by James, Ella
“You were skiing…”
* * *
The next morning, I’ve got a meeting with a vendor to measure for cubbies on one wall of the studio. Gwen’s still sleeping when it’s time to go. I kiss her head and leave a Reese’s Peanut Butter Christmas tree thing on her nightstand. Her mom passed me a bag of them on our way out the door and told me that they’re Gwen’s favorite.
I intentionally make a little noise as I get dressed, because, pathetic as it is, I want her to go with me. But she’s sleeping pretty hard, and her sleep doesn’t seem troubled, so I can’t justify waking her up. As I walk out the door, I get a call from Dove and hit the ‘fuck you’ button.
I’ll find time to call him soon. I haven’t been able to track Blue anymore. I think he ditched his car. But Dove will have told him I’m not planning to do it, so there’s no reason for Bluebell to try to interfere.
I feel peaceful as I ride my motorcycle toward town. Tomorrow, I have an appointment with Sean. I’m supposed to go over my notebook. I had a nightmare last night—Gwen, of course—and wrote it down for him. I wrote it in Italian because I don’t want Gwen herself to read it. But I can be open, or almost open, with Sean. So I guess I will be.
I think of what Gwen said about adding some more rocks to the enclosure. I’ve been thinking of buying a truck. Maybe if she’s still sleeping when I leave the studio, I’ll swing by a dealership. I’d love to drive her around in something safer than that little Mini Cooper…
* * *
Gwenna
I think there’s something wrong with Papa. All my other bear babies are tucked into hollowed trees, thick underbrush, or little coves spread over the 300-plus acreage, and Papa was, too—for a while.
In the last week, though, he’s been unusually restless. Bears have social things they do before they hibernate, and even bears that live in climates too warm for “true hibernation” do these things. I’ve narcissistically wondered once or twice if Papa wanted to see me again, and for this reason, I’ve avoided the enclosure, even postponing a scheduled trip inside the day before yesterday, hoping Papa will settle down and get some rest. Instead, I wake to find his little green dot on my phone’s screen positioned right inside the gate of the enclosure.
Weird.
I move into my office, watching on the cams, but I can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just Papa, moved from the gate over to the pond, where he is walking by the water. I check the temperature outside. With all this El Nino stuff, I wonder if maybe the warm days are messing up his hibernation or something. But the weather app on my phone says it’s 39 degrees. Cold.
I have a flash of memory of my dream from the car: Barrett, racing down the slopes. At the bottom, he falls, and he and I are wrapped up in the snow they way we were on the rug at his house that night I brought the wine over. The weirdest thing about the dream is, the snow was white. Usually when I see or think of snow post-accident, I see it slightly pink, in keeping with my new reality. Wonder why it was white. Maybe longing for my life before the accident? Wishing I’d met Bear before it happened?
I dress in thermal leggings, a pair of tall, gray Merrill snow boots, and a roomy, dark green fleece from Mountain Hardware. Then I braid my hair and toss it over my shoulder. Just to top it off, I pull on a cream-colored beanie. I can’t find the bear spray, and after a few minutes looking, I decide it doesn’t really matter. It’s just Papa. I trust him.
I take my time walking along the fence line, enjoying the sunlight on my skin, getting lost in my own head as I watch my shadow drift over the planks. By the time I get to the enclosure gate, Papa’s dot has receded deeper into the woods. I go inside anyway, figuring I’ll wander a little ways past the pond to see if I encounter him.
To my slight disappointment, I don’t. I daydream about Barrett, imagining unbuttoning his pants and rubbing my hand along his happy trail as I step out of the enclosure, into a burst of wind. With leaves swirling at my feet and golden sheets of sunlight slanting through the limbs, I think it’s beautiful here.
Then the world goes dark.
I’m pulled against a hard chest. Someone’s voice is in my ear—a voice I know but can’t place. “Shhhh, I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t fight and I won’t. I just want to talk.”
I blink and try to touch my face. He’s got me by my wrists. They’re pulled behind me, bound together by his large hands.
