scones and ash

Robert McCool, Scones and Ash 1

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part one- turned earth

#

I hadn’t gone by my birth name for over a year on the morning that I was stacking

fresh raspberry scones in their wire baskets and heard the expected threat behind me. In a

hoarse, smoky whisper he called across the counter, “Hey there, Belinda.” Despite the

heat radiating from the pastries, I froze.

#

Chapter One-

My mother, a draconian bitch and drunk, named me Belinda for reasons all her

own. First, she could never pass up an opportunity to piss my father off, and as he was

absent from my birth, no doubt doing whatever absent fathers did at the tavern, she threw

aside his selections. He‘d chosen possible names from the country he was born in,

Ireland. He chose girls’ names like Brigit, Shannon, Grace, and especially Fionna, his

favorite. But none of his selections mattered to my mother. She was of German

extraction, and predisposed to dictatorial acts.

The second reason she chose Belinda was because she thought it had a nice ring

to it, sounding just like “belittle” when said the right way. That kind of thing mattered to

her more than the behavior of my father. He was Irish and couldn’t help himself, but a

daughter had an obligation to her mother, and she planned to use that allegiance

whenever possible. Anyway, my name was the last thing my mother ever gave me for

free, from there on I was made to negotiate for anything I wanted or cared about. She

never understood the caring part, but tormenting me freshened the twisted rhetoric of her


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emotional weather. She blew hot and cold, and I became a barometer measuring her highs

and lows.

When my father held me in his arms for the first time he forgave my mother’s

choice of names. When he saw my ridiculous copper hair he cried copious tears, many of

which landed on my face so it seemed I was weeping too. We were two of a kind, my da’

and I, much more than the tears and sentiment, we were bonded by a history I couldn’t

know yet. Tears come easily to me too, fighting comes on faster, and I can carry a grudge

for an eternity. That’s us, me da’ and me.

#

Almost every engaging tale begins with a senseless, yet meaningful death. My

story is no different, other than the question of whether you think it’s engaging or not.

This death is both supremely meaningful to me, and senseless in any context. He

shouldn’t have died in the way he did, he shouldn’t have died so young, or in this exile

country. His passing made me into a time-machine, gauging life in a before, and after he

was gone. My memories of him alive haunt me always, and seem to whisper in my ear

from a perch on my shoulder. Thoughts of him dead enrage me. He left me split apart,

like he was when he came to America, leaving his real home behind him, but festering in

his heart. We two, alike in life, shared a rich history.

When I was fourteen my father took to sick; mentally sick, mortally ill, and just

plain crazy. His illness began with a high fever and sudden disorientation. He fell over

like a stout oak tree would in a terrible storm and was rushed to hospital by some of his

co-workers. Not by my mother, mind you, she was doing better things, like drinking

herself insensible. She was also insensible for visiting hours, refusing to attend to my da's


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hospital bed. She was terminally insensible after that.

Once he got to the emergency room he was placed in an ice bath, bringing his

fever down to a safe temperature. But his brain was already damaged. Never all that

stable to begin with, having lived half in and half out of the Celtic spirit world his whole

life, he complained in a loud voice to anyone who would listen that a dragon had entered

his body, burning away at his brain so that it could feed on his mind from the inside while

remaining undetected. His uncontrolled fever seemed to support his ravings, even if they

were wacko. So he was admitted to the psych ward. The sooner he went there the better,

because the emergency room staff didn’t want his verbal lunacy poisoning the healing

atmosphere in their pristine meat locker. They shoved him upstairs as quickly as they

could.

He was injected with Haldol until he couldn’t speak, until he was helpless enough

so the doctors could survey the extent of his trauma. His fever was elevated, but not

dangerously so, so he was sent for an MIR with enough sedative inside him to insure he

wouldn’t move during the procedure. He couldn’t even move his mouth, couldn’t

remember the noisy machine he was entombed in while it decoded his faulty wet-ware.

On the return trip his fever spiked and nobody noticed until a nurse saw how

inflamed his face and skin were. He was placed in another ice-bath, but couldn’t even sit

up in the tub by himself. For fear of drowning him an intern and the nurse held his

shoulders above the quickly warming water in the tub. His fever peaked in their hands,

then descended into safety. But his brain had left the safe part long ago.

The worse physical effect the second inflamed attack had given the poor man was

that his skin, particularly his chest and arms, began flaking away in thin sheets, like snake


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scales.

I wondered then if he was right. Surely his brain damage couldn’t cause such a

symptom? Could it? Either way, the next time I saw him he had livid red scratches

anywhere he could reach with his nails. His hands were bound in thick gauze mittens, but

even they showed red at the tips.

He was given broad range antibiotics to fight whatever infection was responsible

for the clinging fever. They didn’t work, because he didn’t have any infection other than

a minor one from his self-inflicted scratches. No infection? What about encephalitis? No,

the lumbar puncture showed negative. A tumor? None showed up in his MRI. Hepatitis?

Some other horrible viral beastie? Nobody really knew what was wrong, so they labeled

it, “persistent idiopathic fever”. It was a generic catch-all name explicitly implying

ignorance.

He was shipped off to a long-term care facility that didn’t discriminate against

patients based on income or insurance. If he had been aware of his surroundings however,

he would have raved and tried to escape regardless of illness. It was a facility owned and

operated by the Gray Nuns of the Catholic Church.

He lived alone inside his mind, or the dragon’s mind, for about two years. I

reached out to him with British tea and digestive biscuits, even the rough cut, oaty

“Hob-Nobs” he liked when I could find them. These small kindnesses helped pull him

back into my world, and out of the creature’s, for a brief time.

There were times when he was lucid, if you ignored his primary complaint, and

the two us had an opportunity to talk about many things I bet most teenage girls never

shared with their father. Like how he no longer feared death. In fact, he saw it as a


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blessing, and tried to invoke it by heavenly petition every night and day. Being consumed

from the inside out had made him skeletal thin and hopeless as any prisoner of war. This

once stout Belfast iron-worker in the ship-yard who weighed twenty-four stone six was

reduced to half his size, and all of his strength swept along away with his blazing brain.

And hopeless? His mind was often chained down by strong medications, so he forgot

who he was.

But he told me he never forgot who I was, or where I was. He could always find

the beacon of my blazing hair, so like his. Even when I was only a dim light in the fog, he

knew I was out there, somewhere. His invalid state had given us a chance to connect at

last, like looking in a mirror and seeing the other person sitting beside you. When I

looked into that mirror I did so with the same agate blue-green eyes as his, my nose a

pointer directly at his. I even saw his deep sadness and ensuing violence inside of myself.

My mother knew better than to grind my ass when my eyes grew glacial like da‘s.

She’d been the same with my father, wary when his eyes shone cold fire. After all, she

was only Aryan dishwater blond, with no Irish poetry in her soul. But the unexplained

fever still rolled around in his body like a fire dance, like flickering coals slowly roasting

his flesh and burning his poetry away on a personal pyre. When the poetry was gone

would be the true death of his soul.

