So, I didn't complain. In fact, I haven't complained about anything since I've been here.
Today, I decided I would make a list of all the things I've liked in my life and all the things that have brought me happiness. I'd add to the list all the time as I remember things.
One thing I have to put down right away is Fletcher's first cry. Nothing compares to that for a woman. She hears the first note of life that came from her and her heart is as .full of joy as it will ever be. I can close my eyes and see his face and I can see and feel his tiny fingers and I can sense the wonder that was going on inside him.
That was so powerful a happy moment, remembering it is enough to keep me smiling for days on end, although it's hard to see my smile anymore. My face is so thin, the bones have taken over and bones don't smile. But I know it there. The smile is there.
What I've discovered now is I get very tired often. I'm tired soon after I wake up. Some days I've nearly spent the whole time in bed.
It's getting- worse. I know it, but I don't complain. After all, I'm still safe.
"What?" Harley asked the instant I stopped reading. "Don't stop. What happened to her next?"
"I don't know," I said turning the pages. "These pages are all empty. Wait, here's something, but it's hard to read it. It looks like just some scribble." I squinted. "It looks like she was trying to write your father's name." I said. "Maybe."
"Let me see."
Harley studied it and nodded.
"What do you think happened? She sounded like she started to get sicker and sicker after Suze came."
"Yes." I looked at the rolls left in the carton. "Something in the food she gave her, perhaps. Some religious thing full of some magic herbs that was meant to drive the evil out of her, but slowly poisoned her instead."
"Just like she means to do to us." Harley muttered. He looked at the carton, too: then he kicked it away from us. "We're getting out of here," he vowed.
He stood and perused the room, thought a moment and then went into the kitchenette. He returned with a bread knife, holding it like a dagger.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I'm going to dig out that door, even if I have to do it inch by inch. I'll try to cut off its hinges," he said and went back through the opening and up the small stairs where he began to work, now with a methodical desperation.
It was slow, painstaking work. Even though the door was old, it was constructed out of a hard wood. When the knife blade snapped, he had to find another knife. There wasn't any as big or as sharp. He worked for hours. I sat on the stairs and watched him and talked to him and tried to help, but he was afraid I would slip and cut myself. He had a few times when he nearly lost his temper.
After hours and hours, he paused, exhausted, the sweat rolling down his reddened cheeks. When he inspected his results so far, he was not happy.
"The bolt's in deep." he said. "This is going to take a while. Especially with only a butter knife and a pair of old scissors as tools
"Let's take a break. Harley." I said. "Neither of us has eaten much and we'll need to reserve our strength."
He nodded.
"I wish one of my grandmother's Realies would come by and scare the hell out of that Suze."
I smiled.
"Maybe itwill," I said.
We returned to what was now our hideaway and prison and had some water while we sat on the sofa.
"My stomach's grumbling," he said. "I guessIll have some more of that beef jerky. How about you?"
"I'm okay."
"Women can go much longer without food." he said as if it was a fault. "I can't even imagine going on a diet, but some of the girls I know at school live on air. If they gain an ounce, they go into a panic."
"I get hungry. I'm still just recuperating from last night," I said.
"Yeah." He bit into the beef jerky and then looked ravenously at the rolls. "I can't imagine her putting anything poisonous into those rolls. Wouldn't the baking burn it out anyway?"
"I don't know. Harley."
"They tasted pretty good. And that cheese seemed all right. Ill take a chance." he decided and tore a roll in two, stuffed a piece of cheese in it and gobbled it quickly. He offered some to me and I shook my head.
"Ill have some more tea in a while," I said.
"You're going to get sick."
"I'm all right. Harley. We're not going to be trapped here much longer," I predicted optimistically.
"Yeah, right." he said.
"He's still your grandfather," I said. "He's got to be a little worried." Harley looked at me as if I was crazy.
"She was his wife." he said, nodding at the old composition notebook that had been his grandmother's diary. "Look what he did to her.'
"Maybe he didn't realize what was happening," I said. "Maybe he was sorry,"
We had to have hope, didn't we? I couldn't let go of that. He nodded.
"I can't imagine how she lived down here all that time," Harley said. gazing around the basement. "Never seeing sunlight or stars and the moon. Never breathing fresh air. Never smelling grass and flowers and tree blossoms or hearing birds sing. Hell, not even hearing the sound of a car horn. These old foundation walls are as thick as in bomb shelters."
"I know," I said. "It's unimaginable."
And yet, I thought, here we were still trapped for nearly twenty-four hours and maybe even more.
"I don't think I can be that alone either. I mean. I'm a loner. I know, but once in a while, you need to talk to someone, see some television, hear a radio, just watch people walk and talk. Something," he cried. "But to sit here and live in your own mind day after day after day. I guess she was crazy."
"Or just very imaginative. Harley. Perhaps she looked at the room and thought it was beautiful. Maybe she used her memories of a sunset and a sunrise and that was enough."
"You know that can't be enough. I'm already going bonkers down here. I can feel my insides tearing apart with anger and frustration."
"Yes, but you're forgetting she felt safer here. She wanted to be here."
He thought a moment and nodded.
