by Blake Croft
It was a precarious position which wasn’t helped by Linda’s terror that she might find someone just outside. Feet slipping on the rim, Linda grasped the wooden ledge, her knuckles white. She leaned forward and looked outside.
It was dark, but a few lights from the downstairs windows illuminated the backyard, and the edge of the woods. There was no tiled ledge beneath the window where someone could climb and sit. It was a sheer wall that dropped neatly down to the ground. The trees were too far away for anyone to make their way up to the second story from there.
She must have been mistaken. It had been a long day and the recent reminder of Jackson didn’t help her shattered nerves. She was just imagining things, that was all.
Yet, unease nagged at her. She tried to recall what she had seen but no discernible feature came to mind, only a long white oval face framed with dark matted hair hovering over her shoulder. Her poor eyesight without her glasses didn’t help.
Linda didn’t bother to dress; she had to leave the bathroom. She checked that her towel was firmly attached, she picked up her clothes, and she hurried to the sanctuary of her bedroom.
Linda closed the door and calmed down. She shook the queasy feeling from the bathroom and concentrated on something more pleasant - the room. This was hers; her own space, a room she had rented by applying for a job. This was progress.
She opened the box full of old medical files and her diaries, and stacked them on the shelf at the top of the closet first. The first aid box went there too. There was no dressing table to place her mahogany jewelry box. It had been a gift from her mother and always gave her strength. Reluctantly she stored it in the cupboard.
Next came the clothes. There weren’t many. Linda didn’t own a single piece which she had bought herself. Some didn’t fit properly while others hung off of her in loose folds. She put them on the hangers in the closet.
She had no spare shoes.
The rest of the boxes contained the books she had hoarded over the years. She had no place to put them. She would have to buy a bookcase, a side table, a shelf for her jewelry box, a mirror, and maybe a pretty rug.
Linda smiled, but then bit her lip. It was exciting being able to think of such things, knowing she had the power to make it happen. She opened the first box to retrieve her books. She needed to have them out and in her line of sight to completely feel this was her space.
It took four trips to stack the first box of books against the wall. It added a pop of color to the room. She unboxed the rest and was just walking across the room when the book on top teetered and fell to the floor.
Pages flipped and some flew out to different ends of the room.
“Oh, no!” Linda moaned. Sweat peppered her scalp. She dumped the stack in her hands on the bed, heart pounding a war drum against her ears. “He isn’t here,” she stammered to herself as she retrieved the pages on her hands and knees. “He isn’t here. He can’t hurt you.”
Her ears were cocked to hear heavy footsteps on the stairs, the sound of grinding teeth, and knuckles cracking as a fist was clenched.
She heard nothing.
Taking a shaking breath, Linda forced herself to sit back on her legs. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply the way she had been taught at the support group at the community center back home; once, twice, and again until her heart slowed down to its regular trot. She clenched and released her fingers until they stopped shaking, and the twist of tension in her gut unwound.
Squaring her shoulders, she began to search for the first page. She gathered most of the pages and placed them on her bed, but she couldn't find the first one.
“Tsk,” she clicked her tongue in annoyance and bent down to search under the bed.
There were a few pages down there. She leaned in to retrieve them. Her hand touched something smooth and stiff, flat and rectangular; it felt like a card. She pulled the card out along with the rest of the pages. It was a plain white card slightly yellow with age. Frowning a little she flipped it over.
Her lungs collapsed. All the air had been knocked out of her. Her eyes dilated.
She dropped the card. It fell to the floor and landed against the wall under the window. A couple was framed in wreaths and Christmas baubles. They were sitting in an armchair, the girl on the man’s lap. He had his arms around her in such a way that you could only see the face.
The girl was Linda though younger, her cheeks fuller, her hair longer, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses.
The man was older, but only by a few years. He looked lean and hungry, like a wolf out in the winter cold banished from his pack. His eyes were onyx-black like a shark. His arms snaked around Linda’s waist and neck. It looked protective, and it had been in the beginning until those same arms tightened around her like a vise crushing the very life out of her.
What the heck was that picture doing there?
Breathing shakily through her nose, Linda paced her room.
On the brink of tears, Linda swallowed a rattling sob and rushed towards the card. She knelt down on the floor and picked it up.
She looked at the face of her nightmare, at her ex-fiancé who had started out by protecting her from her father, to beating her within an inch of her life. Jackson Perry was a military man whose father was on the police force, so no one would believe her if she tried to call for help. Jackson had restricted her movements. He hadn’t given her an allowance or even let her go to the grocery store to buy food because he was paranoid that she would leave him.
Rage built up in her. A low, guttural cry escaped her lips. She tore the card in two, and then fours, enjoying the sound of ripping paper.
Much calmer now, she stood up and tossed the torn pieces out the window. She suddenly felt drained of all energy. The frightening shower and the assault on her memories had taken a toll.
Deciding to call it a night, Linda slipped in between the sheets, and turned off the lights.
Chapter 5
Linda was lying in a dank place.
