by Mac Flynn
Mike took the box and slid it against him. "I suppose I'll be back when we run out, and I'll tell Beth what you said."
Eres smiled and nodded. "Good. There shouldn't be secrets among lovers."
Mike left the shop in a sort of daze, and blinked against the bright sunlight outside. Eres' explanations, particularly the first one, ran through his mind. His only reward was dizziness, so he set aside those thoughts and walked to his car. He had a lovely woman at his apartment, and he wasn't going to keep her waiting for long.
The night was dark and dreary, much like Alma Johnson's life.
She was a young woman of twenty with a very pretty face and drab clothes. Her shift as the janitor of one of the commercial buildings was over, and as the clocks around the city struck midnight she headed for home. Above her the gloomy sky was covered in clouds. The air smelled like rain, and she didn't have an umbrella to cover herself. She would have called a taxi but the street was devoid of all but a few private vehicles. These zoomed past her pathetic figure and she shuffled her way toward home. Every shop was dark and only a few offices were lit for her fellow janitors.
A sad smile crept across her lips at the use of such a word for where she lived. It wasn't a home, it was a prison. She was stuck there with that monster of a man, dominated and frightened by him and his large fists. Every day she thought about leaving him, but how could she? Every penny she earned went to the rent, food and his alcohol, so nothing was saved up. Even if she could find the courage to abandon him and find another apartment on her own, she was sure he'd follow. He may have been a drunk, but he was smart. He'd track her down and drag her back. She'd be given the beating of a lifetime, or maybe one to end her life.
Alma paused along the sidewalk as she pondered about that last morbid thought. She'd never considered ending her life, but the thought wouldn't go away. It stuck inside her as another car zoomed past. It would be so easy to jump out in front of one of these vehicles. They couldn't stop in time, not with it being so dark outside. All she needed to do was take that first step out into the road and—
Her plans for suicide were interrupted when something caught her eye. She glanced down the street at a shop she swore was dark just a few moments before. It was some sort of fancy place stuck between two bakeries, and she couldn't fathom why anyone would be managing a business at this hour.
As she stood there pondering whether to move on or investigate, the rain she smelled turned into the rain she felt. The heavens opened up and water poured down from the sky. Fortunately there was an awning in front of the lit store, and she scurried beneath that bit of protection. Another car passed by, but the thought of committing suicide was gone. She would be a slave to her abusive husband, at least for now.
Instead of reminding herself what a horrible life she had, Alma turned around and gazed at the small shop. The lights gave her a feeling of comfort against the darkness of the night, and she was able to look through the high windows into the shop. There were shelves upon shelves of colorful sweets, and an aroma of fresh bread wafted past her nose. She wanted to go inside and look at this little marvel wedged between two plain bakeries, and was pleased to see the sign on the door read that they were open.
Alma moved up the stairs and peeked through the glass entrance. There was somebody behind the counter on one of those narrow ladders attached to the shelving. He was filling the bread boxes, and judging by the gray hair he was quite aged. Surely he could do her no harm if she just wanted to step in and take a look around. She pushed open the door and winced when a little bell jingled above her. There went her attempt at playing ninja and sneaking into the shelves. The old man behind the counter glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his customer.
"Good morning," he greeted. Alma had to remember it was past midnight, and thus morning.
At seeing his face, though, a bright flash of light swept across her vision. She clutched her forehead and shook the brightness from her eyes. Then she looked again at him. Nothing but an elderly gentleman smiling at her, but she swore there was something familiar about that smile.
"G-good morning," she mumbled in return. She turned away from him hoping and expecting the man to return to his duties, but instead he climbed down the ladder.
"You look in need of some help," he commented to her. He walked around the counter toward her while she emphatically shook her head. Suddenly coming in here wasn't such a good idea. She didn't want a stranger to know her secret.
