“Wait, there’s more.” She followed him through the living room to the door, where he was grabbing his keys and laptop from a side table.
“For a second,” she blurted, “I thought that girl might be her.”
“Who?”
“Sasha Perry.” She sounded ridiculous to herself, but out it burst. “At three I was tired, doubting myself, but now I’ve got this strong feeling it was her. She’s holed up across the street with some guy who’s abusing her.”
Paul stopped what he was doing. Grimly, he put his things back on the table, reached out and held Liddy’s shoulders. “Oh honey,” he said, much too gently. He pulled her closer and inhaled; said slowly, almost sorrowfully, “Remember, in the old apartment, you thought you saw a couple fighting across the way? I looked out and there was no one there. Just shades pulled down to noisy air conditioners.” He reached one of his hands to smooth her hair back. His fingers were cold.
“But…” she said with her face working.
“That new couple you saw, they’ve probably already made up or broken up and gone their separate ways. It happens all the time.” He paused uncomfortably. “As far as all young blondes looking alike…”
Liddy turned away from him, feeling torn.
“Lids.” He pulled her back to him, pulled her so close with his arms tight around her that she could feel his heart banging through their chest walls.
“Are you gonna be okay?” His tone was almost begging. “These…things – they’re all connected to your…getting better. Please, tell me you’re going to have a good day – oh God, the bad sleep.”
“No, I’m okay.”
He brightened. “Rapture. So tell me you’ll have a good day, and paint beautiful paintings, and look smiling and pretty for tonight.”
“Tonight?” Liddy was confused.
“Dinner out with Carl. I told you - when? Sunday? He just texted, cops all forgotten, reminding he wants to have dinner with us, help us celebrate the move.”
The shoulders slumped and she nodded. Oh hell…Carl.
“I forgot,” she said.
“I probably said it in a mad rush, we’ve both been under pressure.” Paul turned to pick up his things. “I almost forgot too.”
Liddy watched him, telling herself that by the light of day with the sun streaming through the windows, what he said about that fighting couple could be right – they’d either made up or called it quits. Fights happened all the time.
She took a deep breath. “Now I remember what you said about Carl word for word. Dear o.c. hard-working-except-for-women Carl wants to take a whole two hours off to celebrate at Righetti’s, then you’re both going back to the lab.” She squared her shoulders. “Right, got it.” She managed a smile.
Paul looked more relieved; looked suddenly expansive, in fact. “There’s another reason tonight’s going to be special. A surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“Yup.” He grinned. “I’ve been trying not to even hint, but – see? I’m lousy at keeping secrets. So you’re up for tonight?”
“I’ll be ready, gorgeous and smiling. What’s the surprise?”
“Not telling, and you left out relaxed. Please forget what I said about Carl last night. He was just upset.”
“Sure.” Not likely.
“Will you meet us at the restaurant? We’re going straight there from work.”
Liddy said yes. Paul gave her a hurried hug, and left.
And the bad, nagging feeling came back.
Conflict: obsess about that battered young woman and Sasha Perry (assuming they weren’t one and the same), versus pushing it down, avoiding more stress in their lives.
The conflict grew in the shower, where at least there were no weeping faces on the wall.
In the bedroom Liddy dressed in jeans and a T-shirt; then, slowly, sat down by her pillow.
What she felt was like a huge, wet balloon, getting bigger and bigger, ready to explode. She didn’t know what to do, kept seeing that girl getting slammed like a rag doll, kept seeing her dream with Paul swimming away.
She burst into tears. That lasted for some minutes, till she couldn’t stand it anymore.
She called Beth.
“Hey!” came the bright voice immediately lifting her spirits. “How’s it going? You good? Not so good? Good day, bad day?”
“Bad day.” Liddy pulled a corner of the sheet to mop her face.
“No, what?” There was hubbub in the background.
“This isn’t a good time for you.”
“Never for you! Just another open house, same old, same old. What’s wrong?”
