You’ll talk about it someday. I silently answer her in my head as I dig into my cold slice of pizza. The rest of the evening we munch here and there while we watch television. All the while, I keep wondering about the thin, white line on her arm and where it must have come from. I’ve seen those kinds of marks when I was in the mental institution for a few months, but D’Salvatore never talked about his daughter having to visit one. So did she get help for her problem or did she just pick another spot to mutilate herself?
Chapter Seven
Anastasia
For the next three days, Jonah and I stay in the hotel suite while the police investigate my kidnapping, my father’s death, and the fact that my barn burned down. Somehow I feel like they’re all connected, but what the man asked me when he kidnapped me is still chewing at the back of my brain like an itch I can’t scratch. What tape was he talking about, and where did my father really put it?
Part of me wonders if the tape wasn’t in the barn, and that’s why it was burned down. But why kidnap me to ask me where the tape was? And if he was attempting to kill me, why would he start a fire in the barn and not the house? Frustrated with the questions rolling around in my mind, I close my laptop lid to find Jonah’s face on the other side.
He’s sitting in one of the leather chairs with his legs over one arm and his arm draping over the other as he reads a book. I never tagged him for the reading type, but then again, I don’t know much about him. The scene before me reminds me of a man who is completely comfortable with himself and what he’s doing in the moment. Like this, Jonah doesn’t remind me of a man on the edge who is about to lose control.
Each morning he gets up to take his medication like clockwork at seven. I know it makes him dizzy and a little nauseous because he refuses to eat breakfast, but it’s like he’s finally resigned himself to the fact that the medication does help. Maybe a part of him misses Tom’s injections into his thought process, but that part must be much smaller than the part that wants to have a semblance of normalcy.
“What’re you reading?” He flips one of the pages calmly as if he knows I was watching him this entire time. I see the hint of a smile play across his lips while he pauses his reading to glance at me.
“Slaughterhouse-five.” My brow furrows, and I slide off the stool to get a better look at the cover. Sure enough, it has Slaughterhouse-five across the front.
“I’ve never read it.” His shocked look makes me feel edgy, so I take a step back and flop back into a reclining chair to give him some space. Jonah gently puts a clean napkin in his place and leans forward with the book between his hands.
“Would you like me to tell you about it?” Part of me wants to say that yes, I want him to explain to me the book that he’s reading. But the phone in the room rings and I furrow my brows as I stand out of my seat. Jonah looks as though he’s about to reach for it, but I playfully grab it before he does.
“Hello?” I have laughter in my voice when I answer, which must take the woman on the other end off guard.
“Oh, Ana! Well, hello! It’s Mrs. Hash.” There is a pause as she puts something over the receiver. I assume that she’s either yelling or speaking with someone, and she doesn’t want me to hear. When she removes whatever is dampening the noise, I hear someone banging pots together. “I’m sorry for the delay. My nephew is over, and he’s quite a handful!” She chuckles nervously, and I smile into the phone.
“I understand, Mrs. Hash. Were you actually trying to reach my room or someone else’s?” I assume that she must be attempting to reach her brother or sister who must be staying in town.
“No, no honey! I was actually trying to reach your room. You see we’re having a little gathering at my home this evening, and I was hoping that you and Jonah could make it.” The fact that Jonah Quinton is staying with me must be all over town if Mrs. Hash knows. They’re not exactly on the up and up here.
“Let me talk to Jonah and see if he’s up to it.” His eyes meet mine when I say his name, and he looks quizzical. I put my hand over the receiver to block out my voice and pull the phone away from my body. “Mrs. Hash wants to know if we’d like to go over and have dinner at her place tonight. She said it’s some type of get-together or something.” He looks as though he’s uncomfortable with the idea of going out, but perhaps it’s the thought of having a home cooked meal that has him nodding in accession.
I quickly hold the phone up to my ear and pull my hand away before he can change his mind. I’m really in the mood for a home cooked meal too.
