Angel Board

by Rufty, Kristopher

  Sam had met Dr. Charles Baxter on her first day at Slowrock Memorial Hospital. Thinking he was handsome, she’d left it at that and worked alongside him for many months without a scrap of flirting. Then in July, following the trip to Green Bay, and with an outrageous fear of commitment brewing inside her, she forced herself to notice Baxter so much more.

  He was thin, slender, but shorter than Sam. He styled his dyed blond hair with excessive amounts of gel into pointed spikes. Sam figured that was an attempt to hold onto his youth. Sam was shocked when she’d learned from the other nurses that Dr. Baxter—not looking a day over twenty-five–was actually thirty-four.

  He was often coy with Sam, complimenting her. He would speak to her as if she wasn’t just a nurse who worked second shift. He made her feel special. At first, he’d tried these tricks on her, and she’d been able to ignore them. After the trip to Green Bay, she welcomed them, couldn’t wait for them. And if they didn’t come on their own, she would force them to.

  This had escalated to a point of no return on an expedition to his house in August. At the end of her shift, she’d changed into some lounge wear in the women’s restroom. She had hoped to spot Charlie before she left, but didn’t. He’d invited her over, and since both their shifts ended at eleven, she’d wanted to double check that he still wanted her to come. After all, it would be near midnight by the time she arrived at his place.

  She’d had no luck finding him. So she went on with the plan that she would head to his house, his manor, on Confederate Park Drive. She’d phoned David on the way to let him know she was going out with some girls from work and wouldn’t be stopping by. He’d sounded let down about not seeing her. And she felt horrible lying to him, and then felt even worse wondering how David would act in a situation like this.

  He wouldn’t do it.

  But those notions were overshadowed by the excitement of what would be happening at Charlie Baxter’s. Wearing the thin, tight pants she used at the gym, a white tank top, and light jacket, she was ready to go. After a quick touchup on her face and hair, Sam marched out of the hospital.

  Driving along Confederate, she observed all the mansions. They appeared to become bigger and brighter the deeper she went.

  She pulled over to the curb and checked the address Charlie had scribbled down on their lunch hour that day.

  128 Confederate Park Ave.

  Looking at the house number to the side of the car, she read: 124. Only two houses away. The butterflies flapped rambunctiously in her gut. Wiping her sweaty hands on her pants, she put the car into drive and proceeded to 128.

  The front gate had been left open. For her, she supposed. As she crept along the concrete driveway, the trees on each side reached over, as if purposely shielding her arrival from any neighbors who might happen to be out. Outside the car, she could hear high-pitched scrapes from the limbs nicking the paint. She hoped it wouldn’t scratch. How would she explain that to David?

  Sam didn’t know anyone except for Charlie who lived on Confederate, but the paranoia that someone might catch her going there was hard to ignore. She was thankful his driveway was heavily secluded.

  The mansion stood tall at the top of the hill. It was dark inside. Sam wondered if he had gotten home yet.

  God, she’d been so ridiculously nervous. All her best intentions were telling her to leave, but she didn’t listen. She parked at the head of the driveway. A three-car garage, built onto the side of the mansion, was closed up tight. No lights were on inside there either. Sam began to think her plans had been ruined. She should have prayed for that.

  Instead, she got out of the car and slowly walked up the brick steps to the front door. As she was about to knock on the steel-plated door, it opened. Charlie stepped out from behind it, smiling. He wore plaid lounge paints and a white T-shirt. She was glad to see he hadn’t dressed up for the occasion either.

  “Glad you could make it,” he said.

  “Thanks for the invite.”

  “No need to thank me, not yet.”

  Sam noticed right away that his voice sounded less pleasant than at the hospital. “Please, come in.” He stepped to the side, allowing her entrance.

  Briefly, the idea to whip up a reason as to why she couldn’t crossed her mind. Her eagerness to be there had suddenly gone dry. Ignoring her instincts, she went inside.

