Here she comes.
Ororo’s coat flapped behind her as she climbed out from her car and crossed the street. Her steps were swift as she clopped along the pavement toward a coffee cart. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold.
Two creams. And a Splenda.
“Tall. Double. You’ve got Splenda, right?” She stood stomping booted feet and rubbing her hands before the clerk tucked her change and two tiny tubs of creamer into her palm.
Today’s the third. Magazine time.
Ororo barely paused at the intersection before the light changed; she tripped over the crosswalk toward her favorite newsstand and scanned the rack. She selected an issue of W and fished in her purse for her wallet.
Watch that puddle.
Ororo nimbly, barely dodged immersing her boot in a deep puddle of slush. Her expression was grateful, even comical.
See you at lunch time, princess.
~0~
Feathers.
Bits of them were sprinkled around his porch. They littered his laundry alcove when he woke up to put a white load on to wash.
“What the flamin’?” He plucked one sparse, snowy plume between finger and thumb and thumb, feeling its airy, grainy texture. His nose scrunched up as he inhaled the loose particles, and his sneeze was blustery and wet. Logan swiped his fingers against his pants leg to rid them of the offending fluff.
Where the heck had he picked up feathers?
Logan lumbered into his kitchen and searched for coffee. He was alert, but he had that off-kilter feeling left from a restless night’s sleep the night before. He knew he dreamed, but he couldn’t capture the hazy, sometimes elusive recollection of what it was about. What it possibly meant. As Logan listened to his coffee pot hiss and bubble, he stretched, lolling his head from one side to the other. Damn, that felt good.
All the aches and pains he thought were a precursor to arthritis disappeared. The bags that had hooded his eyes had receded, lightening the shadows underneath. Even his spine seemed straighter. He filled out blazers and dress shirts with confidence. On one of his random trips to his local gym, he earned several appreciative looks from women using the elliptical machines and bikes. He returned glances that were friendly, if sheepish. A hot flush of pride swept over him as he did several sets of free weights, enjoying the burn in his muscles. It felt good to put himself to the test.
He felt strong. Alive.
Logan ran through his to-do list as he dug in an almost empty bread bag for any slice except the crumbling heels. Wash the salty grit from the car. Drop off some of Carol’s shit. Clean out the garage. Head to the bookstore…
He’d devoured the rest of the novel and craved more. Ororo’s voice filled her prose and beckoned to him like a siren’s song. She was quirky. Funny. Insightful.
The books were still nothing compared to the real deal. She wore the hell out of that red dress and tempted him with thoughts of licking hot fudge off of every exposed inch of her body. Logan pondered their night together at Denny’s, certainly not a romantic venue, but adequate for the purpose of getting to know her, and he came to one inevitable conclusion: He had a massive crush on Ororo. He kicked himself for his indulgence; he wasn’t a pimply teenager with a hard-on for the girls in the posters he hung on his wall. He just couldn’t explain it any other way. She affected him deeply, and he couldn’t get her off his mind.
He didn’t even want to.
He was just unloading a box of Carol’s knick-knacks and old toiletries onto the front porch with it in mind to drive out to see her when he saw her blue sedan pull up into the driveway.
“Ears must’ve been burnin’,” he muttered sourly, straightening up and planting his hands on his hips. She pinned him with a solemn gaze, not wasting his time with a superficial smile. She stepped out of the car and hesitated a moment, hiding herself behind the open door.
“Come an’ get this stuff, darlin’,” he called, nodding to the box. “Ya just saved me the trip.”
“Fine. That’s what I came for.” She sighed. She looked vibrant and healthy; her long blonde hair was blowing around her face, and the cold air made her cheeks rosy. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“Ya won’t hafta worry about that if yer not stickin’ around,” he shrugged. Her lips twisted and thinned as she slammed the car door and made her approach.
Something was…different about her, somehow. Her walk. The defensive posture and the protective way her body seemed to bend around her middle. She was still slender and lithe, but there was just…something…
Her scent hit him with a wallop when she reached the foot of the steps. Her own flavors were familiar; her skin held the aroma of soap even when she hadn’t used any, Carol just smelled like an all-American girl next door. He detected the odor of her new man, not caring to distinguish it any further than that…but there was a new tang that seemed to wrap around her like an aura.