“Sure, Mrs. Hash. What time would you like us to be there?” I hear her trying to tame her nephew once more before she finally gets back on the phone with me. She apologizes, and I repeat my question to her with an acceptance of the apology.
“Well, how about five this evening? Everyone else will be arriving around six, but if you want to arrive early and make yourselves comfortable, that will be fine.” I heehaw around with my answer in my own mind for a few seconds, and then agree to be there by five. We exchange pleasant goodbyes, and I put the phone back into the receiver.
“She wants us to be there by five, what time is it now?” It strikes me as amusing that we’ve fit right into the role of being an item in the town’s eyes. I also feel a flutter of nervousness at that thought.
“It’s ten thirty. That leaves you plenty of time to get ready and fret over what you’re going to wear.” He has the book open again and flips the page after his sentence. Indignant, I cross my arms over my chest and lean my backside against the breakfast bar with what I know is a sour look on my face.
“Who said I’m going to fret over what I wear?” If he were well-versed in the tones of women, he would be smart enough not to answer that rhetorical question. But Jonah Quinton actually opens his mouth to respond, and what comes out shocks me to the core.
“You spent an hour and fifteen minutes in the bathroom getting ready yesterday, just because the pizza man was going to be delivering dinner that night. You spent only half an hour getting ready when the guy from the Chinese food place was coming by the previous day. I can only assume that you will spend three to four hours fretting over what you’re going to wear in front of all those people.” The first thing I want tell him is that he shouldn’t be paying attention to how long it takes me to get ready, and my second thought is that I was taking so long because I didn’t want him to think I looked ugly in something. It’s not really his words that shock me; it’s my reaction to them.
“I, well, maybe I just wanted to look nice for myself!” My face flushes with embarrassment at the words that just flew out of my mouth and my tone. The tone was too high pitch to be believable, and the words were absurd. I never took the time to make myself look presentable when I was at my father’s farm house, but at that time Jonah hadn’t kissed me like he did in the hallway only a few days prior to this moment.
“Right, well you might as well start primping now. Neither one of us have much to do today, right?” I want to tell him that he’s wrong; I have a lot to do today. My blog has been suffering, and the gig website I’ve been perusing is starting to wonder if I’m dead. There is a lot I need to do today, but I might as well get showering done and over with.
So with not another word more, I waltz to the bedroom door and turn around to glance at him before I slip into the small room. His eyes meet mine and a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips tells me he’s fighting a smile. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to spend the rest of the day getting ready!” I tell him, pointing at him for emphasis.
“Get in there and get ready, princess, before I come to the realization that I should have gone first.” He turns another page in his book infuriatingly slow, and I close the door behind me with half a smile on my face. I idly wonder to myself why making Jonah Quinton smile makes me happy.
He’s right, I take an hour and a half just to get my makeup on, brush through my hair and blow dry it with the tiny, cheap device I bought from the drug store down the street yeste
rday. I feel like some woman in a mystery thriller movie who is staying in a hotel room with a hot guy to stay away from danger. It’s too bad it’s not as erotic as I would like it to be, or exciting.
Finding something to wear to this excursion will be more difficult. I’ve used up all of my long sleeved items, and I’m forced to put on the sweat shirt I wore the first day here. I pull it off the hook on the inside of the bathroom door and slip it over my scarred arms. The tiny, white lines are a reminder of my own flaws and weaknesses. I tried to use creams and oils to get rid of the reminders, but they have never faded.
A doctor told me once they were too deep to fade.
After I’ve mentally prepared myself for the ridicule for wearing a long sleeved shirt again from Jonah, I slip out of the bathroom and into my room. I grab the bag with my dirty items in it and swing it over my shoulder. Then I slip on my shoes by the door without bending down, and open up the door to the main living area. He’s still on that same chair with the same book in his hands, but he’s almost finished.
