A Spider Sat Beside Her
Page 8
But it was only just the beginning of the next phase of the war after he returned from overseas. Her fear of him lingered as his rage brewed just beneath the surface. One evening, Frank snapped, slapping himself until he was red in the face. “Is this what you want of me?” he screamed, his eyes bulging madly.
Like a doe hiding from the hunter, she sat frozen on the barstool where he had plunked her down to watch his self-flagellation. He moved toward her, and she screamed at him, “Leave me alone!” She backed him off with the ferocity of her verbal assault, but she feared it was only a matter of time until it was her turn to be slapped around.
Terrified and with no hope of reconciliation, she now secretly planned her escape from him. She found an apartment and left work early one day to move herself. With a friend, she moved out all her possessions, careful to not take anything that might be perceived as “theirs.” She found a lawyer and started the divorce proceedings just a little over a year from the day of their wedding.
Had she married Frank because she was more afraid of losing his love than of his anger? Or, perhaps, had her father’s violent temper made Frank’s anger feel almost natural? She shook her head. Had she inadvertently wed her greatest fears as she grappled with the unresolved issues of her family?
Lowry sighed. Love and marriage were not something that just “worked out”; they were a real game of Russian roulette where there were probably more bullets than anyone cared to admit. Love is a many-splintered thing.
CHAPTER 10
Lowry rummaged in her drawers for something pretty to wear. She held up a summer top and matching skirt that she had thrown in her bag at the last minute. She slipped the light blouse over her head and drew on the skirt. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the soft fabric over her body. Gazing into the mirror, her heart pounded at the prospect of love—it had been a long time since her mind had buzzed with romance.
Her divorce had started the healing process, but there was still a hollow spot where love had been. The drought between lovers left her vulnerable to Edward’s seduction. Almost sensing her thirst, he would linger his hand on her arm or “accidentally” touch her hand—gently awakening her desire.
Glancing at the clock, she exhaled and brushed her hair one last time. She left her cabin and walked toward the tube for her rendezvous in the Garden. She waited in front of the pod doors, and when they opened, Sevy and Zoë stepped out.
Zoë smiled and whistled. “Wow, you clean up nice. Got a hot date?”
Sevy looked at her dully. “She’s probably going out with that Edward dude.”
Shit. “Um, well, yes, I’m meeting him—we’re going over some more of the details of the shut-down.”
“He only interviewed me once.” Sevy pursed his lips. “I guess he’s not interested in my details.”
Zoë squinted at Sevy and then asked Lowry, “I finally talked Sevy into coming to lunch. How about joining us?”
“Um, I’m not sure how long the meeting with Edward is going to last.”
Sevy cocked his head at Zoë. “See, Zoë? She doesn’t want to come either.” He turned toward Lowry. “I have a bad feeling about Edward. He’s just too perfect.”
Lowry shrugged and started past him as the next pod arrived. “Too perfect might be just what I need.”
Frowning, Sevy said, “I guess I can’t compete with that.” He turned and walked down the hall.
Zoë called after him, “Sevy, wait.”
He just waved behind his head without turning around.
Shaking her head, Zoë grabbed Lowry’s arm. “I want to talk to you a minute.”
Lowry studied the grave look on Zoë’s face and then leaned back against the wall. “What’s wrong, Zoë?
“It doesn’t seem like you’ve noticed, but our friend Sevy has been suffering from something akin to PTSD ever since the attack on the station.”
“I knew I hadn’t seen him as much, but with the depositions . . .”
Zoë snapped, “Depositions, my ass—more likely Edward.” Her face softened, and she touched Lowry’s arm. “Sorry, it just hits close to home. I’ve seen this in too many friends and colleagues—some of whom chose to end their lives. I’m not saying that Sevy is suicidal, but our friend is withdrawing from us. We need to reach out to him.”
Lowry chewed her lip, remembering her last conversation with Sevy, when he had admitted to gaming obsessively as a teenager.