“Yer fuckin’ pregnant,” he hissed, narrowing his eyes. She jerked to a stop, teetering on the step and hugging her middle defensively.
“My God…I’m hardly even showing, Logan!” Then she stiffened. “So what if I am?”
“Only thing that matters ta me,” he informed her simply, “is when.” Her shoulders sagged with what could only be called guilt. Sonofabitch.
“Logan ““
“WHEN THE FUCK DID HE KNOCK YOU UP, CAROL?” He heard her stark gasp as she cringed and shrank back from him. Anger churned in his gut and boiled under his skin, cooking him from the inside out. Part of him recoiled at the use of those words, the viciousness of his attack with this woman he once loved so much.
“I…Logan…don’t be this way, stop shouting at me!” She made an attempt at indignance in the face of his wrath.
“WHEN…did he knock ya up? I knew ya were fuckin’ around. Ya at least had the fucking decency ta admit that, and quit wastin’ both of our time, Carol. But when did this happen? While ya were with me?” She licked her lips and opened her mouth before closing it again. She bowed her head and kept her arms folded beneath her breasts.
“Yes. While I was with you.”
His lips moved of their own accord, but the voice moving them didn’t sound like his. He was a puppet to the betrayal pulsing through him. “Did ya do it on purpose?”
“No.”
“Yer lyin’.” Her furtive eye movement gave it away.
“Logan…no!”
“Ya owe me not ta lie ta me, Carol. I can smell it on ya.” Her scowl was incredulous.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Logan? Lying!” she huffed, throwing up her hands. “Like butter never melted in your mouth! You were perfect, huh? Never did any wrong?”
“I. Never. Cheated. On. You. You fucking bitch.” A heavy, charged energy built between them as they measured each other across the steps. “I loved ya. I was a good husband ta you, Carol, not some pretty fuckin’ boy toy. I thought ya understood me, and I thought I knew who ya were. There were some rough times, but we were two adults who knew how ta work things out, if ya just would’ve talked ta me…”
“You wouldn’t have listened.”
“Bullshit.”
“We had nothing in common.”
“That so?” Color him surprised.
“You and I wanted different things.” Absently, tellingly, her slender hand stroked her abdomen, noticeably rounder now that she wasn’t protecting it. “I wanted this.”
“So did I. Ya just didn’t seem ta want it with me.” He reached down into the box and retrieved a small, hard pink compact. “This look familiar, Ace?” He’d given her that nickname after they’d started having co-ed poker nights at their house. She played a mean game of five-card stud. “Ya can imagine what went through my mind when I found these, just buried in the junk ya didn’t seem ta need anymore.”
“We were good together for a while, Logan. You just…”
“I just what?”
“You just don’t seem like a family man. You loved me, and you’ve always been strong…but there’s always been this funny little thing about you. Sometimes it just felt like you never needed me. Something in you that I couldn’t touch. Something hard. And it scared me.”
“Scared you.” His breath burned his throat and his fingers twitched before he balled them into a fist at his side. Dimly, he heard the beast snarl low in its chest, baring its teeth. “Fine!” He hefted the box of items in his hands, and she instinctively drew back. “Bet this fuckin’ scares ya, too, then, Ace!” WHUNKK! The box sailed through the air and the cardboard collapsed on one side as it hit the walkway, scattering objects in the grass. His rage ebbed slightly, and he felt himself growing numb.
Any fleeting drop of love that had lingered when they parted evaporated into thin air.
“Holy shit!” she hissed. “Logan, there’s no need! You’re out of control!” she accused, shaking her head, but real fear shone in her blue eyes. “Is this you now, now that we’re not together?”
“This is me after ya killed me. Stabbed me in the back. G’wan,” he barked thunderously, flinging up his hand in a gesture meant to chase her off. “Yer probably right, to a point. I am hard. But ya made me that way. Ya COULDN’T reach me because ya didn’t even try. And if it seemed like I didn’t need ya, then ya need ta think again. I needed ya THEN. I don’t need ya NOW! Not a family man,” he swore, shaking his head. “Ya have no fuckin’ clue, Carol.”
