Entangled Moon

by E. C. Frey

  “Ms. Westerman?”

  I still dance. Spinning is like breathing.

  “Ms. Westerman?”

  I am falling.

  “She’s still sleeping. She’s been dreaming all night.” Esperanza’s voice is silk.

  “We can come back later.”

  No. It’s important that I wake up. But why? “I-I-I’m here.”

  “Ms. Westerman. How are you feeling?”

  My body is broken, but I am more alive than I’ve been in years. I am more whole than I have ever been. I vanquished the bone man.

  “I’m fine.”

  He clears his throat. “The detectives processed your rape kit. There’s no reason for you to stay here. You’d probably feel better at home. Do you have any concerns?”

  Esperanza smiles at me. She’s reading my mind. She looks at the doctor. “We’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  I watch him leave. “Espy. I remember everything. We have to get to Heather.”

  “Yes. We’ll go soon as you’re stronger.”

  “No. Now, Espy. My attacker was looking for my coworker’s flash drive. He knew all about it. He took it. He works for AAC. The stalker, Paul—he saved me from dying in that . . . tomb. He saved me. He’s going after the AAC guy and the AAC guy is going to Connecticut. He has to get the flash drive to Michael Saxton, who also wants Heather gone. She’s the one who told me she believes Brandon’s mistress was murdered by this guy. And Heather’s walking right into it.”

  “Mariah, are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been more sure. He believes I’m dead, and Heather is the last and only thing standing in the way of Saxton’s’ plans. She’s the only thing that could blow the roof off his plans and she doesn’t even know it.”

  I want to go home. It’s time. It’s time to collect my dogs and head inland. A tear slides past my swollen eyes. But first we have to finish this.

  Esperanza releases my hand. “Are you up to flying? We could drive. I think there’s some unfinished business in Connecticut.”

  “Yeah, it’s time to finish it.”

  Esperanza leans over and hugs me. “You’re unstoppable. Most women would find a room to hide in. You’re my rock, chica.”

  “Love is a rock, Espy.”

  33 Heather

  “You have no right. You lured Shannon from my hotel room right under my nose? How dare you.” The tightness in my back from the ten-hour race up the coast sits in my chest.

  Brandon runs his hands through his hair, now unkempt. Deep circles crescent his eyes and midnight shadow darkens his complexion. He is a reflection of my unease. It was only a short time ago that we were the image of the perfect couple. Now everything is out of place, including his askew buttons. This is the same man who tried to kill me, but I want to reach out and caress his haggard face. He stares at me, his eyes haunted and watery. “I’m sorry, Heather.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For trying to . . . hurt you.”

  “Oh, is that what it was? Because I had the distinct impression you wanted to kill me.”

  He rubs his face. “No. I wanted to hurt you. You were hitting me with your questions when I had just found out that someone important to me was dead.”

  “You mean Tanya Garrison.”

  “Yes, I mean Tanya.”

  “But no one knew she was dead yet. How could you have known unless—”

  “No. I had nothing to do with it. I loved her. I had gone back to tell her that. To tell her that I would . . . I would leave you.”

  “That you would leave me. That wouldn’t be enough hurt? You had to wrap your fingers around my throat to prove your point?”

  “Quit skewing my words, Heather. I never meant to hurt you that way.”

  “No. The other way was less . . . hurtful?”

  “Look. We haven’t been a couple for a long time. I was deeply in love with her. I had been in love with her for several years, I just didn’t act on it until a year ago . . . but she was seeing Saxton too.”

  “Well, that must’ve been a chummy trio.”

  “I didn’t know it until later.”

  “So whose child was it? Or did she do the old eeny, meeny, miny, mo thing?”

  I don’t see his hand coming. My head spins. Blood trickles from the side of my mouth where he’s split my lip. Tears always come. Damn! I never see it coming. I could never see my mother’s coming either.

  “Get out! Get out, you son of a bitch!”

  “No.” He takes a step back. “You provoked me. I didn’t want to do that any more than I wanted to hurt you before. You provoked it. We need to talk this through.”