He had stared ahead and said dully, “My mother worked nights and my father was . . . distant. I had no real friends at the time.”
She knew of loneliness but couldn’t imagine a life with no friends to form bonds with, cry with, laugh with—another human to share the burden of life. People have an instinctual need for companionship and will seek out whatever avenue is available, whether real or not.
She exhaled. “Zoë, you’re right—I’ve been insensitive and self-absorbed.” She smiled at Zoë. “Let’s get Sevy back out of his shell.”
***
Her heart fluttered as the final glass doors opened to the Garden. She brushed her hair back with her fingers and, deep in thought, walked down the path to the pocket garden where Edward was waiting.
In many ways, Sevy was right; Edward was perfectly dressed, perfectly coifed, perfectly handsome. Not the usual man she was attracted to. She had little experience with relationships; the pickings at the mining station had been slim at best, consisting of rough-and-tumble young men in jeans and flannels. At college, between her ignorance of who she was and who Frank was, she found herself caught in a destructive relationship with an insecure brute.
Nearing the meeting place, she slowed her steps and then stopped, staring ahead like a squirrel deciding whether to cross the road or not. She exhaled, crossed her fingers for luck, and tiptoed across the artificial stones leading into the alcove. Pushing back the low-hanging branches of the weeping cherry tree, she stepped into the hidden garden.
No Edward. In the shadows, she stood motionless—an odd mix of disappointment and relief swept over her.
Hands covered her eyes, and the scent of Edward’s subtle cologne drifted into her nose. Then his lips nuzzled the back of her neck. “Edward!” she gasped, goosebumps racing along her skin. Edward twirled her around with a smile. “It’s been ages since I saw you last,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“Aren’t we supposed to discuss the—”
Edward put his finger over her lips. “Not now.” He tilted his head to the side, caressing her hair. “You have beautiful hair. I’ve wanted to touch it for weeks.”
She felt dizzy, and he grasped her hand, drawing her to a bench in the secluded spot. He nibbled her ear and then slowly moved down to her shoulder. Rattled, Lowry tilted her head away, but Edward reached up with a gentle touch, turning her face to him. Gazing into her eyes, he slowly kissed her hesitant lips.
He wrapped one arm around her waist and the other under her legs and lifted her into his arms. He pushed under the branches of the weeping cherry tree and laid her down on the soft grass. Kneeling beside her, he kissed her cheek and then stretched out along her body, placing his hand on her stomach.
Lowry tilted her head back, staring into the veil of dangling boughs full of cherry blossoms, the sweet scent of the flowers enveloping them. She touched her face with her hand. Her body cried out for the dance of love, but was her mind ready?
Breathless, Lowry lifted her hand. “Edward, I’m not sure about this.”
Edward gave her no chance to think. “Shhh, baby.” He leaned over her, kissing her hard and deep. His lips soft and sensuous, he pummeled her mouth with an onslaught of kisses, shattering her resistance. His hands caressed her skin and then stroked her belly through the thin material of her clothes.
Her desire had been confined too long. Like a starving dog, she was hungry for love. Her body awakened to his touch, her skin tingling as he swept his hands over her breasts. Lowry reached out and pulled his mouth to hers. In between kiss
es, he smoothly peeled her clothes away, stroking her nude body into a frenzy.
Edward shed his clothes as he covered her with kisses. He satisfied her needs, and then she arched up to him, and they made passionate love under the cherry tree.
Afterward, he rolled beside her, breathing hard, and wrapped his arm around her, hugging her close to his chest. “Lowry, you are wonderful.”
Lowry lay her head on his shoulder, spent and unable to move. “Oh, Edward . . .”
Edward’s breath became quiet and even. She glanced up at his relaxed face and realized he had fallen asleep. In the soft light, Lowry gazed at her lover’s features, unsure of what their next steps would be, if any.
She gently kissed his shoulder and then shifted from under his arm without waking him. Shivering, she found her clothes swaying in the branches. Lowry pulled on her clothes, watching Edward’s chest rise and fall as he slept. She combed through her tousled hair with her fingers and then knelt and kissed the tip of his nose.