“We aren’t exactly the same age,” she reasoned, trying to bring their talk back on track and gain some leverage.
“Ya knew that goin’ in.”
“You were a workaholic, Logan. You beat yourself to death, you didn’t have time for me, and you were running yourself into the ground. You’re already older than me. What if we had kids?”
“I ain’t geriatric, Ace.” He didn’t have a box of Grecian Formula 44 in his medicine cabinet, last time he checked. He sucked his teeth absently.
And he recoiled as his tongue scraped against the sharpened point of his molar. Carol’s scent changed; it was tinged with fear, and her heartbeat sped in tempo, so soon after she recovered from his outburst. She was genuinely afraid of him.
“If we had kids,” she told him, voice shaking, “you wouldn’t live long enough to raise them with me from the way you push yourself. You’d be hard, Logan. I don’t want children to have a father who’s hard.”
“Way ta tell me how it is. Good job, Carol.” He sized her up, letting a slow smile replace his scowl before he began to clap his hands in a mockery of applause. “Ya’ve got me all figured out. Crappy husband, not the man ya wanted as the father ta yer offspring “ not OURS, woman, just yers “ and I’m too fuckin’ old.” Then he narrowed his eyes again, letting his smile drop. “Stay right there.”
“Are you kidding?” She ignored him and began to pick up the toiletries and other items from the grass, dumping them back into the ruined box. When she turned back to the porch, he had gone back inside, letting the screen door slam and bounce back off the frame. She shivered.
She didn’t even feel him at her back until his sharp voice broke through her efforts to clean up her things. She jumped at the sound of his words by her ear.
“Here ya go. Take it. Just fucking take it.” She shrank back, staring up at him as he held out his fist, palm down. She stood with some difficulty, staring at him warily.
“What’s that?”
“Just take it. Ya know what it is.” Obediently she held out her hand, still not trusting him.
A thick, gleaming wedding band with small baguettes winked back up at her from where he dropped it.
“You can keep it.”
“Give me one good fucking reason why I should, Carol.”
“I won’t bother you anymore.”
“Ya wanna make good on that now, while I’m still in a good mood.”
“Don’t threaten me!” she shot back.
“I ain’t. I’m just promising ya that I won’t entertain an audience with ya again. Ya’ve got yer own sweet little life. Have as many beautiful babies as ya fuckin’ need ta prove ta yerself that I wasn’t the one who could have been a father to ‘em. But know this.” He was already climbing the steps to the porch, and he turned back to watch her with dark eyes, resigned and still angry. “My life’s just beginning without ya in it anymore. I ain’t ready ta shrivel up an’ die yet, Carol. And I wouldn’t give ya the satisfaction. Just go.”
“You can’t tell me what to do!” she hissed, even as she turned to leave with her box and pack it into her sedan’s trunk. She closed it with a slam and shot him a glare that didn’t phase him.
He didn’t climb into his own car and run the rest of his errands until she was long gone, and after he mastered his urge to kick every stick of furniture in the house.
~0~
“That’s not a straight answer, sweetie.”
“That’s the best answer you’re gonna get, Al.”
“I can’t get you an advance til you get me a draft.”
“I can’t keep following the same formula and keep the readers coming back, Al. It’s not the advance I’m worried about.” That was a lie; she was still contemplating building an additional room onto her house to convert into a bigger office, so her current one could be her sitting room. “Do you want a draft, or a good story?”
“Your drafts turn into phenomenal stories, Munroe, but give me something to work with.”
Ororo sighed and wandered toward the window, hugging herself as she stared out at the gray sky.
“Ororo?”
Ororo kneaded the nape of her neck and closed her eyes.
“So help me, what am I gonna do with you?”
“I’m scattered. I have a story. I do. I’m just so damned emotional lately! I can’t sort out the characters’ voices in my head from all of the noise.”
“Great. My best friend’s hearing voices.” Ali leaned back in her rolling chair and studied her. “You have been a million miles away lately. Earth to ‘Ro?” She retrieved her cup and idly stirred the murky beige brew; Ali was a flavored creamer addict.
“Sometimes I wish I was a million miles away. I need a vacation.”
“Suck it up. You live on the Vineyard. That’s a vacation all year round in most peoples’ opinion.”
