“What? I can’t hear you.” Julie yelled like everyone else over the music and noise. This was the loudest part of the room where life-size speakers were.
“Someone grabbed me.”
Debra could see Julie’s lips moving but couldn’t hear what she said. Her first reaction was to say, “What?” and draw in closer, but she saw a table open up. “I see a table. Over there.”
There in the center of the crowded room, two empty chairs beckoned every butt in the place. Julie and Debra squirmed through the crowd toward them, but a couple of women plopped down as if they were playing musical chairs. To make matters worse, now they were in the way of people who were trying to talk to each other; they pushed themselves back into the crowd and then somehow they got separated. Debra saw two people stand up right next to her and promptly sat down in a warm seat. She threw her purse on the other seat and motioned to Julie. A hand reached through the crowd and grabbed the empty chair, but Debra hung on until Julie sat down. Within minutes a waitress came by with two glasses of wine, “From the gentlemen at the bar,” she said, and tossed a couple of coasters on the table. “I need to see a driver’s license.”
Debra raised her hand in a gesture, about to say, “No thanks, we’re not sluts,” but Julie slipped the waitress a ten. The waitress set the drinks down and left, Debra’s face an obvious red; she wanted to leave so badly. Julie pulled a cigarette out of her purse and lit it. When did she take up smoking? How well did Debra know Julie? Julie smiled a sexy smile and waved to the two men at the bar, which was their cue to join them.
“Oh no,” Debra uttered. She hadn’t sipped the wine; she would simply hand it back.
The men were closely shaven, clean and pressed. Average looking—more or less a clone to every other man here, They made their way through the crowd with smirking grins. At the table one of them introduced himself specifically to her.
“I’m sorry, but I’m married. We’re both married.” Debra showed them her wedding ring.
“That doesn’t matter, so are we,” the man admitted, bent over so close to Debra’s ear that she could have sworn his breath had singed it. The smell of his Aqua Velva and liquor over-powered the smoke of two hundred cigarettes. Her eyes were bright, her chin was lifted indignantly. How could anyone be so crass?
“Are you two together?” Julie asked.
“We work together. It’s loud in here. Let’s go someplace where we can talk,” one of them said.
“I’m sorry, I’m waiting for someone else; thank you for the wine,” Julie shouted over the music. Debra pushed hers toward the edge of the table.
One dejected man straightened his tie with his sweaty hands, looking around for fresh game. The other man smoothed back his hair with the bulk of both hands. “Do you live around here?” he asked.
“We’re meeting someone else. Really, thank you for the wine.” Julie answered.
“You think you’re too good for me?”
Julie drew a puff of smoke and blew it in his face.
“Just remember what you passed up when some drunk pisses on you.”
“Just leave.” Julie said. Debra stared blankly, hating every minute of it, on the brink of leaving.
The men stepped back into a crowd that seemed to absorb them.
“I think he would have showed up by now. Let’s go.” Debra said.
“Wait. Just a little longer; I promise,” Julie answered. “A man over there’s been looking this way.”
The man, maybe forty something, was sitting in a booth, intently watching Julie. His hair was almost black like his thin mustache. He looked very business-like, yet tough as though he could be featured in a Mafia movie. For most of the evening Julie had been glancing at him intermittently to see if he was still glancing at her. This time he came over, bringing a chair.
“I was trying to work up the courage to come over after I saw what you did to those guys.” He sat down close to Julie, their bodies touching. Debra focused on the glass of wine she hadn’t sipped, running her finger over the rim, grasping the seat of her chair. She began to doubt their friendship. This was worse than awkward.
Julie leaned in. “Are you the one?”
“I’m the one if you want me to be.” He said in her ear, lingering there.
“Are you the one who’s been sending me letters?” she asked.
“I could be. What kind of letters do you want?”
“Oh . . . I thought you were someone else. You kept looking at me,” Julie said.
“I thought we made eye contact,” he said, gliding his fingers down her shoulder.
