Eve:
Thank you. I miss her a great deal.Sorry for your dog, it's hard!
Yes, Michael is in a real dilemma: report Hank and risk his mother going to jail with him or keep quiet and protect them both with the very real possibility of Hank hurting someone else.
Moomin:
Thank you so much!Aww sorry about your dogSmilla is such a lovely name by the way!
Um, I think I'm gonna say what I always seem to say in my feedback: poor Michael!
You know what’s funny? I also seem to get that a lot over on CID, lol. Weird . . .I understand your feelings regarding Michael’s mother and Hank, but you have to see that, despite everything, Michael loves her and doesn’t want her to be locked away. What he wants and what he gets might not be the exact same thing, though . . .
For now, Michael is safe. The Sheriff is on the case now and Maria is making sure that Michael has a place to sleep for the next couple of days.
I agree in that Hank is very dangerous and he should be locked away as fast as possible.
Author’s note: One line is borrowed from the novel “Outlander” by Diana Gabaldon.
Chapter Twenty-one – Demons
Jim Valenti lightly rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, listening intently for any sounds from within. There were none, so, in a sudden decision, he pushed open the door and stuck his head through the small crack, quietly asking, “Hey, son, can I come in?”
Kyle was lying curled up on his bed, facing the wall. The clutter surrounding him from all sides was making the small room appear even more confined, provoking an almost claustrophobic feeling in Jim. But Kyle seemed to like living in this mess, and the Sheriff had long since given up hope that the youthful disorder would someday resolve itself on its own. And with Tess and her own deficiencies in the cleaning up department, all dreams of having a tidy and clean house had gone out the window.
Now Kyle shrugged curtly, and his voice was muffled against the pillow when he answered, “If you want. But I’m really not in the mood to talk right now.”
“You don’t have to.” Jim slowly walked into the room and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed at Kyle’s back. The mattress tilted under his weight. “Tess told me what happened,” he offered, hoping to prompt a response with the remark. But Kyle stayed silent. “I brought you an icepack.”
After a minute or two of mutual silence, Kyle finally cracked. Sighing in exasperation, he sat up and turned to face his father, taking the offered ice pack from his hands. “Thanks,” he mumbled, staring at his hands.
“Wow.” The Sheriff watched his son and whistled tonelessly through his teeth. “Michael packs quite a punch, doesn’t he?” The sight of the swollen, black and blue flesh around his son’s eye shocked him more than he wanted to let on, especially since he knew that it wasn’t just the result of a mindless teenage brawl but a serious fight with Kyle’s best friend.
Kyle glowered at him, instantly defensive on his friend’s behalf. “It wasn’t his fault. I was practically begging for it.”
Jim had to smile at that. Even when fighting, Kyle never hesitated to step into the breach for Michael. “Didn’t know you were into pain so much,” he remarked dryly. “Have you talked to him, yet?”
“I can’t, Dad!” he moaned, looking at his father with pleading eyes. “It’s like . . . I don’t even know how to explain it. I mean, we’ve been best friends for years, and then something like this happens to him and he doesn’t even think it necessary to tell me about it. It’s so . . . I don’t know!” He waved the forgotten icepack in the air in search of a fitting word. “I feel so . . .”
“Betrayed?” the Sheriff prompted gently.
“Yes, betrayed.” He collapsed back on the bed and covered both of his eyes with the ice pack, hiding behind it. His voice held a mixture of misery and self-loathing when he continued, “God, I’m such a horrible person! Your son is a horrible person, Dad. My best friend gets beaten up with a baseball bat and all I can do is give him shit about it because he didn’t tell me. I mean, who even does that?”
Jim helplessly watched his son’s unhappiness. It was moments like these that he wished that Susan, his ex-wife and Kyle’s mother, hadn’t left them alone back then, because he really didn’t feel equipped to help his son with the emotional side of his problems. Lately, Tess had taken care of these things, but now Kyle needed his father, so Jim had to suck it up and step in to be there for him. With faked seriousness, he ordered, “Stop talking shit about my son, Kyle.” His big hand found Kyle’s shoulder almost without his own help, and he squeezed to let him have a little comfort through the bodily contact. “Seriously now, you’re not a horrible person. It’s perfectly normal to feel the way you do.”
