by Willow Rose
“Why…I never…” Miss Abbey’s upper lip is getting tighter. She lifts both of her hands in the air. “I simply don’t know what to do with you anymore. Last week it was that awful smell from that bug-spray you had used as deodorant all over your body. The other day your math book was completely destroyed, and now this. What is going on with you, Mark? Are you trying to get out of school or just annoy me? ‘Cause I don’t know what to do about you anymore.”
Mark nods and keeps looking down. He knows what it sounds like, but he wants to avoid the truth at all costs. He doesn’t want the school to know his mother was so afraid of bugs one morning she sprayed him all over his body with bug-spray, or that she was the one that had used his math book for killing imaginary bugs at the house, slamming it against the walls for hours and hours while screaming at the government that they’ll never get her.
There is no way he is ever going to tell them that. No way.
Instead, he takes a deep breath, and once again bends his head in shame.
“I know, Miss Abbey. I’ll try and get better. I promise.”
Chapter Five
January 2016
Blake watches the blonde as she walks out of Walgreen’s. He is sitting in his car, hands tight on the wheel, his knuckles turning white when he sees her, his jaw clenched. The blonde doesn’t notice him. She has a bag in her hand. She walks to her car and gets in. Blake starts the engine and follows her closely, like he did on the way there from her house. He has watched her all day. On the display of his new phone, it says that Olivia has called him five times. He was supposed to go pick up some beers this morning, but then he saw her, the blonde, and couldn’t take his eyes of her since. He doesn’t know what it is about her. She reminds him of someone, someone he wants to hurt.
For the past three months, while they have been on the run, Blake has been able to keep his urges down. But the last couple of days or so it has been bugging him. That nagging feeling that keeps him awake at night, that makes him wake up bathed in sweat if he finally dozes off.
He has managed to keep it a secret from Olivia, how he really feels, but he is not sure he can keep it that way. All she thinks about is keeping a low profile, to not draw any attention their way. Blake knows she is right. He knows it is dangerous, but that only makes it even more tempting and the feeling even more overpowering.
As he parks outside the woman’s house, his phone rings again. It doesn’t say her name on the display, but he knows it’s her. She is the only one who has his number. They bought the phones from a guy they met at the motel where they are staying. No one will ever know they have them. Just like no one will ever find them where they’re hiding. Blake is certain of it. They’re being too smart. They pay for everything in cash. It’s his luck that Olivia saved up for years for her escape from the general. Month after month, she would stash away cash to make sure the general would never track her when she left. She even has a credit card that no one knows about. She had it all planned and figured out so many years ago; she created a fake identity for herself using her dead aunt’s name. When her aunt died, Olivia stole her passport from the house when they cleaned it out, thinking it would be useful one day. And it sure has been. Especially for Blake.
The phone is still ringing insistently, and he finally picks it up.
“Where are you?” Olivia growls from the other end. “You’ve been gone for five hours!”
“I know. I know,” he says, while watching the blonde get out of her car and walk up to the small house, if you can call it that. Looked more like a bungalow to him. “Just needed to check on something. I’ll be right back.”
“You better. What is it with you lately? You make a beer run at nine in the morning and then don’t come back? What if someone sees you?”
“Baby, no one sees me. I can assure you of that.”
Her voice calms down and she sighs. “Okay then. I guess I was just afraid since I didn’t hear from you. I feel like there are police everywhere these days.”
“We talked about this. You’re just being paranoid. The plan is working. For all I know, they’ve already stopped looking for us. I mean, have you seen anything on the news about us lately? Anything?”
“No.”
“Trust me, Olivia. They have no idea where we are, and as soon as someone else does something bad, they’ll forget about us.”
“What if that manager at the motel rats us out? I don’t trust him much,” Olivia says.
“Randy? Pah. He’s harmless. He’s had his own share of run-ins with the cops in his life. Besides, after we gave him that envelope of money from selling the watch my dad gave me, I think he is pretty satisfied. He won’t talk.”
Olivia exhaled. “I know. I know. You’re right.”
“Now crawl up on that bed and get naked because daddy’s coming home soon and he’s in the mood for a little action. Alright?”
Olivia giggles, then hangs up.
Real smooth Blake. That’s how they like it.
Blake puts the phone back on the passenger seat as he pulls out the binoculars that he bought at Walgreen’s while the blonde shopped. They work perfectly, and soon he is able to see her up close. The blonde is unpacking her groceries and putting them away one by one. Blake likes the parts when she is bending to reach the lower cabinets. He feels himself getting aroused and jerks off while watching her every move.
Chapter Six
January 2016
Joey is home when I get back from breakfast. Salter has started at Roosevelt Elementary and loves it. It was the same school that both Joey and I went to, and I love it there still. It feels like I have come home.
“Home already?” I say with a smile, lean over and kiss him on the lips. Bonnie and Clyde are running after Snowflake, chasing him out the door into the backyard. They come back a few seconds later. Bonnie in the front, holding the ball in her mouth. The pig grunts victoriously. Clyde is barking, and I have a feeling that he and Snowflake are ganging up on the pig.