"N-no, I'm fine." Alma tried to retreat out of the shop, but the old man was faster than she expected. His hand whipped out and grabbed her sleeve-covered arm. She flinched when those bony fingers dug into her skin, and tried to pull from his grasp. He held tight and stepped up beside her. She shrank away from those kind but firm eyes. "Please, I just want to leave."
"May I ask how you acquired such severe wounds?" he asked her. The sudden question both surprised and startled her. There was no way he could have noticed those bruises, she was always careful to hide them beneath her sleeve.
"I, um, I don't know what you're talking about." Alma tried again to free herself, but he took his free hand and pulled up her sleeve. She flinched and looked away from him. She didn't want to see those wounds any more than she had to, which was far too often.
When she heard an intake of breath, she cast a curious glance back. The man's eyes were on the myriad of bruises which lined her arm. There were old, half-healed bruises beneath the most recent ones. Hardly a bit of flesh was not purple, blue or black, and even her bones ached. The stranger set his free hand gently on the bruises, but even with his soft touch there was still pain. She winced and attempted to pull her arm toward her, but his grip was made of iron. When he spoke his voice was low and calm, but beneath the soft tone she could hear a tremor of anger.
"These are very severe. I don't believe I've seen worse." His eyes snapped up to her pale face. "Have you told anyone about these?" She furiously shook her head and her own eyes filled with fear.
"No, and please don't. I'm fine, really. I just-I'm just clumsy. I fell down the stairs and-"
"There's no need for lies here. They won't be believed, anyway," he interrupted her. "Now will you tell me why your spouse did this?" She blinked her eyes at his question.
"How...how did you know it was him?" she wondered. He nodded at her left hand, and then gently glided his hands over the wounds.
"These wounds are large enough for a man's fingers, and you wear a wedding ring," he explained. "Now why did he do this to you? Does he give you a reason?" Her shoulders slumped down and tears sprang to her eyes. She managed to keep a calm, tired, and an even tone to her voice.
"Are you going to call the police?" she asked him. Alma was surprised when he shook his head.
"No, I won't call them, but I may if you don't answer my question."
"Please, I just want to leave. I won't bother you anymore, Mr.-"
"Eres. This is my shop." He swept his free hand over the area.
"Mr. Eres, please let me leave. I need to get back home," Alma insisted. She put her hand atop his and was surprised at the heat beneath that old skin. It was like the warmth of a blanket in winter; soft, comfortable and deeply wanted. She didn't know why, but the sensation swept away her arguments and she found herself willing to tell him. "He-my husband-he says I disobey him. He wants me to do everything he says, and when I don't..." She glanced down at her arm and the gentleman understood her meaning. He gently cupped her elbow in his hand and led her toward the counter. Her extreme pallor was worrisome, and there was a stool on the other side which he offered to her. She was glad to take it.
"That is very wrong of him," the old man mildly replied. He leaned down and caught her eyes. "Would you like some cocoa? You are nearly soaked through."
"Oh? Oh, yes please, if it isn't too much trouble." She'd completely forgotten about the rain outside. The water drops still fell from the sky and she would have a terribly cold time getting the rest of the way home.
/> He led her over to a stool in front of the long counter, and then retreated into the back. Alma glanced over to the front doors. Now was her time to escape. She had slid one leg off the stool and touched the floor with the tip of her toes when she heard a crashing noise come from the backroom. Her heart pounded and she looked from one entrance to the other. When the old man didn't appear to give an explanation for the crash, she rushed off the seat and into the backroom.
Alma skidded to a stop when she glimpsed a narrow hall that ran alongside the entire length of the building. The wall opposite her was filled with shelves of every imaginable ingredient, but her curiosity needed to wait. To her left was only a dead end, but to her right she could see the way opened up to a large backroom. She'd only decided to sprint down in that direction when the old man rounded the corner with a steaming mug in his hand. He was covered in white flour, but in his hands he had a steaming cup of hot cocoa.
