Shattered Pearls

by Sidney Parker

  It wasn’t a movie or a crazy mystery I was reading, this was my life. Someone was after me and for the love of God, I had no idea who it was or why.

  EMILY

  My tiny world grew silent again. No sign of anything at all for two weeks. He was playing a demented game of cat and mouse with me but I didn’t know what the rules were. The unknown kept me on edge twenty-four hours a day.

  I wished I could believe he had given up and left, that by having the police around so much it had scared him off, but I didn’t think so.

  It would start up again. It was part of his game: scare the hell out of me, then retreat, keeping me afraid all the time. I would give my soul for a full night of sleep. I tried to push it from my mind, but it was like an irritating itch traveling around your body to places you couldn’t quite reach, always there, never leaving you alone for more than a minute or two.

  I dissected every single date I had ever been on, at least the ones I remembered, and nothing. The girls and I made lists. We searched the Internet on where they were now and what they were doing. I even contacted a few of them, but I couldn’t come up with anyone.

  Steve’s murder still freaked me out. I didn’t have a lot of the details, but what I did know had made me run to the bathroom to throw up more than once. I kept asking if this was my fault? Could I have prevented it somehow? But there were no answers. I moved here to get away from pain and start over. Now Phoenix had become my own little hell where I was afraid to go out by myself.

  Tom let me know what he could on the murder investigation, but they had not formally connected my stalker to his death … yet. Lack of evidence. Tom and the others thought it was related but it seemed to have come to a complete standstill. His killer left nothing behind, no fingerprints or clues of any kind. It was almost as if he had done this kind of thing before. If it was the same man who was watching me, it was terrifying because he was getting away with it.

  I was back to staying home alone most nights again. Having roommates was fun but I also loved my alone time with just Lucky and myself. Between the cameras and the alarm system, I wanted to believe I would be okay.

  George was always home now, and I saw the police cars going by 24/7. I should be safe, but I didn’t feel it, not really. I wasn’t sure if I ever would again.

  I started writing again … every day.

  It was my biggest escape from my crazy, scary life right now.

  With all that had happened in the last year I had so many stories playing out in my head. I decided to go with it and see what developed.

  Elliot was still the hero in every one of them. I wanted to turn him into the bad guy and purge him from my heart, but no matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t working. It would be impossible to make Elliot evil.

  I figured that if I wrote enough about him maybe I could release the fantasies from my heart once and for all. I told my aspiring authors to write what they know and what they experience. If they were not sure, create the experience. Go into fantasyland and dream for a while, find books that were similar, and read, read, read. Then write it.

  I was taking my own advice here, all of it. I should actually be writing a mystery, full of murder and suspense, but instead, I wanted to close my eyes and deny all my drama even existed; besides, love stories were supposed to have happy endings and that’s what I needed at this point, a happy ending.

  I found myself getting up in the middle of the night when sleep evaded me and writing, sometimes three or four hours at a stretch. I tried to get lost in the story and it helped me to escape from my own hell.

  I wrote of conflict and pain and working through the bad. After all, life was exactly that. I wanted the story to be real, not a cookie-cutter romance where one could predict the next chapter. I wanted to give my readers hope when there didn’t seem to be any left. In life there had to be hope. Hope was what kept me going most of the time.

  I sat in my office, my ever faithful Lucky at my feet, shaping people inside my fantasy world and giving them qualities and experiences that I dreamed of having someday. Family and friends that were taken away from me, experiences I didn’t have and wished I did. I created my own perfect world over and over again on my laptop and gave my story every different kind of happy ending I could imagine.

  EMILY

  Andrea and I were relaxing on the balcony looking out over the cove once again, relishing in the cool breeze surrounding us at the beach house. Back home in Phoenix the temp had been hitting 110 degrees each day for the last week. It was just the two of us—Maggie couldn’t get away this time to join us.

  Andrea was speaking at another conference, and I was going to a small creative writing workshop I learned about from a client. I hadn’t really planned on going, but when Andrea told me she had to come back to San Diego for a week and I mentioned the workshop, she pushed me to sign up and come with her. It was easy to say yes to La Jolla and the opportunity to get the hell out of town for a few days. I needed the break.

  The sound of the ocean still soothed me better than any tranquilizer ever could. As soon as we pulled into the cove, my blood pressure dropped and I felt like I could finally breathe. The fear I’d been living with just evaporated into nothingness.

  Curled up on the oversized deck chair with a glass of wine, I watched the sun moving across the sky. The golden rays intertwined with the cotton clouds, painted a picture, and danced across the water as the evening approached.

  “Joe told me the sunset is God’s way of saying goodnight. The beauty of it is telling us everything will be okay, for he has made plans for all of us. We just need to trust him,” Andrea spoke softly.

  “Joe is a very wise man.”

  “He is.” She smiled thinking about Joe.

  “So what does he say about sunrise?” I asked.

  “It’s God way of telling us to get up … it’s a brand new beginning.”

  I liked that. Every day was a new chance to start over and try again.