I hear a low keening noise. Somewhere far away, I know I need to curse and scream and fight and kick, but I’m just frozen. I stumble as he pushes me.
“No—please!” It’s half scream, half sob. My pulse is racing so fast now, I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. I feel my body fumbling through empty space. My feet land on the ground at odd angles. I’m moaning, my racing mind worried about hurting my ankle even as I know I’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING, RIGHT NOW!
“Help!” I shriek.
His hand is on my face. I notice fabric flapping and realize it’s dark because he’s put something over my head.
“Good girl,” I hear him say, and realize that the ground has slanted downward. The driveway!
SHIT! HE HAS A CAR HERE!
His hands find their way around my wrists again. My brain lights up. This is called a back arm lock, my brain regurgitates. All I have to do is stumble forward and throw one foot behind me, toward his crotch.
I wait until we’re almost sprinting down the driveway. Then I feign tripping, and when he loosens his grip on me to keep from tripping, too, I kick behind me, toward his crotch, and feel my shoe connect.
He grunts. I jerk away and fumble forward as I grab the hood off my head. I see in that second that he’s wearing one, too.
I can run downhill toward the road, or cut back up toward my house. House! There’s a key in my shoe. My body jolts into motion, flying up the incline of the top part of my driveway, kicking rock and dirt behind me.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”
I stop before I reach my porch and reach down toward my foot. My fingers fumble between shoe and sock. I get the key but something hard slams into me, sending me flying, landing on my backside. Pain flares through my lower back and for a moment, I can’t move.
He’s right there over me, his hands on my shoulders, his black mask face not really black, I realize, but dark camouflage.
“I told you to stay calm!”
I bat at his face like a crazed cat until he grabs my arms. I try to knee him in the crotch but he’s not at the right angle.
He laughs. “Feisty.”
“What do you want?”
“Just to talk, like—”
I punch him in the face. When his hand flies to his nose, I wriggle out from under him and fly toward the enclosure. Papa, Papa, Papa…save me! I think I may be screaming as I punch the code in: wrong, again, then right. The gate clicks open. I rush in and slam it shut behind me.
“Fuck!” I start to sob. Run to the stock shed. I start running toward the stock shed and am almost there when I hear a loud smack. I whirl and shriek. He jumped the fence oh God he jumped the fucking fence!
I fly at the shed’s front door, but it’s too late. He’s on me, hard and harsh; his elbow comes around my neck, I hear him say something but my brain’s flying too fast to process. Then there’s something sharp in my neck. I feel a blinding flare of heat sing through my body. Before I fall down, I pull his hood off.
I frown up at him and see a fish bowl…
Then the ragged pattern of the fallen leaves engulfs me.
* * *
Barrett
Doc is right. The more I write it down, the easier it’s getting. I’m going to try the Prazosin again tonight, but half the dose. Or maybe not. Maybe I can just push through. With Gwenna by me, it seems possible.
I wish there was some way I could tell her how much I love her. Something I could do. I remember how much buying my house helped her, and that makes me feel good. As I drive, I see a green and white striped awning that I recognize from satelli
te view: a florist.
My throat feels tight as I park out in front and walk slowly inside. Behind the counter, there’s a girl with shoulder-length black hair and big brown eyes. I feel her gaze roll up and down my body, see the slow curl of her red lips.
“Ziggy Stardust?”
I blink.
She pulls on her blouse. My eyes linger there before I look down at my own ragged-out, charcoal t-shirt.
“Oh.” I found it in my bike’s seat bag the other day and forgot I pulled it on today. I nod. “Big fan.” A surge of prickling heat moves through my body, and I drag my gaze around the room, looking for blue. I latch onto the blue specs in the wallpaper, then tell myself that’s all I need, I’m stronger than this.
I step over to the counter. I can feel the heat of the girl’s gaze. I feel her eyes on my left hand, but know for sure she’s not gawking at my sidelined fingers; I don’t think she’s even noticed they don’t bend. She’s checking for a ring.
