Indigo [Try Pink Act Two]

by Max Ellendale

  "Stop." I pushed her backward and she withdrew, lifting her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. She turned away from me and cursed.

  "Come on. Why the hell did you come back here then? For tea time?"

  "You're a bitch."

  "You're a cock-tease."

  "Fuck you."

  "You didn't even try," she said, nearly pouting. I laughed in her face and she smirked. Silence fell awkwardly between us for a few seconds.

  "I'm gonna go," I said, buttoning my pants and heading toward the door.

  "Come back again, Whiskey Sour, when you've changed your mind," she said and I closed the door behind me.

  Bass from the music thudded lightly under my feet and voices of people coming and going from the rooms around us mingled with it. The bartender offered me a light nod as he walked passed carrying two stacked boxes.

  "No, I don't want to," a whispering voice spat, echoing in the stairwell. "I told you that already."

  "Fine. Be like that. Just get me a beer," a man's voice followed much louder.

  "Fine," said the woman and as I turned the corner, back toward the bar, I collided with the bartender and someone coming down the flight of stairs. Napkins rained down on us in a fluttery mess. I bent down to pick them up.

  "Sorry," I said.

  "Whoa there," said the bartender. "In a hurry, ladies?"

  "Can you get him a beer for me?" With less of an echo, the voice of the woman sounded familiar. At the same time, we both slapped a pile of napkins into the bartender's open hands.

  "No prob," he said, glancing between the two of us. He walked away just as a stifled gasp sounded. I turned to the woman and stood facing the mane of crimson I'd been dreaming about for months. That perfect orange-pink-red that belonged only to Jillian. Her face, pale and terrified, with her piercing blue eyes that gawked at me the way they did when she spilled my coffee ages ago.

  At first, she stared at me, her gaze shifting right to left as if she wasn't sure of what she was seeing until tears streamed down her cheeks, smearing her eyeliner and sending black streaks down to her chin.

  "You can't—you can't be here!" she shout-whispered, grabbing me and shoving me down the hall back toward the room where I left the curvy waitress. "What are you doing here?"

  "Me?" I jerked my arms away from her at the same time that the door opened. The waitress nearly walked into us.

  "Whoa. What the hell? I saw her first, Ginge, back off," she teased.

  "What?" Jillian looked between the two of us, then her eyes fell on me. "You were with Pam?"

  "Yeah, she was. What's going on?" asked the waitress, who I now knew to be Pam.

  "Nothing," said Jillian, and the three of us stood there in silence.

  "Well, this escalated quickly. I'm out." Pam rolled her eyes and wandered back toward the bar.

  Jillian grabbed me again and shoved me into Pam's room. I stumbled over my own feet then the carpet until she closed the door behind us. "What are you doing here!"

  "What am I doing here?" I laughed because what else was I supposed to do. "You fucking left me, Jillian. Left me in a goddamn note." Only then did I even bother to notice what she was wearing. A red dress—the color she hated to wear because she said it clashed with her hair—no shoes, and nothing else. The bruise on her shoulder was the only thing that brought me pause.

  "Jess, please. You have to go," she said the moment I looked at her arm. "If Nate finds you, if he knows you're here—"

  "Wait a minute, Nate? You're with Nate?!"

  "Shh! No, I'm... He." She glanced over her shoulder and her fingers dug heavily into my arms. "Please go. I'll call you, okay? Please."

  "I'm not leaving you here! Are you kidding me? Jilly…" My anger shifted to fear when I picked up on hers. She couldn't stop looking over her shoulder and her tears spiraled to soft crying.

  "Please, baby, please go."

  "Jilly, no. I'm not going. I'm not."

  "He'll kill you. He'll kill me, okay?" She yelled with her teeth clenched as she shook me.

  "Stop. Stop it." I yanked her to me and for a moment, a single moment, she melted against me, then recoiled.

  "Jess, please," she begged, covering her mouth when the realization of our predicament seemed to hit her.

  "Did he take you?"

  "I went with him."

  "Why?" I bent down, lifted the hem of my jeans, and pulled my gun from the holster. "Does he have any weapons?"