“I’m ashamed, Dad,” Kyle admitted hoarsely, seemingly on the verge of crying, but it was hard to tell with his eyes still covered by the ice pack. “I wasn’t a very good friend for Michael.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. He isn’t completely innocent, either, and I bet he knows that.” Jim sat back. It was time to get down to business and do something to help the kids through this mess. “So, the name of the guy is ‘Hank’, right? Do you know his last name?” he asked, but upon seeing Kyle just shaking his head, he continued in a reassuring voice, “That’s okay, I’m gonna find out anyway. I’ll look into him as soon as I’m back at the station, see what we have on him. Do you know what the fight between him and Michael was about?”
“No, we didn’t exactly have a rational conversation after I saw him with that bruise.”
Jim nodded thoughtfully. “Listen, Kyle, I’m gonna have to talk to Michael about this. You know, ask some questions, see if he’s going to press charges, but I was thinking that maybe we should leave him alone for today, let him get some rest since he’s kinda had a rough time lately. Tess told me that he’s at Maria Deluca’s house right now. I understand they’re good friends?”
Kyle nodded. “She’s his girlfriend.”
“Okay, good. So he has someone to take care of him for now, and tomorrow we’re going to drive over there and talk to him, alright?”
Finally, the ice pack came off and revealed Kyle’s horrified expression when he asked, “Do I have to come with you?”
“Kyle . . .” Jim sighed. “I can’t force you to come, but I strongly suggest that you do. Michael needs all the support he can get right now and for you it would be better to get this fight outta the way, too.”
Kyle bit his bottom lip, contemplating, before he slowly said, “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
*****
Maria eyed the empty pizza carton on the coffee table, its splotched cardboard lid right in her line of sight from where she was lying on the living room couch. “We need to go grocery shopping tomorrow.”
“Mmmm,” came the distracted response. Michael, stretched behind her with one arm slung around her waist, was watching the closing credits of “Braveheart” with much more attention than the movie deserved in her opinion.
They had been watching DVDs all through the evening, lounging lazily on the couch and ordering food when the hunger pangs got too much to ignore and the fridge didn’t provide any acceptable sustenance. Now it was very late already, almost midnight, and after their movie marathon Maria was feeling a growing yearning for her soft bed and a long, undisturbed night of peaceful slumber. Who would have thought that doing nothing could be so exhausting?
Michael, after having his wish for the last film of the night granted, had spent the past few hours quietly enjoying his favorite movie, snuggling close to her back, but otherwise so absorbed with the TV that he was completely unapproachable.
Maria, not so keen on watching hundreds upon hundreds of dying warriors herself, had let her mind wander to the eventful days that lay past them and mulled over the numerous possibilities the uncertain future would bring for Michael. It really only depended on what Michael would decide to do: report Hank and let his mother go to jail with him, or not say anything to the police and live with the very great chance that Hank would hurt another person badly.
Maria felt the sudden, strong desire for a huge dish of strawberry ice cream. It was the perfect comfort food when she needed something to help her deal with her problems; a sweet, cold balm for the soul. But the fridge was empty. Not even a chocolate pudding in there anymore. Which brought her back to the absolute necessity of going shopping tomorrow. Her mom had the Jetta, so their only means for transportation to the store would be . . .
“Where did you leave your bike?” she asked Michael abruptly, half-turning around in his arms. “I didn’t see it when I came home this morning.”
Seemingly with great difficulty, he tore his eyes away from the screen, answering, “Back porch. I put it under that big old tree for shelter so it wouldn’t get rained on too much.”
Maria’s eyes grew wide. “The oak?” she squeaked. “Oh, Michael! My mom just planted some spring flowers under that tree! If you ran over them she is going to kill you!”
“Oops,” he said, looking at her sheepishly. Then, as if trying to convince himself, he confidently stated, “Well, they would have died, anyway, there’s too much shadow in that spot.”
