After the Fall

by Robin Summers

  “You having a good time?”

  Buck steps up beside me, sipping soda out of a red plastic cup.

  “Yes, sir,” I say. “The food was excellent.”

  “I’ll be sure to let Franny know. That’s my other daughter. You met Margie earlier.”

  I remember.

  “Franny is sort of the head chef around here, though she gets mad when I call her that,” he says. “She’s got some skill, though, I tell you. Mrs. Sapple, too. She does more of the baking.”

  Once again, I am engaging in unplanned conversation, despite myself. I can’t understand this sudden inability to control my mouth.

  “Is that the Mrs. Sapple who forced you all to number the doors?”

  “Ah, you heard about that, did you? I don’t think Tony’s ever been the same.”

  We lapse into a comfortable silence, just standing there watching folks dance. The party has picked up a bit, with most everyone now out on the dance floor. My eyes once again fall upon Kate, who is still twirling around the room with Dunk. I find myself smiling. I glance over at Buck, who is smiling, too. A warm blanket of contentment washes over me, and I fight the urge to shake it off, choosing to just let myself be, just this once.

  The music slows, an old Frank Sinatra tune that begs to be slow danced to coming over the speakers. Kate slides easily into Dunk’s arms, and while he keeps a respectful distance, I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Kate looks my way and catches me watching her. Shame creeps up my cheeks, and I feel the intense need to look away, yet I fight that need and keep my eyes locked with hers.

  Eventually, Dunk turns and the moment passes. I sneak a glance over to Buck, hoping he missed the whole thing. If he had noticed anything, he doesn’t mention it, although for a second I think I see him grin just a little.

  That’s when I notice them. The three men who had set off alarm bells in my head earlier in the day. They are off in the corner near the stage, surveying the scene. The man I presume to be the leader takes a long pull off his beer bottle, his eyes never stopping their scan of the crowd.

  I watch them watch everyone else, flicking from one dancing body to another. They are a pack of wolves silently stalking their unsuspecting prey, sniffing the herd for the weakest one to pick off and devour.

  Endless minutes pass with Buck at my side. As one song bleeds into another, the farm’s residents—oblivious to the danger I am sure exists—enjoy the night.

  I know it all sounds melodramatic, like some movie-of-the-week where the heroine senses the shiftless drifter is up to no good long before the town does, except I am no Valerie Bertinelli. No, here in this barn, I am definitely the shiftless drifter. I’m sure I’m overreacting, positive I’m delusional, convinced the intuition I paid too high a price to develop is malfunctioning somehow.

  Except I know better.

  Still, I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. It is not my concern. Rule Number Three. Yet I keep watching them, every sense I have telling me these three men mean pain.

  I notice the leader, who in my sleep-addled brain I have decided to call Sergeant Ratched, has stopped scanning the crowd. He has found his target. He holds out his beer to his comrade on the right, who takes it without a word. I follow Sergeant Ratched’s line of sight, which never wavers, across the room. I feel like I’m going to throw up every last bite of dinner. He is staring squarely at Kate.

  I stand frozen, my body failing to respond to the move! signal my brain is frantically tapping out. I watch Sergeant Ratched take one step, then another, his feet and legs working up to a purposeful stride as he closes in. In an instant, he is upon her, standing ramrod straight next to a still-dancing Kate and Dunk. He says nothing, as if he expects his mere presence at their side will be—should be—enough to demand Kate’s attention.

  Except it isn’t, and it doesn’t. From the way she and Dunk keep moving and laughing, it isn’t even clear she has noticed the tree trunk of a man staring intently at her from less than a foot away. Or maybe she just doesn’t give a damn. If I wasn’t focused on the way his eyes narrow the longer he is ignored, I would smile.

  His hand is like a sniper’s bullet as it shoots out and grabs Dunk’s shoulder, spinning him around and away from Kate. Dunk, startled, is still recovering from his sudden forced pirouette as Sergeant Ratched steps between him and Kate. I can’t see her face, but I can read the tension in her back. The interruption is unwelcome.

