“Papa, Papa, Papa… Papa, Papa, Papa, Papa… Papa, Papa, Papa…” Jessica’s voice grew louder and louder as she struggled to break free from Arlette.
Carl Lind appeared in the hallway, “Arlette…” he said, in a disapproving tone.
“Oh, she’s being an idiot. I’m not doing a damn thing to her. I’m trying to get her in the tub before she freezes to death.”
“We don’t know her. Do you really want to set her off?”
“What are you afraid of, Carl? She won’t do it. You have nothing to worry your cowardly little mind over. They clearly taught her not to.”
“But the bird… this morning… the chairs…”
“Shut up, Carl. Go watch TV and leave me to do what I must,” Arlette dismissed him over Jessica’s shrill cries.
Arlette grabbed Jessica’s arm again, dragging her to the tub.
Sarah crawled methodically down from the bed. On all fours, she moved fluidly, like a panther descending rock, after wounded prey. She paused to look at Julien, his back against a jumble of drapes, eyes locked on her every move in the dimmest of moonlight. She inched closer to him.
Julien crouched there, praying it was just another dream, but knowing well, it was not. His back pressed to the wall, he looked for clues in her body language of what was to come, but Sarah’s demeanor was unreadable. He had nowhere to go when she reached out to touch his cheek. He turned away; his mouth so dry, he felt his throat might close.
Sarah caressed him, petting at his cheek then took his chin in her petite fingers and forced him to look her way. She stroked the side of his jaw, running her finger over his lips as she hummed softly.
All at once, it came to him; a vivid memory of what he had done to her in those final moments in the Victorian, and now, what she might do to him in return. He studied her expression, still searching for some sort of warning. She looked at him with a mingling of curiosity, disapproval and glee.
She took his hands into her own. Crouching before him, she held them and gradually tightened her grip. She looked into his eyes, angry with him and angry at those hands for having hurt her.
Sarah suddenly let go and Julien drew his hands quickly away from her. Her eyes, intense and unblinking, set on him, she slowly got to her feet. She looked down upon him now and her expression grew unmistakably cold.
“Sarah…” he paused, searching for what he could possibly say to appease her. He pleaded silently for her forgiveness.
As she stood over him, from behind her, a shadowy figure grew out of the darkness. Sarah turned away, stepping to the side and making way for Jérome.
Ed Bale arrived back at the precinct long after his shift had ended. He sat at his desk mulling over his conversation with Rachael as he dialed in for his phone messages. He was surprised to hear Julien’s voice.
“Detective Bale, this is Julien Grenier. I want to check in for the case. If there is anything turning up?”
Ed quickly hung up and dialed down to the floor below.
“Yeah, it’s Ed Bale, I need a line traced,” he checked his notepad, “came in about 6:37 a.m. today, on the same line I’m calling you from. Unknown number.”
The clerk placed Ed on hold for several minutes then returned to the line, “Detective Bale, the call bounced from a global tower off State Highway 23 on Tower Road, 1.9 miles South East of Kings Hollow, N.Y., Verizon, 607-555-1970.”
Ed fell silent…Kings Hollow.
“Detective Bale?” the clerk repeated, “Detective Bale?”
“Can you get Verizon on the line and see about the GPS, if they can give us a current location on that phone, then call me back when you have it.”
Bale thanked the clerk and hung up. He stared down at the notes he jotted in the car after leaving the hospital. For all of Rachael’s delusional tales, there was a definite connection to Kings Hollow, and Julien was there right now. Ed remembered his conversation with Matt, earlier that day. Matt had been positive Julien would not be involved in any trouble, but now, Bale was not so sure. Even a good, upstanding kind ‘a guy, can get himself mixed up in trouble, pretty easy, he thought.
He knew, going to his lieutenant with news that the father of the missing girl had left town, would look really bad for Julien. His phone rang and he grabbed it.
“Bale.”
“Detective Bale, the call from this morning was coming from Main St. in Kings Hollow, 1.1 miles from the tower, and they are currently unable to trace the phone. Looks like the battery has been removed.”
