That was better. I quickly did so and we faced each other, red checkers against black, as I made my first move carelessly.
“Good one,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. He didn’t notice. “But can you handle this?”
He made a really stupid move and within the next two plays I had taken about four of his pieces already. “Ouch,” he winced. “Okay, that one was rough, but I think I can redeem myself.”
My mouth remained thin. Annabelle and I never played games like this, but when we did, she always won, even when I wasn’t trying to let her. It brought back painful memories that I didn’t want to remember, and I slammed my next piece down a little harder than I should, shaking the whole board.
“Whoa there muscles,” Ian teased. “Don’t break the table.”
Sometimes I thought this guy talked just to hear himself. I moved a piece over three of Ian’s, the last ones he had, and he sat there dumbfounded and looking at the board. “Dang. I didn’t see that coming. You want to play again?”
He took my silence for a yes. “Okay! I’ll go first now. You better watch it…I might beat you this time.”
I repressed a sarcastic laugh. I won every single game of checkers we ever played. Ian wasn’t as logical as I. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that he thought more with his heart than he did with his head.
I made the next game even quicker than the first. I made a complicated play that left Ian scratching his head when we were done.
“I’m not even gonna ask what that was,” he said. “But I have to go to work now. You want to continue when I get home?”
I shook my head. His smile fell just a bit and he said, “Well, okay. That’s fine. We’ll do something else. Don’t let anybody in now.” He winked at me and walked out the door, keeping me in his eyesight as he left. When the door was shut I heard Ian stumble into something in the hallway and listened as it crashed, Ian moaning at the mess he had just made.
I made a laugh die in my throat. It was really hard not to take Ian as a joke. I was consistently reminding myself that he saved my life, and that I only had a few more days to deal with this…the minute I stopped being so sore I would thank him for what he had done and would be on my way to devil knew where.
Even so, it didn’t stop the guilt. After all, who else would take in a complete stranger and leave them alone in their house for hours, expecting them to steal nothing while they were gone? I felt bad that I couldn’t repay him.
I looked around. The apartment was a bit messy. Maybe if I tidied it up a bit…
I bent down to pick up a blanket on the floor, one that had been sitting there for weeks. As I started folding I saw that it had several holes all over it, the size of my hand at least. I shook my head. This wasn’t exactly the first thing that was ripped around here. Even the shoddy curtains covering the window needed minor repairs. Ian couldn’t afford to buy new things, not while caring for me.
Hm. That sewing machine was in the corner, and it had thread…
Ian wasn’t exactly Mister Housekeeper. He could fix things, as stuff broke around the old apartment all the time, and as long as it was meat he could cook it, but anything else involving housekeeping meant he was pretty much hopeless. I might as well make him some dinner, and patch up a few of his blankets while I was at it. Heck, I had time…I had seen a couple of his shirts needed buttons After living in the cult under Annabelle’s orders for so long, I’d pretty much become the mother of the household and had learned how to do a lot of things. In fact, the cult was probably suffering right now, without anyone around to take care of them…
I refused to feel sorry for the cult now, after what they had done to me. Picking the sewing machine off the floor and placing it on the kitchen table, I set it up easily and then went to rummage through the big trash bag that had come with it. It was filled with tons of fabric, large and small scraps that Ian’s mom had given to him. Perfect. It was just what I needed. Grabbing the blanket and a pair of scissors, I got to work.
The phone rang a couple times but I ignored it as I sewed. People called the house phone but I never answered. I really had to wonder why Ian kept it up, as he used his cell phone most of the time. As far as I could tell nobody knew I was here. I never went outside because I couldn’t yet go down stairs (believe me, I had tried). In time I had come to live with it. The longer I kept out of sight of the cult, the better. Ian didn’t object to me never leaving the apartment. Sometimes I wondered if this man was one of those crazy serial killers who only saved young girls to kill or take advantage of them later. But Ian never made a move, or showed any telltale signs. He was as friendly as possible, and it astounded me. I still didn’t trust him, but that really came down to the fact that I didn’t trust anyone, thanks to Annabelle. As I thought about her, I couldn’t believe that creatures like Ian could still walk the earth with her about. How could anyone be so…so…nice?
