I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he kept it well hidden.
He pushed back a loose black curl with the sweep of his hand. He looked at me like a boy about to get into some serious mischief. Either he didn’t have a clue, or he was ignoring the fact I had just skipped out on him.
I sighed. For those few brief moments it had been magical out in the evening air. Now here I was standing next to a well-groomed goon who was slowly inching closer to me, no doubt assuming he was God’s gift to women.
“Mr. Mayfield, why don’t we go back inside and try the hors d’oeuvres?” I leaned back as he loomed over me.
“No rush.” His breath felt uncomfortably warm on my neck. “By the way, you can call me Thomas, that’s what my friends call me. We are friends, aren’t we Margaret?” His finger lifted lazily to run down one of my hot cheeks but I managed to dodge his wobbly hand. He must have had a lot of champagne.
“I’ve just met you. I think Mr. Mayfield is perfectly fine for acquaintances.”
“You know you are very cute when you’re being prim and proper, Margaret.” His eyes slid over my breasts, gliding over them, devouring me with lascivious greed. It was, in a word, revolting.
“It appears Mr. Mayfield,” I emphasized his name just to annoy him, “that you’ve had too much to drink and we should go find those hors d’oeuvres right now.” I ducked under the arms that reached out to grab me and headed swiftly back to the house.
He laughed uproariously; it was alive with a hidden meaning. There was only so much of this creepy stuff a girl could take.
I glanced up and caught a glimpse of Abby as I reached the French doors. Thank God for small mercies. A little too desperately, I called to her.
“Abby over here, by the gazebo!” I yelled. My voice, a high-pitched squeak, sounded weak even to me.
Abby’s strawberry blond head swung around to see who was calling her name.
“Margaret!” Her face lit up when she spied me and she hurriedly made her excuses to a rowdy group of people standing with her. She had obviously been entertaining them with her humorous stories. She turned, grabbed Wilfred’s arm and pointed in my direction.
I gave a sigh of relief as I saw her making her way towards me. I raced up the steps that led to the gazebo. Less than five seconds behind me was Mr. Mayfield, who was having trouble staying upright and swerving to and fro as the alcohol hit his blood stream. He was like a bloodhound after a rabbit. I tried to block him out and focused on Abby.
Wilfred teetered alongside Abby, drunk as a lord, guzzling his beer as he went. His eyes were red and bloodshot but Abby didn’t seem to notice any of it. She beamed like she was out for a moonlit stroll. It was, I must say, incredible, epic devotion.
Great, now both of our dates were blind drunk. How were we going to get home?
“Margaret,” Abby bounced up and down excitedly. The girl was practically doing a jig, “Isn’t this the most fabulous party? Heidi said that she was going all out but I had no idea. And to think this is only the first one of the summer! It is such a shame I will miss the rest.”
“Abby I’m sorry, but I’m tired, can we go home now?” I whined. I saw Abby’s shoulders droop dejectedly and I felt like a killjoy.
“You’re not having a good time?” Abby asked, concerned.
Guilt slithered down my spine. Did she know I just wanted to get home so I could write my book? Abby saw right through me, I was sure of it. I squirmed uncomfortably. I was being selfish, but I couldn’t help myself.
“I’m just worn out with all the wedding plans,” I fibbed. What a pathetic excuse. You would think as a writer I could be more imaginative. Her face perked up a little. “I suppose you’re right; it’s been a long day.” She turned to Wilfred. “Is it okay if we leave now, Honey?” her hand gently grazed his arm. I tried not to be revolted.
Wilfred nervously jangled the loose change in his pocket. He didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity. His face grew ashen. He was agitated, but why? A strange look passed between Thomas and him, and then, quick as a flash, they resumed their blank stares. A bit odd. It was a shame Abby wasn’t as astute as me. She never noticed anything bizarre about Wilfred. I couldn’t help but hope one day soon she would get her head out of the clouds and wake up.
Finally, Wilfred got his tongue back, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Sure Abby, that’s fine with me, whatever you want,” he croaked.