On my last visit he was clear enough to hold a discussion about where his life had

brought him was when I became frightened for myself.

He described standing in a giant’s circle outside of Belfast, and clinging hard on a

solid tree while he listened to fey, long dead spirits call him with an unbearable

attraction. All he needed to do was release his hands and he would exist for all eternity


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with them, although it wouldn’t be in an mortal state. It is a tribute to his strength that he

stayed and listened, then walked free of the grassy circle intact.

He spoke in loving terms of the Giant’s Causeway on the northeast shore. The

massive basalt columns rose heavenward over his head, and he knew for certain then that

the giant Finn Mac Cool had fallen in love with a Scottish lass and built the bridge over

the ocean from Ireland. In his haste, however, Finn didn’t build for duration, a common

flaw with giants. His mortal love lasted about the same time as his stone bridge falling

into the cold North Sea like a inept Atlantis. The ruins remain behind with their stories of

greatness running around in my father’s once poetic, but failing mind. And he told me

more stories, stories of heroes and cattle robbers, and the fey folk, the Tuatha de Danann.

Then he started to explain to me how the serpent consuming him originated from

my mother, how she infected him with a vicious meanness and an alcoholic bitterness.

She put the fire in him because she was a fire witch, a soured, hopeless dragon herself.

“It’s a firedrake she put in me,” he explained, “because of her Germanic ancestry, you

see.” He was completely Irish in his personal mythology, so he believed the inexplicable

had a very real place in everyday life. Thoughts of actual dragons weren’t too far away

from his own spiritual misperceptions. He told me how he felt the rippling movements

inside his chest, and how he knew the beast was almost done with him because of the

cracking in his limbs as the beast stretched out its own. This, then, would be the end of its

confinement, and his fragile cooked crab shell would break open to release the hot meat

inside.

But he had one last warning he struggled to give to me. As he began to burn up

for the last time, he fought to stay rational enough to hold my hand and plead. “Be aware,


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daughter, for the serpent’s presence inside you darlin’, for it, and the control of it, are

handed down the female line.” I nodded my head, acknowledging his perception of what

was rational was the speech of a dying man.

I left him, knowing it was for the last time. It was time for him to go. And go he

did, in one last fever spike of 108 degrees. The ice bath they put him in started to smoke

and his brain finally turned to sloppy mush. The attendants had to wait to pull him from

the water for fear of blistering their hands. My da’ went out with a blaze. One nurse

named Odie, a black woman from the hot, deep south, stated as matter of fact she saw a

creature leave my father’s body at the exact moment of his death. A doctor believed she

was hysterical, so she was sedated, and sent off to be evaluated at the local hospital’s the

psych ward. This pissed her off so bad she quit without returning, and instead took a job

nursing in the hospital she’d been sent to.

Conal had left instructions for his disposal with a close friend also from the old

country. He was to be waked at his closest friend’s house, with dark stout and whiskey

abounding. They were to play traditional music as loud as they could rattle, so he could

hear it even from heaven afar. He was to hold a tumbler of Bushmill’s in his once meaty

hand, and the glass to be refreshed as he sipped from it. He was to be able to look upon

all the fine Irish girls, including myself, as we Irish toe-danced in a kicking leg circle.

Finally, when the wake was done he was to be bodily cremated, again. He had sent

money in an envelope to cover the expenses of the wake, the holy fire in the people

furnace, and his friend’s trip home to be scattered across the Giant‘s Causeway. In the

envelope was a brief note for the host of the festivities, and one for me.

Mine read, “You are joy to a dying man. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, but I


8

was troubled and violent, as is, you know, your mother. It was the reason I married her.

She had as much violence inside as I did. I thought she would be a fine sparring partner,

but it turn’s out she’s just a drunk. Beware of her, she’s capable of incredible rage, and

calculated indifference too. You can never be sure where you stand with her. Most of all,

don’t trust her decisions concerning your safety.

“Well, I’m going home now, back to County Antrim and the wicked sharp shores

of the North Irish Sea. I don’t think I’ll ever be capable of cold again, so the razor wind

there shouldn’t bother me much.

“I will be with you always. Never forget that. I will. I swear that upon my soul,

and on Molly, my mother’s, too. Think of me now and then, and I will sit on your

shoulder and whisper spirit stories into your ear.

“Be careful, ‘tis a harsh world to grow up in. Love always, dad.”

It reduced me to hot tears in spite of the celebration surrounding me.

That’s his death, and last poor poetry. The jar of ashes I saw was no twenty

four-stone and six, but I’m sure they were spinning around inside the urn from his stay

with the little gray nuns. That was what was left of the man fashioned from old-wives

tales, supernatural imagination, and a prehistoric mythology he wore everyday like a

hair-shirt. I gave the jar back to my father’s best friend, and wished him a good trip to

Ireland and back. I sure wasn’t going there anytime soon.

I was confused while he lingered, and angry after he passed. What about you? Did

his struggle confuse you as you read it? Did his too brief life anger you for its pointless

end?

#


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But how did these two troubled people find each other, much less have me? In

between the fights, I think.

My da’, Conal O’Conner, was a fine Ulsterman originally born in Country

Donegal, who sought work in Belfast, and soon became an ironworker in the shipyard

based on his size alone. Seeing spiritual and monetary poverty everywhere around him,

he came to America in search of greater opportunity, and a warmer climate. Looking

across the Atlantic Ocean at the atlas he decided to head for Michigan because it looked

like a giant gloved hand waving hello to him, all friendly like if it were Finn Mac Cool.

He arrived in Detroit in the blazing Michigan autumn and knew he’d found the place he

was destined for. He believed the sharpness of the red and gold leaves was a celebration

of his arrival.

But winter came along with its sharp wind and sleet, not to mention the uncaring

snow. He’d gone to the nearest Ford Motor Company assembly plant and was accepted,

again, because of his size. He was twenty-four stone and six of manual labor toughed

muscle, standing six two in his stocking feet. But the factory was warm in winter, and he

could do his repetitive robot-like job while silently savoring W.B. Yeats verses in his

head.

#

He worked second shift, and the practice of his co-workers was to go the local

titty-bar for a few drinks before last call. That was how he found my mother. Oh, she

wasn’t one of the exotic dancers, even tough she had the natural rack to be one. She was a

smiling cocktail waitress, looking real good and hot at the age of eighteen, and she

checked the big Irishman out more than once. He started leaving hundred dollar tips on


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her tray. His needs were simple, a bed and a hot plate, a single book shelf for his poetry,

so he didn’t feel the loss of his excess money. Ford provided quite well for the Irish

immigrant who survived mostly on potatoes and ham and cheese sandwiches. The money

turned my mother on; it started her moist motor running, you know.

Then there were the weekends. Conal would get far into his cups near closing

time and begin singing drunken immigrant songs from a island he’d never see again in a

pure, haunted voice. Legend has it one night a bouncer tried to shut him up even though

the clientele were rapt in attention to the big man. The bouncer went down with one

mighty swing, and the other door-bruiser quickly decided to become a music lover.

