Betrayed

by Wodke Hawkinson

  “The sketches? Yes.”

  “Why? How?” Brook stumbled over the words.

  “I decided since you left the pad unprotected for two days that it didn’t contain anything too important, so I looked. I was wrong. It was very important. I almost left the whole thing alone but then I thought that maybe drawings would help. You know, when you finally can go to the police.”

  Brook stared, first at Lance, and then back at the pad with the drawings. She picked it up and leafed through the pages. “Can you change these some? They’re not quite right.”

  “Absolutely.” Lance stood. “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.” Brook sat on the bench and leaned on the table. Lance sat next to her.

  “Which one first?”

  Running a hand over her face, she said, “Gina. Let’s do the easy one first. See how it goes.”

  “Okay.” Lance sat with the picture of Gina he had previously drawn. “What first?”

  “Her face is a little rounder, here, and here,” she pointed out the areas and Lance erased and redrew the lines.

  “Her eyes are slightly closer together and her mouth fuller.”

  Working in this way they finally reached a point when Brook sat straight and took the pad from him. “Yes! This is her. This is Gina.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek and her jaw clenched, but she remained seated. In a flat voice, she simply said, "Jase next.”

  It took several hours, but in the end, Brook claimed the pictures were perfect. She retired to the bathroom and Lance heard her sobbing quietly. He didn’t interrupt, but sat looking at the drawings; memorizing their faces. If he ever saw these animals, he knew he would kill them. His face was hard as a rock as he studied the images.

  Chapter 39

  Brook sat in the easy chair in front of the fireplace, diligently working on turning another pair of Lance’s sweats into something she could wear without looking like she had on a bag. She smiled as faint sounds from outside reached her ears; she could imagine Lance and Gilbert doing their special dance, or maybe just frolicking in the snow. Lance really cared for his animals and held a special affection for Gilbert.

  A tapping at the front window caused Brook to look up. Expecting to see Lance giving her goofy looks she wasn’t surprised to see his face. But then, her grin turned to horror as she realized that Lance’s head was being dangled in the window by his hair, his neck ending in bloody sinews. Another face popped into the frame beside Lance’s. Jase!

  Brook jumped to her feet, a scream erupting from deep inside. Before she could take a single step, the front door flew open and Benny walked in. Brook turned to run, but the rear door, one she had never noticed before, banged open, and Pete stomped over the sill. Backed into a corner, Brook’s head turned rapidly from one to the other, looking for a chance to escape. No, no, no! This can’t be happening! They can’t have found me!

  Jase strolled into the room, looking around in admiration. “Nice place you got here, Brooky baby. Don’t mind if we hang out a little, do you?” He tossed Lance’s head onto the floor where it tumbled before coming to rest, his eyes staring at her in accusation, as if to say, why did you let this happen to me? Why did you come here and cause this?

  Brook pulled her gaze from the grisly sight and turned to face the three demons who had returned to haunt her, to destroy her, to demoralize her further.

  “Close the fucking doors, you idiots,” Jase said with contempt. “We don’t want to freeze our balls off when we start playing with our toy.” He turned to Brook, throwing off his gloves as Pete closed the door. “You ready for some fun, bitch?”

  “Hey man,” Pete said. “I get firsts.” He dropped his coat to the floor, pulled his gloves off with his crooked yellow teeth, and reached for his fly. “I ain’t had none since you kilt Gina. I ain’t used to goin' without.” He unzipped and stepped forward.

  “What the fuck ever,” Benny snorted. “We ain’t using nothing after you stick that log in. You’ll stretch the bitch so far out of shape we won’t even be able to feel shit. Ain't that right, BrooklynBridge?”

  “Benny’s right. Besides, I’m the boss here. I’ll go first.” Jase threw Brook to the floor. He grabbed her pants and yanked, pulling them down in one smooth pull.

  Brook screamed for all she was worth, not caring there was no one for miles around.

  Gentle hands touched Brook’s shoulders. “Brooklyn.”

  Brook fought, slapping, clawing, slugging.