Abby beamed with pleasure. But I smelled a rat. Mr. Wilfred was being just a tad too cordial. The uneasiness I had felt all evening was growing stronger.
I grabbed Abby’s hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
6
It was a clear, mild evening and we decided to walk home. Actually it was more out of necessity, as both our dates were too drunk to drive. Mr. Thomas Mayfield and the future groom “Willy” zigzagged behind us. They mumbled incoherently and occasionally burst out in song. What song it was supposed to be, I couldn’t say.
I gazed at the full moon and wondered what the future held. I was so desperate to get my mind off this horrid date I was willing to get philosophical. It was really quite pathetic. Abby’s voice interrupted my musings.
“Oh Margaret, isn’t the sky beautiful? If I could have one wedding present, I would want to sit among the stars and feel what it’s like to light the earth’s sky.”
I smiled. “Kind of like one last adventure before married life?” I teased. It looked like Abby was getting philosophical as well.
Her eyes met mine. “I knew that you would understand Margaret,” she whispered.
We paused for a minute just to look up at the magnificent blanket of stars. She laid her head on my shoulder, just like she had done when she was little. It was a small gesture but it stirred up all kinds of emotion. I blinked, trying to hold back my tears, but they came anyway, the drops landing like crystals on my sister’s strawberry blonde hair. I sniffled and wiped them away quickly with the cuff of my sleeve.
“Margaret…” Abby paused. “There is something I have to tell you, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while. I know this is going to sound crazy but I had a strange dream that our Greek family has more importance that we realized. I was told that they have been powerful spiritual protectors of the world since ancient times. Our sole purpose is to protect someone they kept calling the healer. The healer is going to be born into our family and I know who it is…”
Mr. Mayfield’s loud, grating baritone interrupted her. “Abigail! Margaret! Let’s stop in here. It will be great fun.” He pointed a swaying finger at the tavern that we had never been allowed to go near; it was one of Daddy’s favorite haunts.
I was really irritated now; wasn’t this date officially over? “We aren’t going in there,” I retorted. “You both have had quite enough to drink.” I placed my hands firmly on my hips just the way Mama did when she was being stubborn. I cursed myself and let them down as fists to my side.
“We can’t go in there, Wilfred.” Abby’s voice shook a little. This was a side to Wilfred that she hadn’t seen.
“Don’t worry Abby, it’s okay. We’ll go on home and leave the boys to do whatever they want to do. After all, it is Wilfred’s last night as a bachelor.” I put my arm around Abby and cast a vengeful glance back at the two drunken fools.
Truthfully, I didn’t care if Wilfred had a good time or not; he was just plain getting on my nerves. At two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, he was marrying my sister and one of the finest women this world had to offer. I couldn’t help but resent him for it.
“Abby stay with us, Margaret, you too,” Mr. Mayfield said. “We have a surprise for you upstairs in the tavern’s private room.” He grinned, revealing perfectly straight, piano-key teeth that practically glowed.
“A surprise? For us? Margaret, we have to see what it is! I love surprises! I’m sure it will only take a minute.”
I glared at Mr. Mayfield. Why in the world did Abb
y have to be so gullible? I groaned inwardly. They were up to something and I really didn’t give a flip what it was.
I pulled Abby close to me and bent close to her ear. “Abby,” I hissed, “Are you sure about this? The boys are blitzed! It’s probably nothing.”
She wasn’t listening. Abby had completely given up her shock at seeing the unseemly side of Wilfred and was now speeding towards the door, leaving me in the dust. Throwing my hands up in frustration, I reluctantly stomped after her.
Wilfred held the door open to Old Mike’s Tavern and we all trooped inside.
“This better be good,” I grumbled under my breath.
Mr. Mayfield heard me and smirked. “Now don’t you worry your pretty little heads about a thing, we just want to make sure you ladies have a good time.” He shifted from one foot to the other in his prissy patent leather shoes as we all crowded into the entrance. Something wasn’t right; even drunk, Mr. Mayfield had been as cool as a cucumber up till now.
