.”
He felt his cheeks burn. Not knowing how to reply, he said, “Were you the one who found your mother, I mean, in the snow?”
She nodded. “I found her earlier that night and didn’t want to disturb her. She looked so peaceful lying there, the snow glistening in her hair. I thought it a shame to rouse her.” While Ben mulled this over, she added, “My mother was tormented by her demons. She didn’t know how to master them.” She peered into the flames. “You have to take control or they’ll rule you.”
Ben took a gulp of his cider. He felt a boldness and wondered if she’d put something in it. “Do you mean when you found your mother she was—”
“Freezing to death is a blissful way to die,” she said, her voice dreamy. “It’s like a long, lovely sleep.”
“Uh huh.” Ben sat for a moment, transfixed by the flames. Then he finished the last of his cider and set the mug on the coffee table. He leaned forward but when he attempted to rise his legs felt rubbery. He tried again and finally sank back onto the cushions. When he turned to Margaret Mae, her face was close.
“Benjamin,” she said, her voice barely audible in the big room, “do you realize that destiny has brought us together?” Her breath smelled like apples. The room tilted and he opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He closed his eyes.
*
Ben woke sprawled on the sofa. The room was cold and dark, a faint light coming from the fireplace embers. He struggled to a sitting position, closing his eyes against the pain in his head. He reached for his boots and pulled them on with great effort. Holding onto the sofa’s armrest, he got to his feet. A light was on in the kitchen and he slowly made his way to it.
He let himself out the side door. Breathing deeply of the cold night air, he headed down the hill, the snow crunching under his feet. A full moon cast purple shadows on the drifts while the evergreens, their boughs heavy with snow, creaked in the wind.
Inside Ben’s house, the only sound was the ticking of the kitchen clock. It was three in the morning. He kicked off his boots and stumbled up the stairs to his room. There he pulled off his clothes, letting them drop to the floor. In his pants’ pocket he found a folded piece of paper. He turned on a lamp. It was a check for three hundred dollars from Margaret Mae Weiderman.
*
During the next two years, Ben caught glimpses of the Weiderman sisters coming and going from the house. The old man, Ben’s mother said, was due to move to a private nursing facility; most likely the house would be sold.
During the spring of Ben’s senior year, he took a trip to Spain with the high school Spanish department. One afternoon in Barcelona, the group stopped for lunch at a tapas bar. The students sat at a long wooden table drinking tinto accompanied by plates of cheese and olives. Ben suddenly felt cool hands on his shoulders.
“Hola Benjamin,” Margaret Mae said in his ear. Her long hair caressed his cheek. He turned, too surprised to say anything. As quickly as Margaret Mae had appeared, she slipped away. He watched her cross the room, her heels clicking loudly on the hard tiles.
“Got a secret girlfriend?” one of the male students said. “Who is she?” another asked. Ben mumbled that he wasn’t sure. His face reddened. The group laughed. Ben was relieved when their food arrived and conversation turned to other topics.
Nonetheless, for the remainder of the trip Ben looked warily around, expecting to see Margaret Mae in a hotel lobby, on a city street, or in a crowded shop.
*
During their last year of high school, Ben and Alyssa drifted apart. Ben was sure it was for the best. After all, they’d be attending different colleges, Alyssa heading to New York and Ben to Boston.
At Emerson, he took advantage of the creative opportunities the school offered. However, rarely did he attend social activities. He told himself he liked being a loner. However, during the fall of his junior year, he decided to take in one of the city’s most popular offerings: the Head of the Charles Regatta. The October event attracted students from the greater Boston community.
On a brisk fall day Ben sat on a bench overlooking the Charles River. As he idly surveyed the crowds, he spotted a familiar blond braid among the masses of young people lining the riverbank. He got to his feet and moved closer. It was Alyssa and her younger sister Amy.
After hugs and expressions of delight, the three returned to the bench to talk. Alyssa was visiting Amy, a student at Simmons. The following day she had an interview at MIT; she hoped to transfer there. “I’ve got a full scholarship to Rensselaer, but MIT has always been my dream.”
“You’ll get accepted,” Ben told her. “You always were a techno genius.” He was happy to see Alyssa and realized how much he’d missed her company. Thus he was pleased when she suggested they get together during the Thanksgiving holiday.
Before long Ben was welcomed back into Alyssa’s family. He felt as if a big part of him had been restored. For the remainder of the college semester, Ben and Alyssa got together whenever they could. Sometimes she made the drive from Troy to Boston. “I can’t wait until February when I’m at MIT,” she said, “and you’ll be right across the river.”
One December night they stopped for pizza following a movie. They hadn’t talked much about their earlier breakup. Now Alyssa brought it up over mugs of beer: “You changed, Ben, almost overnight. You acted remote, closed off. I felt shut out.”
He squeezed her hand. “I won’t let that happen again, I promise.”
That spring, Ben took Alyssa for a ride on the Swan Boats in Boston’s Public Garden. As they passed under the arched bridge, he asked her to marry him. Alyssa hugged him with such enthusiasm they almost capsized the boat.
