For The Sake of Revenge

by DL Atha

  “Have you called the police?” Peter asked, his voice rising a little with my anxiety.

  “Yeah, they said someone would get back to me, but I’ve been waiting a while and haven’t heard anything. I was wondering if someone from the church would drive out and check on her. I know it’s really late but something isn’t right.” My inner voice already knew what my mind refused to accept. “This is ridiculous, I know, but my gut says something is wrong.”

  “I’ll go myself right now, Tam. What number can I call you back on?” he asked, slipping back to my old nickname.

  I gave him the payphone number and sat down on the curb to wait. An hour later, Peter called saying Mom wasn’t home. Two days’ worth of newspapers lay on the deck, and her steps hadn’t been swept of snow or ice.

  I sat on the curb still in my nightgown and jacket, undisturbed by the strange looks of passersby, until Peter called back. Her body had been found at the bottom of a mountain ravine not too far from her home.

  A passing policeman eventually drove me to my apartment. I guess I’d sat there for hours until a concerned citizen had called 911. I used the cashier’s check Mom had sent days before her death to pay for my ticket back to Sitka, and I was still numb when I stepped off the ferry.

  I’d come home, but it was too late.

  Chapter 3

  That had been the worst day of my life by far, and I couldn’t relive those memories yet without getting emotionally bogged down. It was just too soon. Someday, Peter had told me on the phone, I’d be able to look back and remember them without feeling as though my heart were going to explode. I thought it was far more likely that my heart would turn to stone before it quit hurting.

  Blotting at the tears that had built up and trickled down my cheeks with the arms of my fleece overshirt, I stood up to shake off the memories that threatened to overwhelm me. I reminded myself that I had to be strong. It had been her last request.

  And I will be strong, I told myself as I put the journal and supposed vampire blood on the mantle. I’d find a way to make Joel pay.

  I stowed the rest of the letters and the textbook back in the trunk and tucked it in between the couch and the end table. Not wanting to miss twilight as it crept across the bay, I hurried outside, determined to close the door to the past, at least until after the sun had set.

  The daylight was drawing to a close, and still I had a lot to get done. Wood had to be carried in for the night, there were fish to clean that a neighbor had delivered this morning, and the mail needed to be checked. The steps had to be cleared of the day’s snow and rain.

  I finished cleaning the fish first. I hadn’t done it in years, but I managed to produce a few decent filets and only a handful of razor thin fin cuts that stung in the briny water.

  I carried in several stacks of wood from the porch to the fireplace, scowling at the wood chips that dropped onto the floor, and moved more in from the rick in the backyard to dry out on the porch. Although it made a bit of a mess on the living room floor, I didn’t like to go out after dark to get more wood.

  Dusk hadn’t quite settled when I walked the tree-lined driveway to the mailbox. Still it was dark enough in the shadow of the trees that I had to study the ground carefully in front of me. Not much waited in the box: a flyer for the local five and dime, the electric bill and a condolence card for losing Mom. She’d had so many friends and the cards were a near constant reminder of exactly what I’d lost.

  Stomping up the steps of the porch to remove the mud from my shoes, I swept the three steps smooth and clean as I ascended before I stowed the broom in the corner and turned towards the view of Thimbleberry Sound. Two large lawn chairs rested against the back wall of the porch, but I didn’t sit down. Instead, I leaned against the front rail and let the mist hit my face, watching as the rain peppered the surface of the Pacific.

  Thimbleberry Sound spread out in front of my family home, its waters blending into the rougher waters of the Pacific at the edge of my vision. Dusk had fully arrived, and the sound was in limbo between day and night. The water itself was placid, expect for the pockmarks of rain, and in the semi darkness, I could just make out the rippling of the ocean as it lapped at the rounded islands jutting from the ocean floor. In the distance, the ice-capped peaks of the granite mountains rose majestically into the clouds.