It felt great to be useful, out from under the stern watch of Ian who would have complained until I began resting all day, if he was here. I worked until a little past eleven, in which I had finished everything in the kitchen, living room, and closet. Even the curtains almost looked brand new. Proud of my handiwork I got a small sandwich and then started on my newest escapade…his room.
I had never been inside of the small bedroom and I figured I wasn’t supposed to be in there. Rules had never stopped me however, so I journeyed inside.
At least it was clean. There wasn’t much inside, save for a double bed and a white dresser. A lot of the things in here needed worse patching up than the living room. I started with the curtains and comforter, and once I was done with that moved onto his clothes. I felt terrible going through his drawers, but forced myself to buck up. I wasn’t supposed to care about what I did. I was going to hell no matter what happened. I needed to grow a pair. Grabbing everything that needed fixing I carried it back into the kitchen and got to work.
It was nearing four when I had folded everything up and returned it to its proper place and I was exhausted, but I wouldn’t break my nonexistent promise. I had told myself I would make dinner for him too. It didn’t have to be a four course meal. I quickly whipped up a casserole and then placed it in the oven to bake, looking around the room.
Dinner was made, almost everything was fixed, and I was really tired. The only thing left to be patched up was a pillow with a bit of stuffing coming out of it. I could nip that up in a jiffy. I went back into his room to get it, and my legs ached with the effort. Was I still so weak a bit of housework had my body like jelly? I looked at his bed and swayed on the spot. He wouldn’t mind if I laid down for a bit, just rested? As long as I was out of his bedroom by the time he got home, he wouldn’t even notice…
I crawled on the bed and rested my head on the flat pillows. He had given me the nicer one, and the better blanket for the couch as well. He was such a sweetheart. I smiled.
The smell that was coming off the pillows was very comforting. It was a soft mix of pine, a musky scent of spice and woodland that flooded my nostrils and somehow filled me right up. I didn’t know if it was what Ian smelled like or if it was a spray or a scented candle or something, but I liked it a lot.
I didn’t realize that I’d fallen asleep until I heard the bedroom door open. I jerked awake, ripped pillow in hand, to see Ian standing outside the door.
“Ian…” I said, the second word spoken since my arrival. I sat up, shaking sleep from my eyes, “I’m so sorry…”
He was beaming. “The house looks great, and dinner smells fantastic. Did you do all this for me?”
I shut my gaping mouth and nodded, pushing the bangs out of my eyes.
He looked around the bedroom. “You patched up things in here too. And my clothes,” he said, looking at a shirt I had forgotten to fold on the bed. “I didn’t know you could sew. How did you get it done so quickly?”
I shrugged. He chuckled and said, “I appreciate it. You did a really good job. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
I shook my head quickly and he held out his hand to help me up. I grabbed it out of instinct, still half asleep. Annabelle’s hand had always been soft, and out of proportion to my own. Ian’s hand was rough, and it fit over my own a little too well. When I found my feet I instantly recoiled my hand back, rubbing my palm where we had touched.
If he had noticed my reaction he didn’t show it. We went to the kitchen and he began serving me dinner. At the sight of the casserole I became nauseous, even though I knew it was delicious and Ian was already planning on seconds. I had forgotten that this was the first meal Annabelle and I had ever shared, and had made it subconsciously. Now that I remembered it made me sick to look at. When she had left me, I stopped eating altogether and lost fifteen pounds.
I shook my head, trying to snap out of it. I began shoveling the food in my mouth, forcing myself to overcome my nausea. The days of me being sick over Annabelle were done. I would no longer do that to myself.
