by Amy Clapp
I frantically looked ahead to see if anyone else was on the path or walking through the woods. That's when I saw him again. This time he was in front of me, but behind a tree on my left. How did he get there? I was running really fast now, but no longer really watching where I was running. I kept staring at the stranger and he kept staring at me.
Relief flooded over me as I realized I was close to where the path turns to boardwalk. The boardwalk marks the end of the woods and the beginning of the sand dunes leading to the big lake. There should be more people on the boardwalk, especially on a beautiful day like today. I tried to keep my rising panic under control.
Just as I left the seclusion of the woods, I stole one more glance to my left. He was still there, staring at me from his spot behind the tree. Be careful, my conscience warned me. As I looked forward to the openness and brightness of the dunes ahead, I felt my right ankle twist beneath me. Sharp pain shot up the outside of my ankle and through my calf. Gasping, I fell, putting my hands out to catch myself. As the rough wood of the boardwalk touched the palms of my hands, I felt more stabbing pain in my ankle.
I leaned on my hip and grabbed at my throbbing ankle. What rotten luck. Sprained ankle. My eyes started to tear up as the throbbing pain continued. Panic-stricken, I thought of my stalker. Is he still there? Is he coming for me? I didn't have to look. I knew he was. I could feel him coming.
-Two-
Fear. Breath-catching, heart-pounding, sweat-inducing fear coursed through my tense body. I knew he was right behind me. I heard his footsteps stop just a few feet from where I was nursing my ankle on the boardwalk. They're right, you know. In times of intense stress and danger your senses are heightened. A defensive reaction, an instinctual way of protecting one's self. I heard everything even my own heartbeat. I heard the scratch of his shoe on the sidewalk behind me as he tentatively switched his weight. I heard his breath, slow and even. I suddenly became aware that I was holding my breath. I gasped as I took quick, rapid breaths. My lungs burned. My chest rose and fell in fast shallow movements with the quickness of my breath.
A slight breeze blew toward me and I caught a cool, musky scent. It reminded me of when Oma Clare would hang laundry outside to dry in late fall. She would make me bring in the dry, stiff clothing after it had been hanging outside in the crisp autumn air. I couldn't help but bury my face deep in the pile of clean clothing. The clothes were cool and clean but the fall air had mixed in aromas of dry leaves and sweet apples. I realized that the scent I smelled now was from him and my breath came in even faster gasps. My body tensed uneasily as I waited for his next move.
There would be no outrunning him now, not with this injured ankle. The throbbing was excruciating, occasionally sending stabbing pains up my leg. I placed my hands around my injured ankle. It was already swelling around my ankle bone and my shoe felt very tight around my foot.
If I scream, would somebody help me? I looked around. There was no one on the boardwalk this morning. Where is everyone? I felt pangs of anger and irritation amidst the panic. Of course, there was just me and my stalker out here today. Go figure.
I felt light headed and dizzy and blinked my eyes to clear my vision. I needed to be able to think clearly so I could react swiftly if I needed to. My head spun and my stomach churned. Was it the pain from my ankle or the fast breathing? Maybe both, but I thought I would just pass out. My ears were ringing, and my vision began to tunnel, darkening my peripheral vision. I could only see directly in front of me. He was close enough to touch me now. And then he spoke.
"You're going to hyperventilate if you keep breathing like that."
"What?" I said. My head snapped towards him. I no longer felt light headed. The shock of his voice and his unexpected words jolted my senses.
"You're going to hyperventilate if you keep breathing so fast," he said. "Take some slow, deep breaths."
I just stared up at him confused by what he had said to me. Is he trying to tell me how to breathe? Is that what stalkers do before they attack? I didn't remember that from any the movies I had watched.
He then began to breathe, slowly and deliberately. Cocking my head slightly to the side, I stared at him in bewilderment. I think he's trying to show me how to breathe!
I must have been holding my breath, because he then said, "Hey, I told you to take slow, deep breaths, not stop breathing altogether." He smiled. I took in a deep breath. And another. And yet another. My heart began to slow and the ringing in my ears softened. "Good," he responded. "You should try a few more."
