by W Winters
I turn to look over my shoulder at the banged-up cherry red Chevy truck. That’s going to take a bit of work tomorrow when Steve gets in. Fixing that side door would be a pain in my ass to do alone. And now that Steve’s gone home, it’s just me.
That damn truck can wait till tomorrow.
All the tools are back where they belong except for a few wrenches on the bench. The shop itself is old, with a cracked concrete floor and chipped red paint on the far wall where the hangar's attached to the garage. When I bought this place, it was rundown and in desperate need of fixing up. I love the charm of it though, how it's beaten down but still standing strong. The history is what I look forward to when I come here every day. The property itself is large. An old pilot used to live here. He loved two things in his life, the ducks on the lake out back and his airplanes in the hangar.
Poor old man didn’t live long after he sold the place to me. I’ve still got an old Ercoupe from the 1940s he left here. I meant to fix it up, but time’s gotten away from me and work’s been steady.
I toss the cloth onto the bench and stretch my back, reaching my arms over my head and letting out a deep sigh. My back cracks, and it feels damn good. It's been a long day of hard work. And I'll have another one tomorrow. That’s what I live for.
The dim evening light streams through the open garage door, bringing a crisp breeze with it. It feels relaxing. I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling the exhaustion flow through me. I don’t know the last time I had a good night’s sleep. Doesn’t matter how many hours I seem to get, I’m never well rested.
I pull the thin, dirty white t-shirt over my head, feeling my sore muscles stretch even more. My denim jeans sit low on my hips. They’re dirtied too, but I don’t give a damn about them. I ball up the shirt and rag, tossing them into the bin and get ready for the short walk up the hill and to my house on the other side of the dirt road.
The familiar sound of the door to the shop creaking snaps my eyes open. My body tenses, and my muscles coil. The shop’s closed, and there’s no one else out here for miles. There isn't a single reason anyone should be walking through my shop right now. I can hear heavy boot steps walking back here to the garage.
I straighten my broad shoulders as I slowly and silently pick up the largest wrench on the bench, my eyes staring straight ahead at the open door to the garage. The cold metal easily slips into my palm, feeling just right as my heart thumps and my breathing steadies. I only make it a single step when Jay steps into the doorway.
He’s just as tall as me, which would be intimidating to most. My arms are corded with muscle from years of hard work and manual labor. As are his, although I haven’t got the faintest idea what he does. I’ve never asked.
We’re both daunting men, the difference is that I try to hide it. I’m not looking for a fight or to scare anyone. I’m not sure Jay is either, but he can’t hide the darkness inside him or the terror of his past that eats away at him.
There’s a softness about my eyes and a gentleness in my rough voice. It’s enough to make people comfortable enough with me to get along just fine. There’s not a damn bit of that in Jay. There’s a hard edge in his eyes that never leaves. His shoulders turn in just slightly like he’s ready to fight at all times. He could maybe fool you with charm, since he’s got some of that in him, but the way his eyes pierce through you is enough to send a chill down your spine.
I’m usually not intimidated or frightened by anyone. I can stand on my own and take care of myself when I have to. But Jay has a side of him I’m pissed to admit frightens me. Not because of what he’d do to me, since I know I can take him. And not because I think he’d come for me. I toss the wrench down on the old wooden bench and start walking toward him, wiping my palms down on my jeans.
Jay’s not a threat to me; he’s not my enemy.
The fear is because I never know what Jay’s going to do. He’s fucked up in the head from his old man. Anger management doesn’t even begin to describe what he needs. He’s got problems I don’t know how to handle, and it doesn’t matter how much I try to help him. Some things you just can’t fix.
Nonetheless, Jay’s been there for me when I had no one. And I know why he’s the way he is. I don’t see him much, especially not since I picked up and moved to this tiny ass town, but if he needs me, I won’t turn my back on him.
Jay’s eyes light up and a smirk plays at his lips as he saunters down the wooden steps to the garage and gestures at the wrench. “You think that’d stop me?” he asks with playfulness in his voice.
I grin back at him, stopping to lean against the Chevy’s cargo bed in the middle of the large garage and shrugging my shoulders. A rough chuckle vibrates up my chest and I look back to my hands.
Jay’s boots smack on the floor as he comes to my side, bracing a hand on the back end of the truck and looking over his shoulder at the door.
“You bring someone with you?” I ask him.
He frowns a bit, shaking his head and looking down at the ground. He never comes with anyone. I may be a loner to some extent, but Jay is something different. I’m not sure if he prefers it that way, or if it’s because he just doesn’t trust himself.
“I got a favor to ask.” He stands beside me, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and leaning back against the truck with me, mirroring my posture. He stares straight ahead and runs the back of his hand over his nose before saying, “You can’t tell anyone.” His voice is deadly low, and it makes my blood freeze in my veins.
I stare at him, waiting for more, but nothing comes. I clear my throat and try to relax against the hard metal.
I crack my neck to the side and nod my head. “You know I’m not going to say shit, Jay.”