I give her a smile I hope says taken. When my mouth opens, I hear myself say, “I need something for my fiancé.”
I watch the girl’s eyes comb my face and realize my eyes are wide. My fiancé. “Flowers, and…” I glance around the little gift shop. “I don’t know what else you have, but something with a squirrel or pig?”
The girl smiles.
I smile back.
Fuck, it sounds right. Fiancé. My heart starts hammering again. I take a deep breath and watch as the girl goes over to a shelf.
“I’ve got these little coins… They’re not real coins, of course. More like paper weights.” She smiles over her shoulder. “One has a little squirrel on it. As for pigs, I’ve got a pig, but it’s attached to a bird bath.”
She walks across the room and points to a shallow bowl atop a two-feet-tall cement stem. In the middle, there’s a pig with wings.
She shrugs. “Not sure if you want something that big.”
The pig has the most adorable smile on its face, and a little curly tail. I grin. “I’ll take both. And some flowers. Something with gardenias?”
“That’s more of a bush. But our florist could maybe work them into something. What about white roses with them? Maybe some eucalyptus, too?” I squint, trying to picture it. “Yeah, sure.”
Oh, shit. I laugh. “I’ve gotta go somewhere.” To get that bird bath home, I’ll need something bigger than a motorcycle. “I’ll be back in an hour, maybe two?”
“Of course.”
I pay, slip the little squirrel token into my pocket, and laugh as I walk to my bike.
I pull back up an hour and a half later in a dark charcoal Jeep Grand Cherokee. It’s a 2015, with 12,000 miles. The dealer said it was used as a rental car, but it still smells new. I smile as I walk back in to get the flowers and the bird bath. I texted Gwen, but she hasn’t replied, so I played a game of how fast can I buy a car. It helped having the full sticker price in my bank account, so all I had to do was call the bank and let them know the debit card was going to take a hit. I was out of there in less than an hour.
The arrangement looks really good. I take the bird bath, in two pieces, to the Jeep, and open the console between the two front seats and put the flower vase in there. Then I text Doc, who lives in an apartment across the street from his office, and ask him to keep an eye on my bike for the next few hours.
I drive to Gwen’s house feeling victorious and…happy. Strange feeling, that. I smirk when I think of how few nights I’ve spent in my own house. Maybe we should move the party there. Or not…
I like her house. It’s small, but in a good way. We fill up the space. After years of combat, any open space feels like a threat.
As I turn off the highway onto Blue Moon Road, I feel my phone buzz. Dove. I let it ring so he won’t be offended by the fuck you button, but I don’t answer. I just want to see Gwen. I’ll call D. later. Sometime soon, we need to really talk. I think if I tell him all of it, I can make him understand. I need him to. I need Dove’s blessing. Even Blue’s—one day. They’re my brothers. Without Breck…
I swallow, tossing my phone into the passenger’s seat as the Jeep climbs Gwenna’s driveway.
I smile as I park behind the garage, anticipating her reaction to the new wheels—and the gifts. She’s going to be surprised.
I wonder what she’s been doing. She must be really caught up in bear-keeping, because I haven’t heard from her.
I slip my keys into my pocket, turning around for a second, walking backward as I smile at my new ride. The garage is shut, so I half-jog to the porch and try the front door. Locked. I feel a tug low in my stomach.
So she’s with the bears. That’s okay. I don’t want to go in, though, so I should call her. I start back to the car and something glints in the grass. My heart clenches. I freeze in place, my diaphragm locked up, waiting for flames, a burst of sound, but whatever it is just shines in the sunlight.
You’re here, not there… New person, Barrett.
I take a slow breath and reach down for what I now see is a key. It must have fallen off Pig’s key ring. I turn it over. Looks like her house key. I slip it in my pocket, and for reasons I can’t articulate, even in my own mind, I turn toward the enclosure. I can jump up on the damn thing and peek inside without disturbing Bearville. I just want to see her—now.