I stared up at him from my seat on the boardwalk. Dark jeans and a long sleeve black shirt graced his slender body as he stood with his hands on his hips. There was nothing threatening or menacing from his posture. I continued to breathe and found that I couldn't help but follow his instructions. His voice was deep and warm and he spoke softly. I knew, in an attempt to keep from startling me. There was nothing threatening about him. "Looks like you tripped. Is your ankle hurt?"
I continued to stare at him. Did he just ask me another question? I couldn't be sure. His voice was mesmerizing, so comforting...so warm....so familiar. Had I heard it before? His rich voice washed over me like warm bath water. Something in his voice calmed me.
Extending his arms towards me, he said, "May I take a look at your ankle?" I blinked in response. "May I?" He questioned again. "Please?" Raising his eyebrows, he held his hands out toward me, showing that he meant no harm. Still slightly confused, I nodded.
He knelt down on one knee next to me. Bending over me slightly he said, "Let's take a look at that ankle, shall we?" He gingerly took my ankle in his hands to examine it. As his hands cradled my injured ankle, I felt a surge of hot prickling current course over my skin. Reflexively, I pulled my ankle out of his grasp, gasping slightly. "I'm sorry. Can we try again?" he asked apologetically, grimacing slightly.
I nodded, very slowly placing my ankle in his open hands. I still felt the prickling sensation running across my exposed skin as he gingerly held my ankle. But I resisted the urge to pull away again. His hands were gentle, slowly turning my ankle and leg so that he could better examine it. The longer he touched my skin, the warmer and more soothing the tingling current was. His hands were very warm. A blush darkened my cheeks as I felt the intimacy of his hands on my skin.
I took another deep breath, attempting to calm my frazzled nerves. That same clean, musky smell filled my senses. Involuntarily, I closed my eyes, breathing even deeper. My heart slowed to a normal pace. He smelled so good and so familiar. I opened my eyes and stared at him.
"Does it hurt when I bend your ankle like this?" he said, putting pressure on the top of my foot while bending it down.
"Huh?" I stammered. I stared at him as he knelt beside me. I didn't hear the question because I was too busy looking at him. His skin was smooth and flawless, with a slight olive tone. His hair was short, but wavy on top, the color deep brown like dark chocolate. He even had a small mole behind his ear.
He looked at me and repeated his question while I stared directly into his eyes. They were a deep sapphire color framed with thick, dark lashes. I knew it wouldn't take much for me to get lost in those eyes. He cleared his throat and I blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
He smiled again. "Does this hurt?" White teeth dazzled me as his lips turned into a smile.
"No. It actually feels much better now," I answered. It really did feel much better. The throbbing had dulled to an annoying ache. Even the swelling had reduced.
"Do you think you can stand on it?"
"Maybe," I answered, hopefully. I took the hand he offered me. His other hand he used to help me stand by placing it under my upper arm. Gingerly, I put a little weight on my injured ankle, testing for pain. "Ouch! That hurts." I picked up my right foot leaving all my weight on my left. I leaned on his arms, grateful for the support. "Great. How am I going to get home now?"
"I guess I'll just have to help you back home," he said. Narrowing my eyes, I searched his fac
e looking for any signs of a deeper, more sinister motive. In what I could only imagine was his best attempt at an English accent, he joked, "Madam, I assure you my intentions are strictly honorable." When I didn't laugh, he did. "Come on," he said lightly, "Let's get you home." While I leaned on his arms for support we began the last half mile walk towards home.
We trekked along the wooden boardwalk, me hopping on my one good foot and I began to apologize. "I'm really sorry about this. Thanks for helping me out."
"Sure. It's a good thing I was in the area." He smiled, keeping his focus on the ground before us.
"Yeah...about that. Were you....following me?" I asked. I knew I was being bold in asking the question but I had to know. He was following me, wasn't he? Why?