  From across the room and over the music, I can’t hear a damn thing he says to her, and I am no good at reading lips. Likewise, I can’t hear Kate’s reply, but the way she crosses her arms and cocks her hip, as well as the grin that appears on Dunk’s face from over Sergeant Ratched’s shoulder, tells me all I need to know about her response. Equally telling is the snarl that grossly curls Sergeant Ratched’s lips as he reaches menacingly for Kate.

  Without thought, I step forward, my feet no longer encased in a block of ice. My fists are ready weapons. Only Buck’s hand firmly planted on my arm, which hadn’t been there a second before, keeps me from charging across the dance floor. I look back at Buck, his steely eyes focused on Kate, Dunk, and Sergeant Ratched.

  “Wait,” he says, his voice even and calm even as his grip on my arm tightens. “Just wait.”

  I want to rip my arm away from him and rush in, all fists and fury. Instead, I find myself doing as asked, not knowing why but knowing enough to know I should.

  Back on the dance floor, in the few seconds Buck had stolen my attention, the residents of Burninghead Farm have stopped dancing long enough to gather around the unfolding drama. Dunk has managed to step between Kate and Sergeant Ratched in a noble, if ill-matched, attempt to defend her. As Dunk does his best to stand toe-to-toe with him, the other two members of the pack arrive to back up their alpha dog. They look all too eager to drag Dunk outside and give him a thorough ass-kicking. As if reading my mind, Sergeant Ratched gives the slightest of nods toward Dunk, and the two pit bulls advance on the outnumbered boy.

  Once again I surge forward, only to be stopped by Kate. She has put herself squarely between Dunk and the two advancing men, and my breath catches. I don’t even realize the music has disappeared until I hear Kate’s voice fill the room.

  “Look, Zeke,” she says, her voice steady and sure. “I’ve told you before, I’m simply not interested in you that way.”

  “But you’re interested in him? This runt?” the man I now know to be Zeke responds, his voice rumbling out of his chest, dripping with disdain.

  “It’s nothing personal.” She keeps her tone calm and gentle, like she genuinely doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. “I’m sure you’re a very nice person.”

  “No, he’s not your type either, is he?” Zeke asks, snorting as he picks up right where he left off. Kate’s well-intentioned words have fallen on deaf ears.

  “Why don’t we just forget about this whole thing? Go back to enjoying the party?” Kate offers, making one last attempt to defuse the situation. But Zeke will have none of it. He is determined to be a fuckhead.

  “He’s certainly scrawny enough—girly enough—to be your type,” Zeke hisses.

  “That’s enough, Zeke. I’ve tried being nice—”

  “Maybe that’s the problem. He’s not man enough for you,” Zeke interrupts, leering at Kate as he rakes his eyes down her body, lingering far too long on places it is clear he is not welcome to look.

  I feel shame, uncomfortably reminded by Zeke’s actions of my own actions earlier that day. Except whereas I hadn’t meant a single word, Zeke means every one. Not that it makes me feel any better.

  I am sure Kate’s skin is crawling. Hell, mine is crawling for her. But she doesn’t let it show. She refuses to give Zeke the satisfaction.

  “What you need,” he says, grinning perversely as he leans in to Kate’s body, “is a real man. One that’ll show you exactly what a woman like you should be wanting from a…partner.”

  “And you’re just the man to show me what I’v
e been missing? Is that right, Zeke? You going to show me how to walk the straight and narrow?”

  “That’s right,” Zeke says triumphantly, as if he really thinks Kate is buying into his crap.

  “Hmm, I see.”

  Kate’s hand comes up to her chin, the classic thinker’s pose, as if she is mulling over Zeke’s disgusting offer. Confusion crosses some of the faces in the crowd. Others, like Dunk, are grinning, as if they know something the rest of us don’t.