  “I want to go down and walk the beach. Do you want to come with me?” I asked her.

  “No, I’m going to get my stuff together and turn in early. I have to get up at the crack of dawn to miss the traffic and head to San Diego. Enjoy your walk and be safe. Don’t talk to strangers.”

  I headed down and across the street. Taking the path leading into the cove, I climbed over the stones and rocks, stepping carefully so I didn’t trip. I removed my flip-flops as I made my way to the edge of the water, letting the waves dance at my feet. I did feel safe here. No one could hurt me and I could breathe freely. I stood there taking it all in, the beauty and the power of the ocean. The colors lit up the sky as the sun went down over the water. Seagulls called out to one another while they flew over my head.

  I was oblivious to the people walking around me. Their conversations were muted. I was trying to hear God through the picture right in front of me. I was trying to let go and just follow what my heart was telling me to do with my life. Let go, breathe, and live.

  Lately, that had been my mantra. It gave me the peace to let go of control and just be. To just live. Yes, I was still living in fear most of the time, but here and now on this beach, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I just wanted to be.

  I walked down the shoreline, never taking my eyes off the water or the sky. I wanted to absorb the tranquility I could feel filling my soul.

  Two years ago I wanted someone—anyone—to fill the void deep inside of me. I kept trying to make something square fit into a round space and I was trying to force it to work. I couldn’t grasp the impossibility of it.

  Now I wanted the right fit, the right piece that fit perfectly, and I was willing to wait for it. Because when it came, it would be perfect, perfect for me.

  The sun was cresting the water. The bright orange dipped into the ocean and sprayed color across it. The clouds above billowed, making beautiful shapes and swirls in the sky, an encore to follow the sun. It was breathtaking.

  “Hello Emily….”

  A
deep, raspy voice came from behind me, making my body jump. My heart stopped for a moment.

  A voice causing shivers to race from the top of my head to my little toes.

  The voice I still dreamed of so many nights when I was alone.

  I turned around slowly, wondering if it was my imagination playing tricks on me or if it was real.

  Elliot stood before me, a pair of faded blue swim trunks riding low on his slender hips, a Berkeley T-shirt from long ago covering his chest, one I remember sleeping in when I shared his wardrobe. His dark curly hair was still wet and slicked back from his face. His tan body glistened from the ocean water still beading on his skin. His legs were muscular and sculpted by an artist’s hands. His bare feet were covered with grains of sand. His smile, his beautiful and perfect smile moved over his face and into his eyes. It was Elliot, standing in front on me, looking at me, waiting to see if I would answer him.

  I couldn’t move. My voice stayed silent. My mind exploded into a jumble of emotions I couldn’t quite grasp. My mouth went dry and I licked my lips. His gaze followed my tongue. I tried to speak but all that came out was a whisper.

  “Elliot? Oh … my ... God! Elliot?” I repeated louder, my mind going blank again. I couldn’t find a simple sentence to say to him, feeling somewhat stupid and inept.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  I licked my lips again trying to bring moisture into my mouth.

  I spoke before I could think. “I’m escaping reality.” Startled at what I had said, I tried to regroup. “Actually, I’m here for a workshop. I started writing again,” I stammered.

  I had so much I wanted to say to this man, yet I didn’t know what to say. I was starting to feel like a complete idiot.

  “I live here now,” he told me.

  His eyes never left me, and I couldn’t look away from them so I could think. It was as if he wrapped a chain around me and I couldn’t move, not my eyes or my body or my mouth. I wanted to reach out and touch him, run my hand over his face, ruffle his hair. But I was afraid he would disappear if I tried. I felt like he could look right inside of me and read my mind.

  I needed to feel him, his skin … something tangible so I would know this wasn’t a dream.

  He reached out and took my hand in both of his. Slowly guiding it to his face, he turned my palm upward. He kissed the center of it softly with his eyes closed.

  “I miss this … I miss you.”

  This…

  Was…

  Real.

  I could feel his lips on my palm, the dampness from his tongue, the heat. After all these years, Elliot was standing right in front of me. I swallowed hard and finally the words came forth.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Where is your workshop?”

  “I can’t believe you are standing in front of me.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  Our words jumbled together and we both started to laugh. Memories flooded back of the two of us trying to tell each other something or asking a question. We would speak at the same time, mixing everything together, each trying to talk over the other one.

  “You go first,” I told him.

  “I’ve been living here for about five years now. I bought a little house just off the beach on the north end.”

  He motioned with his hand up the beach, beyond the outcropping of rocks where I watched people practice yoga during my last trip here.

  That was another thing we had in common, we used our hands when we talked. There were times I had to duck to avoid getting hit when Elliot was excited. His hands went everywhere. Just like mine.

  “I write full time now, so I wanted a place I could be energized and create. You know, make my brain work right. I came across this little house needing a lot of work and I bought it. I finally finished a few months ago.”

  “I can see you doing that, buying something and redesigning it into something new,” I said. “You always were creative that way, making something fun out of some kind of junk or throwaway.”