Debra rolled her eyes. “That’s it.” She stood up. “I’ll be outside,” she said, glaring at Julie. She stepped away from the table, bluffing of course, hoping that she knew Julie at least this much. “Are you coming?”
“I can’t stay,” Julie said to the man. She stood up and grabbed Debra by the elbow. “Give me a minute, Deb.”
“Someone’s been sending me perverted love letters.” Julie said to the man. “That’s the only reason I came here tonight. I thought I could tell him to leave me alone, but he didn’t show up. Being a creep is bad enough, tonight he proved he’s a coward. You wouldn’t believe how much trouble he caused. I have to go. It was nice meeting you.”
Debra guided the way out as they struggled through the crowd, each of them saying excuse me again and again. Even as they fumbled to the door, the ‘eye contact’ guy didn’t seem to get it. He followed them all the way to the car, and just as Julie touched the car door, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.
“Where’re you going? You’re leaving before the fun starts,” the man crooned.
“Go have your fun somewhere else; we have to go,” Julie said, peeling him off.
With that, the man patted her butt. Not once, but twice.
Julie’s butt was definitely the wrong body part to show disrespect. Round and protruding, out of proportion to her slender frame, her butt was off limits. No one patted it, not even Kyle, not without generating the ire of a thousand women. Julie whirled around; she balled up her fist and punched him square in the face. With as many drinks as the man must have had, Julie knocked him out with a single punch. Now he was lying face down in the asphalt.
“Get in!” Julie yelled flinging the door open, startling Debra who was still standing with her mouth gaped open.
Julie’s car left the parking lot as politely as it came. Debra could see the man in the passenger mirror.
Lying there, drunk and rubbing his jaw, the man looked up from the asphalt. He was memorizing the license plate number. Debra was sure of it.
Chapter 15
Debra unlocked the door and came inside. It felt so good to be home. She couldn’t stand the smell of stale cigarettes and booze another minute. It was in her clothes, her skin and her hair. It was 11:30 at night. All she wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed. “Greg, I’m back. Greg,” she called, walking into the kitchen. All the lights were off except for one. She wondered why he hadn’t waited up for her; and went upstairs, gingerly stepping on each stair step, trying in vain to prevent the floorboards from creaking. “Greg?” She opened the creaky door to their bedroom. “I’m home,” she whispered. “Are you awake?” She walked softly in the dark and sat down on the bed. “That place was packed . . . .”
She stopped. Something wasn’t right—the way the mattress reacted to the weight of her body. Flashes of distant lightning freckled the darkened room. She slid her fingers over the flattened blankets, over the vacant pillows.
Where was he? She turned on the bedroom light, went to the hallway, and stood at the top of the stairs. “Greg?” The tree branches scraped against the house, against the four-paned windows. Distant thunder rippled. She didn’t remember seeing his truck, but he never mentioned going anywhere either. Wherever he was, Debra was sure he’d be right back.
Unable to stand that bar smell for another second, she decided to go ahead and take a shower—trying to minimize th
e feeling of dread, all alone in a presumably haunted house. She went downstairs and into the bathroom. ‘Grow up all ready,’ she thought to herself, slowly undressing. She turned on the shower. The lights flickered, but they didn’t go out. She hung a clean towel next to the tub, still waiting to hear Greg come home at any minute. Completely naked, she locked the bathroom door. The lights flickered again. She stepped underneath the warm shower and closed her eyes, letting it run over her face and hair, down her soft shoulders. Soaping up, she started thinking about scary movies she’d seen. Why did they always depict women stupid enough to look back whenever they were running from a fiend? If she’d learned anything from watching those movies, it was to never look back when you’re running. ‘Of course,’ she considered, ‘Greg would probably not run at all. He’d be looking for a logical explanation right up until whatever it was ate him.’