  "N-no. It's just him and me." Her voice trembled while she stared at the weapon.

  "What's his job?"

  "Um…"

  "Quick, Jilly. Is he a cop or a lawyer or something?"

  "N-no. He just…steals stuff and sells it. Jewelry, cars."

  "Mafia?"

  "He's always alone."

  "Listen to me," I said, tucking the gun in the pocket of my jacket. "We're going to walk out of here like nothing, okay? Just walk out. Is there a back exit?"

  "He's coming. I'm supposed to be upstairs," she said when a noise sounded from outside. She was panicking and I knew we didn't have much time. "He...he… I went to get groceries. He was there in the parking lot waiting. I told him… I had to, he would kill you—"

  "Okay, baby, listen to me. Forget about that right now. We need to think about getting out of here, that's all. Okay?"

  "Jess." She sobbed out my name.

  "I know, okay? You're okay." I stepped closer to her and she recoiled again though reached for me at the same time.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cried and I didn't know what to do.

  "I know you are, Jilly. Come here, come to me." I held my hands out to her and she moved to me, slowly as if she walked on shards of glass. "How'd he find you?"

  "Art show. When we did it at the university, he saw a flyer with me on it when he was in New York." She sobbed and brought herself close enough to hold my hand. "He found you, not me."

  "I'm gonna get you out of here. It'll be okay." I squeezed her hand and the way she shook, her level of fear was nothing I'd ever seen before.

  A shout echoed from the hallway followed by a bang. More voices rumbled and Jilly nearly screamed. I yanked her behind me at the same moment the door flew open. In front of me stood a strung-out, long-haired, burly man with a raging red face. He stared at me, sucked in his breath, and his entire demeanor calmed to a casual smile.

  "Jillian, come here please," he said and Jilly's hand twitched in mine.

  "She's staying right where she is," I said, cooling my tone to match his. I angled my body toward Jilly and slid my hand into my pocket, gripping the gun.

  Pam's black hair swept passed the door and I heard her whisper, "Call the police," to someone.

  "Pamela, there's no need for that," Nate said, his eyes on us. "I'm here for my girlfriend and then we're leaving."

  "Ginger's your girlfriend? I thought you were her manager," Pam said, leaning in the doorway a bit.

  "He's a kidnapper and a rapist, Pam. I'd get to calling the police if I were you," I said loudly and Jillian's sobs only escalated.

  "Don't listen to her, Pamela," Nate said, lifting his voice a bit. "Come here, Jillian."

  "Jillian?" Pam's voice lowered and she retreated. She glanced at me from over his shoulder and disappeared.

  No one came in behind him, though I couldn't tell what was going on in the hall. Nate must've known his time was limited because he broke his posture and swept into the room. He grabbed Jilly by the arm and she let out a soft cry. I stepped between them and put my hand on his chest, holding him back. He was half a foot taller than me but I didn't care.

  "Let her go, you fucking bastard."

  He leaned down, his face an inch from mine, "Two choices; you leave or you come with us. That's all."

  "Just go," Jillian begged me. "Please. Ow." She jerked her arm a bit but Nate held on. He remained a breath away from me until…

  "Fuck you," I said and spat in his face.

  He erupted in front of us, tossed Jillian
on the bed, and slammed the door shut. The bolt clicked after and he rounded on me. I dodged the first punch he tossed, but the left hook caught me in the chin. The force of it sent me flying and he picked me up like a ragdoll, throwing me into the bookcase with a crash. I tumbled to the floor on top of a crunchy mess of papers and knickknacks, gasping and coughing up a mouthful of blood. Jillian shrieked and a kick in the gut lifted me from the floor again. I dropped back down and heaved for breath. My vision blurred and a heavy ringing scored my ears. When I looked up, I saw him grabbing Jillian and slamming her up against a wall, his hand on her thigh, lifting her dress.

  "Please, Nate, not here, please. Let's just leave, okay? Just leave her here and we—" She begged him but when I saw his body move into position and Jillian's knees buckle under his weight, I pulled the gun from my jacket and blinked away the haze, taking my aim.

