Fearless

by Mike Dellosso

  He came at her, but she put her hands up in a defensive position. “Derek, I don’t want to.” Her voice quivered, and she hated the way she sounded, so small and pathetic.

  He stopped as if she’d struck him. “Don’t want to? Why ever not? Didn’t you miss me?”

  When she didn’t answer immediately, he clenched his fists and worked his jaw muscles. “Are you seeing someone else while I’m working?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just . . . it’s—”

  “It’s what, Alicia? Geez, what, you picked up a stutter or something? Spit it out.”

  “You hear about that little girl, the one from the fire at Jake Tucker’s?” She didn’t know why she was telling him about her encounter with Louisa. Maybe she thought there was some humanity in him that would understand, some sense of decency that would actually listen to her, and maybe, just maybe, she could even tell him about her vision, warn him. How silly would that be?

  “Yes, of course I know about her.”

  “I met her the other day at the Red Wing. She . . . she—” Alicia wrung her hands together nervously; sweat wet her chin and upper lip. “Well, she touched me, touched my hand, and, I don’t know, I’ve changed. Somehow.”

  Derek scrunched up his face as if she’d spoken the whole thing in some little-known African tribal dialect. “What are you talking about? Have you been doing drugs? You better not be doing drugs.”

  “No. She’s special. The girl is.” Alicia’s heart was in her mouth now. She knew she had to tell him, but she also knew he wouldn’t want to hear it. She glanced at the door to make sure it was indeed unlocked. If he showed any aggression at all, she’d make a run for the door and bolt for the stairwell.

  “What do you mean special? Like retarded?”

  She shook her head. “No, not like that. She talked about God and—”

  “Did you get religious on me? Is that it? Now you want to be pure and save yourself?” He smirked. “Too late for that, isn’t it?”

  Alicia took a deep breath and blurted out the words. “Derek, I want to leave, get my own place.”

  The silence between them was so profound and so deadening she swore Derek could hear her heart pounding behind its bony cage, knocking like an inmate intent on breaking free. And she also swore that she could hear his heart pumping, forcing blood through his veins, through that bulging one that ran down the middle of his forehead when he got angry.

  Derek took a step forward then back. He opened his hands and splayed his fingers, shook his head. “I can’t believe this. After all I’ve done, all I’ve contributed to this relationship, you’re just going to walk away from it. Drop me like some bad habit you have to break now that you’re all holy.”

  “It’s not like that, Derek. You know you have a problem. I know you’re working on it, but I can’t stay here anymore. I don’t feel safe.”

  Derek tilted his head to the side and studied her like she was an alien species discovered for the first time. “You don’t feel safe around me? I’d give my life to protect you. You know that. How could you feel safer around anyone else?”

  Alicia turned her face down, not wanting to make eye contact lest her body language be misinterpreted as a challenge. “Can you keep me safe from yourself?”

  Derek blew out a breath. “Boy, that hit me right where it counts.” He opened his arms, tilted his head to the side, and smiled. “Come here. I’m sorry.”

  Alicia hesitated. His mood swing was unsettling.

  He took a step forward. “Come here, baby. We can work this out.”

  Still she hesitated and hated that she didn’t know whether to trust him or not, this man she’d lived with for over two years, this man she’d given herself to in so many ways.

  Finally she stepped forward.

  Derek’s hand moved so quick and hard she never saw it coming. But she felt it. His knuckles connected with her cheekbone and impacted with such force it spun her around and knocked her to her hands and knees. Dazed, confused, her mind spinning wildly, Alicia tried to scramble away, to move her arms and legs, but Derek was right there, grabbing a handful of hair.

  He lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a bag of kitchen garbage and tossed her onto the sofa.

  Alicia coiled into a ball, protecting her head and face with her arms. She felt Derek’s presence near her, heard his slightly labored breathing.

  He grabbed the back of her head with an open hand and shoved her face into a sofa pillow, held it there.