Maria chuckled gleefully. “Save me front row seats when you try to explain that to her, please.”
Now he did look a little uncertain when he slowly said, “She’s a reasonable woman. She’ll understand.”
Maria broke down in laughter at hearing her mother described as “reasonable”, shaking and snorting against his chest. She really had to make sure she was in the near vicinity when her mother discovered the damage Michael’s bike had undoubtedly done to her precious garden. Slowly, the last of her giggles died, and she had to let out a huge yawn, trying to cover it up with the back of her hand.
Michael, who had stoically endured her laughing at him, took the yawn as a sign of her tiredness and softly asked, “Wanna go to bed?”
“To bed?” she asked mischievously and winked at him. “Or to sleep?”
He grinned. “That’s all up to you. Just know that I’m not tired at all . . .”
“You’re not?” She tapped her chin in pretended thoughtfulness. “Hmm, what should we do about that?”
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively when he offered, “I could think of a thing or two . . .” Then he bent down and began softly nibbling on her earlobe.
“Really?” she breathed.
“Uh-huh,” he confirmed, continuing to kiss his way down her throat. After a moment, he murmured against her skin, “You know that I feel slightly discriminated?”
She swallowed. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying when all her body wanted was to focus on what he was doing. “Why would you feel that way?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
He stopped what he was doing, pulling back to look at her. His mouth quirked when he said, “It’s just the fact that you’ve already seen me shirtless, whereas I . . . Well, let’s just say that I have touched, but I haven’t had the privilege to look . . .”
She laughed at this approach. “Oh, you’re right. This horrible injustice must be eliminated right away.” She sat up and swiftly pulled her shirt off, leaving her in her jeans and a pink bra. She felt a fleeting flutter of nervousness pass over her in the wake of his eyes traveling her upper body in appreciation. “Better?” she asked.
“Much.” He smiled and kissed her. Then he shifted around on the couch, pulling her down to lie on top of him, not once taking his lips away from her mouth. His hands slowly trailed up and down her bare back, causing her to break out in delightful shivers where his skin met hers. When his fingers encountered the fabric of her bra, they traced the edges until they found the snap in the back. There, he hesitated, and Maria bit his lip in encouragement, smiling when he hissed faintly at the light sting. His hands made quick work of the snap, pushing aside the fabric to continue their journey across her bare skin undisturbed.
Maria moaned into his mouth, pressing herself even closer to him. She could feel his own growing excitement between them, urgent and hard, and, encouraged by his responses, trailed her hand down to stroke the inside of his thigh.
He sighed in appreciation when she touched him there, but stopped short a second later, breaking the kiss and craning his neck to peer out of the living room window. It was pitch-black outside, their surroundings only lit by the TV screen, but he narrowed his eyes and looked into the darkness in search of something she couldn’t comprehend.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, puzzled.
He shrugged one shoulder and casually said, “Just checking to make sure we’re not giving your neighbors an eyeful.”
Maria briefly glanced at the half-drawn curtains and the house of the Grahams who, if they were so inclined, could indeed look right into their living room. “So what?” She grinned unconcernedly. “If it gets them off spying on us making out, just let them.”
His eyes widened at that statement and, in playful shock, he accused her, “You’re naughty!”
She laughed freely at his put-on outrage. “So? You’re raunchy,” she retorted.
“I’m not!” He made a face in indignation. “I’m a perfectly honorable man.” But his palms on her bare sides and his thumbs brushing repeatedly against the sides of her breasts belied his statement. Both of them broke down in laughter, shaking and snorting in each other’s arms.
When they had calmed down enough for her to talk, she leaned down to bring her face close to his. Her cheeks felt hot from laughing and the excitement of being near him. “Michael?” she asked, her voice low and flirtatious.
He stilled and just watched her. “Yeah?”
Slowly, she brought her mouth to his ear, whispering, “Touch me . . .”
*****
It was dark.