“I’m talking about a pack your suitcases, leave a ‘Gone Fishin’’ sign on the front door kind of escape.”
“Fishing?” Ali wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Like, with hip waders and flannel?”
“No. Just something rustic and quiet.”
“Rustic. Sounds like somewhere with leaky pipes, drafty windows and a sooty fireplace.”
“Mmmmmm.” Her eyes turned dreamy. “That sounds perfect.”
“Then why don’t you at least leave Giblet with me?” Ali suggested. “She’s too spoiled to take out into the wild for…whatever this little quaint trip is you’re planning.”
“My cat’s not spoiled,” Ororo sniffed huffily, craning her head around to glance at Ali.
“Pfft,” Ali snorted into her coffee.
“She’s not,” she insisted hollowly.
“Bring that little kitty bed with the warmer in it and her food dish with the rhinestones. Just let me know how many days you’ll be gone so I can plan on how much food to shop for. Science Diet? Iam’s?”
“Iam’s,” Ororo admitted sheepishly. Okay, maybe her cat wasspoiled. Slightly.
“Take your laptop with you.”
“Wouldn’t expect any different from me, would you, Ali?”
“No. So go. Rest. Think. Fish.” Ororo gave her a duck-like pout. “And crank out another bestseller.”
“Don’t you work too hard, either, while I’m gone.”
“Gee, thanks. You’re a peach for thinking about me.” They exchanged a look. Ali threw a paper clip at her, making Ororo giggle.
“What are friends for?”
“Cat-sitting. Oh, and social planning.” Ororo tensed, and winced.
“Al…”
“Pietro is meeting us here for lunch in a half an hour.”
“AL!!!”
“It’s just lunch,” she hedged.
“It’s just too convenient. Tell me something. What is it about this one guy that you want me to hook up with him for?”
“I didn’t say anything about a hook-up.”
“Al, this is so totally a hook-up, it’s not even funny.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Can I help it if I want to see you happy? What’s wrong with having an other half?”
“He’s nice. He’s fine, I guess…but I just don’t get that warm and fuzzy little ‘soda pop’ feeling with him.”
“He’s hot!” Ali exclaimed, slightly indignant.
“So why aren’t you hooking up with him?”
“Because…I don’t know.” Ororo leaned back against the window ledge and folded her arms.
“Geez, Ali. Physician, heal thyself.”
“I don’t think he feels that way about me. I feel like he thinks I’m his kid sister.”
“Ew.”
“Right.”
“Scratch that, then.” Then Ororo had a thought. “So forget Pietro. What about Remy?”
“What, you want to date Remy?” Ali was incredulous.
“No, not me, you dope! YOU!” Ali pushed herself backward in her chair and held out her hands.
“No. Don’t even go there. Not in a million years!”
“Why not? Al, he’s hot. He’s funny. You already spend a lot of time with him.”
“He’s just a buddy.”
“He shows up at all of your parties and goes out with us whenever we hit the town. He remembers your birthday.” A year ago, he gave Alison a pair of salt shakers shaped like mariachis that held a place of honor on her kitchen curio shelf.
“So do you. And you don’t see us hooking up.”
“So I’ll have to stand in line.” Ali snorted a gulp of coffee almost all the way out through her nose, choking and sputtering til Ororo rushed forward and whacked her on the back. “Easy, killer. That one went down the wrong pipe…”
“Don’t do that,” Ali garbled. “I can’t go out with Remy.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll have to stand in line. Women just file in and out like there’s a revolving door. Not flattering to a girl’s ego, ‘Ro.”
“He’s never mistreated anyone, though. He doesn’t cheat. He’s not controlling. And he’s diplomatic about his breakups.”
“So I can expect an easy breakup, that’s what you’re saying?”
“No. You can’t expect much of anything until you call him and give it a try.”
“I might ruin our friendship.” Her face was thoughtful and a little sad. Ali’s blue eyes were soft, as was her voice. “Remy’s special. I could date him. Or he could date me. We could have a little fun. We could get into it. But then things could go south, we might end up hating each other, and then we’d never want to speak to each other again.”
