by Regina Doman
The woman slammed her fist into the table with vehemence. “I knew this would happen. I knew it, as soon as you started visiting him.” Suddenly she glared at the girl with virulent hatred and growled in a deep, strange voice. “I’m sick of your games. I’m sick of it!”
Sweat was standing out on the woman’s forehead. The girl knew instinctively that something was wrong with her, very wrong, and tried to run for the door. But the woman lunged at her shoulders, threw her down on the table, snatched up the scissors, and held them to the girl’s throat like a dagger.
Pinned down, gazing at the shining silver blades, the girl struggled to stay calm as her heart painfully skipped. The woman leaned over her, hissing, her pupils large, dark holes of emptiness. “I’m so tired of your games, your lies, your little—”
“Let go of me,” the girl tried to speak calmly. “Let go of me, Mrs. Fairston, you’re not well.”
For an answer, the older woman shoved her to one side, and the girl fought out of her grasp and tried to move away. But the woman snarled and pinned the side of her head down to the table.
“I’ll teach you to try to steal my husband,” she breathed, and drove down with the scissors open.
There was a horrible smack right next to her head, cold steel against the back of her neck, and the girl screamed into the woman’s gloved hand. With a tremendous effort, she rolled away and fell off the edge of the table on the floor, light-headed and dizzy.
“Stay away from my husband!” the woman rasped. “Not so beautiful now, are you? What are you, but a conniving little tramp—”
It took a moment for the girl to realize what had happened, and that was only when she saw her braid spilling onto the floor from the table. Her hair was gone. Mrs. Fairston had cut off her hair. The black rope tumbled to the floor like a dead thing.
The woman stood over her, breathing hard, her eyes glazed over, her jaw twitching. The girl became aware of a nasty sound. Mrs. Fairston was grinding her teeth, over and over again. The girl’s spine shriveled at the noise.
Suddenly the woman moaned and buried her head in her hands. She looked down at the scissors and then at the girl, and seemed to recollect herself.
Sinking to the ground, the woman crawled to her, seized her head, and patted it frantically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that—I don’t know what came over me—This has been so hard on me—all this with Jack—I’ve said things I didn’t mean to say—it’s the stress—it’s crushing me—”
She drew Blanche to her feet, picked up Blanche’s purse, and pushed it into the girl’s hands, all the while gazing into her eyes. “But Blanche, stay away. Stay away.”
Trembling, the girl got to her feet, her cut hair disheveled and falling over her face, but not taking her eyes off the older woman, who had started to smile again at something that wasn’t there. The grinding sound began again. The beautiful woman was staring at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling and grinding her teeth with a horrible smile on her face.
The girl’s hands grasped the door, opened it, and she fled down the shadowy corridor, like a rabbit running from a mad dog.
She turned a corner and tumbled into his arms. He caught her by the shoulders and she found herself looking up at him. The big man. The stalker.
“Please, let me go,” she whispered, struggling and realizing that she was immobilized. “Please. I need to go home. Please.”
It was the oddest thing in the world. Something changed on his face and he released her with a mumbled, “Excuse me.” She didn’t know why. Maybe he didn’t recognize her, with her hair short, in the dark corridor.
For whatever reason, he let her go and she shot away, not trusting for a second chance. Even though she realized she had forgotten her backpack, she wasn’t going back to get it now. Her only refuge was the night.
Through the night she darted, her feet pounding the sidewalk, to the train home.
It was only when she had left the train and gotten on the subway that she opened her purse and discovered the bills hidden in the bottom. Thousands of dollars in her purse. At first she wondered if it was a bribe. And then she realized what had just happened. Her actions had transformed her into a criminal. She was trapped on the other side of the looking-glass.
II
“That’s Ecstasy,” Leon said, touching the pills.
“And quite a bit of it,” Brother Herman said. “How—?”
Nora sank to the ground, a defeated look on her face. “Are you going to turn me in?” she whispered.
“Hold on!” Leon said, pulling her to her feet. “Nora, what’s going on here? What do you mean?”
Nora gave a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. “I’m not sure I can explain. I don’t know if I understand it myself. First it was the money. I mean someone planted thousands of dollars in my purse—that’s what was stolen on the subway. Now, it looks like I’m being framed for drug possession.” She took a deep breath. “That’s why Bonnie knocked me out with the choker. She was planting the drugs here. I bet she put them in my room too.”
“Why would she do that?” Leon asked.
Nora avoided his eyes. “I don’t know exactly why, but she’s been trying to ruin me. She must be connected to the money thing, too, somehow.”
“So she wasn’t here to take something—she was here to leave something,” Brother Herman said.
Nora looked from one to the other. “Do you believe me?” she asked, almost incredulously.
Leon understood what she was asking. After all, she was a stranger in the wilderness of the City where it was normal to lie, cheat, and steal. He took a deep breath. “I believe you, Nora,” he said simply.
“I don’t know if you should. I could be a con artist. I could be tricking you all—” Nora rubbed her eyes. “Oh, this is irony. I used to be the one who didn’t trust anyone. If I were you, I would throw me out right now.”