  It had been an unusually clear day until this evening when the gathering clouds on the horizon had stormed the coastline, and now wispy mists trailed in with the rain. More clouds gathered in the west, promising a night of wind and probably a little snow.

  I could feel the storm coming, feel it brewing in my soul, and I liked it. Weather should have texture I’d always thought. It should pelt your skin and leave you breathless. I’d happily embraced the rain while Joel had batted at it nervously. Tonight, I lifted my face to the breeze of the sea.

  The misting rain tasted of salt as I licked my lips, and I was unprepared for the barrage of emotion that the taste dredged up. Every good kiss I’d ever had tasted of the ocean.

  A bashful brushing of lips by Peter while we fished as teens. A sultry kiss from Joel that left the taste of salt dancing across my tongue.

  How badly I’d craved Joel’s kisses. How I’d yearned to drink the salt from his skin with my lips. It was as if my reserves were depleted and Joel was the element it would take to complete me. But just as too much salt will kill anyone, too much of Joel was equally dangerous, and he’d nearly poisoned me instead.

  Angrily, I scrubbed the salt from my mouth with the back of my hand, refusing to enjoy even one memory of him. I surveyed the sound again, but this time without the rose-colored glasses of unbidden memoires. Instead, I squinted hard, searching the waters for boats that studded the surface too late in the day. My ears strained in the coming darkness for footsteps; determined that Joel would not catch me unawares.

  Even after five months apart, I knew that I wasn’t free of him. Somewhere out there, I sensed him watching, waiting. I could feel it in my bones. I should, he’d broken them often enough. Joel was the shudder I felt at random times, the sensation that someone was watching me when no one was around. It was him that brought me grasping for the lamp from a dead sleep. It was his face I’d see in the mirror if I turned my head too fast. I saw him in every car that passed me or at the other end of the grocery store. My neck was sore from looking over my shoulder.

  And yet, nothing was tangible. I had no proof, except that I knew him. I was a wanted woman. He’d come for me just like he’d come for Mom. And while I had no illusions about my future, I also had no plan.

  I’d been to the police every day since I’d arrived home about my fears with little success. I had, as of yet, been unable to convince anyone in authority that Joel was a danger to me or that he’d proved fatal to my mother. All I’d accomplished by my daily visits to the police was to begin to sink in my own self-doubts and fears. How much more alone could I get?

  One officer had offered to help with a restraining order, but I hadn’t bothered. Everyone knows it’s just paper, and who needs more litter? I couldn’t afford security for the house, and I wouldn’t leave. My one purpose was to see Joel punished. I hoped it would be through the legal means of the court, but I wasn’t fool enough to have much faith in that. My gut told me death really was the only thing that would part us.

  Night had fully overtaken the ocean, and I was just about to walk back into the house when I caught the twin beams of a car below my house on the highway. There are few roads on the island, and Mom’s house is the last house on the highway before the residential area ends and the Tongass National Forest begins. And I wasn’t expecting any visitors.

  Unless you’re familiar with it, the driveway is easy to miss. In fact, it’s closer to impossible to find. My lungs clutched my breath deep in my chest as the car slowed and turned into the drive, the brakes whining as it slowed its pace. Wary of whom it might be, I first darted closer to the door and then changed my mind and ran quickly down the st
eps. 911 was not likely to be of much help if it was Joel. The shrubbery close to the house was thick, and I slipped in behind it. The only thing I had for protection was Dad’s pocketknife, which I’d used to clean the fish earlier. I slid it from my jeans, opening it with one hand to my side. I didn’t feel any braver; my hands were nearly fluttering from nerves.

  The lights of the car cut through the blackness as it wound up my drive, glinting on the rain dotting the spruce trees. Accustomed to the graying light of the past half-hour, the lights hurt my eyes and I closed them, shrinking closer to the ground until I heard the car door close and the headlights faded away.

  I waited, still hidden, until the porch steps creaked with somebody’s weight, and slowly I rose up far enough to peer around the edge of the house. Just as I saw the figure of a man, he rapped his knuckles loudly on the door, and I jerked backwards, my head making contact with the sharp wooden corner of the house.

