At this, she reached out her hands. Gaby instinctively reared back but saw that Beverly hands had stopped several inches shy of her, hovering in mid-air as a gesture of trust.
“Take a chance and trust me,” Beverly said, gesturing with her fingertips for Gaby to clasp them. “Let me help you.”
Gaby swallowed hard before reaching out and cautiously touching Beverly’s outstretched hands. The older woman smiled warmly at her and interlocked her fingers with Gaby’s, giving a light squeeze of encouragement.
“You can’t tell anybody,” Gaby said in a hushed voice. “Ever.”
“Not a soul,” Beverly promised.
Gaby stood up slowly with a grimace and unbuttoned her jeans. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and after a moment or two of deliberation, pulled down her jeans.
Ugly purple blotches decorated the front and sides of Gaby’s thighs. There must have been half a dozen bruises, though it was hard to count because many of them blended together to form a patchwork of discolored skin tones ranging from a deep purple near the center of each to a sickly yellow on the outer fringes. At the epicenter of each was a raised welt in the shape of a belt buckle.
Beverly inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with her hands.
Gaby stood there mortified, willing herself not to weep.
“On your arms, too?” she asked in a hushed tone.
Gaby nodded silently.
“Oh, child,” Beverly said, searching for the right words. She wanted to hug her, but now understood why that would never comfort her.
“Who’s doing this to you?” she asked. “Is it your husband?”
Gaby shook her head.
“Boyfriend,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s my boyfriend and business manager.”
“He’ll be your end if this keeps up,” Beverly said, trying to put on a brave face. “Now, turn around. Let’s see if I can do something about that splinter of yours.”
Gaby turned and placed her hands on the structure’s lattice frame for support. Beverly, who remained on her knees to avoid reinjuring her ankle, waddled behind her.
“Left cheek, right?” Beverly asked.
“Yes,” Gaby replied quietly.
She stiffened as a hand touched her bottom and peeled away the left edge of her underwear. She could feel Beverly’s hot breath on her posterior as the older woman leaned in for a closer look. This was beyond mortifying.
“I see it,” Beverly declared. “It looks flush with the skin.”
Gaby heard her knee-walk a few steps away.
“Fortunately, I think I brought some eyebrow pluckers with me,” the older woman declared as she rummaged through her bags. “You never know when those little devils will try to merge.”
Gaby closed her eyes and prayed for this to all be over soon.
“Here we go,” Beverly declared, pulling a pair of tweezers from one of the bag’s interior pockets. She shuffled back toward Gaby.
“Now hold still.”
Gaby flinched as the cold metal came in contact with the splinter.
“Looks deep,” Beverly declared. “So, how long has this been going on?”
“With Bill? Almost a year.”
“A word of advice, my dear,” Beverly said, pausing dramatically as she tried to pluck the splinter out. “Never try to reform the violent ones. It always ends in tears.”
“He wasn’t always that wa ... oww!” Gaby declared when Beverly missed, pinching sensitive skin near the splinter.
“Sorry,” Beverly said.
“At first it was platonic. I hired him to help sell the workout videos, the ones your niece likes so much. After a year, we moved in together. Sales started to take off, so a year later, we bought a condo together. I was even thinking about marriage,” Gaby said with a wistful shake of her head. “Then the endorsements started drying up. Sales leveled off. I was 30, and the producers were already telling me I was over the hill. Bill didn’t know how to handle failure so …”
“He started to hit you.”
“Yes,” Gaby sobbed. “He blamed me for everything. He would get so mad. At first, it was open-handed. Before long, he started using his fists. Last month, he began using a belt.”
Beverly shivered at the thought.
“Leave while you still can,” Beverly advised. “I’ve walked out on two husbands, and believe me, neither would have dared to raise a hand to me. It’s not worth it.”