“Wow, you’re really hungry,” Ian said in approval. He grabbed another huge cut of the casserole and said, “Here! Have some more!”
That night while watching TV I felt ill, but it was worth it. I was proud of myself for once in my life, and tried to keep my burps quiet as Ian rattled on and on next to me.
“There was this little girl who came to me today, and she told me that her family didn’t have enough to eat,” Ian said, and his eyes sparkled with tears as some movie played across the screen. “I helped her sign up for a special program the school runs for free lunches, and gave her a couple pamphlets for food banks her family could go to. It’s really sad that these kids have to go through this.”
The story touched me, but it didn’t melt my icy exterior. I had heard the same thing in the place I grew up and had experienced a similar nightmare myself. This might be America, and I might have been born in preppy, rich Ann Arbor, but not everybody had food to eat or a roof to sleep under. There were people I knew who made my life look like the one of a pampered princess. They had nowhere to go, no one to love, and no way to survive.
Which of course is where the cult comes in. Annabelle, and all the others, feed on those types of people.
“You know, a lot of my relatives hate that I’m a social worker. Annoyed I’m the bleeding heart sort of deal,” he said, gesturing to the air as if they were right there. “But I’m glad that I did it. I mean, I’m doing something that makes a difference. I don’t get paid a lot of money or anything, but I’m working with kids to help give them better lives, and it rocks. I love helping people.”
There was no big surprise. I changed the channel and found a chick flick, settling on it for the night. Ian made no move to change it. I sighed. This poor kid was gonna run himself down. He didn’t realize that if you took care of people too much they used you in the end. Too bad he would have to find that out for himself.
“It’s great. I’m glad I found something I like doing for a job.” He beamed. “Did you have a job you liked, Christie?”
I paused. I had never really thought about having a career. Once Annabelle had brought me into her circle I figured I wouldn’t make it past twenty. Now that I was away from the cult my chances of survival were much greater than before. I was nineteen and I had absolutely no direction, no idea where I was going or what I was doing. I had no money and no home, no college picked out and not even a high school degree. I had nothing that would help get my life together. The only reason I was still alive was because of the stranger next to me. I didn’t know if I wanted a job, a husband, kids, a family, to travel the world, or any of that. I didn’t know if I wanted anything. I started to shake.
Ian noticed. He went to put a hand on my shoulder, but thought better of it and let it drop back down to the couch. “That’s okay,” he said. “You have a lot of time to figure it out. I mean, I’m twenty four and I just got it together. It’ll be alright.”
I took him at his word and tried to relax. After this, the rest of the night was pretty quiet. When the movie was almost over Ian got up and yawned. “I’m going to bed. What about you?”
I gestured to the TV to indicate I was going to finish watching it. Ian smiled sleepily at me and said, “Alright. Don’t stay up too late.”
He went to his bedroom door and I turned back to my movie. Before I could redirect my attention, however, I felt like Ian was watching me. I turned on my seat to look at him.
He rubbed his arm a little subconsciously before opening his mouth, and I could tell this wasn’t going to be good. “You know, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Ian said awkwardly. “I’m not going to push you to move out or anything. I know you’re not certain about a job or anything yet, and it’s fine. I love that you sewed that stuff up for me, but you don’t have to pay me back or anything.”
He fidgeted. “Just…just think of this as your home, alright? We’re friends and what’s mine is yours.”
“We’re not friends,” I said softly.
For the first time since I had known him Ian was silent.
The air was so frigid that if a blade touched it, it would shatter. Ian stared back at me before sliding submissively back into his room. “Goodnight.”
That was all I heard from him as he shut the door.
Even though I regretted that I had hurt his feelings, I blocked the emotion out and did what I did best...turned to ice on the inside. I watched the rest of the movie and then got the couch ready for bed.