Ed shook his head and had all to do not to laugh—of course, Julien would think to remove the battery.
“Good enough. Thanks.” Ed hung up and grabbed his keys. He needed to get home, get a few hours’ sleep, and be on the road early.
CHAPTER TEN
Julien’s psyche, instantly thrust back to childhood, and with merely the strength of an undersized nine-year-old, he tried to scurry away. Jérome grabbed the scruff of his shirt and Julien knew there was use no use in trying to fight back. A flood of rapid fire recollections, visions of the subsequent nightmares and scars left by his father’s unbeatable strength; the pain, torment, and fear, all wreaked instant havoc on Julien’s confidence and all he could think of was Jessica. She was somewhere out there, afraid, in danger and counting on Papa to find her. Again, he attempted to get away, but Jérome continued to taunt him with his guttural laugher and threatening posture. He grabbed hold of Julien again and hurled him against the wall like a ragdoll.
Julien landed then curled himself into a protective ball. His fears were getting the best of him and he thought about Jessica again. He worried what would become of her if, this time, he could not get away from Jérome. He looked to Sarah, her hands clasped behind her back, bouncing her shoulders rhythmically off the wall. Her eyes, wide and wild, fixed on the exciting game she cultivated as his punishment.
Jérome’s fists, like two lead weights, came down upon him again, slamming into his back. Julien felt himself skid along the floor until he crashed into the wall beneath the windows, knocking the air from his lungs. He tried again to get up, but his movements were slow and staggered. He managed to get to his knees when Jérome came clomping toward him again. Julien, too afraid to lift his head and look up into his father’s dead eyes, watched as Jérome’s worn black work boots came to a halt before him. Julien tried to shake it off, pleading with himself not to black out. Jérome stood over him, momentarily motionless. Julien swayed from side to side, an odd sensation, like being suspended in space made him feel weightless. Vertigo muddled his brain and silence fell over the room, all but a high pitched ringing in his ears. He awaited his fate, knowing his father was not yet done.
Jérome lifted a scuffed boot and slowly stepped forward, resting the sole of his steel tipped boot on Julien’s right hand. Julien’s palm, now pinned to the floor, he froze, confused and incredulous. Jérome paced himself, gradually leaned forward and bearing weight on Julien’s hand. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late and, what little strength Julien had, failed him, as he tried to tug himself free. The crackling sound of splintering bone, grinding beneath his father’s heft, could be heard throughout the room before the pain had even registered. Not a sound escaped Julien as he dropped down onto his arm and struggled to pry the boot away with his other hand. The more he tried, the more weight Jérome brought down on his hand. Julien could not draw a breath as he grabbed hold of his father’s puckered pant leg. He desperately twisted and jerked at the material pointlessly. Powerless; shock showed him mercy and his body went numb to the pain. He collapsed forward, resting his forehead against his father’s knee. He silently awaited Jérome’s retreat, but it never came. He felt his body sway and he let go to catch his balance. The moment his free hand met the floor, Jérome stepped forward with his other boot, pinning Julien’s left hand as he had the right. Again the sound of crackling bone filled the room until Sarah’s scream mingled with Julien’s own. She had finally seen enough. The hands which had
hurt her, could hurt her no longer and she was done. She ran to Julien and dropped down beside him.
Julien felt Sarah wedge her body between him and his father. Jérome’s weight instantly dissipated and Julien collapsed onto his side in Sarah’s lap. His penance complete.
Arlette watched the snow storm from her view through the living room window. In the darkness, she could see only as far as the porch light’s glow, revealing windswept drifts, some four feet high. The side of her car sat engulfed in white and she worried about the new cherry tree saplings they had planted the past spring; their branches, now weighed down with ice. She caught sight of Carl’s reflection behind her, placing another log on the fire then poking it into place.
Softly, she muttered, “Do we have enough wood to last the next few days?”
