Marcus follows me as I descend into the cavernous bunker. The hollow aluminum stairs echo as we step down each one. Darkness envelops us. Although I can maneuver this place with my eyes shut, Marcus stands at the bottom of the stairs scanning the room with his flashlight, taking in his surroundings. In his other hand he holds a candle from upstairs. From that flame I begin lighting other candles to place around the bunker.
The bunker is larger than I remember, maybe because it’s a little less crowded without my parents and Evie here. There is a large central area that serves as a common area with a small kitchen, dining and sitting areas. A large, heavy padlocked door that leads to the Web is on the wall to the left, just beside the mounted television. The far wall is divided into three enclosed areas: two bedrooms divided by a single bathroom. Behind us, against the wall and under the stairs is extra storage space, which contains nonperishable foods, toiletries, and other things that have been put there throughout the years.
As I place candles around the room, Marcus studies the picture frames on the shelf below the TV. Then he wanders back into the storage area. “It’s just food back there,” I call out to him. “Help yourself if you’re hungry.” The sound of shuffling distracts me and I see the light of his flashlight between the steps.
“Hey Pollen,” Marcus calls out. I finish placing the last candle and join him under the stairs. He shines his flashlight on a crib. Lex’s crib. “Was this yours?” he asks.
Maybe it’s time for me to let it all out. I don’t want to keep any more secrets. Emotions have flooded and overwhelmed me. I am a bottle of soda, shaken up and ready to explode as he slowly untwists my cap.
“No,” I start. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and prepare myself for the rejection I know is coming. “That was my son’s.”
“You didn’t tell me you have a son,” says Marcus.
“No I didn’t. Because I don’t. Not anymore,” I say. Marcus gives me a look of pity, which would crush my spirit if I weren’t already at the bottom of the pit of despair. “Remember last night? When you asked me what my biggest regret was? It was him. It was my fault he died.”
Marcus remains silent, signaling me to continue with the story. I tell him everything. About Glenn. About Lex and the blanket. Everything I could remember up until my engagement on Liberation Day. By this point I’m sobbing because in the back of my mind I know Glenn is gone. Everyone I love is gone, except for Evie, maybe. Marcus wraps his arm around me and guides me to the loveseat situated in front of the TV, opposite the kitchen and dining area.
My breathing is labored, and I gasp for air between weeps. This must be what it feels like to have a nervous breakdown. Perhaps I am. Too many sad memories all at once and I haven’t even told Marcus about Glenn yet. My body can’t contain anymore. My words come out as sniveling gibberish and I it reminds me of the way Evie would talk after she’d fall and scrape her knee. Marcus is holding me, stroking my back, trying to calm my shivering body. It feels so warm and comforting in his arms. It feels so…right.
Finally, after I catch my breath, I ball up the nerve to look into his eyes, afraid that I may be drawn in to him as I was before. Inches away, I can see him struggling to distance himself from me emotionally, yet still trying to console me. I want to kiss him again. So badly. But I hold myself back. What’s wrong with me? I should be mourning Glenn, not seducing a man I barely know.
“Glenn is dead,” I say and a feeling rushes me that I can’t quite explain, somewhere between despair and relief, before the tears start to flood my cheeks again. Marcus grabs me and holds me tightly this time, intent on not letting me go. I bury my face in his neck, trying to stifle the dampness seeping from my eyes. His smell fills my nostrils and I’m oddly aroused, despite the loss of my family. This isn’t right, I tell myself. But my need to feel close to him overpowers my sorrow.
I don’t want to let go, but Marcus pulls away from me momentarily and looks deeply into my eyes. “How do you know?” he asks. Although I’m still sniffling, I manage to pull myself together enough to talk. “I found a newspaper in the garage with a list of the deceased. His name was listed.” He grabs me again and I lift my feet up behind me and lie in his arms. For the next hour, we just lie together, in unspoken serenity that just feels right. Why does this feel so right, so normal?