  “You’re just going to walk out on everything we’ve worked for? Huh?” Derek’s voice was tight as if he spoke through clenched teeth. “We’ve come so far in our relationship. I was going to marry you.”

  Alicia tried to draw in a breath, but the pillow blocked both her nose and mouth. Panic clutched her. Derek was going to kill her, suffocate her right there on their sofa. She squirmed and fought against his pressure, but he leaned his weight against her and held her still. He was much too heavy and too strong for her to resist. Fear shot through her like multiple lightning strikes. She swung her hands behind her, hoping to land a blow anywhere on Derek’s body, hoping to somehow, someway break his grip or at least snap him out of his rage.

  But Derek only pressed her face harder into the pillow. His mouth was next to her ear now, his voice low and gravelly. “You really think you could make it on your own? You’re nothing without me. You know that, don’t you?”

  Alicia’s mind went foggy, like a morning mist had moved in and dulled any sliver of a coherent thought. Death was looming, and all she could think of was the girl’s eyes, those blue eyes, and the feel of her tiny touch on Alicia’s hand.

  “You’re never alone. He’s with you.”

  Through the haze and instinctual panic, while she flailed her arms and reflexively struggled to breath, Alicia was able to conjure one thought, one plea consisting of only three words: God, help me!

  Derek said something, but Alicia could no longer make out the words; they were nothing more than jumbled gibberish. Her brain was shutting down from lack of oxygen. She had no idea she could hold her breath for so long.

  Suddenly the pillow came away from her face, and like a rush of cold water on the hottest of days air—precious air—flooded her nose and mouth. Her lungs heaved, respirations came fast and furious, and dizziness spun the room as oxygen-rich blood once again saturated her brain.

  She sat back in the sofa, panting, sweat matting her hair to her face and forehead. Then she began to shake and cry.

  “Oh, stop it,” Derek said. “What? Did you think I was going to kill you?”

  She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Exhaustion had rendered her useless, as limp as an understuffed doll. She could only sit on the sofa and pull air into her lungs and hope and pray that Derek’s rage had been satisfied and his tirade was over.

  Derek began to pace around the room. He now looked more like a man in thought, contemplating the solution to some complex problem, than a beast circling its prey before devouring it. Gone was the tension that had held his body rigid before. Gone was the crimson flush from his cheeks, the vein from his forehead.

  Alicia relaxed just a little.

  Outside, thunder boomed, but it was distant now. The storm was moving on, seeking fresh ground to pummel with lightning and rain.

  Finally Derek stopped in front of her and wagged his finger. “I’m not going to take this. I don’t deserve this. You know what? You don’t have to leave. I’m leaving. You can have the place. Let’s see you try to pay the rent with your lousy check from the store.”

  He approached her and jabbed his finger into her chest. “And don’t you talk to anyone about our business. I can really mess you up; you know that. And no one will even know.”

  With that he grabbed his jacket and left the apartment. The concussion of the door slamming behind him was louder than a thunderclap and made Alicia jump. Silence ruled the apartment then, as heavy and dense as fog.

  Alicia could
hear the remnants of the storm moving out of town—a muted rumble of thunder, a smattering of raindrops.

  But inside her the storm that had raged so fiercely earlier was gone, and she felt something she hadn’t felt in years, maybe in her entire lifetime.

  Peace.

  Chapter 31

  AMY SAT IN the middle of the nursery floor, an open cardboard box in front of her. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she did nothing to swipe them away. She wanted to cry; she needed to. Following the miscarriage she’d cried for days, but then the tears had stopped flowing, just dried up like a shallow creek bed in the middle of summer’s heat. The pain hadn’t stopped, though, no, it had only gone underground, tunneling to such depths she thought she’d never find her way out. But then the girl showed up, Louisa, and touched her. Amy had no idea what that touch had done or what the strange little girl’s intentions were, but a splinter of light was there now, piercing the darkness like a laser. It wasn’t much, but it was a sliver of hope where before there was none.