Brother Herman laughed. “We specialize in foolishness around here,” he said, and patted her shoulder. “We believe you.”
“And, of course, we still want you to be Mary in the play for the Assumption celebration tomorrow,” Brother Leon added, folding his arms. He couldn’t resist teasing. “If this was all a stunt you pulled to get out of the part—”
She had to laugh. “No, no, it’s not.” Then she burst into tears and she sobbed. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You’re going to think this is silly but—you all have saved my life.”
III
Bear tried to thrash himself backwards, but the man had him pressed down against the rocks by the neck.
“You going to talk?”
“Maybe if you let me go,” Bear managed to say.
The man released his neck, and Bear, aching from the fight, twisted around in the handcuffs. He could see the man was pointing a heavy revolver at him. “Who are you?” Bear demanded.
“If I wanted you to know, I’d have worn a name tag,” the man leered at him. “Heard about you. You call yourself the Bear, right? Going down for two counts of drug possession. Caught red-handed in your apartment. Stupid of you, kid.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’ve got my sources. So why are you following me, Teddy-Bear?”
The anger inside Bear welled up dangerously and he leaned forward. “Where is Blanche Brier?”
The man was momentarily thrown. “Who?”
“Don’t fool with me. You’ve been stalking her. Admit it.” Bear demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said derisively.
Bear was mad enough now to not care. “Yeah sure you don’t, liar. You’ve been following her. And she’s missing. What did you do with her?”
“Who you calling a liar?” the man squeezed Bear’s face. “Listen, freak, you better not accuse me of stalking. I don’t mess with girls that way. Especially not girls like that—”
“You do know her, don’t you?” Bear said quietly. “Why were you following her? If your motives were honorable, you
shouldn’t have a problem telling me that.”
The man’s face was still unreadable, but he paused. Then he pulled Bear off the tracks away from the live cable and rolled him backwards against the base of the archway dividing the tracks. Bear kicked at the rocky ground to shove himself upright and fixed his eyes on the man’s face.
The man said briefly, “She’s a drug courier.”
“Then you’re an undercover cop,” Bear said. “Or else, why would you care?”
“Oh! Smart kid. I used to be an undercover cop, but my work was a bit too creative for the NYPD.”
“You’re a private investigator?”
“Close, Ted. Let’s say I’m a freelancer.”
“Why do you think Blanche is a drug courier?” Bear asked.
“You should know that better than me, freak,” he said. “Heard you were the supplier for the drug ring at the banquet hall and you were using her for delivery work.”
Bear asked scornfully, “I suppose an anonymous source told you that, right?”
“So?” he returned. “We get anonymous tips all the time.”
“So you’ve been stalking Blanche—oh, pardon me, shadowing Blanche—to find out if she was delivering drugs for me. You found lots of evidence, right? A girl who spends her spare time visiting nursing homes? Come on. If you’re really an old hand at this, you can’t tell me she fits your profile.”
The man was unmoved. “They did find drugs in her backpack, and at other drop-off points.”
“Did you ever see her actually handling or dropping off the drugs? Anyone could have put them there. Did it ever occur to you she would be a terrific fall girl for a real criminal to use?”
“Yes, actually, it has occurred to me,” the man conceded grudgingly.
“Well, you scared her pretty badly. She told her co-worker she was being followed and then, not long after, she just vanished the night of the masquerade ball. Then you showed up on my tail, and her co-workers fingered you as the guy who had been following her around, and who they saw in the corridors the night of the ball.”
“My source said she was going to be picking up a large shipment that night. I was going to intercept her.”
“Oh, so did you? Did you catch her making a transaction?”
“No. But the police found the drugs. Same as last time.”
“But you didn’t actually see her doing anything with them?”
“No.”
Bear could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “So why are you spending so much time investigating a pretty unpromising rumor? Or are you new to this job after all?”
The man put his face close to Bear’s. “For your information, the next time the source called, I told them not to waste my time.”
“You mean you were starting to think that maybe Blanche was innocent, and that someone was trying to set her up?”
“Yeah. The whole thing was just a bit strange,” the man said. “Besides, I got new orders to keep an eye on you, as we were told that you might bolt town. That’s what I was doing when you started getting too nosy.”
A rumble turned into a roar as a train sped by in the tracks to the far left. The man clapped his hands to his ears, and Bear huddled against the pillar, trying to shield himself from the noise. Moments later, the train was gone.
The man shook his head, and pulled Bear to his feet. “Okay, start walking. The name’s J.D. Hunter. I work for the Drug Enforcement Administration and I’m taking you in.”
“In? For what?”
“For assault.”
Bear snorted. “Oh, sure, like I assaulted you. As I recall, you started it.”
Hunter gave him a hard look. “You were sneaking up on me in a dark tunnel. I was finding out what you were up to.”
“I didn’t understand your curiosity,” Bear said evenly. “I was just defending myself.”
“When you hit back, I was sure you were armed,” Hunter said reflectively. “But then you didn’t have a weapon. You either have a lot of guts or a lack of brains to fight that way.”
“It’s the way I learned in prison,” Bear said. “We didn’t have weapons there.”
