MORE THAN THE MOON

by A Rosendale

  “Hey.”

  “You’re back,” she muttered. Her voice did sound mildly slurred, but he couldn’t be sure if it was the effects of poison, sedation, or exhaustion.

  “Yeah.”

  She squinted at him. “What’s this?”

  A dot of red discolored his cheek. He’d failed to notice it in the mirror.

  “Nothing. Just wine, I think.” Wiping it away, he placed a gentle hand on her cheek. “You feel alright?”

  “Yeah. Just super tired for some reason. I’m fine.”

  “Let’s go to bed, then.” He scooped her easily into his arms and marched into the bedroom to deposit her in bed.

  ‘This can’t go on,’ he thought, not for the first time, as he crawled in bed. ‘I’m too dangerous.’ It wrenched his heart to think of losing her. A frown followed him to sleep along with an assortment of bruises and aches.

  * * *

  Dirk hesitated to break ties with Alma until after the holidays. By New Years, when he was wrapped in her arms, ringing in the New Year with passion he’d never imagined, his resolve was fading. But he swore to himself he’d broach the subject the following weekend. It was almost with relief that he accepted an assignment that would delay the encounter.

  Chapter 24

  “Dirk! Dirk, are you okay?”

  Pounding on the apartment door felt surprisingly like déjà vu. Christian’s anxiety rose when there was no answer. He used the spare key his friend had given him for emergencies and lurched into the apartment. It looked as if no one had been in the apartment for two weeks, but he knew for a fact that Dirk had returned from overseas just a few hours ago.

  “Dirk!” he called. The kitchen and living room were empty, as was the bedroom. Running water sounded from the open bathroom door. He knocked gently, received no answer, and entered. The walk-in shower was spewing forth rolls of steam. It was so hot in the room; it was a wonder the lone occupant’s skin wasn’t scorched. He inched forward to glance into the shower. His friend was sitting in the corner, fully clothed, knees drawn up to his chest and arms encircling soggy cargo pants. His skin was bright pink from the hot water and his eyes held a red-rimmed, unfamiliar, and faraway gaze. The sight fairly frightened Christian. His strong, muscular companion seemed so small and frail in this state.

  “Hey,” he greeted softly from the dry side of the shower.

  There was no response.

  “Vasquez said you were…compromised. Things got dicey…” He hesitated and swallowed hard. “You were…tortured…”

  Dirk flinched at the word, but made no other sign of comprehension.

  Christian sighed. “I can’t imagine. Are you alright?”

  No response. Frowning, he thought maybe his friend just needed a little more time in his current state to literally wash away the experience. So he slid down the wall and sat just outside the shower, dry until steam wetted his clothes. It was another fifteen minutes before he tried again.

  “Dirk?” Aggravated now at the lack of reaction, he shut off the water and splashed to his side. He placed a hand on his knee and shook gently. Soaking clothes made a sloshy sound, but the arms stayed locked around his legs.

  “Hey.” Christian moved his hand to Dirk’s upper arm to repeat the action. This time Dirk visibly winced and scooted away. He could see the telltale signs of deep bruises under the T-shirt sleeve.

  “Leave me be,” he growled.

  “No,” Christian replied stubbornly. “You’re out of sorts. I’m not leaving you like this. You wouldn’t leave me.”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  “I don’t care!”

  Now that the hot water had stopped flowing, cold air from the apartment was chilling the steamy bathroom. Goose bumps rose on Dirk’s arms and he let out an involuntary shudder.

  “Let’s go get some dry clothes,” Christian suggested.

  Dirk shivered again, but didn’t move.

  “Fine. I’m calling Alma.”

  “Don’t.”

  “You won’t get yourself together for me, then maybe you will for her.” He stepped out of the shower with a splash.

  “Don’t!” Dirk reiterated, finally gaining his feet with a wince. He leaned on the wall to stumble after Christian. Slipping, he hit the cold wood floor hard and let out a painful gasp. “Don’t,” he breathed again through clenched teeth.