Inside it was smelly and dark; the walls were covered in brown-stained wallpaper and the floor squeaked as we walked single file over the grimy, thread-bare charcoal carpet. I could hardly breathe as the stench of tobacco, sweat and urine filled my nostrils.
Abby, as if reading my thoughts, whispered in my ear. “It smells like pee and smelly old men Margaret, let’s get out of here.”
“Agreed,” I whispered.
As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, I surveyed the room, searching for an exit. It looked like the only way out was the way we came in. Men were lined up like cattle along the bar, some already drunk; their heads drooped into their peanut bowls. Not one man noticed us or even looked in our direction. The sign over the bar that read Mike’s Tavern hung by a thread, dangling precariously over the bartender’s head as he moved from patron to patron, serving beers and whiskey.
Mr. Mayfield grabbed my hand and was squeezing it so tightly it started to tingle. Awkwardly, I tried to twist free but he had a locked hold on me. He thrust a damp handkerchief over my mouth and nose; I inhaled a slightly sweet scent. My head began to pound. Every noise was magnified, ice clinked into a glass at the bar and I felt for sure my brain would explode. I struggled to get away from him, but he kept the cloth to my face.
I heard Abby’s voice. It sounded muffled and far away and I couldn’t discern what she was saying. I needed to go outside and get some fresh air. But before I could do or say anything, the boys pushed us up a set of slippery stairs covered in beer and peanut skins. It was dark and I tried to keep my footing as we went upstairs but the chloroform was taking its toll on me.
When we reached the landing I managed to find Abby’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Sometimes being the big sister meant being the rock. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. Thomas escorted us down the hall and into a room that was so hot it must have been the attic. Once inside, Mr. Mayfield finally let go of my hand, knowing I was not in a state to run.
I tried to speak, but my tongue was wooden and dry. I could find no words. My body trembled in despair. I forced my tongue to move and whispered, “You can’t do this.”
He beamed his piano key teeth at me again. “Okay girls, here it is.” He flipped a switch and a putrid green light flooded the room.
I turned away from the glare. Thomas’s blurred face swam in front of me as he pressed the handkerchief once more into my face. I swayed, trying to stay upright. As I struggled for balance, I felt my legs crumple and awareness ebb away. I thought I heard Abby screaming, and a voice telling me it was all right, just go to sleep. I was powerless against that persuasive voice. I sank deeply into a dark void.
I awoke to daylight; its beams stretched their slender fingers through the slats in the tiny window above me. My head hurt and my body felt heavy and bruised. What had happened? And where on earth was I? It was too quiet, and this room seemed familiar. I lay there on the cold floor, willing my brain to work. I glanced down and found that my dress was torn and up around my waist. Blood was on the floor between my legs. My heart stopped. Events of the night before gradually started to return and come together like pieces of a puzzle.
Abby.
I slowly dragged my aching body up to my knees using a small bar stool. I looked around. Where was Abby? I still felt a little fuzzy but I seemed to be alone. I glanced down and my heart froze. Abby lay face down on the floor. I crawled myself across the room, not trusting my wobbly legs. At least it looked as if they had not had the time or the inclination to rape Abby. The throb at my center told me it had been brutal and evil.
“Abby,” I whispered. “Are you awake?” I shook her gently but she didn’t move. Nothing. I noticed her hair was encrusted with blood from a gash on the back of her head.
I got a surge of energy I didn’t know I had. I turned her over; her face was covered in blood where it had trickled from her nose, her eyes were open, pupils enlarged. I screamed. She had a grey pallor and her lips were blue. My fingers went to her wrist and felt for a pulse.
“Abby, oh my God, Abby. Breathe! Breathe!” She was so very cold.
“Abby please wake up. Please,” I sobbed. I hugged her to me and rocked her back and forth like a child. The tears fell like rain as pain arrowed through my heart.
Abby was dead.
7
The smell of Lysol burned my nostrils, I could hear people moving around and the sound of comforting voices. My eyelids were heavy and seemed to be almost sealed shut. I was lying against sheets that felt stiff and rubbed on my skin. Where was I? My head pounded, just as it had the night before at the tavern. The tavern…
Abby!
