The Seeker A Novel (R. B. Chesterton)

by R. B. Chesterton

  He shook his head. “No. Karla dropped the assault charge. I just talked with her.”

  My heart thudded against my ribs, and the inexplicable pressure of tears built. I was suddenly furious once again. Tears were ridiculous. “She got what she wanted, didn’t she? Your attention.”

  “Not in the way she wanted, I assure you.” Anger pulsed in a jaw muscle. “I’ll make this right for you, Aine.”

  Watching the pain shift across his features, I didn’t doubt his apology. I couldn’t hold him responsible for Karla’s actions even though I wanted to. “Who’s Mischa?”

  Had I slapped him, he could not have jerked back more sharply. “Who told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Who told you to ask about her?”

  “Karla. Who is Mischa? Another girlfriend?”

  “God no.” His hands splayed on the desk. “We’ll talk about this when we get out of here.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because it’s private, and this is a police interrogation room. Can we leave it until I get you home?”

  I considered. His reaction made me want to pursue the matter, but pushing him into a corner wouldn’t yield results. “Okay.”

  “Let’s go.” He tapped on the door and it opened. When he stood aside, I walked out. The police department hummed with activity, but several officers looked up.

  “Golden Gloves contender,” an officer said as I passed.

  I didn’t bother to respond. I only wanted to step into the sunshine and go home.

  “I’ll take you to the cabin,” Joe volunteered.

  I didn’t own a car, and walking in the cold from the police station was out of the question. I got into his truck and stared out the window as the town passed. Joe drove straight back to the cabin.

  “None of this will be on your record,” he said. “It was clearly self-defense. Cassidy from the vintage store gave a statement. So did Mr. Black in the pharmacy. They saw it all.”

  “Maybe I’ll press charges against her.” It was a tempting thought.

  “Let it go, Aine. Just let it go. Karla is leaving for Nebraska to spend some time with her sister. She’s using again, and she’s out of control. Maybe, with some help, she can get a grip on herself.”

  I reached for the door handle, but I didn’t open it. I needed closure on this, but I didn’t know what would give me the measure of satisfaction I required. “You put me in a situation where I could have been hurt.”

  “I promise you, I had no idea Karla was in the area. I took her to Bayside Bill’s one time. I haven’t been there in months. It never crossed my mind she’d lurk there.”

  He was almost bleeding sincerity. He’d asked me on a date. He wasn’t psychic. He couldn’t have known Karla the Psycho would stake out that particular bar.

  “Okay. I need to let it go.”

  His hand touched my shoulder. “I am sorry, Aine.”

  “Me, too.” Sorry for my actions. “Will she be okay?” I couldn’t bring myself to say her name.

  “Yes.”

  “No details?”

  He swiveled in the truck seat. “Her nose wasn’t broken, but you did a number on it. She’ll think twice before she jumps anyone again.” His grin was unexpected. “She’ll probably look like a raccoon for a few weeks.”

  “With any luck at all.” I softened the statement with a roll of my eyes.

  “Aine, she’s unstable. And she has a drug problem. Once I realized how bad it was, I stopped seeing her.”

  “She hasn’t given up on you.”

  He put both hands on the wheel and forced himself to relax. “Can I come inside and talk with you?”

  Sitting in the cold truck was silly. Smoke rose from the cabin chimney—Patrick must have laid a fire for me. “Okay.” My body didn’t move exactly the way I anticipated, and I stumbled getting out. Joe was at my side in a flash. He held my elbow as he guided me to the steps.

  It took me a minute to see the package leaning against the door. Patrick must have left me a surprise. My run-in with the cops probably garnered his sympathy and made me even more attractive to him—young men loved a rebel. The brown-paper-wrapped box was light. I shook it and something inside rustled.

  “A secret admirer?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t know.” After the day I’d had, a gift would be a pleasure. I unwrapped the box, while Joe put another log on the fire and stoked it up.

  The paper fell away in the flickering light of the fire. When I opened the box, I heard my breath rush out. My fingers lost control, and the box dropped to the cabin floor. A beautiful red ball gown, perfect for a Valentine Barbie, splashed against the cream rug.