  “Dammit!” I cursed. My head swam a bit, and I stumbled forward a step.

  The man on the porch swung around as startled as me, but to his credit, he didn’t curse or shriek. Instead, he swung his arms up defensively as he scanned the darkness to the side of the house. He was very tall, his long legs eating up the width of the front porch as he crossed it at the sound of my voice. He was way too tall to be Joel, and I let my breath out in a rush.

  Pissed off but no longer scared, I raised a hand to the aching spot on the back of my head. Warm blood grazed my fingers, and I jerked them away, another curse word escaping, but more quietly this time, into the darkness. I stepped out of my hiding space just as the man swung down directly in front of me.

  “Tamara? Is that you?” the man asked, reaching for one of my elbows.

  “Peter?” Ten years had nothing on Peter and I gawked for a moment at how even more handsome he had become during my absence before I found my wits. “What are you doing here? You nearly gave me a fricking heart attack. Geez!” I exhaled harshly. And then I remembered who I was talking to.

  “Sorry. I… I forgot,” I stammered as I pushed past him, embarrassed to be caught hiding in the bushes like some frightened tourist.

  “Forgot what?” he asked.

  I kept walking, not bothering to look back over my shoulder. “Forgot you’re a priest now, and I’ve already said three curse words in thirty seconds.” I stopped for a second and blew out my breath in a big sigh. “Come on in. I’ll be just a minute. I cut my head on the siding.”

  In the bathroom, I slung through the cabinets looking for some antibiotic cream but gave up. A cold, wet washcloth would have to do, along with the two ibuprofen I tossed back. I pressed the washcloth to my head as I went back to the living room.

  Peter was standing at the mantle twisting the bottle of blood I’d found earlier around in his hands. “What is this?” he asked, one lip curled up in disgust. “It looks like blood.”

  Taking it from his hands, I shoved it deep in my jacket pocket. “Grab a seat,” I said, but he ignored me.

  The fire had died down a little; the room was starting to get chilly, so I stoked the coals and added a couple of logs. The ache in my head turned to a hard pounding as I bent to get the wood. It was a relief to throw the last log on and lean up against the doorjamb. The room was too charged to slip onto the couch.

  “I tried to call several times today but never got an answer,” he said accusingly. Arms across his chest, Peter stood by the mantle, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. I could see the resentment that I hadn’t called him since I’d gotten home. I was zero for two, left without saying good-bye ten years ago and returned without saying hi. This wasn’t the way our reunion should have been. Mom would have kicked my butt. Disgusted at my complete lack of decorum, I could have kicked my own butt.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you. It’s just that I’ve been busy here getting all of Mom’s stuff in order. I haven’t even checked the answering machine today.” I gestured towards the mess that was the living room.

  He nodded his head stiffly, pretending to understand why I’d blown him off.

  “I’m sorry about your mom. I know it hurt not making it for the funeral.”

  I half-smiled to be polite, but he didn’t know what it was like and how much I blamed myself for what had happened to her. “Thanks, and thanks for driving out here that day to check on her. I have to say, I was really surprised when I heard your voice. I thought you never wanted to…”

  “End up in the Church. Yeah, I know. I didn’t. You know how much I fought against it,” he finished the sentence for me and let out an uncomfortable laugh.

  “Well, I for one always knew you’d join the family business,” I murmured.

  “The ministry is not a family business, Tamara.” Irritation made him use my full name.

  This wasn’t going well at all. I tried to backtrack.

  “That’s not exactly what I meant. I only meant to say you can count back many generations of Orthodox ministers.”

  “It’s not a business,” he said testily. “It took me a little longer than my dad or brother, but I finally realized that this truly is my calling. I was meant to be in the Church.”

  “I didn’t mean the business part literally,” I said as I reached up to dab at my head again. The pain was starting to die down. The ibuprofen had worked its way into my system, and I felt a little calmer.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you. Is your head okay?” he asked, starting to take a step closer. “Um… why were you in the bushes anyways?”