In her dreams, it was almost always dark. No light shone in the narrow alley where she lay on the ground, struggling with Him and praying that, unlike the other dreams, this time, she would be the first to reach the knife.
Once again, the back of her hand bumped against the handle of the knife on the ground. She gripped the handle, but yet again, his large hand closed around hers over the handle, bruising her knuckles with the force. No matter how often she dreamed about it, the outcome was always the same.
It was always the same. The struggle for the knife. Her fear. The overwhelming hopelessness in the face of his physical advantages. And then, as she was almost ready to give up the fight, the sudden shift in their bodies and the feel of the blade gliding into flesh.
There was no fear. And no pain. Only darkness . . .
*****
Maria started up into a sitting position, half-asleep still, with the comforter clutched tightly in a white-knuckled grasp. Her heart was beating frantically against her ribs, like a little bird trying to escape its tight cage, and she stared into the blackness around her, momentarily disoriented. Then her gaze fell on the green blanket covering her from hip down, and Mr. Bear, the purple stuffed animal, on the foot of the bed, and she remembered where she was. Not on the cold, dark streets of Albuquerque with the dark man on top of her, pressing her into the hard pavement. And there was no knife in her fingers and no blood on her hands. She was in Roswell. At home. In her bed. In her bed with . . .
Maria quickly turned her head to the side, and indeed, there beside her lay Michael, fast asleep. After their hot and heavy make-out session earlier, they had climbed into her bed together and quickly fallen asleep.
Now, though, by the looks of it, he wasn’t having a very peaceful dream, either. His brows were pulled together into a deep frown and his eyes were moving restlessly behind closed lids. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead and the high cheekbones.
It was very warm in the room. Maria cautiously pulled the blanket down to his waist to let him cool off a little and quietly slipped out of bed, walking over to the window and pushing it open all the way. The faint night breeze floated into the room, stirring the curtains and enveloped her in a brief, cool embrace.
The thick carpet swallowed every sound of her steps when she walked out of the room and down the hallway. When she reached the bathroom, her fingers fumbled for a second in the dark before they found the light switch on the wall. Glaringly bright light blinded her and she had to cover her eyes to avoid the uncomfortable sensation until her eyes had adjusted to the brightness after the gloom of her unlit bedroom. She opened the cabinet beside the sink and took out the familiar bottle of medicine, sighing deeply when she took out one of the little white pills. She hated that she was so dependent on them, but she knew from experience that, after a dream like the one she had had just now, she would never be able to fall asleep on her own again tonight.
“What are you doing?”
Maria spun around at the voice speaking behind her and nearly dropped the pill in the sink. “Michael!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed, clutching a hand to her racing heart. “You scared me.”
“What are you doing up?” he repeated sleepily, rubbing his eyes against the painfully bright bathroom light.
“I, uh, nothing.” She closed her fingers around the pill and moved her hand a little to the back while trying to sound inconspicuous. “Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“What are you hiding there?” Of course he had seen the movement and reached for her hand, frowning when he caught sight of the one white globule on her palm. “What is this?” He instantly looked more alert and not at all happy.
Maria sighed when he took the pellet from her hand and inspected them suspiciously. “It’s just a mild sleeping pill, Michael. Don’t worry about it.”
“Sleeping pill?” His frown deepened when he looked up at her accusingly. “Why would you need sleeping pills?”
“Just . . .” Maria flapped her hands against her sides, at a loss for words. Defensively, she burst out, “God, sometimes I just don’t sleep so well, okay? The pills help me to get back to sleep instead of lying awake for the rest of the night. Now, can I have it back, please?” She held open her palm expectantly.
“No.”
“Excuse me?” She frowned at him.
“I said no,” he repeated calmly. “I don’t want you to take this. No drugs.” With that, he let the pill fall into the sink and flushed it down the drain with a quick turn of the faucet.
Maria’s eyes widened, and for a second, she didn’t know if she should be mad at him or not. “But-”
“Please, Maria,” he pleaded, taking both of her hands in his big paws. “Can’t we just talk for a little while or something? Maybe then you’ll be able to fall asleep again.”
