Twisted Iron

by T. J. Loveless

  She stared ahead, not moving. I took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Twitch just once in response to seeing her naked, and I swear I’ll geld you, fucker. I undressed her, asking permission. When she was down to nothing, I picked her up and stalked to the cot. I laid her on the thin sheet, and placed a hand on the wall. It was cold. I pressed against the wall, and gathered her front to me. I wrapped a thigh around her hip, and cuddled her as close as possible. I angled her head, nose in my neck, her arms between us. I wrapped as much of myself around her as possible.

  *

  I woke, sweating lightly. Jillian remained in the same position, breathing slow and even. She was soft and warm. Relief filled my veins, and my chest thawed. Using tiny movements, I unwound from Jillian and tucked her tight into the blanket and went outside.

  The sun shone bright, and I could see the canyon. It was deep in places, with bands of red, beige, white and dark gray, dotted with trees and bushes. At the bottom, a small river flowed continuing the job of cutting further into the history of the earth. I glanced at the Cherokee. “Ah, damn. It was new!” I couldn’t go far with bare feet, but it was easy to see two gaping holes in the metal giving testimony to Jillian’s shooting ability.

  I finished what I came outside for, and turned, looking for indications of a well. A pump stood ten feet away. I went inside, dressed, checked on Jillian, grabbed a five gallon bucket, and walked to the well.

  The bucket full, I went inside and cleaned. I couldn’t handle the mess. Everything must be in place, or what little sanity I had would jump ship.

  Three hours later, the cabin was livable, the trash out, the broken furniture sorted into piles. I could fix some of it, but the rest was firewood.

  I heard rustling on the cot and turned. Jillian sat up, the blanket falling into her lap.

  “I’ll get you a bath, Jillian.” I’d found an old tin tub. I started a fire, grabbed several metal buckets, and filled them with fresh water. It took thirty minutes, but she had a steaming bath.

  She walked in a daze, doing everything I ordered. I double checked the water temp and lifted her inside.

  *

  I didn’t count days, or care. I hunted for food with a long bow hidden in the rafters, and found an old garden in the back. It gave a few vegetables and herbs. Rabbit was plenty, and I’d even managed to down a deer. During the nights, I held her close, whispering in the dark of times when we laughed as children. I cooked, cleaned, and cared for her. She remained out of reach. I counted it as victory when she presented a ghost of a smile. The moments when her eyes brightened, when she was in the present, increased slow inch by slow inch.

  I woke one morning to find her hacking a piece of furniture with a hatchet, screaming in a hoarse voice, cursing, and blood dripping from several small wounds. I jumped out of the cot, taking the hatchet, and grabbing her in a tight embrace. She bucked, kicked, clawed, and threw her head back, screaming over and over, “Make it stop!”

  Her out of control rages were a daily occurrence, lasting as long as twenty minutes. Followed closely by an almost catatonic state. Her eyes would glaze over, and she wouldn’t respond to words or touch. It’d take me hours to get a twitch. Her body remained scratched and bruised.

  One morning broke cold and bright, a light dusting of snow blanketing the ground. I stood on the porch, leaning against a post. I’d managed to get enough in the pantry to have a day off. I kicked at the snow on the warped wood, trying to decide what to do next. I’d made her as comfortable as possible, but the frustration at not bringing her fully to the present wouldn’t go away. I wasn’t a psychiatrist. The most I could do was support her.

  The cut on the inside of my right forearm throbbed, and I whistled between my teeth as I pulled the jacket sleeve to my elbow. She’d gone into a rage, and I’d made the mistake of trying to talk to her. The ragged cut required ten stitches.

  I pulled the sleeve down, and rubbed my face. I was going to permanently lose Jillian unless I figured out what to do.

  The door opened, and I turned to see Jillian huddling deep into a thick coat. She walked barefoot into the snow on the porch.

  “Jilly Bean, baby, you can’t be out here barefoot.” I moved to grab her. She danced out of reach.

  “I … I need something, but I can’t voice it,” she whispered, her breath causing little clouds of steam.

