Their apartment had a small, tight, winding staircase that had two landings, so that their apartment had two floors. You opened the door and there was a small space to take off your boots and coats. Their apartment was on the top floor, so you climbed the stairs upwards. The first floor housed the living room, the kitchen, a bathroom and a TV room. The upstairs landing had two bedrooms, a large bathroom and a small room that they had marked as an office. At first, Roz had thrown herself into making the apartment better, making it a home. But her enthusiasm began to wane. Chip had gotten himself a job for Random House reading novels in the slush pile that people sent in for publication. It was great work, he read and gave his opinions and then passed it on to his supervisor. He could read anywhere and they paid him a salary. Because Chip was at home a lot now, he was able to keep an eye on Roz. She went from blooming to depressed in three weeks. She stopped going to work, home decorating notwithstanding.
Chip had hoped that the change in scenery would help, that it would take away the memories of what had happened. Moving only served to remind Roz that they had been violated by a madman and he had changed their lives. She had withdrawn inside herself, a hermit in her own skin. Chip continued to try to draw her out.
"Sweetheart?" he tried again.
Roz looked up at him from where she was on the bed. She sat near the window, wrapped up in a heavy wool blanket. The air conditioning was on high, even though it was nearing the end of September. She was running her fingers along the fabric of the heavy drapes, feeling their smoothness under her fingers. Chip could see his breath in her room and his insides felt like ice when he breathed. Roz looked up from the bed with vacant eyes. They saw him but didn't see him, loved him but didn't love him. "Yes?" Her voice was a shadow of its former self. It was quiet and weak. It had no oomph, no force behind it, like the woman he had fallen in love with.
"I brought you something to drink, some tea. It's Earl Grey."
Roz shrugged. "Could you get me another blanket?"
"Why don't I turn on the heat instead? It's so cold in here with the air conditioner on."
"I like it cold."
"Then why do you need another blanket?"
"For protection."
"From what, sweetheart?"
"From him. He may come back."
"Roz, Honey." Chip took her hands in his; they were like ice. "He's gone now, he can't hurt us. David took Jethro away, remember?"
"But he's still there!" Roz screamed. She leapt off the bed and stood facing the door. "I can still feel him inside me."
"He tickles my thoughts. He told me things, such things. I remember him standing there, above me, your blood all over his hands. I thought you were dead, I thought. . . ." She began to sob.
Chip did the only thing he could do and took his lover in his arms. Once she had quieted and fallen asleep, he went downstairs and called David. David and Orlando had become a great help to him in the months following the aftermath. They had stood behind Chip, holding him up, when things with Roz became too much. They had become his support network and he was eternally grateful for them both.
David answered. "Yello?"
"David, its Chip."
"Has something happened?"
"You're quick on the uptake. She just had another episode. I wish she'd tell me what happened to her, David. It's killing me, watching it kill her. Her memories are killing her, David."
"It has to be her choice to talk, Chip. Until then, there's nothing we can do. They are her secrets to keep."
"I'm just worried that her secrets will end up killing her in the end," Chip said. "I just wish that there was more I could do for her."
"There is. Be there for her. Her secrets will come out soon. You have to be ready for them when they do."
There was a loud thump from Roz's bedroom upstairs. "I have to go, David, I'll call you back."
Chip hung up and ran up the stairs, banging into the walls, slammed himself through the bedroom door. Roz was lying on the ground, a bottle of little white pills dotting the ground like snow. Chip started screaming he name as he reached for the phone and dialed 911.
Chapter Twelve
Hospital Visit
Hospitals are for the dying, Chip thought. He was sitting in the Emergency Room waiting room, waiting for some news of Roz. She had downed half or more of the bottle of Valium that he had found beside her. Spittle and blood was sprinkled around her moth. She had bitten her lip when she had fallen. Alicia, Poppy, David and Orlando were seated with him. He had called David first, and he had called Poppy. They had arrived at their place just as the ambulance came to take Roz to the hospital. They all followed behind, a little parade of uncertainty. Roz had almost died, but the nurse had come to tell them that Roz was now stable. She was sedated and in intensive care. They had to pump her stomach twice to get the drugs out of her system before they killed her. Chip felt like he was the one who had died, had felt a part of himself die when he saw Roz on the floor. If he lost her, he would wither inside. If he lost Roz, he would be a shadow of his former self. It was night time and the sky was blackness outside.
"I don't understand," Poppy said.
"What?" Chip asked when he realized she was talking to him.
"I don't understand," Poppy repeated. "Why would she try to kill herself?"
"She didn't do that," Chip said.
"Then what would YOU call it?" David asked. "She downs half a bottle of pills by accident? C'mon, Chip, you may be only 18, but you're not that dumb."
"You still haven't told us what happened," Alicia said.
"I don't know what happened," Chip said.
"You must have some idea," Orlando said. "I mean, she's been acting odd for months, ever since. . . ." The words hung in the air, masked silence.
