Spy, Spy Away

by Diane Henders

  He stared at the floor for a long moment. “I… didn’t know if I should let ya in.” His voice was almost a whisper. “I’m really fucked up.”

  I slid my arms around him again and held him close. “Thanks for trusting me.”

  “It ain’t you I don’t trust.” He took my shoulders and held me away to look into my eyes. “Aydan, will ya promise me somethin’?”

  “Probably. What is it?”

  “Will ya… Aydan, if I ever get outta control like that again… if… if ya ever think I might… hurt ya… will ya promise to shoot me?”

  I jerked back. “No! How could you even… no!”

  “Please.” The terrible entreaty in his eyes tore a jagged hole in my heart. “Aydan, if ya don’t promise, I gotta ask ya to leave an’ never come back. If I ever hurt ya, I’d… I couldn’t take it. Promise me. Please.”

  “Arnie, you would never hurt me. I know it like I know the sun will rise every morning.”

  “Then ya shouldn’t have any problem promisin’ me.”

  “Arnie…” I reached for him again, but he held me distant.

  “Ya gotta promise now, or I gotta ask ya to leave.” Despite the gentleness of his grip, I could feel the strain quivering in his hands.

  “Oh, Arnie…”

  My throat closed with grief for the broken child and the damaged man. Searching his face, I read his resolve. Promise the unthinkable or lose him forever. And if I left now, he would never dare another friendship like ours.

  The lost child implored me from his eyes.

  “I promise.” My voice shook.

  He swallowed, his hands trembling on my shoulders. “Aydan, ya swore you’d never lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying. I swear to you that if you ever attack me, I will shoot you.”

  “Shoot to kill.” His eyes demanded it.

  Tears rose, nearly choking me. “Yes.” My voice was a raw whisper.

  He crushed me in his arms and pressed his face into my hair. “Thanks,” he rasped. “Thanks, Aydan.”

  I clung to him, unable to speak.

  At last, he pulled away and stroked a hand over my hair. “Come on, darlin’.” He turned me in the direction of the bathroom. “Get cleaned up an’ call it a night.”

  I let out a long, tremulous breath and wobbled into the bathroom. Shaking with fatigue and emotion, I washed off as much of the dried blood as I could see while my eyelids kept sinking closed in front of the mirror. Eventually I gave up, gulped a couple of painkillers, and sleepwalked out.

  Passing through the living room where Arnie hunched on the sofa, I paused. Three empty beer bottles already stood on the coffee table, and he leaned back to salute me with their half-empty companion. “Go on to bed, darlin’. I’m gonna sit up for a while.”

  “Night owl,” I teased, and bent over the back of the sofa to drop a kiss on his lips as if everything was all right. “You musicians are all the same.” I reached down to give Hooker the cat a chin-scratch and his purring amplified as he slitted his eyes, stretching luxuriously in Arnie’s lap. I hesitated before finally giving in to ask the stupid question. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I wavered, torn between trying to get him to talk and giving him a chance to process his feelings.

  I sighed. If I pushed, he might withdraw completely.

  “Good night, then.”

  “G’night.” He sucked back another long swallow.

  Chapter 18

  I woke to the sound of Arnie’s guitar and lay blinking in the darkness for a moment, vaguely surprised I’d slept without nightmares.

  I squinted at the illuminated clock beside the bed. Then again, an hour and a half without nightmares wasn’t exactly cause for celebration. I stifled a groan and pressed my face into the pillow, forgetting my nose until it was too late.

  The pain jerked me upright, teeth clamped on the frenzied swearing that tried to escape. Involuntary tears streamed down my cheeks and I blotted them with the corner of the sheet, hoping my stupid nose didn’t start bleeding again.

  Something tickled my upper lip, and I hauled myself out of bed to hurry for the bathroom.

  When I stumbled through the living room, Arnie was curled over his beloved guitar, eyes closed while he crooned a poignant wordless melody. A flock of empty beer bottles formed a silent audience on the coffee table.

  The bathroom mirror assured me that the tickle was only the watery drainage of tears, and I dabbed cautiously before tiptoeing back to the living room.