Except, except when my da’ was hurting inside for the lack of his old, poor home. He

would begin singing “Danny Boy”. Everybody moved out of his range, and the rafters

rained down dust from the volume of his melodic, homesick cry.

It was during one of these “Londonary Air” solos that Greta approached Conal.

Other people yelled out for her not to get close, not to speak to or touch. But the

well-boobed woman touched him on the bulging bicep just as he reached way down

inside for the boiling emotion which would send his vocal climax all the way back home.

One woman screamed, the bartender ducked down below the bottles of fiery spirits. But

Conal merely stopped singing and looked down at the woman by his side. Really looked.

“Nice tits,” he said.

His skin smelled of honest sweat and Bushmill‘s. “Would you like to come home

with me tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I can leave as soon as the bar closes.”


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“Yeah.” My father was much better with words when he was less intoxicated, or

less horny.

It was an evening to shape both of their lives, both with good, and bad. My

mother loved my da’s hungry hands, and true to form, da’ loved her impressive bosom.

Bells, whether of warning or marriage, rang in his head. He sensed an inner

violence in her that matched his own, and so fell completely in love with what he thought

was a real fighter. They had a lot of no-holds-barred-sex, and so a primal bond of some

sort was formed. I think they both mistook that bond for love, because neither of them

were ever capable of such selfless affection as true love.

They were married by the mayor of the village da’ lived in, and they purchased a

modest, and most definitely white-trash, grey cinder-block house. I came along not too

far after, and Greta, my mother of haughty Germanic descent, quit her job to care for me.

That arrangement lasted six months. Thank God she went back to work when she did.

The couple next door to us didn’t have any young children anymore, and were

thrilled when my mother asked them to care for me while she worked. The woman,

Cordelia, was an excellent, loving provider, and the husband Richard was a steady anchor

when ugliness occurred in my home. It occurred with regularity, and either Cord, or Dick,

would hold me after the fact until I finished crying. The years I spent with them defined

who I could be, if I chose to. I wanted to be like them, but I was so deluded by my

parents as a child, and just too plain apathetic and naive as a teenager to make an

intelligent choice about what I wanted to be. But I was so cocksure concerning the male

species, considering them inferior, rough beasts. I’d find out how true that belief was

later.


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#

Chapter Two-

Yes, I was angry after he died, but I had a right to be. The whole time he was in

hospital I was made to beg and plead with my mother in order to visit him. Cheek wetting

tears were a persuading requirement too. But my tears weren’t of frustration with my

mother, they were of burning rage. Regardless, my mother held the key to my visits,

literally, the keys to her car which she would dangle in my face until I was miserable

enough she could take pity on me, and that I would know she pitied me. Eventually I

started to cry as soon as she started up her tirade instead of the car. I became a

well-lubricated tear machine, a supplicate kneeling before the alter of my mother’s vain,

stupid machinations. How could she not foresee I would return her kindness in turn when

I was able to.

And I was able to not so long after my da’s death. I wasn’t living with her on the

day she was transported to the local hospital wearing a mustard yellow, all-over body

suit. Her past came back to her on that day, as she’d always been seeking out her death in

seedy bars, and now she‘d found it. Even way back when, while she waited for me to

finish visiting hours with my father, she’d sit in the closest bar and drink non-stop

bourbon rocks. I know she had an itinerate sort of death wish when she drove us back

home. We should have died, many, no, every drunken time over. As it was, she was the

one to die all alone. But before she did I held out her set of car keys over the bed, and

dropped them on the blindingly white sheet. The years of torment were almost worth it to

see her eyes wince as I returned her many previous favors. Priceless, simply priceless.

Anyway, I left and never returned. She was even cremated all alone, and her ashes put


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into the rubbish bin. Her vain power reduced to dirt in the furnace’s flame, I thought I

was free at last.

#

Oh shit, I forgot. A whole lot of things happened before she died, before the first

crisis, so I suppose I should’ve told you earlier. It will have to be now, I guess, in order to

maintain any semblance of a normal linear progression. I tried early on in this story to

explain where I came from, and who I was. That’ll all change, but now you’ll know my

real problems began at home before she turned yellow and went to hospital to decline

into her wasted death. Sorry, my brain does that, avoiding unpleasant recollected events.

Well, better late than never.

#

I sought escape, I lied and manipulated for some small freedom in my quickly

closing in life. I became devious in the search for distance. I was one of the hardest

scheming sixteen-year-old girls on the planet, but it wasn’t the constant effort I had to

keep up that tired me out, it was the war zone I lived in every day. Every day I faced the-

‘pay attention or risk death‘ variety. My mother may have created it alright, but the real

enemy came from outside and insinuated itself into my life like the fucking viper he was.

I’m not sixteen anymore, and I have some distance now, but don’t mistake my

report of the next months to be easy. I’ve lived with them for a long time now, for years,

but they haven’t diminished much. In fact, some of the flashbacks are stronger now than

they were early after the demon days. Sometimes I live in them, totally emotionally

engaged, trapped with no way out. And then there are the nasty ones not even the

medication can release. I am a grown women now, with a frightened young woman


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trapped inside who sometimes relives her life in emotional memories full of pain and

fear.

#

Freedom first came in the shape of a boy named “Stoner” Macintosh. I found, or

should say I was found by the boy with the appropriate name. He smoked a lot of pot. He

was also a four-point-oh student, and the son of the village’s mayor. Nobody jacked him

around about his recreational activities. Oh, yeah, he also had the typical post-hippie era

forest-green Volkswagen van. Yea. The first time he asked me out I had him drive me to

Planned Parenthood where I started the pill. After those preliminaries, Stoner was the

lucky stiff I spread my legs for. I wanted brief oblivion more than anything, and I paid for

it in the only coin I possessed, my inner flesh.

It didn’t feel quite right to me at the time, but then how would I, a child virgin,

know? The experience was like an alien invading my body with some kind of probe, both

emotionless and misdirected. It was a simple, payback fuck against my mother, and I paid

plenty of times for my subversive freedom.

We’d get pleasantly buzzed, have some same old single riff sex accompanied by

The Grateful Dead on the van’s stereo, then go our separate ways to study, or whatever.

He drove me to the hospital to visit my da’ the last times, and back to Planned

Parenthood to score more pills. Our arrangement wasn’t innocent, because we used each

other, but it wasn’t complicated either. The most complex we got was using a bong.

But me, so cocksure about men, or boys, thought I had him by the short-hairs. I

thought that sex was the sure way to control men. By their glands. Then I overheard him

talking to another boy in the school hallway. His friend asked Stoner what he liked best


15

about me, what was most important, and would our relationship have any lasting power?

Stoner replied, “The most important thing? Hmm. Well, jeez, that has to be her tits.

They’re incredible to roll around on. Real rockets. Will it last? Don’t think so; she’s a

year behind me, and I’m headed for the west coast as soon as school is over, and there are

more breasts, I mean girls, out there. Ya know what I mean?”

I certainly did know what he meant. My illusions about sex controlling men

collapsed right there, but I felt no ill-feelings towards Stoner. I’d been in it for about the

same reasons he had. I’d thought it was freedom for me, but I was wrong. It’d been no

more than killing time for both of us.