  “Who sent it?” Joe snatched the box and wrapping from the floor and examined them. There was no name, note, or mark. I’d already checked.

  “Who did this?” He strode to the door and looked out, but I knew the gift-giver was long gone. I’d seen her in the woods as I was being taken to the police department. The child had come back and left me a present. To go with the doll she’d placed in the snow for me.

  The idea of it made my heart pound with an emotion I couldn’t identify.

  “Holy shit!” Joe dropped the box and wrapping like they’d burned him.

  “What?” I bent down to retrieve them, but Joe’s grip stopped me. “What is it?”

  “Don’t touch it.” He didn’t ask, he told.

  In no mood to follow orders, I reached again. He clenched my wrist firmly. “There’s something dead in the box.” He eased me onto the sofa. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of what?”

  “A bird,” he said. “A little canary.” He took the box and wrapper outside. When he came back in, his hands were empty.

  “Why would she do that?” I didn’t understand. The doll and the ball gown were gifts. Things a child would value and share. But a dead bird? A pet? Why would she leave that for me?

  “She? Who did this?” Joe asked. “If you know, please tell me.”

  I had no answer. “I’ve only caught a glimpse of her here and there. A child … she watches me. I don’t know why she runs wild in the woods. She should be in school.”

  “Describe her.”

  “I’ve never seen her up close. Today, she had on a red snow coat. She was barely visible in the trees. When the police car carried me off, she ran through the woods after me. She was so fast.”

  Joe sat beside me. “Could it have been … Karla?”

  His words changed everything. Karla was petite. Perhaps it had never been a child. Perhaps it was Joe’s ex-lover spying on me, leaving me things to upset me. Not gifts, but wicked talismans.

  Joe’s arm attempted to pull me against him. “I’ll handle this. I promise.”

  I resisted, then yielded. His body was solid and warm, and I realized again how much I enjoyed a man’s touch.

  “Can I make you some tea?” he asked.

  “Wine.”

  If surprised by my early cocktail hour, he didn’t show it. He took two glasses from the cupboard and poured from the open bottle of red on the counter. Settling again on the couch, he eased me into the crook of his arm.

  “I’ll make this up to you, Aine.”

  “How long do you think Karla has been spying on me? And why would she leave a doll?” I didn’t even want to consider she’d been inside the cabin—the night the doll moved from the desk onto my bed. It was such a violation, I couldn’t say it aloud.

  “She’s messed up. I don’t know.” Frustration laced his voice.

  No point asking if she’d hurt me. I already had the answer to that. “How can I stop her?”

  “My hope is she’ll board the bus to Nebraska. I bought the ticket and gave it to her.” He stroked my hair gently. “We could get a restraining order.”

  “Those are worthless when a psycho is involved. No.” I was done with police stations.

  “Let’s go to the inn and have some supper,” Joe suggested.

  The i
dea held no appeal. The knots in my stomach had killed my appetite, and I didn’t want to answer Dorothea’s thousand questions about the experience of being hauled to the P.D., even if I hadn’t been arrested. “I’m not hungry, but I’d like another glass of wine.”

  Joe obliged, and refilled his glass while he was up.

  “Let’s stay by the fire.” The wine relaxed me, and I let my head rest against his shoulder. Watching the flames leap and crackle, I pushed all thoughts away. The crisp wine, the heat from the fire, Joe’s scent—a woodsy, smoky odor that reminded me of long-ago nights when bonfires were part of my coming-of-age. Those nights had held magic, and it was lucky that I wasn’t married to some upper-level participant of my family’s drug empire. Nothing like danger, daring, and rebellion to a fourteen-year-old child.

  “The wine was a good idea.” Joe’s lips were close to my ear. So close, his breath tickled and sent a chill down my neck.

  My brain signaled a warning, but I shut it off. It had been a rotten day, and the one thing I didn’t want to be was alone. Or to think. I wanted to feel. I’d been so careful. I’d denied myself so much. Now, I wanted to feel the touch of a man. It had taken me some time to get over Bryson Cappett—for a long time I didn’t trust the physical needs of my body. Still, those compulsions were hard to resist, and I’d had lovers in undergraduate and graduate school. Fellow students involved in the intensity and competitiveness of academics. Young men who shared the bond of literature and language. But I’d kept my heart safe. Joe made me want to risk again.