  He kind of chuckled, embarrassed a little, maybe. He looked around at the beach and then back at me.

  “How long are you here and where are you staying? I still can’t believe you’re here again.”

  Again? I wondered about that and looked at him questioningly.

  “I saw you here earlier this year. You were with a group of women. At first I wasn’t sure it was you. I followed you to make sure,” he admitted.

  “You followed me?” For one quick moment, my stalker came to mind.

  He nodded.

  “Why didn’t you just come up to me and say hi?” I was stunned.

  “Because … because I was afraid you still hated me and you would turn and walk away. When I finally got up the courage, you and your friends had already left.”

  I could see uncertainty in his eyes as he watched me. I didn’t understand.

  “But why would I walk away or hate you?” I asked, confused.

  “I walked out on you over seven years ago. I said a lot of things I didn’t mean. I was angry and hurt, and I shot my mouth off and said things to you that I couldn’t take back. I don’t even know why I said them. I just knew we both were in so much pain and I couldn’t keep hurting you.”

  My mouth dropped open in shock and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Didn’t he realize it was never him? He had it all wrong! Compassion filled my heart for him.

  “You didn’t walk out on me,” I told him. Reaching my hand out I softly touched his cheek again and smiled a little bit.

  “I mean, you left me but it wasn’t you, it was me. I was so messed up back then. You were the beautiful part of my life and I pushed you away. I’m the one that destroyed everything. “

  He looked at me, his eyes huge and a grin creeping up on his mouth. He started to laugh. Not the mean I’m-laughing-at-you kind of laugh but the sweet fun kind of laugh we got when everything was mixed up.

  “I think maybe we both have this wrong, Emily. We’ve had it wrong all these years and we were both too damn stubborn to make it right.”

  I looked at him in confusion. What the hell was he talking about? He took a step closer and enveloped me into his arms. It was a natural reaction to curl into him and hug him back. My check rested on his chest, and I could feel his heart beating wildly, just like mine.

  When he spoke, his voice calmed me and made me tremble simultaneously. “I’m not sure how you’re feeling or what you’re thinking about this chance meeting in our favorite place, or where you are in your life right now … but I, for one, feel like a prayer has been answered tonight. I’ve thought about you, hell … I‘ve dreamed about you so damn many times over the last seven years. I’ve missed you every single day. God, just read my books. You are in every one of them, Emily.”

  “But…” My mind raced. I’d read all his books. I was nothing like the women in his books—they were kind, and gentle, beautiful, and strong. They were nothing like me.

  “You just disappeared. I drove you away and I thought you hated me. How could you ever write anything about me? I wasn’t nice. I was a complete bitch. Sure, there was a time I didn’t understand why and it hurt like I was ripped apart, but after a while, I realized I caused it. It was me. I finally figured that much out.”

  “I’m not even sure why anymore, Em, I felt like you were going to hate me and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want us to end in hatred, so I ran. I wanted to call you so damn many times, but my fears got in the way. I thought maybe, yes, my ego thought you would come after me. To at least kick my ass or scream at me, demand an explanation, anything. So I waited and bided my time. I waited for years. I don’t know what really happened anymore. I left a part of me with you when I walked away and I never found it again. Maybe you still have it.” He looked so sad when I pulled back to look at his face. His eye glistened with tears.

  Maybe he was right. I let my own fears get in the way of going after him. I was so good at blaming myself
for everything that went wrong in life. I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, pretty enough. This was so messed up.

  I looked around me, we were the only two people left on the beach. Everyone seemed to have disappeared as darkness descended. I didn’t even know what time it was anymore. How long had we been standing here?

  “Do you need to go back? Where are you staying?” His questions came softly through my hair. He was still holding me.

  “I should, but I don’t really want to yet. Andrea might be getting a little concerned though. She worries about…” I didn’t finish. I didn’t want to get into all the ugliness happening in my crazy life. I didn’t want to screw up this moment. For the first time in so long I felt good and I felt like I belonged. Right here, on the beach, in Elliot’s arms.

  Taking my hand in his, he pointed down the beach toward the south.

  “Take a walk with me? Just for a little while?”

  We walked for another hour, talking and laughing at the stories we shared. The connection we had years ago seemed to come back instantly, yet this time, it was different. He talked about his books and his travels. I told him about the story I was writing or trying to write between everything else going on in my life. He still made me laugh like no other man had ever been able to. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt when he told me of trying to remodel his house. Learning to do everything the hard way and without much help.

  We walked until the sun went completely down and the village started to settle in for the night, fewer tourists and more locals. I liked it this way. It was a lot more peaceful.

  I pointed to the beach house where Andrea and I were staying, across the road from the cove. Taking my hand, we climbed the path to the street and crossed to the front sidewalk, old-fashioned street lamps lighting the way.

  “How long are you here for?” he asked me, guiding me over some rocks, holding onto me so I wouldn’t fall. The ocean spray made the rocks slippery in hidden spots now that the sun was down.

  “We’re here all week. Andrea is speaking Tuesday through Friday at a conference in San Diego,” I told him.