"I like to think of it as looking out for you. You know, like a guardian angel or something. Hey, watch your step," he warned as he nimbly lifted me over a missing wooden plank. "Someone really needs to fix that."
"Looking out for me? Why?"
"How much farther?" he asked, avoiding the question as we continued hobbling down the boardwalk. There were more people now, making the boardwalk much harder to navigate in our three-legged manner.
"Not much. A little less than a half of a mile to my house, I guess. We went a little farther in silence. I was having too hard of a time keeping up with him and concentrating on not falling to maintain any type of meaningful conversation. He seemed perfectly content to just support me the rest of the way home. Strangely, I didn't feel the need to fill the silence either. Mostly, I tried to keep my head down, watching the boardwalk below me so as not to inure my good ankle. But every couple of steps, I stole a glimpse at the stranger helping me.
I was still confused about how quickly events had changed. Had I really just imagined this man was following me, watching me from behind the trees? I thought back to the fear and panic I felt at the idea of being chased. It brought back the same scary feelings from the dream I had experienced last night and so many other nights before. I felt my heartbeat quicken as the fear surfaced again.
Almost as if he could sense the change in my physiology, he spoke again. "Are there always this many people out here on Saturday mornings?" His voice was so calming that the fear immediately dissipated.
"Yeah," I mumbled. "Where were they twenty minutes ago?" I thought I said the last part low enough for him not to hear. In fact, I didn't mean to say it aloud at all. He never answered. Maybe he didn't hear it. I stole another glimpse at his flawless face. Was that a small smile escaping from the corners of his lips?
I tried to concentrate on the people around me. In front of us an older couple strolled hand in hand. Young kids tried to roller-blade past us, desperate to keep their balance as they stumbled over the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A young woman was briskly pushing her baby with a jogging stroller. With quick movements, we gracefully maneuvered around the others on the boardwalk.
"My house is just around that small sand dune and on the other side of street," I volunteered. We were getting close to home. I had so many questions to ask this stranger, but I didn't know where to begin. Why was he looking out for me? Had he been watching me or was he just in the right place at the right time to help me?
I knew I should be wary of this man, maybe even frightened. Oma taught me better than this. I had no idea who he was. Furthermore, hadn't he been following me, hiding behind trees? But, there was no fear, no caution. I realized I wanted him to help me. I wanted to find out more about him. In fact, I found myself not just holding on to his hands for support. I needed to hold his hands like I needed my next breath. But who was he? And why did I feel this strongly about him?
Jacey, get a grip on yourself. I shook my head to clear my thoughts.
"All right?" he asked looking at me, his eyebrows knotted with obvious concern.
"Sure," I replied, "Just a tad dizzy."
"I could carry you the rest of the way," he offered.
"Oh, god, No!" I cried. A nervous laugh escaped my throat. "I can walk. We're almost there anyway." I felt sad at the thought of being home. I didn't want to say good bye to him. Why are you thinking like this? Snap out of it!
We followed the boardwalk around the last sand dune which shimmered in the bright sun. It had really begun to warm up and I was too hot in my sweatshirt now. The house was just across the street. We waited for a yellow car to pass, before crossing. With his help, I hopped up the little brick path leading to the steps to the front steps and sat down.
"Let's take another look at that ankle," he said sitting down next to me. He reached for my leg. Pulling my sock down slightly, he examined my ankle again. This time, he was very careful not to touch my skin. "Hmmmm...It's looking better. Put your hands right here."
He took my hands in his own. They were warm and strong. My own hands tingled from the contact. I looked at him, puzzled by his actions. Staring into my eyes, he whispered, "Trust me." He didn't have to say it. Strangely, I knew I already did. He placed my hands on either side of my ankle. Placing his hands on top of mine, he squeezed gently, forcing me to put pressure on my ankle. "Close your eyes."
I felt a warmth begin to surround my ankle. At first, it was soothing but the sensation became warmer and more intense. It felt as if the heat was coming from my palms and extending to my fingertips. The intensity of the heat began to burn and I tried to pull my hands away from my ankle.