  I waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just jumpy. Living this far out is lonely after living in Seattle,” I lied, refusing to let him see the weak, victim side of me and hoping to convince myself at the same time.

  “Have you talked to a realtor?” Peter asked, pointing around the room with his index finger. “This place is worth a mint these days. Things have changed since you left.”

  “I can’t sell this house. It belonged to my grandmother and then to my mom,” I answered, pretending shock that he’d mention such an idea. I didn’t tell him it had crossed my mind too. “You know how much this place means to me,” I added in irritation.

  “No. I can’t say I did. In fact, I thought you never cared much for this place, or for anyone in Sitka for that matter.” He scowled down at me from his substantial height, his arms crossed stoically across his chest again. “I meant anything in Sitka. I didn’t think you cared for anything here. As I remember, you left in quite a hurry.”

  The space between us crackled with tension as we eyed each other warily and I snapped back, “So, is this your usual welcome to the neighborhood pastoral spiel or is this just something special you cooked up for me?”

  Before the words had even cleared my teeth, I regretted what I’d said. He should have been angry at my words, but instead he was hurt. He deserved to be angry after all he’d done for Mom and I over the last few weeks, but it was sadness that clouded his expression.

  Peter had been my closest friend. We were near to inseparable growing up, and it had been him that had held me when my dad had died, his chest I cried into when school got too tough, or when I thought I couldn’t take another minute in Sitka.

  He’d also been my first love, and besides Mom, no one in the world had known me better. He’d always been supportive despite his own burdens. His father was the local minister just like his father before him and his before him. His family could trace their genealogy back for several generations. So much was expected of him.

  Preacher’s kid and all, there was no room for mistakes. He’d spent most of his childhood feeling trapped by the history of his family and the inevitably of what lay ahead. Mom had always hoped Peter would take the restless out of me, and Peter had craved the open roads of my future.

  Maybe Mom would have gotten what she wanted if I hadn’t wanted to escape this island so badly. But Peter was destined to follow in his family’s footprints, and I’d always known that, even if he didn’t. It was too constricted of a
life for me. I could see my future ahead of me, laid out like a timeline that you see in a history book, like it had already happened.

  At the time, Joel was like a breath of fresh air in a stale room. There had been nothing predictable about him, nothing that was laid out in stone. Such a contradiction to the predictability of Peter. I didn’t feel guilty about rejecting that life, but I wished I hadn’t rejected Peter. I should have told him ten years ago how I felt instead of treating him like he had the plague and running away with the first man who could get me off the island. My goodbye to him had been a hasty message scribbled onto a piece of paper that I’d slipped into his mailbox. For all I knew, his parents had read it before him.

  The crackling of the fire and Peter’s angered breathing were the only sounds in the room. I’d sucked my breath in after my smart-ass remark, and it was still hovering somewhere near my diaphragm. Finally, I let it out, giving in to the inevitable and took a deeper one for courage.

  “Peter, I owe you a huge apology.” Only a few feet stood between us, and I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “Ten years ago, I abandoned everything that was important to me, including you. I was horribly selfish. Guess I still am, actually, because I should have found you as soon as I got home and told you just how wrong I was to leave without a goodbye and an explanation. But truth be known, I’m embarrassed at the absolute mess of things I’ve made with my life and with the way I left our relationship; I would’ve fully expected you to tell me to go to hell.”

  I waited, expecting to hear him say the words—hoping to actually. I think if he’d told me to go to hell, I’d have felt better.

  “I’m a priest, Tam. ‘Go to hell’ is not really in my vernacular.”

  He smiled and I melted. The heaviness that had hung in the air evaporated, and we both laughed at his words.

  “Forgiveness on the other hand is, Tam, and you’ve always had it. I came tonight because I wanted to see an old friend and tell her that I never forgot her. Or gave up on her.”