There was no city here, no late night shops for Alice. She huffed, a little more loudly than she’d meant to and Delia’s soft snoring paused for just a moment. Alice tried to keep her eyes pressed closed, but the energy running through her forced them back open again. Why did she come with nothing to drink? It had never occurred to her that there wouldn’t be anything to drink in the house. She had just assumed that everyone had something to drink in their house. At least gin, everyone at least had gin, didn’t they?
Except for this house. Alice pouted silently to herself, but she didn’t blame Delia for her discomfort. Delia was just coping with the loss of her uncle as best she could and Alice was happy to be here for her. She would go anywhere and do anything for Delia. Next time, she would just have to remember to bring her own medicine. Alice sighed deeply again, and again tensed up as she heard Delia’s breathing change. This was silly. She could not have a drink, but she did have a nearly full pack of cigarettes in her jacket that was now flung over the chair in the corner.
Alice rolled herself slowly, painfully slowly, over the edge of the bed. She dangled one arm and one leg over the side of the shallow bedframe until her fingers felt the cool dusty surface of the hardwood planks on the floor below. These were not the hardwoods she grew up with. They were not polished oak or hickory. They were just sanded brown boards that had greyed with age. Probably an inexpensive pine. The floor was porous and her fingers felt the grit that had collected in its seams over the years.
With her body supported, Alice carefully swung her other half down onto the floor. Her descent to the floorboards was completely silent, until her weight lifted off the bed and it creaked with the release. Alice cursed herself, but Delia remained sleeping. She had told Alice to stay with her in the room all night. Delia was nervous about something happening to her, but Alice thought she was overreacting, as usual.
There was no way her ex-fiancé was still harboring some kind of ill will towards them, and even if he were, he wouldn’t try to break into the house or anything. At least she hoped he wouldn’t. Alice felt like she was tougher than Delia gave her credit for. She had always been able to tackle any problem life threw at her, albeit some with more grace than others.
She did admit that she had begun to lean on Delia for support, but no more so than Delia leaned on her. Alice pulled herself up into a crouch and slowly straightened herself up. Even though the ceiling was low in this child’s room, she was able to stand without a problem. She tiptoed over to the small desk in the corner where her coat hung over the chair next to it. She gingerly lifted it off and slipped it over her shoulders.
She was wearing a nightshirt, but preferred to sleep naked from the waist down, so she groped around until she found her flannel pajama pants she used for lounging. Hopping from one foot to the other, she managed to pull on the pants without making too much of a racket. Jeez, now she was getting tired. Sneaking around was exhausting, but a little exciting, too. Alice’s lips curled up into a grin at the thought. She had always been one who liked to break the rules a little, maybe get herself in a bit of trouble now and then. She inched her way across the floor and gently pushed open the small wooden door that thankfully opened without a sound. When she slipped out into the hallway she smiled at herself proudly. She had made it out of the room without waking her lover.
Alice was still feeling confident in her sneaking abilities as she made her way down a very creaky set of wooden stairs. Her heart was thudding loudly in the quiet house. Her lungs were now burning with anticipation; desperate for the sweet relief the nicotine would bring her.
The main floor of the house was a little creepy, cool and drafty. There were shadows all along the floor where the light from the barn spilled in through the windows in splotches of white. Alice felt her way along the walls through the hallway and finally into the kitchen. She peeked out the window over the sink. She could see the barn with its bright sodium light standing sentinel over the yard. It was deserted out there. Of course, it would be at this hour.
Alice slipped out of the kitchen and into the mudroom, then gently eased open the outside door. This took her a moment, since Delia had locked the deadbolt, and the old brass mechanism was rusty and loud. She had to caress the door handle gently and firmly to get it to release. At last, she stepped out into the cool night air. Alice took a deep breath and let it out. Her heart and mind were racing. She pulled the pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket and quickly put the thin, paper-wrapped smoke between her lips.
She struck a match, letting it burn for just a moment before touching it to the tip of her cigarette. Then she took a long hard drag on the smoke, filling her lungs with warm calming goodness. She instantly felt better and let the first breath out very slowly. As she did, the tension in her body melted away with it. It was if all of her nerves and all of her worries and stress were exhaled right along with the smoke. She closed her eyes and smiled into the darkness, then raised her hand to take another drag from the cigarette.
It never reached her lips. As she was standing in the dark on the back porch of Aunt Deb’s house enjoying her cigarette, she heard a strange whirring sound behind her. It was only for a split second, and then something heavy smashed into the back of her head and Alice fell forward limply off the porch, landing in a tangled heap on the stones below. Her precious cigarette burned on into the night without her until it was nothing but a desiccated husk.
*****
Francis could not believe his luck. After Randy had left his house with his meat order, Francis had gone into town to gather information on Don’s passing. In a small town like Grattan, everyone knew everything about everyone. Except me, Francis thought with a smile. The people may think he looked like a monster, but they had no idea what lurked underneath his puckered skin.
