Harrowing

by S. E. Amadis

  I could have hit myself for not having thought of that sooner. I glanced at the floor but didn’t see anything amiss. Dropping to my knees, I began prowling about near the ground. Something rustled faintly underneath the bed in the slight breeze entering through the hole in the window. I nearly shot out of the room. I composed myself for Romeo’s sake and peered under the bed, pretending that it was probably just some trash Calvin had carelessly tossed there.

  Something lay there wrapped in a khaki green plastic bag. Something I’d never seen before. I groped my fingers about it.

  It was soft and squishy.

  I slid the bag out and peeked inside.

  Then screamed and screamed and screamed.

  Chapter 13

  Calvin wrapped his muscular, sheltering arms straight around me and stroked and stroked and stroked me. He soothed me as if I were a puppy or a small child.

  “You should’ve called me earlier, honey buns. As soon as that unspeakably vile asshole showed up at the door you should’ve been on the phone with me already.”

  He held me some more. I wished I could spend the rest of my life cuddled in his arms.

  “You should at least go to the police about this,” he said, gesturing towards the green plastic bag. “That’s a threat.”

  I shook my head.

  “No it’s not,” I retorted. “And he hasn’t done anything illegal. I’m sure throwing a plastic bag in through someone’s window isn’t against the law.”

  “Well, rape definitely is against the law. You should’ve gone to the police about that.”

  I shook my head again.

  “That was a whole month ago. It’s a bit late for that now.”

  “Well, what about that?” He pointed at the plastic bag again.

  I glanced at it fearfully.

  “Killing a cat isn’t against the law either,” I murmured hesitantly. “It’s not like he murdered a person.”

  “No, no, no.” Calvin shook his head in disapproval. “Killing a cat isn’t murder. But people who kill animals often move on to people afterwards. It’s something you should bring to the attention of the police.”

  I bit my lip.

  “No, Calv. They’ve probably got their hands full trying to solve real murder cases and robberies that actually are illegal.”

  I let go of him and approached the plastic bag with trepidation, my pulse throbbing painfully in my temples. The memory of that bloody, disentrailed creature grinning up at me with its glassy gaze, its slimy guts oozing green bile all around it, still shook me up, haunted me, goaded at me. I still saw it every time I closed my eyes. Calvin rushed towards me and grabbed the bag in his hands, jerking it away from me.

  “Well, if you’re not reporting this to the police – and if you want to know the truth, I think you’re a bloody damn nincompoop not to – then I’m taking this straight down to the bins outside.”

  I nodded, wordless, and backed away from him, just letting him carry on. He shrugged his jacket over his shoulders and stomped out the door and down the stairs.

  It was getting harder now to just keep going as if nothing were happening. Even at work any sudden, loud noise or unexpected scream made me jump. I was jittery as a hare at my next appointment with Dr. Rheinhardt. It didn’t take the discerning professional long to figure out something was up. He glanced me over me from head to toe and took notes.

  “So, ah... yes, Annasuya Rose. I remember you told me you liked people to add in the ‘Rose’ to your name.”

  I nodded without replying.

  “So, what’s up? I can tell something is up.”

  Since I continued to not say anything, he strode brazenly over and perched on the couch next to me. I flinched away.

  “So, what happened? You need to start to get over it now.”

  I stared at him.

  “I know that.” I spit out every word with venom. “That’s why I come here, you know.”

  He fixed his habitual penetrating gaze on me.

  “You’re supposed to know what to do to help me get over this,” I continued. “So do something. Don’t just look at me like that.”

  The good doctor started reaching towards me. I cringed into a ball on the sofa. Dr. Rheinhardt sighed.

  “Ah, Annasuya, Annasuya. How am I supposed to do anything to help you if you won’t let me?”

  I leapt to my feet, indignant, and stormed towards the door.

  “Well, whatever it is you were planning to do, it certainly wasn’t helping me! Were you thinking of raping me too?”

  Dr. Rheinhardt raised his hands.