  “Fine. Then get yourself dressed in dry clothes.”

  It took twenty minutes, but Dirk appeared in the living room in jogging pants and a hoodie. He sat on the couch with a pair of socks in hand, but it was too much effort for the moment to lift a foot to don them.

  “What happened?” Christian asked softly.

  Dirk waved the question away with a weak hand.

  “Have you taken anything for the pain?”

  He shook his head. He’d been too awash in memories to consider the physical pain they caused.

  Christian disappeared into the kitchen and returned with whiskey and Tylenol.

  “You know my cocktail,” Dirk laughed mirthlessly.

  The attempt at dry humor lifted Christian’s spirits.

  “Do you know who compromised you?”

  He shook his head and downed the whiskey. The liquid steeled him enough to haul one ankle to the opposite knee and pull on a sock. While the pant leg was lifted, Christian caught sight of dark red lines on his calf and shin. He winced.

  The next leg took twice as much effort to lift and Dirk grimaced at the movement.

  “I still think you should call Alma.”

  “I can’t involve her any more. I put her in danger in France. I intend to break up with her.”

  Christian frowned. “I-” He shook his head. “It’s none of my business, but I think that’s a poor idea.”

  “I will end up getting her killed! We’ve had this discussion before. This is the end of it.” His voice lacked the conviction he’d intended and belied his heart’s desire.

  The frown deepened and Christian thought pensively. “What did you think about when…while…” He motioned vaguely at Dirk’s battered body.

  Dirk shot him a glare. “That’s not fair.”

  “But it proves my point. She’s saved your life. Once with the poisoning and now… Tell me you didn’t think of her once, that her face didn’t keep you from giving in and telling them everything they wanted to hear. That her voice didn’t lead to your escape. Tell me that, and I’ll believe you. I won’t say another word about her, ever again.”

  Dirk scowled and shifted uncomfortably. Every position grated on one wound or another and made every movement painful.

  “That’s what I thought,” Christian said triumphantly. “If you don’t call her, I will. You need her, Dirk. It’s too late to turn back now. I think you would compromise yourself even more by submitting yourself to emotional anguish.” He hesitated. “You protect her and she’ll protect you, that’s the way I see it.”

  He shook his head. “I just…I just need to rest now. I’ll call her later.”

  “You’re not going to rest, not after what you went through.” True, he was grasping at odd ideas of the brutal treatment he’d suffered, but it would probably be days before restful sleep came to his friend.

  Images of the past two weeks bombarded his exhausted mind constantly. Christian was right, though; Alma’s mirage was the only thing that stilled them. He hated his friend for being right, for forcing him yet again to postpone his breakup with her. It grated on his conscious to continue leading her into danger, especially without her knowledge. But if she was the only thing that brought him peace of mind…

  “Will you hand me that phone?”

  Christian passed the iPhone eagerly, then frowned at the deep cut across Dirk’s right palm. He paused long enough for the text to be sent, then said, “Can I help dress some of your wounds before she gets here?”

  Dirk hesitated and nodded.

  * * *

  “Christian,” Alma said in surprise as she mounted the stai
rs.

  “Alma. Hey.” The young man looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t decide.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Uh, yeah. Dirk… He, uh, had a rough couple weeks. He’ll be okay, I think.”

  “Is he hurt?” she demanded urgently.

  “Yes,” came the honest answer. “But it’ll heal. Just…just be patient and call me if you need anything.”

  More curious than anything, she hurried upstairs. The door was unlocked, an unusual occurrence, and she entered to find Dirk lying lengthwise on the couch, his face turned toward the back cushions. She shut the door quietly behind her and crossed the room to stoop by his side.

  Thinking him asleep, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. He groaned and flinched away. Recalling Christian’s warning, she frowned.

  “Dirk?”

  Her voice eased the bruising in his arm almost instantly.

