All Through the Night

by Mixed authors

  He’d said he was missing something. It had to be this.

  She couldn’t ask the question that meant everything— Are you free, Jean? Did it work? But fortunately, there was another one.

  Her mouth was so dry it was hard to speak. “You said there were things that men could only learn from women. What things, Jean?”

  He shivered as she lightly raked her fingers through his chest hair.

  “How to touch like this?” she asked. “How to be tender?”

  He rested his chin against her forehead, and she could hear him breathing. She could almost hear him thinking.

  “It’s not about giving as much as it is about receiving,” he said. “Women teach men how to receive tenderness— and other things, like love.”

  His mouth must be dry too. His voice was grainy and thrilling.

  “You taught me something important tonight, Kerry.”

  “I did?” She looked up at him, aware that she couldn’t swallow. It was virtually impossible to swallow. Could you die from that? she wondered.

  “It’s not about success or personal power or even courage,” he said. “Those things keep a man enslaved. It’s about love. That’s what sets his soul free.”

  It’s about love.

  Now she didn’t need to ask the other question. It must have worked. He must be free of the curse, and she had been a part of it. She’d given him the key to unlock the cage. Now, for the first time in her life, she could sleep through the night in a man’s sheltering embrace, dream in his arms, and believe that he would be there.

  The journey was over. Her life had only begun.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

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  Several moments passed before Kerry knew where she was. The gentle rocking motion conjured thoughts of a boat, anchored in a harbor… and then she opened her eyes. Her living room was cast in a bluish haze, but it was light coming from the window, not a TV or computer screen.

  Dawn, she realized. The sun was coming up, not going down.

  And she was alone.

  She pushed off the comforter, wondering if Jean had gone to the kitchen for something to eat. The unsteadiness she felt as her feet hit the floor brought a vivid reminder of the surreal experiences of the night before. She was still shaking; it was that intense. She could hardly believe it had happened. Certainly nothing like that had ever happened to her before.

  Her pink robe was in a heap on the floor, but she didn’t bother with it. She was too anxious about where he was. Too anxious even to call his name. Please don’t let him be gone again, she thought. Don’t do that to me. It would be too cruel, like tormenting an animal at the zoo.

  Her kitchen was hazed with blue, too, and a pinprick of fear touched her when she realized he wasn’t there, either. The breakfast nook looked out on her snowed-covered backyard, as well as the garage apartment, where Malcolm lived. There was no sign of her tenant or anyone else, al-though she wouldn’t have expected to see Malcolm. He worked at an assembly plant during the day, and whether he was at home or not, his blinds were always tightly closed.

  Kerry’s mouth had gone dry with excitement the night before. Now it was coppery, bitter. She already knew what she was going to find when she went to the bedroom, but she had to go anyway. A desperate feeling came over her as she scurried through the living room, knowing it was hopeless. He was gone.

  The entire house looked alien to her. The place that had given her comfort and refuge now gave her nothing but torment because he wasn’t there.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, “this can’t be happening. It is too cruel.”

  Her bedroom was the proof she dreaded. It was exactly as she’d left it, the sheets thrown back the way they were when she’d crept out of bed to investigate the noise. Her bathroom looked untouched, too. There was no trace of him anywhere. Other than her robe on the floor, she couldn’t find evidence that he’d ever been there.

  Under her breath, she said, “No one has dreams like that.”

  She stared at the Aubusson carpet with a growing sense of horror. Was she delusional now? She couldn’t tell this story to anyone. It would have sounded like the ramblings of a madwoman. But Jean was as real to her as her own heartbeat. Either she hadn’t freed him with her ridiculous plan, or she had, and he had better things to do than hang around with a housebound crazy.

  She turned in the room, searching for answers that were becoming more incredible than the questions. Maybe his curse required that he pass more than one test, and this was only the first. Now that he’d conquered the maiden, he had to go out and fight a dragon or something. And maybe Kerry Houston really was in need of antipsychotic medication.