In a weeping torrent Liddy poured it out…all of it heretofore unspoken: the trip to the police, the detective who’d gone to question Carl, the resulting stress with Paul.
“The police? Whoa. When did you go to the police?”
“Last week, I didn’t want to worry you. Don’t let anyone hear you.”
“They won’t,” Beth said low. “I’m out in the stairwell now.”
“Oh…there’s more.” Liddy told about seeing the young woman get battered. “Bad enough, but…” She burst into new tears.
“But what, honey?”
“She looked like Sasha Perry. So either I’m right or I’ve gone completely off my rocker and need sympathy. Paul says it was probably just…s-some couple having a fight and that’s what I get looking into someone’s bedroom at three in the morning.”
Hesitation at the other end; Beth was worrying.
“Paul could be right,” she said dubiously. “But if there’s anyone’s gut I’d trust it would be yours before his or anybody’s. Liddy dear, your husband’s a not hugely deep, walking calculator, a living, breathing …I don’t know…like one of those machines programmed only to work, and if you impede them they go all haywire, blow their fuses, send out sparks.”
“When I saw that girl get slammed, I swear I wanted to call the police. Or that detective.”
“What’s her name?”
“Kerri Blasco.”
“I saw her on television! She looks nice.”
“I may still call her.”
Thoughtful pause at the other end. “Wait,” Beth said gently. “What you saw…I’ve been where that girl was, the awful fights before the divorce. It must happen a thousand times a night in this city.”
“So do nothing?”
“Wait a little. Watch that building, and most of all, watch yourself.” Beth paused. “Save yourself, Lids. Most of all, save yourself. Something’s going on, but you don’t know what, so just…hang on. Pull it together and save yourself.”
Silence from Liddy. She was mopping her face with the sheet.
“You there? Lids?”
“I’m here. I may not sound it, but I feel better. Not ready to explode anymore. Thanks, Beth.”
At the other end someone called to her. “I’m coming,” she called back. Then, to the phone, “Lids, you know how I almost once self-destructed, so please, do it for me. Put on the face, hang tight, and save yourself.”
“Okay.”
“And call if anything. Any time day or night - three in the morning, even!”
“Okay.”
28
She went to work. Forced herself like a nervous engine to finish the woman-in-rain watercolor - the easier job - and emailed the publisher that it was ready. Next she opened the window top to let out turpentine fumes, and sat on the tall stool to work on the Rawlie oil painting. Princess Whatsername’s blue toga needed a thin, translucent glaze; in a rush Liddy mixed her palette’s squeezed blob of cobalt blue with too much turpentine, made a smeary mess, lost patience and in a jerky movement knocked over her can full of brushes. Dammit, dammit! To cover the birch floor, they had ironically wound up putting down the same old tarp from the old apartment.
Good thing, because she’d also spilled some turpentine. Cursing, she knelt to clean.
Then went back to tackle the blue toga and finished Rawlie’s post-apocalypti
c light spear. She spent hours in a fervor, then packed it in, pulled the window’s top sash closed and locked it, pushed Rawlie on his easel back into the corner, and went to shower again, knowing she reeked of turpentine.
She raised her face into the steaming downpour, feeling the warm, sedative pounding on her closed eyelids, her aching neck and shoulders. Her shampoo was lavender-scented and she scrubbed the soapy froth, replacing the turp smell with the intoxicating aroma of the sweetest herb on earth. It made her think of lavender fields in France - wide, stretching expanses of clearest blue leading up to old castles. Nice. The gloom that had dogged her all day was starting to ease.
Turning off the water, she looked over to the glass though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. What was to fear? She’d showered this morning and there was nothing there.
She blinked. Her breath stopped in her throat.
There, right next to her at shoulder level, was the word Help. It looked written as if with a trembling finger and stayed there, not running down with the other droplets.
A quiet groan, almost of pain, escaped her lips. Involuntarily she backed up a step, shutting her eyes tight, opening them again.
It was still there.