Every stroke, every touch from him is like the tingling of fairy dust preparing me to take flight. Being enveloped in his arms stirs something inside me I haven’t felt before, even with Glenn. My skin shivers in delight with the warmth he offers. Maybe it’s just the ambience in the room. The romance of darkness lit only with the dancing golden flames from the candles. That’s likely to turn any woman on. But this feels different.
Finally, I pull away slightly to turn and lay against Marcus, chest to chest, and gaze into his eyes. He winces slightly and I can see he is clamoring to withhold his feelings. I lean in and brush my lips against his. For a moment he does nothing, then reluctantly accepts and kisses me back. Electric shocks jolt through my heart, then release throughout my body. Marcus cups my face in his hands, then gently pushes me away. Did I do something wrong? My body tenses up with a twisting knot of heartache.
“Pollen, we can’t do this right now,” he says. Rejection consumes me and I pull away from him, covering my face to hide my embarrassment.
“You’re too vulnerable,” he continues. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. And I don’t want to get hurt either. I can’t handle it.”
“I would never hurt you,” I say under my breath.
Marcus stands and paces the floor. “You don’t understand, Pollen. I like you. A lot. More than you know. But I can’t act on my feelings when I’m unsure of yours. You are hurting right now. I get that. But I don’t want to be used and thrown away when you don’t need me anymore.”
He’s right. I am vulnerable. And I’m not sure if my feelings are genuine or just a result of my pain and loneliness. I hope that they are real because I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.
I stand up and grasp his hands in mine. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I do feel something for you. Something strong. I’ve felt it since the moment you pulled me from that car. I can’t explain it. You are right. I am hurting. But I don’t want to be alone tonight. Please don’t be so distant. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Marcus loosens his emotional shield and pulls my body to his, one hand around my waist and the other around the back of my head, tangling his fingers through ribbons of my hair. My fingers wrap tightly around his rocky biceps. He gazes at me, not wanting to rush in too quickly. I can see the struggle in his eyes, wanting to move forward, then holding back. The shield begins to melt and he slowly leans in toward me until our lips are so close I can feel the warmth emanating from his, but still not touching. Then the moment is obliterated when the shrill chime of the doorbell breaks the silence.
Our lips separate and we stare, wide-eyed, at each other, before looking up toward the trap door. Our chests are still pressing together and I can feel his heart thumping as strongly and quickly as mine.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll check.”
“Like hell I will. It’s my house, I’m going with you,” I reply. Marcus rolls his eyes, but I think he knows I am not going to back down. “Fine,” he says. “Just stay behind me.”
As we ascend the stairs I try to think of who might know we are here. I was outside for a while, at my parents’ gravesite in my mother’s garden. But that is so secluded, the only way someone would have seen me is if they were hiding in the woods. And I have to admit I wouldn’t have heard anyone snooping because of the noisy wind chimes. Or, then again, somebody could have seen us enter the house. Maybe one of the neighbors survived and evaded being taken into custody at Crimson. If they had seen us they might feel compelled to come talk to us. Then another possibility slinks into my mind. Myra. And the others she was with. What if they weren’t who they said they were? What if they were really bounty hunters and they turned us in
. But they didn’t have the mark on their eyes. Then again, maybe they are back. They knew we wouldn’t be able to stay here long and they came back for us. Myra did say that she would find us when we’re ready. That’s got to be it.
Marcus presses his shoulders against the trap door pushing it up ever so slightly. I stand under him waiting, holding my breath. The doorbell rings again. Then some loud knocking. The rhythm of it sounds familiar.
Marcus lowers his head to me, “Damn it! I left that candle lit in the dining room.” He lifts the trap door cautiously; to make sure it stays silent. I follow him up into the kitchen. The only source of light is emanating from the candle in the dining room, but we can’t go that way or we’ll be seen for sure. The only other option is to slink through the pitch-blackness of the living room.