“I know,” Gaby said tearfully. “That’s why I came here. I told him this was a two-week retreat, so by the time he came to pick me up, I’d have a seven-day head start. Time enough to start ove … rrrowwww!” Gaby cried out, leaping in pain as Beverly yanked out the splinter.
“Got it,” Beverly declared, holding up an evil-looking fragment coated in blood and nearly an inch long.
Gaby looked over her shoulder as she rubbed her sore bottom and saw Beverly again going through her bags.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Improvising,” Beverly said as she fished out a pair of nude pantyhose. “We don’t have any gauze, so I figure this is the next best thing. I never liked this pair, anyway.”
With a resigned sigh she tore the pantyhose into strips. One of them she folded into a small square and handed to Gaby.
“Use this. Your underwear should hold it in place as long as you don’t make any sudden movements.”
“Thank you,” Gaby said, wiping away a tear, touched by the older woman’s compassion.
“You did the same for me,” Beverly reminded her warmly. “Besides, we need to stick together. If we let those clowns out there call the shots, we’re all doomed.”
* * * * * *
“Fifteen … sixteen … seventeen,” Coop counted to himself as he inspected the food rack behind the shed. He turned his head and called out to the rest of the group.
“We’ve got seventeen cans of food, he shouted. “And two bags of trail mix.”
Gaby pulled on a fleece jacket to stave off the evening chill. The afternoon’s rain-laden clouds had departed without making good on their threat, giving the group a clear view of the sun as it retreated behind the western edge of the floodplain, leaving behind an indigo sky flecked with countless stars. They looked so pristine compared to the ones dotting the hazy skies over her Los Angeles home. On hearing Coop’s progress report, she reluctantly tore her eyes away from the night sky.
“That’s not enough,” she told the others huddled around the outside firepit. “We can’t stretch that out over a week.”
Ken, who was stoking the fire with a blackened tree branch, broke into his all-too-familiar condescending smirk.
“Who needs a week?” he asked. “We could go two days easily on that, three if we’re careful. That should be plenty of time to escape.”
Gaby sighed.
“We’ve already discussed this: walking in any old direction and hoping for the best is not a plan,” she reminded him.
Ken thrust the stick into the guts of the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.
“I decide what’s best for me,” he insisted, jabbing a thumb at his chest to drive home the point.
Gaby shrugged almost imperceptibly.
“You can go anytime you like, but the rest of us are staying put until help arrives. And the food’s staying with us.”
“Either way, I suppose we’ll have to learn to hunt,” Coop chimed in, cradling an armload of cans for the evening meal. He took a seat on one of the stools around the firepit and started stripping the labels from the cans so they could heat them on the grill.
“What happened to ‘John works in mysterious ways’ and all that other fruity crap you were spouting earlier?” Ken needled him, his smirk now reaching punchable proportions.
Coop smiled stiffly, his annoyance just as evident as his refusal to let Ken goad him twice in one day.
“John will come back for us,” he said in a lilting voice as he peeled away can labels. “And yes, I still beli
eve this is all a test. But if passing it means lounging around camp for a few days with a full belly, that doesn’t sound like much of a test. We need to learn to hunt and trap, so when he does return, we’ll have proved our mettle.”
Ken chuckled to himself with a sad shake of the head. These two were clearly a lost cause, but there was one person he hadn’t asked, one who might be more pliable.
“What say you, Sherman Plump?” he asked Lamar, who was standing on the southern edge of camp, tying plastic cording between two large trees to create a makeshift clothesline. “You still think we can rough it out here for another week?”
Lamar paused a moment to consider.
“Uhmm … I think today was an object lesson for all of us,” he answered after a moment, thoughtfully stroking his goatee. “You and Beverly both set off on your own, and look what happened: you got lost and she wound up injured in the bottom of a ravine.”
Ken’s smirk quickly turned upside down.
