Secrets In Our Scars

by Rebecca Trogner

  He waits for me at the bottom of the steps and signals for me to walk up and follows behind me. “There.” He nods his head to the east. “Is my cottage.”

  A pathway made out of the same stone as the gazebo leads toward the woods, and I make out the top of a chimney. “Thank you for showing me this.” I do a three-sixty. “It needs an English garden around it. Maybe a water feature.” And I can’t believe I said that to Proctor, but again I’m nervous and have no idea why I’m here.

  “It’s guilt.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Stanwyck. He doesn’t hate you. It’s the guilt. Makes him say those things.”

  I shake my head. “He’s always blamed me for his son’s death. Thinks it should have been me who died.”

  “Incorrect.” Proctor tilts his head to the side for a second and turns away from me to face the view. “No more gifts.”

  “So you know who sent them?” Nothing. “Who?” Stillness. “You have to tell me.”

  “I have my theories.” Only his head and neck turn; the rest of his body remains still. It’s hard not to cringe when our eyes meet. “Let it go.”

  “You can’t tell me it’s going to stop and expect me to not ask any questions. I want to know who I am.”

  “You’re Daisy Aldridge. No happiness will come from knowing anything more.”

  It’s like a hangnail you know you shouldn’t pull. I can’t walk away from this. “Do you know who my parents are? Have you found them?” Before I know it, I have my hand on his upper arm. He stiffens like he’s not made of flesh and bone but stone. Slowly, like I’ve petted a cougar by mistake, I pull my hand back. His countenance doesn’t change from his default icy reserve, but I still see a change, a softening. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Yes, I decide, I must be projecting what I want to see onto his cold, hard face.

  He turns like I never asked him a question. “You know where I live. Number one on the list is always welcome.”

  “What happened to you?” I’ve become accustomed to him, and I believe he wants to help. “I saw a photo of you with Roy and another soldier. You were different…in the picture.”

  He remains with his back to me, pointed toward his home. “Evil happened to me.” And walks off, leaving me to figure out what he means.

  I watch until he disappears into the trees. Should I go after him? Make him talk? Get him to tell me what he knows about the gift-givers? But how am I to do that?

  “Girl,” Gavin calls. “Time to get back to the house.”

  I don’t want to go back home. I want to know. I’m so tired of secrets. Mine most of all.

  “Did ye hear me?”

  “Yeah,” I yell back. There’s nothing I can do to make Proctor talk, but Roy will tell me, I hope.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You’ve made a friend.” Gavin buckles his safety belt and drives slowly through the chaos of Roy’s driveway, jammed with tradesmen and their vehicles.

  Why is Proctor such a cryptic ass? “He knows who’s giving me the gifts and he won’t tell me.”

  Gavin lifts his eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s best.”

  I’m already two seconds away from exploding, and he throws gasoline on me. “I’m so fucking tired of all the secrets. Everyone thinks I’m a weak thing who can’t handle my own shit.” I keep spewing words with no meaning while he calmly drives, and it makes everything worse. I want a reaction out of him, anything other than lifting his fucking eyebrow, which reminds me of Roy.

  “I’ll talk to Mr. Stanwyck. Should have done it years ago.” I’m pounding the dash with my feet. “He knows.”

  “Yes,” Charlie hisses. “Speak to Daddy Dearest.”

  “Oh, why don’t you shut the fuck up,” I scream.

  That does get a rise out of Gavin. Well, he turns his head, gives me a quick once-over, and pulls over to the side of the road.

  He taps the dash, and I drop my feet from it. “Stay at the house tonight.”

  I shake my head. None of this is Gavin’s doing. I shut my eyes, trying to relieve the pounding in my head. It’s no use. “Thank you, but it’s been a hard day. I need to be alone.”

  He resumes driving, and I stay locked inside my head until he turns onto my gravel driveway and stops in front of the house. “Alone is the last thing ye need. Why don’t I take ye over to them aunts of yours? Let them fatten ye up some.”