“Wait,” I tell Marcus. “I know this house. I can get through it in the dark. Follow me.” Marcus stays close behind me as we exit the kitchen into the living room, keeping low, so as not to cast shadows from any residual light that might reach us. Then the doorbell sounds again, and then the knocking. There is a particular pattern to the knocking, a beat to a song I know. And now I know why it sounds familiar. I stand up in a whirlwind of awareness and disbelief, walking directly to the door, like a moth to a flame. I’m not worried about shadows now.
“Pollen,” Marcus whispers as he tries to grab my arm, but it slips out of his hands. “No!”
I approach the door, pulling the flashlight out of my pocket and turn it on. I aim the light out the window to be sure. Then a rare form of elation mixed with terror envelops me. I open the door, and there before me stands a ghostly figure. It’s Glenn.
Chapter 12
The flashlight clanks as it falls to the concrete porch and there’s a moment of complete and utter emptiness as I try to comprehend what is going on. Is this a dream? How can he be alive? He smiles and approaches me, extending his solid arms around me and squeezing the breath out of me. At first I’m petrified and keep my arms at my side, unable to flex a muscle. Then I relax, returning the embrace.
“I missed you, Polly,” says Glenn.
He pulls away from me, but keeps his hands on my shoulders grasping them snuggly. He lifts a hand to my chin and carefully tilts my face up.
“What happened to your face?” Even in the dark of night, my scar is a beacon. If I weren’t in shock right now I’d turn away to hide the hideousness of it.
“Glenn? Is it really you?” I ask, squinting my eyes, still skeptical of the sight before me. “I thought you died. It was in the paper.”
“Oh, that,” he says with a slight chuckle. “I paid off the coroner to put me on the dead list. He was sick, himself, and was trying to scrounge up as much money as he could for the so-called ‘cure.’” Glenn lowers his head and chuckles nefariously to himself again.
I’m still not sure what to make of the situation. Glenn is back. He is alive. I should be ecstatic. But something seems different. There’s an unexplained tension between us that feels…off. I hesitate to invite him inside when a dreadful thought occurs to me. If he is deceptive enough to pay off the coroner to list him as dead, might he be persuaded to join the bounty hunters? After all, why is he here, and not at Crimson? Sickness boils in the pit of my empty stomach and an icy chill shoots down my spinal cord. I reach down and pick up the flashlight I dropped and shine it into his eyes. He flinches and waves his hands in front of his face to block the glaring light. “Polly, stop. What are you doing?”
“Be still Glenn. I need to see your eyes, just for a second,” I say.
He removes his hands. “Why?” he asks.
“Just do it,” I order. He’s not used to me making demands of him. I’m usually the quiet wallflower around him.
“Okay, but stand back a bit,” he says, taking a step back himself.
I flash the light at him again. He squints at first, but draws his eyelids open with his fingers. They look normal – no marks. I lower the flashlight, releasing my tension in one deep, bone-crushing sigh. “Sorry, Glenn. I just had to see if …”
“If I’m one of them,” he interrupts. “I’m not.”
“I’m sorry. It’s so good to see you,” I say wrapping my arms around him again, trying to convince myself that I am glad he’s back. He smells good. Better than I do. Like eucalyptus and mint.
“Who’s that?” asks Glenn, looking behind me. Marcus. How could I forget about Marcus? I’ve got to be careful about what I say and choose my words carefully. Glenn’s jealous streak is not to be taken lightly.
I turn around to face Marcus and can sense his dolor even though it’s too dark to see his reaction. The air has thickened with a roux of jealous tension and I’m not sure which man it is emanating from. Or maybe both. Glenn walks in before me boldly, as if he’s lived here for years.
“This is Marcus,” I start. Then I pause for a moment. How do I continue? He’s my friend. No, that will break Marcus’s heart. He’s my companion? Partner? No. Glenn will assume the worst. Luckily, Marcus chirps in. His voice is soft and composed.
“I found her running from some bounty hunters in the woods a few days ago. I wanted to make sure she made it home safely. I assume you are Glenn? She’s told me much about you,” says Marcus, stepping closer to get a better look.