The talk was that a heart attack had claimed the veterinarian’s life. Fools. Only Francis knew the truth – a dusting of fresh Hemlock in with his morning bacon for a week had done the trick. Sue Squiresby from the ice cream shop thought the funeral was tomorrow, and at the First Presbyterian Church, of course. He had only one question left unanswered, was Delia back in town?
The townspeople didn’t seem to know, though one of them claimed to have seen a taxi driving toward town from Grand Rapids. They knew that Lilly would be coming back. She was away at college in Chicago, and would not return until the next morning, just before the funeral. As far as Francis could figure, if Lilly was coming back, Delia would be here also.
Therefore, that night, once the sun had tucked itself beneath the horizon, Francis set out from his house into the woods. It would be his most important mission. His worn brown boots were laced up tightly against his ankles and calves, both the real ones and the fake ones. The KA-BAR knife that had been with him throughout the war was strapped securely to his belt. He placed his palm over the end of the hilt, the familiar feel of the forged steel a comfort to him as he trekked along the darkened tree line.
When he and Delia were children this journey felt like miles and miles, navigating through the woods to meet up in the dark of night, or after school. Now he covered the distance much more quickly. His stump of a thigh ached with each step, but he enjoyed the pain tonight; it felt like he was alive again for the first time in years. Francis’s face warped into a smile as he picked up speed and loped through the woods, anxious to get to Don’s house to see if Delia was there. He did not have a plan formulated, but he was good at thinking on his feet. On his foot, rather.
Don’s house loomed out of the darkness after about thirty minutes. Francis crept up to the edge of the yard and sat down. His legs were really aching badly now, and he was quite out of breath. He hadn’t done this much hiking since the war, and back then he had two good legs at his disposal. As he sat, rubbing his thighs to dispense the acid that was burning within them, he studied the house. It was silent and dark, just as he had expected it would be this late at night. In the space between the house and Don’s veterinary shop, which was a mediu
m-sized barn on the property was a gravel-lined driveway that wrapped around the house.
Don’s truck was parked in the driveway up by the barn. There was no other vehicle, but that could be because they had taken a taxi. How would he get to her? Francis wondered if Delia was still in her adulterous relationship with the woman from the hospital, but he didn’t think she would be. Even someone as obviously lost as Delia must have realized that such a forbidden and Godless relationship could not continue. It was a disgusting abomination.
His fists clenched unconsciously as he thought about the woman who had convinced Delia to abandon her life of virtue and her promise to him. She was his, and still would be his if it were not for that whore. Francis worked to calm his nerves and breathe through the anger he felt. How would he get into the house? He knew Delia’s old room was upstairs and on the opposite side of the house from the back door. That meant that after he broke in he would have to travel through the whole house to get to her. He didn’t know how confident he felt in his ability to be silent with his prosthetic leg.
Francis didn’t want to harm Aunt Deb, but all that mattered to him now was getting to Delia. If Deb happened to get in the way, then so be it. Francis absentmindedly caressed the hilt of his knife again. He felt it calling to him, as if it was itching to see action. As well as he could, Francis ran, crouched over through the shadows until he was next to the barn. He took several deep breaths as he prepared to dash across the driveway that was bathed in the bright white lamp from the top of the barn. My God they never turn that thing off. That light had been burning at night even in his childhood.
He was just about to cross the driveway but then hesitated when he thought he saw a face in the kitchen window of the house. He looked again and saw nothing. My Delia is waiting. Francis ran across the driveway and then to the side of the house, where he pressed himself into the shadows at the edge of the porch. There was no rail on it, and he hoisted himself up onto the wooden decking. Then he rested for a moment. Only a moment, though, before fate smiled on him for the first time in years.
As he sat in the darkened corner of the porch, the back door gently creaked open and a tall form sneaked out. Francis’s heart thumped loudly as he watched her. For a moment he was actually worried she might hear it banging in his chest. Delia? Could it really be his Delia? He could go to her now and take her away. Take her away so she could be his again. They would live in his house together; they would be a family at last. She would keep her promise to be his wife and to love him forever. A promise is forever.
Francis felt confident that Delia would see reason and understand why he had to go to such lengths to bring her home. She was obviously lost, lost in the wilderness alone. It was his job to guide her back.
With a disciplined slowness that bordered on painful, Francis raised himself up from the deck. He made sure his prosthetic foot was planted firmly so it would not make any noise. He watched the tall woman as she made her way down the porch steps. As she reached the bottom step, her face was bathed in the bright light from the barn. As her smooth white skin and coal black hair came into view, the hate boiled up inside Francis. It was her, Delia’s lover.
The woman that had taken his Delia from him. How dare she come here, to his town? How dare Delia bring her here? The woman was lighting a cigarette and looking up into the night sky. Francis was still for a moment, thinking, and then he pulled the large KA-BAR knife from its sheaf. He knew what he was going to do. With a stealthiness practiced against long miles behind enemy lines in Europe, Francis crept up behind the woman. His face ached with the gruesome smile that had taken it over.
Francis positioned himself behind the adulterous whore. He gripped the knife tightly in his hand and swung a huge haymaker at the back of her head. He didn’t stab the blade into her but used his fist instead. Using the heavy knife handle as a bludgeon, he slammed it into the back of her skull. His fist connected with her head with a loud thunk! She dropped to the ground at the same time his hand exploded in pain. Shit!