  “No, I’m good.” I reach over and lay my hand on his. “I know you’re trying to help. I do. And I appreciate it, but I need to recharge my batteries.”

  He kisses the back of my hand like a gentleman of old. “Aye, let me check the house, and I’ll leave ye be.” He comes around and opens my door and walks me up to the porch. I all but fall into the rocking chair and wait while the floorboards groan under his weight as he checks each room.

  “Stay inside.” He meets my eyes. “No night runs.”

  Has Roy told him everything?

  “If ye need anything, ye call.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  Three Excedrin tablets and a Coke later, I slog up the stairs and into the bathroom.

  I keep thinking about my conversation with Proctor. Did it happen? Did I imagine it? Why did he try and warn me away from the truth? How bad could it be? While the tub fills with hot water, I go through the arduous task of taking out the five billion bobby pins the hairdresser shoved in my hair. When done, I do my best to untangle each braid and run my fingers through the heavily sprayed tresses until my red hair looks like a seventies discotheque nightmare.

  “Mighty attractive,” I say to my image in the mirror.

  Stripping out of my clothes, I sink into the hot, steamy bath, lean my head back against the porcelain tile, and close my eyes. This is exactly what I need. Some peace and quiet and maybe my headache will ease up enough for me to read a book in bed. And if I’m lucky, I can forget the encounter with Mr. Stanwyck and the horror of Roy’s childhood and the talk with Proctor and whatever Jason is up to.

  My cell vibrates on the tile floor. Please let it be Roy. I grab the towel lying on the floor and wipe my hands dry before picking up my phone.

  “Vincent?”

  “Love, thank God you answered.”

  Why is he whispering?

  “I need you to come and get me. Right away. Please.” He elongates the word until it sounds like a plea for survival.

  “Where are you?” I’m rising out of the water and trying to dry off with one hand while I hold the phone.

  “I’m behind the old video store. You know the one that backs up to the farmhouses on Baker road.”

  I know exactly where he is. When I was little, I’d go with my aunts to pick out DVDs every Friday. “What—”

  “Don’t ask. Hurry, and bring me some clothes.”

  My mind is awash with questions, but I’m more concerned about Vincent and the fright I hear in his voice. “Leaving now. Stay put. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Hurry,” he whispers and hangs up.

  I throw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Grab the largest sweatpants I have and an oversized t-shirt I sometimes sleep in. Slip on my sneakers and grab the car keys as I run out the door.

  It’s past ten and dark as Hades out. I turn on my old Buick’s high beams and pray there aren’t any deer itching to become hood ornaments.

  Baker Road comes into view, the signpost leans like a clock hand stuck in the three o’clock position. I ease up on the accelerator and pull into the parking lot. The abandoned video store is a hangout for high school kids, but it’s deserted tonight. My headlights illuminate the inside, its shelves still standing like they’re waiting to be stocked. I shiver slightly and creep along to the back.

  Vincent isn’t here. I grab my cell phone to call, but the backseat door opens and he jumps inside.

  “Go!” He’s lying on the bench seat like he’s hiding. “Drive!”

  “Okay, okay.” My hands are shaking while I turn the car around and get back onto the road, all the while tr
ying to see him in the rearview mirror. When I do, I can’t help but laugh.

  “Did you see any cars?”

  “No.” I giggle. It’s something I do sometimes when I’m nervous. “Why are you naked?”

  “Toss me the clothes. Don’t stop for anything.”

  Vincent isn’t scared, he’s terrified, and it’s infecting me like an airborne virus. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel in a death grip until we pull up in front of my house.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  He doesn’t reply, only exits the vehicle and sprints to the front door, all the while looking around.

  “No one is here.” I try and reassure him, but he darts inside as soon I open the door. Inside my home, the anxiety I’d felt on the drive dissipates, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at his appearance. Dressed up in my clothes, he looks like a street urchin from a Dickens novel.

  “There was a raid.” He plops his fanny pack onto the kitchen table and pulls out a chair. “I think.”

