You Let Me In

by Camilla Bruce

  “I will always have time to visit the mound. Tommy understands. He knows I have other friends that he can’t see.”

  “True, but he does not truly understand.”

  That, of course, was true. Tommy knew little about magic and blood. How deep it runs, how strong. “But you don’t mind, do you? That I feel the way I do about Tommy Tipp, and that I sleep with him in the woods—”

  “Of course not.” He turned back over, facing me again, green eyes gleaming. “It is good to see you so happy, my Cassandra—and what is he to me but a puff of air? He will be gone again soon, believe me, I know.”

  “I don’t think that he will.” I spoke quietly. “I don’t think that I will ever stop loving Tommy Tipp.”

  Pepper-Man held my hand. “I know that you think that, my sweet, but people are not always what they seem.”

  * * *

  I have often thought that Pepper-Man knew already then, that Tommy had secrets. That he had watched him and knew the truth, long before I caught on. It was as if he were preparing me for that blow that was to come.… In hindsight, I don’t know how I feel about that, but what I do know is that it wouldn’t take long before the harsh sting of hate accompanied the honey-love I felt in those first summer days with my Tommy.

  * * *

  And here we have arrived at the pearl in the oyster. At that thing you have been aching to know. I will not tease and taunt you any longer, you have been more than patient with me. I will tell you what happened to Tommy Tipp. I will tell you, and then you can judge me as you please.

  * * *

  It was at the end of that sweet summer of love.

  I hadn’t made plans to see Tommy that day, but my heart swelled just by thinking about him. I had finished my day’s job at the library, sorting through old editions of crime novels and mystery books. I had decided to go to the mound after work, to see Mara and Pepper-Man, instead of going home. What was I to do at home? Leisure about in that cramped white room, listening to my mother’s complaints about my clothes, my hair, and the way that I walked?

  My mother had to wear glasses now, silver-rimmed and angular, and it did nothing to soften her appearance when she came at me nagging, red lips a slash on her skin. Her hair was dyed as blond as before, just as neatly curled and stiff. She reminded me of a soaring falcon, always on the lookout for juicy prey; someone who stumbled and fell. My father had let middle age come and do as it pleased, gifting him with white hair and a potbelly. He had let his facial hair grow, possibly at my mother’s behest to hide away wrinkles and saggy skin. The full beard made him look more than ever like a wild and angry bear.

  Ferdinand at that point was a young man at the brink of adulthood. He was pale and lanky, a silent ghost, invisible between us girls: me, the mad embarrassment, and Olivia, the fledgling beauty queen of S—. Our brother was clever enough to keep a low profile, did well in school and kept to himself when he was home on vacation. Slipped under Mother’s radar as a slick fish. I’m not sure what he did with his time. None of us knew, I suppose.

  If I have one regret in life, it is my brother.

  I was headed to the woods that day, to the mound. I knew the way well by then; knew how to let my world slip away and the ground beneath my feet guide me to the other path. It wasn’t hard to slip through the veil; walking between the worlds was as easy for me as putting on a pair of gloves.

  On that particular day, Pepper-Man came to greet me. He was standing on the path, just by the edge of the woods. A tall, dark-clad sentinel among the towering trees.

  He turned his head to me, his expression like carved marble. “Don’t go any further today, Cassandra.”

  “Why? Is something amiss?”

  “Let us do something else … Let us just walk for a while, the other way.”

  “No,” I said. “I want to see Mara.”

  Pepper-Man just shook his head, though. “Mara can wait. You do not want to do this.”

  “What?” My heart was hammering wildly in my chest. “What is it? Why can’t I walk to the mound?” I was scared by then. Pepper-Man was rarely stern.

  Pepper-Man didn’t answer my question; instead he said: “We can take another path. There are many roads leading to the mound.”

  “But why can’t we go this way? You have to tell me. Has it something to do with Mara, is she all right?”

  “Mara is safe. She is in the mound braiding feathers in her hair.”

  “What is it, then? What is it?”

