by Susanne Beck
"But how?" I managed to choke out, setting the tree down and opening up the cover. Inside was the photograph of Ice and her family. "Oh god," I sobbed. "Oh god. Corinne, I miss her so much. How am I going to do this without her?" I pressed both the book and the photo close to my body, hugging it to me and rocking.
Stepping up to me, she placed gentle hands on my cheeks. "My sweet little Angel, if there’s one thing above all that you’ve taught me, it’s to always have hope. Carry it with you now. It’ll give you the strength you need."
Looking deep into her eyes, I swore I could detect the faintest shimmer of some hidden knowledge deep within her gaze. My heart leapt into my throat, but when I opened my mouth to give voice to my question, she placed a finger over my lips. "Always have hope, Angel," she whispered.
Taking her finger away, she leaned forward and kissed me warmly, lingering a bit. Then she pulled away. "I love you, Angel."
Turing away quickly, she stepped to the door and opened it.
"Corinne! Wait!"
She turned back, tears liberally streaming down her cheeks.
Walking back over to her, I kissed her soundly. "I love you too. Never forget that. Ever."
Smiling, she touched her lips, then cupped my cheek. "I won’t, sweet Angel. Ever."
With a small, sad little wave, she turned once again and stepped through the door and out of my life.
The door closed and I stood there for a long moment, touching the cool metal with my palm as if I could imprint everything that had happened to me somewhere deep inside where I’d never forget it. I leaned my forehead against the door. "Goodbye," I whispered.
Behind me, the guard cleared her throat softly. "Should I call a cab for you?" she asked.
After a moment, I turned to her, a brightly false smile affixed to my face. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m gonna walk."
"Alright then. Just be careful, alright? Lotta crazies out there."
That statement broke my somber mood and I brayed out my laughter. Just yesterday, I was one of those crazies. And now, I was being cautioned against them.
As someone I’m sure much wiser than me has been known to say, what a difference a day makes, huh?
Giving the guard a quirky grin, I waved my fingers, grasped the door to the outside, inhaled deeply, and took my first step out of the Bog, a free woman forevermore.
EPILOGUE
I’M WRITING THIS beneath the flickering lamp of a hotel room that saw ‘new’ two decades ago and ‘clean’ only shortly after that. But the door has a lock that I can open any time I want and the bed is the most comfortable I’ve slept on in years.
That bed is calling to me longingly, and I’ll go, willingly and joyously, just as soon as I get this pressure of words out of my head and on to this paper.
Walking out that door and into the fresh air was the hardest, and conversely, the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. As I began to take my first steps into freedom, the Bog seemed intent on pulling me back, as if it had sunk invisible talons into my spine. My legs became almost leaden with the strain I was under. The prison seemed to whisper to me on a current of wind; promising to hold me and keep me safe if only I would look back.
But I didn’t look back. It was a promise I’d made to myself and one I was determined to keep. Looking back would only make things harder and I knew that. So I didn’t.
And because I didn’t, my next steps, and the ones following that, became easier as the weight I didn’t know I carried was lifted off my shoulders to be tossed into the drifting spring breeze.
The first sound I truly remember hearing as a free woman was the tether of the American flag slapping forlornly against its metal pole. It was a lonely, desolate sound, and seemed like a bad omen until I recognized the sound of birdsong playing a melodic counterpoint to the ‘ting ting’ of the rope against metal.
The noise of passing cars, fairly uncommon this far out, drew my attention to the road. How the styles had changed in just five years. I hadn’t really noticed it on the drive to and from court, being so wrapped up in my own emotional struggle.
I looked at that road, pitted and pot-holed by winter’s icy reign, curving gently over the breast of a small hill, and wondered where it led. My future was on that road, somewhere, unfettered by the constant metal specter of chains and cuffs and bars and fences. It was as broad as my imagination and as narrow as my fears.