  “Just say it, I won’t laugh. What do you need?”

  “No, I mean I don’t know exactly what it is, Aiden.” She wiggled her toes in the flakes.

  “Okay. We’ll figure it out. Let’s go inside.” I ushered her into the warm cabin.

  She sat in the chair, frowning. I squatted in front of her, hands on her bare knees. She looked everywhere but me.

  “Try to explain what you feel.” I waited.

  She blew out a breath, and I held mine. It was the longest time she’d ever remained in the present. “I feel like I should ensure everything is,” she made a small wave with a hand, “perfect. Predictable.”

  I gave her a small smile. “You need control, Jillian. You are seeking control.”

  “I don’t like the thought of other people near me. Sometimes you fall into that category.” Her eyes found me, large and questioning.

  “Trust issues. Everyone is suspect, including me, and could possibly bring pain.” I nodded.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I deal with it daily.” Her eyes started to glaze, and I shook her knee. “No! You stay with me, do you hear me?”

  She shuddered, but nodded. “I can’t seem to stay in the cabin. I either live in my childhood, or the nightmare.”

  I let my head fall back, and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah, I remember those days. Right after Karen saved our bacon, I did the same thing. But the Colonel wouldn’t let me stay. It’s time you woke up, Jillian. It’s time to start facing the past so you can have a future.” I lowered my head, and stared. I grasped her face, and leaned in slowly. I kissed her, a mere brushing of lips. “And Jillian? I want that future to be with me.”

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  I transitioned her into control. It went against the grain. She moved things around, and took over the cooking. She made the schedule, and in a few weeks, sounded more like her old self. I made random noises day and night. I touched her shoulder and arms when she wasn’t expecting it. I slept on the floor, next to the small cot. She kept Fozzy, but I woke every morning to her hand on my arm, gripping tight. If she wasn’t gripping my arm, the nightmares would cause her to toss and turn, whimpering in her sleep.

  The rages appeared on fewer occasions, dwindling and shorter in length, until the last rage was three weeks earlier. I kept track in a small notebook, looking for triggers. We only found three, but it helped. Other times, there was no rhyme or reason.

  Winter eased its hold on the canyon, and as the days grew longer, I watched Jillian learn tools to necessary to make it through the day. I taught her to go one second at a time, to learn the signs of an oncoming attack. She smiled more often, making the slow trek to healing worth every scratch.

  Spring came slowly, heating the days and thawing the nights. Animals started their yearly mating ritual, and Jillian laughed for the first time.

  I walked in the front door, carrying a duck, tripped over my own feet and fell face first into a bucket of dirty water. I got on my hands and knees, sputtering. Anger tried to bubble up, but the sound of her laughter stopped the emotion in its tracks. I looked up, water sluicing over my face, and gaped. Her head was thrown back, light from the sun showing off the copper and blonde streaks in her hair. She shook with laughter.

  It was the most mind-bending, beautiful sight I’d ever stored in my memory. I held it tight, even as I burst into laughter with her.

  *

  “Can we just stay, Aiden?” she asked, sitting in front of the fire, hands stretched toward the flames.

  “I suppose we could, but we eventually need to go and get supplies.” I stretched on the chair I�
��d made in Adirondack style.

  She dropped her hands, clasping them around her legs. She curled inwards, staring at the flames dancing from the air flow. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to ever go back to civilization.”

  “It’s only been a few months, hon. It takes time to heal, and only in minute steps. You are no longer losing days inside your own head. I’ll go and get supplies, but I’d like you to come along later.” I paused. “Um, you have a vehicle right? You killed the Cherokee.” I smiled.

  She answered with a grin, “Guess I did. Yes. You know that old shack to the east? It’s in there.”

  I brought the car around, convinced her to give me the key to the padlock on the gate, and went into town. Flagstaff was friendly, and easy to get around. I filled the trunk and back seat. I made several stops in-between stores, securing the heavy suitcase.

  Driving to the cabin, I listened to the news, pulling over at one point and turning up the volume. When it was done, I turned it off, head against the steering wheel.