  Pepper-Man took a moment, green eyes measuring me. “Very well, then, my Cassandra. I will show you.”

  I have been thinking about that moment a lot. Especially in these latter years I have been thinking—wondering—how much of the random occurrences that took place around that time were really Pepper-Man’s designs. He knew me very well, mind you, knew where to push and prod. And he was ambitious and bold, my Pepper-Man, old and cunning, too.

  Maybe he wanted things to end up the way that they did all along.

  Pepper-Man brought me further into the woods, but the path didn’t fork as it used to when I was walking to the mound. No, it continued straight ahead, to the “love spot,” as I called it in my head, where Tommy Tipp and I used to go to frolic.

  “What is it?” I asked my companion’s back, the fall of straight, white hair. “Where are you taking me? Where do we go?”

  He didn’t answer me straight away but kept warding me off: “Be patient, my Cassandra.” “You ought to see for yourself.” And the ominous: “Remember, my sweet, I did warn you.”

  We arrived at the love spot. The bubbling brook behind it rushed with water, and was so loud it drowned out the sounds when we approached. I didn’t hear them until I saw them: Tommy Tipp with his jeans around his ankles, and before him on the ground, a woman with her pink top riding across her collarbone, huge, soft breasts jiggling whenever he thrust between her legs. His buttocks looked so scrawny and white, seen from that awkward angle. The woman bit her lip, pine needles caught in her long, brown hair. I could see it was the mother of one of Olivia’s friends, an obnoxious girl called Annie. My honey heart instantly spilled over with salt, polluting all the sweetness. It felt like Tommy Tipp had hit me—hard—right at the pit of my stomach. My lips pressed together, my eyes filled with tears. Inside me, a shrieking howl began to build as my castle of dreams shattered.

  Pepper-Man’s arm draped over my shoulders. “What do you want to do now?” he whispered inside my head.

  I pulled him with me off the path, in among the trees. I didn’t want Tommy to see me yet, as if disturbing them in the act made me lesser, somehow.

  Between the tall trees, I lifted my red skirt over my hips, inviting Pepper-Man inside. A petty and useless revenge, I know, especially since it was only Pepper-Man, but at least it kept me from screaming. I imagined that I heard the other two moaning while Pepper-Man was inside me, but that could just have been me. I was backed up against a tree, legs curled around Pepper-Man’s waist. The rough trunk was bruising my backside and my panties on the ground were swarming with ants. When I climaxed, I hoped that was the end of it and that the anger and hurt would leave with the release, but when Pepper-Man lowered me down to my feet, I was still as furious and broken as before.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked again, licking my blood off his lips.

  “We wait,” I said, edging closer to the love spot through the greenery. My back ached from the rough tree bark, my thighs were slick with fluids. I left the ant-infested underwear behind on the ground.

  Peeking in on the love spot between the branches, I could see that Tommy Tipp was also quite done. He was zipping up his jeans. Annie’s mother was hooking her bra back in place. Her face was slack and flushed, she looked sated.

  Tommy was standing a little away from her; looking in another direction. Already done with Annie’s mother, I thought. He picked up his leather jacket from the ground and fished around in the pockets for his cigarettes—he always did that after. The familiar
ity of those movements drove daggers into my broken heart. It was him, it was really him—my Tommy—who had betrayed me.

  I waited until they left the love spot and entered the winding path. Tommy walked first, smoking. She followed in tow, buttoning her shirt. Neither of them spoke to the other. Maybe there was nothing to say.

  I stepped onto the path before them, hurt and anger bubbling up.

  “How could you?!” I asked, my face twisting up when I began to cry.

  “Cassie…” He came to a halt before me, eyes confused, mouth slack.

  “How could you do that to me?” I wailed, deep sobs ripping from my chest.

  “But Cassie—” He tried to put a hand on my shoulder, which I briskly brushed away. I took a few steps back, fighting the powerful sobs that kept coming, fueled by rage and disappointment.

  “You were supposed to be the one, you were the one who would take me away!”