  Alone in his music, Arnie swayed gently on the sofa, his gifted fingers summoning heartbreak from the guitar while he comforted it with the tenderness of his voice.

  I lowered myself onto the end of the sofa and appropriated one of his hand-crocheted afghans to wrap around myself. His eyes opened and he smiled, a smile so sweet it nearly broke my heart.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he mumbled.

  “That’s a beautiful song. What is it?”

  He peered down at his guitar as if surprised to find it in his hands. “I dunno. It ain’t really a song, I’m just playin’.” That sweet smile again, his eyes focused decades away. “Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout Mom.”

  I leaned forward to trace my fingertips across the back of his hand. “Don’t stop.”

  “Mm.” He closed his eyes again and reunited with the music. Watching him, my heart eased. Thank God for his guitar.

  I tucked my cold feet up under me, doing a quick bottle count. That was a hell of a lot of beer in only a couple of hours.

  Well, whatever it took. I settled back to listen.

  My eyelids were drooping when he spoke at last. “So who’s the big fuckin’ stupid pathetic baby now?”

  I snapped to alertness. He stared down at his guitar, his fingertips barely brushing the strings.

  Damn my thoughtless mouth.

  “Arnie, you had a horrible flashback. It’s totally different.”

  He looked up, meeting my gaze squarely. “So it’s okay if I bawl my eyes out over somethin’ that happened forty-odd years ago, but you can’t cry even when ya just been tortured by some fuckin’ sicko. ‘Cause that makes ya a big fuckin’ stupid pathetic baby.”

  The beer was doing its best. His words were slurred, but the strain had returned to his body as soon as his music stopped. He was still a hell of a long way from okay.

  “Well, ye… n… I mean… You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” He laid the guitar down carefully and reached to gather me against his side. “You’re so afraid somebody’s gonna beat ya up for bein’ weak, ya beat yourself up worse’n anybody else ever would.” He stroked my hair with a gentle hand. “Ya can’t have it both ways, darlin’. Either cryin’ is shameful, or it ain’t.”

  I wrapped my arms around him. “Arnie, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He dropped a slightly inaccurate kiss on my forehead. “I know, darlin’. That’s what I keep tryin’ to tell ya.”

  We sat in silence while I absorbed that.

  After a lengthy pause, he spoke again, his gaze fixed on the wall. “Never had one that bad before.” His arm tightened around me. “It was just… the ol’ man swingin’ at ya… seein’ ya lying there, an’ the blood… all of a sudden, it was Mom lyin’ there bleedin’ out an’ him still whalin’ on her…” He shook himself back to the present. “The ol’ fucker woulda finished me this time.”

  A shudder seized me. “You really wouldn’t have fought back? You would have just let him beat you?”

  “I dunno.” He slid down on the couch and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling, tension coiling his muscles like steel springs. “I swore I’d never be like him.” His fists clenched. “All those times I just let him take his shot an’ then called the cops. I thought I could do it, Aydan. I really thought…” His voice trailed off into silence.

  “How…” I had to clear my throat before I could speak again. “How many times?”

  “Eleven.” He spoke emotionlessly to the
ceiling, and I shivered. “Assault sentence ain’t fuck-all,” he added. “He usually only did a few months, never more’n a coupla years. But sometimes it took him a while to find me, after I joined up with the army.”

  Sickness twisted my stomach. “I would have shot him tonight if he attacked you. You know that, don’t you? He would have died tonight no matter what.”

  “Glad ya didn’t, darlin’. Wouldn’t wanna put that on ya.” Hellhound blew out a long breath and slid lower on the sofa. “I took out guys before, in combat. But I was doin’ what I hadta. I was always in control.” He examined his fists as if seeing them for the first time, the old scars glowing white across his taut knuckles. “But I was always afraid I’d lose it someday. An’ tonight I did.”

  He slumped forward to hide his face in his hands. “I wanted to be better than him, Aydan. I wanted it so bad.” His voice was raw pain.

  “You are better than him! You’re so much better, there’s not even a comparison!” I threw my arms around him, laying my head on his bowed back. “Arnie, you’re nothing like him. You never have been and you never will be. You’re a good person. A gentle person.”