It was a hot July morning when Ben and Alyssa stood on the curb of Tremont Street holding hands. They were headed for the jewelers district on Washington Street. The pedestrian light flashed and Alyssa stepped off the curb. Ben yanked her back as a navy BMW convertible came to a stop at the lights, its brakes screeching. Margaret Mae Weiderman sat behind the wheel, a long silk scarf around her neck.
“Hello Benjamin,” she called. “Sorry.”
He nodded. Gripping Alyssa’s hand, they crossed the busy street. Ben was conscious of the woman’s eyes upon them. When the light turned green, Margaret Mae roared away, her scarf fluttering in the breeze.
“Who’s that?” Alyssa said, turning to stare.
“Just a neighbor,” he said.
“Some neighbor.”
In August, Alyssa moved in with Ben while her Cambridge apartment was being painted. Early mornings she got up to run along the Charles, leaving Ben in bed. “I hope you’re not going to continue this when we’re married,” he said, yawning.
“Nope, I plan to stop all activity and get fat and lazy.” She bent to kiss his forehead. Slipping her keys into the pocket of her shorts, she closed the door behind her and skipped down the stairs.
When Ben awoke three hours later and Alyssa hadn’t returned, he called Am
y. “Did Alyssa stop to see you?” he asked.
Amy hadn’t seen her. “She might have sprained her ankle or something,” she said. If that was the case, Ben said, then why hadn’t she called on her cell phone? He had to leave for his tutoring job. He told Amy to call if she heard from Alyssa.
All through the morning, Ben couldn’t keep his mind on the subject. Every few minutes he glanced at his phone. He cancelled his afternoon tutoring sessions and went home.
Just as he feared, the apartment was empty with no sign of Alyssa. He called Amy, who told him to call the police. “I will,” he said. “Don’t tell your parents. Alyssa’s probably at a local hospital. No sense in alarming them until we know more.” It was with a sense of dread that he called the Boston Police.
The woman who answered said, “You say she’s been missing six hours?” Ben was told the police wouldn’t do anything until the missing person was gone for more than twenty-four hours.
Ben stayed at the apartment throughout the afternoon. Amy came over. They called the local hospitals. Later they walked to the Charles River and searched the area where Alyssa ran. Rows of maple trees lined the concrete path that meandered along the river. Ben collapsed onto a bench. “Why did I let her go alone?” he said, his voice breaking.
“Alyssa liked to run alone,” Amy said. “ Don’t worry, we’ll hear from her.”
Ben merely shook his head.
Around the time the police got involved, Alyssa’s body was discovered floating near a stone embankment. The coroner said she’d been hit from behind with a heavy object that fractured her skull. Her body had been dragged into the river. Alyssa’s picture appeared on TV news stations along with warnings to “buddy up” when running in the city.
*
The crowds at Alyssa’s funeral filled the pews of St. Rupert’s Church. Ben walked alongside Amy in the procession, behind her parents. He sat numbly during the service, not believing what was taking place. How could someone so young and vibrant be lying lifeless inside the wooden coffin?
When the service ended, the family made their way down the center aisle as the choir sang, “How Great Thou Art.” Ben, his head lowered, put an arm around Amy, who sobbed quietly. When the procession reached the entrance doors, sunlight poured into the church. Ben shielded his eyes from the sudden glare. From a corner of his vision he spotted a kneeling figure in the last row, dressed in black. He turned his head to look, although he instinctively knew who it was.
Margaret Mae lifted the black lace veil that covered her eyes and smiled.
Every Breath You Take
by
A.T. Reid
Prologue
The beam from the headlights failed to cut through the fog, but the car continued steadily along the road that ran through the middle a dense forest. Brad leaned his head closer to his windshield and squinted. From the corner of his eye, he saw a bright light pierce through the mist. He quickly did a double take, only to realize it was just a road sign warning him of oncoming deer. Come on, Brad, he thought. You’re just scaring yourself. This road isn’t that bad.
Not entirely convinced, he turned on his high-beams and was rewarded with a blindingly white reflection. He swore as he turned the lights back to normal. “Well, I guess I’m stuck with the slightly dim and totally creepy lights,” he confirmed to himself, finding the sound of his own voice better than nothing. He checked his side mirror to see behind the car. There was nothing else in sight except empty road and fog. If there’s no one behind me, he thought to himself, then why do I feel like I’m being watched…
Brad risked a glance at the box on the passenger seat. A smile touched his lips as he thought about the reaction Stacy, his girlfriend of two years, was going to have. He allowed his heart to soften as he thought about everything he and Stacy had been through these last two years, the good and the bad.
Taking a brief look in the review mirror, a flutter of panic washed over him. “Crap, crap, crap…” he muttered as he licked his finger tips and smoothed the tuft of hair that was rebelliously sticking out from the side. “There,” he said, as he smoothed the troubled tuft to his satisfaction. He then wiped the spit off of one hand onto his jeans, followed by wiping the sweat he’d accumulated on his other palm onto his jeans. He let out a shaky breath as he placed both hands on the wheel.