  All the old images ooze up like vomit. The taste of bile is foul in my mouth. I provoked it? What the hell does that mean, anyway? I have provoked everything in my life? Even when I was a baby, I was provoking the shit out of people? I can finally see it. They think they can transfer their weakness onto someone else. I won’t accept it anymore. It’s time to grow up and kick all the shit to the curb. Starting with Brandon.

  “We’re not talking anything through. Our lawyers can talk. Get out or I’ll call the police or I’ll call—”

  “What? You’ll call one of your loser friends?”

  “Well, if they’re losers, I’d hate to think of what you are. You’re a coward. So, fuck you, Brandon.”

  He moves toward me, aggression taut in his expression. “You think you can hurt me with your words. You hurt me every day I had to look at you. Every day I couldn’t wake to Tanya’s face and I had to wake to yours instead. I had to wonder if I had ever loved you. You were never anything but an empty shell, a piece of shit people could kick around. I felt shame when I looked at you.”

  I ball my fist into a punch and let it rip, but he catches it before it lands. His lips curve into a snarl. “Look at you! Little miss toughy. You can’t even fight back. You’re so damn pathetic. Who could ever love someone like you?”

  He disappears behind my watery vision. Anger defiles my senses.

  “There are more people who love me than love you. You lusted after a woman who slept with two married men. There’s no honor in your love. There’s nothing decent or good about your lust. You’re just a bunch of fornicators caught in a predictable situation. You couldn’t begin to have the authority to utter the word love. Now get out.”

  “This is my house. I’ll get out when I damn well please.” He balls his fists and moves towards me.

  “Daddy. What’re you doing?”

  Shannon. I don’t know when she crawled out of bed or how much of this she has witnessed.

  “Go to your room, honey. You’ll be safe in there.”

  “I don’t wanna. I want you to stop yelling.” She sobs and rubs her eyes.

  Brandon bends to her. “Please, honey. Your mommy and I have something to talk about. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I watch her run. She has already witnessed too much for her years. I was broken when I was a little girl. Fists and belts were the means of breaking me. But Shannon is breaking, too. Words and images are the method this time. I have to protect her. And I have to show her how to transcend those words. To stand tall and sparkle because of, not in spite of, what the world has to give. There is immensity in the universe and in the human heart, but there is parallel darkness too. It is important to break open the closed soul and render it to the open air. The darkness will have its play, but there is no need to be its prisoner.

  I lift the phone from the receiver and dial 9-1-1.

  I muster my most terrified voice. It comes easily. I know the rawness of my anguish and I use it and marvel at it—my actions are no longer under its spell. “Yes, my husband is here. He tried to kill me earlier.” I sob and whisper, as if in hiding. “He hit me. He’s trying to kill me now. I’m afraid. Please hurry.”

  Brandon frowns. Confusion mars his face.

  “Now’s a good time to run.”

  But there is no sound. The phone is dead. He cut the line.

  “What di
d you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. Is the line dead?”

  “Yeah. You have to have done something.”

  “No. I didn’t do anything.”

  “What the . . .” My words sink. There’s movement downstairs.

  Brandon turns to the stairs. I follow. It’s a force stronger than reason. He picks up his baseball bat. My cell phone is in my purse downstairs. “Do you have your cell phone?”

  Brandon turns and puts his finger to his lips. “No. It’s in the car. I didn’t think to bring it to our little rendezvous.”

  “Well, that might’ve been helpful.”

  “Now’s a shitty time to get some balls, Heather.”

  “Shhh.”

  We descend quietly, but the stairs creak. I’m not sure it matters. Something tells me our presence is already known. There’s something inevitable about this moment. I know it’s time to face whatever this thing is that has popped up in our lives. I try to sprint past Brandon but he catches my collar.

  “What the hell are doing?”

  “It’s time to face the music.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Something happened in our lives. Something that we’ve lived with, and now it’s time to face it.”

  “Who the fuck is we? It’s not time to face anything. Stay back.”

  “Oh, sure. Now you want to be my hero.”