  I twisted at the waist and kissed him with demanding hunger, and he responded in kind. I pushed him against the arm of the couch and let my hands mold his body. He was solid, a grown man. And he also liked control. He shifted me into his arms and lifted me. In a moment we were in the bed.

  Though I tried to hurry him, he took his time undressing me. Where I would have rushed, he forced me to wait, tantalizing me with a whisper of a touch, a deliberate kiss. Whatever else Joe might be, he knew how to drive me to madness.

  I tore at his clothes, but he pinned me down and continued his torment. At last we moved together in the age-old rhythm, and I came again and again. He turned me inside out.

  When at last we were spent, he refilled our wine glasses and returned to my bed. “This wasn’t the way I expected the evening to end,” he said.

  I thought I heard amusement in his voice, but I couldn’t see his face. The fire had burned too low to cast light. Darkness had descended over us. “Are you disappointed?” I asked.

  His answer was a soft chuckle. “Are you kidding? I’ve never experienced such passion. Aine, you’re a sorceress.”

  “Hardly that. You shouldn’t stoke a fire unless you’re prepared for the heat.”

  He laughed and leaned over to kiss me. “I should go home, but I’m not certain my legs will ever work again.”

  “Don’t leave me, Joe.” I wasn’t afraid, exactly. But I balked at spending the night alone. If Karla was watching my cabin, I didn’t want another encounter with her. As long as Joe was beside me, she couldn’t hurt me.

  “You know Dorothea will make it her business to check and see if my truck stays.”

  “And what will she do with that information?”

  “Gossip, perhaps.”

  “I don’t live in Concord. You do. Does it make a difference to you? Maybe you can convince her you were guarding me against your ex-girlfriend.”

  “And that wouldn’t be much of a stretch.” He sank back against the pillow. His arm slipped behind me and he snuggled me against his side. My fingers idly traced the contour of his stomach. He worked out. A perfect physical specimen.

  I drained my wine glass and kissed his jaw. His thumb brushed across my nipple. Just like that, we were ready for round two.

  12

  A loud knock at the door dragged me from the soundest sleep I’d had in years. Curled against Joe, I felt anchored, solid, safe. Sleeping alone had always seemed dangerous, as if my physical body might not be held by gravity, might float away.

  Joe was real and weighty. I pushed my head into him and pulled the covers over my ears. Dorothea could see Joe’s truck parked outside. She had to know I wasn’t alone. Maybe when she realized I wasn’t going to satisfy her curiosity, she’d take the hint and leave.

  The knock came again, this time more forceful.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” I rolled away from Joe. He was awake too, but it wasn’t his place to answer my door.

  I pulled the top quilt off the bed and wrapped it around myself. I yanked open the door and was struck speechless. Patrick stood outside bearing a huge tray of food and an amused look. “Dorothea thought you two might have worked up an appetite. When you didn’t show for breakfast, she asked the cook to prepare this. We have waffles, Vermont maple syrup, bacon, coffee, and cranberry mimosas.” He pushed the tray at me.

  If I grasped it, I’d have to release the quilt. My dilemma widened his grin. “I can bring it in,” he offered.

  “No.” Though everyone obviously knew what had transpired between me and Joe, they hadn’t seen any real evidence. They were left with only prurient interest and speculation. Joe, in my bed, was physical fact.

  Patrick put the tray down and scooted it across the threshold. “Enjoy.” He backed across the porch, started down the steps, then stopped. A worried look replaced his grin. “Someone cut your screen.”

  “What?”

  He walked to the window that gave a clear view of the bedroom. “The screen has been sliced and looks like someone tried to jimmy your window.”

  “Let me get some clothes on.” Behind me, I heard Joe’s feet hit the floor and the jangle of his belt as he slid into his pants.

  I set the breakfast tray on the cabin table and dressed in yesterday’s clothes. They were the easiest thing to find, scattered across the floor. Joe went outside first. As I tied my shoes, I heard the low murmur of male voices. When I joined them, Joe was ashen.

  “Karla won’t give this up. She’s worse than I thought.”