Her head thudded crazily as she reached out to touch it, then pulled her hand back fast; reached hysterically up for a sponge and wiped the word away.
It stayed gone, but she still stood there, naked and shaking, feeling the dry rasp of her breath in her throat. She began to make a whining sound, unaware that she was making any sound at all.
“I WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS. NO…NOT HAPPENING…”
With a crazed, jerky movement she got out of the shower stall, slammed the door, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, tight, tighter, as if the towel could somehow hold her together. She stood like that for long, trembling moments, dread building until she could stand it no longer. She reached and yanked the shower door open again; looked in.
The Help was still gone, replaced by wild smears of soapy lather. Her eyes darted to the faucet, making dripping sounds that seemed abnormally loud. But that word was gone, and it stayed gone despite the humidity piling more hot mist on the glass.
Liddy dropped to the toilet seat. Sat there rigid for a long time, feeling the harsh breath in her throat finally slow.
“I’ve been tired for so long,” she whispered out loud to herself, and it seemed okay, not crazy at all, to talk out loud like that. Her voice grew stronger. “So much has happened that I don’t understand. The accident…these apparitions…everything.” Then, slowly, she forced herself to stand, reach one hand to the sink for support. “But it’s all right. It’s going to be all right. Beth says save yourself…”
She headed for the bedroom, still in her towel. Part of her mind pulled fearfully at her, tried to make her go compulsively back to check the shower – no, dammit, nothing’s there! - but she went straight to her drawers instead; pulled out her prettiest underwear. Black lace bra and panties, just the thing to distract, think of nicer things. She had imagined what happened in the shower; she had imagined everything - that’s right. It had been a bad three months…but it was over now. Her jaw clamped down hard. She was declaring war.
Put on the face, hang tight, save yourself.
I’m doin’ it, Beth.
From the closet she pulled a simple black cotton dress, V-necked and sleeveless. It was one of Paul’s favorites, he’d like that, though she decided to wear comfortable black flats to favor her bad leg. Next, putting on makeup before the mirror, she decided on an even better way to tackle this. If maybe she was actually losing her mind, well hey - she could still fake sanity, couldn’t she? Mind over matter! Never again would she mention her hallucinations, or whatever they were, to anyone. Under extreme stress the mind plays cruel tricks. She’d been through a rough patch but it was over now. Finished. Save yourself, she thought urgently.
But bad stuff kept bubbling up. In the kitchen where she’d left her purse she remembered telling Alex Minton, “Those apparitions, it’s like I’m seeing a ghost.”
The thought sent her back to the studio for her sketchbook, which she pushed into her purse. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with it at the restaurant, probably nothing, but she took it everywhere out of habit, didn’t she? Ha - would she wave it around under Carl Finn’s nose, see his reaction? Oh she was tempted, but that would be bad. Paul would get upset and it would be like last night all over again.
Peaceful was better. Paul looked so pleased announcing there’d be a surprise.
What surprise? The heart that wouldn’t quit its cold thudding wasn’t exactly feeling up for surprises.
Liddy stashed another lipstick in her purse, then locked the apartment and left.
Down in the street, in the still very warm waning sunlight, she stopped to look up to the window where she’d seen the fighting couple. For a long moment she stared at it, seeing again the pained, whirling-around face of the young blonde as he struck her. Terrible enough, but what shook Liddy even more was the feeling that wouldn’t let go. That girl had looked like Sasha Perry - and what was she going to do about it? She had seen something that still tore at her, broke her heart, made her feel guilty.
Call, Kerri Blasco said. If there’s anything at all, don’t hesitate.
Wait, from Beth. A thousand fights like that happen every night.
And from Paul: Stay away from the cops, they’ll find noon at three o’clock!