“But it sounds like you really like him.” Ororo had her there. Ali’s answering sigh was heavy. “Al,” Ororo cajoled. Ali rolled her eyes and pouted. “AL!” Ororo sang, not letting up.
“Oh, shut up, you! Okay! I’ll call him. Sheesh.” Ororo beamed.
A staccato knock on the door interrupted them. “Shit,” Ororo muttered before covering her mouth with her hand. Ali snickered under her breath.
“Come in,” she called gaily.
Pietro swept inside, resplendent in a three-piece suit and long, wool winter coat. London Fog, or Ororo was whistling Dixie. Despite the high winds outside, his hair hadn’t budged, but his lips were faintly rosy from the cold.
“Are we ready, ladies?”
“Ali mentioned something about lunch?” Ororo said innocently, mentally kicking Ali for this new predicament. Pietro’s smile was knowing and warm.
“Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Ali demurred. “But come to think of it, ‘Ro, ‘Tro, I might need to hang out here. I have to go through my slush pile and work on some reply letters today.”
“Now?” Ororo accused hollowly.
“Mm-hm. Go. Go, go, go. Enjoy lunch, you crazy kids!” Ali shooed them out, handing Ororo her coat. Her friend stood openmouthed while Pietro stood behind her, eyeing her outfit approvingly. Her white sweater dress and alligator belt give her an elegant silhouette and clung to her curves. Before she could don it, Pietro gently took the coat from her and helped her shoulder her way into it. When she was finished, she turned to face his gaze.
His eyes looked hungry. She nervously cleared her throat.
“Pasta?”
“Please,” she replied as Pietro beckoned for her to precede him out the door. She made a note to come back after lunch and get Ali in a headlock…
What is she doing?
He needs to take his hands off of her. Look at her face. She’s obviously not comfortable with him, see how she just smiles but leans away. And look at him. Looks full of himself in that fancy coat. Keep on smiling, pal; she’s just not into you.
She’s taken.
Bet he doesn’t even know that she hates tomato sauce.
I don’t know what I’d do if she ever truly left me for someone else. She’s sacred. No one can soil her. She’s an angel. My angel.
I need to show her. She needs to understand. I can’t be without her.
And she can’t live without me.
~0~
Lunch was unremarkable. Frustrating, and unremarkable.
Well, okay. It was just frustrating.
“Are you making progress with your new book?”
Please. Please don’t ask me about my book. Please don’t give me advice.
“I bet it’s hard to get inspired sometimes. You and I should do some sightseeing one of these days.” She nearly dropped her forkful of alfredo penne.
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“It’s getting colder. Might be nice to escape some place warm?” He lifted his arched brows suggestively as he cut into his steak.
“I don’t mind winter here.” Even though it was due to go down to ten below over the next week.
“It’s still nice to get away. I still love the Keys. And Baja, or Mazatlan.”
“It’d feel weird to pack a bathing suit to go anywhere in December.”
“Or just different.” He sipped his martini. “Even exciting.”
“So how’s work going for you?” Change the subject. Play it safe. Don’t commit to anything.
Bingo. “Things are moving along pretty fast. I’ve got new clients lined up and new sales accounts to close by the end of the month.” He puffed with pride; he was nearly preening.
“That’s nice,” she agreed.
“I’ve got a board meeting in about an hour.” Long enough for the martini to settle, she supposed. He was, at least, an abstemious drinker. She’d noticed that at Ali’s Thanksgiving party and the ball.
“Sounds like you have a busy day,” she mused, toying with the other half of her noodles.
“I might not have mentioned it today, Ororo, but you look fantastic in that dress.” She blushed from the praise but still felt off.
“It took me a long time to learn how to dress myself. Darn those buckles and buttons. At least I didn’t put it on inside-out.”
“You could still get away with it. Not many women could.” This time, his smile was more wicked, as though he were thinking of reasons why her dress would be left inside-out…she’d walked right into that one.
~0~
Music soothed the savage beast. Strains of old blues drifted through Logan’s house as he foraged through the bag of paperbacks and settled into his easy chair with one that had a blood-red cover. Always Watching You, by Ororo Munroe.
He’d immersed himself in it, almost jumping in his chair when his phone jangled from the kitchen. He kicked off his thick throw blanket and rose, taking his time. His machine could pick it up, couldn’t it?