"I'm afraid you can't come back here. This is for employees only," Eres scolded the woman. He shuffled up to her, hooked one arm in his and directed them back into the customer area of the shop.
"But are you all right? What was that noise?" Alma asked him. She didn't see any bruises or blood beneath on the man, but the flour wasn't helping her perusal. "Did you need me to call a doctor?"
He chuckled and set her back up on the stool. The mug was set in front of her. "No, I am perfectly fine. I just became distracted when I thought I heard you step off the stool out here. The flour was close to the cocoa mix on a high shelf and, well, you see the results." He spread out his spindly arms to show off his ghostly appearance.
Alma breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped her shivering hands around the warm mug. The scare and the damp cold had really taken its toll. "I'm sorry you went to all that trouble just to get me some cocoa. You really shouldn't have."
The proprietor shook his head, and there was a bright smile on his face. "Nonsense, young lady. This is a candy shop, and I am its owner. I am here to please any who walk through my doors."
That brought to Alma's mind the strange store hours. "Are you usually open this late? Er, early?" She hadn't seen any times posted in the windows.
"The sweet shop is open whenever it's needed." He pointed up to the ceiling. "And my residence is only upstairs, so I'm able to open whenever I please."
"That must be nice to live so close to work." She glanced around at the tall shelves with their boxes, buckets and glass bowls full of sweets. "You must have a lot of strong young men to help you stock these shelves."
"I have only these two hands to assist me, but I'm afraid the time is coming when I may need an assistant," the man admitted.
Alma pitied the elderly gentleman, and admired his shop. With its old-fashioned wood floors and paneled walls, she thought the place very comfortable. Much better than the sterile office building she cleaned. "I'm sure if you advertised you'd get a lot of people to apply. There are hardly any shops like this left in the state, much less this plain city."
Eres gave her a careful look over, and rubbed his chin in his hand. "I have no doubt about that, but I fear they may all be wasting my time. I am like that gentleman in the children's book. My competitors would give over their mother to the devil for a peek at the secrets to my recipes." The man frowned and swiftly shook his head. "No, advertising will not do. I may perhaps find one among my loyal customers, who I would trust with such a responsibility."
Alma took a hurried sip of her cocoa and set it back down on the counter. She hopped off the stool and looked around at the good stuff to eat. "Well, let me buy something and put myself under someone you trust."
He stepped aside and swept his hands toward his merchandise. "I would be most honored, fair Psyche."
Alma paused and blinked "Psyche? My name's Alma."
For the first time since she'd met the man, Eres was very much embarrassed by his slip up. "You must excuse me, I meant to say Alma but I mistook one language for another. You see, Alma means soul in Italian, but in Greek the word is psyche."
"Hunh, I didn't know my name meant anything than me."
He nodded and turned his head to one side. His eyes had a faraway look and his voice dropped to a soft whisper. "What is in a name? Names signify the character of a person, who they are and what they are to become." He shook himself free of such thoughts and found that Alma was giving him a look of pity mingled with curiosity. "Pardon me, during such dreadful weather I sometimes ramble. But if you would like to step toward the shelves, I will make up for you having to listen to my ramblings by allowing you to choose any sweet at no charge."
Alma was very eager to hear such good news. In her eagerness to please Mr. Eres she had forgotten that if she came home without her full pay she would have been given a lashing by her husband. "No charge? I wouldn't have to pay for it?"
He shook his head, and there was a smile on his lips. "No charge at all. Anything in here is yours to take."
Alma felt like a child again as she browsed the shelves of the candy store. There were gobs of sweets to choose from, but she wasn't greedy and so wouldn't take advantage of his offer. She merely chose a packet of bars created from sesame seeds and covered in delicious honey, her favorite sweet with her favorite nut. With her packet in her hand, she went up to the counter where Eres still stood by her former stool. She held out, and he took, the small box, and he nodded in approval. "A very good choice. This is from a very ancient recipe from Greece."
