I nodded. “He said he did, but I don’t know for sure. Libby’s still unconscious. The doctor said her brain is bruised, so they induced a coma to help her heal.”
“You’re not going back to your place tonight.”
“I know. I’ve already made other arrangements.”
His eyes were fixed on mine. “Cancel them. You’re staying with me.” I wanted to argue, to tell him I could take care of myself. But when I looked at the lines etched in his face, the expression wasn’t one for me to fear: it was an animalistic, protective look. Unexpectedly, he reached across the front seat and gently took my hands in his. We sat there motionless for several minutes with him stroking my hands with his fingertips before he leaned toward me, gathered me in his arms, and pulled my head to rest against his chest. Dave murmured, “We’ll figure this out. I promise to keep you safe.”
Thinking back to the Dave I had known in high school, he had always come across as sort of a hollow person, an exterior shell that could have completely caved in on itself in a strong wind. This man holding me in his arms wanted to protect me. He wanted to be a safe harbor, and my ship had seen enough turmoil for one day. I allowed my body to go limp in his arms, to feel the rigid strength encircling me.
After several minutes I eased away from his protective embrace to look into his eyes. “You’re sure? This isn’t your problem.”
Dave pursed his lips together then answered, “It’s mine if I make it mine. We’ll stay at my garage tonight. Let’s go.”
I shook my head, “The cops are probably staking your garage out.”
“We’ll drive by. If we see any patrol cars, we won’t stop. If no police are around, we can park your car inside the garage.”
The one thing that kept bothering me as I pulled the car out of the convenience store parking lot was the image of Dave at Bank Shot last night. I had talked to him. Could I have been mistaken? This morning when I met with him, Dave was adamant that he hadn’t been there, and that was before he knew any of the events that had happened last night. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.
As we turned on a main street headed toward his garage, I asked, “The part I don’t get is, I am sure I saw you at Bank Shot last night. I even talked to the guy who looked like you.”
I glanced at Dave. He didn’t seem suspicious or at all on the defense about my revelation. He just shook his head and said, “Well, unless his name was Mark, you might have had too much to drink.”
Without a second’s hesitation, I slammed the brake pedal all the way to the pavement. My Chevelle gripped the asphalt hard as the lapbelt held me firm against the seat and I used my arms to cushion my face against the steering wheel; Dave’s head crashed hard into the windshield. Without so much as a glance in his direction, I killed the car and bolted out the door, running down the street like a mad woman. I was a full fifty feet down the sidewalk before I heard his heavy footsteps giving chase.
I screamed for help as loud as my voice would allow, as frozen tree branches whipped past my head. We were in a residential neighborhood with cars parked in driveways indicating people were in their homes.
His voice boomed behind me, “Wait!! Candy, wait! Holy shit, you saw Mark?! Candy, stop!”
My chest was tight as the arctic air burned my throat. My eyes watered from the cold, and my heart thundered in my chest. He was only a car length behind me and gaining ground with every stride. He would catch me if I didn’t do something quickly.
I was approaching a two-story brick home where I saw movement inside. Running at full speed, I propelled myself off the sidewalk to try to cut through the lawn to get to the front door. The foot that launched me off the sidewalk slipped on a spot of ice. Before I could even try to high-step through the deep snow on the lawn, I was on my back, looking up into the black sky above.
It took a millisecond to realize I was on my back only yards away from safety when Dave grabbed me and held me on the ground. His voice raw and his breathing labored, “You saw Mark? He’s here? When did you see him? Candy, where’s Mark?”
Confusion overwhelmed me. Dave didn’t think he was Mark. His eyes stared down into mine while he grabbed my arms, holding me firmly in place in the snow. “Oh, my God, you saw Mark. You saw him and thought he was me. Holy shit, Candy, you saw my brother.”
Dave’s expression was full of joy. I wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence as the front porch lights flicked to life on the house while I lay helplessly on their snow-covered lawn. A man in his mid-forties stood at the opened door and called out, “Are you okay out there?”