“If we try again, something worse could happen,” Lamar continued, too busy with the clothesline to notice Ken’s rapidly souring reaction. “We should wait for help to ...” Lamar paused midsentence as he finally looked up and saw his words were not having the intended effect.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with a little exploration,” he squeaked out under Ken’s withering stare.
In the firelight, Ken’s glare looked downright malevolent.
“Just remember, Porky,” he intoned after several uncomfortable seconds, “if we run out of food before anyone comes, bacon goes on the menu. You read me?”
Lamar nodded nervously, too intimidated to respond verbally.
“Just ignore him,” Gaby advised, giving Lamar a reassuring smile. “He’s all bark and no brains.” She sat down gingerly on one of the stools, leaning at an angle to avoid putting pressure on her injured left cheek.
Ken muttered under his breath for several seconds before suddenly turning to Coop and frog punching him in the bicep. Hard.
“Owww! What was that for?” Coop protested in wide-eyed surprise as he rubbed his sore arm.
“Well, I can’t very well hit her, can I?”
“You could try not hitting anyone at all,” Coop complained, eyeing Ken warily as he handed out utensils and cans of stew.
“So, you do have standards,” Gaby said, pleased to see that Ken had some kind of moral compass. “I was beginning to wonder.”
Ken snorted in irritation.
“I don’t hit women. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
Coop hesitantly extended a can toward Ken, who yanked it out of his hand with such force that Coop nearly fell off his stool.
Lamar, meanwhile, stared dubiously at his tiny meal, unconvinced it would do much to quell the rumbling in his empty belly. He was so preoccupied that it took him several seconds to realize that someone else had joined the group.
He turned to the western edge of camp and there was Wade, silhouetted against the setting sun, carrying what looked like a small animal carcass slung over his shoulder. Ken immediately stood up and backed away, overturning his stool in the process. He remembered all too well his run-in with Wade earlier in the day and sought refuge in the Braves’ outhouse.
The other three were more polite, but no less alarmed by Wade’s presence. All of them quietly rotated their log stools to the opposite side of the fire.
As Wade drew closer to the firelight, they could see he was bare-chested, and barely visible amid all the caked-on mud was the self-inflicted scar he’d made earlier, marked by a trickle of dried blood. How he was able to withstand the evening’s chill with no upper body protection was anyone’s guess.
Wade dumped the carcass unceremoniously on the ground beside him. It was the fox Ken had watched him kill hours ago. He grabbed an empty pail, placed it between his legs, pulled out his hunting knife and started skinning the animal right in front of his startled companions.
They watched, mesmerized as Wade cut along the animal’s flank, following the dividing line between its orange coat and the white fur of its underbelly, pausing at each haunch to cut along the joint before snapping the limb clean off. The cracking noise each made when it came off was truly unsettling. Wade casually tossed both limbs in the fire and continued with his work.
Gaby had just claimed her heated stew from the grill when Wade began peeling away the fox’s fur, exposing the muscles and tendons below. She recoiled and quickly faced the other direction, trying to think about anything else as she ate. Coop quickly followed suit. Lamar had no such qualms and continued to watch Wade work as he ate, looking away only long enough to shovel more stew into his mouth.
“I hope you left some from me,” came a voice from the wigwam. Out hobbled Beverly, using a long tree branch as a makeshift crutch.
“I do believe I’m getting the hang on this,” she declared as she clambered toward the group, swaying from side to side with each step to preserve momentum. She landed, more than sat, on a stool beside Gaby.
“How’s the ankle?” Coop asked as he handed the older woman a can of stew and a spoon.
“Better, now that I can … oh, dear God!” Beverly gasped when she finally saw what Wade was doing. She started dry heaving in revulsion and quickly turned away until the spasms subsided.
“I thought you ritzy folks were all about farm-to-table food,” Coop said with a hint of a smile.
“Only when I’m on the ‘table’ side!” Beverly exclaimed, fanning herself to keep from fainting.