“Oh! Prison!” the man said. “Didn’t see that on your record. Juvenile record?”
“It was wiped clean. I was locked up on false charges,” Bear said. “History lesson. You don’t have time to hear it now.”
Hunter looked him over again. “Some history. You just go looking for trouble?”
“Not unless I have to. But you were my lead to find Blanche. I didn’t know if I’d have another chance to find out where she is,” Bear said. “Her family and I have been searching for her for almost a week.”
The man paused. “Look, I told you I didn’t feel right about the allegations against the girl. You—I still don’t know about you. But you’re right—the girl just isn’t the type. I’m willing to let this pass, for now, despite the charge against you. But I warn you, it’s more because of her than because of you.”
“I understand,” Bear said.
Hunter undid the handcuffs, and Bear rubbed his wrists. “You better not make me regret this, kid,” the agent warned.
“I won’t,” Bear said.
“And some professional advice: next time you follow someone into a dark tunnel with no weapon on you,” Hunter paused before he started to walk away, “turn off your cell phone.”
Bear felt his face grow hot, but he nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for the tip.”
Hunter made his way out of the tunnel, but Bear, too embarrassed to see the man in daylight, pulled out the offending phone and called Fish.
Chapter Eighteen
He will have pity on the weak
And save the lives of the poor.
She knows where I am, the girl thought to herself, as she toyed with the faded red ribbon on the prayer book as the friars intoned Evening Prayer. So why doesn’t she just call the police and have me arrested?
She must be afraid to, because she thinks I know too much.
So what is it that I know?
After prayer, she tentatively made her way down the aisle, step by step, to the sacristy. There she leaned against the closet door and looked at the Sisterhood, standing quietly in the sunset-colored light.
What should I do?
Again, she walked among the statues, feeling a surge of affection for the dilapidated images. In this place where she had no female friends, they took the place of womanly comrades. She remembered how Brother Leon had been singing to the statues, and pondered that. From the back corner, the woman with the lyre beckoned to her with outstretched palm, and Nora went up to her and looked in her frank glass eyes. On the plaster hand lay the white medicine bottle that the girl had taken from Mr. Fairston’s room.
Perplexed, the girl picked it up again, remembering that she had put it there the night she had come to the church during the rainstorm and talked to Brother Leon. She looked at the bottle again. No label, and two white pills inside. If I had more nursing experience, maybe I’d understand what this is, she thought to herself. Sighing, she put it back in the hand of the saint’s image. Hold onto it for me just a bit longer, St. Cecelia. Thanks.
Frustrated, she put her hands in the pockets of her jeans and felt around for her door key.
It was gone.
Worried, she checked the chain on her neck, but there were only two keys on it, the key Bear had given her to St. Lawrence and the key to the Fairston home. No, she was sure she had put the door key right back in her pocket last time she had used it, right before she had encountered Bonnie…
….So she did take something after all.
That means she’s planning to come back.
II
“Nora, you have got to be even more careful,” Leon said to her when she told him as they were going into dinner. “Have the dogs sleep in front of your door, okay?”
“Okay, I will.”
He felt frustrated with her, that she wouldn’t tell them more about what her situation was. She
had told them some of her story, but clearly, not everything. Now I have to take my own advice, he said to himself. Trust.
It was Saturday night, and according to the Church’s liturgical calendar, Sunday had begun. It was also the eve of the Assumption, and an air of festive solemnity reigned. After dinner in the refectory, the community gathered in the library together. Father Francis gave Nora a seat on the rocking chair, and the others sat around in various places. Brother Herman passed out cups of tea and the inevitable day-old baked goods.
“Nora,” Father Francis said, “would you consider going to the police about this whole matter?”
“Believe me, I’ve been wondering that again and again,” Nora admitted, pushing back her hair. “But I think I need to wait.”
“What are you waiting for, if it’s not too much to ask?” Father Francis queried, putting down his tea.
“Well, for one thing, my family should be home from vacation on Tuesday. But more than that even, I’m waiting for someone,” she said steadily. “My boyfriend. He should be back from Europe soon, and I’m pretty sure that he’ll know what to do. He’s kind of been in this situation before.” She looked at Brother Herman. “And I’ve decided to believe in him.” The white-bearded artist friar smiled.
“All right,” Father Francis said, and lifted his cup back up to his lips. “You tell us if you need any help before then.”
“Can I ask you all for your opinion on something?” Nora said abruptly, staring at her teacup. “I’ve been debating about whether or not to finish college. Because—well, I guess I’m thinking about that M.R.S. degree,” she admitted, blushing. “I know everyone says I’ll regret it if I don’t finish, but I just don’t know if it’s—my path.”
“Then continue to pray about it,” Father Francis said. “I can’t tell you what’s right for you in this matter. But both going to college and getting married are huge decisions you shouldn’t let yourself drift into, or choose out of fear or impatience. Take your time. Think deeply about what you want and what God is asking you.” He took another sip from his tea. “I can tell you that it is not impossible that God is calling you to take this step. He often calls us to take steps that seem foolish to the world. But you have to pray and choose carefully.”