  His laugh sounded like a sob. “Yeah, gentle. I just killed him with my bare hands. Don’t think so, darlin’.”

  “Arnie.” I slid off the couch to kneel in front of him and coaxed his hands away from his face. “You were fighting for your life. And he deserved it.”

  His face twisted. “Don’t, Aydan. Don’t say that. That’s what he always said. Mom deserved it. We deserved it. He always had a reason.” He shook his head. “Ya can’t make excuses. Either you’re the kinda guy who’ll hurt somebody, or ya ain’t. I am.”

  “You’re not!”

  “Aydan, I snapped his fuckin’ neck like he was a fuckin’ chicken.” He scowled, but even the angry-biker facade couldn’t hide his torment. “I’m a fuckin’ sick bastard, jus’ like him.”

  “But, Arnie,” I pleaded. “You’ve never hit Hooker, have you?”

  “No!” He recoiled, his hand flying protectively to cuddle the somnolent cat beside him. “’Course not!”

  “But he can get irritating sometimes, can’t he?” I persisted.

  Arnie stroked the long fur and Hooker rolled over, stretching and curling a tufted paw over his broad face while his purr boomed like distant thunder.

  Arnie’s face softened. “Hell, yeah. Sometimes he irritates the piss outta me. Goddam dumbass furball.” He caressed the big cat’s tattered ears with a tenderness that belied his rough words.

  “So even though he irritates the piss out of you, you’ve never hit him. Believe me, Arnie, if you were like your father, you wouldn’t even need an excuse. You’d hurt Hooker and enjoy it. You know I’m right. There are lots of studies that prove it.”

  “But, Aydan, I lost it. I just…” He held out his hands as if they were defective. “I ain’t safe to be around people. What if I do it again?”

  “You won’t.” I rose to sit beside him and slid my arms around him. “It’ll never happen again. You said yourself you’ve never had a flashback that bad before. It was just because he hit me and re-enacted that memory. You’ll never see him hit anybody ever again. And I’m willing to bet there’s nothing else that can trigger you like that.”

  The naked pleading in his eyes pierced my heart. “But what if there is?”

  “Arnie, how old are you?”

  He blinked and frowned. “Forty-nine next month. Ya know that. What’s that got to do with anythin’?”

  “You’ve been through things most people don’t even want to imagine. Abuse. Combat. Torture.” I took his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “You’ve lived through nearly fifty years of shit without ever losing it on anyone but him, and it took a specific set of events to trigger you. Events that can never happen again. Trust me, there’s nothing left in the world that can break you.”

  His hands tightened on mine, his gaze searching my face. “Ya promised not to lie to me, Aydan. Don’t blow sunshine up my ass, just tell me the truth. Ya really think that?”

  “Arnie, I don’t just think it, I know it.”

  He held my gaze for a long moment. Then the tension eased from his body on a long breath and he sagged back on the couch, closing his eyes. “Thanks, darlin’.”

  His eyes opened slowly, his face drawn with exhaustion. He smiled and stroked the hair back from my cheek. “Ya better go back to bed. Ya gotta be bagged.” His slurring was more noticeable now.

  “Come on.” I rose. “You need to sleep, too.”

  “‘M gonna sleep here.” He reached for the afghan I had shed.

  “No, come to bed. Come on, I’ll help you.” I stooped and reached for his hands.

  He shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. “Can’t. If I hadda nightmare, dunno what I’d do in my sleep. Can’t take th’ chance.”

  “It’ll be okay. Come on.”

  “No.”

  “Arnie…”

  His arms tightened, his powerful muscles bulging with returning tension. “Aydan, no.” He squinted up at me as if trying to focus his eyes. “Couldn’ take it ‘f I hurt ya. Ain’ gonna chance it.” His words were blurred, but their finality was unmistakeable.

  I blew out a short breath and sank down beside him. “Okay, then we’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Fuck, Aydan, you’re solvin’ th’ wrong problem!”

  I turned to face him, planting my fists on my hips. “I’m going to sleep in the same bed with you no matter what. And you know how stubborn I am, so you might as well just give up now.”

  He stared at me for a moment before lurching to his feet. “Gotta take a leak. Go on t’bed. Be righ’ there…” He tacked an erratic path toward the bathroom.