  “Our journey isn’t over, Kerry.”

  She spun around, thinking it was Jean behind her. Someone had spoken, hadn’t they? But there was no one there. The sensation that ran up her spine was like an icy breath of air. She clutched her arms and held herself, fighting the pain that flared every time she tried to breathe. What was it he couldn’t feel? He had shuddered in her arms and told her that love could free him. What deeper emotion was there than that? She didn’t believe the feeling he spoke of existed. It couldn’t.

  Her body quailed with another chill.

  “Damn, drafty old house.” She was freezing, but that wasn’t causing her to quake from head to toe. It was despair. Despair and a burning sadness. She had to sell this place. She couldn’t live here any longer. The neighborhood had gone to pot and taken her along with it. Even her grandparents wouldn’t want her to be here now, not like this. How she would get through the ordeal of packing up and moving out when she couldn’t even get through her door was beyond her. But if she didn’t do something, they would soon be coming for her with a net.

  Gooseflesh needled her bare arms and legs.

  That was when she realized she was standing in her living room half naked He’d left her in nothing but a tank top, and she was still in nothing but a tank top. The awareness nearly made her ill. It was symbolic of her downfall, of the whole mess. It shouted at her that she wasn’t just an emotional wreck, she was guilty of frighteningly bad judgment and worse. She’d given in to dangerous urges with a man she didn’t even know, possibly at the risk of her life, certainly at the risk of her sanity. Who knew what he might have done to her? Or who he might have been? On a sliding scale of moral character, you couldn’t slide much lower than that.

  Real or not, he’s gone, Kerry, and you’re a fool for believing … in anything. She rushed back into the bedroom, vowing to put on her three layers of clothing and never take them off. That was when the tears started.

  * * *

  Kerry was sorting through her kitchen cabinets and tossing out old pots and pans when she heard the commotion out front. It sounded like shouting. Probably another fight breaking out, she decided, and went right on sorting. Did she take her grandmother’s old cast-iron skillet or not? It was heavier than lead weights, but the sentimental value was great. She put the skillet in the pile to be packed, wondering when she’d become one of those people who turned a deaf ear to the chaos on the streets.

  The shouting got louder, and something about the voices caught her attention. One of them was familiar.

  Empty packing boxes tumbled over as she dodged through them and headed for the living room’s bay window. Outside, the neighborhood thugs had circled an elderly man like a pack of dogs and they were harassing him. Kerry rushed to call 911, even though she was afraid it wouldn’t do any good. By the time the police got there, the victim would be mugged and beaten or possibly dead. It had happened to her, and no one had come to her aid.

  She hit the Talk button, but couldn’t get a dial tone. Either the lines were out or her batteries were dead again. The phone had never worked right, and there was no time to investigate the problem. The harassing had turned into a full-fledged attack and the old man had been overpowered.

  “Malcolm?” Kerry saw him fall to the ground and realized who
he was. It was her tenant being bludgeoned. “Malcolm!”

  She ran back to the kitchen and grandma’s skillet. The baseball bat would probably do more damage, but there was no time. There were four or five of them. If she could back a couple of them off, Malcolm might be able to get to his feet.

  She shrieked “Fire!” as she ran out the door, and kept shrieking it. When the thugs turned to look, Malcolm struggled to get up, and Kerry began to swing for all she was worth. She didn’t hit anyone, but she cut a swath through them, and she was coming back around when she heard Malcolm shouting at his attackers.

  “Back off!” he bellowed.

  Kerry turned just as he pulled a deadly looking revolver from his coat.

  Two of the thugs lunged at the exact moment that the gun’s hammer clicked. It was an explosive sound, and they did back off. Immediately. Within moments the entire pack had begun to retreat.

  Kerry waited until they were out of earshot before she turned to her tenant. “Malcolm? You have a gun?”

  “It’s a cap pistol,” he said, “but keep it to yourself.”