Alma raised her eyebrows in surprise. She thought they were just treats that had been made over the last century. "I didn't know that. I guess you learn something new every day."
"Indeed. Life without learning is an end to life." Eres moved to go behind the counter to ring up the non-sale, but he jerked to a stop and his face furrowed into a frown. Alma was nervous when he glanced over to her. She thought perhaps something was wrong, or that he'd changed his mind about not calling the police about her bruises. "Would you allow me to make a recommendation to you?" the man offered. "I promise this item will also be free."
Alma breathed an inward sigh of relief and couldn't believe her good fortune, but she hesitated to accept another generous offer of free food. However, she opted to see what he had in mind before she refused his offer. "Did you have something in mind?"
Eres solemnly nodded, and his lips were pressed into a fine line. "Yes. A treat from among my sweets that would suit your husband very well."
Alma was shocked that Eres, the man who knew her husband beat her, would suggest a treat for him. She was also a little hurt at Eres suggesting any sort of treat for her abusive spouse. It was as though Eres wanted to reward the man for the bruises on her arm. "I-I'm afraid I can't really accept anything else-"
"This is a special gift to him," Eres emphasized. He stepped behind the counter and pulled out a round, delicious-looking rum cake, her husband's favorite. The frosting glistened around the sides and on the top. However, when she caught a whiff of the scent her nose wrinkled. The thing smelled awful and killed her appetite to try it. "Would you like a bag for the cake?"
"What? Oh, I really can't accept this gift." She was afraid her husband would be angered by the smell and beat her.
"I'm positive that Brutus will find everything about this cake irresistible. He will go so far as to eat it in one sitting, or at least try," Eres promised. He had a sly smile on his face now as he deftly boxed the cake and stuck it into a strong bag with his logo on the front. The packet of honey-sweetened bars also went inside.
Alma frowned. She never recalled telling Eres her husband's name. "How did you know my husband's name? I never told you that," she pointed out.
Eres merely smiled and slid the bag across the counter to her. "As I said before, the name suits the character of the individual. I guessed your husband's name based on his actions against you. He is quite the brute, isn't he?"
This was getting into dangerous territory for her. She didn't want the police involved; they'd only cause her more trouble
than they were worth. "I-I better get going. Thank you so much for the sweets, I...I really appreciate your kindness." Alma didn't wait for a reply, but grabbed the bag and sped out of the shop.
The rain outside still poured down as though the Biblical flood was deluging the earth in its waters. She stuffed the bag as well as she could manage beneath her coat and hurried home. The hour was much later than she thought and she worried that Brutus would be waiting for her at home. He sometimes did that, and she suspected it was because he feared one night she wouldn't come back. They lived in a dingy apartment building a few blocks off the nice streets, and when she climbed the five stories to their floor she saw there were lights beneath their door. He was up.
Alma stopped in front of the entrance and pondered whether to run or go inside. He might be drunk and waiting for her with a flyswatter. That was his special weapon he used against her when she supposedly misbehaved. She could just turn around and not risk it, but she'd be risking him finding her and dragging her back. Then things would go really bad for her, and he wouldn't just use the flyswatter on her. Alma sighed and unlocked the door.
She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and turned to her depressing home. To her right and front was the dreary living room with its third-hand furniture and tattered curtains that looked out on the ratty street. To her immediate left was the dated kitchen with its harvest gold appliances and half-rotten counter top. Beyond the kitchen were the single bathroom and their small bedroom. Brutus was on the couch and the television blared one of his lewd shows into the room. For a moment she hoped he was asleep, but he turned his head at her entrance. His eyes narrowed and he tossed aside the remote before he stood to his feet.
"You're late. Where the hell have you been?" he demanded to know.
Alma put the bag on the table by the door and shrank down inside her wet coat. "I-I stopped to get you something. I think you'll like it," she explained to him. It was a partial lie, but his anger was tempered by his curiosity.
