Sucker Punch

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I was enjoying being able to see the forest and the trees in daylight. It looked like a good place to go camping if I ever had enough time for a vacation, or if I found anyone willing to camp with me, or if I still enjoyed camping. I mean, if it was really important to me, wouldn’t I have done it by now? I hadn’t been camping in nearly ten years. Was it an old hobby that I’d outgrown and my interest was just nostalgia, or was it something I needed to make time for and enjoy again?

  Something about planning the wedding had made me think things like that. I mean, Jean-Claude was never, ever going camping on purpose. Even if daylight wasn’t a danger to him, he just wasn’t a backpack-and-hiking-boots kind of guy. He owned more high-heeled boots than I did. He was all about appearance, and I was so not. I hadn’t thought that was a problem until he wanted a wedding very different from what I wanted. If he’d been the girl, it would have been easier. Then he could have had the fabulous dress, and I could have worn a tux.

  “Are the two of you not talking because I am present?” Olaf asked.

  I blinked and realized that I hadn’t been seeing anything: not the trees, not the car, not Nicky, not Olaf. Shit, I couldn’t afford to lose my edge that completely around Olaf. The thought of just how oblivious I’d allowed myself to be with him sitting beside me made the pulse in my throat throb and my heart race.

  “What did I do to frighten you?” he asked, and sounded genuinely puzzled. He didn’t even make a creepy remark about liking the way I smelled when I was scared.

  Nicky answered, “She let her attention wander with you sitting beside her. She thinks it was careless.”

  “You’re right behind her. You literally have her back.”

  “I take care of myself, damn it, and if I need backup it’s not supposed to be because I get careless.”

  I was angry at myself, and that anger wanted to spill onto the men in the car. It wasn’t logical, but then anger seldom is. Luckily for all of us, I had been working on my anger issues in therapy. Otherwise God knew what I would have said or done: something to hurt my relationship with Nicky permanently or accidentally pull the pin on Olaf. If I ever did the last part, I wanted to do it on purpose.

  Olaf glanced back at Nicky and asked, “How did you know what upset her?”

  “I felt her thoughts.” Nicky said it as if his doing so was totally normal.

  Olaf kept looking at Nicky and not at the road. He wasn’t drifting out of his lane or anything. There were no cars in sight, but . . .

  “Driving,” I said, “you’re driving. Looking at the road would be good, Olaf.”

  He stared at Nicky for a heartbeat more and then looked back at the road. “Did the car divert from its course?”

  “No.”

  Nicky said, “Anita’s nervous in cars.”

  Olaf nodded. “I remember.”

  The mechanical voice on my phone, which tried to sound vaguely like a British lady, gave us the next turn, which was coming up soon. Olaf slowed down to look for the next road, but all I could see were trees and more trees. It was beautiful, but I suddenly felt claustrophobic, as if another road or house would have been comforting.

  “Can you hear Anita’s thoughts?” Olaf asked.

  “Sometimes, but her feelings, those’re constant,” Nicky said.

  “Do you experience the feelings with her?”

  “No, but I’m still impacted by them.”

  “Impacted how?”

  “Anita is uncomfortable with us discussing her like this, so I need to ask if she’s okay with me elaborating.”

  “Elaborating? I don’t remember you knowing words that large once,” Olaf said.

  “I read more now.”

  I sat there debating how I felt about the conversation, other than it making me uncomfortable. I finally said, “Answer Olaf’s question, and I’ll see how I feel about it.”

  “I’m her Bride. Apparently that means my main job is to keep her happy and safe. The happiness is the hard part.”

  “Because you do not understand what makes her happy?”

  “No, I understand exactly what makes her happy, or I do now. If I make her unhappy, it literally hurts me emotionally and almost physically until I fix it. Like right now she’s uncomfortable hearing me say that, but she told me to answer you, so it can get tricky.”

  “It sounds . . . terrible,” Olaf said. He slowed to let a car turn out onto the road from the turn we were supposed to make.

  “I’ve never been happier in my life,” Nicky said.

  “But it’s Anita’s happiness, not yours.”

  “Is it? I can’t really tell sometimes, but I know I feel happy. I feel loved. I feel safe. I feel like you’re supposed to feel in a family when you’re a child, or how they make it look on TV movies and family events at school. I always felt like an outsider or like other families lied better in public than mine did. Until I hooked up with Anita, I didn’t believe in family or love.”

  “We are both sociopaths. You can’t feel those things,” Olaf said.

  “That’s what I thought, too, but something about the connection with Anita opened me up to feel things.”

  “Nicky tells me I’m his Jiminy Cricket, like in Pinocchio,” I said.

  “I know Pinocchio,” Olaf said.

  “Sorry. You don’t always get the cultural references I use.”

  “True. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  The road widened, and we were suddenly in a small neighborhood that looked like a million others anywhere in the country, except for the ever-present trees that hedged round it like someone had dropped it into the middle of a national forest.

  I was thinking about how pretty the area was when Olaf asked, “May I touch your leg?”

  He’d asked permission like I’d told him to do, but I didn’t want him to touch me. So if I let him touch me, was I really giving permission or being coerced?