Against her will, her mouth quirked at this uncharacteristic suggestion.
His brow lifted when he saw her expression, and he unconsciously mimicked her smile. “What’s so funny?”
Chuckling with sudden mirth, she said, “The fact that, A, you of all people are offering to talk, and B, that you expect me to fall asleep while talking to you.”
He smiled wryly, acknowledging the humor of the situation. “Well, I guess we’ll see, then.” He nodded at the sink, earnest once again. “You don’t need those. Come on.” With that, he pulled her out of the bathroom, switching the light off in passing and leading her down the dark hallway back to her bedroom.
The fresh night air coming in from the window had helped to cool down the room to such a degree that Maria gladly crawled back under the covers, shivering in the sudden chill. She gratefully nestled up against Michael’s side, who had climbed into bed beside her and now pulled her into his body, holding her close and safe.
For a few minutes, they just lay there in silence, enjoying each other’s warmth.
When Maria began to speak, her voice was very low. She absently caressed his arm with her forefinger while she talked. “Do you remember what I told you about Sean?”
“Uh . . . yeah . . .?” he replied uncertainly. It was very apparent that he was wondering where this conversation was going.
“How he died, I mean,” she clarified.
“Yeah, you told me he was shot, right?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded, her cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Sometimes . . . sometimes, I have nightmares,” she admitted haltingly. “I dream about what happened that night . . .”
“What . . .” He lifted up on his elbow beside her, peering down at her. “Wait, you . . . You mean you were there?!” he asked, and his voice held a tone of unbelieving shock. “You were there when your cousin was shot?!”
She nodded miserably and let herself get hugged tightly to his chest, taking comfort from his strong arms around her.
“Shit!” he quietly cursed into her hair while he rocked her gently back and forth.
“I didn’t . . .” She swallowed thickly past the lump in her throat. “I wasn’t standing . . . I mean, I didn’t actually see . . .” She trailed off, hoping for him to understand without her having to say it out loud. And he did.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” he murmured soothingly. “You don’t have to say it.”
“Yes, I do!” she objected fiercely, pulling away from his embrace to scowl at him. “I need to tell you. Everything.” She remembered how he had laid himself open before her in the past few days, and how much it had cost him to show his fears and insecurities. “No more secrets.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. No more secrets,” he agreed. He scooted back to sit against the headboard of the bed, looking at her patiently.
She followed him and leaned her cheek against his shoulder, taking his hand between her smaller ones and playing with his fingers while Mr. Bear stared at them disapprovingly, lying on the side at their feet, knocked over by their movements.
“It was in October,” she began. He knows that already, idiot, she berated herself silently. She took a shaky breath and continued. “We had been at a party together. It was Jill’s birthday party. Jill, that’s, uh, that was my friend from school.” She looked up at him, and he just nodded patiently, indicating to her to go on.
“Anyway . . .” she went on. “They were . . . they were waiting for us when we turned the corner to Walnut Street.” She snorted suddenly, before hastily running on. “I honestly don’t know why they chose that name. I mean, there are just endless blocks of houses, and not a single tree there. Not Walnut or Chestnut or-”
“Maria . . .” Michael softly interrupted her blabbering.
She swallowed, embarrassed. “Sorry. So, they were waiting for us. Or, not specifically for us, but . . . you know, for someone.” She went on when he nodded and squeezed her hand. “There were four men. Two big, bulky ones, a scrawny, mean one and the leader. He was big. And scary.” Involuntarily, she shuddered, recalling the horror of that night. “They were all scary. I don’t know what they were looking for, exactly. Maybe money . . . But they didn’t ask for cash. They . . . I think they just wanted to have some ‘fun’ with us,” she said bitterly. “Their . . . the leader had a long knife and he tried to use it to threaten Sean. The scrawny one with the rat face . . . he . . . had the gun stuck in the waistband of his pants and Sean – that idiot! – saw it and he . . . he created a diversion so I could run away . . .” Her hands clamped down on Michael’s unconsciously and she whispered, “I was so scared. For me. And even more for him . . . But I ran, anyway . . .” She swallowed convulsively, then forced the next words out, “I ran and tried to get help, but h-he followed me. And he had the knife . . .”