  Amy still didn’t feel completely comfortable with Louisa in the house. The girl’s behavior was odd and sometimes disconcerting, but there was something about her that Amy couldn’t deny being attracted to. The whole thing with Audrey, for example, was both intriguing and confusing. When Jim told Amy what had happened, she’d almost started crying. On one level it was completely unbelievable; on another, given what she’d seen and felt from Louisa firsthand, it was totally plausible and didn’t surprise her one bit. She still didn’t know what to make of it, though. She didn’t know whether she should be in awe of this girl in her house or in fear of her.

  Amy was glad that Jim had spent most of the day with her, playing games, going to the library to pick up books, and making supper with her. Right now they were downstairs watching a DVD while the casserole they’d made baked in the oven. As for herself, Amy had spent the day as she usually did lately, taking naps, wandering the house, halfheartedly making attempts at various chores. Now some strange surge of energy or resignation had led her to this room, to tackle the worst job of all.

  Amy tilted the box toward her and stared at the emptiness. She had to pack up the things in the room, it was time, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She felt like she’d be closing the book on any memory or hope she had of her daughter, her precious little girl. The daughter she was going to rock to sleep and cuddle. The daughter whose poopy diapers she would change. The daughter she—

  “What are you doing, hon?”

  Jim stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, hands in his pockets.

  Amy shrugged, sighed. She looked around the room. “I was going to start packing this stuff up, but . . . ” She let her words trail off.

  “But you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

  “I guess.”

  Jim stepped into the room and leaned against the wall.

  Lifting her face to him, Amy felt the sudden urge to stand and fall into his arms. Jim had been so patient with her, so loving and caring. He’d given her space, as much as she’d needed and probably more than she’d deserved.

  She stayed on the floor and said, “Do you ever think about her?”

  He was quiet a moment while he bowed his head and furrowed his brow. “I think about her all the time. Every day.”

  “What do you think about?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. All kinds of stuff. Who she would have looked more like—”

  “She would have had your high cheekbones; it’s a dominant characteristic in your family.”

  “Maybe. What her laugh would have sounded like—”

  “Goodness. I hope she would have had your laugh and not my guffaw.”

  He smiled. “I like your laugh. I used to love to make you laugh just so I could hear it.”

  “Really? I haven’t laughed in such a long time.”

  “You’ll laugh. It takes time to find it again.”

  “What else?”

  “I wonder if she would have been athletic or not—”

  “Like you. I’m all left feet.”

  “Naturally gifted in anything—”

  “Gifted with words, like you.”

  “If she would have had a good sense of humor—”

  “Like you. You have a great sense of humor.”

  Jim stopped and tilted his head at her. “Wait a minute. I’m seeing a pattern here. She would have been like you in so many ways. She’d have your smile, your blue eyes. Your quick wit and gentle touch. Your way with people. My word, you can wrap anyone around your finger in a matter of minutes.”

  “It worked with you.”

  “Well, with me it took days, not minutes.”

  Amy almost laughed, and it felt liberating. For the first time she felt an ember of joy.

  She reached for a stuffed rabbit on a shelf of the bookcase, stroked its soft fur and ran her fingers over its ear. “I miss her.”

  “I know.”

  She looked around the room and let her eyes fall on the rocker with the cushions decorated with colorful farm animals. “I used to rock in that chair and rub my belly while I talked to her.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Anything and everything. I told her about you and me and how we met, that crazy amusement park with the haunted house.”

  “You were so claustrophobic.”

  “I’ve always been claustrophobic, but I did it because I didn’t want you to think I was afraid . . . and I wanted to spend the time with you.”

  “What else?”

  “I’d tell her all about your books and our house and the things we’d do together.”

  Amy paused and swallowed hard. “I miss her so much. I miss that time I had with her.”