“Em,” Lind grunted. He wasn’t sure, but he did not want to make a trip out back to check the stockpile they kept by the shed. “Are you worried about her?” he quickly changed the subject.
“I’m sure she’s at that house. Probably with him.”
Carl nestled into a leather recliner, the material making a god awful screech as he slid into place. He picked up a copy of Reader’s Digest from the end table then positioned his glasses at the tip of his nose before removing them again for a quick cleaning. He rubbed the lenses between folded layers of a throw blanket, resting over the back of the chair behind his head.
Lind brought the glasses back up to his face, “If they clear the roads by morning, we can go have a look.” He picked up the magazine again.
Arlette turned to face him with a disaffected gaze, “I’m not worried, Carl. She’ll be back. I’m just anxious for Jessica to learn, is all...” She moved to the couch.
Carl placed the magazine down, yet again; giving up on the prospect of reading. He had been biting his tongue long enough, sitting on his point of view for some time and awaiting the right moment to speak up.
“Lettie, we can’t just keep the man’s child…”
Arlette narrowed her eyes, “She isn’t his child. Their child’s dead.” She paused to reminisce and, for a brief moment, retreated into her mind.
Arlette returned to the present and huffed, “That pathetic, fragile little wife of his…she was raped, remember? They have no children.” Just saying the words aloud, satisfied her and took the edge off her disdain.
She settled back on the couch fighting a grin, “Without Sarah…without us…that child wouldn’t exist. Besides, what are they going to do with her? How are they going to handle what we went through in those early years with Sarah? …and in the city, no less?” She mumbled to herself, “Everybody in everybody’s business down there.” She shuttered at the thought of such intrusion. “He should be thanking us.”
Carl was not about to argue with Arlette, though he wanted to remind her that one call from Julien, would bring the police straight to their door. He didn’t bother to mention, he had picked up the New York Times, earlier that day. There it was, bold as neon sign at night, a photo of Jessica Grenier and the story of her abduction, decorating a half page spread of the paper. He knew Arlette would be quick to remind him that, with only one wish, there would be no police, no Julien, and, if he too, continued to push his luck, perhaps, no Carl. She would first need to get Sarah back home and under her control and, by the look of the snowstorm’s severity, he found consolation in the fact that it could be a while before Arlette could go after the girl.
“Casse toi!” Julien jerked away from her. “Just…do not touch me.”
On his knees, he shifted away from the girl and awkwardly scooted himself into the corner, in agony.
Sarah looked at the bed then back to Julien. She went to the fireplace and arranged a few split logs then worked to start a fire. Eventually, the ignited glow grew to a bright, flickering blaze and she stood up, rocking in the center of the room and looking around, nervously searching for something else to do.
Julien sat there, unable to protect himself and crumpled against the wall. He could feel her eyes on him. He couldn’t bring himself to look down at his mangled hands and he refused to give Sarah the satisfaction of looking her way. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the fire crackling; his heartbeat pounding in unison with his throbbing hands. He tried to rationalize his errors. What had he been thinking, returning to Kings Hollow?
How will you drive?
You can’t.
How will you defend yourself?
You can’t…there is no use to try.
How will you manage to find Jessica?
You won’t.
You can’t do anything.
You should not have come.
You should have told the police.
They will think you are crazy.
Julien, his eyes still closed, recoiled, startled by her touch. He tried to pull away, but any sudden movement only made the throbbing worse. Sarah ignored his reaction and dug into the pockets of his pants producing his cigarettes and lighter. She removed one from the pack and held it between her lips to light it. She took a drag then coughed. Julien caught himself about to discourage her then remembered, he really did not care. Sarah moved the peace offering to his mouth; as despondent as he felt, he couldn’t resist taking it. He snatched it from her with a harsh nip, turned away and sucked in a long, deep drag; the filter clasped, tight between his teeth. His head fell back against the wall as smoke filled his lungs and settled his nerves. Sarah tried to take it back, but he jerked away from her again, ashes crumbling to the floor. He felt the instant dopamine release take the edge off his heartache and closed his eyes again, shaking his head and desperately close to a bout of inappropriate laughter.