*****
She whirled around in panic, and there he was, not fifty yards away from her. The tall, dark man with the pointed nose and the feral smile, metal blade in hand and murder in his eyes. She turned and hammered at the door with renewed urgency “HELP ME!” she screamed.
“Now, now, sweetheart,” he chuckled in a low voice, slowly advancing in a threatening stalk. “You’ll wake the whole neighborhood. Come with me, I’ll take you back to your curly friend and we can have a nice talk, hm? I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he lied.
She applied another futile salve of thumps to the unyielding door, then pressed her back flat against it, as if she could flow to safety by sheer osmosis. “Leave me alone,” she whispered. Desperation washed over her when he came another step closer. There was nowhere to go for her, nowhere to hide and no one to help her. A sob escaped her.
“There’s no use in cryin’, sweetheart,” he said in a false soothing voice and an insane glint in his black eyes. “No one’s comin’ for you, you know? Might as well get it over with.”
He’s right, she thought while the tears streamed down her cheeks. No one’s coming.
The citizens of Albuquerque had bolted their homes against the creatures of the night and would not open them again.
Hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her, but she clenched her jaw against the fear, scraping together as much courage as she could gather and tried to sidestep him on the gravel walk.
He mimicked her movements easily, the grin widening when he, too, realized that she would not be able to get away. He slowly crept closer to her. Another step would bring him into reach with her.
In a last, desperate attempt, Maria lunged to the left, trying to run past him in one quick move.
He grabbed for her with lightning speed, yet she would have escaped if it wasn’t for the tiny stones of gravel that rolled away under her feet, making her lose her balance for a split-second. This fractional slip was all it took for him to reach her. She felt the pull on her jacket just before her forward momentum abruptly came to a stop, pushing the air out of her lungs.
And then he was on top of her, forcing her down on the ground with his whole weight, grunting and panting in her ear. He clamped his hand over her mouth, stifling her scream to a strangled whimper when he laughed breathlessly in her ear, “Now, now, Sweetheart, don’t be like that. I know you want it, too.”
She flailed her arms in a futile attempt to get a hold on him and make him let go, forcing the oxygen through her nose while he held her mouth shut. But he was so much bigger and stronger than her. She felt herself being dragged over the gravel, painfully scraping her knees. When they reached the entrance to a small alley, so narrow that it was pitch-black where the artificial light of the street lamps on Walnut Street weren’t able to penetrate the darkness anymore, she kicked and scratched and bit for her life, because she knew that if he succeeded in dragging her in there she would never see the light again.
He grunted when her heel slammed against his shin with all her might, and suddenly there was something cold and hard on her throat, digging into her skin. She instantly stopped the struggle, suppressing the shudder when he hissed into her ear, “Stop that, you little whore, or I’ll kill you before we get to the good part!”
He pushed her the last steps into the alley, taking no heed of her faltering steps when she tripped over a bit of trash and stumbled, crying and whimpering as she fell against the brick wall in front of her. He painfully twisted her arm on her back, pressing her to her knees with brute force. She moaned in pain when the hard pavement bruised the skin on her knees, but was silenced almost immediately again by the point of the knife pressed to her throat. She was paralyzed with fear, eyes blind in the utter darkness and unable to move in his painful grip, her heart beating out of control.
Suddenly, the hand twisting her arm released her, though the knife still dug into the skin below her chin, rendering her immobile. She felt his big body kneel behind her, and then his hand between her legs, pushing up her denim skirt, followed by the sound of his fingers fumbling with his zipper.
“No!” she cried in panic, and then the sharp pain when her head was yanked back by the hair.
“Shut up, you little bitch!” he snarled into her ear.
Now she began to cry in earnest, the deep, wracking sobs of despair shaking her body as she kneeled on all fours in the pitch-black alley, the knife on her throat and the rapist so close behind her. She felt his naked erection brush against her thigh and flinched away from him in fear, but his grip on her hair effectively stopped her.