  “Annasuya... I’m not going to rape you, you know. You should get these silly ideas out of your head and come around already. I’m a professional, you should know.”

  “No. More of you just repeating my name like a parrot, no. And for your information, psychologists aren’t doctors so why do you call yourself a doctor? Were you hoping to impress me with false insinuations or something?”

  Dr. Rheinhardt gaped at me, blubbering.

  “I am a doctor,” he declared, indignant. “I have a Ph.D.”

  I reached the door.

  “Just...” I seized a hold of the door handle and glanced around, searching for the right words. “Just... fuck off.”

  Calvin was waiting for me on the sidewalk, leaning against his Honda motorcycle with his arms crossed, gazing up and down the street. He tended a helmet towards me when he saw me.

  “You came out early, babes,” he remarked as he kissed me on the lips. “Did Dr. Rheinhardt cut the session short or something?”

  I seized the helmet and nearly threw it at Calvin.

  “I’m never going back there again!” I raged.

  I tried to jam the helmet over my head. It stuck against my voluminous ponytail.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, babes.” Calvin reached over and clasped me by the shoulders. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like Dr. Rheinhardt? He’s got raving testimonials on his website, I recall.”

  I shook my head.

  “He fucking tried to rape me,” I screamed.

  Calvin held me more tightly.

  “I’m sure you’re just imagining it all,” he said in a reasonable tone. “But if it would make you feel better, why don’t we seek out a female therapist instead?”

  I chewed his words over for a space.

  “I still think you ought to continue going to see someone,” Calvin commented. “It’s quite clear you’re not over it yet.”

  I bit my lip.

  “Do I come across as that mad?” I asked bitterly.

  Calvin laughed.

  “You were mad before all this started. It’s what I love about you. Why I fell for you in the first place.” He chuckled. “I can’t stand boring, conventional women, you know.”

  I thought it over, then nodded.

  “Okay. When we get back, I’ll look for someone on the internet,” I agreed at last.

  I climbed behind him on the motorcycle. As we sped through the crisp night sparkling with neons, I replayed my first meeting with Calvin in my mind and thanked my lucky stars I had someone so sweet and gentle and understanding by my side. I still wondered what he had seen in me. I didn’t think of myself as anyone special.

  I had been temping at Kirby and Associates. It was only supposed to be a one-day assignment, or perhaps two, to replace their receptionist who was ill. But she turned out to have swine flu and man flu and avian flu and just about every strain of flu that existed on earth, all cohabiting within her at the same time and giving her dire symptoms that she claimed would last at least a month. So I got to hang out at Kirby and Associates for several weeks.

  Even so, I only met Calvin on my last day there, since he happened to be between projects. In fact, it was pure luck or coincidence that I even had the opportunity to bump into him at all, since the day we met, he’d only run in for a minute to pick up some technical drawing materials.

  It was almost like a match made in heaven. Bashert, my profoundly spi
ritual mother would have called it. Later, Calvin would claim he’d been bored stiff lying around at home twiddling his thumbs and wanted to work on his dream house during his hiatus.

  I remember, that morning he strode in jauntily through the door dressed in sweats and grey jogging bottoms and swung a left straight towards his office, after calling a cheery greeting to me. I panicked, because I didn’t know who he was, and I suspected he would be some sort of thief.

  “Hey, mister, you can’t go in there without permission,” I called after him in alarm.

  He ignored me and continued striding down the corridor with his thumbs hooked over the elastic of his jogging pants, whistling. He appeared so at ease, as if he belonged here. I hesitated, wondering what to do. I wasn’t supposed to leave my station, but I couldn’t let him continue waltzing around as if he worked here and were just one of the guys.

  “Mister?” I tried again, feebly.

  Taking a chance, I dashed after him and clasped him on the shoulder.

  “Mister, you can’t just go walking around here like this, you know. If you’ve come to visit someone, I’ll be happy to tell them you’re here. But you have to wait in the reception area.”

  I nodded firmly in that general direction.

