The Woman Hidden

by Lucas Mattias

  Michelle smiled.

  “Jason!”

  The cry dissipated in the air didn’t come from her. Jason kept his hands against her throat, preventing her from killing him.

  “Ja… Jason… you’ll… Jason.”

  The sound came from the skies. A scream for help surrounding him as if coming from another world, a parallel world, a world…

  Like in a magic trick, the sun came up.

  The lights lit up.

  And Clarice was underneath his hands, trying to escape from that killer pressure he exerted on her. Her eyes were red, just as the rest of her face, while her now weak hands tried to push his face away.

  Jason immediately freed her from his grip and dove backwards, falling from the bed with his jolt.

  Lights were on, which could only mean that…

  Marco, standing at the door, showed him nothing but shock. From the bed, Clarice tried to regain breath, her cough coming out in what appeared to be shrieks.

  “I… I was dreaming… I…”

  Marco ran past him and climbed up the bed, running to aid Clarice. Jason stood up, trying to return to reality.

  There were no woods, he was not naked. It had all been a nightmare. An extremely realistic and unnerving nightmare. It felt so real…

  When Marco tried to touch Clarice, to help her, a monster seemed to have woken up. She screamed and jumped out of bed in a single jolt, disappearing from the room as a fast-paced ghost. He followed her with his ears, hearing her heavy and desperate footsteps move away through the wooden floors as climb down the stairs.

  “Clarice!”

  He turned around to leave the room, but held back when he felt Marco’s hand around his arm, stopping him from going on.

  “Dad… she doesn’t need you now.”

  “I just need to…”

  “Apologize tomorrow. If I had not arrived here in time…” He lowered his voice and tried to find the right words. “You’d have killed, dad.”

  “Marco, you know me.”

  “Exactly. I know you. You’re drinking again, aren’t you?”

  Jason moved one step closer to Marco, nothing but few inches in between their faces.

  “Don’t you ever say that again, Marco. For your own good.”

  “Or else you kill me, too? Knock it off, dad. Just tell me if you’re drinking again or not, because if you are, you need urgent h--”

  “I’m fine, Marco. It was just a bad dream.”

  Before Marco even had the opportunity to reply, prolonging that night further on, Jason left the room on his search for Clarice. He needed to apologize, to calm her down.

  He climbed down the stairs. She was at the couch, embracing herself while facing the cold fireplace.

  “Clarice?” He called and when he didn’t get an answer, he advanced a few steps more into the room. “Clarice, it’s all right. Are you okay?”

  Her eyes flickered and faced him briefly, soon returning to face nothing afterwards.

  “Clarice, I didn’t mean to…”

  “You didn’t?”

  She jumped up, staring at him, face to face. For some reason, he felt cornered. It was a woman in her pajamas, but he feared that to be his last night on earth. He would not have ways to fight her, not after what had just happened.

  “You didn’t mean that, Jason? You offered me help, you promised to protect me, you said I would be safer with you. You said that!”

  She hollered with such intensity that he could feel her saliva hit his face hard. He also knew himself to be lucky enough there were no neighbors around to be woken up at that time late at night.

  “I don’t know what…”

  The sound of the flat hand against his face echoed around the room, to which he did nothing. His cheek throbbed, burning after the slap, and he still did nothing. He wouldn’t fall into that nightmare again.

  As he turned his eyes once more to Clarice, she remained clearly furious, even if behind the hair and all those tears in her face.

  “You promised…”

  Before Clarice could again fall into a desperate crying, he ran to support him, holding her in an embrace she wouldn’t get away from. She tried to fight it out, at first, but soon accepted the comfort and burst into tears once more. It was almost absurd how someone could turn to be so fragile and unarmed as she was, but Jason could understand and even tell all the reasons for that. He just didn’t want to be another one of them.

  He lifted his eyes, not sure of how long he should stay there, holding her tight.

  And again, Michelle was there, standing beside the fireplace. She was clean, as if living and barely struck by the accident from three years before. Her face showed no emotions, not the slightest expression. Maybe she was unmoved by noticing his affection to Clarice, maybe it was mere shock regarding what she was seeing.

  And then, he noticed when her lips curved into such a dangerous and devilish smile that he shivered and held Clarice tighter, looking for some stronger support to himself in the moment.

  Michelle, before vanishing the same way she appeared, showed him something.

  And on the small glass coffee table in the room he saw a small old crumpled book with a black leather cover. He was certain he knew that book from somewhere, but he didn’t want to worry about it just then. He moved his eyes from the book and tried to find her again, but Michelle had already disappeared for good.

  The book, however, stood there.

  He couldn’t tell how long he stayed with Clarice in the living room, letting her cry against his shoulder as a way of apologizing, but he heard Marco go back to his room way before he and Clarice went up again. It took her two pills and a glass of warm water to go back to sleep, but when she did it, she was like an angel who laid with no concerns about the day that would follow.

  Jason, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. He rolled on the bed until he noticed the sky changing from darkness to a light shade of blue, not so light it could wake up the other inhabitants of the house, but enough for him to know it wouldn’t be worth it to try and sleep any more.