"I guess so," he said. His eyes wandered and then settled on the phonograph. "You want to hear one of those old records?" he asked.
"Yes, I would like that," I said. If we got our minds off our predicament for a little while, we would surely feel better. I thought.
He rose and picked out a record. The melody was sweet, comforting, but the singer's voice was so high-pitched. I smiled.
"Music was sure different in those days," Harley said. "The words were nice though."
He put on another and we listened. It was a song in French. Neither of us could understand it, but we knew whatever it was about was sad.
"Who's the singer on that one. Harley?" I asked when it ended. He read the label.
"Edith Piaf."
"Play it again," I said. He shrugged and did so. Then he came to sit beside me to listen. He put his arm around my shoulders and I leaned into his chest and closed my eyes. He kissed me on the forehead and I looked up at him. Maybe it was because of the music or because of what had happened to us, but his eyes were two dark pools of deep sorrow and pain. I hated to see him so sad.
I reached up and with the tips of my fingers touched his lips. He took my hand in his and held it there and then kissed my fingers. The tingle traveled down my arm to my breast and curled over my heart.
"You're so lovely. Summer, even now, even here, even after all that's happened. When I look at you. I feel so happy inside that I forget everything terrible around me. It's always been like that for me."
"Harley," I whispered.
He lifted me gently and turned me so he could lower his lips to mine. It was a soft kiss, a kiss that was more like turning a key that opened the lock to my heart and soul. He shifted and lowered me to the sofa.
"This itches," he complained, referring to the sweater, and pulled it off.
I smiled up at him, my heart starting to tap faste
r. He sprawled out beside me and kissed me again, a little harder, a little longer. I turned into him and put my arm over his shoulder, holding him to me. He kissed my eyes, my nose and my neck.
"Our love is so strong," he whispered. "it protects us."
I was thinking that. too. For a few minutes, at least. I could submerge myself in him and, like lowering myself into a warm bath after being in a cold rain, feel soothed, comforted. protected.
I kept my eyes closed as he unbuttoned my blouse and took it off and then unfastened my bra and slipped it away. His lips were on my breasts, the tip of his tongue grazing each nipple. Every move he made was slow, deliberate. Gentle, soothing, I moaned softly and he pressed his lips to mine, touching my tongue with his and then kissing me harder, faster everywhere. I felt my heart thumping, my blood racing,
"Tell me to stop. Summer. Tell me to stop," he whispered, but brought his fingers to the button on my jeans and undid it.
I should. I thought, but I didn't want him to. At least, not just yet. Just a little more, just a little longer. It all felt so good and I had been terrified ever since the date rape that loving would never be Good for me again.
His hand moved in and around my waist to my rear. He pressed, pushing me toward him. Then he brought his lips to my exposed stomach, lowering the jeans just a few inches at a time to clear the way for his lips. Soon, they were down to my knees.
"I love you so much. Summer," he said. "I love you. too. Harley."
"Tell me to stop," he repeated, but moved my jeans down to my ankles. I lifted my leg so he could gently get them off and then he pulled back and took off his jeans. too.
"We're going too far," he said more in the tone of a voiced thought. He sounded like he was warning himself more than he was warning me.
"I know." I whispered. I felt drank, my mind spinning, the warmth traveling up and twirling in my stomach and then under my breasts, moving inside me like invisible hands, soft fingers touching me in places I touched myself in dreams.
There's a point of no return. I told myself. You're reaching it. You're almost there. My panties were off. He was naked. too. We held each other, gasping, hesitant. but knowing there was a flood of passion about to overwhelm us.
"Tell me to stop," he practically begged as he brought his hardness to me.
Maybe I really did want to prove to myself that I hadn't been ruined for life by Duncan. Maybe my love for Harley was so strong that all restraint and caution was trampled beneath its marching feet. Maybe I had simply lost control and was at the mercy of the winds of my own unleashed animal desire. Whatever the reason. I did not say stop. Instead, I lifted myself to bring my lips to his and he entered me and held me, and we moved in a slow rhythm to bring ourselves higher and higher, to lift ourselves out of our pain and fear, to reach the clouds and float away on a magic carpet of love.
However long it lasted was far too short. I clung to him afterward, refusing to surrender to any aftermath, refusing to retreat. His heavy breathing slowed against my cheek and as the world around us began to reappear, the realization of what we had done settled over both of us like a cold, wet blanket.
He lifted himself away and sat for a moment. Then he began to put on his underwear and his jeans. I turned over on my stomach and buried my face in the cushion. Neither of us had heard the phonograph needle going round and round at the end of the record until now. He went over and lifted the arm away and then he went into the small bathroom.
I caught my breath, sat up and dressed. Harley moved about silently for a few moments and then said he was going back to the door to work. He face was masked in guilt.
"Harley," I called to him. He shook his head and kept walking.
I rose and went to the little mirror to look at myself and finger my hair. I found a hair brush and washed it out and moved a few strokes down my strands. Then I heard him call to me and came out of the small bathroom. He was holding another carton.
"More of her food," he said. "and water and what looks like a dessert. I don't know how she opens that door and shuts it without me hearing her move that damn cabinet away. She has to have him helping her for that, don't you think?"
I nodded.
He placed the carton on the table and we both looked down at the contents.
"We can't eat any of that. Harley."
"I know," he said. "Got to tell you though. It smells good." he said.
"Like a trap." I muttered.
He nodded. but I could see he was still thinking about it.
"If she was going to poison us, she would have done it in the first carton of food, don't you think. Summer?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid," I said. "Okay."
He returned to the door.
Hours went by. I fell asleep and when I woke, he was at my side. He looked very guilty again, but this time, it was for different reasons.
My eyes went to the carton. He had eaten.
"All that effort made me hungry," he said shrugging. "I'm not feeling bad. Summer. It's okay. I was your food tester," he quipped.
"I'm still not hungry, Harley," I said even though I was starting to get some pangs.
"Whatever that cake is, it's good," he said. He smiled. "Our jailer is a gourmet cook."
"It's not funny."
"I know. I'm just trying not to crack up," he said, wiping the smile from his face.
I stared at him a moment and then nodded. realizing he was right.
"Daddy always says a branch that won't bend will break," I told him.
"Good advice. We'll roll with this until we get an opportunity to change it. Maybe, if I keep myself awake. I'll hear them move that cabinet out of the way to put out another carton of food and then I'll rush the door," he planned aloud. "I'm going to sit at the foot of the stairs out there."
He rose.
"I'll come with you then," I said.
"No, Summer. It's very uncomfortable. It's almost decent in here. There's no sense in both of us being up all night, is there?"
He looked at the bed.
"Why don't you dig out the bedding from that trunk and fix the bed for yourself. We don't want both of us to be exhausted. okay?"
"No," I said. "I want to be with you. Harley." He shook his head.
"I'm not going to let you get sick."
"All right, here's what we'll do," I said as a compromise. "You'll take the first shift out there and then I'll come out and wake you and you'll come back here to sleep. We'll take turns at guard duty. If I hear them. I'll come and get you quickly."
"You'd have to. Summer. You couldn't do it without me," he warned.
"Don't you think I know that. Harley? I'd be too frightened anyway."
He studied me a moment to be sure I was sincere and then he nodded.
"What about your ankle?"
"It's okay. It won't be a problem now. Harley.'
"Right. Okay, let's say in four hours, you come out and then four hours later, which will be closer to the morning. I'll come out and you'll go to sleep. Is that all right with you. Wonder Woman?"
"Yes." I said smiling. He kissed me.
"We're going to be all right," he said. "This is almost over I promise."
"I know it is. Harley...
He squeezed my hand gently and then went to the outer room to listen and wait for his opportunity.
I fixed the bed as he had suggested and then I lay down and closed my eyes. It took me longer to fall asleep than I had expected. I kept imagining I heard Harley out there rushing up the steps, but it was only the sounds from above.
What are they doing? I wondered. How can they continue to do this to us? Was his grandfather that insane, really that confident in Suze and her powers? How does someone come to believe in such things and believe in them so strongly that he would even risk hurting other people, hurting his own flesh and blood, and getting himself into serious trouble?
The extent to which people would go to avoid facing the truth and avoid accepting guilt and responsibility was tr
uly incredible. I thought. They went so far as to create their own world and then move into it, treating this world and the rest of us as if we were the illusion.
That was real? What was not? It didn't seem to matter what age you were. The answers to those questions were always the most difficult.
Finally. I drifted into sleep, but it was a restless repose. I tossed and turned, fretting in and out of dark dreams, running through tunnels, fleeing in such a panic that when I woke after imagining hands grasping the back of my neck. I was actually gasping for breath and in a sweat.
I sat up and pressed my hand to my pounding heart to quiet it down. Slowly, my breathing became regular again and I was able to swallow. I glanced at my watch. I had slept a good half hour past my turn to listen for them. and Harley hadn't come in to wake me. I knew he wouldn't. I chastised myself for failing him and rose as quickly as I could.
It was very quiet above now. They're probably asleep, comfortable in their beds, comfortable in their damned insanity, I thought. Strengthened and energized by my anger. I started for the outer room. When I reached the entryway. I called for Harley, but he didn't call back.
I looked in and saw him sprawled at the foot of the stairs, his body curled up, his head on the hard surface.
He can't be too comfortable like that. I thought. He's going to wake up sore all over.
"Harley!" I cried and passed myself through. He didn't stir. I hurried over to him. "Harley."
I knelt down and shook him. His eyes fluttered, but they didn't open.
"Harley!"
I turned him over on his back and shook him as hard as I could, calling his name. Still, he didn't open his eyes. I saw his eyeballs move, but the lids didn't separate.
"Harley! What's wrong? Harley!"
My heart did a flip-flop. I felt a cold wave of air wash over me with the realization that Suze must have put something stronger into the food. Harley had eaten too much of it. It sent a quick chill down my spine.
"Help!" I screamed. "Help us! Something's happened to Harley! Help! Help!"
I shook him and cried and shook him and he didn't wake. The tears streamed down my cheeks.
The End of the Rainbow Page 27