“You read fast,” I tell him as I put my bag on the counter and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“You’re moving out already?” He asks jokingly, but I can see a hint of truth in that question when he looks up at me. I give him a rueful smile and sip on my water before I answer, making him wait.
“I’m doing laundry downstairs. Do you need anything washed?” As soon as that question comes out, I realize I may have overstepped my boundaries. We’ve developed a fragile friendship at best I suppose, but not one that would constitute me doing his laundry. Jonah must see the discomfiture on my face and shakes his head as he looks back down at the book.
“I’ll get it a little later, maybe tonight. You want a book to read while you’re down there?” I grab my trusty laptop bag from the living room area.
“No, I’m going to catch up on some work while I’m down there.” There’s this awkward moment where I’m standing there with my bag over my shoulder, the laptop case on the other side, and the bottle of water in my hand. I don’t know what to say to him, so I just start walking towards the door.
“Be careful,” Jonah says quietly to me without looking up. I feel the hint of a smile tug at my lips as I open the door and slip out.
The outside air smells like a town, which makes me miss the farmhouse even more. I can smell the scent of the doughnuts baking in the bakery downtown, and I can smell the exhaust from a car that needs a tune-up. I hurry down the steps to the first level and into the small laundry area for guests. Thankfully it’s empty, so I get straight to throwing all my clothes into a washer with a quarter. Then I rest my laptop on a bench and plug it into a wall outlet to keep it charged.
I’m typing away like a madwoman when the door pushes open, and the little bell above it dings. At first I don’t pay attention to whoever entered the facilities, and then I smell the cologne. My nose twitches once with my recognition and I hear the washer buzz to let me know it’s finished. I gently close the laptop and try to ignore the new laundry facilities patron, until I realize that he’s been standing in the doorway silently for over a minute now.
“You’re like a bad rash that I can’t get rid of no matter how many creams I try. I’ve told you I’m not selling my father’s farmhouse.” The eerie smile that Mr. Taylor always seems to reserve for me plays across his lips, and I feel my stomach flip over inside of me. The man gives me the creeps.
“Jonah Quinton or you mentioned me to the police. Do you know where I’ve been for the past three hours, Ana?” The tone in his voice is dangerously calm, and I realize that I’m alone in this room with him near the only exit. I try to act normal as I put my clothes in the dryer without losing him from my peripheral vision.
“My apologies, Mr. Taylor, but I did not mention your name to the police.” He looks down at his manicured fingernails and picks at one of them like a speck of dirt is of the utmost importance right now. I take a few steps back to get closer to my laptop.
“Oh, even if you had you wouldn’t tell me, sweetheart. I’m not stupid. No, I’m just here to deliver a message to you.” I wait a few heartbeats, and when he finally doesn’t answer me I bite the bait he’s dangling.
“What message and from who?” I lean down and grab the laptop from the bench, pulling out the charging cord gently.
“The message is from me, and I’m telling you to tread carefully. You don’t want to be making more enemies in this town than you already have.” He finally looks up from his nail with his frightening, angry gray eyes, and I close the laptop lid methodically. It would be a waste to have to break it over his head, but I’m willing to lose this afternoon’s work to defend myself.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I whisper. I wish my voice would come out stronger, but I’m terrified in this moment. Maybe I should just scream, but I don’t want to seem like a fool when people show up, and he’s not around. What if no one believes me? A tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers, Jonah would believe you, and he’d kill this man.
“Good day, Ms. D’Salvatore. I sincerely hope you don’t end up like your father did.” My skin grows cold at the barely veiled threat, or is it veiled at all? Before I can tell him to leave, he does just that. He disappears as quickly as he appeared in the doorway, and I watch him whistle as he walks back to his car, checking his cellphone on his way.
I should have brought my own cellphone down, and next time I won’t forget it.