  “And what is it, exactly, you think you can show me?” Kate asks, both hands falling to her hips, annoyance and outrage flashing over. “How to be a conceited prick? How a big, strong hunk like you treats a woman like a possession just so he can feel like a man? How I should want to spend my life following you around, picking up after you, cleaning for you, cooking your meals and washing the skid marks out of your underwear and not speaking unless spoken to and making doe eyes at you while being sure to walk at least five paces behind you at all times? And I’m sure you have lots of ideas about how I should service you in bed, right? Tell you what, why don’t you drag me back to your room right now and teach me about being unfulfilled in the missionary position? Unless you just want to fuck me right here? But no, you wouldn’t want that, because in the three seconds you lasted everyone would know what a teeny, tiny, insignificant little dick you have, isn’t that right?”

  No one says a word as rage works across Zeke’s face. Even his lackeys are left speechless, their mouths agape at the way Kate has dared stand up to him. I swear I can hear Zeke’s heart pounding an angry rhythm in the silence. Or maybe it is just my own heart going into overdrive.

  Zeke’s anger explodes. Like a coiled snake, he strikes, his thick hands reaching for Kate. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, standing her ground with steely nerve. I pull forward, feeling Buck’s grip give way as he steps in stride, knowing I won’t get there in time to prevent whatever happens next.

  The group that had formed around Kate, Dunk, and Zeke moves forward as if with a single consciousness, the surging movement halting Zeke and forcing his two comrades backward. The crowd moves behind Kate in an unmistakably protective gesture that leaves no doubt whose side it is on. Dunk, too, moves in, placing his body next to, but not in front of, Kate’s. Clearly this is Kate’s show.

  Zeke’s eyes dart around the room. He is now outnumbered, and he knows it. His jaw sets in renewed rage, and I wonder if he is angrier that Kate rejected him, that she embarrassed him, or that everyone else has turned against him. Zeke turns tail and storms out of the barn, his two disciples following closely on his heels.

  As the men flee the room, so does the tension. Kate smiles gratefully at her friends, sharing hugs and laughter with some, while Dunk enjoys several hearty handshakes and a few solid pats on the back.

  I watch it all unfold, my fists at last unclenching as I blow the remaining stress out of my lungs. Buck walks into the crowd, squeezing a shoulder here and patting a back there. It is as if Buck is a boat gliding across the water, leaving only a gently rocking tranquility in his wake. I can feel the air calming around me, the thickness of fear dissolving like molasses in the hot sun. It only makes me angry all over again.

  “Bet this wasn’t the kind of entertainment you were expecting tonight,” Kate jokes dryly. I had not noticed her approach. I don’t respond, too busy trying to rein in the images that have started exploding in my head.

  “Taylor?” she asks, her voice softening with concern. I do not look at her. Instead, I try to concentrate on my breathing, on the simple act of inhaling and exhaling which suddenly seems so impossible, like trying to breathe through a straw at 20,000 feet. Images flash in rapid succession, of bruises and blood and tears and pain and fear so real I start shaking.

  She places her hand on my arm, and it is enough to break me.

  “What in the hell were you thinking, mouthing off to him like that!” I shout.

  Kate takes a slight step back, startled by the venom in my voice. Confusion flickers across her face, but it is quickly replaced by understanding. She almost smiles.

  “I’m fine,” she says, squeezing my arm. “It’s all fine.”

  “What do you mean, It’s all fine?” I seethe. “That sonofabitch nearly—”

  “But he didn’t,” Kate says, her serenity only enraging me further.

  “But he could have—”

  “But he didn’t,” she says, enunciating each word with infuriating precision. I start to repeat my point. In my mind, it is the only point that matters. Kate fixes her gaze on me as if she is willing me to calm down, willing me to concede the point. That pisses me off even more.

  “People don’t always need rescuing, Taylor.”

  Those words ignite a firestorm in my mind. I see her lying on the floor, gasping for air. I see Dunk being dragged outside, moaning in the grass while they beat him. Bodies lying broken, women cowering in corners, my bloody reflection in the water, Kate being dragged out of the stall next to mine, screaming…

  I am losing my grip, unable to distinguish between reality and memory.

  “I could have helped you.”

  “But you didn’t need to—”

  “I should have helped you.”