Freedom’s Siren call was infinitely sweeter than the Bog’s brutal cacophony, and so, with a lightness to my step, I walked into that future, alone, afraid, but carrying with me the hope that things would turn out well for me in this new life I was being urged to make for myself.
When my legs began to tire, I headed to a small park, interspersed with walkways and drive-paths, and settled on a wooden bench to watch the sun set over the small pond dug there. A flock of ducks had obviously chosen to make this quiet, out of the way place their spring nesting grounds, and I watched as, tame and winter lean, they were fed by giggling children holding out crusts of stale bread.
Innocent, joyful laughter filled the air around me and I felt a bubble of happiness well up from inside me. The bench’s warmth seeped into my body through my clothes and I leaned back to watch the activity going on around me, just another woman taking a brief interlude from an otherwise stressful day.
Young couples passed by, their hands intertwined, their faces wreathed with the smiles of young love, a smile which had seemed permanently etched into the lines of my own face such a short time ago. I was hit with a pang of jealous longing so strong that my breath seemed to have taken leave of my lungs as I sat there, watching them pass slowly by, their interest only in one another.
When I could breathe again, I noticed that a young mother had come to sit beside me, watching her two youngsters chase the ducks and each other while she worked at her knitting, her hands moving quickly with casual skill. We conversed briefly about nothing of importance and I felt myself gradually begin to relax once again.
When she left, carefully grasping her children by their grubby hands and leading them back to their no-doubt safe and comfortable little lives, I contented myself with watching the play of light on the gently rippling water. I allowed my mind to go mercifully blank for a long stretch of moments, existing only in this moment of perfect peace and solitude, unencumbered with thoughts of future or past.
Gradually, with some subliminal sense that had been honed to a razor’s edge in the Bog, I became aware that I was being observed. Looking casually, first to the left, then to the right, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the hairs at the back of my neck stood at stiff attention and a warning tingle caressed the nerves of my spine.
As nonchalantly as I could, I turned to look over my right shoulder. There, beneath a grand oak cloaked in the first vibrant green of spring, a man stood straddling a motorcycle. He was clad, from head to foot, in black leather with red and white piping running down the sides of his jacket and leather pants. His black helmet had a mirrored visor that reflected the fiery orange blaze of the setting sun back at me. It was impossible to tell if he was my observer, but his head seemed to be inclined in my direction and my heart sped up in an autonomic reaction.
Just as casually, I returned my gaze back to the pond before me, considering my options. When you’ve been in prison for awhile, you begin to listen to your body’s signals. And my body was warning me that something bad was going to happen if I didn’t either prepare to run or prepare to fight.
Was it just jailhouse paranoia? The kind that presupposes a killer behind every locked door? Was this something I was going to have to deal with every day of this new life I was going to forge for myself? Would every stranger’s glance spark this adrenaline rush within me?
My peaceful solitude broken, I concentrated on my breathing, determined to wait this particular test out. After all, people were allowed to look at the sunset in a park without having sinister motivations. I was living in the real world now, and jumpin
g at every shadow just wasn’t going to be an option for long. Not if I wanted to retain some tattered shred of sanity.
Hearing the motorcycle come to life behind me, I let out a relieved breath, congratulating myself for not bolting from something that obviously was turning out to be nothing.
But then, instead of moving away, the motorcycle appeared to be getting closer, its tires crunching over the remains of last autumn’s bounty strewn over the newly luxuriant grass. My heart leapt into my throat again, and my hands, of their own volition, curled into tight fists, ready to defend me if need be. I could feel my spine stiffening as my muscles clenched in an instinctive ‘fight or flight’ response.
The cycle purred closer and I blinked rapidly, my eyes suddenly dry. "Alright, Angel," I whispered to myself. "Don’t panic. Whatever you do, don’t panic. If he’s after you, and you don’t know that he is, he won’t dare do anything in broad daylight with all these people around, alright? Just keep calm. He probably just wants a closer look at the pond or something. He has as much right to be here as you do."
