by Platt, Sean
What would he do if he did? Will he come over here and ask me to come with him? Or make some calls for backup and have the whole place surrounded? Crap, crap, crap.
Abigail’s leg bounced beneath the table, a mean sickness stirring in her belly.
Please don’t recognize me. Please, please, please.
Abigail dared to peek past her curtain of dark hair, and saw that the cop was still looking at her oddly, almost owl-like as he peered out through his oversized glasses.
Cold sweat beaded Abigail’s back.
God, he does recognize me!
She pictured the cop getting up and coming over, then grabbing her by the arm and saying something like, “Hey, don’t I know you?” His hand would lock onto her, then burn along with the rest of his body, an inferno from the inside out as she sucked his life to nothing, even while trying not to. Katya would leap up from the table, terrified and screaming, wondering what sort of monster had been sharing her meal.
The nausea in Abigail’s stomach rose into to her throat, coating it with vinegar.
Seconds from vomit, she stood from the table, silent as she walked as fast as she could without drawing attention, across the restaurant toward where painted ivy ended on the wall at the small hallway leading to the bathroom. Sickness threatened to burst from her mouth as she ran past diners nestled in their booths, focused on the restrooms ahead in the dark hallway at the restaurant’s rear.
Vomit was seconds from spilling. She hoped the bathroom wasn’t occupied, or worse, locked.
Please be open, please be …
She pushed the door, half expecting resistance. Finding none, Abigail fell into the bathroom, ran into a stall, and fell to the floor as vomit spewed from her mouth in a violent, painful eruption, spraying everywhere: some in the toilet, and the rest on the seat, wall, and chipped tile floor.
Abigail felt knives in her head, piercing her thoughts, until suddenly she was flashing back on memories that were not hers.
Karen’s past tore through her system first, shredding Abigail’s thoughts as they went — first Karen was laying in bed with her newborn baby, feeling so happy, softly pinching his squishy cheeks, singing to him. Then more memories: Karen stressed out and weeping, her son crying, sick with a fever. Karen was exhausted and didn’t know how much more she could take. She felt awful for thinking of herself when her child was sick, but was running on empty.
God, why can’t you help me?
Karen’s memories were swallowed by another’s — Hank Terault’s, a man she’d killed three months ago. A monster of a man who bullied his wife, child, and senile father. He’d escaped the justice system, but not Larry and Abigail.
She suffered through the man’s final moments and abuses in rewind until flashing through his memories as a child, before his doddering father was fighting dementia, and was quite the monster himself. Hank was 6, and had accidentally turned off the TV during a football game. His father shoved him aside, to the ground, grabbing the remote from Hank’s hand. As the TV flickered back to life, his father screamed, “You dumb fuck! I missed the touchdown!” His dad smacked him hard in the head with the remote, repeatedly until the black plastic was sticky with red.
Hank balled up on the ground crying. His mom tried to pull his father from his body until he turned on her, and let everyone in the house feel his hellfire’s unrelenting heat.
Abigail’s head swirled with their memories, before a trio of others joined them, all five flashing through her mind like a blitzed-out cable box furiously switching channels. Abigail was barely aware of herself, as if she’d been banished from her body, clutching the toilet, emptying her insides until she felt a sudden but gentle hand on her back.
Abigail jumped, startled, and turned back, yelling, “Don’t touch me!”
Katya withdrew her hand, eyes wide and startled; still alive, but only because she’d touched Abigail’s shirt, and not anywhere on her skin.
Abigail was finally back in her own head, her victims’ memories gone.
What was that?
She’d been assaulted by memories before, but only during a feeding and just after. Memories had never returned like this. Her head was swollen with a dull ache, and her body felt as if she’d thrown up half a cow. Her ribs felt ruined and her stomach spoiled. She was cold and shaking, as if stricken with flu.
“Are you okay?” Katya kneeled, and she got a better look at the girl whispered, “Oh, my God, Abigail, you’re so pale.”
Abigail looked away and closed her eyes as tears fell from between her shut lids.
Katya reached out to comfort her, but Abigail pulled back. “Don’t touch me,” she half snarled.
Their eyes met, and a sort of raw understanding seemed to light Katya’s eyes, even though Abigail couldn’t imagine how anyone could ever understand that there was a monster inside her.
Or that her monster needed to be continually fed, one life after life in a never-ending string of murders.
They returned to their table, and Abigail sat, not knowing what to say. She told Katya that her stomach was sick and that she wanted to go home, but they had to wait for the bill. They sat mostly in silence, the cop stealing glances.
He knows. He recognizes me.
Abigail looked down at the table, trying to ignore him.
The waiter set the bill on the table. Katya paid and they stood to leave. On their way toward the door, Katya stopped at the officer’s table.
Oh God, no, what are you doing?
“I’m sorry, Jerry,” she said to the cop who’d been eying their table. “I’ll have to catch up another time. My friend here isn’t feeling well.”
Wait. He wasn’t looking at me? He knows Katya?
A wave of relief washed against Abigail’s shore.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Not feeling too good, eh? My kid’s got a bug, too. It’s going ‘round. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Abigail,” she said, meeting his eyes with her best smile.