Even as I crawled under my blankets Ian’s comments were kept out by the wall I had constructed long ago. No matter what he did, this apartment would never be a home to me. I had never known what a home was before, and I wouldn’t now. The fact of the matter was that Ian was a red checker and I was a black. His soul was clean and mine was stained so badly you’d never be able to get the darkness out. My kind and his kind didn’t mix.
Ian needed to understand I would only hurt him. Why couldn’t he see that? And why, for the life of me, was I having trouble convincing myself of that too?
Chapter Three
Christine
The next morning Ian acted as if nothing had happened. We were eating dinner when he asked me a question. “Tomorrow’s Halloween. On Main Street the town likes to come and celebrate with all the trick-or-treaters. I’m usually around to help with the celebration. Would you like to come with me? Give you a chance to get out of this place.”
I put down my spoon and thought. Was I well enough, and more importantly, was it safe enough to go outside? Ian had bought me plenty of clothes, nice ones that I could easily disguise myself with. No one in the cult would recognize me easily. It’d be nice to see my surroundings, and besides, I had to admit I was tired of never seeing the sun. Something happened when a person was separated from nature for too long, and I didn’t like it.
I needed fresh air. I smiled back at him in response. Ian smiled back, and when he did I noticed something. When Ian smiled it was like the whole room sprung to attention and warmed up, a very welcoming and happy smile. “Alright then. I’ll be home early tomorrow, so be ready to leave.”
I finished off my soup. I intended to be.
I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh as Ian came out of his room with a wizards cap and a red cape on, complete with sparkling silver stars and a purple velvet robe.
“It’s for the kids,” he said. “I don’t usually dress up for Halloween.”
I snickered again and shook my head. As he moved to my side and bells started jingling from off his shoes, I couldn’t contain myself and I barreled over laughing.
Ian’s face turned a bit sour. “What, you think I’m some sort of nerd? I uh...borrowed this. It isn’t mine,” he said, turning red.
He was totally lying, but I would let him keep his pride. He opened the door and said, “Are you ready for this?”
What a stupid question. I pushed past him and we started down the stairs, me eagerly, although slowly. I was excited to figure out just exactly where I was. Hopefully it was far away from Ann A
rbor...I grinned at the thought.
“You’re excited already,” he said. We got to the front door and he put a hand on it dramatically. “Drumroll please.” When I refused to give him one he sighed and said, “Alright, fine. Miss Christine Fjord, welcome to Manchester, Michigan.”
I was beaming as he opened the door, but once I saw where I was, my smile slipped off my face.
Ian’s apartment was located above a tiny shop on what I supposed to be Main Street. The tree with all its leaves had been blocking the window, so I never could see what the town looked like, but I could now. Buildings that looked like they had been built in the 1800’s crowded together up and down two sides of a road, sidewalks along it crowded with trick or treaters. The structures were so ancient I’m surprised they still stood. On the porch of an old mill...no seriously, I’m not kidding...an old saw mill, right on the left side in the middle of Main Street...volunteers were dipping and handing out candied apples to people who were lined up along the section of the street that branched off from the main road. The town was split, an old bridge for cars hovering over a large river that pooled into a waterfall by a Dairy Queen, orange and red trees surrounding the water and framing it like some sickly little picture.
Ian shut the door behind me and began pointing out things. “There’s the bar, the salon, the DQ, it’s only open a couple months out of the year so we can’t go, I’m sorry, uh...”
Ian continued listing off all the other venues. A small coffee shop, a post office, a few antique shops, a pharmacy, a bakery, a couple of other rag tag shops along with a Laundromat, and about five million pizza places. Why a town this tiny would need five million pizza places all within walking distance of each other, I would never know.
“And if you really want to get fancy, the Manchester Market is just down the road,” he informed me. “But the most beautiful view in town is next to the DQ right there, that’s where the River Raisin runs off. We’re in the middle of one of the largest sections of the river. In fact, we hold a canoe race every year.”
These Starcrossed Lives of Ours Page 3