  “Damn it, Brooklyn. It’s me! Lance!”

  The scuffle continued for a few seconds before Lance’s words penetrated her terror. “A dream! A nightmare! You’re safe.”

  Brook's mind cleared and she sagged with relief. “It was so real.”

  Lance frowned. “It was probably the sketches. Seeing them had to bring it all back.”

  “Oh my god! It was so real. I’m sure you’re right; it had to have been the drawings that brought on the nightmare. But I'm glad we did it. It was hard, but it had to be done.” Brook sank back onto the bed, her heart still pounding. “I’ve been having other dreams, too. Dreams of Clark with Jase or Benny. And I’ve been remembering things. Like Benny with that key to my car. He had a key, you know. And I just can’t understand it.”

  “I don’t know, Brooklyn. It’s pretty odd, though.”

  “I know it. It haunts me.” Brook felt a growing suspicion, but it was absurd. It made no sense, and she wondered if paranoia was one of the aftereffects of a traumatic experience.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her head so she could relax. But, her mind whirled with unanswered questions and it was some time before it let go enough for her to drift off once more.

  Lance sat with her until she fell back asleep.

  Chapter 40

  The snow continued to fall with only short respites between storms. As the days passed, Brook and Lance settled into a routine. He went out and did his chores in the morning while she puttered around inside, and then repeated the process in the evening. Sometimes he did a little ice fishing or snared small game for their larder. With the addition of the ducks and wild game, the cold pantry was well-stocked, putting to rest any fears Lance had about food supplies.

  The attraction hummed between them like a plucked string and provided an undercurrent of tenderness and warmth in their interactions. More than once, Lance held her to his chest while she battled a bad memory or woke from a nightmare. But they carefully avoided taking things any further.

  Between chores, Lance worked on his projects. Sometimes Brook came in to sit with him and they'd visit, talking about things they'd done, or might still do, during their lives. Or she'd write in her journal, simply enjoying his nearness as he applied his skills to his art. At his urging, Brook began detailing everything she could remember about her captors and the events that took place while she was held. She found the process disturbing at first, but came to appreciate the sense of release that followed each painful entry.

  The days unfolded, pleasantly for the most part, and she and Lance grew closer with each passing hour.

  The time came when Brook grew restless with her sedentary pursuits. She was feeling much better and her feet hardly pained her when she stood.

  Now was the time for her to cook a meal. The time to show Lance she could be of some help, not just someone who needed to be taken care of. She waited until Lance was outside. He’d be gone for a while, doing chores.

  Moving into the kitchen she took stock of the supplies. Lance had lain out a deer roast. She unwrapped the meat and verified it was thawed. Next she sorted through the jars of seasonings and selected salt, pepper, thyme, and a bit of basil. She broke open some garlic and crushed it with a press she found. She made a rub of these ingredients and worked them into the meat. Laying the roast in a medium-sized Dutch oven, she added water, placed the lid on top, and set the pan on the hot stovetop.

  Next, she took several potatoes, carrots, and onions and chopped them, covering them in cold water unti
l time to add them to the meat.

  She considered making rolls but decided that her skill on a wood burning stove probably wasn't up to that task yet. Satisfied she had gone as far as she could for the time being, she moved to a chair and sat to read. She became engrossed in a novel by Richard Adams, Watership Down. She was immediately pulled into the story of a rabbit named Hazel, his friends, and their plight. Brook lost track of time.

  The smell of succulent meat cooking brought Brook back to the present. She moved to the kitchen and found that almost all the water had evaporated in the roast. She added more water and determined it was time to add the vegetables. She did so and moved to the bed, lay down, and resumed reading...

  “What the hell is going on?”

  The question brought Brook to her feet. Smoke bellowed from the pan on the stove. Lance reached the pan in three steps, grabbed it up with a towel, and moved out the door. He set the pan in the snow on the porch and steam sizzled from the hot metal, rising in swirls into the cold air.

  “Oh my god,” Brook gasped. “Oh no! I fell asleep.”