The window up there was quiet now, empty-looking with the shade pulled. Paul had to be right – it was some troubled couple who’d either made up or broken up, and she had built it up into-
Stop, Liddy stormed at herself. Down, crazy thoughts…
She exhaled, turned, and walked on, heading a block east and realizing that she was moving more briskly than she had in ages. That surprised her, made her smile. Ditto the sun, hot but not too hot and the good feeling being out in it, and seeing faces, people tired but glad to be heading home, bar doors open emitting laughter and music.
She turned north at Mercer, gazing ahead through the early-evening crowd…
…and her breath stopped.
There, crossing at mid-block and heading toward her, was Sasha Perry.
29
Oh my God, no doubt this time, not a hallucination. Liddy’s heart rocketed - it was her! The same girl who’d passed them at the sidewalk cafe, the long-haired blonde Liddy had sketched whose likeness shocked Beth and Kerri Blasco. My God, my God…
She was approaching, still wearing her black party dress with its bodice torn, her face crumpled in sadness as she watched the sidewalk beneath her feet. Liddy, gaping, saw bruises on her cheek near her right eye…she was getting closer…and then - oh my God, it was really her - she had her hair pulled back on one side and there was the Winnie the Pooh stud in her right ear. Liddy stood open-mouthed, her heart hammering. The girl passed her, practically brushed against her as she moved dully on.
“Sasha?” Liddy called. “Sasha Perry?” she called again, starting to follow.
The girl looked back, her features alarmed at hearing her name. She saw Liddy trailing her, limping a little, and she started to run.
“Please,” Liddy begged, trying to move faster but she couldn’t run, that was painful. Her breath came in harsh gasps as she forced herself anyway. Move, feets!
“Sasha, I want to help. I saw him hurt you…”
The girl was already across the intersection and heading west back on Prince. Liddy struggled to move faster; was suddenly sweating as she crossed too, calling “I saw him hurt you,” ducking a car honking, calling out to people on the other side. “Please, stop that girl, I just want to help her!”
Some turned toward where she was pointing, then looked confused or indifferent. Another crazy. Liddy reached the sidewalk, peering frantically from their faces to where Sasha was…and suddenly wasn’t. She was gone, blended into the crowd before the building of the fighting couple.
Had she gone in or run
past? No telling; there were people in the way. Sasha had disappeared, and Liddy, gasping for breath, was getting looks.
“You okay?” one man cuddling his Yorkie stopped to ask her.
“Yes, thanks,” she managed between gasps, sweating and hurting. How long since she’d moved even half that fast?
Breathing hard raised all kinds of alarm in hip, healthy Soho. The man and then a woman coming up behind him started suggesting gyms in the area, commenting on how important it was to stay in shape. The woman even asked would she like something to drink? A chair to sit in? She started pulling a chair up from a near sidewalk café.
Liddy raised her hand no, they were too kind she told them, still panting as she stepped under an awning’s shadow. Now the man wanted to know why she was calling I saw him hurt you.
“Is someone in trouble?” he asked; and the woman and then a second woman coming up started piping, “Call the police! If you think someone’s in trouble call the cops!”
“If you think someone’s…”
Had they not seen a girl running – an eye catching, hair-flying blonde with a bruised face and torn party dress? It was hot; nobody ran in this heat. Nobody went tearing across a busy intersection with horns honking without being noticed.
Except me, Liddy realized, feeling her stomach drop. They only saw me.
“I must have been mistaken,” she stammered. “Thanks again.”
She got funny looks as they left.
Confused and frightened, she stood staring at the place where she’d last seen the fleeing Sasha…in front of the building across from their loft.
Finally she turned, faced again the intersection of Prince and Mercer. She cringed, hearing herself calling out again like a crazy woman.
The wild dash had left her leg throbbing, but she trudged, dreading the six blocks between there and the restaurant.
30
She got more funny looks when she arrived. “I know, I’m a sweaty mess,” she said, feeling light-headed as both men rose – Paul with a questioning expression, Carl, his smile dazzling and too jovial by a mile, introducing her to his new girlfriend, giggling Nicki in spaghetti straps and a deep, deep V-neck.
Fear Dreams Page 11