  “What the hell has gotten into you?”

  “You and the world have gotten into me and I’m tired of being the punching bag. Move over, Superman.” I tear free of his grasp and start running down the stairs.

  “Heather!” he calls. “Get back here.”

  But I’m already gone.

  And I walk right into it—right into the barrel of a gun.

  “Well, Mrs. Collings. I’ve been looking forward to this little meeting. You and your husband are hard to find lately.”

  I recoil. “Who are you?”

  “I’m good friends with Michael Saxton, and he’s not very fond of you right now.”

  Brandon is behind me and pulls me back. All these years and he decides to be a hero when all is lost. But he moves toward the gunman. “I recognize you.”

  “I’m sure you do. I knew your little whore Tanya, too.”

  Brandon swings at him but the man parries and, raising the gun, pulls the trigger.

  Oh, God! No!

  But nothing happens. Dust swirls. All the rest . . . suspends.

  A voice, low and chilling, laughs from the doorway. The gunman spins around. But I already know who it is. I would recognize his face anywhere. He has walked in my dreams ever since that night in Sunny Hollow. I gasp and his smile turns forlorn. “I’m sorry, little bird. I swore I would never let anyone hurt you again. But I’ve been lost for so many years.”

  Brandon tackles the gunman, but the gunman lands a fist on Brandon’s jaw. Brandon crashes to the ground.

  “Daddy.” Shannon runs down the stairs.

  Please. Not her. “Shannon. Go to your room now.”

  But it’s too late.

  The gunman and I lunge for her.

  My nails scrape skin free from his face. He fights through my claws; he’s too strong. The sound of my head hitting the floor stuns me. But it’s just enough time for Shannon to run.

  It is a funny thing how the sequence of events becomes mixed up when all is in peril. When every truth you’ve believed in is shredded into a million pieces and you can’t piece the why back together. When all that matters is on the line, your mind squirrels away the nuggets for the winter. Later I will remember Brandon lying still, Shannon running, the sound of scuffling, a gasp, being pulled around. But all those things collapse into one: the look on the gunman’s face as he clasps his neck, the flow of blood from the gaping slash in his neck.

  And then he crumples to the ground and his eyes become vacant.

  I will always remember those eyes—those eyes as they moved from surprise to knowledge to nothingness.

  34 Heather

  Surrounded by my friends, I shift in my now-uncomfortable bed. My body is healing but my soul is cleaving in two, disunited by years of abuse. I’ve been standing at a precipice my whole life, dancing around its perimeter. Some people never move away. They become victims in perpetuam. All the strength I felt in my career was a farce. Has my job ever been anything more than a shield to the truth? I want to scream, but it won’t change anything. Maybe I was born that way.

  Esperanza is driving Mariah. They’ll be here soon. But how can I welcome them to my house when it no longer feels safe? It feels like an extension of someone else’s life. Paul appears when I least expect him and disappears just as quickly.

  He has cleaned up everything from last night. He moved the gunman to the man’s house. Or at least, that is what he told me. I should care. I just do not.

  He shared the truth of that night long ago in Sunny Hollow. We stayed up and watched the sun rise.

  I move as if in a dream, but Fiona and Eve are moved differently by the melting of their memories. They had woven stories that now have to be unwound. They create new ones as I lie in bed, in Brandon’s and mine. It is a bed of betrayal. I cannot move beyond that truth. I am stuck sinking into the too-soft mattress. I am in quicksand. I smile, but I cannot share their new vision of that night. That story is still too far away. It will not unwind as quickly without killing that part of me that keeps myself together.

  Brandon’s face, full of rage, keeps shifting in and out of my mind. People who were supposed to love me and people who were not—they’re mixed up in my head. Strangers protect me and family destroys me, nothing makes any sense in a world turned topsy-turvy. My world makes no sense. It never has.

  I was so in love with him. Or was I?

  Maybe I deserved to be betrayed.

  The sound of Esperanza’s voice climbs from the stairway—“We’re here!” Mariah will be behind her.