  “I don’t know what happened and I’m not sure what I can do. But…” Her soft voice faltered with inexperience. “But I just want you to know that I’m here. And I’ll be here as long as you need.”

  The words swelled his weak heart and gave him the resolve to turn and face her. The pained look in his eye nearly broke her heart; the abrasion above his left brow made her stomach twist.

  “Can I sit with you?” she asked quietly.

  He moved aside so she could sit, then placed his head in her lap. A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes.

  Alma stared down at him in concerned wonderment. The strong passionate man who’d held her in his arms, made love to her with such vigor and desire on New Years seemed an apparition compared to the shell before her. She watched some of the tension ease from his face and his breath evened as he fell into uneasy rest. Musing in silence for some minutes more, she finally dared to touch him by brushing her fingertips lightly through his damp brown hair.

  The touch launched him across the room, leaving Alma staring in absolute shock, her hand frozen in the air where his head had been. Dirk stumbled against the bedroom doorway, panting as if he’d raced all across the world on foot to retreat from just such a touch. Instead of the brick wall before him, he was envisioning a different world.

  He woke with a start. Fingertips on his forearm were warm and reassuring. As he turned to face the owner, he took in the room. Sandstone walls were adorned with patterned blankets and tapestries. The single window was brilliant with sunshine and Dirk squinted at the sudden brightness. His eyes fell on the dark-skinned woman seated at his side. Her hair was obscured by the gray abaya she wore.

  Dirk shifted on the chaise and shot her a distrustful stare.

  “You are safe,” she said in broken, accented English. Her voice was low, almost seductive.

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Where am I?”

  She countered his question with one of her own. “What is your name?”

  He shook his head cynically and started to sit up. The woman was lightning fast. She gripped a fistful of his hair and yanked him back onto the chaise. Then she shot another hand out to press against his larynx.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded, spittle flying.

  Dirk wrapped her slender wrist in an iron grip and shoved her away forcefully. With the same forward motion, he came onto his feet and bolted from the room through an archway. Finding himself on a thin balcony encircling the center of a shanasheel, he ran to the stairs, jumping them several at a time. On the ground floor, he was faced with a choice of doors. One faced out into the center of the compound, the other exited to the cliffs surrounding the village. Choosing the path of presumably less resistance, he ran for the cliff face. A fifty-foot wall of natural sandstone ran the length of the building and loomed behind a handful of other small huts. He was racing behind the neighboring structure when a bearded figure waylaid him, slamming him into the cliff face. He struggled until another man joined the first and with their combined weight pressed him against the wall. Dirk could smell their musty body odor. One grabbed his hair and slammed the side of his face against the cliff. Sand and pebbles ground into his skin. Dazed, he was dragged to the center of the village and shoved full length into the dirt.

  Groaning, he tried to crawl away, but a powerful kick to the side caused him to roll up in pain. Loud, foreign voices shouted angrily. Before he could raise a hand, a black hood descended over his head and all was darkness.

  The images rolled over him in waves. From the doorway, he stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Alma listened to forceful gagging sounds with a knot in her stomach. Mind reeling at what had caused him to leap away like that, she filled a glass with water and poured a handful of Tums into her palm.

  It was twenty minutes before the bathroom door opened and Dirk’s pale, sweaty form appeared. He didn’t meet her eyes, but perched on the edge of the sofa as if ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

  Alma hesitated, then held out the glass and tablets. She noted with dismay that he accepted them with bandaged hands.

  “Thanks.” The word was hardly a raspy whisper.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied softly, watching him carefully.

  He chewed the calcium tabs slowly, his gaze fixed on the floor five feet away. After sipping half the water, he set the glass aside, barely making the table.

  Alma studied him. His eyes were a disturbingly dull greenish-gray. The creases of his eyes were far deeper and his tan skin was unnaturally pale. It crossed her mind that perhaps he’d been poisoned again, so alike was his appearance.