Did my mother notice my activities? Hell, she never once noticed that I was

stoned because she was completely smashed all the time by then. She already thought I

was the devil incarnate, but the brimstone she smelled on me was no more than pot

smoke trapped in my clothes.

Did I ever consider my substance abuse to be anything like hers? Did I ever notice

my own morality backsliding into jaded promiscuousness? No, I was too busy plotting

how to get outa there. In any way, outa there.

#

My mother still had the gray paint-faded house. Her wages and tips sharply

decreased when the alcohol finally took control of what remained of her life. Da’s

disability covered the small mortgage payment, but not much else. She got nervous one

day, all of a sudden, like the issue had never existed before. She should have seen the

holes and poor condition of my jeans, she’d have known then. If she had cared at all, I

mean. What made her really nervous was a threat that she might run out of booze one


16

day. Anyway, one night at work she stumbles, literally, into Walter Taft. He feels up her

breasts as he straightens her back up. She likes the brush of his busy hands, so she peers

through her foggy gaze at the man who grabbed her. He reaches over and pinches one of

her nipples and smiles like some teenage boy getting his first big thrill. He’s drinking

bourbon too, so she sits down and has one with him. The good lord made them, alright,

but the devil matched them up. It was surely a match made in a beer-sign lit, smoke

choking hell for me.

I will never understand how he said he worked for Ford too, but didn’t have a

permanent roof over his head. She bought the story after fucking him in his car later that

night, well, actually she fucked his paycheck, and then he moved in the next day. But he

moved in a caravan, towing two children after. The teenaged daughter, Lilly, moved in

with me, instantly shrinking my room in half with another twin bed. I didn’t really know

where the little toad of a brother slept, I never cared to.

I tried to think of somewhere I could escape to. Cordelia and Dick were getting up

in years, and frankly, their moral code wasn’t the same as mine just then. Stoner was

definitely out. Why didn’t I have any good friends? Even vapid classmates would be a

step up from my situation, and I could get a menial job to pay rent to her parents.

Definitely a pipe dream, one with Stoner’s heavy duty block of black hash in it. How

could I have friends when I couldn’t bring anyone home to meet my family? Regarding

my low position in life, isolation was still better than mortification.

This was Michigan, and I was out there under the massive hardwood trees with

the rest of the hillbillies and sauna crazy Swedes. It may have been spring, but Michigan

releases its winter slowly, seeming more to savor the iron automotive punishment of


17

salt-caked streets and tree boughs groaning heavily under a late snow’s weight. I spent as

much time outdoors as my fingers and toes could stand when I wasn’t connected with

Stoner, but I understood this wasn’t a permanent answer to the claustrophobic and toxic

conditions inside my house. So I tried. I did try.

I ignored my roommate, and she silently agreed to the arrangement at first, a

condition subject to change as the building crisis grew. Her little brother was too small to

consider as a person, so I treated him like a non-entity. He never knew, having been

emotionally abandoned as a newborn baby. He lived in a world made for one, which was

probably the best for him, given what his reality really was. He was constantly searching

for what was never there to begin with. I pegged him for a future serial-killer.

Then my roommate became a bitch, for reasons I’d discover later, and I thought

she made my life hell. She began to threaten me, to tell on my nocturnal habit of meeting

Stoner, or anything else nasty she could make up about me. I hated her, and she hated me,

plain and simple. One night I got home particularly late, and definitely still very stoned,

and she went to my mother with the information. That was when I got “the talk“.

I was just shy of sixteen and already knew a whole lot more about sex than most

girls. I knew it for recreation, I knew as a sticky solace, and I still considered it as a

possible pry-bar to lever against the male species. Well, c’mon, I was a little off with that

last one, but I somehow knew it would be true enough in the near future. I thought I knew

enough about sex to keep it nice, and safe.

“You better be nice to Walter, Belinda (can’t you just hear, “Belittle”?), He pays

the bills and keeps a roof over our heads. Got it?”

Funny, I thought our house was still our “house”. When did that asshole take


18

over?

Only after her little one-way chat did I understand her “nice” meant to sacrifice

my body for the paycheck she needed in order to submerge her brain even deeper into

liquid oblivion. She could no longer work, but she could still sip away on a highball glass

all day and night. But to sacrifice my body, to him? The goddamn filthy beast? No, I

don’t think so.

#

I was just past my sixteenth birthday, which nobody recognized or commented

about, the first time I had the sordid brand of “nice” my mother meant shoved in my face.

The image remains burned into my brain, and I can’t blind my mind to it, no matter how

hard I try.

I came home one night not exactly late, and snuck up the stairs to the bathroom

first. Then I heard noises coming through the wall of my lit bedroom; deep guttural

grunts, and sharp intakes of breaths. Honestly, I thought my roommate was having an

asthma attack. I stood up, zipped up, and rushed to the closed door of my room. I opened

it slightly, just a crack, only enough to put my eye to. I closed my eye immediately,

already too late, and closed the door silently.

Walt was porking his daughter from behind, at the foot of her bed. In the hallway

rage blazed my cheeks fire red. Had it been one second? Two? Maybe three at the most,

but I’d seen enough. More than enough. Walt’s dick was like a club, a sawn off baseball

bat, and while her reamed her out Lilly looked like a delicate orchid being stamped out.

How could she survive this brutality, on a one time, or maybe even a constant basis?

I ran to the phone, meaning to call 9-1-1. Then a sickening thought hit me and


19

took away my breath. Why hadn’t Lilly ever called for help? Or, after tonight’s assault, it

would be her call to make, not mine. What if she denied the whole horrible scene? I

decided I should talk to her before intervening on her behalf. Reasonable? I thought so at

the time.

So, I’m standing in the kitchen drinking a glass of water and hoping it would

wash the poison from my mouth when Walt’s heavy step comes down the stairs. I looked

around the kitchen I was trapped in and saw a butcher knife. I whisked it out of the

wooden block it lived in and shoved it into my back pocket.

“What are you doing up?” the son-of-a-bitch asked. “What? You’re just dragging

your ass home at this hour?”

His question left me an out. “Yeah, I’m just getting home.”

He squinted at me like I was some insect he wanted to smash. “Yeah, right.

You’re next, you know. I‘m going to enjoy doing you too, you little bitch.” With that said

he made his way to the master bedroom. What did he say? I was next? When I went to

my bedroom I still carried the knife. I slept with it under my pillow like it’d been

delivered by the lacerated flesh fairy.

#

I’ve never lost that anger, that all-encompassing rage at all the players in the

soul-killing arena happening right in my own bedroom. Walt was a piece of shit, for sure,

and Lilly allowed him to shit all over her. But then there’s my mother. She knew, how

could she not know, what was going on under her own roof? She allowed these atrocities

by turning a blind eye to anything that wasn’t a paycheck under her roof. She gave Walt

permission to ravage us all for a few bucks. So much for motherly love. Honestly, I


20

shouldn’t have expected anything more out of her.