  "Get off her!" I tried to shout but it came out muffled.

  I watched his hand enclose on her throat while she punched at his arm and chest. His lower half jerked violently as if trying to find the right way to move. Jillian choked, coughed, and I fired.

  The blast rang out, slicing every sound in the room, and leaving us in silence.

  Missing

  Jillian hit the floor and crawled away from him while gasping for breath. Blood spattered her shoulder and I pushed myself up to stand. I could barely breathe but I had to get to her. She grabbed for me and I pulled her away from him, dragging her across the floor. Nate lay crumpled and unmoving while a pool of blood spread out over the carpet. Jilly screamed and screamed while I held her. She tore at me and held on at the same time.

  The door bashed open and half a dozen armed police officers flooded the room with guns drawn and focused faces.

  "Drop your weapon!" one of them bellowed, but I had already lowered the gun. Two of them rushed to Jillian and me while a third picked up my weapon. Another moved toward Nate and two others called in reports on their radios. When one of the officers touched Jilly, she screamed and clamored against me.

  "Don't touch her!" I said. "She's scared. Just back off a minute."

  "What's your name?" A female officer crouched beside us, holding up a blanket. I tucked it around Jilly and she buried her face against my neck; the first real sign of life from her, even in all this mess. "Jeslyn Holloway, retired badge number 34622, Portland PD."

  "Shit," someone said, and more scuffling ensued.

  "Is that your service weapon?"

  "Side-arm, registered." I answered them automatically while rocking Jilly a bit. Her fingers dug into my side and I kept my hand on her cheek, preventing her from looking at Nate's body. And exposed gray matter. I knew he was dead. I wasn't trying to miss.

  "What's her name?" Officer Adams, according to her badge, asked.

  "Jillian Ward."

  "Do you know her?"

  "She's my girlfriend."

  "Jillian, we've got some EMS here to take the two of you to the hospital, okay?" Adams said, though Jilly didn't answer.

  We went together, back to the hospital I'd left only a few weeks earlier. They had to sedate Jilly and, when she was finally calm and safe, I asked them to sedate me.

  I deserved worse.

  She woke up, three days later. After I had finished all the interviews and the interrogations. After everyone had given statements and notified families. After Nate was gone and I wasn't charged with murder, even though I murdered him. But I murdered a rapist, a kidnapper, a felon without a family except for those he collected.

  When she finally opened her eyes, I was there. Her crimson hair tucked behind her ear where I left it. When her gaze met mine, as we lay on our sides opposite each other in her hospital bed, a single tear trickled down her cheek.

  "I'm sorry," I told her, brushing away her tear.

  "For what?" her hoarse voice croaked.

  "Thinking you really left me."

  "I did leave you."

  "To protect me from him," I said, and she glanced away from me for a moment then nodded. "He's dead," I confessed. "He can't hurt you anymore."

  "Or anyone," she whispered.

  "Or anyone."

  We grew quiet for a while and I closed my eyes. My side throbbed under the wraps meant to protect the broken ribs beneath them. A gentle caress on my cheek had me looking at her again. She wore a soft, contented expression for a moment while she touched me. Her eyes darted all over as if making sure everything was the same. It wasn't.

  "You're too thin," she said.

  "So are you."

  I let her touch me, do whatever she wanted to me. She brushed her thumb over my split lip, then tickled the side of my neck with her fingertips, like I was something foreign and fragile. When I lifted my hand to brush away another tear from her face, she flinched at first, the way she used to when she thought I didn't notice.

  "There's this place," I began, my voice cracking a bit, "in South Dakota, where there's acres and acres of land, and a horse farm. And the house is like a log cabin, but modern and sturdy, with a stone fireplace and Jacuzzi." She listened to me, her gaze fixed on mine like I was telling her a bedtime story. "I was thinking that we could live there. Just me and you. No one and nothing else. And maybe ride horses and be hillbilly farmers."

  "Can we go there now?"

  "I'll get it ready and, when you're healthy enough to leave here, we'll move right there."