  Calvin – although I didn’t know that was his name at that time, of course – turned and arched his eyebrows at me in a friendly manner.

  “Mmmhh, it makes me feel so safe and protected to know we’ve got someone like you guarding our installations,” he remarked. “So, who are you? What happened to Evie? I hope they haven’t fired her. She did look a bit ridiculous in those mini-skirts that barely covered her rump, but she was still loads of fun.”

  I gaped at him. Such vulgarity!

  Without batting an eye, Calvin stuck his hand out at me. I noticed how fine and creamy smooth the coffee-toned skin was on the back of his hand. When I didn’t respond, he pointed at an office just behind him with the name “Calvin Henri” printed neatly on the plaque.

  “That’s me,” he said. “And that’s my office.”

  The sceptical look on my face made it obvious I didn’t believe him. He laughed.

  “Think I’m pulling your leg, do you? Come in.”

  He opened the door and stalked in. I perched on the threshold, wary. There was no way he was going to confine me inside. He laughed again and turned a silver-framed photograph that was sitting on his desk towards me. I noted an image of him dressed in a graduation robe, proudly bearing some sort of academic title in his hands and grinning towards the camera with a smile that positively glowed.

  “The day I became an architect,” he said, puffing up his chest. “It was hard for us. My parents weren’t exactly loaded, you know. They’re immigrants from Jamaica.”

  This time I did cross the room and seize the photo in my hands, studying it with fascination. His eyes twinkled in the photo. Deep, kind brown eyes. Just like the ones staring at me now. I glanced up at him, flustered. Suddenly remembered I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be in the reception area, keeping guard.

  “I’m-I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t realize...”

  Calvin smiled warmly.

  “Of course not. I never did introduce myself properly, did I?”

  He stuck his hand out at me again.

  “Calvin Henri, licensed architect. And you?”

  I backed towards the door.

  “I-I really ought to be getting back to reception. For all you know, maybe a hundred real thieves have trooped by in all this time.” I giggled nervously. “Annasuya Rose. Pleased to meet you.”

  I whirled around and literally careened back to reception. I knew my cheeks must be burning fiery red.

  As he was leaving later that morning, he came and drooped himself over the reception desk.

  “Shall we go for lunch together, Annasuya Rose?” he said in a friendly manner.

  I stared. He cleared his throat, then glanced down at his informal outfit.

  “Yeah, I guess I’d be ashamed to be seen in public in this posh part of town with someone dressed like me, too,” he quipped. “If you want I’ll just zip home and change into something decent.”

  I gasped, coming out of it.

  “No. No. You’re dressed just fine, Mr., um, Henri. It’s not that. It’s that... I don’t even know you.”

  Calvin drummed his fingers on the reception desk.

  “Okay, maybe not lunch then,” he concluded. “How ‘bout we get to know each other a little bit after lunch, then? Over a coffee, maybe?”

  I mulled it over. Truth was, it had been months since I’d even exchanged two words with a member of the opposite sex.

  My boss, Raymond Kirby, strode past with a pompous gentleman clasping a monogrammed leather briefcase. He clapped Calvin on the shoulder heartily.

  “Hey, Cals. How’s it going?” he said. “This gentleman here is from the TD bank and he wants us to design the first branch office the town of Lennox – population four hundred including the cows, in case you’re interested – has ever seen.” He guffawed heartily at his joke. “You’ll be in charge of that one. So you’ll have to hustle your ass in here every day from tomorrow onwards.” He flashed a grin at his employee. “Holiday’s over, mate.” He turned towards me. “Take all my calls, Evie.”

  I wanted to remind him I wasn’t Evie but I figured, what was the point? So I didn’t say anything. Calvin watched him thoughtfully and waited until he had left.

  “Don’t be put off by him,” he said. “He might seem a bit rough on the edges, but he’s cool.” He gazed at me as if appraising me. “So? We on? When’s your lunch hour?”

  And that was all it took – we’d been inseparable ever since.