I tried talking to Lilly that night. Tried to, at least. “I saw what was happening in

this room tonight. Want to talk about it?” She was instantly on guard, with her defenses

flaring up hard and fast. She refused to acknowledge my statement. “It’s okay to talk

about it with me, I’ll never say a word.” I believe she hated me more for her tears than

anything I might have said then, or in the future.

“You didn’t see nothing.”

“Lilly, your father was assaulting you. That’s nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing.”

“Lilly, Lilly, I can help you. I can get him away from you. No more rape, and

safe.”

The concept horrified her. “No, I have to be with him. There’s nowhere else to

go.”

“No, you’re wrong, there are places you can go, with people who’ll take good

care of you.” She moved on the bed and I saw a blood stain under her. “Oh my God, he

really hurt you!”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Then she began talking about what really did hurt. About how

she had to act like she enjoyed it, or she’d get smacked around. Or worse, how he’d hit

her on her abdomen, deep yellow and purple bruising fisted hits. A couple of times she

couldn’t walk afterwards, and had to miss whatever school she was in at that moment.

She told me that because of her treatment at her father’s hands they moved around a lot,

mostly staying in motels or tiny apartments. The law followed them, but never had a case

of anything but an asshole of a father. In a dry husk of a voice she said, “My brother has


21

to watch sometimes. My dad says it’s a part of learning how to be a “real” man. The look

on his face is very scary, like he’s already planning how he’ll treat women when he

grows up.”

I shook my head. “Oh God, we have to get you out of this somehow.”

Then her face twisted up into somebody different, somebody very ugly. “You

know, if you were around more often, he wouldn’t be taking a go at me so often. This is

your fault too, so how can you say such bad things about my dad? You’re part of it. And

so is your pathetic mother. You’re all part of it.”

While I couldn’t deny my mother was pathetic, I wanted to smack her for

implicating me. The only involvement I had in this disgusting situation was as a future

target for her fucking father. This mess was most definitely not my fault. Then she said

her father had commented to her that he thought I was going to be a “juicy piece” when

he got to me. “See, then you’re going to be like me. Just like me.”

Her words sickened me as much as they terrified me. The girl had a dangerously

distorted view of life, and got it honestly. The very air in my bedroom was twisted like it

lacked oxygen to breathe in.

There was no place in the house to hide. I could lock the bathroom door, but that

was it. I made all trips into my bedroom as brief as possible, and mostly when he wasn’t

around, I studied at the kitchen table, something I hadn’t done for years. I’d stay away

all weekends, creatively explaining I sleeping over at a friend’s house.

Yes, I had cultivated girlfriends at last. Not many, and no honest ones I could

share my secrets with, but the few I had I used as much as I could in order to stay away

from home. They had a circle of sleepovers that rotated between each girl’s home. Not


22

mine, of coarse, they knew better than ask with the insight girls have for other girls. Still,

they accepted me into their carousel weekends.

I noticed one thing in common with each of their homes. The hallways to the

bedrooms were filled with photographs of the girls in a progressive order, from infant on.

My house had no such massive photo album, and I believed it was due to only pretty girls

having their pictures taken. With my hot copper hair and thin milk skin I’d never once

considered myself to be pretty. I did get it though, it wasn’t necessarily just my looks

which were vacant from our walls. It was my mother’s indifference too, or worse.

So I played nice, something that didn’t come naturally to me, and was even sweet,

something I’d abhorred in other girls. We did each other’s hair, even my strong waves,

baked cookies, and talked about boys. They all knew of my involvement with Stoner, and

asked point-blank what “it” was like. I had to think, the most these respectable girls had

ever done was get their boobs felt up. “Like a silken injection of fleshy steel.” They liked

that. A lot. The phrase even floated around the school, mutating at every telling. It didn’t

give away my growing abhorrence to the act.

We watched insipid chick-flicks. “Beaches”, “Steel Magnolias”, “Terms of

Endearment”, “An Officer and a Gentleman”, “Pretty in Pink“, and “Pretty Woman”.

What the hell, it killed time, and pushed away the war I’d have to return to. During one

movie starring Whoopie Goldberg I became aware that one of our inner circle was gay.

Foundling gay, and confused, but most certainly lesbian. Suddenly she was much more

interesting to me.

She became a lot more interesting to me. One Saturday was declared to be an

“occult” night. Out came the Ouija board. Thank goodness the spirits stayed away,


23

particularly my father’s. He probably skipped out for fear of another girly movie to

follow. But then Kim, the girl I decided I wanted, pulled out a trade size paperback on

Chinese Numerology, and instructed how to put our numbers together, like birth-date,

time of birth, and the like, and reduce them to a base number. That base number was to

be our “life-issue”. Every girl was something different, and the explanations for each

rang true to me. I went last.

Kim looked up number 8, opened her mouth, then closed it again. She did this

weird whole looking into my eyes thing before she spoke. The other girls got very

agitated while they waited for her interpretation of my number, wondering why mine was

so full of portents. “You are a number 8, Belinda. Your issue is power.” Power? What

power did I have? “You will seek power, and learn about controlling that power if you

want to survive it. You may use your power for either good or evil, but you will never

stop seeking for more until you die. Your number is the same as the rulers of each

Chinese dynasty, from prehistoric, to now. Practice, learn about your power as soon as

possible to prevent it from taking you over, instead of you controlling it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was the only one there who had been handed such an

ominous prognosis. Kim touched my hand and said, “You’ll be just fine. I know it.” For

the next few weeks I retreated as far into the woodwork as I could. There was a curious

chill coming at me on those nights. Perhaps the girls were worried I’d put a hex on them.

I know there were times I would’ve liked to.

Then something happened. The movie of the week was the romantic monster,

“Titanic”. From the very beginning the movie was incredibly detailed and beautiful, and I

thought I’d really enjoy it. Then came the scene where Rose is mounting the deck of the


24

great ship, and she reveals her face for the first time from under her large brimmed hat.

One of my friends gasped, I think it was Sandy. “Belinda! Look at that!” I peered all over

the television screen for something exciting, but found nothing. Sandy grabbed my

shoulder roughly. “Look at Rose!” Then she hit the pause button. The other girls were

looking back and forth from me to the screen, each getting more excited as they did.

“Belinda! You look just like Rose! Can’t you see?”

I could, but denied it. “No, she’s much more pretty than I am. We don’t look alike

at all.”

“Will you quit running yourself down? I’d like you better if you just accepted that

you’ve got some very good qualities, and one is you look like Kate Winslet.”

The wavy red hair was pretty close, and the wide spaced agate eyes, although

mine looked more like Rose’s did when Jack pulled her away from the stern rail and the

churning, freezing wake; eyes full of internal fear and rage, set inside a face helplessly

fighting bitter resignation. I didn’t have the too-cute dimple in my right cheek, but the

English oval face and juicy lips were mine, as was the British white skin and unseemly,

womanly roundness. Okay, I could see that. “Yeah, I think you’re right after all. I’m a

movie star.” I was debating this absurdity when I heard Jack’s voice addressing Rose

rather harshly. “That fire inside you is going to burn out-” His words caught my attention,

and train of thought. The fire inside; a popular topic lately.