He didn’t realize he was going to be this nervous. What if she didn’t like the gift? What if it made her feel uncomfortable? Was he giving it to her too soon? Was he giving it to her too late? He trembled when he thought about how she would react if he did anything wrong. Tonight had to be perfect.
He checked his digital clock and swore out loud. “I should have gone through the city. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in all this fog. But this damn road is just too bad to go fast. I can’t speed in this weather. That would be stupid.”
He checked the clock again and let out a huff of air. “Well,” he resolved, “I guess I’m going to have to be a little stupid.”
He accelerated a bit above the speed limit and hoped his memory of the road would serve him well. He had gone down this road many times. It was the back road to get to Stacy’s house and he used it to travel without fear of getting pulled over for speeding, seeing as he tended to be a bit late. He checked the time again and pushed the accelerator down a bit further.
Suddenly, something leapt from the side of the road. Brad only caught a glimpse of a large white blur before he slammed on the brakes and pulled the wheel sharply to the left to avoid the creature. The car fishtailed and he lost control. He panicked as he sped toward the ditch and jerked the wheel to the right, just as the front tires hit the edge. His small car tipped and rolled toward the trees. With regret, Brad watched the box as it sailed from the passenger seat and flew toward his face.
That’s why he didn’t see the tree coming closer to him from the other side.
The creature whose life Brad had attempted to save stepped out of the fog into the beam of the headlight, now pointed haphazardly into the forest. The light shone upon its frame, tall and thin, as it moved toward the car on two spindly albino legs that were more akin to a flamingo’s legs than that of a man. Its face was nearly a blank oval, with a bald head that shone in the moonlight and two slits where its nose should be. The illumination from the headlights cast shadows into where the eyes should be, but none were to be found. The thing parted its lips into what can only be described as a smile, displaying its too many long and pointed teeth, yellowed with age.
It sauntered over to the car, bent over, and peered into the passenger window. A trickle of saliva fell from its lips as it sniffed the upholstery. Hunching its back and getting down to all fours, it let out an earth-shuddering howl before tearing back into the woods.
Brad was never able to give the gift to Stacy.
Chapter One
A year later…
The nightmare was always the same.
Stacy looked from her plate of spaghetti over to her loving boyfriend. She smiled as she brought the cup of wine to her lips. The air smelled of Italian spices and there was soft instrumental music playing under the chatter of others who were in the restaurant. However, she didn’t notice anyone else. To her, it was only she and Brad. She stared into his deep, blue eyes and said nothing. She didn’t have to. She knew how great their love was.
A sudden look of panic tainted his piercing eyes and his smile faded. He looked past Stacy’s shoulder and brought a napkin to his mouth. Stacy looked over her shoulder to see what he was looking at, but could only see a few more couples laughing and dining.
“Stacy,” Brad said, bringing the napkin down, “I need to use the restroom. I will be right back.” He smiled at her. “Stacy, I love you so much.”
She saw his lips move as those last words were spoken. She saw him articulate and she knew he said them. But, there was something about the voice that sounded wrong. It was just a little too soft, just a little too light.
She wanted to stay put. She wanted to believ
e that he was coming back. She loved him so much, she wanted to trust him. But, something was bothering her. A feeling. A fleeting memory.
She stood up slowly and started walking over to the bathroom. The noise and laughter grew quiet and she had the distinct impression that the room was watching her. However, she wouldn’t be deterred. She pressed on, walking toward the bathroom. The walls melted around her and the sweet, soft sound of music was replaced by the distant noise of radio chatter and the rush of the wind outside. She continued walking. The hallway to the bathroom crumbled and behind it was a car that was flipped on its roof. Gasping, she recognized Brad’s car. She wanted to stop. She didn’t want to see what was waiting for her on the inside of the car. But, her feet didn’t allow that to happen. One step at a time, she finally made it to the driver’s door.
She bent over to look inside.
Brad stared into the darkness, piercing blue eyes focusing on nothing. His mouth hung limply open and blood oozed from a gash on his forehead.
She tried to look away. She wanted to look away. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t move any air.
The blue eyes suddenly shot right back into Stacy’s. She watched as he tried to speak, but couldn’t. Fear crept into his face as all that he could do was wail and groan.
Then a serene mask covered his fear and a voice crept out of his throat. Without moving his lips, a voice that was too soft said, “Stacy, I love you.”
*
Stacy woke up in a cold sweat. She shot into a sitting positon as she tried to pull herself out of the dream and remember where she was. Breathing heavily, she wiped the perspiration off her brow and put her arms around one of her knees. It took several moments for the pounding of her heart to quiet down.
She closed her eyes and let out a breath of air. Then, looking for comfort, she grabbed the purple teddy bear that was lying at her side and hugged it. Holding it there for several moments, she let the memories of good times sweep through her.
She pushed the button on the paw of the teddy bear and heard Brad’s last words to her. “Stacy, I love you.”