  Calvin screeched around the corner on his motorcycle now, the angry squeal of rubber on asphalt jolting me out of my reverie and plunking me back into the present moment, where I’d just walked out on that prick of a therapist. We zoomed past my apartment building.

  “I’ll just park a little ways up ahead,” he yelled so I’d hear him through my helmet. “Wouldn’t want that goon that’s stalking you to realize I’m around.”

  I thanked the babysitter, pleased to observe she’d made grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches to serve an army.

  “Much better’n macaroni and cheese, Mimi,” Romeo remarked. “Can we hire her as a cook?”

  I tousled his hair and hunkered down before the laptop.

  “Therapists, rape” I typed into the online phone directory.

  “Assaulted Women’s Helpline,” I read. “That sounds pretty good.”

  Calvin glanced over my shoulder.

  “Yeah, but it looks more like the sorta place to help people right after the fact. Not for long-term treatment. Isn’t there something else?”

  I skimmed my finger down the screen.

  “Hey, look. ‘Therapy for Male Survivors of Sexual Victimization’.” I giggled.

  Calvin cuffed me on the shoulder.

  “Don’t laugh, babes. Men get raped too. And it’s much harder for them to talk about it.”

  I made an effort to sober my expression.

  “Is there nothing else? Maybe just try therapists?”

  I glanced over the page.

  “Oh, yes. ‘Christy Owens, Therapy for Female Victims of Sexual Trauma’.”

  Calvin blinked.

  “I’ve heard of her. Pretty pricey. But she’s supposed to be the best. I think they did a news report about her once.”

  I looked up at him and sighed.

  “Well, we can’t afford that. I’ll just try therapists in general, like you say.”

  Calvin reached over my shoulder and plucked my hand from the keyboard.

  “What’s the phone number? That’s where you’re going, love.” He smiled. “Maybe you can’t afford that. But I can.”

  “You can’t spend all your hard-earned money on that,” I protested. “Save it for something worthwhile. Like a holiday in the Seychelles or something.”
r />   Calvin wrapped his hand around mine.

  “Your well-being is something pretty worthwhile to me,” he said. “In fact, it’s more important to me than anything. So? You game to try? Just one session? And if you don’t like her, I promise I won’t waste any more of my hard-earned money on her.”

  My phone twanged. I jumped. The rollicking, country-western ditty jarred on my nerves.

  “I ought to change that ringtone,” I commented nervously as I reached for the phone.

  I glanced at the caller ID. Private number, it said.

  “It’s him,” I whispered. “I know it’s him.”

  Calvin jabbed his hand out.

  “Let me take it,” he yelled grimly. “I’ve got a thing or two to tell him.”

  When I hesitated, he reached over and snatched the phone out of my hand.

  “Hey, you fuckhead. Leave a lady alone,” he hollered into the phone.

  “Sooor-ryyy, man!” I heard a forcibly cheery voice with a broad Brooklyn accent ring out. “Jus’ wanted ta ask ya if you’re the owner of this phone? D’you have a contract? Are ya happy with it? Bet you’re like everyone else and you’re always searching for the best deal ‘round. Well, ah’ve got just the thing for you—”

  “Shove it up your ass,” Calvin muttered. “And it’s nine o’clock at night. You ought to be home in your bed with your mama.”

  I giggled.

  “Didn’t ya say something ‘bout a lady there?” the unfamiliar voice harped on. “Well don’ mean a be rude there but you don’ sound too much like a lady ta—”

  Calvin squashed his thumb over the red phone icon.

  “Bloody salespeople,” he cried.

  I giggled again.

  “There. You see? Paranoid.” He deposited the phone back in my hand. “You see? It wasn’t anything. Just a bloody salesman.”

  I snuggled up against him.

  “That therapist’ll sure be good for you. Trust me, babes.”

  I logged into Christy Owens’ online booking service, then sighed in disappointment.

  “She’s booked up for weeks,” I said.

  All the same, I reserved a space for five weeks from now. Calvin curled his palm about my cheek.