For the remainder of my time in the laundry room, I watch the windows for any returning vehicles. My laptop is closed on the bench as I lean against one of the washers with my arms crossed. I won’t be in this room long enough for someone else to come inside and threaten me. By time the dryer dings to let me know it’s finished, I have come to a second conclusion. I will not tell Jonah about this because I know that it will only worsen the situation.
I stuff the clothes into the duffle bag as fast as I can, and jog up the steps back to the suite. When I open the door, I give Jonah a quick glance and a smile when I see him watching me. The look on his face tells me that he knows my smile is false, but I don’t stick around long enough for him to ask. I close the door to my bedroom and dump out my clothes, folding them as hurriedly as possible.
Then I begin to slow down the folding process when I realize I cannot just up and leave town, and if I fold any quicker I won’t have an excuse to stay in here and calm myself. So I take about five minutes to fold a shirt right, and collapse onto the bed with my head in my hands afterwards. I run my fingers down my face in an effort to get the chills to subside, but it’s not working.
A quick rap on my door makes me jump and yelp at the same time. Before I can answer him, Jonah opens up the door and slips in, closing it behind him again. He’s confused and looks a little perturbed at my avoidance for the past half an hour.
“What’s the matter?” I realize from the way he asks the question, he believes that he has something to do with what is bothering me. I suddenly feel a little guilty for not telling him about Mr. Taylor. Besides, he’s in the same suite with me and deserves to know if some kind of crazy mobster is going to knock down the door and pull off my fingernails one by one.
“I’m afraid for my fingernails.” I mumble as I look at the floor. The bed depresses next to me, but I don’t look up at his face. Will this conversation ruin the progress he’s made on the medication?
“Why, did you chip one?” I glance up to see the smile of amusement on his face as he looks down at my fingers, and part of me feels a little lighter.
“No, Mr. Taylor is going to send someone to pull them off with pliers.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I should have kept this to myself. His face darkens as his jaw clenches, and a tiny muscle twitches at the back of his jaw.
“When did he say that?” Even though he looks anything but calm, his voice comes out a little too sweet. My breath hitches as I clamp my hands between my knees to keep them from shaking.
; “When I was doing my laundry downstairs he came in.” I don’t have any more time to explain to him before he’s reaching for the phone on my nightstand, and I grab his wrist before he can call anyone. “What are you doing?” I ask him, trying to pull the solid, muscled arm back. It doesn’t budge.
“I’m going to call the police and tell them that Mr. Taylor has made contact with you and threatened you. This needs to end, Anastasia.” I plead silently with him to let go of the phone, and one by one, he makes his fingers peel back. When it’s safely in the cradle, I pat the bed beside me and wait patiently for him to sit back down.
“Nothing he said could be admissible in court, Jonah. Besides, it’s my word against his. The police already checked him out, and they must not have found a link. So maybe we should just let it go for now.” I just don’t want to deal with the police today, and I don’t want to provoke Mr. Taylor any more than I already have.
“Let it go?” I don’t hear the dangerous note in his voice until I open my mouth to agree. “He might be the one who burnt down your barn! If that isn’t enough, he could have hired that thug to have you kidnapped! He could have done so many things to you if you hadn’t gotten away!” His voice is growing louder by the second, and I just wish I could take my first words after returning from the laundry room back. I should keep Jonah out of this as much as I can.
“Jonah, calm down! Nothing too bad happened, and I got away. Besides, for all I know it could have been Mrs. Hash who tried to burn down my barn and maybe it was her son in law who is in from out of town this week who kidnapped me!” I try to get my breathing under control. “My point is, neither one of us have any idea who did either of those things.” Before I can go on, he interrupts me.
“You’re right, we shouldn’t go to Mrs. Hash’s this afternoon. Your kidnapper could be there, and what if no one is around to stop him from taking you again?” His words drive more fear into my heart, but I’m tired of being afraid today. I want a home cooked meal, and I want to feel normal for once!
My Kind Of Crazy Page 10