Beverly’s outsized reaction, coupled with her surreal experiences over the course of this long, confusing day triggered a primal response deep within Gaby, one that was impossible to ignore. She turned her head and covered her mouth to conceal it, but it was too late. It had escaped.
Beverly grew indignant at the sound of Gaby snickering.
“Stop it,” Beverly pouted. “It’s not funny.”
Gaby’s laughter quickly proved contagious, and before long Coop and Lamar were both chuckling.
“Okay, maybe it was a little funny,” Beverly relented, and the four shared a long and badly needed laugh together.
“A little too much reality for Sunday night?” Coop asked, still chuckling.
“This is too much for any night!” Beverly responded hammily, which was greeted with roars of appreciative laughter from the others, just when the mirth was starting to peter out.
Wade seemed impervious to the merriment, continuing to work as if no one else was around. He had skinned the fox past its hind legs and was now pulling on the folds of fur and skin, yanking them down to the carcass’s midriff like he was peeling an banana. His arms were matted with blood, with the remainder spilling into the pail, which he was using as a makeshift drip pan.
“Is he still … you know?” Beverly asked.
“Still skinning it?” Lamar responded, finishing his stew and wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. “Not exactly. More like unwrapping it.”
“Ugh,” Beverly responded while trying to control her gag reflex.
“Shall I describe it to you?” Lamar asked mischievously.
“Don’t you dare!” Beverly intoned.
Lamar was impressed by the near surgical precision of Wade’s movements. It was clear this was not his first time.
“You think he’s a taxidermist?” Lamar asked, keeping his voice low.
“Wade? It would explain a lot,” Coop replied. “And it’s a lot more comforting to think of him stuffing pets than people.”
“I think you’re onto something,” Gaby said, a little loudly for the others’ tastes. “Maybe we’ve been reading this guy wrong all along. Sure, he’s eccentric and not very friendly, but I think he could be a big help in our present situation. I’m going to invite him to join us.”
Coop and Lamar exchanged worried glances, remembering all too well finding Ken choked to near unconsciousness yesterday.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Coop whispered to her. “Let rabid
dogs lie.”
Gaby ignored him and raised her voice so that Wade could hear her from across the fire.
“Hey, Wade, do you want to take a break from … that, and join us for dinner?” she asked. “We’ve got beef stew.”
Wade looked up from his work, his reaction impossible to read in his sunburned facade. He appeared to be genuinely considering their offer when a shouting voice from the direction of the outhouse caught everyone’s attention.
“What is wrong with you people?” Ken fairly screamed in outrage, gesturing wildly with his hands for emphasis. “You yuck it up like there isn’t a care in the world, you lounge around waiting for rescuers that’ll never come and now you decide to make friends with fucking Hannibal Lecter over there?” he exclaimed, pointing at Wade as his voice grew more shrill. “Are you people fucking insane?”
Coop shifted uncomfortably on his stool. Lamar looked down at his shoes. Gaby and Beverly both looked away in embarrassment. No one said a word until Wade suddenly stood up, the fox skin delicately folded over his arm.
“If you hate it here so much, then why not leave?” he drawled in a husky, menacing voice, raising his blood-spattered blade to drive home the point.
The two stared each other down for several agonizing moments before Ken broke eye contact and spat on the ground.
“Fine, I will!” he shouted and stormed off into the wigwam. Gaby and Beverly exchanged puzzled looks before he emerged with his sleeping blanket and metal suitcase.
“As long as Wade’s here, I won’t be!” he declared, and stomped off to sleep down by the archery range.
Without another word, Wade went back to work, making an incision in the skinless creature’s skull and scooping out its brain bare handed. He deposited it in the same pail he’d used to collect the creature’s blood and set the mixture on the grill to heat.
The others saw none of this. They were still trying to process Ken’s outburst, looking at one another slack jawed. It was nearly a minute before anyone spoke again.
“Well,” Beverly intoned, “thank goodness that wasn’t awkward.”
The Truth Circle Page 11