He nods his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he continues to avoid my gaze. He swallows thickly and says, “I’m gonna do something... and I need your help.”
He finally looks at me, his eyes as cold as ice and narrowed. “There’s a woman.” My heart thuds once and my hands start to clench into fists, but I keep it from happening. Every bit of me is screaming to back out now, to tell him I don’t want to hear it.
But I know what he’s capable of, and I need to know who she is and what he’s planning.
“A woman?” I ask. A chill flows in waves down my arms as if a cold draft has come through. I ignore the churning in the pit of my stomach. He’d never hurt a woman. Never. I know him. There’s no fucking way he’d ever put his hand on a woman.
“She’s broken, John.” His voice is full of pain, and he breaks the gaze first. He talks to the ground as he adds, “She needs my help, but she’s not going to want it.”
“Then don’t,” I answer simply. If she doesn’t want the help, there’s no fucking reason he should approach her. He’s got a warped sense of reality.
“She’s hurting because of me,” he admits quietly.
Tension grows in every inch of my body. I focus on my breathing, on staying cool and calm. Jay’s violent and hot tempered. I stretch my jaw and look away, trying to convince myself it’s going to be okay. That I can change his mind or stop him from whatever fucked up bullshit he thinks is going to happen.
“I have to,” he says with conviction as if he read my mind.
It’s only then that I see the dark circles under his eyes and how weary he looks. “Maybe you-” I speak without thinking, just trying to keep him appeased and take control of the situation.
“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head before I can even finish. His body looks just as tense as mine as he pushes off the truck. I think he’s going to leave, but instead, he starts pacing, running his hands through his thick short hair. “It’s because of me,” he confesses without stopping as his strangled voice repeats in nearly a whisper, “It’s because of me.”
My chest squeezes tight with pain watching him like this. It’s been years. I haven't seen him break down since we were children. Weak. Pathetic.
The words whisper in the back of my head and he sto
ps in his tracks, turning slowly, giving me a deadly look as if I said them out loud. For a moment, I think I may have. But he relaxes his stance and walks toward me slowly, stopping a few feet from me.
“She needs help.”
“Then get her help from someone else.” I answer him simply, licking my lower lip and hoping he’ll reconsider whatever his plans are.
His eyes narrow slightly as he cocks his head, an asymmetric grin growing on his face. “She’s going to help me, too.” The way he says the words, so softly, with so much confidence and conviction, forces me to stare into his eyes, realizing there’s no way to get him to stop.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, crossing my arms and trying my damnedest to just stay calm.
“I just want to get her alone and talk to her.”
“Kidnapping-” The word is ripped from my throat before he cuts me off.
“It’s not what you think,” he says, his own hands balling into fists so tightly his knuckles turn white. The air is tense and thick between us. The sun setting makes the garage darker than it was only moments ago.
“You want me to help you kidnap her?” I ask him, not bothering to hide the disgust in my voice. The smile stays in place on his lips as he searches my eyes for something. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded photograph. It’s been creased twice, once down the middle and again at an angle off-center. He smooths it in his palm, finally looking away from me and answering, “I don’t need help there, John.” His voice is sad, as if he already regrets taking her.
He passes me the photo, flattening it against my chest with a hard thud and not letting go until I reach up to take the photo with my own hand.
“I just want you there to watch.”
Adrenaline pumps through me at his request, anger rising in me. “And what am I going to be watching?”
“I just want to talk to her. I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to fix her.”
“Then get her help-”
“She’s a shrink now,” he says quickly. His eyes water slightly and he sniffs, looking away to take in a ragged breath. He licks his lower lip and looks back at me, willing me to understand. “She tried to kill herself,” he says in an even voice I don’t trust. “She grew up okay, you know?” He shakes his head once and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know she wasn’t okay. I didn’t know.” I don’t know if he’s talking to me or to himself. His face is scrunched up with genuine pain.
“Who is she?”
“She’s just a girl. I broke her, and I need to fix her.” The strength in his tone solidifies his plan. He wraps his hand around the thin railing to the steps and mutters under his breath so low I almost don’t hear him as he walks away, “And she’s going to fix me.”
“You won’t do this without me?” I yell at his back, more a command than a question. I’ll figure out something to keep him from doing this. I have to.
He turns to look over his shoulder, his face all raw pain and agony. He nods his head once. “I have to do this, but you need to be there. For me and her, John.” His eyes dart to the floor, then back to me. “I’m going tomorrow night,” he says and then turns back to leave, taking another step.
“I’ll go with you,” I tell him quickly. He only nods his head and keeps walking. I know he heard me, and I know where to find him when I finally get a grip on what the fuck is going on. I only have a few hours to figure something out. But I will.
It’s only when I hear the faint click of the front door to the shop that I look down at the photo. I run my fingers down the creases to flatten it as best I can and take in the sight of a beautiful woman.
Her pale skin is complemented by the dark locks of her hair. I’m not sure where she is in the photo; it could be anywhere. The background is merely a brick wall as she looks off into the distance.