He didn’t want to talk to Carol.
“H’lo?”
“Logan, it’s Mac.”
“What’s happening, man? Didn’t expect ta hear from ya.”
“You still have those emails?” Logan grunted under his breath.
“Yeah, I still have ‘em.”
“Print them. I already spoke to the director of your unit, the guy on the bottom of the chair when they signed off on your retirement. You shouldn’t have been replaced. I made the recommendation to them to harvest from your email account. They actually listened to me. Clem’s going back into the accounts and the ledgers to track those premiums we talked about. It just doesn’t gel.”
“I’ll print ‘em, don’t worry.”
“Good. Don’t send them. The connection might not be secure.” Logan sighed. “I don’t put anything past anybody anymore.”
“Can’t say I blame ya, Mac. Hug Clem for me, ‘kay?”
“She’s hopping. The new guy’s admin really is a piece of shit, just like she said. Never pulls her weight like Clementine. If they look into him, maybe they’ll clean house and get rid of Lorna, too.”
“Lorna who?”
“Nobody you’d know. Lorna Dane.”
“Hm.” Logan filed the name away for future reference. Why did it sound familiar?
“You keeping yourself busy?”
“Eh. Had a visit from Carol today.”
“Sounds like it didn’t go well.” Logan unclenched his jaw.
“Yeah. Sure didn’t. I’m better off. I really know that now, if I didn’t before.”
“It was that bad today, huh?”
“She got pregnant while she was still with me. On purpose.”
“Ouch.” He didn’t add that he flew off the handle.
“I’m just takin’ a break.”
“Heather was talking about you last night. She wants to fix you up with someone.”
“Ain’t interested.” He answered too quickly. A vision of Ororo eating ice cream and smiling at him floated before him briefly. He absently stroked the cover of her book.
“Already seeing someone?”
“What is this, twenty questions? Just tell Heather I’m doin’ fine where I am right now, all right?”
“Fine, man,” Mac agreed slyly. “Is she a looker?”
Logan bit his tongue thinking about it. A looker? Heck, yeah. Understatement of the year.
“There ain’t much goin’ on, Mac.” Yet.
“The board’s meeting today. I want this to go on the agenda for miscellaneous discussion at the next one.”
“I’ll stand by. Good hearing from ya, bub.” Logan retreated back to his chair and book, but his mind was racing a thousand miles a minute.
He dozed off eventually, curled up in the blanket. The book was face down, still splayed open where he’d left off.
He was running. It was still cold outside, frigid enough to see his breath and feel the burn in his lungs. The wind coursed through his hair, shaggy and thick from the change in weather.
He was slowing down. He was stalking. He reached a small copse in the woods and crouched behind a broad oak, nestling himself in the brush.
He caught a scent.
Pheasant. Mature. Male. Pungent.
He licked his chops, and the thrill of anticipation made his blood sing.
The fowl pecked in the gravel and rich soil, flicking its tail feathers. It was seemingly heedless of being watched, until the wind shifted. Its beady eye scanned its surroundings as he stopped rooting for grubs and seeds.
Wait for it. Wait for it…
He lunged and pounced. Warm blood and flesh filled his maw and clotted around his gnashing teeth.
He was sated. He was triumphant.
“SHIT!” Cold sweat drenched his skin as Logan bolted upright. He panted harshly and shook.
“I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have,” he rasped. “No fuckin’ way.”
The room wouldn’t stop spinning.
“That ain’t me.”
~0~
Ororo tramped inside and stamped her cold feet in the hall as she hung up her coat. Hot cocoa and fuzzy slippers called her name, and she craved the warm weight of Giblet purring in her lap. She was like a little motor.
As if she were summoned, Giblet materialized and rubbed against Ororo’s legs before she could divest herself of her boots.
“Stinker,” she accused.
“Meowr,” Giblet shrugged. Her forepaw lightly prodded her knee.
“I love you, too.”
“Mrowr.”
“Food. I know. Spoiled cat.” She reached for her kitty and she jumped into her arms, settling in for a snuggle. Ororo scratched her beneath her chin as she broke out the can opener and her Iam’s.