“Have you finished the fence job so soon?” I ask, leaving the animals to their little game.
“Yeah. I did as much as I could today. The rest of the wood won’t arrive until tomorrow, so there isn’t much I can do for now.”
I nod, feeling a little sorry for him. There hasn’t been much for him to do lately. I keep telling him it’s because it was Christmas and people have been spending their money on presents and not on rebuilding their houses. Joey doesn’t seem to think it’ll pick up any time soon.
“I’ll go work on the beach house after lunch,” he says. “Help out Ryan’s people a little.”
My dad and I have hired Sandra’s husband’s company to rebuild my childhood home after a fire destroyed it three months ago. The same fire that hurt my dad and left him paralyzed from the neck down. Joey likes to go over there and see if they need his help. I have offered to pay him for his hours, but he won’t hear of it.
“Is he still sleeping?” I ask, and nod in the direction of the room that we have made into my dad’s room, since he was released from the hospital. Joey’s place is only two bedrooms, so that means we all sleep together in the other bedroom. Salter, Joey, all the animals, and me.
“No. He asked for water a little while ago, so I gave him some and read the newspaper to him,” Joey says.
“That was sweet of you. Thank you.”
“No problem. I feel bad for him. Must be terrible to not be able to move a muscle in your body. I can’t imagine what it must be like.”
I nod. I feel bad for him too. Only his face is fully functional. He has regained the ability to speak, smile and blink, but not effortlessly yet. That is all. At least, so far. I refuse to give up on believing he will one day be able to walk again. I have hired a physical therapist who stops by three times a week and tries to work with him. But he still doesn’t feel anything.
“I’ll go check on him,” I say, and walk to the door and knock. “Dad?”
“Come in,” he says.
I
walk in. My dad seems even smaller than he did the day before. Lying in bed like that makes him lose all his muscles, the doctor explained to me. And he is not eating much.
“How are you today?” I ask and sit on the edge of the bed. I take his hand in mine and lift it up. He has a nurse that comes in every day and washes him and turns his body so he won’t get bedsores. His hand feels limp. I squeeze it, hoping he will feel something.
“Nothing new,” he says, fighting to get the words out. He speaks three words at a time, then stops to catch his breath. It is good for him to keep talking, training his facial muscles to obey, the therapist explained to me. The more he speaks, the better it gets. It’s always worst in the mornings.
“But you brought…a nice breath…of fresh air…with you when…you came in…I enjoy that.”
I smile and touch his cheek gently. It is strange to watch your once-so-strong father like this. Devastating. But at least I can talk to him and he can answer me. I feel very grateful for that.
“It’s nice and cool out today,” I say. “Just under seventy degrees and sunny. Do you want me to open your window and let some of the air in?”
“That would be…nice. Thank you.” He takes a break, and when he speaks next the words come easier. “So we’re having a cold spell…these days, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I miss those days…when the air cools off and everything is so…so…”
“So crisp,” I say. I bite my tongue. I know I am supposed to let him find the words himself.
“The beach is usually the best place to be…I used to love walking…on the beach on days like this. It was fun to watch…all the tourists jumping…in the water when you felt like it was freezing.”
“That’s winter for you in Florida,” I say. “Socks and flip-flops and all that.”
My dad chuckles. “You hated it…as a child. Blake loved it…You were so different, the two of you.”
He stops himself and looks down. We haven’t talked much about Blake the past few months, but I know it is troubling him. I wonder if he is blaming himself for things turning bad like they did.
“I thought it would be enough…to give him what he wanted…what I believed he needed,” he suddenly says. “Guess I gave him all…all the wrong things. I guess I…just didn’t know how to handle him…you know…after your mother died.”
I open the window and a breath of fresh air hits my face. I close my eyes and swallow the lump that seems to be stuck in my throat these days. I turn to look at him. “So, is Laura coming today?” I ask.
Chapter Seven
January 2016
“Hi. I’m here about the room. I called earlier?”
Marcia stares at the man in front of her. In his hand, he is holding a suitcase. Everything is blurry and has been since she finished her bottle and left Billy and the beach. She can’t remember much from the past few hours and has no idea what time it is. She stares at the man, trying hard to focus.
“My name is Harry Hanson. You told me to just drop by and take a look at the room.”
“Ah. Harry,” Marcia says, pretending like she remembers talking to him. She is gesticulating wildly while speaking. “Yes. Yes. Come on in. Take a look.”
Marcia finds the key to her small townhouse in her pocket and opens the door. As she walks inside, she remembers placing the ad on Craigslist for a renter for one of the rooms. It’s a three-bedroom house, so the kids will have to bunk up in just one room.
“It’s right in here,” she says, and shows him to the room. “It has its own back entrance, so you can come and go as you want.” She stops at the end of the stairs. “It’s right up here. On the second floor.”