  He got himself away from the blankets and changed his pajamas for real clothes. After rethinking everything that had occurred that night a thousand times, mulling over all those sensations until he felt disgusted with himself, he went downstairs and just like a child in a minefield, he moved across the room, searching for the coffee table.

  The book was still there. Jason didn’t touch it.

  He walked to the fireplace and raked the ashes in it with a poker, leaving the larger logs on the top. He activated the gas and lit it up, holding still until the first flames hit a nice height, enough to warm him up and enlighten the room a little more. He poked the wood again, watching the sparks and the crackling of the wood as that burning smell he so much enjoyed filled his nostrils.

  Finally, he moved to the table and faced the book. For some reason, Michele’s ghost wanted him to see it. He had permission to do it, this time.

  He bent down and grabbed the book, admiring its shape, color and weight. Jason took the object up to his nose and gently smelled it, startled by the musty scent and that of old paper, the same scent he would find on many of those books he loved and kept safe inside boxes in the basement. Jason slid his thumb across the black leather cover, observing each and every crack, open spot, each rough area that told him that that book hadn’t been touched by sunlight in a long, long time.

  He opened the small book.

  It was not book, it was a journal.

  Property of Michelle T. Flyce.

  He had permission to do it, this time.

  But he wouldn’t read it. Jason flipped through its pages. The entries, most of them, dated 2011. One of her last diaries.

  Doctor’s habits, Michelle once told him while writing one of them.

  Jason had no idea of why that diary was there. He knew most of them had been destroyed years ago, when he and Marco decided to clean the house after the accident. Maybe some had remained on the baseme
nt… maybe ghosts could care less for such eventualities.

  Jason closed the diary shut and took it to his face again, now offering it a kiss against the cold leather.

  It was time to say goodbye. Forever.

  He turned to the fireplace and watched the flames.

  It was time to say goodbye.

  Sleepless, he laid on the sofa with his arms crossed and observed as the flames engulfed and licked the diary, crackling at times while consuming those memories he no longer wanted for himself.

  Goodbye.

  Bargaining

  “May 13th, 2012.

  I’ve been crying out to God, more than I used to. My faith has always been part of me, but, lately, not all faith I could get would offer me strength enough to see a bright side to it. I’m tired. And my marriage is dissipating just like salt in water. What do I do, my God? A sign would suffice.

  But what would God do for me? The crazy woman. I deserve it, that’s part of learning.

  Sometimes, though, I don’t know if I deserve that much of it.

  Last night I could swear I saw the lights on. He was not with me. The bar, again, I know. But he says I’m wrong. I’m seeing things. At other moments, I’d say he does it on purpose, just to hurt me, but now I’m not even aware of my sanity anymore.

  People call me crazy. They say I’m no longer who I once was. The way I was. These people know me.

  What if I silence myself? If I smile and pretend everything is fine? God, if I worthily behave, will I have in return the happiness from years ago? Will you grant me, once again, my unswerving, untouchable, armored marriage?

  I'd give up everything. I'd even give my faith up. I just want back that same feeling from before, of so smooth and calm flavor; not today’s, with its taste of iron and pain, heavy and violent. I no longer want the screaming or the lack of peace, I no longer want this creature that seems to have taken control of him. He is better than that, God, you and I both know.

  I just want him back.

  Before I go crazy once and for all.”

  I

  The rays of sun were a little less shy in that morning, sneaking through the pine tops and brightening the path that, before, had been buried by piles of snow and frozen mud. It didn’t mean, though, that the morning offered them heat anywhere above thirty-two degrees, but it would make the walk quite more pleasant in a simple winter day.

  Jason opened the door to the terrace, attentive to the fact he would soon need to clean the glass of it, and deeply inhaled the fresh air, with its magnificent scents of pine and wet grass, that morning breeze and breakfast being prepared unique odor. It would still take a while for the sun to completely show up and take charge of those grey skies, but the shades of blue and lavender already made it clear it would be an amazing day.

  He was fine. Since the diary episode, things fell to normalness again. He was still feeling some shakings and those heart palpitations, every now and then he had the idea of having heard Michelle’s voice again, but the sights had gone for all. He believed that all he needed was some closure to those unfinished businesses from the past. Now he could live again.

  While his cigarette burned, he watched the surroundings. There hadn’t been any signs from Clarice’s husband either, had he still been sneaking around. Martha had called him to ask whether they had seen the poor dog and Jason was forced to lie, ignoring the shallow and poorly made grave not too far from the house and covered by rocks. The dog must had already been almost completely eaten by the worms by then, and Jason did not want to think about it. Turning back to the kitchen, he saw Clarice amidst her tea set, a nice view from across the smoke coming up the drinks.

  She also seemed to be well, although quieter and distant. He feared she had been recovering more of her memories and, although it was something good, he wasn’t sure of how good it could be to her mind. Jason knew that, frequently enough, the mind blocks whatever it believes to have been too painful to deal with and he didn’t know it to be Clarice’s situation, but he was not inclined to see her fall into depression once she recovered it all. He also feared that the distance, the lack of eye contact and the coldness in their interactions could be related to the attack from nights before, attack which made him decide to sleep on the ground floor and leave her at his room, where she’d be safer.