She’d just gotten the cat situated with dinner when she perused her refrigerator. She still wasn’t hungry from a heavy lunch. Ororo ended up throwing out the to-go box of pasta after she got back to Ali’s office when her friend didn’t want it.
To date Pietro, or not to date Pietro. Was there even a question?
“He’s just not my type,” she concluded miserably. She couldn’t put her finger on it. It would make it easier if she could.
Ororo wrapped herself in a thick cardigan and went out to pick up her mail. This time, her paper was down at the end of her driveway where it belonged. She opened up her box and took out the thick bundle bound with a rubber band. As she thumbed through it, she noticed a red card envelope that was unusually thick.
No return address or postage stamp. “To Ororo.”
“O-kaaaaay,” she murmured. “Weird.” It wasn’t Ali’s handwriting. She chucked the bills and junk mail onto her settee in the hall before she locked up. She pondered the card on her way to make her chocolate.
The envelope was folded shut, with the flap tucked into the crease instead of stuck shut with adhesive. Someone was very meticulous, she mused.
A low gasp escaped her lips as she unsheathed the card.
Stiff, torn pieces of several of her book covers fluttered down to the floor. The card itself was even more disturbing.
The front depicted an Ansel Adams nude piece she’d seen before, a photo of two almost identical bodies, one White, one African-American, posed the same and leaning up each other so their silhouettes arched in the same direction. Unlike the originals, this one had been manipulated so there was one man and one woman, instead of two bodies of the same gender. Their faces weren’t showing.
But the woman’s body was bleeding from the neck. Someone had used a fine micro point pen in red ochre ink to scrawl gouts of blood leaking from the figure’s throat.
She dropped it on the floor with shaking fingers, as though it burned her. Goosebumps erupted over her skin.
She ran to the phone to call Ali, and this time, the police.
~0~
I thought she’d like it. I love her. Her writing speaks to me, and I wanted her to see, you know? How else would she know I’ve read all her work unless I show her?
Why does she look so scared? Don’t worry, Ororo, my little flower! I’ll protect you. I’ll teach you how I feel, and how much I love you.
I’ll just have to keep trying. She doesn’t understand. I’ll make her understand.
And that damned cat still has to go.
~0~
“How could anyone do something so fucked up, Ali!” Alison sat beside Ororo on her couch as the police officer continued to search the perimeter of her house. She felt ashamed and embarrassed, calling them out to her home so soon after the incident on the beach.
Those eyes in the dark still haunted her in her sleep. She still heard howling and felt the hot press of those sharp teeth against her throat…
“You should stay with me,” Ali insisted.
“I need to know who’s doing this. I have to find out. This is my life they’re fucking with. Some twisted, sick individual.”
“Ma’am?” The officer was trying to get her attention. “We didn’t’ find any signs of anyone here. The only thing we found were tire tracks out in the gravel that didn’t match your tires, but in all this sand and snow, it’s hard to tell what we’re looking at. No physical evidence except for this envelope.” He held up the plastic evidence bag; Ororo suppressed nausea at the sight of the torn book covers and red envelope.
“I can’t live like this,” she moaned, near tears. “I just can’t.”
“Stay with me,” Ali repeated, refusing to take no for an answer.
“Whoever wants me might follow me to your home, Al! That can’t happen, or they might hurt you.”
“Maybe we could have Remy help. Have him camp out here.”
“He has a life, Al.”
“A man here might make it less tempting for whoever this is to harass you.”
“I’ll mull it over.”
“In the meantime, ma’am, we need you to file a statement at the precinct. We’ll keep someone on this to patrol your neighborhood for suspicious activity.” It didn’t help that Ororo was so far out from her neighbors out here on the shore.
“Thank you, Officer,” Ali said gratefully, patting Ororo soothingly. “We appreciate your time.”
“Call us at the station if anything else out of the ordinary happens, even if it seems minor. Things out of place in or around your home. Phone messages. Letters. Cars you don’t recognize on your property. Anyone unfamiliar who approaches you in the street who makes you uncomfortable. By the way,” he mentioned, “can you think of anyone who would have an interest in threatening you?”
“No!” she cried. “I don’t know anyone who could do something as disgusting as this.”