I opened my mouth to scream again, but when I did, Dave did the most unexpected thing: he leaned down and kissed me. Not a romantic, “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life” kind of kiss, but a kiss full of nervous energy. It completely disarmed me. I wasn’t capable of thought, much less speech. When his lips released mine, his brown eyes were staring down into mine accompanied by a smile bright enough to light the night’s sky.
In a daze, all I could choke out was, “Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.”
He must have decided his quick action had not only stopped me from screaming, it had bamboozled me enough to keep me from making an escape into the safety of the stranger’s house. Dave rolled off of me and stood, holding out both of his hands to lift me to my feet. The homeowner still stood in his doorway, but no longer worried that I was being attacked. Instead he gave us a look that silently said, “Yeah, I remember being your age.”
Dave held up a hand. “We’re fine. She just slipped. It’s a little icy out here.”
Concern colored the man’s face, “Is she all right? She’s not hurt, is she?”
I shook my head, “No, I’m fine.”
My breathing was erratic from the sprint. I wanted to put my head between my knees to catch my breath, but Dave wrapped his arm around me and started ushering me back toward my car. “Walk it out, we need to move your car before someone hits it.” Not waiting for me to catch my breath, Dave asked, “You met Mark? What did he say?”
In my rush to escape, I had left my car in the middle of the street, keys in it, with the driver’s door wide open. If someone hadn’t yet called the police or stolen it, it would only be a matter of time. Dave’s excitement was evident as he continued asking questions I could only nod or shake my head to because I was out of breath. “Was he looking for me? Does he live here? Do you know how I can reach him? What did he look like? Did you tell him I lived here?” I kept stealing glances at him. He looked outrageously happy, trying unsuccessfully to keep a goofy-looking grin off of his face in between all the questions. There was a cut on his forehead, and he used his coat sleeve to wipe the blood that was dripping down his cheek.
I tried to make sense of what he had said. Mark was his brother? How did he have a brother he’d never mentioned and I’d never met? Mark knew Teddy? Teddy called Mark “Boss.” The man who was waiting in my house to finish me off this morning knew Mark? By the time we reached the car, I was still breathing like I had finished an Olympic sprint, so the questions sailing through my head were just stuck there. Dave let go of me about ten feet before we got to my car. No doubt he had just as many unanswered questions as I did.
He wiped his head a second time, this time smearing the blood that had already collected on his coat. He looked like a really bad Halloween decoration. As we approached my car, I noticed that in addition to the small hole with spider-web like cracks around it on the driver’s side of the windshield, I now had a matching spider web on the passenger side of the windshield where Dave’s head had bounced off.
Despite all the questions in my head, the only thing I asked was, “Do you want me to take you to the hospital. It looks like you need stitches.”
“No. I’m a fugitive, remember. I can clean this up at my apartment. Let’s go.”
Chapter 12
Since his revelation that he had a brother, Dave hadn’t said much of anything on the drive over. He was
lost in his own thoughts and didn’t seem to want to let me in. We pulled up in front of Dave’s garage. I had planned to park on the street like I did at my house, but he motioned for me to pull into the driveway. “Hold on. Let me go in and open the door. You can park in the left bay tonight. I don’t want anyone to see your car outside.”
It took him little time to unlock the front door, go inside and open the large bay door on the left. A purple custom car was in pieces in the front of the bay. The flared fenders and boxy frame gave no indication as to what the car might be. Dave motioned for me to pull in behind it. He guided my car in, and when I got out to inspect his guidance, I saw that my car’s bumper was less than a frog’s hair away from the other car’s back bumper.
“Are you sure I’m not too close?”
“What, you think it’s going to roll back tonight?” Since the car pieces I had parked behind were just that – pieces, not even attached to a frame with wheels, I agreed that it was unlikely to scratch my bumper.