The motorcycle braked to a smooth stop right beside my bench and it took everything I had in me not to just jump up and start to run. Visions of Morrison calmly ordering my execution from the comfort of his prison cell ran through my head tauntingly.
The engine was turned off and I could hear the kickstand as it was lowered to the ground. I prevented my head from turning only with the greatest strength of will, keeping my gaze focused on the play of light over the rippling water. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.
I could hear the light crunch of gravel as the man got off his motorcycle. Then nothing but the quietly ticking engine and the seemingly far off sounds of children at play.
Why doesn’t he do something? Why is he just standing there?
Because, the darkly paranoid part of my mind supplied, he’s just waiting for the opportunity to kill you without all these witnesses seeing it.
That’s nonsense, my more rational thoughts proclaimed. He’s looking at the water, same as you are.
He could see the water just fine from where he was. Run now, Angel, while you still might have a chance.
Stay calm. Nothing’s happened yet. Start running now, and you’ll never stop. You’ll be looking over your shoulder forever and screaming every time a dog tips over a trash can.
I was so wrapped up in my internal argument that I didn’t even notice when the stranger walked closer to where I sat, stopping less than two feet to my right, just beyond where the bench ended. Knowing that I was betraying my terror more by not looking, I turned my head fully in his direction, summoning up a smile from somewhere.
My image was reflected back at me from the mirrored visor, showing my smile for the false thing that it was. My eyes were wide with barely controlled panic. My heart sped up even more as a sweat broke out over my forehead, stinging my eyes.
He stared at me for so long that I finally just wanted to scream at him to just kill me and get it over with so that I could have some peace.
His gloved hand came up then, and in my panic, I swore I saw a gun. My own hands raised, palm out, in pure reflex, before I noticed that his hand was empty and he was merely reaching for the visor of his helmet.
He moved the faceplate up slowly and I can remember thanking God that at least I would see the face of my killer before I died. Not great, as prayers of thanks go, but it was something to focus my panicked thoughts on.
I couldn’t see much of his face. It appeared to be covered with a black hood of some sort, covering all features but the eyes.
I blinked.
The eyes.
I blinked again, bringing my hand up to shade against the nearly horizontal rays of sunlight shining in my face.
One step, and the sun was effectively blocked by a long body, leaving me free to stare into those beautiful, mesmerizing, magnificent, blue eyes. Blue as the hottest part of a candle’s flame. Blue as the center of a perfect block of . . . .
"Ice?" I whispered, the tears already starting to fall.
Their shape changed to a smile’s almond as they warmed, their color deepening.
"Ice?" I repeated in a voice thick with tears. "Is that you?"
A black-gloved hand reached down, and without thinking, I grasped it. I was pulled up with an ease I well remembered and my shout was suddenly muffled against her chest as the feel and scent of sun-warmed leather encompassed me as much as her arms did, folding themselves around my body in a tight embrace.
My words came out like a flood of water over a shattered dam. "Oh my God. I thought you were dead! I thought they’d killed you! How did you get here? What happened to you?"
Further questions were lost in my sobs and she tightened her embrace, rocking me gently. Beneath the heavy leather, I could hear her own heart racing and I could feel the tightness in her chest that told me she was trying to control tears of her own.
Gradually, she released her tight hold of me, urging me out to arm’s length and gazing intently at me, as if needing to memorize my features again. Her stare was so loving, so intense, that I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.
Laughing weakly in embarrassment, I brushed the tears from my eyes, standing as a soldier might during a parade review. From the corner of my eye, I noticed some curious stares we were getting from passers by. I looked back at Ice, nervous once again. "You shouldn’t be here," I said in a low-pitched whisper which I hoped would carry through her hood and helmet. "The police are still looking for you. It’s not safe for you here. They . . .they could have sent someone to tail me." I knew I was sounding like a paranoid idiot, but my fears were real.