  A quick scan of the house noted all the lights were turned off except for the night-lights. Through dim, ginger glows in the darkness, she could see only the formless shapes of furniture and doorways.

  The door slammed shut behind her. She wasn’t comfortable being trapped in the darkness, and with him standing between her and the door. His arms gripped her shoulders and forcefully pulled her backside against him. She could feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing against her rump, pushing between her cheeks. His lips were on her neck, kissing, nibbling.

  It had felt good. She’d tingled all over, but her mind was still focused.

  “Wait,” she said. “No marks, I can’t…”

  With force, he’d spun her around and shoved her against the door. She wished he would stop, but didn’t dare tell him to. Somewhere inside of her, she’d liked it. The aggression, the force. With both hands, he’d gripped the elastic waistband of her pants and tugged them down to her knees. She hadn’t been wearing any panties. Hearing him gasp with approval behind her, she’d realized it was probably a good idea she hadn’t.

  “Do you want it?” he’d asked.

  Oh no, a talker.

  “Y…”

  He slammed her against the door, hard. Her breasts smashed flat against it, pain shot through her chest to the nape of her neck. He gripped a handful of her hair and tugged her head back. “Answer me.”

  “Yes!” And that had been true. She’d wanted to be taken so badly she was shaking. There had also been fear causing the quivers, but she was able to ignore it.

  “That’s what I want to hear.”

  She’d answered with a yes, but had screamed no on the inside. Behind her, she heard the tugging of fabric, and felt the warmness of his exposed erection slap against her bare behind.

  He’d kicked at her ankles, making her legs spread wider. He pushed her head down, forcing her to lean over. When he pushed the tip of his penis between the lips of her soft center, she arched. He jammed inside her, not caring to take it easy.

  As he slammed in and out, she’d pounded against the door, violently rattling it against its hinges. It had felt good, but it hurt. She was glad he wasn’t as large as David. If he’d been the one behind her, she would have been left unable to walk for a week.

  David.

  The sudden thought of him made her cry.

  As if the sounds of her sobs were enthralling, Charlie began thrashing even harder and faster. Wheezing and drooling in her ear, he climaxed. Not courteous enough to wear a condom, he hadn’t bothered to pull out either. She’d felt the warm liquid explode inside her, filling her.

  Pressing against her, she could feel his swift heartbeats against her back. She sniffed and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. David was aggressive in bed, also, but there was tenderness to it. Passion. What Charlie had just given her had been devoid of all passion and sensibility.

  “I knew it would be good, but I had no idea you’d cry over it,” he’d said, as if proud of himself.

  He pulled out. Sam felt the gooey warmth ooze out of her and run down the side of her thigh. Charlie tugged her pants up, covering her. Stepping over to the side of her, he’d eased her away from the door.

  He’s going to hold me, she had thought. After the distasteful way he made love to me, he’s going to redeem it by comforting me. Made love? Yeah, right. Used you like a plastic fuck pump is more like it.

  Then Charlie reached over her shoulder and opened the door. “Thanks for stopping by. You should do it again soon.”

  “Yeah, soon.” She spoke in monotone. And, in a trance, she’d exited h
is mansion. As she’d staggered down the steps, she felt more of his ooze spurt out of her.

  “Sam?”

  Without turning around, she’d stopped walking.

  “I trust that you won’t tell anyone about this?”

  “No.”

  “Good girl. See you tomorrow.”

  The door shut behind her. Erupting with tears, she ran to her car.

  The weeks that had followed saw no more cute talks or flirtatious body motions. They’d avoided each other as often as possible. When Sam found out he had been married for eight years, she transferred to another floor. Then after a pregnancy scare, the guilt had eaten at her enough, and she confessed to David what she had done.

  He’d handled it just as she had expected him to. Horribly. Since then, she had been working as hard as possible to regain his trust and love. She thought she was finally succeeding, but that hope died the day she came to his apartment and found him neck deep in his own blood.