  I knew all the real names of my little band of brothers. Doc and Jessup were found murdered in Ohio, Kurt was being hunted by authorities in Florida, and Jason was in jail. Barry wasn’t mentioned.

  “You can’t do anything, Middleston. Don’t walk away from Jillian when she’s healing. But make thedamned phone call,” I spoke into the quiet of the car’s cabin, trying to convince myself I didn’t need to be involved.

  The thought of Doc and Jessup cut deep. I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry. It’s fucking unmanly, Middleston.

  I took deep breaths, blinking rapidly. Feeling a little more in control, I put the car in drive and sped into the canyon.

  *

  I opened the back of the Cherokee, searching in the compartment holding the spare tire. The sat phone, hidden under the tire, showed a full charge. I dialed the numbers from memory, shaking.

  “Where the hell are you, Middy?” Kurt’s deep voice boomed.

  “Arizona. What happened? What’s going on?” I asked, gripping the phone tight to stop the shaking of my hands.

  “Barry fucked up the intel. I had to do something in Jacksonville, and underestimated someone. Jason sacrificed himself to keep me on the loose.” His voice echoed slightly.

  “You in an abandoned building?”

  “Yes. Can you help me? Can you do anything at all?” I heard desperation.

  I looked around the vehicle, at the cabin. “I think so. Keep the line open to only me. As a matter of fact, get another disposable and leave a voicemail with the code words. I’ll call you back.” I ended the conversation.

  I didn’t want to go into the cabin. I stood behind the useless vehicle, shifting from foot to foot. Jillian couldn’t go, she couldn’t handle more. I couldn’t handle anymore. No more battles, or being Death.

  “Why are you hiding?” Her voice made me jump.

  I pivoted on a heel and looked at her. She appeared fragile, but for the first time in ages, I saw the core of strength rebuilding itself.

  I glimpsed at the clunky sat phone. Truth, only the truth. “My friends are in trouble. Doc and Jessup are dead, Jason is in jail, and Kurt is on the run.” I faced her scrutiny.

  “Do they need medical attention?” She walked to the cabin, her steps full of purpose, voice strong.

  “I – I think Kurt does. But Jillian, you aren’t ready to handle these things.” I trotted to catch her. I grabbed her arm.

  When she turned and faced me, her eyes blazed. “Let’s get something straight. For five months I’ve done nothing but hide. I’ve walked away from what made me tick. I fell into the horrors. But one thing I’m damned good at is saving lives. I can’t take them, nor can I watch it, but I can help. As long as you aren’t the one doing the killing. I never want to see that again.”

  I gaped, not sure what happened. One moment she was asking to hide forever from the world. The next she was the feisty doctor I loved. I tried to remember Karen. She’d done the same thing, when it no longer was just her, but others who needed her.

  Holy shit, that’s it. Jillian had to be needed, not coddled. I nodded, “Okay. As you wish.” I swept a hand toward the front door.

  She smiled, “You are so not Westley.”

  Chapter Forty

  I packed her car with supplies, put most of the stuff from town in protective trunks throughout the cabin, and prepared Jillian. She visibly shook at times, and I understood. The thought of going into the world scared the hell out of me.

  The car, an old Nissan Sentra from the nineties, and the engine wouldn’t survive the trip. We drove it to Phoenix, taking it to a car dealership, sputtering and spewing smoke.

  “Truck, car, or SUV?” I asked her.

  “How can you afford to drop forty grand on a vehicle?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Um, I have a few things I should probably tell you, but not at the moment. What do you need? And how big?”

  “SUV is best, and large.” She tilted her head.

  “Okay.” I pulled into a GM dealership, calling the bank.

  Two hours later, we pulled out of Phoenix, driving a new Suburban. The big silver vehicle came fully loaded. She directed me to a nearby warehouse and proceeded to test the limits of my debit card. By the time night fell, we were on our way to Florida.