She lathered up with the clean fresh scent of soap, feeling relieved to finally smell good, and for some reason the movie popped in her head about an invisible ghost who was raping a woman in her own home. The movie’s only dialogue was screaming. Just then, the shower curtain moved. Her heart pounding, Debra peeked out from inside the curtain “Greg?” then rinsed the soap off as fast as she could, telling herself to stop thinking about murder scenes; and practically fell, getting out of the shower. Through the steam, she could see the door was cracked open, the lock was undone. She slammed the door shut and locked it again, ran the towel down her back and over her wet skin and quickly got dressed, listening carefully for whoever was inside the house. She slowly opened the bathroom door and peeked out at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.”
She told herself to stop it. No one was in the house. There were no such things as ghosts. Maybe she hadn’t latched the lock all the way. Why did she let the horror movie mindset suck her in? From that point on, she had the full intention to go to bed, and wait there for Greg, and put ridiculous movies out of her mind. At least that was her intention.
Debra lay down in bed, listening to raindrops from the open window as fragments of lightning lit the room. Faraway thunder echoed seconds apart. She crawled under the sheets, snuggled up to the pillow, and closed her eyes. ‘He probably planned to be back before this or he would have left a note. He’ll be home any second now.’
Just then, the stairs began creaking one by one. Someone was coming up the steps. “Greg?” Debra sat up in bed. She waited. “Greg?” She crawled out of bed and opened the bedroom door. No one was there. The hallway light flickered and all the lights went out. She flipped the light switch on but nothing happened. She tried another light switch and then another. The electricity was out. She heard something that sounded like fingernails scratching from inside the wall.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Doors slammed shut. Her body wrenched with every one. The curtains suddenly billowed as gusts of wind sailed through the open windows and down the corridors. A bolt of lightning struck and thunder shook the house. A deep breath sunk in her chest.
“I’ll never watch another scary movie as long as I live,” she said out loud. Standing at the top of the stairs, she clutched the banister in the dark. Lightning flashed—thunder crashed—rain pounded.
Seeing only when the lightning let her, she fumbled in the dark from room to room, closing windows, wanting to be anywhere but here. She groped her way downstairs and lit a candle. Downstairs, in the living room, she curled up on the couch in the dark, clutching a blanket, waiting, waiting, for Greg to come home.
Thump . . . swish . . . thump . . . . A hushed whisper followed the wind-swept sound.
Her heart pulsing through the tips of her fingers Debra called out, “Hello?” She slipped on her shoes in a panic, and just as she snatched her car keys, she saw someone pull up the driveway. She heard a car door slam, and Greg came through the door without seeing her, and started toward the stairway.
“Where were you?” she asked quietly, sternly. Thunder rumbled and lightning reflected Greg’s face.
“Deb? Are you still up? Did you have a good time?”
“Why didn’t you leave me a note? I was worried sick.”
“I didn’t even think about it. My brother called me at the last minute to meet a few of the guys. He just got in town. I didn’t think you’d mind,” Greg said. “What’s up with the lights?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. You should have left me a note.”
A golf ball size ‘thud-roll’ sound came from the ceiling.
“. . . did you hear that?” Debra whispered as not to disturb the sound, sidling up to Greg.
“It’s just the storm; did you shut the windows?” Greg asked. He flipped an unresponsive light switch.
“I’ve heard plenty of storms—never a sound like that. I’m telling you something’s going on in here that can’t be explained. Something unlocked the door when I was in the shower. Someone was coming upstairs when I was in bed. You should have heard it.”
“The house is settling; that’s all. Old houses make strange sounds settling in; believe me. How come the lights aren’t working?”
She gave him a look of frustration, as if to say ‘we’ve been over this.’
“It’s probably the circuit breaker.” Greg fished a flashlight out of the kitchen cupboard and went to the basement. Debra followed, but just to the stairs. She wasn’t going down there with all those spiders and just a flashlight. Greg flipped the circuit breaker; she could hear it; and the lights came on.
“Someday you’re going to come home and my hair will be white. This place scares me to death sometimes.”
