by Freya Barker
Thank God the pub is closed today. Lack of sleep and emotional overload would kill me.
Resigned to the fact I won’t likely get any sleep tonight, I head to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee when a sound from upstairs gets my attention. It sounds like wailing. Taking the stairs two steps at a time, I find Dex at the top of the stairs rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“S’Okay, son.” I tell him in passing as I rush into my bedroom where the pitiful sounds are coming from. Syd is thrashing around in my bed, keening the name Daniel, over and over again. Afraid she’ll hurt herself, I lay down on the bed and wrap my arms around her as gently as I can, but firm enough so she can’t flail around.
“Shhhh, Syd. It’s a dream.”
My senseless mumbling seems to calm her some. A sharp intake of breath from the other side of the bed comes from Dex, who must’ve come into the room with me. He’s staring at Syd’s face, his eyes big as saucers. “Daddy? What happened to Syd? Did someone beat up on her?”
I wonder if I should be concerned that that’s the first thing my son comes up with. “Actually, bud... yes, someone did. Syd was hurt pretty badly and we’re gonna look after her for a bit.”
He bobs his little white face and I can see he has questions, but for now he keeps them to himself. “Why don’t you head back to your room and get some more sleep,” I prompt him, but to my surprise, he climbs into bed on the other side and snuggles against Syd.
“Gonna help you take care of Syd,” his little voice whispers. “This way we’ll keep her safe.”
“Sounds good, kid,” my voice comes out hoarse with emotion.
I must’ve dozed off because next thing I know, Dexter’s shaking me.
“Dad, wake up. We’ve gotta go to school.”
Shit. Right, school. I carefully disentangle myself from Syd, who seems to have wrapped around me during the night. Still fast asleep, I’d like her to stay that way a little longer so I raise my finger to my lips, indicating to Dex to be quiet while nudging him out of the bedroom. A quick stop in the bathroom for me before I walk into the kitchen. Emmy seems to have taken charge, generously slathering peanut butter and jam on a stack of sandwiches. Their lunch pails are sitting on the counter with a juice box and a banana besides each.
“I told her about Syd, Dad,” Dex says as he slides back in his chair at the kitchen table, in front of a half-eaten bowl of cereal. He doesn’t hesitate shoving an overflowing spoonful in his mouth, preventing further conversation.
“Morning, Emmy,” I walk over and give my girl a hug and a kiss on her hair. “So yeah, about that—,“ I proceed to give the kids the bare basics, simply saying that Syd was attacked when she was putting out the garbage. I don’t want to scare the kids, but I’m not in the habit of lying to them. Besides, Dex already saw her face, so there’s no hiding that.
“I just went to check on her when nobody was answering the phone at the pub, and Tim stayed here with you guys. Luckily Syd had been able to get away when I found her, but she had to go to the hospital.”
“Will she be all right?” Emmy’s eyes are worried and I’m afraid she’s guessing a lot of what I don’t say. She’s thirteen, and very perceptive.
“She will be, honey. But she’ll be staying here until she feels better, okay?”
Emmy nods, a frown creasing her forehead as she finishes their lunches. Such a little adult. It hurts my heart and I don’t think I can put all that blame with her mother. I haven’t exactly been ‘present’, either. That’s gonna change though.
When Dex runs upstairs to brush his teeth, Emmy asks if she can see Syd. Thinking Emmy’s imagination might be scarier than reality, especially after hearing her brother’s description of Syd’s visible injuries, I agree. “Sure. I’ll go with you and quickly dress while you get ready for school. I’ll drive you.”
I follow Emmy up the stairs and when she opens my door, she stops dead in her tracks. Syd’s sitting up in bed, sheet pulled up to her chest for cover, but the extent of damage to her face is even more glaring in the light of day. I put my arm around Emmy and take her over to the bed. “Hey. How are you this morning?”
Syd seems to ignore me, her eyes focused on Emmy. “I’m okay,” she says, mainly to my daughter. “Emmy? It’s just bruises and cuts, honey. I promise you, it looks much worse than it really is.” She reaches out and grabs Emmy’s hand, pulling her close. With her other hand, she wipes at Emmy’s face. “None of that, pretty girl. A few days from now you won’t even be able to tell.”
A sob escapes Emmy’s lips and before I have a chance to hold her back, she flings herself into Syd’s arms. I go to pull her off, but despite the wince on her face, Syd shakes her head with a sharp no, and folds her arms around my girl’s shaking shoulders. Giving them a moment, I use that time to slip into the bathroom with some jeans and a T-shirt so I can get dressed. By the time I get back, Emmy is sitting up on the edge of the bed, a bit more composed.
“Okay, girl. Go get cleaned up quick before I drive you to school. I’ll be down in a minute.” With a careful peck on Syd’s cheek, she’s off and I take Emmy’s spot on the side of the bed, stroking the back of my hand over the same spot Emmy just kissed.
“Thank you,” Syd says with a little crack in her voice.
“Don’t wanna hear it. I want you to promise me you’ll be here when I get back from dropping off the kids.”
When she doesn’t respond, I take her face in my hands and carefully tilt her head up so she has to look at me. “Promise me,” I repeat softly and watch her eyes go warm as she leans into my hand cupping her jaw.