  “Your body is reacting as if it is stressed. I have done nothing.”

  “You asked permission, and that’s great. It’s appreciated, but I’m sort of in work headspace, and I wasn’t expecting you to ask anything date-y, so it threw me.”

  “Why is it a problem? No one from work will see us, so it will not hurt our professional standing. Nicky will not care.”

  “I might care,” Nicky said.

  “Why would you care if I put my hand on her thigh?”

  “Because she cares, and she doesn’t want you to do it.”

  I added, “I don’t usually let people touch my leg until we’ve had a couple of dates.”

  “With all the people in your life, you still have such stringent rules?” He gave me a sideways look, keeping half his attention on the street.

  I sighed; he had a point. “It depends on the person and the relationship.”

  “Do you overthink all your relationships this much?” he asked.

  “Yes, actually, but you’re the only one that started out threatening to kidnap, rape, torture, and kill me, so I’m a little fuzzy on which category to put you in for dating.” I’d ended by letting my confusion turn into sarcasm.

  Olaf either didn’t get it or ignored it. He knew me well enough to know that I made smart-ass remarks when I was nervous or just because I could. “I can see where it would be confusing. You are also in a different category for me, and it does make things more difficult. I have never had to beg a woman to touch her before. I do not like it, but I am trying to learn the rules of ordinary dating. You tell me I must learn consent, so I am trying.”

  “You are, Olaf. I mean, you really are. You’ve surprised the hell out of me with the amount of effort.”

  “Thank you for noticing.”

  “But if I say, ‘Yes, touch my leg,’ just because you want to touch me, but not because I want you to touch me, then is it really c
onsent, or am I letting you bully me into it? And if I’m letting you do that, is it really consent, or is it coercion?”

  “That is so convoluted that I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “Yeah, welcome to the inside of Anita’s head,” Nicky said.

  “Are all women so complex in their thought processes?”

  “More. I’m actually pretty easy for girl logic,” I said.

  “I may owe your sex an apology. I thought they did not think deeply, but perhaps it is that you all think so differently from men that it seems to be shallow but is actually quite deep in a way that makes absolutely no sense.”

  I thought about that for a second or two and then said, “Thanks. I think.”

  “You are welcome.”

  The tinny voice on my phone said, “Your destination is ahead on the left.”

  Thank God, we were here. Maybe doing our actual jobs would distract Olaf from trying for his version of touchy-feely. It was better than him trying to kill me, but I understood the rules for that, and dating anyone always confused me. Dating Olaf was ridiculous, like trying to date Godzilla and not expecting to get crushed right along with Tokyo.

  Nicky reached up and squeezed my shoulder to let me know he was there. He was part of one of the least complicated relationships in my life. Listening to him explain it to Olaf made me realize all over again that simple for me was super complicated for Nicky.

  “I don’t mind. I love you, and I know you love me, because I can feel it,” Nicky said, leaning in as close as his seat belt would allow.

  “What don’t you mind? Why did you say that?” Olaf asked as he pulled into the driveway of our destination.

  “I’m replying to what Anita was thinking.”

  Olaf glanced back at Nicky and then at me. “When you told me that you were trying not to feed on my anger because you were afraid of what it might do to me, is this what you meant?”

  I made a little waffling movement with my head and shrugged. “Sort of. Just feeding on anger isn’t what tied Nicky to me, but it’s made me cautious about who I feed on for anything. I rolled Nicky on purpose. I’d hate to do this by accident.”

  “I had kidnapped you and was helping my werelion pride threaten to kill the men you loved,” Nicky said.

  “I didn’t say that I regretted using the only weapon you guys had left me to turn you into my ally, but the thought that I could treat you like a true slave and you couldn’t do anything about it creeps the fuck out of me.”

  “You’re a better person than that,” Nicky said.

  “Luckily for you,” I said.

  “I knew Nicky before you. If the positions had been reversed, he is not the better person,” Olaf said.

  I looked into the back at Nicky. He smiled at me. I smiled back. “Nicky and I have talked about that.”

  “And what do you think of his old ways?” Olaf asked.

  “I think he was made into a sociopath by the bitch that called herself his mother. I think his ties to me just helped him find his own emotions, which the abuse damaged.”

  “Then Nicky is not like me, Anita. I have no emotions hiding inside me for you to find.”

  “If you didn’t have more than you think you do, then you wouldn’t be trying to date Anita,” Nicky said.

  Olaf startled visibly, hands tightening on the steering wheel so hard that it made protesting noises as if he might break it. He took his hands off the wheel. “I am not capable of love.”

  “Are you sure?” Nicky asked.

  Olaf looked at him, his face unreadable around his sunglasses. We waited to see if he’d answer Nicky’s question. He didn’t. He just got out of the car and left us to follow.

  “That was interesting,” Nicky said.

  I wanted to argue but said the truth since he could feel it anyway. “It was weird, disturbing, but interesting.”

  “I think you just described Olaf.”

  Again, I couldn’t argue, so I got out of the car and Nicky followed me, because he had to and because he wanted to. I was dating one sociopath; surely that was my limit. I’d never intended to date Olaf for real, so what were we going to do with each other? Even for my dating history, this was a weird one.