  Lance, after determining the cabin was not on fire, looked from the pan to Brook and his face softened. “It’s okay.”

  “No, no, it’s not. I wanted to do something special for you. You've taken such good care of me. And you gave me my beautiful tree, and these shoes.” She gestured to her feet. “And now I've made a mess of things. This isn't how it was supposed to turn out at all. Oh, god. I’ve ruined the meal. And wasted food.”

  “Brooklyn, there’s plenty of food. Now just hold on. Let’s see what the damage is here.” He cautiously lifted the lid to the pan. Wafts of smoke rose, sending a pungent stink into the air. Lance waved the towel above the food and nodded. He stepped inside, opened the windows wide to air out the smoke, and returned to carry the pan back inside. Using a slotted spoon, he scooped the mushy vegetables out and took the pan to a thick wooden cutting board where he set it down.

  “How about you peel some more carrots and potatoes?” He smiled at Brook who still had tears rolling down her cheeks.

  She moved to perform the task while Lance washed up from his chores. By the time he returned from the bathroom the room had grown quite cold. Most the smoke was gone so he closed all but the front door and heaped wood on the fire. Soon the room began to warm and Lance put the veggies on to boil. “Okay, let’s see what we can do with this meat.”

  Using a metal spatula and a long-handled fork, Lance pried the burnt meat from the pan. He took a sharp knife and began hacking off the edges. Soon he had a small piece of meat that looked like it might be palatable. “Can you hand me some apple cider and a couple apples?”

  Brook passed him the items, and watched closely as he worked. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Lance chopped the apples small, adding some onions and soy sauce to the bowl. He sprinkled the mixture with brown sugar and added enough cider to make a paste. This paste he rubbed over all the meat and let it sit for a few minutes while he turned to Brook. He moved to her and reached out slowly, gathering her into his arms.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brook sobbed.

  “Listen. I’ve burned more meals than you can shake a stick at. Cooking on a wood burner is not easy. It takes time to learn the peculiarities of the beast.”

  Brook didn’t answer and Lance tilted her face up, “Sweet Brooklyn. You didn’t do anything wrong. You just tried to help and I appreciate it.” He gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. “Now, how about watching a pro fix a broken meal?”

  Brook placed surprised fingertips to the spot his lips had touched. Sweet Brooklyn? She felt as if she was walking on air as she moved to stand beside Lance and watched him make his repairs. Placing the meat in a clean pan, he poured in enough cider to cover the surface and then covered the pan with a lid. He sat the pan on the stove and said, “This will boil quickly. When it boils, I’ll take it off and let it steep for a while. Then we’ll see.” He smiled.

  The meat, when it was served, was coated in a thin sweet-salty glaze and was surprisingly good. Only a trace of burnt taste remained. The meal ended up being a cheery affair. The smoke had cleared, the door was closed to newly falling snow, and the room had regained its ordinary pleasant feeling. Lance promised to let her supervise the next several meals and then to set her free in the kitchen once more.

  Brook went to bed, knowing it was probably wrong, but still wishing to feel Lance’s lips on her again.

  Chapter 41

  Brook knew Lance had something on his mind. Several times during the day he had opened his mouth to speak and then firmly shut it again. Finally, she decided to take the initiative. “Is something wrong?”

  “What? Why?” Lance stammered.

  “I think you want to ask me something, or maybe tell me something. You’ve seemed at odds all day today. I’ve caught you starting to speak and then stopping. What’s wrong?”

  Lance blushed deeply. “Well, I’ve noticed something and don’t quite know how to approach the subject.”

  “Head on is usually best,” Brook said. She was extremely anxious, wondering what could cause this gentle man to be so concerned.

  “Okay. You’ve been here almost two months and I’ve noticed you haven’t needed,” he paused and cleared his throat. “Women’s products,” he finally managed.

  “Women’s products?” Brook was puzzled.

  “Is it possible you’re pregnant? By…well, you know.”