  “But, Taylor—”

  “I should have saved you!” I scream, the desperation in my voice startling me, just as it does everyone else. I can feel the room’s gaze upon me, feel the weight pressing down, but I can’t meet their eyes. I am in it now, caught up in a past more real than anything in this room.

  “Oh, Taylor.”

  Kate’s voice has a quality about it, like walking across hallowed ground, that means she knows. The details don’t matter. She knows just the same.

  Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

  Chapter Nine

  Duncan stepped up next to Buck, his attention drawn by the shouting. He was not the only one. What had been a spontaneous celebration of their courage had quickly faded, leaving a silent crowd to witness whatever drama was unfolding now.

  “Buck?” Duncan asked apprehensively, unsure not only of what was happening between Kate and Taylor, but also about what they should do about it.

  Buck stayed silent, his only acknowledgment a swift shake of his head. His eyes were riveted on the new battle being waged on the far side of the barn. He stepped forward, his face drawn with concern. Buck’s reaction only unnerved Duncan more.

  “I should have saved you!”

  Taylor’s face was a mask of horror and ashes, her voice strangled and hollow. Her eyes were wild, searching the ground around her, the roof, the walls…for refuge or escape, Duncan was not sure. Taylor was a spooked mare, full of terror and power. Duncan just wished he understood why.

  While Taylor’s eyes were full of fear, Kate’s were brimming with compassion. Duncan saw Kate’s lips move but could not make out the words. Whatever she said, though, had an effect. Taylor was backpedaling, turning and stumbling and diving for the door, like she could not get away from Kate fast enough. The heavy wooden door banged shut behind her, plunging the room into an eerie silence that overshadowed the Norah Jones tune flowing from the speakers.

  “Buck?” Duncan requested again, still unsure, still uneasy.

  Buck said nothing as he started to move, and Duncan followed. They went to Kate, who was still staring at the door after Taylor.

  “What happened?” Buck asked, looking back and forth between Kate and the door.

  “She has a lot of pain,” Kate said after a long moment, turning to face Buck and Duncan.

  Buck nodded. A look passed between Kate and Buck, one Duncan could not know but which told him they understood. Duncan, however, was still confused.

  “Yeah, but what happened?”

  The question was directed at Kate, who looked like she did not want to answer. Buck stepped in.

  “It doesn’t matter, Duncan.”

  Duncan did not like the direction this was heading. Had he not just proven himself? And now here they were, K
ate and Buck, cutting him off like he was some little boy asking for more ice cream.

  “What?” Duncan asked incredulously. “Of course it matters.”

  “Duncan,” Buck said warningly.

  “Stop treating me like a kid,” he said, his ire rising. “If Taylor’s going to be part of this farm—”

  “She’s not.”

  That caught Duncan off guard, although whether it was the idea that Taylor would not be staying or the flatness of Kate’s tone, he was not sure.

  “She’s not staying,” Kate said to both of them. She seemed sad, but resolved.

  “Did she say that?” Buck asked quietly. He seemed sad, too.

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know?” Duncan asked angrily. “Are you reading minds now?”

  Buck did not give Kate a chance to answer.

  “I know you like her, Duncan,” Buck said, placing a firm hand on Duncan’s shoulder. Duncan wanted to shrug it off, but he refrained. He knew he was being a brat, living down to the expectations people seemed to have of him. “So do I. But I guess she’s got some…things to work through. And I don’t know that she can do that here.”

  “What if we helped her?” Duncan asked, unable to keep the childlike hope from creeping into his voice. Taylor was the first person besides Kate that treated him like an actual person, even if she was a bit standoffish. He glanced over at Kate, noticing the hopeful glow in her eyes.

  Guess I’m not the only one who wants her to stay.

  He could not help but feel just a little bit jealous.

  “It’s not our decision to make.”

  Duncan thought he detected just a bit less conviction in the older man’s voice. He decided to push his advantage.

  “You’re always telling us we have to be there for each other, support each other.”

  Buck seemed to be considering Duncan’s words, and the hint of a smile on Buck’s lips told Duncan he was on the right track. He swore he could feel Kate willing him to continue, to succeed.