  I don’t like the way his eyes are glazed, and his skin is the color of ash. I place my hand on his arm. It’s cold to the touch. “I’ll be right back.” I run into the living room, grab the afghan Stella made for me last year, and bring it into the kitchen to wrap around Vincent’s shoulders.

  “Do you have anything to drink?”

  I know he means alcohol. Roy threw out the white whiskey, but he did leave a bottle of wine here. I grab it from the fridge and hold it up for Vincent to see. “Will this do?”

  He reaches over and takes it from me, pulls out the cork, and drains the bottle in long gulps.

  “I went to Jason’s party.” He’s using his thumbnail and scraping along the edge of the wine label. “There was an undercurrent of nastiness. Nothing like what I expected.”

  “And Jason,” I prompt. “He was there?”

  He nods. “Fucked up and…” Vincent drops his eyes.

  “How’d you end up at the old video store?”

  “I ran.”

  I’m trying to keep from screaming at him because the men in my life are intent on doling out information in two-word sentences. My frustration ebbs as I see Vincent’s feet are scratched and red and bloody in places. “You said it was a raid. Like the police?”

  “I think. Everyone in black from head to toe.”

  Is this Roy’s doing? He’s away, but Gavin mentioned trying to entrap Jason. “Let me call Gavin.”

  He answers on the second ring. “Aye.”

  “Vincent’s here. He said there was a raid—”

  Vincent pulls my hand toward him. “Or a home invasion. Some fucked-up shit.”

  I hit the speaker button. Gavin says, “Stay inside. Make sure all the doors are locked. Don’t answer your phone unless it’s Proctor or me.” And he disconnects.

  “I’ll be right back.” I run up the stairs and grab a pair of thick socks and get the stepladder to access the top shelf of my closet. Under the winter blankets is a double barrel shotgun. I grab it and go to the nightstand for a box of shells and hurry back to the kitchen. Vincent’s eyes widen when he sees me toting a shotgun.

  Next, I make sure the doors are locked and the shades are closed. When the house is secure as I can make it, I go back to Vincent.

  “Here.” I toss him the socks and sit to load the gun.

  “When did you get that?”

  “Stella and Mae gave it to me for Christmas last year.”

  “Those are some fierce women.”

  Yes, they are. Carefully, remembering their instructions, I keep the barrel pointed away from us and press the release, loading a shell into each chamber. I snap it closed and disengage the safety, placing it on the table. “It’s ready to fire, so don’t go messing about with it.”

  “Remind me never to walk inside your house unannounced anymore.” Vincent uses his pinkie to push the gun farther away from him.

  “It’s a precaution.” I get up and grab a Coke, along with taking a quick peek out the kitchen window. I have the worst case of heebie-jeebies, like tiny spiders are crawling all over me. “Why were you naked, wearing a fanny pack, and hiding behind an abandoned building?”

  Vincent winces slips the socks over his feet. “A man’s gotta keep his essentials with him.”

  I narrow my eyes as if it will help me understand what the hell he’s talking about. It doesn’t.

  He smiles, and I know he’s going to be alright. “You saw the shorts.”

  He’s referring to the white shorts Aunt Stella made for him. What happened to the top hat and tails?

  “No pockets. I needed someplace to put my phone and keys and condoms and lubricant.”

  I close my eyes like it will help erase his last sentence from my mind.

  “It’s the only thing that saved me. If I hadn’t had this, I wouldn’t have been able to call you.”

  “And you didn’t have any clothes on, because…” I rub my temples.

  “Oh, I made a friend. We were getting frisky. I’d left my fanny pack in the main room and when I went out to fetch it, this man jumped out of nowhere and manhandled me out the front door. Another guy grabbed my arm and told me to get the fuck out of there. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “Was Jason inside?”

  “Not the Jason I thought I knew. He was on something. And there was this dude with him. Sketchy. Made my skin crawl, you know?”

  I can imagine all too well. “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “You aren’t surprised.” His shoulders tense. “About any of this. And you’d met Jason before.” He stands. “You lied to me.”

  I can’t meet his accusing eyes and avert my gaze to the floor. I shudder at the bloodstains on the socks I gave him. “It’s complicated.”