  *

  The drive through Texas was quiet, as she flinched going through every large town. She’d cover her eyes with one hand while the other held the Oh Shit handle in a white knuckled grip. If traffic was bad, she’d fidget, curling in on herself. It continued until the interstate opened up and the stop-start traffic behind us.

  I found a small Mom and Pop hotel, using an alternate identity to check in. I put her suitcase on one bed, and went in search of a hot meal. I returned to find her in the same position as when I’d left more forty-five minutes earlier. I set the food on the small dresser and sat on the bed, pulling her against me.

  I rocked slowly, making little adjustments until she sat on my lap, and I was wrapped around her. Her tears soaked the shoulder of my t-shirt. I let her cry. The first day was an awakening as to what she had to fight for the rest of her life. The thought of not knowing where danger could hide, being around people and the hurried world.

  “You know, I cried the first time I was dropped into civilization.” I had a hand buried in her hair, cradling the back of her head.

  “Do the tears end?” she sniffled.

  “Yes. We’d finally left Iraq, and landed in Germany. It felt like I’d been dropped into an alien world, where danger hid in every shadow, and the slightest noises put me on the defensive.” I kissed the top of her head.

  “Is that why you kept startling me with those ridiculous noises?” She reached an arm around my neck, sitting up.

  “Yes. It helped a little, didn’t it?”

  “I suppose so, considering I’m not hiding under the bed. Does it work for everyone?”

  “No. I could only hope.” I pushed her back, “Get a shower, grab Fozzy, and some food.” I slid her off my lap, hoping she didn’t notice my reaction to her warmth against my chest.

  She nodded, and went to do as I said. I sat on the bed, eyes closed, going through various sports statistics. At least the little bugger waited until now to realize she was a warm, curvy woman.

  The beds were better than the floor of the cabin, and I slept without dreams. I heard light footsteps across the worn carpet and sat up. Jillian paced in front of the beds, clutching Fozzy close.

  “Are you okay?” I sat up, arms propped on my bent knees.

  “Nightmares. ButI didn’t lose myself to them. Progress, right?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, definitely progress. How do you feel?” I followed her movements, unable to stop watching.

  “Trapped. Frustrated. I need something, but can’t pinpoint what it is.” She stopped, facing me.

  “A kind of restlessness?”

  “Yes. As if I’m missing something, and need it.” She resumed the pacing.
>
  “I think part of you wants to be normal again, and trying to seek it. What time is it?” I rubbed a hand across the five o’clock shadow covering my jaw.

  “It’s four in the morning.” She pushed a hand through her thick hair.

  I nodded, throwing off the covers. I stood and stretched, popping my back. “Let’s go.”

  We were on the road within an hour, the sky dark, with only a strip of lighter blue in the east. She clung to Fozzy, pinching her bottom lip, constantly rearranging her legs and butt in the seat.

  As we drove into Louisiana she calmed, the sun high and the temp warm. We barreled toward New Orleans, and I warned her. It didn’t matter the time of day, the city was always busy. We crossed Lake Pontchartrain, during the early evening. She stared at her lap, lips pursed, a shudder running the length of her body several times.

  We drove into Mississippi as the night took over. Biloxi passed quickly, and we were close to Mobile.

  “We need to stop at your parents’ home.” I glanced at her by the light of the dashboard.

  She nodded.

  “Aiden, you haven’t explained why you have so much money.”

  I sighed. The heavy suitcase remained hidden in Flagstaff, although I’d taken a few things out. “You know how we all thought Corrine only brought Ralph’s body to Montana?”

  She nodded.

  “Ralph’s body wasn’t the only thing my great-great-grandfather helped her transport. She’d taken her dowry as well. A chest filled with silver, gold jewelry, diamonds, and a lot of gold coins.”

  Jillian gasped. “You have to be kidding!”

  “No. While the Smythes’ covered up Ralph’s death by making his twin brother pretend to be Ralph, they were upset because the dowry from the Beauchamps’ would bring them out of debt. Anyway, Corrine had Alistair construct a place to hide in the office. I think it’s how they were able to hold the ranch for so long.”