  "I'd like that," she said, her bottom lip trembling as she broke into full-on crying. She moved to me for the first time on her own accord and I just held her.

  Eventually I'd join her and our cries would make us equal again.

  The creaking door disturbed us hours later. Jilly peaked up from her place on my shoulder and her whole body tensed. A nurse walked in first followed by a uniformed officer.

  "Miss Holloway, this officer would like to speak with you a moment," the nurse said.

  "Why?" I looked right at him and he stopped on my side of the bed. Jillian's fingers dug into me so fiercely that I had to stifle a pain-ridden moan.

  "Miss Holloway, when we ran your name, we came across a missing person's report. Are you aware of this?"

  "A what?" Jillian said, looking between us.

  "No," I said. "Who filed it?"

  "A man named Declan Holloway. Relation?" the officer asked.

  "My brother." I sighed a bit and dropped my head back on the pillows. "Can you tell him I'm fine?"

  "I'd prefer if you told him, ma'am, but I can relay the message."

  "Thanks."

  The nurse walked the officer out and Jillian leaned up to look at me. With time passing, my body pain grew and hers lessened, for the most part. "Why are you missing?"

  "I'm not."

  "Your brother seems to think so. And what are you doing in Portland?"

  "What are you doing in Portland?"

  "Same thing I was doing in New York," she said, her mouth twitching with her smirk.

  "I don't want you doing that anymore." This time when I stroked her cheek, she didn't flinch.

  ***

  We didn't make it to South Dakota, mostly because Jillian was released the next day. Neither of us had a car or clothes that weren't stained with blood so the hospital gave us standard issue sweats and shoes. Jillian refused the interview with the rape-crisis counselor, even with my urging, and I refused one with a social worker, too. I gave her my jacket when we hit the streets.

  The police kept my gun.

  "Are you hungry?" I asked her but she shook her head. My pace was slower than hers and, when we were about half a block from the hospital, she slipped her arm around my elbow.

  "Let's just go home."

  It took us about half an hour to walk to Portland Taxi and we hired a cab to take us the two hours back home. Neither of us cared about the money. She had none, just like last time, and I had a pocket full of cash I intended to lose in the g-strings of whatever women I encountered.

  In the quiet moment, when the cabby ignored us and Jil
lian fell asleep, guilt stirred somewhere inside me, breaking through the concrete wall I'd plastered over my emotions. Why hadn't I looked for her the way Leroy looked for his sister? Why had I so readily accepted that she'd leave me?

  Maybe because I expected her to. Because everyone always did.

  Or at least I believed so anyway.

  "Can I have a bath?" Jillian asked as we walked up from the gate toward the house. I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door. I hadn't bothered to set the alarm when I left.

  "Why don't you use the upstairs tub and I'll get some towels, okay?"

  "Why upstairs?"

  "The tub is bigger," I said and waited for her to walk up the stairs toward the studio. She glanced over her shoulder, watching me until the stairs curved away.

  The house was as I left it; a destroyed mess that resembled a crime scene. Paint splattered the living room furniture from my tantrum and the kitchen table remained on its side. I righted it on my way past and waited until I heard the water running upstairs before I made for the bedroom. I stripped the sheets, picked up the dirty laundry and cleared the floor to make it look at least halfway decent. The odor of decay lingered so I cracked the window a bit.

  By the time I made it back upstairs, Jilly had the tub mostly filled with steaming water and she was half-undressed. She paused when I came in and watched me when I set the towels on the sink.

  "It's like a flashback," she said.

  "I know."

  She undressed the rest of the way and I stared at the fading bruises that covered her in the same places they were last time, with the addition of her throat and arms. I helped her into the tub and she sighed when the hot water surrounded her. I lowered myself to the floor beside her, biting my tongue to keep from making any noise.

  "Come in here with me," she said.

  "I shouldn't get the bandage wet."

  "It's not doing anything anyway."

  I undressed, reluctantly, and tossed everything on the floor. The bandage wrap came off last and Jilly's face fell when she saw the awful bruises. Her lips pursed and her brows narrowed. When I stepped into the water, her hands went right to my middle, caressing me gently.