Kim said, “You’re very beautiful, even if you’re not a movie star.” I felt the

magnetic waves of attraction from her bombarding me, more intense than from any boy

I’d known. Did she think I was gay too? I shook all thoughts of sex right out of my head

before they gave me away. The girls kept commenting on my theatric twin throughout the


25

whole movie, especially when Rose stripped for her portrait.

“Whoa! You’ve got much better breasts, Belinda.” I agreed, even lifting up my

pajama top to display my pride. Although we’d seen each other in various states of

undress before, I captured all of their attention. I thought Kim was going to faint she was

breathing so hard. Nobody commented on her, which left some questions in my mind, but

they did compare my boobs to Kate’s. I won. So, she was prettier than me, but I had a

better rack. Everything balances out in the end.

The incident explained things about these get-togethers. My role with the girls

became clear to me after my physical declaration that I had the best tits between us all.

They feared the dark, sucking hole of rejection as much as I feared domestic rape. Plus I

was an unsavory kind of undomesticated pet, there to be looked down on, and welcomed

only as better than nobody to look down on. Better than having nobody to be better than.

These were the problems of life and death the girls were working out. I wished them luck.

#

Then something wonderful happened the summer I was sixteen. One of my

girlfriends father was a music professor who also taught young gifted musicians during

the summer at a music camp called Interlochen. The camp was way up north, just south

of Traverse City, close to Lake Michigan. He told his daughter the camp was looking to

hire some teenagers to do the grunt work while great music played in the background.

They needed housekeepers and kitchen staff in particular. It sounded too good to be true,

but I told him I could go for the whole summer. I didn’t explain that I hadn’t talked to my

mother yet. This was an opportunity to get out of my living situation for months, and with

the wages, maybe forever.


26

I sat down with my mother and explained it all. She was more blurred-eyed than

usual, so I kept at it until she finally looked at me. “Gone for the whole summer?”

I waited for her instant rejection and march towards making me cry. “Yeah.

Listen mom, this is a great opportunity for me. A chance to make friends with kids who

live all over the state, and a chance for me to get away for a little while, if you know what

I mean.”

Her eyes positively blazed, perhaps with a fire-drake behind them. “You don’t

know anything about anything, smartass.” I thought she was going to hit me, but the

booze that had once made her dangerous now made her arms heavy as stone. “As long as

it’s a way to get you out of the house for a while. You think everything revolves around

you, but it doesn’t. You’ll know better when you’re my age. You have other people to

consider, ya know.”

I didn’t really understand her little speech entirely. “Like who, mom? Who should

I consider?”

“Me and Walt for starters. And you treat Lilly like she was shit. But, no, up on

your high horse you can’t see that, can you?”

“Consider Walt? What do you mean?”

“He keeps a roof over our head and puts food on the table. You need to treat him

with some respect.”

I was angry now. “Do you know what he does to his daughter?”

“No such thing, goddamn you. You make up these lies about him, but they’re not

true. You’re a little bitch, a little lying bitch.” She paused to take a drink and I smelled

the whiskey weeping from her skin. “Go on then, go to that camp. Just get out of my


27

hair.”

My mom. My ever-loving mother. Was there anything left inside her now? Who

she had been while I was a little child was long gone, leaving this empty husk behind

simply waiting for death to claim it. Yeah, I was definitely going away for the summer.

#

What clothes I had fit inside a tiny suitcase alongside my “feminine needs”. I

waited outside for my friend’s father to pick me up. Walter was gone, but the dripped oil

from his car remained, a dark splotch on melting asphalt. The smell of it, so like his body

odor, nauseated me, so I stood at the curb, an anxious hitchhiker for parts unknown. The

professor pulled up and stopped for me. “I’m so glad you could come. I think you’ll

enjoy it.”

I already knew I was scruffy looking from the too few haircuts, and the

camouflaging, saggy clothing I had to wear for safety at home, but inside his blue

Lincoln I also felt dirty and trashy. I just looked forward to being able to take a shower

without danger. “I know I will.” As soon as the words left my lips I felt a hot flash rip

through my body, and even though the car was air-conditioned, I broke into a fast sweat

across my forehead. The sensation passed, but its memory remained within my body’s

core.

#

Chapter Three-

The camp was wonderful. The most wonderful thing about it was the fact that

good old Walt wasn’t anywhere in sight, and Lilly wasn’t within earshot. I felt so free I

didn’t notice how hard my job was. The four compass points for me were sheets and


28

towels, lemon oil polish, and bathroom floors and showers, including the fixtures. I loved

it, actually loved it all. Even now I think of that summer almost every day, and relish the

job and the boy I met there.

In the long summer evenings I would walk around in the evergreen and deciduous

tree and listen to snatches of free floating voice and instrumental melodies. I could faintly

smell a whiff of Lake Michigan when the wind blew in from the west, and the sheltering

pines were pure perfume. I didn’t have anywhere to go on my days off, or bartered

transportation to get there, so I soaked up the sun, walked silent in the rain, and read the

ridiculous romance novels the previous tenet of my cabin left behind. Not for one minute

did I believe one word in them, but they were better than the television room and other

staff members in it. I was definitely a loner now, and the camp allowed me to be one

without accusing me of some crime. Ah, at last, the space to breath.

It was on one of my days off I first saw this skinny, scruffy boy out in the woods

practicing on a saxophone. He was at least as unkempt as I was in his thin-threaded,

faded out jeans and sneakers so old the sole had blown out on one of them. I didn’t figure

him for a student, but I thought he should be, for he was consumed by his music and the

echo of it off the trees. He didn’t even seem to be aware of what he was playing, or where

the next note would fall, so I knew he wouldn’t see me hiding behind a large tree. He

played a little silver sax, like a bright clarinet, and the notes from his instrument were

crystalline clear when they soared towards heaven. When his eyes were closed, most of

the time, I studied him. He was maybe twenty, had wild hair like mine, although his was

dark, not my waves of copper, and his fingers were nimble and fast. The way he tongued

the notes it made me think he could play a girl as well as he did his metallic mistress.


29

In fact, the first words I said to him were, “With that tongue I bet you really know

how to satisfy a woman.” He was hiding behind a maintenance building where he

smoked dope, and he started at my voice, maybe afraid somebody caught him smoking.

Or, maybe because I addressed him in that way. He stood staring at me until I pointed at

the half joint the was holding, and asked, “Care to share?”

It wasn’t long into the buzz that I told him how pot always made me horny. He

agreed. We kissed until my knees gave out and he was holding me up. “I know a place,” I

told him, then took him back to the moss-softened clearing in the pines where I’d heard

him playing. It felt like home for both of us. We spent all night talking about who we

were, and I got in right before it was time to get up. I wasn’t tired all day, because I’d

been right, his tongue played pure music on my body.

His name was Merrill Ashe, and I will never forget his mouth on me, so much like

Kim‘s would be.