"Since Valentine's Day," Chip finished.
David leaned forward and put a hand on Chips arm. "Tell us what happened," he said, softly. His voice had a soothing effect on Chip.
"I don't get it. I thought moving out of the apartment where we were when Jethro came would make things better. It's only made things worse. She sits inside her bedroom, not letting any light inside, not eating. She's gone inside herself somewhere, and I just can’t seem to find her or bring her back. She keeps talking about what he did to her. . . ."
"Who, Jethro?" David asked.
"Yeah, but she never talks about what he did. I don't remember anything after he hit me. She does apparently. She won't tell me what happened." Chip felt tears start to sting his eyes. He sighed in frustration. "He's dead and he's still ruining our lives!" he took a deep breath. "She's getting stranger. She talks to herself now, wraps herself in blankets to keep her protected; she says they make her feel safe, that they'll keep him away. She's afraid of plants, won't go near any vines or ivy of any kind. I'm afraid that I'm losing her."
"You're not losing her," David said "I've known Roz for years and she's always been strong willed. She'll get through this."
"What if you're wrong?" Chip asked. "What if what he did to her was what finally broke her spirit?"
"Stop talking like that," Alicia said. "You're talking about her like she's dead or something. She's stable, isn't she? She's still alive, isn't she? I say we spend a little bit more time focusing on what's good right now rather than the negative. It's not helping."
"Alicia is right. We have to keep our spirits high. For Roz's sake."
They all looked up when they saw the doctor approaching them. Dr. Ramirez was gorgeous, her long sable black hair pulled back into a barrette, spilling in waves down her back. She smiled when she saw Chip.
"Roz is stable," she said first. "Her condition will improve, but it'll take about 48 hours or so. We were able to pump her stomach, so she just needs rest and healing right now. But the good news is that we were able to save the baby."
Chip paled. "Baby?"
"Yes, the baby. Oh, I'm sorry, didn't you know?" she had the grace to blush. "Your wife is pregnant."
* * * * *
>
"Pregnant?" Chip said softly.
"Yes," Dr. Ramirez said, smiling. "I take it that this was an unplanned pregnancy?"
"Yeah. We weren't even trying to have a child."
"Then the child is a blessing," Ramirez said. "Roz is stable and she'll have to stay in the hospital for the rest of the week for observation, but she should be able to be released on Friday." She reached out and squeezed Chips shoulder. "Congratulations," she said.
They all stood there for a moment, shock written on their faces. "Well," Chip said finally. "Anyone need a cigar?"
* * * * *
Lucia let herself in through the front door of her parent's house. It was a small duplex; three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, kitchen, dining room. Lucia's room was in the basement. Her parents had lived in the old duplex for as long as she could remember. It was situated in the middle of Mechanicsville, a lower end of town with a bad reputation. At night, you looked down and didn't make eye contact with anyone who passed you, unless you wanted a confrontation. Some considered Mechanicsville a slum, but Lucia just considered it home. Her parents had always lived here. She had grown up here. She still lived here. She sighed. Hopefully with the money she was now making from working at Strange and Unusual, she could move out. She would have to move out soon; her parents were asking too many questions.
It was hard living with conservative parents who were also alcoholics. They came from a generation where anything strange and unusual, like Witchcraft, was frowned upon, and even hated. Her parents had both always drank. It had just gotten worse as the years passed. She could remember them telling her as a child that she wasn't allowed to drink until she was nineteen, but she watched since a young girl as the booze they both drank (sherry for her mother, beer for her father) ruined them and made them shells of who they once were. It made living arrangements difficult. It was hard to love and talk to people who were supposed to be her parents when they were both drunk all the time. She was twenty one years old and had always had to take care of herself. Now she had to take care of her parents.
Her mother had been beautiful once; a smiling, happy woman who was dragged under by her husband’s drinking and then succumbed to the devil of drink herself. Gone was her beautiful dark brown hair. Lucia was her mother's child as she didn't look a thing like her father. She was her mother's child through and through, without the love for drink she had. With another sigh, she opened the front door of their dilapidated duplex and let herself in. The house was in great disrepair. The porch sagged under her weight, dust covered the floors in a thick, suffocating layer and grime covered the windows, making the house seem to glow in the shadows.
"That you, Lucinda?" Her mother's shrill voice called out. She heard her mother's voice in her nightmares. It grated at her nerves, like nails on a chalk board.
"Yes, Mother, it's me."
"Where have you been?" Ilene, her mother, came into the foyer. She swayed a little bit and held on to the wall beside her. She had been drinking since early morning, Lucia saw. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. "Did you hear me," she slurred. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Out."
"OUT!" Ilene mimicked. "Out with who? Your boyfriend?"
"I don't have a boyfriend."
"Why not? What's wrong with you? You ain't got no one to tickle you, sweetie? That's not good, it's a woman's right to be tickled."
"Maybe I don't want to be tickled."
"If I wasn't tickled, if your father didn't screw me, you wouldn’t be here."