  “I better leave,” said Annie’s mother, brushing past us, touching his shoulder lightly with her fingertips. I wanted to smack her. Hard.

  “Cassie,” he said again, after she’d left. He placed a hand on each of my shoulders, tried to catch my gaze with his. “I’ve never promised you anything.” His eyes were sincere. “I’ve never said I’d take you anywhere. We just had some fun, that’s all.”

  “But I thought we were in love.” My voice was still wailing, snot and tears streamed down my face.

  Tommy Tipp laughed. He laughed. “I don’t even think you know what that means, Cassie. And even though I like you, I like other women, too.”

  He made me feel so stupid then. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he shared that kind of intimacy with someone else. I had taken exclusivity for granted.

  “Look,” he said. “It’s not like you don’t see other guys. I can feel it sometimes, when I’m inside you, that someone has been there, and recently. But you’ve never heard me complain.”

  “That’s different,” I sobbed, drying my tears with the back of my hand, and then with the hem of my skirt.

  “How is that different?” His voice was slightly annoyed. “And don’t give me that talk about your ‘invisible friends,’ we both know that’s just lies. If you are having a good time, at least you should own up to it.”

  “Like you do?” I still held the skirt hem in my hands.

  “Like I do,” he replied, and then he saw it all. “Why are you naked?” He had caught sight of my lack of underwear, the moist trails on my thighs. “Were you looking at us?” His eyes widened in astonishment. “Were you touching yourself?” His lips split in a wide smile, his laughter rose above the treetops. “You are really the most twisted person I’ve ever met, Cassie. Do you know what people like you are called? Perverts,” he spat the word. “That is what they’re called.”

  It was then that I hit him.

  It happened so fast: a flash and a blur, and maybe—just maybe—an aiding hand coming in from behind me, adding some speed and power to the blow.

  Tommy Tipp, taken aback, fell backward into the underbrush, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

  In the underbrush was a stone, half hidden by the ferns, and on the stone was a sharp jutting edge, like a dagger, which Tommy’s head hit very hard. It sliced through his temple and into his brain.

  I don’t believe he suffered much.

  But there I was, broken and crushed—a widow before I even got married—looking down at the corpse of Tommy Tipp, his blood a slick pool on the stone.

  * * *

  You would be confused at this point, I guess. This all happened long before you were born, yet you have met Tommy Tipp many times. He was my husband for over a decade, so how could he have died at twenty-four? Tommy was not what you thought he was, but then I have told you that already.

  If you keep turning the pages, I will tell you just what he was.

  XIII

  After Tommy had fallen, Pepper-Man and I stood quiet for a while, just looking at his body draped across the ferns, his head resting on the bloody stone, golden hair matted with red. I felt bereft more than anything else. A shiny dream had been taken from me, and I was left with a problem the size of a well-grown man. Not that I didn’t mourn him, mind you, but all of that came later. Right there, right then, it was bereft that I felt, mingled and mixed with a drizzle of shock.

  “Is he really dead?” I asked my friend, hoping against all odds that there was still a spark of life in there.

  “He is.” Pepper-Man’s naked toe touched the hem of Tommy’s jeans.

  “What do we do now?”

  “We have to dispose of his remains. It would not do if some stroller came by.”

  “Shouldn’t we alert someone?”

  “Do you wish to alert someone?”

  “No … not if it can be helped.” A fresh fear bloomed in my stomach; I envisioned myself imprisoned for life; saw my mother’s furious gaze before my inner eye and Dr. Martin’s head shaking with disappointment. No more playing in the woods for me. No more Mara. No more Pepper-Man—

  “Not to worry,” said Pepper-Man then. “My sisters in the brook will take care of him for you.”

  “Really?”

  “For sure.” And then we got to it.

  Pepper-Man took hold of Tommy’s torso, pried his head from the stone. I took care of the legs, although Pepper-Man was so strong that my contribution was mostly for show. We carried him across the love spot, and my state of mind was such that I didn’t even reflect on the fact until afterward, that my dead lover’s body was carried across the same patch of soil that so recently had seen our naked backs and tasted the salts of our passion.