  “Oh! Oh, I see. No, I’m not pregnant. I can’t get pregnant, but I admit to being worried about STDs. So far I haven’t seen any signs, but I’ll be mighty happy to get to my doctor and have her give me a clean bill of health.”

  “I’m sorry for prying but I thought maybe there was something we needed to be doing if you were with baby. Maybe upping your doses of vitamins. Something.”

  He looked so abashed that Brook rushed to assure him it was okay that he asked. “Don’t worry about it, Lance. It’s actually nice that you were concerned. But, like I said, I can’t have children; I don’t have a uterus.”

  Lance harrumphed into his hand. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “No, but I think I will all the same.” She stared into the crackling fire in the fireplace, but it was obvious she didn’t see the flames. Slowly, she began to speak.

  “When Clark and I decided it was time to have children, I went off the pill. I was one of the fortunate women who didn’t have to wait long before I found out I was pregnant. I was overjoyed, and Clark seemed pleased with the idea.” She paused, reflecting, her thoughts on that joyous time that ended in devastation.

  Brook couldn’t wait for Clark to get home. That morning, she had seen her doctor and had been ecstatic to find out she was pregnant. She would sit to read only to jump up and pick up the telephone. Then she would decide she wanted to tell him face to face and would drop the phone back into the cradle. Minutes later she would start to text him on her cell phone but would again stop. Finally, to keep from going totally insane, she took a long bath and then a nap.

  Clark came home to find Brook waiting for him inside the door from the garage. Surprised but pleased, he slipped an arm around her waist and said, “Hello beautiful. To what do I owe this honor?”

  Bubbling over, Brook grinned from ear to ear and blurted out, “You’re going to be a daddy.”

  Clark had frozen, totally surprised by the news. When he finally could speak he asked, “Already? Wow! That was quick.”

  Disappointment flooded through Brook. She felt as if ice water were flowing through her veins. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  Clark’s face changed. He smiled and pulled her close to him. “Oh, I am happy. You just caught me by surprise.” He held Brook at arm’s length and looked over her body. “You don’t look pregnant.”

  Brook laughed as relief poured over her. “Well, I’m only about six weeks along. Just barely pregnant.” She lovingly caressed her tummy.

  That night in bed, Clark laid his head on her stomach a
nd gazed up into her eyes. “A baby! Wow.” He began to nuzzle around her belly button, working his way up to her mouth where he kissed her with rising passion. Suddenly he stopped. “Can we have sex?”

  “What?” Brook asked. “Oh! Of course. We did last night, didn’t we?”

  “It’s okay then?”

  Brook showed him in no uncertain terms that it was definitely okay.

  First thing the next morning, Brook called home. Her mom was excited she was going to be a grandmother again. “You’re not going to have twins too, are you?” she had asked with a giggle.

  “Oh! I hope not.” Then she thought about her adorable nieces and said, “Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I almost hope I do have two babies. I have enough love for more than one.”

  “That you do,” her mom agreed.

  As the days passed, Clark lost some of his enthusiasm. He still feigned interest, but Brook could tell that his main concern was whether the baby would be a boy, someone to carry on his name. As for her, she didn’t care what the sex was; she wanted to run out immediately and start buying baby things: clothes, furniture, and toys. And, that's what she did, went shopping. There was no way she could wait twenty weeks until the first sonogram to start preparing for the next stage in her life.

  Clark gave Brook carte blanche to decorate the nursery. Several attempts to include him in the decorating fell flat and revealed that he didn’t really care what she did to the room; anything would be okay. Brook convinced herself it was probably normal; men weren’t really into teddy bears and mobiles. She opted for a color scheme of green, yellow, and orange. Green for its association with nature, serenity, and growth. Yellow for its association with the sun. And orange because it implied happiness and expansiveness. Since yellow and orange can be too active a color to promote sleep, she decided to use these two colors as accents and in pale shades. The walls would be tea green with yellow curtains. Brook had found a bumper set in a soft orange and commissioned an afghan to be made from the same color to drape over the rocking chair she planned to buy. She picked out a whimsical border of nursery rhyme characters to go around top of the walls.