  The door closed and locked behind him, and I rose to frown at it. What was he up to?

  Shortly afterward, the toilet flushed.

  I waited.

  Some muffled thumps and then silence.

  “Nice try,” I muttered, and headed for the kitchen to round up a toothpick.

  The simple privacy lock was just as easy to bypass as the one in the house where I grew up. When the door swung open, Hellhound scowled blearily up at me from his cramped position in the bathtub, the small bathmat draped inadequately over one shoulder and part of his bulky chest. “Whaddafuck, Aydan?”

  I kept my expression bland. “I need to pee. And you’re not going to watch me do it, so… out.”

  Ignoring my extended hand, he slowly levered himself up, swearing mightily. At last, he dragged himself to his feet and stood swaying in the bathtub, his eyelids drooping.

  “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Don’ ‘member bathtubs… bein’ so fuggen hard…”

  I hurriedly reached to steady him as he stumbled out of the tub, rebounding off the wall hard enough to rattle the mirror. A flash of his old humour glinted in his half-closed eyes. “’Course I ain’t slept inna tub… in ‘bout thirty years…”

  I wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him toward the bedroom.

  He shook his head vigorously, making us both stagger sideways. “No, Aydan, I ain’ gonna…”

  “I know, it’s okay,” I agreed. “Just lie down on the bed for a few minutes. When I’m done in the bathroom you can go back to the couch.”

  “…’Kay...”

  We wove our unsteady way into the bedroom and I helped him struggle out of his T-shirt while he mumbled unintelligible obscenities.

  “Stop trying to help.” I propped him beside the bed. “Just stand still.” I undid the button on his jeans and reached for the zipper.

  He made an unsuccessful attempt to catch my hand. “H… Hang on…”

  I reached up to give him a quick kiss. “What, you don’t want me to undress you? That’s a first.”

  He let out a sleepy chuckle, his eyes drifting closed. “Ya can und…undress me anytime, darlin’.” He swayed. “But I th… think you’re gonna… be dis’pointed t’night.”

  I gave him another l
ight kiss before shimmying his jeans down. “I don’t have any ulterior motives. I just thought you’d be more comfortable if the boys were free.”

  “Ahhh… yeah…” He sagged onto the bed and sank back on the pillow as I lifted his feet in and pulled his jeans off. “Jus’ f’r a minnit… ‘N’ then I’m gonna…” The rest of his sentence dissolved in a snore.

  Chapter 19

  Hellhound lunged out of the shadows of the darkened bedroom, roaring with rage. His fist smashed into my face, exploding in lightning bolts of pain. I fell, scrabbling desperately at the bedside table for my gun.

  He bellowed and sprang as my gun swung up.

  The gun kicked in my hand, once, twice; ear-shattering explosions.

  I screamed as he fell in slow motion, his body hitting the floor with a sickening boneless half-bounce that settled into horrible stillness…

  “Aydan! Darlin’, wake up, ’s jus’ a dream.”

  Frozen in the terror between nightmare and reality, I stared up at Hellhound’s face hovering above me in the dimness.

  A moment later, reality claimed me and I flung my arms around him, half-sobbing with relief. “Oh thank God, Arnie, you’re okay. God, what a horrible dream,” I babbled against his shoulder. “Oh, thank God you’re okay.”

  “Shhh, darlin’, s’okay. Jus’ a dream.”

  I burrowed closer, clinging to him in distress that was part aftermath of the dream and part remembrance of my terrible vow.

  “S’okay, darlin’…” His stroking hand faltered on my hair. “Hang on, what’m I doin’ here?”

  “Sleeping.” I tightened my arms around him.

  “No.” He gently pried me loose. “I toldja-”

  “You were asleep before your head hit the pillow,” I interrupted. “And you were fine.”

  He frowned. “But ‘f I hadda nightmare…”

  “You did. Several. But you didn’t do anything. I woke you up and you went back to sleep and you were fine.” I gave him the big brown eyes. “Please don’t be mad at me. I knew you’d be fine and this was the best way to convince you.”

  He groaned and collapsed onto the pillow. “Dunno whether to kiss ya or kick your ass outta bed.”