I don’t know who she is, but she seems so familiar. The way she smiles, the look in her eyes, they strike something in me. A memory I don’t have access to.
Jay’s told me what happened when he was younger. The descriptions were so vivid I felt as if I was there. I run the tips of my fingers over her face, wondering if she’s really the girl he talked about all those years ago.
I glance up at the empty doorway reluctant to believe Jay and to trust he’s not going to hurt her. I can’t help him do this, but I need to be there for her. I need to protect her. That one thought rings through my blood. I need to be there to help her. I need to get her away from Jay.
Chapter 3
Robin
Twenty years ago
My head hurts so bad. Why does it hurt so much? I try to push myself upright, and the ground is so cold and hard. It’s so uncomfortable, but my head is too heavy and I slump against the ground.
Where am I?
I try to remember where I was. The sound of the carousel shrieking as it slowly turned from the blowing wind filters through my memory. The empty swings sway back and forth. The school playground is deserted. I thought everyone would be here today. But it’s empty. The first day of summer and not a soul is here.
I remember how I looked up and the sun was far off in the distance, but still in the sky. Didn’t they know we still had time to play? I’m younger than most of the kids, only twelve, but even the older ones usually play with me.
I sat on the swings for a while. I remember that. As the pounding in my head throbs harder I remember how the metal chains twisted and I let myself twirl on the swings over and over. I could wait for the other kids. I was sure they’d show up.
Did they?
I squint, trying to remember and I turn my head. My palms brush against the concrete floor, my cheek flat against the hard floor.
There was a man. He had a golf club and he needed my help. I remember how lost he looked. He said he hit his last ball into the trees and he couldn’t reach into the bushes.
My heartbeat quickens as I remember, and my body goes still.
I knew to tell him a lie. I knew to turn around and run when he tried to take my hand in his. But he looked so hurt when I tried to pull away. He was genuinely upset, and all he did was ask me to help him.
The thin branches cracked under my sneakers as I went into the woods, following him to where he thought the ball had landed.
I open my eyes and I can’t breathe.
He lied to me. My nails scratch on the ground as I clench them into fists and slowly look up.
No! Mommy, help me! Tears blur my vision of the cinder block walls.
No! This can’t be happening. I pull my knees into my chest and try to stand.
Why does my head hurt so much?
“Are you okay?” a soft voice asks from behind me, encouraging me as I shuffle across the ground and push myself against the cold wall. It takes a moment for me to wipe my eyes and see him.
He’s just a boy.
His knees are knobby and he’s thin, but his shoulders are broad and he has a look about him that lets me know he’s older than me. There’s another look about him, too.
Sorrow and sadness cloud his eyes. Or maybe I just imagined it, because the moment my vision focuses, a hard expression stares back at me. He doesn’t move from where he is, crouching only a few feet from me.
“Where am I?” I ask him quickly. I don’t know where the words come from. I feel hot and cold, and I’m so confused. “I want to leave.”
He huffs and shakes his head at me, pushing himself up from the ground where he was and takes a step toward me. He’s taller than me. In that moment, he scares me.
“You can’t leave,” he says simply.
My face crumples, and I shake my head. “My mother will-”
“We’re stuck here!” he yells at me, the anger in his voice making me flinch. He stares at the wall behind me, his eyes flickering to the floor then back to me. “We can’t leave.”
As I start to protest, I hear a loud rough bark outside. It’s followed by a series of vicious barks that continue over and over. I whirl around and face
the only window. It’s small and rectangular, covered in filth and high up on the wall. There’s barely any light coming through. Maybe there’s a bush planted in front of it. I’m not sure, but at the very least I know there are dogs close.
“Don’t try to run,” the boy says behind me and again I turn to face him. Threats all around me, and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. So stupid! I wrap my arms around my shoulders. “My mother-”
“Stop.” The boy gives me the command, and I do. I stop because I’m a good girl. I’ve always been a good girl, but look at where it’s gotten me.
It’s quiet for a while, and the boy takes another step closer to me. I don’t move. I don’t know what to do or where I am, but deep down inside I know this boy isn’t going to hurt me. There’s something about him. Something broken and scared and angry even, but it’s pure.
“What’s going to happen to us?” I ask him weakly.
“He won’t touch you. It’s not about you.”
“What?” I don’t understand. I’m so confused.
“He’s using you.” He looks past me, anger evident as he clenches his jaw. “It’s about making me do what he wants. He knows I won’t...” his voice drifts off, and the anger changes into something else. Something I can’t see because he turns his back to me.
I reach out to him, grabbing his arm to keep him from leaving me, moving purely out of instinct. The touch feels like a spark. As if I’ve put my hand to a flame, but before I can even process it, he whips back around to face me, a scowl of anger on his face as he stares at me. “I won’t let him hurt you like he does me. All you are is a tool for him to use against me.”
He takes another step closer to me, and for the first time I really get a good look in his eyes. The intensity almost makes me scoot back, but then I’d be against the wall. Trapped and cornered.