“I don’t wanna run, so I promise.” She turns her face and plants a kiss in the palm of my hand.
Wow. Talk about instant reaction. The moment her soft lips touch my skin, my cock jumps to attention. Good thing the kids are waiting downstairs, otherwise this situation could get out of hand fast. But the moment I register the bruising and cuts on her face, I’m reminded of what she’d just gone through the night before. My lust curbed, I manage an almost platonic kiss on her forehead ... Almost.
“I’ll be twenty minutes or so. Is there anything you want? Anything you want me to pick up for you?”
Syd shakes her head no. “I’m fine, thanks,” as she settles back in bed.
The kids were already on the porch outside, waiting for me when I get downstairs. In the car, Emmy turns to me. “Is Syd staying with us?”
“For now she is. The doctor said she needs someone to look after her and she lives alone, so—“ I try to respond before Dex interrupts me.
“Awesome!” His enthusiasm puts a smile on my face, even though I feel the need to remind him she’s here to get better. Emmy beats me to it.
“Not so awesome for Syd,” she states. “She’s really hurt.”
The enthusiasm is quickly replaced with a worried look on his face. “She’ll get better though, right Dad?”
“Yeah, kid. She will, but it may be a while, you know. Better hold off on inviting her on the trampoline out back.”
Last year I got the kids a trampoline at the start of summer and everyone who shows up at the house gets dragged onto that thing. Dex loves it. Emmy did at first, but it’s apparently no longer ‘cool’, or so she says, but I still catch her sneaking out there from time to time. “Okay,” Dex says easily.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Emmy?”
“Why did that man hurt her?”
Christ. Yet another dilemma. How much can I tell them? I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to have them run scared. Cautious? Yes, but not scared, so again I go for as little as I can get away with.
“He’s not a very nice man. He tried to touch Syd before and she made it clear she didn’t want that. Then he got mean and I guess he had decided to take what he wanted anyway.” I check the kids to gauge their reactions. Dex just nods, apparently satisfied with that explanation, but when I look at Emmy, she looks a little white around the nose.
“Did he ... was she..
.” she stammers and I grab onto her hand, shaking my head no.
“No, baby. He never had a chance against Syd.” I smile, trying to reassure her.
“But she’s not much bigger than me.”
“I know, but she was much smarter than him. If you keep your wits about you, you don’t always need to be big, just smart.” I give her hand a little squeeze and leave her to mull on that. God, I hope I handled that okay.
The rest of the drive is uneventful with Dex chattering about his baseball season that starts next month and Emmy staring out the window.
After I drop the kids off, I stop at the Open Window bakery for fresh bagels and coffee. The pot I made earlier that morning is probably like tar by now.
Syd
I’m so sore ... and dirty.
The moment Gunnar leaves with the kids, the silence becomes oppressive and although I try to close my eyes, the images of last night’s attack start crowding my brain to the point where I need get out of bed. A door in the hallway reveals a linen closet stocked with towels, and I grab two with shaking hands. I need to get myself clean. Maybe it’ll help.
The generous warm spray of water feels good running over my battered body. I grab a bottle of shower gel off the little shelf in the corner and start lathering myself. It smells like Gunnar; a light, spicy fragrance that wakes up my olfactory senses, but when I tilt back my head to rinse my hair, a hint of fish enters my nose and suddenly that’s all I can smell—Fish ... rotting fish. Gagging against the bile rising in my throat, I squeeze more of the gel in my hand and try to rub it in my hair, but the move causes a sharp stabbing pain in my side and I’m only partially successful at rubbing it in my hair. If anything, it seems to make the smell even worse. I grab for another bottle to try, dropping it at my feet in the tub when I try to wash the smell out of my hair. It won’t work—I can’t get rid of it. A low, whimpering reaches my ears and changes into sobs before I realize it’s coming from me. Sliding down into the tub, I pull up my knees protectively and give in.
The smell of his rancid breath, my fear, his hate filled eyes and his slimy grin. His hands groping me, along with the sounds of his grunting and his zipper sliding down. I remember my feeling of utter helplessness when he stabbed my dry core with his fingers, ripping into me. Had I done anything to lead him on—to cause him to want to just take something from me that I made him think was okay? Did I do this? I’m drowning in images and slowly losing my mind.
“Jesus!” I can hear Gunnar. His voice is like a lifeline I want to grab a hold of. Something—anything—to pull me out of this swirling riptide. But when I feel hands trying to lift me out of the tub, I fight. I need to be clean. I can still smell him on me, so I bat at him with my hands, needing him to let me get this stench off me.
“Okay, honey. It’s okay. You can sit right there.” The low rumble of his voice is soothing and I want to curl up in it.
Safe.
I can feel his hand stroking my hair as he mumbles to himself, and I slowly relax.
“I can smell him.” My voice is weak and cracked, like an old music player, but Gunnar hears me.
“Let me wash him off you,” he says softly, and I finally open my eyes and find his vivid green ones inches from mine. When he releases his arms from me, I feel the loss instantly and can’t stop the pathetic whimper that escapes. “Just grabbing a facecloth from the shelf, honey. Not going anywhere.”