There were times we’d lay on his bunk and tell each other what part of life

brought us together. He shared many of the same complications I had. Dead alcoholic

mother, wicked step-father who threw him out when his mother died, dirt poor but getting

by, and even his shortage of regular haircuts. This sharing, as intimate as it was, wasn’t

going to leave this summer camp, but it was fine, so fine while it lasted.

That’s when I realized what was important. Everybody had to find something, or

somebody, that was fine thing, a happy memory, just to keep putting one foot in front of

the other. To make an unbearable life bearable. I told him that. He was my one fine thing.

In return, he told me that the first step he took on the path to playing serious jazz revealed

his life’s mission, his fine thing to follow. And then he told me he could be himself with


30

me, like he felt when he was playing his saxophone, and that was a mighty fine thing too.

The nights we shared were both honest, and finite. When the camp closed and school

began we wouldn’t communicate, but we’d remember. For always we’d remember.

On the day I left my mother actually came along with Walt to pick me up. I’m

sure her reason was to check out how rich the school looked, and see how much I’d been

paid. Merrill stood and watched me load up until he couldn’t stand the tension. He knew

all about my mother and Walt, and he looked like he was going to scream. He came to me

and held me tight for just a moment, a few breaths, then let me go. It was more romantic

than I’d ever seen in the girl’s sappy movies, or read in the pulp romance novels I’d left

behind for next summer. He was so caring, so reassuring, that when my mother started

asking questions about him, and bad-mouthing me for getting involved with a college

kid, I didn’t care. He was fine as any future female lover, right to the end.

We had to stop at three bars on the way home so mummy dear could catch a buzz,

but the memory of Merrill was a strong enough buzz to get me all the way home, and

long after.

#

Sixteen and a half and I’m a junior in high school, taking driver’s ed classes, and

probably failing trigonometry and physics. I got totally lost somewhere between an

Archimedean Spiral and Boyle’s gas laws. Hell, I couldn’t figure why those classes

would ever be important anyway.

My life was way more physical than physics. Take the filthy beast for example. I

was still dodging him at home, and didn’t see anyway around him other than to be, or

even live, someplace else. I had what left of my summer’s wages, after mother made me


31

give her half, with a, “shut your mouth and be happy I don’t take it all. You owe me.”

What was left wasn’t going to get me very far, or at least as far as I knew I’d have to be

from him, so I opened a savings account and hoped it’d grow on it’s own.

Lilly was still pathetic. I couldn’t help but think of that way even though her

circumstances were way worse than mine. I prided myself for successfully avoiding the

son of a bitch, she couldn’t do anything about him. If she’d contact the police they’d try

to smooth over the situation in the name of domestic peace, instead of thinking of

something more protective. He’d beat her to a pulp. Oh, not her face so somebody would

notice and report him, he wasn’t willing to relocate again, not away from the sweet

situation he had in my house. But he would hurt her. Really hurt her. She’d told me when

we were still talking that he was a pro at avoiding her visible areas while hurting her

body as much as possible. Shit, I wanted to run away and drag her along with me. Fat

chance of that happening.

#

One evening after spending some study time at one of my girlfriend’s house I was

alone in my room changing into my flannel pajamas with my back to the door, when he

grabbed me from behind. My pajama top’s buttons sprayed across the room, and his claw

marks across my chest burned and bled. Then my bottoms were ripped completely away.

I kicked and screamed at the top of my lungs, I flayed with my arms while I tried to kick

him in the balls, but he was strong, way too strong for me to break free of his arms. He

threw me face down on the bed and grabbed as much of my hair as he could, pinning me

down while he loosened his pants and pulled out a penis as big as a pony’s. God, how he

must have mutilated Lilly time after time, and now he was planning to do the same to me.


32

And then there she was, Lilly looking in through the half-opened door with a huge smug

smile on her face. All the sympathy in me was pushed right out of my heart.

Then my breath was pushed completely out of me too when he laid his weight on

my back. I knew I was going to pass out and probably die, so I panted like a dog in order

to stay conscious as long as I could. Then he jammed his club into me, and I screamed

even though I had no air in me, louder and louder than I had before. Nobody was going to

help me. I felt blood running down my thigh as a niggling detail compared to the deeper

pain inside. I couldn’t even pant then because I wanted to vomit, but couldn’t do that

either. He was killing me, and enjoying every bit of it.

I felt under my pillow and grabbed the knife I kept there. The sharp side of the

blade cut into my thumb and palm, but I didn‘t feel it. I grabbed the handle and slid it out.

Walter began to groan and pulse his slimy seed inside me, and I felt a rage-filled flame

reach out and heat the cold steel knife to sun yellow. I knew it was hot, so I swung the

blade wildly and forcefully, and felt the handle stop when it struck something hard, like

bone. I’d liked to have cut his dick off, but it was still pumping away inside me. But the

blade dug deep into his thigh, and with the last of my breath I pulled the blade upwards

like a zipper.

Then he screamed, and pulled away from me to see what I’d done. That was when

I ran. I knew that even with a knife I was no match for him one on one. So I ran. Wearing

only a torn pajama top I ran next door to Dick and Cordelia’s house and pounded on their

door. Cordelia opened it, registered what I looked like, and yanked me inside. Good thing

too, Walt was following me and gaining ground. He pounded on the door. Many times.

He yelled and beat on the door like he’d never get tired of doing it, but he stopped before


33

the cops showed up.

#

Cordelia pulled me back into the bathroom and looked me over. “Can I have a

towel to wash up with?” I asked. I felt like I’d fallen into a pit of rotting garbage, and I’d

never be able to wash the stink off.

“No, dear,” she replied, “that’s evidence. I’ll get you something to wear though.”

She came out of her bedroom carrying a set of pink sweats. Pink, sweet Christ. “Put these

on, the Sheriff is on the way.”

There wasn’t much left of my blood-streaked top to pull off, and the sweatshirt

reminded me of how cold I was. Not just the chill from running around naked outside in

Michigan’s treacherous autumn nights, but also the bone shattering cold of icy semen

running down the inside of my frightened thighs. The kind of cold that leaves an icicle

through your heart.

#

There was a polite but insistent knock on the front door. I heard it, but lingered

back into the shadows of Cordelia’s kitchen, and tried to peer out through the front

windows of the house. I saw two black squad cars pulled all of the way up to the front

porch. Dick groaned when he saw the ruts they’d leave behind, but opened the door for

them all the same. Two deputies stood together, successfully blocking any escape from

any criminal. “Why don’t you come inside?” Dick was polite, but obviously pissed about

his well-tended yard. “It’s cold out there, and you’re letting it in.”

They came into the living room, waved aluminum report folders around, then

finally asked what the problem was. “Somebody reported a rape?”


34

“Would you like some coffee, officers?” Cord said in a high, tight voice. She was

uncertain about handing me over to them, regardless of my injuries. They declined her

offer. “I’ll put some on anyway.” The tall dark-haired Deputy watched her walk back to

the kitchen with a puzzled expression, then he shrugged. The shorter, sandy-haired

Deputy with frigid blue eyes began asking questions of Dick.