He twitched and opened his eyes. “Oh, did I fall asleep?”
“Yes, Edward,” she said softly, cupping his face in her hand.
“Hey, no fair—you’re dressed.” He smiled and reached up, yanking on her skirt.
Pulling her skirt back into place, she laughed and shook her head. “I have to go to back to work, Edward.”
He sighed. “You’re no fun.” He crawled over to his clothes and pulled on his pants. He stood up and then jumped toward her, lassoing her with his shirt. He drew her into his arms and whispered in her ear. “What are you doing later?”
Lowry didn’t reply, just abstractly stroked the hair on his chest. She raised her head, gazing into his eyes, but was unsure of what she would find. Was Edward just a transient lover, or something more?
Edward rubbed his nose against hers and then nuzzled her cheek. “Are you sure you have to go to work?”
“I’m afraid so.” Shyly, she placed her hands around his neck. She closed her eyes, and with a small sigh, her head fell back and her lips parted.
He grinned at the invitation and dove down onto her lips, reddened from use. “You don’t seem so sure now.”
His kisses were slow and deep, and their passions began to burn again until Lowry placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back. She sighed and then lifted her eyebrows, pursing her lips. “Yes, Edward, I really need to get back.”
Edward shrugged. “Game over.” He ruffled her hair and then pulled on his shirt. He plucked a cherry blossom off the tree and tucked it behind her ear, playfully tugging a lock of her hair. They shared one last embrace in their lovers’ hideaway, and then, arm in arm, they left the Garden.
CHAPTER 11
Nick shifted in his seat for what felt like the hundredth time. He had been asked to meet with the US federal agents investigating the space station shutdown. When he had arrived, he’d been shown, like a suspect, into one of the small interrogation rooms at the police station. He’d been sitting there for over an hour, and they had yet to come to question him.
He stared down at the table, thinking back to his recent visit to one of the South American miners who had come to Antarctica. Already acclimated to a cold climate, many of the miners working on Antarctica had immigrated from Patagonia. Recently, he had heard that there was one miner who had come from Colombia, so he had decided to ask him some questions about the dart and see if he could shed some light on its origin.
***
Nick knocked on the door of one of the miners he knew, Yagan Calderon, from the Patagonian region in Chile. Yagan came to the door with a cautious smile and gestured him to enter. Yagan was a tall man, descended from the Patagonian “giants,” and though he was polite, Nick knew him to be a man of few words.
When Nick asked him about the Colombian miner, he glanced at Nick with a puzzled look, admitting that he knew him, but not well. In a guarded tone, he asked Nick why he wanted to see him. Nick held up the dart and told him that he’d found it about three hours west of the station and asked if it could be from an Amazonian tribe. Yagan studied the dart, but Nick sensed his reticence to play the informer on the Colombian. Yagan shrugged, saying he wasn’t sure about the dart, but offered to take him to the Colombian’s room in the next building.
They walked over to the one-story cement building. Yagan found the room and knocked on the door. There was no answer, and Nick tried the knob. The door was unlocked, so he pushed it open and peered in. He furrowed his brow at the condition of the room, which resembled a college dorm room at the end of the year—drawers and closet door thrown open with nothing inside, trash and torn clothing on the floor. It was obvious the Colombian had packed in haste and left.
Yagan stuck his head in and glanced around, but he drew back at the disarray. He looked at Nick, saying that whatever was happening was none of his business, that he couldn’t afford to get involved. With a wave, he retreated down the hall and left.
Gazing at the mess before him, Nick rubbed his chin and slipped on some gloves to not contaminate any evidence. He edged into the room, and the back of his neck itched with the creepy feeling that this was a crime scene, but was it connected to the attack on the ISS?