“I know you’re distraught and upset right now, ma’am, but if you could sleep on it ““
“I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” she insisted roughly. “There’s someone out there who wants to hurt me.”
“Think about and get back to us if anything comes to mind. We want to help you.” With that, he left.
“Call Remy. Let him stay here,” Ali urged.
“I don’t want him to panic.” Remy was almost as good a friend to Ororo as he was to Ali; their circle of friends was small and close knit.
“But you’ll let me panic,” Ali pointed out. “Remy wouldn’t mind, and he’d do anything for you.” A tear rolled down Ali’s cheek before she could stop it. She made a small sound of anguish, and Ororo enveloped her in a hug that nearly hurt. “And damn it, so would I.” They rocked each other for comfort; Giblet wrapped herself around Ali’s ankles.
“I know.”
“We can both stay. Remy and I.” An idea dawned on Ororo.
“No. But I know someone who canstay with me.”
“Who?” Ororo reached out and brushed Ali’s tears away.
“Logan.” Ali’s mouth dropped open.
“Ororo…are you nuts? You hardly know him!”
“We’ve been talking. Al, he saved my life. I trust him. He wouldn’t have to stay the night. I just want someone to help me watch my house for an hour or two each night. Kinda like a babysitter.”
“He’s a guy. He’s not like Remy, who loves you like a brother, Munroe. He wants to do more than babysit. I think that’s a bad idea.”
“You haven’t met him. You might like him.”
“No. I don’t like this one bit.”
“Al…I don’t know how to explain it. He makes me feel safe.”
“Plenty of women have felt ‘safe’ with guys who were maniacs and who jacked them up after letting them into their lives.” Ali’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s to say he isn’t the one who sent you this awful letter?”
“The officer said to report anyone I came into contact with who made me uncomfortable. He doesn’t. Not at all; more like the opposite.” She rose from the couch. “I’m calling him. You can even speak to him if you want.”
“Ororo!”
“Chill out, Al.”
“Chill out, she says,” Ali grumbled miserably. “You give me another heart attack, and you tell me to chill out.” Ororo was already dialing the phone.
“Logan?” she began once his phone picked up. Her voice didn’t sound like hers.
“Darlin’? What’s wrong?” His own was groggy but filled with concern. “Ya don’t sound like yerself. Did something happen? Are ya all right?” He heard her swallow and clear her throat.
“I had a strange episode tonight. Someone sent me a threatening letter.”
“Shit!”
“I’m scared. I called the police, but I’m still scared.”
“Do ya want me ta come over? Sit with ya?” Relief flooded her, and she expelled a harsh breath.
“Yes. I really need that. I’d feel safer if you did.” She ignored Ali, who was mouthing “No!” from the couch and motioning negatively with her hands. “Logan? Could you do me a favor?”
“Name it, darlin’.”
“Talk to my friend Ali, and put her mind to rest. Here.” She held out the handset. Ali hesitated.
“You know I’m not all right with this.”
“Take it. Talk to him.”
“Hello. Yes, I’m Ali. Short for Alison, yes. Ororo’s had a fright, and you can’t blame me for being ready to piss myself over what happened. What did she get in the mail?” Ororo frowned. “I guess you’ll see when you get here. All right. Have Ororo call me when you leave her place tonight.” Her intent was clear: Logan wasn’t staying the night if she had anything to do with it. “Yes, I’ll put her back on.” Her expression was mulish as she gave her back the handset.
“He sounds nice enough,” she conceded, “but be careful. No funny business. Keep your cell phone in your pocket.”
“All right.” She turned away from Ali and resumed her talk. “I’m back.”
“Ya’ve got someone lookin’ out for ya. I’m glad.”
“How soon can you be here?” She felt like she was pleading like a little girl.
She’d never felt so helpless.
“I’m grabbin’ my coat and putting it on now. And ‘Ro?”
“Yes?”
“It’s gonna be okay. I won’t leave ya unless ya tell me to, okay? If it’s not helpin’ ya ta have me there, let me know and I’ll take off.”
“Hurry,” she murmured, and her voice cracked. “Please.”
“Nothin’s gonna keep me from it. Sit tight. I’ll be there.”
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