"Not yet," he said in response to my movement. "Just a little more. Keep your eyes closed. Imagine your ankle healing, the swelling subsiding." I followed his instructions. Suddenly, the burning intensified to a sharp white heat that sparked from my palms deep into my ankle tissue. I gasped from the sharpness of the pain. And just as suddenly it was gone. The heat, the pain, all gone.
He slowly removed his hands from mine. Opening my eyes, I searched his face, for an explanation of what just happened. His blue eyes stared back, glittering with excitement. "What was that?" I whispered.
"How does your ankle feel?" he whispered back, his blue eyes staring intently.
I reluctantly turned my eyes away from his and looked at my ankle. The swelling was gone. I tested my ankle, moving it back and forth and up and down. I felt no pain. "What did you do to my ankle?" I asked, still moving it back and forth.
"I did nothing," he responded. "You did."
"What? I don't understand."
"Jacey, you have powers that you aren't even aware of yet. This is just the beginning for you. Soon, you will understand everything. I promise."
He stared intently into my eyes and I felt like I was falling deeper and deeper into their depths. I felt my head begin to spin and my vision became fuzzy. The ringing in my ears became so loud and persistent I could barely hear him speaking.
His excited words came quickly. "You have such powers. You were made to help others and in time, you will learn how. Think Jacey. Deep in your very soul you know this already. You know this is your destiny."
I faintly registered that he was holding my hands. His face was so close to mine that I could smell him again. But this time his clean, musky scent made me dizzier. The intensity of his eyes, the urgency in his voice, and the potency of his aroma were overwhelming.
The ringing in my ears was deafening. I wanted to close my eyes to stop the spinning and the noise. I did, and I felt myself slipping into darkness. Very faintly, I could hear him, calling my name as I succumbed.
"My name? How do you know my name?" I murmured before I was enveloped by darkness.
-Three-
I opened my eyes and looked around. The pale tan walls of Oma Clare's living room. The old grandfather clock that stood as sentinel in the corner of the cozy room ticked away the seconds, while familiar family portraits on the far wall stared back at me. Oma's soft, colorful afghan had been laid out on top of me. Clutching the afghan in my hands, I sat up slowly, swinging my legs to the side of the couch so I could sit. How long had I been sleeping?
"Ow," I moaned, pressing my fingers to my thro
bbing temples. I rubbed them in small circles, closing my eyes to shut out the pain in my head. "I'm going to need some aspirin," I murmured aloud.
A warm glow began to emanate from my fingertips. It was soothing, like a warm heating pad on aching joints. I continued to rub my temples and the warmth penetrated my skin and deep into my head, attacking and dulling the pain. I kept my eyes closed, pressing harder on my temples. Suddenly, the warmth increased, becoming more intense. My fingers began to burn, so I abruptly stopped rubbing. Snapping my eyes open, I stared at my reflection in the large mirror hanging over the fireplace. What was that? Again.
Memories of my morning run, flooded my mind. It was this morning, right? I looked at the grandfather clock and squinted to make out the numbers on the face. It was almost 2:30 in the afternoon.
Had I fallen asleep on the couch and had another dream? The run, the sprained ankle, the startling, strange warmth, and him...were they all just part of a dream?
Him. Where was he? I frantically looked around for him. Of course, he wasn't there.
With a frustrated sigh, I flung myself back on the couch. Curling on my side, I pulled the soft afghan around me and buried my face in its softness. I closed my eyes and tried to picture his face, the olive toned skin, dark hair, and dazzling smile. I lingered on the memory of his piercing blue eyes. No, he couldn't have been a dream. He was so real. I remembered his familiar, calm voice. I thought of his strong hands gently touching my ankle and supporting me as I hobbled home. I didn't even know who he was, but I knew that I wanted to see him again.
Sitting back up, I again looked at my reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. I still had on my Michigan State sweatshirt and stretch pants from my run. It had to be real. He had to be. Despair gripped my heart and doubt filled my mind. How would I ever find him again? I didn't even know his name. My chest tightened and my throat became thick as tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision.