Beneath the Scars

by Melanie Moreland

  “What?”

  “Dixie… Have you seen her?” I gasped.

  “No. Why would I?”

  “She isn’t here?”

  His voice became impatient, his accent even stronger than earlier. I could see one of his hands curled into a fist at his side; I knew he wasn’t pleased to be having this conversation with me. “Why would she be here?”

  “I fell asleep…the screen opened up…I think she went outside…I can’t find her…” I babbled, my voice quivering.

  “She isn’t here.”

  I braced myself on the doorframe, my legs shaking. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He shrugged. “Not much you can do. It’s almost dark.”

  “I have to find her! I can’t leave her out all night!”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “I don’t know. I was asleep.”

  He stepped back, his hand on the door, beginning to push it shut.

  “I can’t help you.”

  “Please, Zachary; she’s so little. She must be lost…and so scared!”

  His voice was angry when he spoke. “You should have taken better care of her, if you loved her so much.”

  I gasped at his hurtful words.

  “I had a migraine and she was beside me when I lay down—” I protested. I looked around wildly. “Oh God, what if she wandered off into the woods?”

  His voice was cold. “There’s nothing much you can do at this point. You’ll have to look in the morning. The only thing you can do is pray a coyote doesn’t get her first.”

  Then the door slammed shut.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I stumbled back from the door, my hand covering my mouth.

  That man wasn’t only rude or unfriendly. He was cruel.

  I made it to the top step before my legs gave out on me and I fell down, wrapping my arms around my legs as I sobbed.

  My little Dixie.

  I had gotten her from a shelter when she was about nine months old. She’d been found in an alley—dirty, scared, and so thin. We’d made an instant connection when Dixie’s paw had reached through her kennel, stopping me as I walked down the aisle. I bent down to say hello, and I was in love. The staff at the shelter had named her Dixie since she loved to run around with one of the small cups clasped in her mouth, using it like a toy. It suited her, so I kept the name and she’d been with me ever since—the one real constant in my life.

  I felt a few raindrops start and my tears became harder, my sobs wrenching out of my chest in loud gasps. From behind me, I could hear a low whimper, which caused me to lift my head.

  Elliott. He heard me crying and was answering me in his own way.

  Showing that, unlike his cold-hearted master, he did care.

  I had to find Dixie.

  With a new determination, I jumped up, wiped the tears away from my face, and ran down the steps. I raced as fast as I could across the sand, stumbling over my own feet in my haste, the space between the two houses seemingly vast all of a sudden. Once my steps faltered as his words “you’d better pray a coyote doesn’t find her first” flashed through my head. I lurched forward as nausea washed over me, and I dry heaved onto the sand at the thought of Dixie being hurt because of my carelessness. When I reached the empty house, my hope of finding Dixie waiting for me on the deck, was crushed, so I grabbed two things: my jacket and the flashlight. I had no choice; I had to try and find her. I had seen a path the other day in the woods behind the house—I would follow it as far as I could. I prayed I would find Dixie before I had to turn around.

  I tore out the back door and stopped at the edge of the forest. Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the woods. Gloom instantly surrounded me as I hurried forward, calling out Dixie’s name. Branches grabbed at my clothes, tearing at my hair as the woods closed in—the denseness around me muffling the sound of the ocean. The way ahead was unclear, and I stopped, panicking. How was I ever going to find Dixie in all of this unfamiliar darkness? I turned, realizing I no longer even knew where the house was located. I had no choice but to continue the way I came. Pushing forward, I began to pray.

  I was unaware of how much time had passed when I fell over an exposed tree root, twisting my ankle, crying out in the dark. I had been searching and calling, stopping to listen, praying I would hear Dixie’s bark. All I heard, though, were the sounds of the forest around me, the rain as it hit the trees, and my own sobbing breaths. I had been heading uphill for a while and the sound of the ocean was still to my left side, but otherwise, I knew I was hopelessly lost. I should never have come into the woods. The trail had petered out rather fast, but I had continued pushing ahead, my need to find Dixie overriding all my common sense.

  Now, I lay sobbing in the wet mud and dead leaves left by the cold winter. Why didn’t I bring my cellphone? Why hadn’t I waited until daylight? As much as I hated to admit it, Zachary had been right to say I needed to wait until the morning, but it had been his harsh remark about the coyotes that had sent me running in here, in a tailspin of fear.

  Gingerly, I climbed to my knees, wincing as I pushed off the wet ground in an attempt to get to my feet. My jeans were torn and my hands and knees were both covered in scratches and cuts. I stood, my legs unsteady, but collapsed back down when my ankle gave out as soon as I put weight on it. Crying, I crawled my way over to the closest tree, leaning up into it, hugging my good leg to my chest while my injured one stayed outstretched. The flashlight was lying beside me, its beam focused on the torn leg of my jeans, so I left it on as a form of comfort. Even though I knew the batteries would run out, I wasn’t ready to be in total darkness yet. I took in several breaths, trying to calm myself. I needed a plan.

  No one knew where I was, so I had to get myself out of the forest. I closed my eyes and listened. The ocean was in front of me, which meant so was the beach. If I went straight ahead I could get there and then get back to the house. If I’d been going uphill, as I thought, that meant I must be headed toward the bluff. I needed a stick to lean on, a good firm branch that would hold my weight while I inched forward. I only had to rest for a few minutes before I attempted to get to my feet again. I felt fresh tears gather when I realized I couldn’t look for Dixie anymore. I would have to call Mrs. Cooper in the morning and ask for help.

  Hoping, as Zachary so kindly suggested, we found her before another animal did.

  Shivering, I closed my eyes and hugged myself.

  I’d rest for a few minutes, gather some strength and then I’d get up.

  I had to get up. I had to find Dixie.

  A sound woke me. Something was moving quickly across the ground, shuffling dead twigs and leaves that covered the forest floor. I pushed back into the tree, gripping the flashlight, ready to use it as a weapon. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep—I’d only meant to rest for a moment and gather my strength.

  I swallowed, fear racing down my spine as the noises came closer, and I shut my eyes when the sound stopped, too terrified to look at what was now right beside me. Shaking from cold and panic, I bit down on my lip to stop the terrified scream that was building. The brush of fur on my hands startled me, but it was the long wet lick of a rough tongue that caused me to gasp, my eyes flying open as I stared into Elliott’s face. My fear was instantly replaced with relief and I flung my arms around his great neck, sobbing. It was when I heard Zachary’s impatient voice, and realized he was right behind Elliott, that I raised my head.

  He stood, looking down at me, bathed in semi-darkness. With a muttered curse, he kneeled beside me. “Are you hurt?”

  I could only nod; too shocked at his sudden appearance to speak.

  “Aside from the obvious, where?”

  The obvious?

  I pointed a shaking finger to my ankle.

  He leaned down, his fingers prodding and checking. I winced when he tried to bend it and he placed my foot back down. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m not sure you can walk.”

  “I know.”

 
He sat back on his heels. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “Dixie—” My voice trailed off as his anger exploded.

  “…was lost.” He finished my sentence. “So you decide to compound the problem by charging into the woods and getting yourself lost, as well? Do you have any common sense at all? What good would it do her if you were hurt? Jesus, if I hadn’t found you—” He paused, only to start berating me again. “Do you have any brains in that head of yours, Megan?”

  I took in a shuddering breath, startled by his fury.

  “You are an awful man.”

  He laughed—the sound dry and bitter. “Hardly a news flash, my dear.” He stood up and reached for my hand. “We need to get you out of the woods and somewhere warm.”

  “Dixie—”

  “She’s safe and sitting by the fire, in my living room. I found her not long after you left.”

  My gasp of relief was almost painful and the tears started running down my face again. I buried my face in my hands, huge sobs ripping from my chest. Zachary’s voice was softer when he spoke again. “Megan, we need to get you out of these woods. I’ve been looking for you for over an hour; we need to get out of the cold. Give me your hand, please.”

  He’d been looking for me?

  I wiped my eyes and held out my hand, allowing him to pull me up. When I was standing, my legs wobbling, he hesitated. “If you help me, support my weight a little, I think I can walk,” I insisted.

  He moved closer, wrapping his arm around my waist, allowing my weight to settle into him. Despite the reason he was holding me, my body reacted. Warmth surged through me at his close proximity and I trembled from his touch.

  “Try a step.”

  I stepped forward, the pain tearing through me, making me gasp and stumble.

  With a muffled curse, he swept me into his arms and my head fell into his chest as darkness closed in around me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Fuck!”

  My arms shot out, grabbing Megan before she hit the ground. I pulled her unconscious form closer to my chest, cradling her tight. She was out cold, her body limp and dangling in my arms. Calling Elliott to heel, I hurried back to the house. I was grateful we weren’t too far away and I knew the way well. How she had left the path in the woods and ended up here, was a mystery to me. She must have been wandering in circles, getting more lost each time. Another ten feet and she would have walked right off the bluff and fell the long distance to the hard, unforgiving sand below. The thought of that happening had me tightening my grip on her.

  It had taken mere seconds for the guilt to hit me after I slammed the door on Megan, her face gaping at me in shock over my callous behavior. My earlier encounters with her had left me reeling, and finding her on my doorstep was unexpected. Her very proximity caused feelings and desires I could never act upon, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. The longing to reach out and pull her into my arms, to soothe her, was so strong I had to curl my hands into tight fists at my side to stop myself from doing exactly that. I wanted to draw her into my house, sit her in front of the warm fire, and assure her I would find her little dog she was so terrified she’d lost—but I didn’t; I couldn’t. Instead, her tear-filled eyes and desperate pleas for help had only panicked me further, causing me to treat her cruelly. I shook my head in disgust as I recalled my comment about the coyotes; it was definitely a low point—even for me.

  I had stood on the stairs, uncertain, when I heard Elliott’s low whines, turning to see him sitting by the door, his tail thumping on the floor in a slow, rhythmic cycle. His look of disdain said everything; I walked back to the door, peered through the glass, my heart clenching at the sight of Megan sitting on my steps, obviously sobbing, her shoulders shaking. Before I could react, she had stood up, her posture determined, then she began hurrying back toward the house where she was staying. She’d run across the beach, tripping and stumbling; at one point she stopped, bent over, then continued on, and disappeared from view.

  Groaning, I knew without a doubt, she would go looking for her dog in the woods. I also knew she would get lost. I had sighed, a heavy exhale of air, my head falling onto the thick wood of my door, as I realized there was no choice; I had to go after her. I knew the woods well, since Elliott and I tramped through the dense forest daily. I was certain if Dixie had wandered into the woods she was probably following Elliott’s scent, and there was every chance she would end up on my doorstep—as long as she was safe. It was getting dark, though, the storm was closing in, and I hadn’t lied: there were coyotes in the woods. I had to try and find her. I had to try and find both of them.

  I had grabbed my coat and called Elliott, guilt eating at me for my appalling behavior. I didn’t need to put a lead on him, so side by side we headed into the darkening forest, following the worn trail we had made from so many similar walks. It was only about fifteen minutes later that Elliott’s bark alerted me. I found Dixie, trembling and wet, her collar caught on a low lying tree branch, but otherwise unharmed. I exhaled a sigh of relief, tucking her shaking body into my coat as I took her back to the house. Her grateful licks to my face made me feel even worse about the way I had spoken to Megan. With rapid movements, I toweled her off then sat her in front of the fire to warm up, and much to Elliott’s displeasure, called him to come with me, hurrying back in search of Megan.

  I looked back down at the woman in my arms; she was so pale, with streaks of dirt on her cheeks, concealing most of her freckles. Her coat and jeans were mud-covered and wet; her hair soaked to her head, almost black in its appearance. She was disheveled and dirty, yet I could still discern her delicate beauty, feel the same overwhelming pull to her I had felt when I first saw her in the gallery and earlier on the beach. Tilting my head, I could see her ankle was swelling over the edge of her shoe. I felt the stirrings of anger again at myself that my behavior and words had driven her into the woods, causing her injury.

  I broke through the tree line, ignoring the branches that tugged on my clothes and hat. I hurried to the door, wanting to get her out of the rain as soon as possible. Struggling to hold her and open the door, I cursed as I fumbled with the handle, not wanting to jar her in any way. Once in the house, I hesitated, unsure what to do. I felt a tremor go through her unconscious body, and I knew I needed to warm her up. Quickly, I went into the living room, placing her on the sofa. Her coat was heavy with moisture—awkward to remove—and more than once, she groaned before I was able to free her of it. I dragged off her sneakers and dropped them to the floor, to make her comfortable. I hesitated over her jeans, but decided to leave them on, and instead draped the blanket off the back of the sofa on top of her, tucking it in around her tightly. Dixie was whining softly on the floor and I lifted her onto the sofa beside Megan, where she curled into her side.

  I shed my own coat, adding more logs to the fire. Then, I went to the bathroom and grabbed a few things, kneeling on the floor beside Megan’s still unconscious form. Gently, I lifted her ankle, peeling off her wet sock. I did another quick check, rotating and examining the ankle for broken bones. When I was certain it was a bad sprain, and not broken, I secured it in a bandage, propping it up on a cushion. Frowning, I sat back, and peeled off her other wet sock, tucking both feet under the blanket. Would that make her warm enough? Just in case, I grabbed another folded blanket from the pile beside the sofa and tucked it around her.

  I stood up, looking down on her and Dixie, who was staring up at me with wide eyes. I stroked her face as I shook my head. “You caused all this, you furry little fucker,” I growled quietly, yet somehow it was without any real anger behind it. Staring down at Megan, I couldn’t understand this intense longing I felt; why I wanted so desperately to touch her, to hear her talk, and be able to listen to her laughter. I wanted to watch the emotions flit across her face the same way they did when she had been entranced with my painting. Reaching down, I tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, then, unable to resist, allowed my fingers to graze lightly ove
r her cheek, frowning at the scratches I could see under the dirt. Lifting her hand, I grimaced at the cuts on her palms, and I was certain her legs were also bruised and scraped. I hesitated, wondering if I should get a cloth to clean the dirt off her and check her other injuries, but then reality once again hit me.

  She might wake up while I was doing that. She would clearly see me. Standing over her, touching her, she would see me, and it would scare her.

  I would scare her. I needed to move away.

  Pulling back, I walked to the corner and turned on a small lamp. With the storm getting closer, the room was getting darker; I didn’t want Megan frightened when she woke up to a dark room. She’d be confused enough, I was sure.

  I flung myself down in the chair opposite the sofa, just watching Megan. I angled myself so I was almost hidden in the shadows, and sat patiently.

  Waiting for her to wake up.

  Unsure what I would do or say when she did.

  Consciousness crept back in slow seconds. My eyes opened and blinked; my head fuzzy and confused. I was warm and comfortable, lying on something soft. I could feel various aches and pains on my body, and my cheeks were stinging. My hand drifted up to my face, and I frowned at the strange texture under my fingers on my cheek. It was dry and rough, and I pulled my hand away looking at the dark smears on my fingers.

  Mud?

  Images flashed through my mind, and I remembered the events of earlier: Dixie disappearing, Zachary’s hateful words, the woods, falling, Elliott finding me, and Zachary appearing.

  Zachary.

  I lifted my head, trying to work out where I was. My eyes were frantic as I took in the large, unfamiliar room. In the dim light, my heart beat loud in my chest as I looked around, deciding I had to be in Zachary’s house. I could hear the heavy pounding of rain on the roof over head, and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. I shifted, stifling a groan as my throbbing ankle protested. Carefully, I lifted back the blankets in which I was wrapped and saw my ankle was bandaged, resting on a pillow. I frowned in confusion. Zachary must have done that. He must have carried me here and looked after me.