  Clarice’s kindness, though, diminished the possibility of her believing him to be human garbage. Well, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure about it, he couldn’t possibly know what was going on in her mind, but he could assume that from the daily behaviors. She was still preparing the tea just as he liked them and she even tried to make the blueberry pie the way Martha did; she frequently asked him whether he had slept ok or how his day had been when he went away to do something at the town or locked himself inside her room to write for a couple of hours. Even though avoiding eye contact and increasingly appearing to be weaker or depressed, she usually tried to put on a smile whenever a joke or a liking came up.

  The last time it happened, Jason had offered her a bag of Skittles, something extremely frivolous, yet a few days before Clarice had told him how she had forgotten the taste of the sweets. She smiled and shared with him the red and yellow ones – Jason’s favorites.

  And, for some reason, he felt good when with her. He knew he had been aggressive – all due to a hideously lucid nightmare -, yet he also knew he had been forgiven. What bothered him, as a small cricket living behind his ear, was Clarice’s shut behavior and whatever could be in her brain.

  He went back in as soon as his cigarette ended and beamed when he saw Marco diving into his breakfast, almost all ready for the hunting day.

  “So, we are definitely going to hunt.” Clarice sighed, forcing a gentle smile to frame the comment.

  “Maybe. It’s not a very appropriate season,” Jason replied, sitting down on a stool. “But we can, at least, give you a taste of how it’s like.”

  “Today’s catch, tonight’s dinner.” Marco replied, while trying to combine a huge piece of waffle to fat strips of bacon in his mouth.

  Jason decided for the hunting day when he noticed the mood the house had sunk into. It’d been a long time since Jason last allowed himself some family moments with Marco and, at the same time, he wanted Clarice to get out a little and breath some fresh air from the outside. The husband was still an imminent risk and an enormous fear, especially if, in fact, he had been surviving on the woods all along; they would be armed, though, and Jason knew his aim to always be a sure shot. They would offer Clarice protection during a joyful walk in addition to restoring long lost bonds. Bonds which Jason didn’t even know could still be restored, though it wouldn’t stop him from trying. Clarice gave him that inspiration, that will.

  He needed to give her time. And attention. Through that, it was possible she would start to open herself up a little more. In the end of the day, they were still strangers to her. Strangers Samaritans, but strangers whatsoever. As incredible as it was, she was no longer a stranger to him.

  “Make sure you eat well, despite the sun, it’s damn cold outside.”

  By hearing his father’s recommendation, Marco jumped again onto the golden plate with bacon, serving himself a little bit more of it.

  “More energy and fat to burn.”

  Clarice giggled. It was not something loud or long, it sounded like a small failed sigh that warmed Jason’s soul a little.

  “And the blizzard?” She asked while giving Jason his mug.

  This time it was not tea, but a thick and warm hot chocolate that smelled great. He felt his childhood years returning through his nostrils, shivers crossing his body with that unique and rare sensation. Maybe he would write something similar to that later on.

  "It's not coming. Not for now, at least." He took a sip and felt the liquid warm him from the inside, containing that light secret touch of Clarice's. "If we were to believe all forecasts, we'd be locked up for weeks without seeing one snowflake. When she comes, she comes."

  “He
knows,” Marco mumbled, mouth still full. “He always does.”

  Breakfast didn’t take long. Everyone took Jason’s recommendation seriously and, although he was not considering staying all day out there, he was not sure of when they’d come back, he only knew it would be somewhere past lunch time.

  The day was clearer and he didn’t want to leave too late, so he grabbed all his hunting gear, taking extreme special care with the case that held his crossbow, something he loved more than the house he had built from scratch. That weapon was not only his hunting mate, it was almost a part of his body, a dangerous and simple object that made him feel like he owned the whole world – or at least those mountains.

  Marco got his own gear too, while Clarice, not so used to that, was made responsible for the snacks and the compass.

  Before anyone could come up with another excuse, Jason suggested everyone hit the bathrooms and, finally, they left.

  They took the main road, by the house, and trekked through a long dirt road lined by short and new pine trees and stones, sometimes huge, sometimes just annoying gravel. Jason knew the path; they’d take the main road up to the end, then they would take a simpler and hidden trail so that they could go deeper into the hills, from where they would look for a valley he well knew not only for being a great place for practice, but also for its beautiful water spring that flowed into the lake, miles behind them.

  For most of the main road Jason kept himself a few steps behind, observing Clarice and Marco. At the beginning, they had nothing to talk about. At times Clarice or Marco would try to comment about something on the landscape or about hunting, but the subject would soon die, leaving the silence to take charge again. Despite idiotic, the scene soothed Jason, for realizing that Marco was trying to connect with Clarice, at his best effort. The boy had come to understand that opening up could be a better way to achieve a better outcome in family. Not that Clarice was family. She could be.