  “You’ve got yourself a jealousy problem,” Patrick said. His smirk made me want to slap him. “Karla’s buzzing with a bee in her bonnet.”

  “How can I stop her?” I asked Joe.

  “You should press charges for the assault yesterday.” The tension in his lips betrayed how worried he was. “A restraining order won’t do much good. She can only be arrested if she violates it, and she might hurt you before anyone could come to your assistance.”

  “You think she’ll try to hurt me?” I leaned against a porch post, dizzy at the prospect of a mentally ill woman plotting to cause me suffering.

  “I’m afraid she will. Karla wasn’t like this when we dated. Not at first. She’s into something. Maybe meth. Maybe something worse. We have to take whatever actions are necessary to protect you.”

  I didn’t need this. Not at all. “Are you certain Karla cut the screen?”

  He pointed to markings where a tool, like a screwdriver, had been inserted under the window. “Somebody was trying to get in, Aine. Who would have an interest in what you were doing, other than Karla?”

  “No one.” The words were little more than a whisper. I was scared. Awake, I could defend myself. But if I was asleep and Karla got inside, she could hurt me before my defenses were up. And she’d gotten in once before, because I hadn’t been careful about locking the door.

  “Was that crazy bitch watching you while—” Patrick laughed. “Man, that’s kinky.”

  “Shut up.” Karla watching while Joe and I made love was disgusting. And sick.

  “This isn’t funny,” Joe snapped. “I’ll speak with the police chief. This will be taken care of, Aine. Don’t worry.”

  But I couldn’t stop worrying. I’d been the target of mean girls in boarding school. They’d been relentless in their teasing and pranks, all of which the administration viewed as girlish high spirits. I knew better. Scrawling filthy words on my clothes in red lipstick, stealing my un
derwear and leaving them around campus, laughing whenever I walked by. Those acts were designed to drive me from school, to make me feel the brunt of being an outsider, unwanted. This was the same. Karla wanted me banished from Walden Pond, away from Joe. And she’d already demonstrated her willingness to use physical force.

  “I want her gone.” I said it clearly.

  “I’ll see to it,” Joe said. His arms pulled me tight. “This will end. Right now,” he whispered into my ear. “The police will come and take fingerprints. In a way, this is the best thing that could have happened. Karla’s lost touch with rational thought. This will prove it and they can pick her up. Maybe she’ll accept help.”

  Help for her wasn’t my priority. Loading her on a fast bus to Nebraska was more what I had in mind. If not that, then behind bars.

  “Better eat your breakfast,” Patrick reminded us. “You’ll need something hot in your belly to deal with this.”

  Joe grasped my elbow and assisted me back into the house. He closed the door in Patrick’s face.

  13

  Joe went into town to talk with the chief, and I tried to focus on my work. Crime-scene technicians arrived to take prints, but there were none. She’d worn gloves. She might be crazy, but she wasn’t stupid. The techs deduced that the tool used on the window was a cat’s paw, a type of crowbar small enough to fit in a large coat pocket or purse.

  Patrols searched for Karla, but she’d obviously squirreled herself away in a hidey-hole.

  At three o’clock, I could stand it no longer and walked to Walden Pond. The brisk air and a bit of exercise did more to clear my head than anything else. Images from the night flashed in front of me, blocking out the passing cars, the road to the pond. With each pulse of my heart, I witnessed the firelight playing on Joe’s muscled back as his shoulder blades drew together and expanded. My omniscient vantage point allowed me to watch his face and mine tighten and relax in pleasure. My hands rippled over his ribs, my fingernails lightly digging into his biceps as the slight scruff of his beard rasped my cheek and breast and stomach. The intensity held me in a trance, and my heart pounded with fear. This wasn’t a casual romp. Joe had unshackled my heart, and I couldn’t find my equilibrium. Sex for sex, I could handle. But not this wild, hungry emotion. Intellectually, I knew my feelings were far out of proportion to events. Logical thought didn’t count for much, though. In my head I could hear Granny lecturing me about the necessity of mental discipline over emotion, reality over daydreams. Both feet planted firmly on the ground. Stay in the sunshine, avoid the shadows.