  “What, you didn’t trust me?”

  I look up to see hurt etched on his face.

  “It’s not that. It’s…” I drop my head into my hands. “I wanted to protect you.” I shake my pounding head. “No, I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “But you told Gavin?”

  “I told Roy. He told Gavin. That’s why Gavin was with me today.”

  “To make sure you were alright.”

  I nod. “To watch over the both of us.”

  I fully understand why Vincent would be mad and physically tense, ready for him to vent his justified disappointment on me.

  “Baby Girl, aren’t we a pair.” He sits across from me and takes my hand.

  The story of what happened in Jason’s trailer floods out of me. By the time I’m done, I’m crying, and Vincent is pressing his palms to his eyes to keep me from seeing his tears.

  “Please, promise you won’t say a word to Stella and Mae.”

  He lifts his head, his eyes red-rimmed. “You need to tell them.”

  He might be right, and for a fraction of a second, I think of telling him about Charlie. No, I decide, I can’t. Some secrets must be buried.

  Vincent abruptly stands, cocking his head to the side. “Did you hear that?”

  I’m as still as a baby rabbit. I do hear something. It’s on the porch. I press my finger to my lips and give Vincent a wide-eyed glare. Stay quiet, I’m telling him as I grab the gun. I’m done with being frightened. No one is going to make me hide in my own home.

  On tiptoes, I walk toward the front door, and I think I hear someone quietly talking. Standing to the side of the door, I heft the gun to my shoulder, pump it, and yell, “I’ve got a shotgun.”

  “Woman,” Gavin immediately responds, his Scottish accent stronger than normal. “Open the damn door.”

  “Lordy Jesus,” Vincent exclaims.

  I didn’t realize he was standing so close. Surprised, I almost swing the gun around. “Don’t,” I hiss.

  “He just gave me a giant boner.”

  It’s the worst-possible time to laugh, but I do, and open up the door to an exasperated Scotsman.

  He’s clad in shades of black and gray, with his cell phone pressed to h
is ear.

  “You heard me. Go to the site. The photos are there. If any of this tracks back to me, you’ll be pissing sitting down.”

  I’m holding the gun in the crook of my arm so I can shut the door behind him.

  “Give me that.” He reaches over and grabs it from me; with one hand, he snaps it open and lets the shells fall on the floor while still holding the phone. “No, not you.” He speaks into the phone. “You understand? I want those pictures plastered everywhere.”

  Vincent is trailing around behind me like a toddler. “Who’s he talking to?”

  “How would I know?”

  “A big bonus, ye sorry bastard.” Gavin disconnects the call and gives us a stony glare. “Have either of ye told anyone?”

  Suddenly, I’m a child caught talking in class. Vincent and I shake our heads.

  “We’ve got his ass over a barrel on this one.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “What happened?” Vincent asks. “And why didn’t they arrest me?”

  “Did they arrest anyone?” I ask.

  “Aye.” Gavin drops the gun on the table. “The ones in the basement. The rest are being questioned.”

  Why is he dragging this out? “What for?”

  He sits and leans back in the chair. “Drugs.”

  “Just tell me.”

  He strokes his beard like a beloved pet. “Right. A girl, underage. She was an extra from the movie shoot. The stupid SOB had his driver pick her up at home in West Virginia and carry her over the state line for the purposes of non-consensual sex. Mr. King’s not going to get out of this one.” Gavin looks at his watch. “Any minute now, Twitter is going to blow up.”

  “So it’s over.” I lean into Vincent. “He’s not going to bother me anymore.” What is wrong with me that all I care about right now are my feelings? “Is she alright?”

  He dips his head slightly, his expression grim.

  “The tall guy with the tattoo.” Vincent wraps his arm around me. “Did you catch him?”

  He lowers his head, focusing on Vincent like a rattlesnake ready to strike. “Tell me about the tattoo, boy.”

  “An eagle or some kind of bird on his neck.” He places his hand over his Adam’s apple. “Scary dude.”