In the light of his garage, the wound on his head was clearly a gash; stitches weren’t an option – they were a necessity. He pulled off his bloodied coat, grabbed a greasy rag off of a bench and held it to his head. The sight of blood had never bothered me before, but the torn flesh exposing his skull was another story completely. I motioned for him to take a seat near a bench, “Hey, we’re going to need to call the paramedics.”
He lifted the disgusting cloth away from his face as a second wave of blood flooded down over his eye. He quickly replaced the rag, “It’ll be fine.” His excitement was evident, “You’re sure you saw Mark last night? He’s in the city?”
Tentatively I answered, “Yeah, I thought it was you. He looks just like you.”
“Everyone used to say that when we were little.”
The cloth in his hand was soaked. Less interested in helping coordinate a family reunion, I told him, “Look, I’m going to call an ambulance. If you lose much more blood, I’ll have to take over around here, and no one will want me fixing their cars.”
His free hand grabbed my wrist. “I said I’m fine. What did Mark say? Does he live here?”
I shrugged my shoulders, “He didn’t say.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“I already told you: he made fun of that Teddy guy for losing to Libby.”
“That’s it?”
“I thought it was you, Dave. The fact that you were telling me to call you Mark was weird, so I didn’t get wrapped up in a big conversation. He said something about being there again next Tuesday night. What’s the big deal? You haven’t seen him in a while?”
A solemn look gripped Dave. “You could say that.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“I don’t know. A long time ago.” He pressed his lips together like he was trying to keep words from spilling out. He lifted the rag again, and although it was saturated, blood was no longer oozing from his head. “I’ve got to go upstairs and take care of this. I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
A first aid kit? He was in for a real shocker if he was planning on Neosporin and a Band-Aid. “C’mon up.” Without so much as a backwards glance in my direction, Dave tucked behind a Coke machine that hid a staircase.
One of my jobs was as a housekeeper for a couple bachelors, so I assumed all single men lived like pigs. As I emerged at the top of the stairs, I was shocked to find an apartment that was spotless. A bright chandelier hung in the center of the room and lit the tiny room up like a carnival. Framed posters of cars were hung on the walls. A sofa and recliner faced a large screen television along one wall. A second wall was lined from floor to ceiling with cabinets – enough cabinet space for a commercial kitchen. A dinette with two chairs was tucked in close to a refrigerator and efficiency stove. On the far end of the room stood a massive king-sized bed, which also faced the over-sized television. Next to it was a Bo-flex machine wedged into the corner. There was no dresser and no obvious closet: it looked like a big open room pretending to be an apartment.
There was one door off to the side that must have been a bathroom because Dave disappeared into it as soon as he climbed the steps. Water ran inside, and I expected Dave to come marching out ready to take me up on my offer to go to the hospital at any second.
Minutes passed. The water that had sounded like a sink’s faucet stopped, but was replaced by the sound of a shower. I looked around awkwardly, wondering where he kept his clothes. Without purposely trying to be nosey, I opened one of the kitchen cabinets along the wall. Perfectly folded t-shirts stood in a pile on one shelf, boxers on the shelf below, and socks in a plastic tub on the shelf even with the floor. I moved to the side and opened another cabinet: precisely folded jeans were piled up side by side on the shelf at eye level. Who used kitchen cabinets for a closet? I went down the line opening each cabinet: one held magazines, another blankets and sheets, a fourth one pillows. I had to admire his ingenuity. I counted the cabinets: there were eleven across, with two stacked on top of each other – a brilliant way to store things in an apartment which was probably never intended to be living quarters.
There was nothing out of place in the entire apartment. Remotes were perfectly lined up on the small table beside the recliner. No photographs of any kind were displayed, other than the framed posters of cars – but nothing personal. I didn’t really even like my sisters, but I had several of their pictures framed in my bedroom and a couple scattered in the house. Where were Dave’s pictures?