It was cavernous because sounds of trickling water echoed around. She could smell damp earth and the oxidized odor of pounded rock. She was lying very still. She couldn’t move even if she tried. Someone was close by. She could hear their ragged breathing grating on her ears.
“Help,” Linda cried. “Please, help me!”
The breathing became louder until it was a whistling moan. The hair on her arms stood on end. Someone was crying in the dark, a painful, desperate keening, that broke Linda’s heart and filled it with terror at the same time.
“Where am I? Help me!”
He must have found her. Jackson must have found her and kidnapped her. Now, he would have his revenge.
The quality of the weeping changed. The wail grew deeper. It warbled as if coming from deep under water.
“Help!” Darkness pressed down on her eyes. She couldn’t see anything, the gloom was so absolute.
Footsteps echoed in the large space. Her heartbeat became sluggish, matching the halting, squelching steps. The figure drew closer until it stood above Linda.
“Please,” she begged. Her fingers clawed at her sides scooping up cold, powdery earth in her palms.
Clothes rustled as the figure moved. Metal scraped against rocks, the clang was loud and echoed around, bouncing off the walls chasing Linda’s whimpered pleas.
It began to rain.
Linda spluttered and spat as cold peppered her face, got into her eyes, and into her mouth. She tasted dirt, and foul earth.
It wasn’t rain. Someone was shoveling dirt on her!
Metal scraped in the earth. Soil rained down on her writhing body.
“No!” Linda choked out. Her paralysis intensified. Bits of loose stone struck her face, flames of pain radiated across her body. Her nose and mouth were blocked.
She breathed in dirt.
She was being buried alive.
Her mind was a blazing beacon of red panic. Linda tried to find something, anything to get her out of the grave she was in. S
tars burst in front of her vision. Dirt lay heavy on her chest, and limbs.
Open your eyes, the thought thundered through her blind hysteria. Open them!
It took an effort to fight against the burying dirt, and the fear of getting soil in her eyes. She wrenched them open with a feral cry.
Faint sunlight danced on the wooden floor. Her eyes were burning hot. Books stood against the opposite wall like jagged teeth. Her breath was caught in her throat and her chest was tight with fear. She had to remind herself to breathe.
A dream, she realized, heart still hammering against her throat, the sound drowning out her shallow breathing. A dream, yet it had felt so real.
Linda was no stranger to this feeling. As a child she had suffered from sleep paralysis and sleep walking, but she hadn’t experienced those hallucinations in years.
It’s probably because of the PTSD, she thought, slowing down her breathing, making it deeper and longer to calm her racing heart. They said something like this can happen at the community center. Just calm down. It was just a dream.
Once her breathing had regulated and she was no longer shaking, Linda sat up and reached down to the floor where she had set her glasses. She checked her phone for the time. It was a little past eight in the morning. She groaned. Jackson had never allowed her a phone, and holding it in her hand reminded her that things were changing, and she was getting her life back. She set her phone back down and, to divert her thoughts away from Jackson, she thought about the day ahead.
There was the shed and the back garden that she needed to scope out intimately, and of course her first session with Marisa. Should she mention the dreams and her old sleep disorders? The thought of sharing this information made her queasy but she knew it had to come out if she wanted to get better.
The nightmare stayed with her as she got out of bed and twitched the curtains aside. The world was glowing golden. The cats had slunk off for the day, and the neighbor’s house looked empty.
Shrugging out of her pajamas, Linda pulled on a pair of high-rise jeans and a shapeless white top. She opened her bedroom door a crack and wriggled out into the hall. She tiptoed down to the bathroom and brushed her teeth quickly, glancing over her shoulder at the open window.
“Linda?” Ashley’s voice came from down the hall. “Are you up?”
Linda spat out toothpaste. “Yes.”
“Stewart wanted a word,” Ashley leaned against the door frame stifling a yawn. “Marisa left early.”
“Why does Stewart want to see me?” Linda gargled with some water.
“He needs you to sign the employment contract. I’ve already signed mine. Hurry it up, would you? I’m starving and I want to get some shopping done before your first session this afternoon.”
Linda grabbed her bag from her room before joining Ashley on the front porch. Stewart stood by his car in the driveway. He was dressed in a dark suit. His face brightened at the sight of her.
“Morning.” He waved.
“Are you going to a wedding or something?” Ashley asked.
“No such joy,” Stewart laughed. “I have to get to the bank. If you could sign this contract, I will be on my way.”
Linda took the papers from him. The sight of her name on official looking documents reminded her she had no means of moving anywhere else, and brought home just how permanent this change was going to be. The house she had lived in for the past years had belonged to Jackson, then she had moved in with Ashley until she had lost the apartment; Linda realized she’d never really lived in a place that was hers alone. She hesitated at first but then remembered she had no money to her name, and she signed where he pointed.
“Oh, by the way,” Linda suddenly remembered. “Are there any rules against late night visitors to the staff quarters?”
Stewart looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“There was someone in the hall last night,” Linda tucked her hair behind her ears not sure how to phrase it. Then a thought struck her. “Who are the other guests in the house? There was a woman chatting with Marisa late in the evening that I didn’t meet yet. I didn’t get a good look; she left in a hurry.”