“Let’s go to bed; it’s late.”
They quietly went up the stairs to their bedroom. She would say no more, he would dismiss it as nerves. Lying in bed, she heard scratching sounds come from the wall again. “Greg . . . Greg . . . did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Listen . . . scratching . . . don’t you hear that?”
“It’s probably mice; buy some poison at the farmer’s market tomorrow, and put it around. Let me sleep, I’ve got a long day tomorrow.” He put his arm around her, snuggled close and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry so much.”
Chapter 16
At home Julie set her keys and purse on the dining room table. She could hear the television from the living room where Kyle was. Not sure what to expect she went into the living room, a little bit scared, a little bit guilty; telling herself she shouldn’t be. The brown leather couch in the dimly lit room was disarray with rumpled newspapers and McDonald’s wrappers. An empty beer bottle sat on the coffee table next to a half-eaten hamburger. Kyle was in a reclining chair with the remote control as if he barely noticed her. “Well?” he asked, without losing focus of the nightly news. “Did he show up?”
“I don’t know. He could have been. But I’ll never know it. Maybe he got scared because Debra was there.” Julie hesitantly sat down, still not sure how he was taking this.
Kyle voiced a heavy breath and mumbled. “Maybe he just likes watching you. I’ll bet you put on quite a show tonight. Since when did you start wearing makeup?”
“What are you talking about? You know why I went.” Julie felt the blood rushing to her face. This had the feeling of a Mr. Jekyll night.
His face hardened. Out of nowhere, he threw the remote control, nearly hitting her. “You encouraged him! Following along with whatever he wants you to do! What’s next? Meet me at Motel Six?”
Julie didn’t answer, she couldn’t. She left the room, not wanting him to see her cry.
“That’s it! Just walk away! I can’t even talk to you! Fine, just leave!” he yelled at her back.
Upstairs in her bedroom she closed the door and kicked off her shoes. Clothes and all she flopped face down on the bed and buried her face in the pillow and let herself cry. It hurt so badly.
Gusting wind blew the window curtains and cooled the room. She heard a loud crack of thunder and then she heard rain. Sheets and sheets of rain which soaked the carpet, but she didn’t
care. Right then, she didn’t care about anything.
In that moment a lifetime of sorrow hit her all at once. This kind of crying, the kind that grips your stomach all the way to your throat, brought back heartaches that had festered for years. She felt the anguish of that pregnant teenager all over again—the birth of twins. How she loved those little boys—she would be losing them. They would leave for college soon. They had their own friends now, their own lives. This week at the fair would be their last fair. The steers would leave the barn empty. Her boys would leave her heart empty. She couldn’t imagine the next four years without them. And worst of all, she’d be completely alone with Kyle.
She remembered being four years old and how it felt when her mother would hold her. Miracle of all miracles she wanted her mother to hold her again, to hear those words, it’ll be all right. She could barely remember her mother’s face. She could barely remember her brother. He was a baby so long ago. How would she ever find him? She longed for him to rescue her. She longed to be loved. She muffled a breathless sob in her pillow.
Then she heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Kyle was coming to bed. Maybe he was sorry for the things he said. Julie climbed under the sheets and quickly wiped her nose. She dried her face and pretended that she was asleep. But instead of opening the door to their room, Kyle opened the door across the hall to the guest room. She heard him open the rollaway bed. He hadn’t touched her in months. Was it her fault? Maybe if she was thinner or maybe if she was a better wife. Maybe if she didn’t argue so much, but how else would she stand up for herself? Why couldn’t Kyle feel about her the way the man in the letters did? “What was it? Why can’t he stand to touch me?” Crying took her every breath, as though it were a being in itself, thriving within her.
Just then the bedroom door opened. “Are you crying?” Kyle asked from inside the doorway.
“I . . . .” Julie inhaled a quick breath.
He walked over to the bed, sat down, and rubbed her back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve just been under so much pressure lately. I don’t know why you put up with me.”
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