  A frantic knock jolted Sam away from the painful memory. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but was thankful they were here to keep her mind off it. Wiping tears with her thumb, she sat up in bed.

  The knocking came like rapid gunfire.

  Whoever was outside needed to get in.

  Jumping out of bed, Sam ran to her dresser. The room slapped her with icy pricks. She dug through the drawers for some clothes. She came across a gray sweat suit with matching shirt and pants. It would have to do. On her way out, she stopped in front of the mirror on her closet door. As she stuck her arms through the sleeves, she laughed at her reflection. Her hair was a tangled ball of mess on her head. The shoulder-length mane was matted into a nest in the back.

  “That’s a girl you bring home to Mama,” she mumbled.

  As she entered the main hallway, the knocking was like bombs exploding all around her. She stopped at the door to peek through the peephole. On the other side, a blur of movement continued the onslaught on the door. All she could tell was the person on the other side was female.

  Sam jerked the door open. Amber charged inside and fell to her knees.

  “Amber? My God, what happened to you?”

  Amber looked horrible. Sam wondered if she’d been attacked and raped during the night. Sam crouched down beside her. Her nose was met with fetid odors like the kind you’d smell at mucky rest stops. She winced.

  Amber said between gasping breaths, “I…didn’t know…where else…to go…”

  “What’s happened?”

  “I need to clean myself up and I…have to use your bathroom.” Amber grabbed Sam’s shoulders. Sam helped her to stand. “I saw…I don’t know…it was terrible.”

  “Amber, you’re scaring me.”

  “I need to use the bathroom…been holding it for five hours…I couldn’t take a bus, I stink, and my purse is gone…I ran…all the way…”

  “From where?”

  “David’s…”

  “My God, Amber!”

  “Please…bathroom…”

  “Of course,” Sam said. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”

  Amber nodded. Sam studied her. Amber’s hair looked worse than her own. Her outfit, snuggled close to her shapely body, was stained with yellow and brown. Her feet were bare and filthy with black smudges.

  “Are you going to move out of the damn way so I can pee?” shrieked Amber.

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry.” Sam stepped out of her way. “Right down the hall, the door’s open, just go on in.”

  “Thank you! Jeez!” She ran, stiff-legged, down the hall and slammed the door shut.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A funeral.

  That was what David saw in his sleep. Not so much a nightmare, but a prophecy. It seemed silly to think such things, but it had been just too vivid, as if he’d stepped out of sleep and into another reality. Observing, looking through a window and into another time.

  A small gathering at the cemetery around a freshly dug grave. The casket hovered above the deep hole. Flowers adorned the top. The crowd, dressed in black, listened as the reverend read aloud from the Bible with wet eyes. A traditional sermon, meant to put the mourners at peace, but they never truly did.

  Mom had been there. Sam too. He remembered Mom sitting in a chair in front of him as he stood behind her. Sam had kept her distance at first, but eventually maneuvered her way over to him. She wore a mask of guilt, regret that was apparent in vacant eyes. And seemed to be lingering on a decision.

  David didn’t know why he was so certain of that.

  The detectives.

  Yes, they had been there too. The ones who’d grilled him after George’s death. They stood at the back of the crowd, dressed respectfully. Trying only to blend in, they brought attention to themselves.

  Amber wasn’t there. Somehow, in the vision, he knew she wouldn’t be. He wondered if what he was witnessing was George’s funeral, but that couldn’t be. George’s body had been flown back to Texas to be buried with his kin.

  The stranger.

  Standing by a tree several yards away from the funeral, he watched. David had looked for him, and he wasn’t hard to find. He was dressed in a heavy coat that made him look as if he was about to hit the slopes and ski. His hair was covered with a hat, so David couldn’t distinguish the color. He wore thin, narrow glasses and needed a shave.

  He was young, maybe a couple of years younger than David.