“You are angry that I use my hands on you. That I hurt you, when I was here the last time,” a guttural snicker escaped him, “and they say you cannot speak,” he added, exhaustion dulling his tone, already muddied by the cigarette in his lips.
He shook his head and his amusement gave way to sadness.
He sniffled and cleared his throat, “I think you speak very loud…very clear.” He took another long drag and more ashes tumbled down.
He looked at his lap, inadvertently catching a glimpse of his disfigured hands, marred by dried blood and deep bruising. He quickly looked away.
Sarah remained stoic, sitting in front of him, her legs folded beneath her. She watched him closely, hanging on his every word.
“Why do you do this to me, Sarah? Why are you here? Rachael said you were gone,” he sneered at her, “that she killed you.” He waited for a response he knew would not come then took a final drag off his smoke before spitting it to the ground at her knees.
Sarah subserviently picked it up and tossed the butt into the fire.
“The thing you like to do… That thing you trap me in... The device? That would be easier than this,” he admitted.
His sarcasm cut right through her and she winced.
“What the fuck are you looking like this for?” he roared. “You are fucking psycho.” He shifted onto his knees and leaned against the wall for leverage. He managed to get to his feet and step over her. The pain in his hands, kept him from standing fully erect and he guarded them close to his stomach. He paused, gritting his teeth, and then slowly came upright; too angry to allow her to win.
Sarah remained on the floor, her head held low. She stared down at the ground before her until she heard Julien reach the staircase, and then jumped up to follow after him.
It was dark on the lower level and she rushed past him to turn on the lights. Julien looked at her, repulsed by her eagerness to please him. Her ability to flip from sadistic to subservient, was profound and unsurmountable. He turned into the kitchen and she hurried after him turning on each light along the way. She ran to the counter and pulled forward the coffee pot.
“We’re not playing house, Sarah. Don’t bother,” he muttered as he stood staring into an empty freezer. He turned, leaving her behind and heading to the front door.
Using his
forearms, he managed to turn the knob. Hit with an instant gust of frigid wind, he looked out at the snow, piled higher than the porch. His jaw dropped and he realized, the flurries he had witnessed that morning, had become a full-blown storm, blanketing the Catskill Mountains, waist-deep. He stood, mouth agape; the Lexis buried to the door handles. He stepped out onto the porch, still protected by its roof. He approached, what should have been the steps, now concealed by white. A motion sensor kicked in and a generous portion of the area lit up. His body began to shiver, but he refused to go back inside. He stood, entranced by the shimmer of the pristine snow. An expanse of stark white, which would keep him from reaching his daughter.
He shook his head in disbelief; yet another sign his trip to Kings Hollow had been a huge mistake. In the freezing air, his hands felt like fire. He dropped to his knees on the porch and carefully slid his hands into the soft, icy snow. He heard her step up behind him.
Feeling defeated, he whispered, “You win, Sarah. The weather… I am trapped here again, anyway. There is no reason for doing this things to me.”
Sarah came closer and he felt the radiating warmth of her body beside him. She moved close; as close as she could come to his side. She wrapped one arm around his back and rested her cheek to his shoulder. Julien did not pull away this time. He did not have it in him to fight anymore tonight.
Sarah hummed and began piling more snow gently over his hands.
Julien felt his flesh begin to tingle then go numb and he was grateful to have the throbbing cease, but the numbness quickly turned to a burning sensation, as his hands began to freeze. He jerked his hands away from the snow.
The bruising was gone; his hands no longer disfigured. He clenched his fists tight, then opened and closed his fingers as they warmed. He felt no pain. He looked to Sarah, still humming, her cheek still resting on his shoulder. She lifted her head to look up at him, their faces just inches apart. She stopped humming and her blank expression transformed into a subdued grin.
WISHBONE II: ...Some Wishes Should Never Be Made Page 11