He pushed away her panties, grunting and breathing heavily into her ear, and readied himself to enter her, when the sound of a window being opened above them made him freeze.
“Hello?” a muffled, female voice asked from the inscrutable darkness over their heads. “Is someone there?”
The hand holding the knife lowered, silently putting the weapon on the ground before his palm came up to clamp over her mouth. “Make a sound, and you’re dead,” he whispered dangerously into her ear.
Maria shivered with fear. And with cold. She felt so cold. And alone. Another tear slipped down her cheek when she realized she would never laugh again with Sean or try out new recipes with her mother. This man would rape her and then kill her and leave her here in the cold. A wave of nausea rolled over her when a cloud of his stench filled her nostrils. She felt such a sudden, overwhelming surge of revulsion and, surprisingly, rage against this man, that all coherent thought fled her. She took one last deep, strained breath through her nose and bit him in the hand with all her might.
His hand fell away with a hollow curse and Maria had to suppress the urge to vomit from the taste of blood on her tongue. “HELP ME!” she screamed upwards. “PLEASE, HEL-”
A numbing blow to her temple cut her off, throwing her to the ground. In seconds, his body was on top of her, forcing the air from her lungs with his weight. “You bitch!” he hissed and slapped her across the face.
She wanted to scream again, but was so winded from the attack that the yell dwindled to a hoarse yelp, hardly loud enough for anyone to hear her. Tiny sharp stones dug into her back. She struggled with him, trying to throw him off, fighting with nails and teeth and claws to get away. She didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything, only felt his hot, stinking breath on her face and his oppressive weight on top of her.
“Say good night, bitch!” One of his large hands came up and pressed down on her windpipe.
The breath rattled in her throat when she clawed at his hand and tried to inhale, desperate for oxygen. Her hands flailed, searching for something – anything – to hold onto, to use as a weapon against him in a last, overwhelming need to breathe.
And then the back of her hand bumped against the handle of the forgotten knife. She gripped the handle, but at the same time, in a hunter’s instinct for danger, his large hand clamped down over hers on the handle with bruising strength.
Acutely aware that this was her last chance to survive, she lifted her head and bit his lip, clenching the sensitive skin between her teeth even as she tasted blood. He grunted and tried to get away from the unexpected pain. She used this momentary distraction to bring the knife between their bodies. He brutally punched her in the face, forcing her to let go of his lip, but not of the knife. Both of them were now struggling to bring the sharp blade in position to stab the other and after fighting for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than seconds, Maria felt the shift, and then the blade gliding into flesh. First the horrible resistance when the point pierced the skin, then the easier slide into the soft abdomen. Oddly enough, all the fear had left her. Both of them were utterly still for a second. Her cold fingers still held on to the handle, cramped around the metal while the blood flowed freely over her hands. She didn’t feel any pain.
Then his heavy body collapsed on top of her with a soft, almost surprised moan, driving the blade even deeper into his abdomen and pinning her smaller form to the ground.
It was dark. And it was cold. Maria couldn’t move, couldn’t free herself from the dead weight holding her down and the almost unbearable stink of his sweat and blood. She was completely and utterly spent. She felt nothing. Breathing with difficulty, staring into the blinding darkness and hearing nothing but the soft rush of her own breathing as it left her lungs, she waited. She waited for death, or for someone to come, or for life to return to her to give her the energy she needed to push him off of her.
She might have lain there forever, had not a dull bang broken the silence surrounding her. A shot in the distance. Sean! With almost inhuman effort, she managed to roll the body of her attacker to the side, sliding out from under him and freeing herself at last. Her clothes were drenched with his blood but she barely noticed when she scrambled to her feet to get back to her beloved cousin, praying to God that she wouldn’t be too late, too late, too late . . .