Stewart shook his head, a small frown creasing his brow. “We have no other guests living here at the moment. It was probably a friend visiting Marisa.”
“Oh, really?” She was suddenly unsure if she should be talking about this. It felt like snitching and she was sure Marisa wouldn’t appreciate being talked about behind her back.
Stewart rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m glad you told me. We don’t have a strict policy but we don’t encourage… er… that kind of activity. I’ll have a word with Marisa.”
“I didn’t mean to get her in trouble,” Linda wrung her hands.
“No, no,” Stewart laughed. “It’s not that serious. Don’t worry about it.” He rummaged in his pocket and produced a set of keys. “These are to the shed in the back. It has some heavy tools so we keep it under lock and key in case one of the clients has a depressive episode.”
“I thought you were going to give me a tour,” Linda laughed, taking the keys.
“It’s not that big,” Stewart chuckled. “And I’m sure you know your way around a tool shed. I just don’t want you waiting on me to start.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“We should get going.” Ashley said. “I need food to function properly.” She stalked off to the truck.
“Of course.” Stewart unlocked his own car. “There are three diners in town, but I’d recommend Yoder’s. It’s run by an Amish family, and the food is carefully prepared. Their shepherd’s pie is to die for.”
Ashley closed her truck’s door loudly.
“Thanks,” Linda smiled, and waved him goodbye. “Don’t mind Ash. She’s not a morning person.” She sprinted over to the car and slid into the passenger seat.
Ashley waited for Stewart to pull away from the driveway. As soon as he drove off, she pressed the pedal and reversed at so much speed their truck crossed the road and ended up in the cat-lady’s driveway.
“Careful!” Linda cried.
Ashley hit the brakes. They had just fallen short of knocking her mailbox down. The car stalled. Ashley cursed. “Jesus! I’m sorry. Just really hungry.”
Linda sat back in her seat trying to get her breathing under control. A darting motion from the house above her caught her eye. Shadows shifted in the top most tower window on the Blackburn side of the manor.
Linda froze.
The sun blazed behind the tower.
She wasn’t sure what she had seen but it had looked like a tall figure stepping away from the window.
A screen door screeched shrilly behind them but it was nothing to the voice that followed.
“Useless delinquents!”
Linda saw the cat-lady in the rearview mirror. Her flowery dress ballooned voluminously around her small frame. She was waving her fist at them. “Destroying my property. I’m going to call the police, you’ll see!”
“Oh, keep your shirt on,” Ashley growled and drove off.
“I think there’s a pizza crust from yesterday here somewhere,” Linda joked.
Ashley glared at her.
Linda sat back and thought about the shape she had seen in the window. It could have been Evelyn, only Evelyn was wheelchair bound and that figure was standing tall. Maybe it was Cindy May, the nurse; or a trick of the light. The sun was exceptionally bright that morning.
Linda removed her glasses and cleaned them on the hem of her shirt.
“Do you sometimes think Mom would have been proud of us?”
“Of course,” Ashley said. “She always did say we were the best thing about her marriage.”
“Are you still in touch with Dad?”
Ashley’s generous lips pursed into a thin line. “He called me on Christmas. Wanted to know how I was doing.”
“That’s nice.”
“Hmmm. Then he told me I was going to hell for dating a girl, and he asked me to join
his church where he’d find me a nice boy to date.”
“Yeesh,” Linda cringed.
“So I told him I’d rather skip the church and see him straight in hell since wife beaters and alcoholics have their own special circle there.”
“He called me too,” Linda said. “It was after I’d filed criminal charges against Jackson.”
“What did he say?” Ashley was staring ahead at the road but there was a steely glint in her eye.
Linda chewed her lower lip. It wasn’t easy when the parent who had been neglectful when you needed them the most suddenly wanted to reconnect and save your soul. “That I was making a mistake,” Linda’s cheeks flushed at the memory. It still made her angry. “That I was doing the same thing Mom did and look how she ended up dying alone.”
Their mother had passed away a few years ago, around the time Linda had started seeing Jackson. Twenty pounds heavier and a million times happier, Linda’s mother had died in her sleep a free woman.
“Asshole,” Ashley grimaced. “He’s afraid of living alone without anyone to make miserable. I’m glad I moved out at sixteen. Now he can’t turn up at my door when he’s drunk on a Tuesday night.”
“You know, I think you leaving gave Mom the courage to do so too.”
“If I’d known that I would have moved out sooner,” Ashley swiped at her eyes. “Our childhood was shit.”
Now that Ashley had awakened memories of this terrible period, Linda couldn’t avoid thinking, of her late childhood. She forced herself to think about the few good times of those days. Mr. Dartmouth came to her mind, with his unusual behavior.
“Lin, are you ok?” asked Ashley. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I know you had a hard time dealing with it. What are you thinking about?”
“Do you remember Dr. Dartmouth our neighbor?”
Who?”
“You know the monocle man with the eccentric suits, and the watch on a chain? He had this really nasty walking stick that he would swish around in a menacing way if you were walking ahead of him in the street.”