Lucia looked at her mother in the eyes. Challenging her. "I wish he hadn't."
"Why? Why in God’s name would you wish you weren't born?"
"So I wouldn't have you as a mother."
Her mother wheeled back and slapped her, hard across the face. Spit flew out of her mouth and hit the floor. "You will NOT talk to me that way, do you understand me?" her mother yelled. Her voice sounded tired. Lucia, still stinging from the fact that her mother had hit her, pushed past her and went into the kitchen. Her father was at his usual spot, by the window, booze in hand, a glassy look already closing his eyes off from the rest of the world. He would be no help to her.
"Did you hear me?" Her mother said, coming after her.
"Yeah, I heard you," Lucia said, grabbing a bag of cookies, a few pops and some apples. She started heading for the stairs.
"Then what the hell do you have to say for yourself?" Ilene blocked her way, standing in front of the steps, stretching her arms so that her fingers touched the walls on either side.
"You're pathetic," Lucia whispered.
Her mother threw herself at her. Ilene was a whirlwind of nails and harsh words. She struck her daughter, hitting her, slapping at her. She pushed her daughter down to the floor, pulled at her hair, kicked her with her sharp, pretty little shoes. She didn't stop until Lucia was on the ground in the foetal position, tears streaming down her face.
"No," Ilene slurred. "YOU are pathetic. Don't you forget that."
Lucia listened to her mother’s footsteps walk away from her, her steps slapping against the hardwood flooring. The house smelled of old sweat, alcohol and stale air. Lucia rubbed her hand across her face. It came away bloody. She heard the tinkle of the liquor cabinet. Her mother was going for the harder stuff. She could hear her beginning to nag her father, Bill. They would be fighting before midnight.
Lucia went upstairs to her bedroom and put her bag down and the food she had grabbed from the kitchen. She locked her door, the doorknob, the latch, the chain and then the deadbolt that she had installed herself. She put the door stopper in place too. Her room was her protection against the world around her. She would not have it violated. Walking to her dresser, she lit a white candle at her alter for protection. She opened her window and let in the hot September air. She took a pack of cigarettes from her jacket and lit one, taking the smoke in to her lungs, letting it sit there, exhaling. Everything was a ritual. She stared at the candle flame, and made a wish. She wished for things to be different, for her to have a life free of her parents. She had made the same wish every day for the past two years, when her parents had finally succumbed to the bottle and let their lives unravel away around them.
She went back to her alter and lit a green candle for prosperity too. What the hell, she thought, I need every little bit of help I can get. She had to try to focus on the positive. All she had to do was save up enough money for first and last month’s rent and she would be free of here. She supposed she could have asked Alicia or Poppy for help. Or even Orlando and David for that matter. But her pride would not let her. It was bad enough that her parents were alcoholics, but the fact that her mother enjoyed beating her left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was ashamed of where she came from, who her family was. She had told no one of her situation at home. No one knew where she lived, no one knew her secrets. Her pride would not let her share them. She removed the small bone Buddha from her jacket pocket. She turned it around in her hand, felt its smoothness, the soft pulse of energy that emanated from it. "Poppy. . . ." she whispered. Now I have more secrets to carry, she thought.
Chapter Thirteen
Find Poppy
Poppy yawned, the morning sun shining through the car windshield making her blink. She pulled her sunglasses out of the visor, put them on and kept driving. She was still tired from last night. The announcement that Roz was pregnant coming on the heels of her suicide attempt made for an emotional evening. They had left Chip at the hospital. He had wanted to stay with Roz, sleeping in a room beside hers in intensive care. He could see her through a glass window, six inches of glass separating him from his wife. He looked tired and drawn, but had been flushed with the excitement of parenthood.
Before they left, Chip had pulled her aside. "Look," he said. "I know that you and Roz don't really get along. . ."
Poppy had been stunned that Chip had even known this piece of information. "We know each other through David. We've never really been the best of friends."
"I'm glad I could come," she said finally. His kindness had touched her. Roz had found a real gem. She hoped that whatever demons that were haunting Roz didn't push him away. Poppy didn't know what was wrong with Roz, but there was something going on. They needed to get Roz to talk to them about what Jethro had done when she woke, otherwise she would retreat further inside herself. Why could life never be simple? She thought. She sighed. She had enough on her plate for today anyway, without worrying about someone else. She felt the butterflies in her stomach, felt her nerves humming underneath her skin. She was going to see Cecelia Robinson and her granddaughter Naomi. She hoped that Naomi would have some information on her father. More than that, she had questions to ask. If she couldn't ask two Witches about magic, then who could she talk to? For she had become certain that that was what they were. Cecelia seemed too wise to be a simple woman, and there was the way she looked. She was over a hundred years old but didn't look a day over fifty. And there was Naomi. . .she intrigued Poppy. She had to be psychic, being able to get vibrations the way she did. She knew that some people just had the gift, like Orlando and Alicia. . . .
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