“You look so familiar. You go to Elmswood?”
Abigail shook her head.
“She’s homeschooled,” Katya said, setting a light hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “OK, Jerry, see you later. I’ll tell my dad you said hi.”
“Tell him he still owes me for that Seahawks game!”
“Will do,” Katya said, then waved goodbye to both officers.
“Bye,” Abigail said, quick to follow Katya out the door, hoping the cop wouldn’t remember where he’d seen her. Far more troubling than the officers, Abigail couldn’t stop thinking about what happened in the restroom. Why had all those memories returned, and would it happen again?
It was if Abigail held a million scars inside her, each suddenly itching to be ripped open again. It was enough to have lived through the nightmares she’d endured — she prayed she wasn’t now cursed to repeatedly live through her victims’. If so, she didn’t know how long she could go on before she snapped.
Eleven
Hannah
Greg stared at Hannah from across their kitchen table as if she were a delicate flower whose bloom might be lost to the slightest breeze.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just want to go.”
Their trip was slated for the morning, delayed once by her accident. She wasn’t willing to postpone it again. Given their schedules, if they didn’t leave tomorrow, she and Greg probably wouldn’t find time for another year.
“Are you sure? You’re not just doing this for me?”
“I swear. They wouldn’t have let me come home if I wasn’t 0kay. You heard the doctor, I’m fine.”
Greg pushed his coffee mug aside and reached for Hannah’s hand. “I’m sorry, I know what the doctor said. It’s just that I can’t help but think … ”
“What?” she asked as he trailed off, as if afraid to voice his worst fear.
“I just can’t get over the feeling of you looking at me like I was a stranger. I mean, you had no idea who I was. It was so, I don’t know, su
rreal,” he finished with a whisper.
“The doc said it was temporary. Hell, I don’t even remember waking up that first time when you said I didn’t recognize you. Everything was normal when I woke up again, right?” She smiled, but didn’t wait for Greg to smile back. “I’m okay, Honey. Really. We should go. Besides, after messing up the wedding, I need this trip! The last thing I want to do is go back to the Boutique right now.”
“Mrs. Graham will get over it.”
While Hannah’s man always had the right things to say, he wasn’t always convincing. She knew he didn’t really believe Mrs. Graham would get over her daughter’s wedding being ruined. Sure, it was an accident, but it was an accident that never would’ve happened if Hannah hadn't stored the stupid flowers in Mr. Fanaroff’s cooler. The why didn’t matter, Becca’s wedding was botched. There was a good chance Hannah’s shop would never recover once whispers grew to shouts that she’d shit the bed on such an important wedding. Who would entrust her with their most important of days after this?
“Maybe,” she said, not wanting to argue. “But right now, I need to get away. And I think we both need the time together, don’t you?”
“Yes, I just want to be certain you’re okay.”
“I have a few bruises, a wrecked van, and plenty of dead flowers, but other than that I’m fine. I swear.”
Greg smiled. His smile, blue eyes, and boyish charms always had a way of disarming her frequent bouts of anxiety. He was an always-calming influence in her otherwise hectic life. How he could remain so relaxed through even the most stressful situations, Hannah had no idea, but it was one of the things she loved most about him. Even if she wasn’t up to going on vacation, she still would have felt like she owed it to Greg. He was always there for her. In a sea of dipshits, he was the one man who held her heart.
“Thank you.” Greg stood from the table and took their plates to the sink. “I’m going to call the office and let them know we’re going for sure.”
“Tell them you’ll be unreachable for the week!” Hannah said, as if there were actually a chance of that happening.
Greg went to his office to call his boss. Hannah stayed at the table, running through her mental inventory of stuff she had to ready by morning. She’d already packed their essentials, but wanted to make sure she thought of all the little things she might need as well — her iPad, camera, memory cards, battery charger, and of course, her new sexy lingerie. This was a romantic getaway, after all.
She wondered how romantic Greg was planning to make it. A small part of her wondered if this would be when he popped the question, not that she was even sure she wanted to get hitched. Greg wanted a family, and Hannah thought she probably did, though she often wavered on the thought. At first, she thought she was too selfish for a child, driven by her work. But hell, there were plenty of successful women entrepreneurs who also raised a family. Many did it without a partner’s help, so there wasn’t any reason she couldn’t, too.
For as long as Hannah could remember, she felt something was missing from her life — a void to fill. At first, she thought it was a steady relationship she’d been missing out on. She’d had enough crappy ones to appreciate a good one when it came along. And even though Greg was great, something was missing. Only recently did she begin to think it might be her biological clock ticking.
It began with a feeling she got when seeing parents with their kids. While children had previously seemed like an obstacle and a time suck she couldn’t afford, lately, those feelings were replaced with awws and wishful thinking, wondering what it would be like to carry a life in her, to see the look of unconditional love in her child’s eyes. Hannah had thought she’d been above “baby fever,” but it turns out she wasn’t.
And she wasn’t getting any younger. Still, as untraditional as she was, Hannah didn’t want to have a child without being married, and wasn’t enough of a nontraditionalist to ask Greg to marry her.