Marcia grabs the railing and walks up the stairs, almost loses her balance, but regains it and looks back at the man with a goofy grin before she continues. “There’s a bathroom right across from it that’s all yours. Me and the kids stay in the rooms downstairs and use the bathroom down there. You’ll have the entire floor to yourself,” she says with a smile, trying hard to seal the deal. Getting a renter in would mean she wouldn’t have to work at all anymore. With the money she’s getting from Carl on top of it, she could make it work if they keep their expenses low, which they are very good at. The kids all qualify for the food-program and eat at the school for both breakfast and lunch. Her sister offers them hand-me-downs of clothes and toys.
“It’s right in here.”
Marcia opens the door to the room and walks in first. She hurries to the window and opens it to make sure it doesn’t smell. The man follows her with his suitcase in hand. He throws a glance around the small room and takes in the twin bed up against the wall.
“There’s a nice-sized closet and a desk too,” she says proudly, wondering if the man has a computer in his suitcase. “No pets and no smoking,” she adds.
He puts it down and looks at her.
“Three-hundred a month, you say?”
Marcia nods excitedly. “Yes. I know it’s a lot, but it’s beachside. Right across the street. When you open the window like this, you can hear the waves. Doesn’t get any closer to the ocean for this price.”
“I went down to the beach when I got here. It looks very nice.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
The man turns away from her and doesn’t answer.
“Do you have a car? I didn’t see one in the driveway,” she says.
“I didn’t bring one.”
“You don’t have a car? All right. Neither do I,” she says with a rough laugh. “You don’t need it much around here. You can bike everywhere. The path outside of this window leads right to downtown Cocoa Beach. If you continue, it will lead you all the way to Cape Canaveral. Where do you work? At least tell me you have a job. You’re not one of those losers who moves in and never pays the rent, right? The types I can’t get rid of? Is that why you don’t have a car, because you don’t have any money?”
Harry turns to her with a smile. Even through her daze, she can see that he is different. He is not dressed like the typical no-good surfer type. He is wearing nice pants and shoes and his white T-shirt is tucked neatly in his pants. His hair is cut short and he is freshly shaved. He is quite the looker.
“I work from home. I don’t need a car.”
“Ah. I see.”
“And the price includes everything?”
“Water, electricity and feel free to use the kitchen downstairs as often as you need to. And don’t mind the kids. They’re a wild bunch, but they mean well,” she says with a nervous laugh. She knows four noisy kids can be a bit much for a neat guy like Harry. Especially if he needs quiet time for working. Well, that’s not her problem. As long as he pays the rent on time.
“I’ll take it,” he says.
Yes!
Chapter Eight
October 2005
The auditorium at UCF is packed. Daniel manages to squeeze himself into the back row just as the doors are closed. He stands behind a man taller than him, so he can barely see the woman whom he has wanted desperately to hear for months, ever since he watched her Oscar-nominated documentary. The film describes a non-verbal girl with disabilities and an IQ of only thirty-two, who learns how to type and use facilitated communication, and somehow manages to put herself through college. The documentary has taken Daniel completely by storm, and the girl in the movie reminds him so much of his brother Peter, he can hardly believe it. Since he watched it, Daniel has read everything he can find that Kristin Martin has written, and he is stunned to realize that there actually is someone else who believes there can be more to his brother’s world.
After the lecture is done, the crowd starts to move for the doors, but Daniel is not moving with them. He has a mission. He has to speak to her, to Kristin Martin. He manages to elbow his way against the moving crowd, and soon he finds himself standing in front of her. She is younger than he expected. And more beautiful. She is speaking to another man before him who wants her to sign his book. She does s
o, then looks up at Daniel with a smile.
“Hello.”
Daniel swallows hard, his throat is suddenly dry, and he can’t get the words to leave his lips. She continues to stare at him.
“Do you have a book for me to sign…or?” she asks.
Daniel shakes his head in embarrassment and clears his throat. Finally, he manages to speak. “No. No. I…I’m here on behalf of my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes. He has Cerebral Palsy. Never spoke a word in his life. I think he can. I think he desperately wants to. I think he is trapped in his body and that he could speak if only given the right tools. Do you think he could be able to use a keyboard like Maggie in your movie?”
Kristin Martin’s smile widens. It makes Daniel feel comfortable. She has kind eyes and doesn’t seem to want to reject him.
“Cerebral Palsy, you say?”
“Severe. Developed in early childhood and is getting worse still. His spasms prevent him from walking or even holding utensils. He can’t do anything on his own. And he has never spoken a word. But I think…I mean with this…like that girl in the movie. I believe…if only someone gave him a chance. Somehow…I have seen it in his eyes, Miss Martin…I…I don’t know much of how this works, but I do know I’ll do anything for my brother. When I look into those eyes…I…I am sure I have seen him react. There’s a want in there, a longing. He wants to speak.”
Daniel stops himself to catch his breath. He is too agitated now; talking about Peter will do that to him. He wants Kristin Martin to believe in Peter like he does; he wants it more than anything in this world.
“Do you think using this keyboard could help him?” he finally asks.
She nods. A sigh of relief goes through his body.
“I don’t see why not,” she says. “Give it a try.”
The woman reaches into her pocket and pulls out a business card. “Here. Give me a call next week. I think I might like to take a look at him. I have never had a patient with Cerebral Palsy before. Could be interesting.”