My body jolted and my eyes popped open. They burned and I had trouble focusing. I looked in a panic though blurry lenses until the small room gradually became clear. I saw that Mama was sitting on a chair near the window; she seemed very frail against the grey wall.
“Margaret, Margaret? I think she is waking up. Someone get the doctor, quickly!” Mama called out as she half rose from her chair and leaned forward to clutch me to her chest in a vice-like grip. “Thank…God…oh Margaret,” she sobbed. “You’re all right.”
“Mama? What’s going on? Where are we?” I croaked. My mouth was dry and pasty, as if I had been chewing on mothballs; I ached all over.
Mama sat back down in her chair, her face was pale. Her deep brown eyes glistened with tears as she held my gaze. “Margaret you’re in the hospital, something’s happened,” her voice caught in her throat, “Something terrible.” She pulled herself up a little straighter in her chair and adjusted her black dress to cover her knees. “There is no easy way to say this Margaret and I don’t know how much you remember darling, but there was a dreadful…” she paused as if searching for the right words.
I interrupted her. “It’s all right Mama,” I said softly.
“I remember; Abby’s dead, maybe it wouldn’t have happened if I had looked out for her more, it’s my fault!” I tried to sit up, but a searing pain through my left temple forced me back against the pillow.
Aunt Bette’s all too familiar raucous voice bellowed out from the doorway. “Don’t be ridiculous, where on earth do you get these silly notions, girl? You’re just stirring up trouble and upsetting your mother. Stop rubbing salt in the wound.” Her lips dipped into an unattractive scowl.
She came up through the room like a hurricane; her bright purple dress was so tight it barely moved as she made her way over to Mama. The grape color looked almost green in the artificial light, and made her wide, angled face sallow. She put a hand on Mama’s shoulder and gave her a comforting pat, even as she glared at me like I had just opened Pandora’s Box. I turned away from the judgments I knew were coming.
“Wilfred did it. Well, that’s what they are saying anyway,” Mama said, as she smoothed down her black dress and tugged at her matching coal-colored jacket. She opened the gold snap on her purse and took out her handkerchief before she continued. “He seemed like such a nice boy, so polite. The police ha
ve taken him in for questioning. He was seen running from the tavern. They were hoping you could shed some light on things. Oh, but it’s just so horrible…” Mama blew her nose. “Anyway, he is at the police station now. Oh God, she’s dead,” Mama moaned. Her sobs echoed in the hollow room.
I lay there helplessly. Maybe this was some horrible nightmare, or one of my crazy dreams. I would wake up soon. But one look at Mama and Aunt Bette told me this was no dream.
“When did they take Wilfred in for questioning? And what about Thomas Mayfield? He was there too. We all were…” My voice trailed off.
Mother didn’t answer.
I felt powerless and small as tears flowed down my cheeks; I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. Under any other circumstance, that would have made Mama so mad she would have shot right to the moon and chided me for having no manners. This time she just sat like a statue, a small forlorn figure who had aged twenty years in one night.
Not even my wild imagination could have known what this would do to Mama’s heart. Or to mine.
Aunt Bette snorted disapprovingly, but I saw the tears in her eyes too.
“Where’s Daddy?” I asked.
“He’s waiting in the car; you know he doesn’t do well in hospitals,” Mama replied as she twisted her handkerchief between her fingers.
Aunt Bette regarded Mama with an almost snobbish horror. She had no love for Daddy, so I could only imagine what she was thinking. I was surprised she held it in. Her restraint was rather impressive.
I sighed. For once, I agreed with Aunt Bette. It hurt more than I wanted to admit that Daddy wouldn’t come and see if I was okay. Deep down, I knew it was probably for the best. Daddy had the worst foot-in-mouth disease in South Carolina and I didn’t feel like breaking him and Aunt Bette up once they got heated with one other. Not today anyhow. Everyone was just too upset for that.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sink back into the black void where my thoughts disappeared and there was nothing but stillness. I longed for a dreamless sleep.
The Soul of the Sun (The Argos Dynasty) Page 3