  “I know.” Jim’s voice cracked. Amy looked at him and saw tears puddling in his eyes.

  “You do too.”

  He nodded as his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly.

  “I feel so robbed, so cheated. I’ve been so angry with God.” Tears began to flow again. “How could He give us a baby, give us such hope and the promise of such a bright and happy future, then just rip it all away? What kind of a God does that?”

  Despite her attempts to shore up her own faith and quell the anger, it was still there, simmering just below the surface, occasionally bubbling up and materializing as questions, like arrows, aimed heavenward.

  Tears pushed out of Jim’s eyes and tracked down his cheeks. He lifted a hand and wiped them away, sniffed. Amy wanted him to say something, anything, to give her a reason for her pain. But Jim was asking questions too; she knew he was.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know. But I do know we can get through this. We can still have a life, still have children. There are other ways.”

  Amy reached for Jim’s hand and placed it on her lap. “You really want to be a daddy, don’t you?”

  “More than anything.”

  She smiled at him through her own tears. “Well, we better put it on the fast track; you’re gonna be forty in a couple months, old man.”

  Amy was suddenly startled by a figure appearing in the doorway. Louisa stood there, arms at her side, eyes wide and confused as she looked around the room. Finally her eyes landed on the empty box in the middle of the floor.

  “Miss Amy,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  Amy ran her hand over her cheeks and did her best to compose herself. “I was just going to put some of this stuff away. I think it’s time.”

  Louisa entered the room and turned in a slow circle, taking in every piece of furniture, every stuffed animal, every baby toy, every article of clothing. “But it’s perfect just the way it is.”

  Then she walked to Jim and took his hand. She reached out and touched his cheek with her finger. “Mr. Jim, you’ve been crying. Why?”

  “This room has a lot of memories, Louisa. It’s hard to put it all away.”

  She shrugged. “Then don’t.” Then, looking at Amy with sad eyes, she said, “And Miss Am
y, don’t be angry at God for taking your little girl. She was His to start with. I’m sure He’s taking great care of her.”

  Unbidden, the tears came again. Louisa leaned into Jim, and Amy couldn’t push away the thought that entered her mind: father and daughter.

  Chapter 32

  THERE WERE A few things that Mitch Albright hated. One, of course, was disrespect. It was to him as noxious as the putrid odor of rotting flesh or as irritating as his body covered with a blistered, oozing poison ivy rash. Another was hunger. The feeling of an empty stomach, the growling, the rumbling, he loathed it. That is why he never ate whole meals. Instead he grazed throughout the day. A sandwich at eleven, a handful of potato chips at twelve, some pasta salad here, a bowl of ice cream there. And last, Mitch hated the smell of body odor. It reeked of filth and poor hygiene, burned in his nostrils as if someone had shoved a blowtorch up his nose.

  For reason of these three things Mitch paid careful attention to keep the Appletons well fed and gave them ample opportunity to shower, toilet, and properly groom themselves. He even supplied them with clean clothes and underwear each day.

  At seven in the evening he descended the basement steps carrying a tray of food. He would once again eat dinner with his captives. He would have liked to call them guests, but since it was their home and they were unable to freely move about, guests didn’t seem appropriate. As he approached their room, both Bob and Clare stood. At first neither offered a greeting, which bothered him slightly, but when he set the tray carrying three plates of food on the table, Clare said, “Did you make that?”

  Mitch stared at the plates. On two of them sat Salisbury steak, green beans, and a heaping pile of mashed potatoes. On the other, his plate, was only the steak. He’d have the potatoes and beans later. “I wish I could say I did, but I’m not much of a cook myself. These were frozen, and all I had to do was pop them in the microwave.”

  Clare smiled politely. “Oh. Well, I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

  Mitch wasn’t sure if he noted disappointment or disdain in her voice or not. He had the momentary urge to take the food back upstairs and let the Appletons go hungry for the night but decided against it. The thought of their stomachs complaining made his twist and tighten.