Looking into the tiny sink, not one dirty dish waited. Did he really live here? The water shut off in the bathroom. I came back to my senses and took a seat on the sofa before he could catch me snooping around his apartment. When the door opened, steam billowed out from the tiny room. My jaw tightened as he emerged. Dave wore a fluffy tan towel around his waist and a second one hanging over his shoulders which obscured his chest and partially covered his abdomen. Peeking out from under the towel over his shoulders, Dave’s chest glistened from tiny droplets of water that clung to him. His chest was completely bare, not a single hair protruding from the towel hanging around his neck. I knew my mouth gaped, but I couldn’t make my jaw close.
Opening the cabinet I had just inspected, he stood with his back to me, pulled the towel off of his shoulder and slid a burgundy t-shirt over his head. The t-shirt complained as his arms wedged themselves through the sleeves. If he knew I were transfixed on him, he gave no indication that my leering bothered him. Dave reached in and pulled a pair of nylon shorts off the top shelf, slid them under his towel and didn’t let it drop to the floor until they were secured at his waist.
My pulse had steadily been climbing as I watched him. I hadn’t noticed the hammering in my chest until he turned toward me and asked, “Care if I work out?”
“Not at. . . it’s your. . .you can.” I sounded like the village idiot. My mouth didn’t work as all the blood rushed to my eyes capturing every contour of his body. His t-shirt was too tight on his chest while it hung loose at his waist. Dave returned to the bathroom to hang up a towel. His legs were as massive as his upper body, every muscle defined as he walked barefoot over to the awaiting Bo-flex.
I turned my back toward him, preferring to look at the dark television instead of the sex-on-a-stick that had just reduced me to a pile of goo. Humiliated at my school-girl reaction to him, I took a deep breath, and then a second, then a third. I could still hear blood hammering though my body as I willed my pulse to slow down.
The kiss on the front lawn couldn’t have been more than a means to keep me from screaming like a banshee. It had worked, but afterwards I hadn’t screamed or kissed him back. What kind of signal had I sent him by lying there in stunned silence? What sort of signal was he sending me coming out of the bathroom in a towel?
“Like what you see?” My back arched at his conceited question. My eyes were still reeling and wanted a good reason to turn my body around to get another look, but based on my reaction a second ago, I was frightene
d my legs might walk over and sit on his lap. “Hello, earth to Candy, the remote’s right there on the table. Just hit the green power button on the top right.”
The television, right. He was making fun of me for staring at a powered off television. I turned it on and absently scrolled through channels until I found TMZ. I was beginning to get my senses back under control before I made a complete ass out of myself when it hit me: his forehead wasn’t bleeding.
My head whipped around and caught him doing presses. I couldn’t even see the cut on his forehead. “What are you, a vampire?”
He had been flat on his back, using a bar attached to the pulleys as a bench press. He was breathing out when a throaty laugh escaped him and the bar flung up out of control, “Not that I know of, why?”
“Where’s your cut?”
Dave reached back up and took the unruly bar in his hand again. “I glued it.”
“You what?”
“Glue. It’s the same stuff they use at hospitals. I get nicked on metal a couple times a week downstairs and got sick of paying doctors hundreds of dollars to glue my cuts shut. I told you I had a first aid kit.”
I stood up from the couch and walked toward him. I saw the thin glossy line holding his skin together. “Are you sure you don’t need stitches?”
He smiled through his measured breaths, “Not unless you prefer I look like Frankenstein. The glue’ll hold; it heals faster this way, too.”
After we had pulled my car into the garage, I was sure he needed an ambulance. I looked at his massive bicep and saw a similar glossy finish just below his shoulder. He had been shot earlier today and this was all there was?
Dave saw me staring and answered timidly, “It just grazed me. See, that glue,” pointing to his arm, “cost me at least two hundred bucks. That glue,” pointing to the closed gash on his forehead, “cost me less than ten.”
“So you’re cheap?”
He gently let the bar slide back up to the top as he grabbed a towel and dabbed perspiration from his brow then sat up. “I prefer ‘thrifty.’”
His Frozen Heart Page 13