She wondered if Greg was on the phone making secret plans for something grand and romantic. That was like him. The thought of coming home from their trip engaged put a stupid, happy happy smile on her face.
That night, they made love for the first time in more than two weeks, though it was less like making love and more like down-and-dirty fucking. Greg was usually a slow, sensual lover, but something primal growled from inside him. He was stronger, more assertive, and willing to take charge like he had during their first weeks in bed. More animal than man.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Greg whispered into her flesh, his words sending currents through her veins. He claimed every inch of her skin with his mouth, moving slowly toward Hannah’s small patch of tiny curls.
“Touch me,” she panted.
He did, everywhere, before groaning so deep it was nearly a growl, then spinning her around and laying a heavy hand on her back. He pushed her down, hard into the mattress, then claimed her, speeding his thrusts as he took her from behind.
Greg grabbed a handful of Hannah’s hair from the nape of her neck, then went even faster. A low roar shuddered from his mouth, swelling up and out from deep within his lungs as Hannah’s breath snagged in her throat and her lower muscles tightened for release.
Greg pulled out, flipped Hannah in a return to her back, and sent her into a scream.
Greg was no longer there, in his place a man with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes. The man was gone in an instant, replaced by Greg, and Hannah’s scream fell into a whimper. Greg seemed to mistake her momentary shock for lust, and used it to feed his animal.
He pounded her harder.
Hannah squeezed her eyes tight, imagining the dark-haired man ravishing her from above. He’d seemed somehow familiar, yet new and unknown. But something about him, even though she’d only seen him for a moment, was incredibly sexy. She thought of his eyes, staring deep into her soul. She kept imagining him, instead of Greg, and sank into the beautiful depths of fantasy.
Time swam until they finished, and Greg had emptied the animal inside, into her — the first time they’d had sex without a condom. And in that moment, she didn’t care. Maybe she’d get pregnant and engaged in the same week. They lay entwined in one another’s warmth, flesh on flesh, as Greg’s eyelids fluttered, and quickly collapsed. Soon, he was snoring, leaving Hannah alone with her thoughts of the dark-haired man, wondering who he was and why she could think of nothing else.
As she began to drift, finally joining Greg in slumber, a name danced at the edge of her mind.
John.
Twelve
Larry
“She got sick at the restaurant,” Katya said.
Abi looked down, not wanting to meet Larry’s gaze. He wasn’t sure if she was still mad at him — he didn’t think so — or if something had happened. Whatever it was, Abi wasn’t saying, and Larry was growing worried as they stood in the kitchen trading small talk that meant nothing. He wanted Katya to leave so he could talk to Abi and figure out what had gone down.
But Katya was hanging around, like she wanted to speak with Larry alone, which stoked both curiosity and fear.
What the hell happened?
He wondered if Katya had somehow discovered her secret.
Eventually, Abi decided to head up to her room, saying she wanted to rest.
“I’ll be up to check on you in a minute,” Larry said, listening as she trudged up the stairs, into the bathroom, then into her room.
As her door closed, he mouthed the words, “What happened?”
Katya’s eyes turned glassy with tears, but they didn’t fall as she moved closer to Larry. “What happened to that girl?”
“Excuse me? She was with you tonight.”
“No, not tonight, I mean before now. What happened to her?”
Larry wasn’t sure what she’d pieced together, but his mind cycled through the many possibilities, trying to figure out what Abi might have said to trigger Katya’s questions.
“What do you mean what happened to her?”
“Someone abused that girl,. Who was it?”
Larry stepped back, raising his hands, hoping like hell that Katya didn’t think he’d done anything to Abi. She definitely sensed something, which meant Larry had to tell Katya some sort of story. It had to be believable without touching the truth.
“Keep your voice down,” Larry whispered, motioning for Katya to quiet. “Let me walk you to your car, and I’ll tell you more outside.”
Katya eyed him, almost suspiciously, then followed his lead out the front door.
In front of Katya’s car, Larry looked up toward Abi’s bedroom window, blacked out to keep the nighttime inside, without any part in the curtains. Unless she’d gone to another darkened window, Abi wasn’t watching.
“What happened to her?” Katya repeated.
“She was in a bad situation before she came to stay with me, that’s all I can say.”
“Was it your brother?”
“Oh God, no, but you’re right, she was abused. That’s why she’s staying with me. My brother, her father, went to jail for killing the man responsible.” Larry felt bad lying to Katya, but it was the first fiction to fly from his tongue, and one he felt might help explain whatever Abi had said or done.
He studied Katya to see if his lie was doing its job.
Her eyes softened. “Oh my God, the poor thing,”
“Yeah, she blames herself. A lot,” Larry added for emphasis. “So, you want to tell me what happened tonight?”
“We were eating dinner and, out of nowhere, Abigail jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I followed after a minute, and went to check on her. She’d puked all over. I asked her if she was okay, but she didn’t answer. So I reached out and asked her again, putting my hand on her back. She turned on me, her eyes like some sort of scared animal, screaming at me not to touch her. I knew something was wrong, but she wouldn’t say what. Oh, God,” Katya shook her head, palm to her forehead. “I feel so bad.”