  When we came to the brook, we put Tommy down. His mouth was open, jaw slack. His temple was a mess of torn skin and gristle. His blue eyes stared empty out in the air. He wasn’t Tommy anymore, was some ragdoll impersonation, empty of essence—of life.

  “Will they take him to the mound?” I asked.

  “No”—Pepper-Man shook his head—“this one is not for us.”

  “How can you tell?” I could somehow envision it: Tommy turning into a troll, or a ram-horned faerie with cloven feet.

  “He is not strong enough to join Faerie.” Pepper-Man’s foot was on Tommy’s hipbone, ready to push him into the dancing stream.

  “Or you don’t want him there.” I was suddenly overcome with suspicion.

  “If you ask, I do believe you can do better,” Pepper-Man admitted as Tommy went out in the water.

  He dipped, but didn’t sink; rose to the surface, face down. The stream tugged at his clothes, ready to take him further down—but then the hands came, pale and thin, reaching out of the rushing stream. Seven of them, maybe eight, they grabbed hold of the body and pulled him under. Soon Tommy Tipp was there no more.

  As if he’d never been there at all.

  You see why I have reason to be suspicious. It was awfully convenient that the water nymphs were there right then, ready and hungry for fresh meat. One could almost think that it was planned, that Pepper-Man had it all set up. One of the water girls carried Tommy’s eyes as diamonds for a long time after. I would cringe every time I saw them twinkling at me, dangling from a string between her breasts. I suppose she thought them as pretty as I did, once upon a time. I don’t know what happened to rest of him, but his heart.

  I do know what happened to his heart.

  After Tommy was gone, Pepper-Man and I sat down by the brook, watching the water rush by.

  “He was supposed to take me away,” I said. “He was supposed to be my way out of that house, away from the white room and Mother.”

  “I know.” Pepper-Man’s arm was looped around my shoulders.

  “What am I to do now?”

  “Wait for a new one.”

  “That can take time. I’m not most men’s first choice, you know.”

  “Then most men are fools,” snorted Pepper-Man.

  “I still need one, though, unless I leave for school.”

  “Yo
u would leave us behind, then.” It was not a question.

  “Not willingly.” My mind was racing through the options left for me: I could ignore people’s talk and move out on my own, but work in S— was scarce, and it would take a great amount of time and patience to build enough experience to gain a decent income. I had been hoping that Tommy would take care of the money. Although how I had envisioned he would do that, I don’t know. In my lust-fueled haze I suppose I’d just figured it would work itself out. I had never thought to ask if I was even in his plans.

  I learned many a harsh lesson that summer.

  “There might be another way,” said Pepper-Man, “if you are willing to try.”

  “What way?” My eyes were still on the water.

  “You could bring Tommy back.”

  I turned my head and looked at him. His icy beauty was stark in the sunlight. Flecks of green played on his skin where the light filtered through the branches above us.

  “We could make another Tommy,” he explained. “He would not be quite the same, but he would serve you well for a while.”

  “Different how?”

  “He would look the same, which would be the most important thing if we are to fool his family and friends, but we would bind him to you, like a servant. He would never leave you, and he would never touch another. We can keep as much of his personality as you like, but I would remove everything but his memories, and give him some new skills, too. Make him take proper care of you.”

  “When can we do this?” I was already on my feet, eager to undo what I’d just done.

  Pepper-Man chuckled. “Not so fast, my sweet. The work is hard and can easily fail. I will not promise that we succeed, but I do think we should try. None of us want to see you wither in that room.”

  “What do you want in return?” I knew very well that no faerie favors came for free.

  “Besides your happiness?” His toes were wriggling on the ground, nearly touching the water. “We will discuss that if we succeed. One more thing,” he added after I’d nodded in agreement, eager to get it done with. Eager to get on. “He will not last forever … Work like this is fickle. Sooner or later the seams will burst.”