With every step I take toward the gate, my mind feels hazier, my chest feels tighter. I don’t know what’s getting to me…
God, the dread rolls through in waves. I have to stop before I reach the gate. I think of Breck and try to shut my mind down, but I realize that’s what Doc says not to do. I inhale deeply and try to relax, just let what happens, happen. I can see Breck, just a blurry, second-long view of his contorted face; I can almost hear low voices shouting in the Bradley.
I can feel the abject shock, the fucking horror, as I look at him and see he’s already half gone. My whole body screams out at the memory of holding Breck and looking down at him. Panic. Agony. Remorse. Shame. Blame. Rage. Desperation.
My throat locks up and I can’t seem to get it working right. I step to the gate on weak legs, my hands cold, my head spinning. I just need to get to Gwen.
Gwen…
Gwen…
I watched her so much from up on the hill before I bought the house, I know her password. I pull the door open and for once, the turmoil in my body matches the vision out in front of me.
Chapter Fourteen
Barrett
The bolt of terror that rips through me is so bright, it whites me out. Awareness returns and I’m on the ground beside her, clutching her limp shoulders, fumbling for her jugular.
My fingers shake… I press down…
Heartbeat.
There’s a heartbeat. Okay…
“Gwen?” My hand cups her cheek, fingertips feeling for thick, sticky liquid. “Gwennie, can you hear me?”
When she doesn’t move, my hands fly up and down her spine, over her neck, the base of her skull. When I feel nothing wrong there, I wrap one hand around the back of her head and roll her onto her side, my gut clenched, anticipating…
“Ohh.” My throat constricts and I’m worried that I’m going to be sick but, “It’s okay.” There’s nothing. No blood or…
“Okay.” Christ, I’m panting. I slide my arms beneath her, lift her up onto my lap. I can barely hold onto her, have to clench my hands around her.
“Gwen?”
Her lashes flutter and my stomach clenches hard. “Gwennie… Look at me. Open your eyes.”
She does. They roll, so all I see is white. My gaze tears up and down her, seeing no wounds.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” I stand up with her, stumbling toward the enclosure gate. I’m still well trained enough to comb the ground for footprints—and I see some. Maybe one.
I swallow hard and look down at her. “Pig, it’s Barrett. Look up at me. Let me see those pretty eyes I love so much.”
My heart clenches, because again, she does. They roll a little, but
she holds on. I can see her eyes, all iris, pinpoint pupils. Fuck— “What happened, Gwennie?”
Her face crumples as she starts to cry.
I hold her tighter as my heart pounds. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
She clutches my shirt, shaking her head. “I don’t know.” Her mouth twists, and her eyelids flutter. “I can’t see.”
My heart stops. My legs do, too. “What do you mean?” I rasp.
“Your face is blurry…”
“Did you hit your head?”
“He pushed me. That…man…” She presses her face against my chest, pulls on my shirt, and shudders, this full-body shiver that makes me hold her closer.
“What man?” Fuck, I need to use a lighter tone. I hold her close and drop my head down, nuzzling her forehead with my chin. I take a deep breath. “I’ve got you, Piglet. No one’s going to hurt you. Who did this?”
I look down into her confused face as tears drip down her cheeks and she explains, in halting, half-slurred words, that someone with a mask showed up and said he wanted to talk to her. When she ran, he jumped the enclosure fence and tackled her.
“I think he cut my neck…” Her eyes roll slightly as she fumbles for her neck. “Bear…”
Her tears start to flow again, and I’m torn between rage and sorrow.
“Gwennie… I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry.” My words catch in my throat. I feel like I’m being strangled.
My fault!
“Let’s go inside. I’m taking you inside. You’re safe now. We’ll call the police.”
“I don’t feel well,” she whimpers.
I crouch in the dirt and hold her up while she gets sick: a side-effect of what he shot into her neck.
I clean her off with my shirt and take her to the bath. I have to get in, too. She can’t stay upright. Not with those drugs in her system.
My chest aches as I hold her and wash her gently, as she cries and cries and cries and asks if we can leave.