True to his word, he’s back in an instant, setting a washcloth on the side of the tub before grabbing a bottle of shampoo and thoroughly washing my hair first. When he’s done rinsing, he runs the washcloth, liberally doused in shower gel, lightly over my body.
“Did he touch you here?” he asks, carefully pressing the cloth to my neck. I nod and he gently washes my neck and shoulders before sliding the cloth lower, his intense look never wavering from my face.
“How about here? He touch you here?” his hand covered by the thin cloth gently cups my breast, and again I nod. He takes great care in washing my chest and asks permission with his eyes when his hand slides down over my belly.
With his gentle ministrations, the smell of rotting fish leaves me, and I’m infused in a scent I’ve come to associate with Gunnar.
“Honey, I need you to do this part yourself,” Gunnar whispers. His movements still on my lower belly, he takes my hand and puts it on top of the washcloth, sliding both between my legs—his hand guiding the way. When he tries to pull his hand away, I grab his wrist with my other hand.
“Help me.”
Together we erase the last of his touch.
“Want cream cheese on your bagel?”
Gunnar stands on the other side of the kitchen table holding up a container, waiting for my answer. I’m surprised to find myself hungry, so I nod yes and watch him slather a goodly amount on one of the bagels he pulls out of a paper bag. He amazes me.
After my cleansing session in the shower where his gentle attention pulled me out of the pit of insanity I was threatening to slide into, he set out some threadbare sweats and a much too large T-shirt for me to get dressed in. I should be scared of a man’s touch, or at least apprehensive, but Gunnar’s touch has been nothing but a comfort. I should also probably have been self-conscious of being totally exposed and naked, both literally and figuratively, in front of him, but there was no shame—no insecurity. Perhaps it’s the fact that my body is almost unrecognizable, even for me; bruises covering my too thin frame. A far cry still from the persistent padding I’d always had. Funny how something I always hated is now something I miss.
When he left me to get dressed, I almost begged him not to leave me again before catching myself. Can’t let myself become too dependent on his presence. He was being supremely kind, but I can’t allow myself to read too much into it, especially now. The fact that his body quite obviously reacted to me, as evident from the large bulge in his own sweats, could simply be a standard physical response and non-threatening.
I quickly got dressed and joined him in the kitchen where the coffee was hot and the green eyes that scan me as I sit down at the table are smoldering. Huh. Maybe?
“This is good,” I mumble around a mouthful of bagel.
Gunnar smiles, “Only from the best baker in Portland. I was hoping it might stir up an appetite. Thought that eating something might make you feel a little better.” He shrugs his shoulders a little.
“It did. Thank you for this, and for earlier. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t. I care about you, Syd.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “I—“ He abruptly stops and releases my hand to run his hand through his unruly hair. “I called Viv. Don’t be angry,” he says, holding up his hands when I open my mouth to object. “You were dreaming last night, and it was bad. You were calling out your son’s name.”
I flinch at the mention of Daniel. Sitting back from the table, he reaches for my hand again before continuing. “Syd, I think you’d do well seeing someone. Not so much because of what the doctor said, but for you. You deserve more—much more—than you allow yourself.”
The words slice my heart. If only he knew the full truth of what I really deserve. I certainly don’t deserve to be cared for in this way.
Before I have a chance to set him straight, there’s a sharp knock at the door and leaving me sitting at the table, Gunnar goes to answer. The sound of muffled voices drifts through the open door, and I recognize Viv’s, alongside Gunnar’s. Next thing I know, she walks into the kitchen, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Wordless, she walks right up and wraps me up in a tight hug. Behind her, Gunnar stands and observes with a small, almost apologetic smile.
“I’m okay, Viv.” I try to reassure her, swallowing down my own emotions.
“I know,” she sniffs, “you’re a rock.” Releasing me from her embrace, she grabs the plastic bag she dropped at her feet when she hugged me. “Brought some clothes. They’ll probably be too big, but as soon as you feel up to it, you and I are going shopping.”
/> But before I can take the bag from her hand, the doorbell rings. My eyes shoot to Gunnar who has one eyebrow pulled up. Viv is still chattering but I can’t seem to focus on anything but the sounds of muted talking at the front door. Footsteps approach down the hall and the sight of Sergeant Winslow coming around the corner has me suck in an audible breath. I’m not sure I’m ready for this again. The solemn look on his face should’ve been a warning, but still, the words from his mouth chill my blood instantly.
“Ms. Donner, I’m afraid I have some news that might upset you.” His face is serious and a cold shiver runs down my spine. Gunnar walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, and not a moment too soon. My knees threaten to give out when Winslow delivers his news.
“Early this morning, Jack Barnes succumbed to his injuries. He never regained consciousness.”
I killed a man.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Syd
Can’t remember much of the past day. I’ve been trapped inside my mind for most of it. Oh, I was aware of the small sound Viv made when Winslow made his announcement, and also of the strength Gunnar lent me by helping me keep my body upright on hearing the news, but I had little or no response to either. Too overwhelmed with the events of the past twenty-four hours, I simply checked out.