His hand was most likely broken, but for the moment he was still able to uncurl his fingers, so he shoved the heavy KA-BAR into its sheath once more. Francis looked down at his prize. This is how I will get my Delia to come to me. While his plan was just beginning to form in his mind, it was twisting and becoming more dangerous with every second. Francis stepped down off the porch and bent over to haul the woman up off the ground. Then he had another thought and pulled his knife back out.
Turning back to the wooden deck, he knelt down and began carving into the porous surface with the tip of his knife. After five minutes of scraping Francis’s hand was entering a world of nearly unbearable pain. He had to get moving before the adrenaline that was coursing through him let up. Sliding the knife back into its sheath once again, gingerly this time as he could barely move his hand, he headed back down the steps to his unconscious prey.
Francis bent down and put an arm around her chest beneath her arms. Then he heaved up with all of his strength and flung her over his shoulder. His muscles screamed like babies but he shushed them quickly. He shuffled the woman around until she was laid out behind his head and over both shoulders. Just like doing a squat press in basic training, he thought.
The first step was the hardest. As all of his weight and the woman he carried came down on the prosthetic, a shot of hot pain burned into his stump. He could feel the skin tearing under the added weight pressing against it. Still, he held the position, letting his body absorb the pain and acclimate to it. It didn’t take long for the white-hot heat to be replaced by a cool numbness. Francis nodded to himself and started his journey back through the woods. He looked behind him as he took the last steps out of Don’s yard. The house still stood in silence, unknowing or uncaring about what had just transpired.
As Francis trampled slowly through the woods, he began humming to himself contentedly. His mother’s voice played in his head.
Come tip toe through the window
By the window is where I will be
Tip toe through the tulips with me
She had been gone for so long, and he missed her very much, but now Francis felt like she would be proud of him. He felt good for the first time in as long as he could remember. As he walked toward home, the prosthetic ground deeper and deeper into his stump that was being rubbed raw. All he could focus on was his plan, his plan to get his Delia back to him. She needed to see that she was still his and that they belonged together.
He didn’t notice the tearing leg, or that his hand was turning into a purplish mass of swollen broken flesh. Black trees moved past him as he hummed his way through the woods. His mood was light even with the heavy load he carried. His brain was buzzing with many thoughts, but dominated by only one. Delia. It was when Delia left him that his life went to shit. If he got Delia back, the balance of his life would be restored and the wrongs that he had lived with for so long could begin to right themselves. In his heart, he truly believed this.
If Delia had stayed faithful to him, he never would have lost focus in the war, and he never would have been injured the way he had. Moreover, the deep hole that now filled his heart would have stayed closed. With Delia back, he would be able to feel something other than pain and regret; he may actually be able to be happy.
Chapter Eighteen
“Wake up!” A loud whisper screeched angrily in her ear, startling Delia from sleep.
The sun had not yet dawned and Delia awoke confused. There was no one in the room with her, but no sooner did she wake than Delia was greeted by the deafening roar of angry voices in her head.
Her arms flew out to the side, reaching for Alice. Nothing. Delia sat bolt upright in her tiny bed.
Under any normal circumstance she would have thought Alice was up early and outside smoking, or indulging in her morning Bloody Mary. It was the raucous noise in her head that told her otherwise. The force of the voices or whatever they were was strong enough to make her dizzy now.
“Ahh!” she
cried out, pressing her hands to the sides of her skull. Where the hell is Ali? It’s just like the hospital all over again. Her thoughts drifted back to the morning Alice was attacked in Belgium.
Delia forced herself to stay still for a moment, and using a great deal of mental discipline, she was able to quiet the roaring in her head; at least enough so that she could think of what she needed to do.
He’s taken her. He’s taken my Alice.
She needed to dress first and she did so quickly, leaving her nightshirt on and slipping her legs into the pair of pleated slacks she had worn the previous day. Her shoes were downstairs. Aunt Deb would still be in bed, but Delia would not burden her with the knowledge of what must have happened during the night. Delia stopped only to use the bathroom before heading out through the kitchen to the back porch. None of it felt real to her yet, it was as if she were sleepwalking.
How could he have taken her? When she reached the back door she saw that it was unlocked, but that the window was intact. There was no shattered wood or any other indicator that the door was forced open.
Delia stepped out like the walking dead, forcing her feet forward into the dim morning. She saw the carving on the ancient deck boards immediately. Delia staggered forward and dropped down to her knees next to the scarred wood. Even in the low light of pre-dawn, there was no way the crude artwork could have been missed. Tears began to well up in her eyes and suddenly the mental hold she had against the horrible roaring in her head broke free and the sound crashed through her again.
The overwhelming force of the emotions running through her caused her to swoon, and she fell against the porch, landing with her cheek against the letters that had been carved there. As her consciousness waned and her head swam, lost in a lifetime of confusing memories and feelings, she found herself remembering the day she had first seen those letters carved into wood.
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