  Kerry’s grin died on her lips when she saw the real reason the thugs were leaving the scene. It wasn’t because of Malcolm’s cap pistol. A second gang was approaching, and these were the hoodlums who’d assaulted her. Fear slammed into her like a fist as she remembered the way they’d terrorized her. She even recognized the ringleader, a vicious punk called Axe.

  Axe confronted Malcolm with an insolent smirk. “You could hurt yourself with a gun that big, bozo.”

  “Or I could hurt you,” Malcolm declared quietly.

  Kerry was surprised at her tenant’s soft menace.

  Axe’s laughter incited the gang to catcalls, but Malcolm seemed unfazed. He was outnumbered and out-armed, but if he was frightened, he didn’t let on. This wasn’t the Malcolm who assailed her daily with dire news of the world outside her door.

  Suddenly the thug nearest Kerry pulled a knife.

  “Drop the gun or she’s dead!” he shouted.

  He dragged Kerry into a choke hold that nearly cut off her breathing. She could feel the knife blade at her stomach, and she went deathly still. She had the skillet, but apparently her assailant didn’t consider it—or her—a threat. She was a convenient means to his end, whatever that might be.

  A siren began to wail, and the thugs looked around for a police car. That was all the advantage Malcolm needed. He grabbed the skillet from Kerry’s hand and waylaid two of them before they knew what hit them. The arm clamped to Kerry’s neck released, and she was free. Her attacker ducked as the skillet whistled passed his shaved skull.

  Malcolm was a demon possessed. Within moments he had cleared out every gang member but Axe. The ringleader reached into his boot for a knife, and Malcolm clipped him with an uppercut. On the way down, Axe grabbed Malcolm’s ankle and they both dropped.

  Kerry picked up the skillet, but they were rolling and thrashing to get the knife, and she couldn’t tell where to strike. Fists flew and they grappled like wrestlers. She winced as Malcolm’s head hit the pavement, but finally it was Axe who slumped to the ground, out cold.

  “You’re hurt!” Kerry knelt next to Malcolm’s sprawled form. He seemed to be conscious, but blood gushed from a deep cut above his brow.

  “A scalp wound,” he got out. “It’s superficial.”

  Kerry hoped it was as she tugged on the sleeve of her sweater and used it to blot his face. She wanted to tell him how incredible he was, and how grateful she was for what he’d done. He’d saved her life. But she knew it would embarrass him. He was such an unpredictable man. She would never have expected this of him, not an act of outright heroism.

  She was still cleaning him up when Axe began to regain consciousness. Instantly another siren went off. It whooped and wailed so loudly that Axe labored to his feet and fled.

  Malcolm pulled a tiny battery-operated case from his coat pocket. He pressed a button and the siren stopped.

  “You were the police car?” The noise vaguely reminded Kerry of the sirens that had gone off when she was wearing the finger glove.

  A light snow had started to fall and Kerry had no coat. Malcolm heaved himself up and struggled out of his. He draped it over her shoulders. Again, Kerry was surprised and touched. There was something fundamentally different about her neighbor, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Kerry, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Wait—” He was trying to pull off his knit cap, but his hands were shaking. Kerry wanted to help him, but he wouldn’t let her. He seemed bound and determined to handle it himself, and when he had the cap off, he began to yank at his beard.

  He ripped off the bushy patch right in front of her eyes. His moustache went next.

  They weren’t real, she realized. The beard and moustache were fakes.

  Kerry stared at him, totally stunned. Without the props, Malcolm looked a little like— No, that was impossible.

  “Jean?” she whispered. “Is that you? What are you doing dressed up like Malcolm?”

  “Kerry, listen to me,” he said. “Before you say anything or do anything, give me a chance to explain. Promise you’ll do that much.”

  Kerry didn’t know whether to nod or shake her head. It took him a minute to get to his feet, but that wasn’t nearly enough time to collect her thoughts.

  “My name is Joe Gamble,” he said.