He combed the drawers, closet, and desk, searching for clues to connect this Colombian miner to the space station attack, but the only thing left was debris. Sighing, he turned to leave but then saw a wad of paper under the leg of the cot. He knelt and lifted up the leg, pulling out a small manila envelope that had been folded up as if to level the bed. He sat on the cot and unfastened the brass clip, holding his face away from the opening of the envelope in case there was some noxious substance inside. He peered inside at a yellowed newspaper clipping. Nick’s eyebrows shot up. I haven’t seen a real newspaper in ages.
Cautiously, Nick drew the clipping out and unfolded it onto the cot, smoothing it flat on the mattress. The paper was in English and detailed an account of a Colombian tribe that had threatened to commit mass suicide if a petroleum project commenced on their tribal lands. He looked at the date and noticed it was from the year 1998. He gasped—that was a hundred years ago—a historic anniversary. With shaking hands, he slipped the newspaper clipping back into the envelope. Could there be a connection between the tribe in the old article and the current shutdown of the ISS?
***
The sound of voices brought Nick back to the present, and he heard the clip, clip of regulation footwear echoing down the corridor. The footsteps stopped in front of the interrogation room where he was sitting. Swallowing hard, he stared at the door.
Nick’s heart beat faster as the door swung open, revealing a large man in a dark suit, dark tie, and starched white shirt.
The man strode into the room, saying brusquely, “Mr. Walker, thank you for coming in today.” He shook Nick’s hand. “My name is Agent Brown.” Three agents followed him into the room. They spread out around the room, surrounding Nick as they sat at the table.
This invasion of federal agents had unnerved everyone on Antarctica, Nick included. On Antarctica, no one wore suits, so the feds stood out like sore thumbs. They combed every property throughout the mining community like a mutt searching for his bone. Everyone felt guilty. Even the dogs avoided them.
The agents sat stiffly around a table, staring at him with blank faces. Nick shifted in his hard chair, studying each of them in turn, trying to discern why he seemed to be a target of their investigation rather than on their side.
Abruptly, Brown said, “Mr. Walker, we hear you have found some evidence.”
Nick replied, “Yes, my niece informed me that something serious had happened . . .”
A gash resembling a smile flashed over Brown’s mouth, but the hardness of his stare remained. “Let’s just get to what you found, sir.”
Nick felt his temper rise as he returned Brown’s gaze. Instead of telling him to fuck off, he chewed the inside of his mouth. Brown blinked and asked again in a softer tone, “Mr. Walker, can you please tell us what you found?”
Brown nodded. “Okay, anything else?”
“Nothing else at the campsite, but I followed the remnants of their trail to the beach. Once there, they didn’t bother to conceal their tracks, and there appeared to be two sets of footprints. Farther along the shoreline, I saw drag marks from a small boat, which had been hidden in the brush. The marks continued to the water’s edge, and this, I assume, is how they escaped, probably to a larger vessel out at sea.”
Nick glanced at the men around the table. “Lowry mentioned possible video evidence on drone cameras linked to the Landsat data collection. There should have been one flying over that swath at the time of the message. Have you checked those?”
Brown pursed his lips. “Did she see the video from the drone recording over the ‘campsite’ you found?”
“No, Lowry can only stream video from the drones closest to an internet signal, which is the set nearest to the mining station. The rest of them record to a chip, and then the video is recovered when the drones land.”
“We’ll check those.” He nodded to one of the agents, who got up and left the room.
Brown rocked back in his chair, stroking his cleanly shaven face. Squinting his eyes, he asked, “So what is your theory as to who perpetrated this attack on the space station?”
Nick shifted in his chair again, drumming his fingers on the table. “I have done some initial research on the dart, and it points to a tribe of Indians in Colombia.” He shook his head, gesturing with his hands. “I know it sounds strange, but there was a Colombian working down here who bugged out after the attack. In his room, I found an article about a Colombian tribe who threatened a mass suicide a hundred years ago when an oil company planned to explore on their land for oil. Apparently, to the people of the tribe, this drilling and extraction of oil would constitute draining the ‘lifeblood’ of the Earth.”