As she circled around to the driver’s side of her car, she noted with relief that there didn’t seem to be anyone behind the column or anywhere else on this floor of the garage. Switching from the whistle to her car key, she unlocked the door and opened it. The lights overhead flickered and she looked up, frowning. “Brown out,” she mumbled, recognizing the all-too-frequent occurrence in the Los Angeles area. She threw her purse across to the passenger seat and lifted her foot to enter the car when the lights flickered once more and then went out altogether.
Jane froze. Because now she did hear footsteps. And they were growing nearer. She quickly hopped into her car, shutting the door and locking it in one swift move. She put the key in the ignition, head turning all around to see if she could spot the owner of the heavy footfalls. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. So the power in the garage had gone out, it wasn’t like it was that out of the ordinary. Just as the car’s engine turned over, a face appeared on the other side of her window and she cried out as hands plastered themselves against it. She threw the car into Reverse, slamming on the accelerator. Tires squealed as she flicked the lights on. And for a moment, she clearly saw him. When she stopped the car to put it into Drive, she looked again. He was gone.
Only this time she recognized him.
* * *
Her hands and arms had been shaking the entire drive home. The man she’d seen…now she knew him. And in the same instant she recognized him she realized that was why the character Vasan had been freaking her out since she’d created him for her second book. Because Vasan was the man she’d just seen, and it caused her mind to travel back to her childhood. To the first time she’d been frightened by the Boogeyman.
She had been six at the time. She recalled it now as vividly as the experience itself had been so long ago. She’d been lying in bed and had heard a sound at her window. Overlooking the back yard, and being just above the den roof as it was, Jane had contemplated using it as an escape more than once even at that young age. However, a fear of heights had kept her well inside. Sometimes one of the big oak tree’s branches would get too long and start scraping the glass or casting odd shadows against the roll-down blind. When it did, it would momentarily frighten her, but she would soon see the cause and the next day the branch would be trimmed.
This night, however, had been different. She was certain she’d heard a tapping at the window. It had taken nearly fifteen minutes for her to screw up the courage to get out of bed, but finally she made her way to the window, not three feet away, and pulled the blind open. She’d seen a face and screamed, squeezing her eyes shut. Her cries had brought her father, who insisted she’d been imagining the whole thing as he tucked her back into bed.
“Check the closet, Daddy?” she’d asked, lower lip trembling. “Just in case?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” her father had sighed, opening the closet door in the now-lit room. “See? Nothing there but clothes and books. Okay? Now go back to sleep.”
She’d nodded, the covers pulled up to her chin, and watched her father turn off the light and close the door behind him. And she’d heard him turn the skeleton key in the lock, for they locked her away often to keep her from any kind of freedom. Once he’d gone, she happened to glance up at the closet. He’d left the door open and her eyes widened as a man seemed to appear in its depths. No longer could she see her clothes hanging neatly or the books piled upon the floor. He looked big enough to fill the whole closet and he didn’t have any hair. She scrambled out of bed and onto the floor on the other side of her bed as far from the closet as she could be, voice dying in her throat as she peeked back up over the pile of covers.
The man had moved forward and was holding something in his hand. It looked like a small sack of some sort. His face held a smile as he nodded and gestured to the sack. But Jane was frozen to the spot. She watched, barely breathing, as the man reached into the sack and pulled out a small black pouch. He dropped the sack to the floor, and slowly opened the strings of the pouch. He tipped it over and something from inside came tumbling out into his hand.
“Take it,” the man whispered. “It is yours.”
When he stepped forward again, Jane opened her mouth, scrunched her eyes shut and screamed.
* * *
She shivered in response to the memory as she took the exit to Shea Valley. That had been the first time she’d seen him, but not the last. The next time had been two years later on the night of her eighth birthday. Once again she’d been lying in bed, this time reading a new book by the glow of a small flashlight. It was a good one, a fantastical book about dragons and princes, fairies and castles. She was nearly one-quarter of the way through when she heard the door to her closet creak open.
She looked up slowly and shone the light into the closet. There was nothing there but her clothes and the milk crates on the floor filled with books and notebooks. She threw the covers back and laid the book on her pillow, eyes never leaving the closet. So far, no Boogeyman. She stole across the room, never blinking, until her hand could reach out and touch the knob. Just as she moved forward to close the door, she jumped back, flashlight clattering to the floor.
He was there again. The same bald man with dark, glittering eyes. His face was soft, however, as he stepped out of the closet and moved toward her. She backed away, matching him step for step, until she bumped into her bed and sat down hard.
“You never took the gift,” he said, opening his outstretched hand. “It is yours, you know.”
Jane shook her head, mouth hanging open, heart frozen in fear.
“Do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”
And once again, she had screamed.