  Suddenly, he rose and retreated to the bedroom. When she followed tentatively, she found him fully clothed under the covers facing the far window. A concerned frown set stubbornly in place, she perched on her side of the bed, leaning tensely against the headboard.

  * * *

  Alma was in the same position, her reading glasses perched on her nose and a paperback in hand with the bedside lamp on when Dirk started muttering. He shifted uncomfortably. Reluctant to touch him due to his earlier reaction, she waited tentatively.

  “Just a reporter.” His words grew louder and more agitated, but intelligible. “Just a reporter. Just a reporter. Just a reporter! JUST A REPORTER! PLEASE!”

  She couldn’t stand his fevered shouting and took his hand, remembering the bandage only after she’d already squeezed hard. “Dirk!”

  With an audible cry of pain, he wrenched his hand away, sat upright abruptly, and faced her. Alma jumped back. His eyes were black, dark jade.

  As he took in his surroundings and company, his expression softened and a flash of unfamiliar fear crossed his features.

  “It’s okay,” Alma assured him, her voice taut with her own fear. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  The breath of air he released seemed to collapse his body and he folded his head to his knees.

  Even more terrified of touching him than before, she tentatively reached out a hand to brush against his fingers.

  “It’s okay,” she repeated, as much for herself as him.

  At her touch, he turned to her. She cradled him against her, careful not to grip him in any way, not to run her fingers over his skin, just to hold him. After a long while, his ragged breathing slowed and he eventually drifted off again.

  ‘What the hell?’ The thought repeated like a broken record through the remainder of the sleepless night.

  * * *

  Dirk woke to find his head in Alma’s lap. Sheets were twisted haphazardly around him, but this perch was the most comfortable he’d had in weeks. Slightly disoriented, he sat up.

  “Morning,” Alma greeted.

  The expression on her soft features was unfamiliar. He studied her for a moment, then scooted away, covering his face with his hands. Images of the night sent tense chills down his spine. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-”

  She grazed his elbow with the lightest of touches. “It’s okay.” The phrase was repeated twice more, each time with more confidence. “Breakfast? I was thi
nking eggs and bacon and toast.”

  He admired her attempt at normalcy, as much of a struggle as it was. He nodded. After a moment, he followed her to the kitchen. “Can I help?”

  “Of course.” She placed a carton of eggs and a pan on the counter.

  He accepted the task eagerly. The only moment that reminded him of recent turmoil was the tremor with which he cracked the eggs. Otherwise, Alma’s warm presence and busy movement filled him with content.

  They ate a silent meal at the table. Alma bristled with unasked questions, but found she couldn’t find it in herself to pry about an experience that clearly pained him.

  After breakfast was put away, Dirk retreated to the bathroom to shower. The scalding heat of the beating water entranced him.

  * * *

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  The question caught Alma off guard. It was the first time he’d spoken all afternoon. He’d just returned from an extravagantly long shower and sat on the opposite end of the couch, his legs drawn to his chest. The posture perplexed her; she’d never seen him fold himself into such a small space. His bristling, muscular character typically filled an entire room.

  “I took the rest of the week off.”

  “Why? You don’t need to be here. You should go back to work.” Even his voice seemed smaller.

  “I want to be here.” She set aside the book in her hands to cast a scrutinizing gaze at him.

  “Are you okay?” Her voice was a whisper, as if she were scared of asking.

  “I’m fine.” His eyes flicked to hers. He was aware of the struggles reflected in his irises and quickly looked away. “I’ll be fine,” he admitted. “It just might take me awhile.”

  Alma’s heart broke at his soul-deep pain. She felt heavy with the burden of it. She reached out an open hand and placed it on the cushion between them. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed his fingers on her palm.

  “I love you. I’m here to share your burden.”

  His gaze was drawn back to her concerned gray one. Unexpected tears sprang behind his eyes at her compassion and he looked away quickly. Alma sprang to her feet and placed herself at his side, where he turned his face into her stomach. She tentatively touched his hair, then gently held him against her when he didn’t flinch away.