  As Espy hugs everyone, Mariah limps into the room. My heart stops. Some of the pieces fall together. Bad things happen to those you love and believe are strong. But then, love is not love until it is allowed to flex and spread in spite of the bad things.

  It is impossible to hold back all the tears that have been dammed up for years. Eve puts her arm over my shoulder. It feels good to be like this.

  Mariah looks questioningly at us, and I catch Eve shaking her head.

  No more secrets. No more hiding.

  “Why are you looking at each other that way?”

  Eve squeezes my shoulder. “We’re not. You’re under a lot of strain and the doctor wants you to rest.”

  “I’ve been resting.”

  Fiona looks at me. “Everything will be fine. Just like it always is.”

  Mariah gasps. “Nothing is fine. What are you talking about? You’re always in some rose-colored la-la land, Fiona.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re always taking me the wrong way.”

  Mariah takes a wobbly step forward before Esperanza pulls a chair over to her. She sits down gingerly. “How should I take it? Because if that’s not what you mean, why don’t you say what you mean?”

  “I know you think I’m superficial, but sometimes you have to imagine the glass half full for it to be half full. Anything else has to be a disappointment.”

  Esperanza smiles. “That’s actually so true.”

  Mariah shrugs. “You think my glass is half empty?”

  Fiona looks down. “I think you perceive it as being gone or misplaced.”

  I want to know. “How ’bout my glass, Fiona?”

  She considers. “I think yours is broken. Every time you try to fill it back up, it leaks.”

  Esperanza giggles. “Our philosopher.”

  The sound of movement downstairs interrupts our reunion. Mariah springs from the chair.

  Eve rescues her. “It’s Paul, Mariah. You’re safe. He won’t let anything happen to any of us. I promise. We never understood him. You were right. He was freeing
her that night. He saved her last night, too.”

  Mariah shakes her head. “I told you. He saved me from the tomb.” She looks at me. “Are you okay?”

  “You’re too much. I have a few bumps and bruises. You’ve been to hell and back and you want to know if I’m okay.” I reach for her but she winces. “I’m sorry, Mariah.”

  Mariah smiles wanly. “You had nothing to do with any of this. The man who abducted me wanted my flash drive and wanted to silence me.”

  “I know. He was here last night.”

  “He was here last night? I thought it was just you, Brandon, and Paul.”

  “No. He was here too. Paul intervened—he killed him. Then he took his body and put it in his house. I assume the police or FBI will do their magic and link his DNA where it needs to be linked, which will probably exonerate Brandon.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “Yeah. I don’t want him to suffer. He’s already suffered. He’s Shannon’s father. I would prefer it if we could find a way to make things easier on her. Besides, I think it’s time to bury my old life. It might be time to see a psychotherapist.”

  “To deal with some things you’ve never dealt with before,” Eve says, turning to Mariah. “To deal with post-traumatic stress. Might be good for someone else, too.”

  “To deal with everything.” I dig my nails into my palm. The pain gives me a measure of relief.

  “Stop hurting yourself,” Eve says, gently slapping my hand down.

  “I know.” Old habits die hard.

  Esperanza startles. “Where’s Shannon?”

  “She’s with Paul,” Fiona says. “He’s probably making her an ice cream sundae topped with fruit loops, chocolate milk with a strawberry Twizzler straw, and brownies with hot chocolate syrup. That would be my guess.”

  I laugh through my tears. “He’s incredible with her.”

  “Yes, he is.” Eve’s smile is like a caress.

  My friends are my strength. We will carry each other. I may have been born into hell, but I am not condemned to it. “I thought it was Paul. The other man had told me I was beautiful. I would’ve believed anyone who said something kind. But it was just a way to get to me. He’s the one who raped me. All this time, I didn’t remember. I just kept seeing Paul’s face because he was there, watching, like my mom. He didn’t stop it. I was sure he was the one who did it. He’s lived eternally in my mind. The mind does funny things. It makes you sure when nothing is sure. Sometimes, I even thought he was in cahoots with my Mom.”