Her eyes warmed in a smile once again as she slowly shook her head. Then, for the first time, she spoke, her voice slightly muffled, but exactly as I’d remembered it. "I’ve been following you all afternoon."
My eyebrow creased in puzzlement. "You have? But, I didn’t . . . ."
Shaking her head again, her eyes still smiling, she gently took my hand and led me over to her motorcycle, which was of a style I’d never seen before outside of the motorcycle races my father sometimes watched on television. It wasn’t a touring bike, like some of the Harleys and Hondas that I’d seen outside the bars near my apartment in Pittsburgh. This motorcycle seemed to be built for speed and not so much for comfort.
Releasing my hand, she went over to the other side of the bike and picked up a second helmet which had been attached to the back of the molded seat, holding it out to me, her eyes full of questions.
Questions of my own, a million of them, flitted through my mind, but I could no more refuse that helmet than I could refuse to breathe.
Accepting the helmet, I pulled it over my head. It was a snug fit, the foam inserts dragging harshly over my ears. I kept the visor up, watching as she rounded the bike again and grabbed my sack of personal articles. The bag wasn’t that big, containing as it did only a couple articles of clothing and Ice’s book. It had two loops, which I slipped over my arms as Ice handed it to me, settling it comfortably on my back.
Picking up the bonsai, she walked back to the bike and lifted the seat, exposing a tiny carry space. She placed the tree almost reverently within, then closed the seat back up and swung her leg over the bike, straddling it once again.
Breathing deeply, I climbed in back of her, never having ridden a motorcycle before. The bike was built for the driver to lean forward, almost resting on the gas tank.
Once I was more or less settled, she took my hands and clasped them across her abdomen. "Hang on," was all she said before she kick started the engine.
And hang on I did.
* * *
We rode north, and north, and north, mainly through back country roads, but sometimes on lightly, and not-so-lightly, traveled highways. I spent most of the evening laying almost directly on top of Ice as she leaned over the cycle’s gas tank, the handlebars at her chin, racing to beat the devil.
The miles flew by, my surroundings almost mystical, bathed
in the diminishing glow of twilight spring. My terror with this new mode of travel almost caused me to dump the bike as my body rebelled against the gravity of the tight turns Ice was making at incredible speeds. Only her unparalleled strength kept us upright and moving.
Finally, I just gave up and gave in, laying my heavy head against her back and closing my eyes against the onrushing wind which buffeted my helmet. I felt my body relax and meld itself to hers, almost becoming one with it as we continued down the road and into the future.
After hours and hours of riding, my body stiff and sore and aching, my hands blocks of ice chapped by the early spring wind, we finally pulled to a quiet stop in a graveled lot outside of a rundown motel.
It took almost all that I had just to release my death grip on Ice’s waist and straighten my cramped and aching back. She slipped off the bike with her usual seamless grace and then turned and helped me from my perch, releasing me as she dug into her pocket for a single key.
After retrieving the bonsai from beneath the seat, she led me over to a battered door and slipped her key in the lock. The handle turned easily and she ushered me inside.
The room was warm, small, and lit by a single lamp hanging over a battle-scarred table off to one side. A double bed took up most of the remaining space. A knapsack sat atop the tattered, threadbare quilt and I lowered my own sack of belongings to lay beside it. Then I unsnapped my chinstrap with cold-numbed fingers, sliding the confining helmet from my head and shaking my hair free.
From beside me, Ice copied my actions, pulling off helmet and hood and releasing her hair in tumbling midnight waves, running a negligent hand through it to settle the strands into some type of order. My heart doubled its pace at the simple beauty of the unconscious act.
She turned to me then, and smiled, and I fell in love all over again, tumbling headlong into a precipice I thought denied to me forever. Tears sprang to my eyes, and though I wanted nothing more than to be engulfed by her tender strength and powerful love, I needed one question answered; one above all others.