* * *
And so it had gone. Every year or two the man would reappear. Every time she tried telling someone about him, they told her she was imagining it and to stop telling tales. And so as the years passed, she kept the secret hidden deep inside. Shivering from fear in the present, Jane pulled into her parking space and quickly got out of her car, half-running to the apartment building as her mind whirled. There was yet another incident that had happened when she eighteen years of age. An incident she refused to think about.
Because it was too overwhelming. To think that all this time her character Vasan had represented that man from her childhood. Her Boogeyman. And now the vision was what…back? The man who had haunted her so long ago had returned. But why? What did it represent? She racked her brain as she took the steps up two-at-a-time, trying to determine the psychological cause which would explain why she’d seen him back then and why she was seeing him again now. She had known that Vasan represented her own dark side in a way, and wondered if it could have been nothing more than her childhood projections of a part of her that was buried down deep.
But then why would her dark side want to give her a gift? She hadn’t seen what it was until that night when she was eighteen. Against her will, as she unlocked her apartment door, her mind began to wander back there. It was as though a dam had burst and the memory flooded into her mind unbidden, like a movie playing out before her that she could not ignore. Dropping her purse and keys to the floor, it was all she could do to make it to the loveseat as it hit her like a freight train.
* * *
She had been asleep. A sound had awakened her and her eyes had snapped open. Her bedside clock told her it was a quarter to two in the morning. At first her sleep-filled eyes had seen nothing out of the ordinary but then he had appeared as a large shadow next to her bed. In the inky darkness of a stormy night she could see nothing more than the fact that he had no hair. She felt a hand upon her leg and her body tensed. He was touching her. He was real.
She swallowed hard. “Who are you?”
“My name is not important,” he said softly. “Please don’t be frightened of me. I know what you long for.”
Her mind spun out of control as his hand moved slowly up her leg to her thigh. It stopped for a moment and moved to the right, touching somewhere she had n
ever been touched before. Her breath caught in her throat. Who was this man? What was he doing in her room? How had he gotten there? Was it someone her father and stepmother knew? Had they let him in? Where had he come from?
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“I will not hurt you, putri saya,” his voice said as he leaned over her. She felt the side of the bed move and in an instant he was on all fours atop her. She still couldn’t see him very well.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“What is it you long for, Jane?” he asked softly, hand caressing her short hair and the side of her face. “What is it you always write about?”
“I…” she gulped, body still tensed and beginning to shake. “I don’t know.”
“Of course you do,” he said soothingly, hand moving across her chin. His thumb reached out and caressed her lower lip. “You want a man. I know you do.”
“I…” What could she say? It wasn’t that he was wrong. Every one of her stories lately had been geared toward romance in one form or another, with herself always cast as the female lead, and some strapping, handsome savior whisking her off for a night of lovemaking.
Yet for all her talent at writing, Jane was completely naïve. Her parents would not speak about sex and Health Class wasn’t offered in her school until two years after she’d graduated. The people she hung out with at school were either religious like her family, or so shy and nerdy she doubted they’d know the first thing about it anymore than she would. Jane didn’t even understand how a woman got pregnant, let alone the intricacies of physical intimacy.
And so her stories had always left out most of the details because she had no idea what they were. There was always kissing and hugging, holding and touching, but beyond that the fantasies were always blank. Why was this man here? To help her learn? So her fantasies would have a proper ending?
“Jane,” he whispered, “I know your desires.” He leaned down and she felt his lips touch hers. Her body lit on fire, senses reeling. She had never before been kissed. His lips were soft and she felt her hands moving to his chest. Then his tongue moved against her mouth and she gasped softly. He used the opportunity to plunge his tongue in and she moaned as his mouth pressed against hers so hard she couldn’t breathe.
She realized his hand was moving down her side. She was only wearing her thin summer nightgown and felt every movement as though she were naked. She heard him shove a recently read book onto the floor as he released her mouth, his lips moving down her neck. She moaned, unable to think beyond the sensations rippling through her body. His hand moved to the bottom of her nightgown and slowly the fabric rose, sending bolts of electricity through her thighs and directly to her center. She arched into him and he murmured in approval as her body settled back onto the bed.
Something in the back of her psyche screamed at her that this was wrong. She’d heard the term rape, and knew distantly what it meant, but in her ravaged young mind she couldn’t put the term together with what was happening to her. All she knew was that whoever this man was, what he was doing to her felt good. And he was right. She had been dreaming of it. In fact, her mind thought next, this probably was nothing more than yet another dream. For she’d had vivid dreams all her life, always waking to think it had to have been real, always disappointed to find it hadn’t.
Yes, this was just another dream. In the morning she would wake and be the same as she’d been when she went to bed. But for now, she knew she had to give into the dream man. The dream man who was no longer a Boogeyman at all, but someone who desired her. Her arms moved to his shoulders, up his neck, up to the smooth skin of his head. She felt him lift her nightgown up to her belly and then felt something against her. She knew what it was, but didn’t know what he was going to do with it.