  David was angry with the stranger for watching, but furious with him for not dressing appropriately. It was a funeral. Couldn’t he have shown a little respect?

  Constantly looping in his head over and over, a voice warned him to stay away from the stranger. That he was dangerous, and could destroy everything he and Natasha were working so hard to build.

  When the funeral ended, David split. Walking away from the group to the opposite side of the cemetery, he dodged all of the mourners, including the stranger. It was him that he wanted to avoid the most.

  By the side gate, he peered over his shoulder and was surprised to find he could see the funeral spot easily from where he stood. Most of the people had already left and were walking in a line toward the church. All of them except for two.

  Sam and the stranger.

  The stranger held out his hand to Sam. She took it. They shook. Evidently this had been their introduction. He spoke to Sam quickly, without missing a beat. Watching, David saw Sam’s expression change from confusion to horror.

  She cupped her hands over her mouth.

  The man continued talking until their conversation was interrupted by the detectives. David knew then he must exit before being seen.

  Then he’d woken up. Rolling onto his side, he’d remembered being on the couch. The blanket he’d used to cover his naked body was on the floor. He must have kicked it off during the night.

  The vision.

  He sat up. He found his clothes trapped under the blanket, grabbed them, and got dressed. His chest and neck were covered with light scratches. And his body ached with a deep soreness. He really felt like he might be coming down with something. The way each muscle and ligament felt stiff and wounded, he was going to have to gulp down a couple of aspirin.

  Natasha floated somewhere deep in the back of his mind, comforting as a tender kiss. He missed her.

  Amber. She was asleep in his room. He had nearly forgotten about her coming to see him last night. She’d been drunk–of course. Then she’d passed out, urinating all over his freshly cleaned carpet. As he carried her to his bed, she vomited all over his shirt. He returned to the room after washing up and changing clothes to find Natasha standing at the foot of the bed. Amber was undressed and…there was a flash in his mind, but he swore that his sister was cowering—terrified. He could be wrong though. But that was what he thought he’d seen.

  There was an even larger blank space in his memory. He did not remember anything else until they were making love. Embraced snugly in each other’s arms
.

  He walked to his bedroom door. It stood open a crack. Lightly tapping on the door, he called out, “Amber? Are you decent?”

  He expected to hear a witty comeback, but got nothing. He eased the door open just enough to allow him a peek inside.

  “Amber?”

  His bed was empty. He tilted his head back, looking toward the bathroom. The door was wide open, no one inside. After a quick search through the apartment, he realized she had snuck out sometime in the night, wearing her dirty clothes. He regretted not leaving her some of his own clothes to change in to.

  What’s she doing? Was she embarrassed over the way she’d acted last night? Did she see us? He asked Natasha more than himself. She didn’t answer. Worry pulled at David’s mind. He entered the bedroom and sat at the edge of the bed. His sheets still bore the stench of Amber’s accident.

  David rushed over to the nightstand, opened the wooden crate, and checked inside. The angel board was still there, although now it looked rotten and charred. Thick black crud had caked the four corners, and the paint was bubbly, as if rippled with giant sores. Relieved, he closed the lid. He doubted she’d checked here for the board, but he was sure she’d seen something.

  Actually, he had no proof she’d seen anything. But his brotherly instinct told him she’d seen Natasha and then ran for the hills. Who could blame her? That must have been a lot to try to fathom. If he were in her shoes, he’d be terrified. Maybe she’ll pass it off as a drunken dream.

  He wondered if there was a connection between Amber not being in the dream and her running out in the middle of the night. He hoped that was all it was, because his nagging gut told him otherwise.

  For some reason, he knew he would never see his sister again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The hot water of the shower felt tremendous splashing against Amber’s face, soaking through her hair. As she turned slightly, it struck the back of her head and neck, massaging them with the powerful pressure from the nozzle. The drumming in her skull had eased, but only slightly. The steam entered her nose, clearing her sinuses. She could breathe again.