“Close the fucking doors, you idiots,” Jase said with contempt. “We don’t want to freeze our balls off when we start playing with our toy.” He turned to Brook, throwing off his gloves as Pete closed the door. “You ready for some fun, bitch?”
“Hey man,” Pete said. “I get firsts.” He dropped his coat to the floor, pulled his gloves off with his crooked yellow teeth, and reached for his fly. “I ain’t had none since you kilt Gina. I ain’t used to goin' without.” He unzipped and stepped forward.
“What the fuck ever,” Benny snorted. “We ain’t using nothing after you stick that log in. You’ll stretch the bitch so far out of shape we won’t even be able to feel shit. Ain't that right, BrooklynBridge?”
“Benny’s right. Besides, I’m the boss here. I’ll go first.” Jase threw Brook to the floor. He grabbed her pants and yanked, pulling them down in one smooth pull.
Brook screamed for all she was worth, not caring there was no one for miles around.
Gentle hands touched Brook’s shoulders. “Brooklyn.”
Brook fought, slapping, clawing, slugging.
“Damn it, Brooklyn. It’s me! Lance!”
The scuffle continued for a few seconds before Lance’s words penetrated her terror. “A dream! A nightmare! You’re safe.”
Brook's mind cleared and she sagged with relief. “It was so real.”
Lance frowned. “It was probably the sketches. Seeing them had to bring it all back.”
“Oh my god! It was so real. I’m sure you’re right; it had to have been the drawings that brought on the nightmare. But I'm glad we did it. It was hard, but it had to be done.” Brook sank back onto the bed, her heart still pounding. “I’ve been having other dreams, too. Dreams of Clark with Jase or Benny. And I’ve been remembering things. Like Benny with that key to my car. He had a key, you know. And I just can’t understand it.”
“I don’t know, Brooklyn. It’s pretty odd, though.”
“I know it. It haunts me.” Brook felt a growing suspicion, but it was absurd. It made no sense, and she wondered if paranoia was one of the aftereffects of a traumatic experience.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her head so she could relax. But, her mind whirled with unanswered questions and it was some time before it let go enough for her to drift off once more.
Lance sat with her until she fell back asleep.
Chapter 40
The snow continued to fall with only short respites between storms. As the days passed, Brook and Lance settled into a routine. He went out and did his chores in the morning while she puttered around inside, and then repeated the process in the evening. Sometimes he did a little ice fishing or snared small game for their larder. With the addition of the ducks and wild game, the cold pantry was well-stocked, putting to rest any fears Lance had about food supplies.
The attraction hummed between them like a plucked string and provided an undercurrent of tenderness and warmth in their interactions. More than once, Lance held her to his chest while she battled a bad memory or woke from a nightmare. But they carefully avoided taking things any further.
Between chores, Lance worked on his projects. Sometimes Brook came in to sit with him and they'd visit, talking about things they'd done, or might still do, during their lives. Or she'd write in her journal, simply enjoying his nearness as he applied his skills to his art. At his urging, Brook began detailing everything she could remember about her captors and the events that took place while she was held. She found the process disturbing at first, but came to appreciate the sense of release that followed each painful entry.
The days unfolded, pleasantly for the most part, and she and Lance grew closer with each passing hour.
The time came when Brook grew restless with her sedentary pursuits. She was feeling much better and her feet hardly pained her when she stood.
Now was the time for her to cook a meal. The time to show Lance she could be of some help, not just someone who needed to be taken care of. She waited until Lance was outside. He’d be gone for a while, doing chores.
Moving into the kitchen she took stock of the supplies. Lance had lain out a deer roast. She unwrapped the meat and verified it was thawed. Next she sorted through the jars of seasonings and selected salt, pepper, thyme, and a bit of basil. She broke open some garlic and crushed it with a press she found. She made a rub of these ingredients and worked them into the meat. Laying the roast in a medium-sized Dutch oven, she added water, placed the lid on top, and set the pan on the hot stovetop.
Next, she took several potatoes, carrots, and onions and chopped them, covering them in cold water until time to add them to the meat.
She considered making rolls but decided that her skill on a wood burning stove probably wasn't up to that task yet. Satisfied she had gone as far as she could for the time being, she moved to a chair and sat to read. She became engrossed in a novel by Richard Adams, Watership Down. She was immediately pulled into the story of a rabbit named Hazel, his friends, and their plight. Brook lost track of time.
The smell of succulent meat cooking brought Brook back to the present. She moved to the kitchen and found that almost all the water had evaporated in the roast. She added more water and determined it was time to add the vegetables. She did so and moved to the bed, lay down, and resumed reading...
“What the hell is going on?”
The question brought Brook to her feet. Smoke bellowed from the pan on the stove. Lance reached the pan in three steps, grabbed it up with a towel, and moved out the door. He set the pan in the snow on the porch and steam sizzled from the hot metal, rising in swirls into the cold air.
“Oh my god,” Brook gasped. “Oh no! I fell asleep.”
Lance, after determining the cabin was not on fire, looked from the pan to Brook and his face softened. “It’s okay.”
“No, no, it’s not. I wanted to do something special for you. You've taken such good care of me. And you gave me my beautiful tree, and these shoes.” She gestured to her feet. “And now I've made a mess of things. This isn't how it was supposed to turn out at all. Oh, god. I’ve ruined the meal. And wasted food.”
“Brooklyn, there’s plenty of food. Now just hold on. Let’s see what the damage is here.” He cautiously lifted the lid to the pan. Wafts of smoke rose, sending a pungent stink into the air. Lance waved the towel above the food and nodded. He stepped inside, opened the windows wide to air out the smoke, and returned to carry the pan back inside. Using a slotted spoon, he scooped the mushy vegetables out and took the pan to a thick wooden cutting board where he set it down.
“How about you peel some more carrots and potatoes?” He smiled at Brook who still had tears rolling down her cheeks.
She moved to perform the task while Lance washed up from his chores. By the time he returned from the bathroom the room had grown quite cold. Most the smoke was gone so he closed all but the front door and heaped wood on the fire. Soon the room began to warm and Lance put the veggies on to boil. “Okay, let’s see what we can do with this meat.”
Using a metal spatula and a long-handled fork, Lance pried the burnt meat from the pan. He took a sharp knife and began hacking off the edges. Soon he had a small piece of meat that looked like it might be palatable. “Can you hand me some apple cider and a couple apples?”
Brook passed him the items, and watched closely as he worked. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Lance chopped the apples small, adding some onions and soy sauce to the bowl. He sprinkled the mixture with brown sugar and added enough cider to make a paste. This paste he rubbed over all the meat and let it sit for a few minutes while he turned to Brook. He moved to her and reached out slowly, gathering her into his arms.