“All good, I hope,” says Glenn with a contrived smile. He grabs my hand and squeezes so tightly that my fingers are crushed together.
“Of course,” says Marcus, forcing his pressed lips to curl up at the sides. He glances at me and in the faint radiation of candlelight from the other room, I can see the regret in his dilated pupils. Pieces of my heart begin to chip away. I can’t bear to look at him now.
“I saw the candle in the window and just knew you had to be here,” says Glenn. “Why don’t we all go sit down and catch up?” Then he takes my hand and leads us into the dining room where he moves a chair to sit next to me, and Marcus takes a seat on the opposite side of the table.
The white candle wax has dripped into a puddle onto the surface of the table, essentially gluing the candleholder in place. I look at it nervously, worried about what could have happened if Glenn hadn’t driven us out of the bunker. Would the wax have caught on fire, sending the table and the rest of the house up in flames? I shake the thought out of my head. I have other things to worry about now besides hypothetical fire pits.
I tell Glenn about the past few days. Waking up in the woods, being chased by the mountain men, Marcus rescuing me. I obviously leave out the intimate details of what’s gone on between Marcus and me. I even tell him about the COPS dropping us off here and their offer to find us.
“Wow. Sounds like you two had quite an adventure,” Glenn eyes Marcus suspiciously, who has been sitting quietly, staring at a wall, away from us.
Marcus turns and glares back at Glenn, “So what have you been doing all this time? Since everyone was taken to Crimson.”
“Surviving,” Glenn starts. Then he turns to me, “I came by to check on you and Evie, but you were gone. I knew you weren’t dead. I don’t know how, but I did. I’ve just been hanging out in the neighborhood ever since. Trying to keep a low profile.”
“What about your father?” I ask. Glenn was an only child and his mother abandoned them when he was very young, leaving his father to raise him by himself.
“He passed shortly after yours did,” he said, looking down at the table. After a moment, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He brushes the scraggly hair out of my face and rubs his thumb around my temple. “What’s this, you’re getting tattoos now? And what happened to your face?” He studies the scar, but keeps his hands off, as if it’s contagious.
I pull back and push his hand down. “No. I mean they did this to me at Crimson. Took my ring, too.” I lift up my hand to show him.
“Damn,” he says. “You know how much that thing cost me?” Tears begin to well up in my eyes. He can be such a jerk sometimes. After being hunted, captured, and almost killed, he seems to care more about th
at stupid ring. I can see Marcus getting agitated and I shake my head ever so slightly at him.
“Oh well,” says Glenn. “Can’t do anything about it now. You should get some sleep after all you’ve been through. Maybe we’ll go by there tomorrow and try to get it back.” I’m feeling more than a little irritated that Glenn has walked in and started to take charge of our situation. Marcus, on the other hand, is done being quiet about it.
“No!” Marcus stands so forcefully I’m sure he’s about to flip the table. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“Whoa, whoa, dude. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just joking. Of course we can’t go there,” Glenn says nervously. His leg is resting against mine and I can feel the muscles tense reflexively as if he is on guard. Marcus sits down, but the air is so thick it’s hard to breath. Glenn turns to me and strokes the back of my head, “So, sleeping arrangements. You and I can take your parents’ bed and Marcus can have your room.” I think about the bunker, but decide to keep quiet. I’m still not sure I trust Glenn yet, even though I can’t quite pinpoint why.
Marcus stands back up and combs his fingers through his hair. “I’m gonna get out of here. Maybe find my way home. I need to get some air anyway.”
“No,” I say as I stand, kicking the chair back behind me. “You can’t go by yourself. Not this late at night.”
“Polly’s right,” Glenn adds. “It’s not safe out there, dude. Stay here tonight. We’ll all figure out what to do next in the morning after we get some rest.” Marcus looks at me as if he’s searching for an answer.
“Please, Marcus,” I implore. He looks into my eyes longingly and, although I know Glenn is right beside me, I can’t bring myself to look away.
“Okay. But I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Fall of Venus Page 10