*****
“I left him there in the alley,” Maria whispered in an emotionless voice. During her story, she had unconsciously pressed herself into Michael’s body, seeking warmth and protection against the onslaught of memories. Now she looked up into his pale face. He looked shocked and drawn by what she had told him, but his arms around her waist still held her steadily to him, not wavering. Almost defiantly, she continued, “I thought he might be dying, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get back to Sean as fast as possible. I was so weak that I fell a couple of times on my way back, and when I reached the corner, there was no trace of the three others, but Seanie was there . . .” She trailed off, her eyes staring sightlessly ahead. “He was lying on his back, and he . . . he didn’t look dead. He looked like he was sleeping.” She smiled faintly when she remembered. “His eyes where closed and he was s-smiling as if he’d just been told a really good joke.” The smile faded again when she went on, whispering, “But there was blood, too. So much blood. It was all over his shirt and there was even a puddle under him. I didn’t know that one body contained so much blood. I tried to wake him and tell him that he would be alright, that everything would be fine again, but he didn’t respond.” She paused. “He . . . he was already gone . . .”
Michael didn’t say anything coherent for a while. He just held her tightly, rocking both of them gently back and forth and murmuring soothing nonsense in her ear, as much to comfort her as himself. When he finally did speak, he whispered, “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
Maria clung tightly to his shirt, still caught in the memory. Quietly, she went on, “Someone must have called the police, maybe the person at the window, because they came and took me and Sean’s b-body to the hospital. They told me later that the man in the alley really was dead. The knife had pierced his abdominal artery. Chances are that he had bled to death before I even left him there. The police identified him as Harold Wagner. He was wanted for armed assault, but until that night, the police hadn’t been able to catch him.” She snorted dryly. “Well, that problem’s solved, at least.” In a low voice, she said, “They never found the other three. Though the police had a hunch on their identities, they just vanished from the face of the earth.” She swallowed. “After that, I just stopped.”
“Stopped?” Michael echoed quietly.
“Yes. I stopped. I stopped eating and sleeping. And I stopped talking and generally feeling anything. I dropped into a depression so severe that my mother had to have me committed to a . . . a facility for traumatized youths. I had lost twenty pounds in the span of a couple of weeks so she had no choice but to force me to go there to get help.”
“How long were you there?”
She smiled. A real smile, this time. “Till February. I got released just a few days before we came to Roswell.”
“And now you’re . . .” He hesitated. “Healed?”
Maria sighed. “Well, I still have the nightmares now and then, though they aren’t as bad and as frequent as before, but we meant to look for a psychiatrist here in town so I could continue therapy here. Just . . . somehow we’ve always put it off. I guess Mom and me, we were both hoping that I didn’t need it anymore.”
“And do you?” He caressed her face, watching to read the answer from her features.
She frowned slightly, thinking. “I’m not sure. It probably couldn’t hurt, right?”
He kissed her on the forehead. “No, it definitely couldn’t hurt,” he agreed.
“Are you suggesting again that I’m nuts?” she asked with forced lightheartedness.
He smiled gratefully. “I thought we already established that.”
*****
When Maria woke up, it was already bright mid-morning. A look to the open window revealed the pale blue sky and the occasional bird swooshing by in front of the glass pane. The clouds had vanished, leaving the morning sunny and warm, with the gentle spring breeze dancing into the room and greeting her.
She stretched lazily in wonderment. Never in a million years had she expected to be able to sleep without the sleeping pills. After Maria had relived the horror of that night in October, Michael had lain with her quietly, just holding her for hours until finally her eyes had fallen shut and she had drifted off to sleep again.
Her elbow accidentally bumped against him sleeping next to her. His face was buried under his arm, and his breath, muffled to a soft snoring, came from the depths of the pillows. Involuntarily, the corners of her mouth lifted up in a loving smile when she watched him. The way she felt for him wasn’t something she had ever experienced before, with anyone. But although there was nothing for her to compare it to, she knew what a precious gift had been given to her after the crippling loss that had ended the life she had known. And she would do anything to honor this second chance at life.
“I love you,” she whispered softly.
~TBC
Lets hope he'll find a way to detach himself from his mother and everything she's involved in.
As for your second guess: Why don't you read and see? 