Until she felt it enter her body. Crying out, her pelvis instinctively thrust in the direction of the intruder. It hurt so much but in a way was also the most amazing feeling she’d ever felt. So this was sex. This was what happened after the kissing and hugging and holding and whispered words of love. This was what she hadn’t known, and as he pressed into her, she shivered uncontrollably. All thought fled, her senses filled with his scent, his firm, hard body atop hers. Movement in slowly, stopping, out even more slowly.
“This is what you wanted,” he whispered. “Tell me.” She nodded, unable to find her voice. “Tell me!” he whispered more forcefully, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her neck.
“Yes!” she gasped. “I wanted this!”
She felt his mouth curve into a smile as he began moving faster. Then an unfamiliar burning and her entire body felt as though it were going to explode. She buried her face in his chest and cried out against his skin. Lights seemed to explode everywhere; electricity crackling around them as her body reeled from the first orgasm she had ever known. But it didn’t stop there. He continued to move, his hand cupping her breast, kneading it, his mouth following to suckle her. First one and then the other, and she felt the burning fire in her belly again, felt her body begin to shake as he moved faster and faster.
And once more she came, arms wrapping tightly around him, their bodies molded together as though they’d been made to fit that way. He continued thrusting, faster and faster until she thought she might pass out. And suddenly he threw his head back, a guttural sound emanating from his throat as he moved into her once, twice and a third time, shaking from the effort. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but after that he stopped moving and collapsed on the bed next to her.
Jane’s body ached. It hurt, especially between her legs, but she thought that must be normal after such abuse of something never before used. She felt her body trembling as he gathered her into his arms and pulled her half on top of him. When he spoke, his voice was soft and reassuring.
“Remember this night, Jane,” he said. “Remember who gave this gift to you.”
“But I…I don’t even know who you are.”
“Someday you will, putri saya.”
She had fallen asleep in his arms, and when she’d awakened in the morning, all was as it had been. Strangely, her body no longer hurt, and she could no longer smell the man who’d filled her senses mere hours before.
* * *
As Jane opened her eyes, she noted with no small measure of disdain that she was on fire. She’d forgotten that moment, locked it away in a corner of her brain never to be let out again. Only now it had been let out. And it had turned her on. She let her eyes focus in the darkness and shrieked, jumping over the back of the loveseat and cowering on the floor.
He was there.
“No,” she whispered. “It was just a dream.” She willed her chest to stop heaving, forced her breathing under control as she peeked up over the back of the loveseat. He was still there. And he was reaching out to her. Only he didn’t look as nice as he had back when they’d made love on her virgin bed. “You’re just a dream!” she cried, rising and backing away toward the kitchen. “A dream!”
“No,” came the voice she remembered so well. “I am not a dream.” But even as the last word died on his lips, he disappeared.
Jane reached out and turned on a table lamp, hands shaking uncontrollably. She looked around. There was no one there. Her mind scattered, thoughts flying in every direction. Not a dream? Of course he was a dream! There’d been no physical evidence the next morning to suggest it had been anything else. But as she reached her bedroom and pulled the sandals off her feet, another memory surfaced. She plopped down on the bed, and that moment came back.
* * *
Six months after the dream man had taken her innocence, she’d gone to a gynecologist for the first time. It had been some sort of minor urinary tract infection, but halfway through the examination the doctor, an older man, had asked her stepmother to wait outside while he finished. And once the door was closed, he’d spoken.
“Jane, are you sexually active?”
“What?” she’d asked. “No, I’m not.”
“Are you s
ure?”
What was he, crazy? “I’m only eighteen, of course I’m sure!” The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. “Why are you asking me?”
“Your hymen is broken,” he answered.
“My what?” What the hell was that? She’d never heard the word. He pulled out a color pamphlet and leafed through it until he showed her two pictures. One of a virgin and one of a non-virgin. He told her that she looked like the second. “That’s impossible,” she breathed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother.”
“Stepmother,” Jane corrected. “Are you telling me it looks like I’ve had sex?”
“Yes, unless you’ve been abused. Has anyone ever done anything to you down here?”
“I…” Jane thought back to her dream man. But he’d just been a dream. If she said anything about him, she’d be put in a straightjacket. “No, no one,” she finally answered.
“Well, like I said, I won’t tell your mother…stepmother. But if you are having sex, Miss Marsh, please be careful and use a condom. Okay?”
Jane nodded. And she’d never been able to explain the incident other than to wonder about the man who’d made her feel wanted and special. He was a dream. He was.
* * *
Now, however, as she looked back upon it, the adult Jane realized how ridiculous that sounded. She’d never done anything sexually until she was twenty. Prior to that, the only contact she’d had, had been with him. But it wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t!
“Dammit!” she swore, throwing her sweater across the room. She lay down in bed, facing her bedroom door, eyes wide. She had to get away, that was all. She was stressed. She was tired. Tomorrow she would leave for home. As she stared at the open bedroom door, Jane knew she would be getting no sleep tonight.
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