For more than a few instances it seemed almost as if we’d never been separated or divorced; never spent even one minute away from one another. I wondered how it could be that two people who loved each other could not find a way to live together. But then I also had to wonder what still attracted us after all we’d been through; after the secret I had revealed to him.
After a time, Michael reached out and touched my face. The gentle gesture sent a chill through my body. He leaned into me, kissing me on the mouth. I kissed him back. He moved in closer, then slid one arm under me and the other around me. He pulled me close to him and he held me. He held me so tightly, I thought he’d never let go. And when he began to cry, so did I. I felt our tears combining and I tasted the salt from them, and we hardly made a sound other than the beating of our hearts.
For that brief eternity I was him and he was me and there was no past or future. There was only the sweet right now and all the wrongs that had occurred between us-all the hurt and all the pain-had suddenly and very definitely disappeared. In a word, Michael and I were new again. The love that had died was resurrected.
I became convinced that if there indeed was a God, He truly did work in mysterious ways. Maybe He’d taken away the sister I adored more than myself, but somehow, He’d given me back Michael. He’d given me back my soul mate
After a time, we lie on our backs feeling content and happy, holding hands, staring at the ceiling, not speaking or needing to speak, but just watching the flame-shadows that danced upon every surface that surrounded us from floor to ceiling. Set beside me on the table, my old dog-eared copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, it’s now delicate pages stuffed with sketches of Whalen from thirty years ago. As I lay in bed, I felt like taking one of the candles to it and lighting it on fire. I felt like destroying it and my past. But I knew I wouldn’t.
When Michael got out of bed, he replaced the comforter over me. He blew out the candle and slipped back in bed. Reaching out, he took hold of a small tuft of my hair. He didn’t hold the hair so much as he let it rest in his fingertips, allowing the rest of the hand to sit on my pillow.
“Love you, Bec,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”
Maybe four minutes later I was listening to the sound of his breathing as he slept soundly. For that one moment I felt happier than I’d felt in years.
I fell asleep to that happiness.
Chapter 33
I’m walking with Molly along a stream bank surrounded by trees. The water flows as wide and heavy as a river. In the dream I’m walking right beside her, but I am also seeing the entirety of the dream as though looking at a movie screen.
Although no one is speaking I know we are looking for a place to cross the wide stream in order to go deeper into the forest. This is a forbidden place, but I am too far gone now; too far into the woods to go back. My only choice is to follow Molly; keep my eyes peeled on her red Paul McCartney and Wings T-shirt.
Soon we come upon a place in the stream that is shallower than the rest. There’s a series of boulders that rise out of the moving water. The boulders form a natural land bridge.
Molly turns to me, that smile on her face wider than ever.
“ Here,” she exclaims, as though she’s been looking for the spot all along. It’s then of course that I know for certain Molly has been here before. She’s defied our father, explored the woods without his okay; without my knowledge.
“ Stay close,” she orders as we traverse the rock bridge to the other side of the stream. “There, I can almost see it.”
Molly knows something is out there. It’s why she made me go into the woods with her in the first place.
We walk maybe another one-hundred yards before that thing takes shape.
“ You see it, Bec?” Molly shouts. “Can you see it?”
I can see it by then. As amazing as it seems, as buried as it is in the trees, I see it as clearly as I see Molly before me.
A house set in the middle of the woods.
Then a noise.
My cell phone vibrating.
And a voice.
“Rebecca.”
Chapter 34
The name was not screamed, nor spoken. It came to me as a kind of whisper. Or maybe it just came to me. Maybe it just happened inside my head.
The cell phone went from vibrate to chime.
I thought I heard movement coming from inside the living room. I sensed movement anyway, the same way an expecting mother might sense baby’s first kick. Heavy booted feet shuffling against the hardwood.
My prone body was bolted to the bed. It wasn’t a bed at all. It was a concrete platform and I was bolted and chained to it.
Heart drummed triplets against my ribcage.
Was my cell phone really ringing? Was this a repeat of two nights ago? Had a voice been spoken? Had it been whispered? Had it all been a dream?
“Rebecca.”
I listened. I must have heard a voice. The voice had personality. It was gruff and low. There were specific details to the voice. There was a smell that went with that voice.
The smell of stale cigarettes. I knew that smell, recognized it. Cigarette butts.
Eyes wide open, unblinking, I swear I saw a shadow. The shadow of a man staring back at me from the open bedroom door, as if someone were standing inside the open frame-a silhouette against the darkness.
Was Whalen standing there, looking back at me? Had he violated his parole by sneaking out of the half-way house to come here?
I swear it’s him.
Footsteps along the bedroom floor. The filthy ashtray smell. The cell phone vibrating and chiming.
If only I could lift my arms. If only I could have reached out and grabbed hold of the phone. If only I could have lifted my arms, reached out and picked it up.
I wanted to scream. But want and desire were meaningless.
I felt the presence of Michael beside me. We were not divorced. We were still married and he was sleeping soundly right next to me, close to me, his body curled into my side, his face facing me. Just like it’s always been.
His sleeping breaths were not the least bit bothered by the sounds, the smells, the sights taking place inside this bedroom in the middle of the deep night.
“Rebecca.”
Every nerve in my body was body tingling, twitching.
I can’t possibly be dreaming. Can’t possibly be dreaming. Can’t possibly be dreaming…
I made a wish. Wished the voice away; wished the smell away; wished the figure of a small, thin man away.
The man who took Molly and me.
I began to drift.
As though by some miracle I started falling.
Faster.
Then faster still…
Chapter 35
When I woke up the sun was shining through the windows. It seemed like a beautiful day, the terrible dreamt sounds, smells and sights of the night behind me. But not far enough. I reached out for the end table, picked up my cell and peeked at the time.
Six-thirty.
My hands trembling, I opened the phone to see if someone had called me during the night.
Nothing. Not even a new text.
Michael was still asleep. I decided to leave him be. Or maybe I just wanted some time to myself. Time to breathe, get my act together. I needed my routine. Craved it.
I got up, threw on a robe to fight off the chill and got to work on making the coffee. I swallowed a vitamin with a tall glass of orange juice, tried to eat my two ounces of Frosted Mini Wheats, but only managed a couple of bites.
As the rich aroma of the coffee filled the apartment, I began making a check on the living room. I walked the square-shaped room from one end to the other, my eyes examining the floor, the couch, the desk, the bookshelves.
Nothing seemed out of order; nothing seemed as if it had been tampered with. No footprints on the floor, no handprints on the walls. I looked over the windows and the door that led out onto the stone terrace, looked for fingerprints or smudges on the panes and sills.