  “What?” She staggered backward and lost her balance. A slippery patch sent her feet out from under her and she landed on the bottom step of her stoop, which, fortunately, was cushioned by a thin layer of snow. Now she couldn’t say or do anything, but it had nothing to do with the fall she’d taken.

  The man she was staring at wasn’t Malcolm, her tenant. He wasn’t Jean Valjean, her fantasy. He wasn’t even Starman. He was the CEO of Genesis Software, and her former boss. He was the straw who’d broken Kerry Houston’s back!

  “Jean, Joe—whatever your name is—how could you do this? How could you take advantage of another human being like this?”

  Kerry was up and pacing. She turned in the street and faced him. The snow was still falling, and her breath was a lacy white mist. But she wasn’t cold. For the first time in ages, she wasn’t cold.

  “You deceived me,” she told him. “You’ve done nothing but deceive me.”

  Joe Gamble was holding a handful of snow to the cut on his forehead. He looked like someone had been using him for a punching bag, which they had. Still, he was roguishly handsome in a brainy sort of way. A thinking woman’s roughneck, she decided. She could see a faint resemblance to the bearded adventurer she’d met at the picnic, but she wouldn’t have been able to pick him out in a lineup.

  “I wanted to help,” he said.

  “You wanted to help? Who? Me? Dear God, what if you’d been trying to harm me?”

  He winced, but Kerry couldn’t tell if it was his head or his conscience that hurt him.

  “I messed up,” he said. “I admit it, I messed up badly. But don’t I get a little credit for trying?”

  “What was it you were trying to do? Traumatize me for life?”

  He looked up carefully, one eye squeezed shut. “I was trying to set you free, Kerry. Not unlike the way you, well— deceived me, trying to set me free.”

  There were several things she wanted to contradict in that statement. She went for the last and most obvious.

  “I didn’t deceive you,” she declared. “No way.”

  His slitty, one-eyed stare said otherwise.

  “You’re saying I did? When?” She was shaking her head when it hit her. “You mean when I hypnotized you and suggested that you were in love with me? You mean like that?”

  “I mean like that. You said that loving you was the only way to save me, and among other things, you whispered in my ear that my loins were aflame and my heart was hungry. ‘Possess her or die of the longi
ng.’ Remember that one, Kerry? You had a field day with my poor, unsuspecting, unconscious mind.“

  “Yes, but I was only… trying to help.”

  “My point exactly. So was I.”

  He took the snow away and she could see his eyes— beautiful eyes, Jean’s eyes, fire stirring in them like embers in dark ashes. The fluttering sensation was back, only it was her stomach this time, and it felt more like little white moths than dragonflies. There were millions of them. Moths in a frenzy. Moths in search of a naked porch light. Silly, silly moths.

  “As it turns out, you were right,” he said. “There was no other way to save me.”

  The moths went nuts at that one. It seemed they’d found their naked bulb. Him. Could she possibly have heard him right? Was he saying that he loved her? Love, the L word? No, she couldn’t have heard him right. She was always hearing voices and this was another one—confusing her, tormenting her, saying everything she’d ever wanted to hear.

  Kerry refused to let herself react in any obvious way. She’d exposed far too much to this man who’d said he was cursed. How could he have done that?

  “How could you do that?” she whispered.

  He started to answer, but she shook her head. He didn’t even sound like Jean anymore. He sounded like Phil, the Human Resources guy from Genesis, and that was because he was Phil. And Malcolm. And George, the video game’s creator. And probably Starman. He’d admitted taking on all those personas to try and get through to her. He was desperate to “break through The Great Wall of Kerry” was how he’d put it. He’d even admitted to altering his voice via some high-tech device so that she wouldn’t recognize him as the different men.

  But why? Why would anybody want to get to Kerry Houston that badly?

  The thought that this might be some kind of prank, and that she could be fodder for the office gossips again, was devastating. Too devastating to bear.

  “I won’t be the butt of another one of your jokes,” she blurted, turning away from him.

  “Kerry, this isn’t a joke. Whatever made you think that?”