  53

  BRIANNA GIBSON OPENED the door to the one-story ranch house wearing a purple sports bra and leggings, with lavender-and-white cross-trainers on her feet. She was at least five-eight, maybe a smidge taller, and was lean enough to look good in the exercise clothes. Her nearly black hair was back in a short ponytail as neat and smooth as her body, so the fact that she was wearing full makeup that seemed more weekend clubbing than afternoon gym was a little startling, like she wasn’t sure if she was going to work out or head to the city for an evening out.

  We introduced ourselves and asked if we could ask her a few questions. She opened the door farther and ushered us inside. “Of course. I was wondering if any of you would need to talk to me about what happened to Jocelyn’s dad.”

  I nearly tripped over toys as I walked into the living room. Brianna Gibson was clean, neat, and ready to greet the world. The same could not be said of her home. There were toys and baby things everywhere, so it was like tiptoeing through a biological-clock minefield. A baby started crying from farther inside the house, and then a second cry joined the first, so there was a chorus of unhappy infants.

  “Damn, they’re up from their naps. I’m sorry, but I have to go check on them. Clear off a space and have a seat,” the woman said, and then walked down a hallway that led directly off the living room.

  There was also a door on the wall, which probably led to the kitchen, but who knew? And honestly, until someone cleared the debris away, the door wasn’t going to open anyway.

  We stared around at the couch and the two overstuffed chairs, which sat like islands that were in danger of being engulfed in the toys and bits of baby clothes. There were two of those baby chairs with trays and wheels that helped babies practice walking while having snacks or playing with small toys. The mess on the floor was so thick, the chairs weren’t going to move. The babies could practice standing, but walking wasn’t happening until someone picked up a little.

  Olaf started moving things off the couch, so Nicky and I joined him. We each had an armful of toys and other baby debris, but now where to put it? Did we dump it on the floor with all the rest, or did we try to straighten some of it? I’m not the neatest person in the world, but I was overwhelmed with the mess in the room. It made me want to start shoveling things against the wall so at least the floor would be clear.

  I whispered, “Where do we put it?”

  Olaf put his armload in the corner to one side of the couch so at least it wasn’t making it harder to walk. I didn’t have a better idea, so I added my armload to his. The pile began to slide down like ice cream melting, and I couldn’t stand it. I went down on one knee to push at it and place things until there was some stability to the heap and it didn’t try to fall apart.

  Nicky dropped the stuff in his arms behind the couch. I hadn’t realized there was enough room to do that. I thought about picking up another armload and putting it there, too.

  Olaf whispered, “She’s returning.”

  I stood up to join him by the couch. I had my hands clasped in front of me, because the urge to start trying to straighten more of the chaos was almost overwhelming. If I hadn’t thought the woman would have been insulted by it, I might have done it anyway, but I wanted information more than I wanted anything else from Ms. Gibson. Nathaniel would have been amused that anything could be messy enough to make me want to start picking up. It was usually he or Jean-Claude who started picking up before the rest of us even thought of it. That was about as domestic as Jean-Claude got before he paid people to be domestic for him, but Nathaniel enjoyed bringing domestic order out of chaos. I wondered what he would have thought of this.

 
; Ms. Gibson came back down the hallway with a baby in each arm. One was dressed in lavender and the other in yellow. They both had the beginnings of dark hair like five-o’clock shadow on top of their heads. Their big dark eyes looked like their mother’s, but the faces looked like someone else’s, probably the father’s, though there were no pictures anywhere, so that was just a guess. For all I knew, the twins could have been the spitting image of their grandpa. Genetics is like that sometimes.

  Ms. Gibson had taken the time to put a lavender-and-yellow headband on each baby. There were tiny flowers and ribbons on the headbands. The outfits were equally girlie and pretty. It was the kind of stuff that most people reserved for baby photos or maybe Easter service at church. That’s to say, the babies looked great. They were pink cheeked and healthy and dressed as neatly as the mother. Apparently, on Brianna’s priority list, clothes ranked higher than housework. If the babies had come out as neglected as the living room, I’d have been upset, but they were smiling and happy, so I smiled back and let my parenting expectations go.

  She glanced at each of them in turn, smiling, and they smiled back. “Who’re my beautiful girls? You’re my beautiful girls, aren’t you?”

  The baby in yellow made noises back to her, and the baby in lavender joined in. It was gibberish, but I could have sworn it sounded like the same gibberish, as if both babies were speaking the same arcane baby language.

  She talked to them as she put them in their bouncy seats. They gabbled back at her and to each other. Was it my imagination, or were they more solemn when they talked to each other? It was almost as if they smiled and talked to their mother the way she talked to them, like she was the baby and didn’t understand them.

  “I’m going to get them a snack and myself a diet. Can I get any of you something?”

  It took me a second to understand she meant she was getting herself a diet soda and not an entire diet, so Olaf answered first. “No, thank you.” His voice rumbled even deeper than normal.

  It made me glance at him, but his face showed nothing. I wasn’t sensing his inner lion either. I shrugged it off and answered her, “No, thanks. I’m good.”