“What happened here tonight?”

“The young lady who lives next door was raped by her mother’s live-in.”

“Really? Where’s this girl now?”

Cordelia pushed me in the direction of the officers. “She’s right here.” I think I

grimaced at her with some anger, but went to the living room.

“What’s your name?” the bigger one asked.

“Belinda. Belinda O’Conner.”

“Is this true? Were you raped?”

He had an odd tone in his voice, like he didn’t really believe in rape. Even so, I

answered, “Yeah.”

Sandy man quickly asked his question before the big guy could ask another one of

his own. “Does the man who raped you live next door?” I nodded. “Would he still be

there?” I shrugged. How should I know? He looked at his companion and said, “Why

don’t you go next door and see if you can find him?” Blackie’s eyes narrowed, but he got

up and left anyway. I saw sergeant stripes on the sleeve of sandy-man’s coat. That

explained it.

“Are you badly injured?” How could you be injured goodly?

Cordelia broke in with, “She’s bleeding, and in shock, I think.”


35

He looked into my eyes and I knew he had an icicle in his heart too. Why? “Are

you injured, Belinda?” He remembered my name, how nice of him. Then the world

turned too fast on its axis, and I hit the carpet.

#

I woke up in the emergency room, and when a nurse talked nicely to me I broke

completely down. One kind comment tore away all the toughness I thought I’d had. They

were planning on doing a rape kit, and photographing my injuries. I was no more than

putty to them, and did what they required me to do. Somebody put a few of stinging

stitches in me, which would itch like hell later, and cleaned up the gouges on my chest. I

knew it hurt, I just couldn’t figure out which hurt the worst.

Then the sandy-haired Deputy pulled the dividing curtain back and came to my

bedside. He smiled, but it wasn’t false or patronizing. He meant it. “Hi, my name’s

Deputy Brickman. You can call me, “Brick”. All my friends do. We didn’t get a chance

to finish my report earlier. Do you feel up to it now?”

Where was I going to go? “Sure, if you want to.”

“They did a rape kit here, and there’s no doubt that’s what occurred. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” I started crying again.

Deputy Brickman, I wasn’t too sure I wanted to be his friend yet, held out a linen

handkerchief to me. “Go ahead, take it.” Like snatching a piece of bait, I took it from his

hand. It smelled of crisp starch and leather polish, and I wanted to blow my nose in the

worse way, but this was a real, cloth hankie. He smiled again. “Go ahead, I’ve got plenty

more.” I blew my nose and it seemed the snot would never stop. He laughed. “Wow, you

really needed that.”


36

“What happened at my house after I passed out?”

“Well, you know, I find this sorta interesting. The man who raped you…”

“Walt Taft. I hope he rots in jail.”

“Yeah, well, when my partner got to your house there was only one beat-to-hell

old car in the drive.”

“Uh, that would be my mother’s.”

“Okay. So, being careful, Craig has his weapon out and pointed forward when he

knocks on the door. Then this little skinny girl, Lilly, opened the door for us and we went

inside.”

“Lilly was still there? He didn’t take her?”

“She is his daughter. Right?” I nodded. “I’m guessing he was in a hurry. So, my

fellow Deputy interviewed your mother.”

“That must have been a treat.”

“He asked me how you could live in that kind of situation?”

“You’re seeing how I lived in that situation. I’ll carry the marks for the rest of my

life.”

“Marks?”

“Yeah, marks. The fucker ripped up my chest.”

“Would you show me?” he asked softly. I think he knew he was walking a thin

line. Not that I cared, my chest was already in some doctor’s report in glorious color.

“Close the curtain,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. He did. I peeled the

hospital gown away from my butterfly patched, anti-biotic ointment smeared chest

gently, not so much because of the pain, which really did hurt, but for the growing heavy


37

numbness in my arms. I think they wanted to sleep through all this too. I watched his

eyes as I exposed my breasts to him. He was good, I’ll give him that much, but I had a set

of gravity-defying balloons that were dangerous to any man. I’d seen how most men

looked at my dressed tits like they were some juicy pork-chops they wanted to suck to the

marrow. His eyes opened wide and his pupils got dark, and that was it. He was taking all

of me in without once licking his lips.

I don’t know long polite is to a criminal investigation, but the length of time his

eyes rolled over me like a pinball seemed polite, at least to me. “Okay, Belinda, I’ve seen

what I needed to see.”

“I bet you did.” He blushed. “What did you do with Lilly? She really needs to be

away from that fucker.”

“Put into the hospital’s care. She‘s going to be evaluated before she can enter

foster care.”

“Psych ward?”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. What do you know about her?”

I bit my bottom lip. “What just happened to me happened to her, a lot. I tried to

get her to call the police, but she said she had to be with him.”

Brickman shook his head. “I’m sorry, I know you must have tried to help, but

that’s a common condition.”

“What about her little brother?”

“She has a brother?”

“Yeah, in training to be a real man like his daddy. You didn’t find him?”

“No, no sign of any brother.”


38

“Lilly’s really messed up, you know.”

“Yeah, well, when we were talking to her she completely disassociated. I’m not

sure she’ll be able to return to this painful world. The whole time we were with her she

kept asking for her daddy in a vacant voice. Over and over, until she realized he’d left her

behind. That’s when the shade was pulled down.”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry for her.”

“Not your problem. He did that to her.”

“Yeah, I saw them once. That was when I decided to keep a butcher knife under

my pillow.”

Brick started. “A knife? You had a knife?”

“Yeah, like I said…”

“Did you use it on him?”

“Yeah.”

“How bad?”

“Maybe some vein in his thigh. He was bleeding like the pig he is.”

“Where is the knife now?”

“Don’t know. Maybe I dropped it.”

Brick pulled a cell phone from his belt and flipped it open. Looking at its tiny

screen, he shook his head. “Excuse me, I have to go outside to make a call. Will you be

okay?”

Would I be okay when he was gone? And just when did his voice turn softer and

more considerate? When I told him I ripped into the bastard? I don’t know, but it seemed

like I’d garnered some real respect from him when I told I’d struck back. “Sure, I’ll be


39

fine. I should be getting out of here soon anyway.”

“Hold that thought,” he threw back over his shoulder as he swept aside the

curtain. Hold that thought? What? I wasn’t getting out of here soon? Then I really

couldn’t think of anything else, until I twisted the sheet into a rope, maybe in case I’d

need it to escape. He came back. “I put out an alert to as many hospitals as we can reach.

If a man comes in with a stab wound anywhere around here they’ll get a hold of us.”

“Good idea. What did you mean by, “Hold that thought,”?

“Where are we going to take you? Do you really want to go home and deal with

your mother right now? Do you want to go back into your bedroom?”

Good thought, why hadn’t I thought of it first? It was my life. “No.”

“So what do we do?”

“Dick and Cordelia’s?”

“Your neighbors?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Let me call them.”

“I’ll take you there if they agree.” I looked around but didn’t see a phone. Brick

jumped up, but he wasn‘t going to share his official one. “Let me check at the nurse’s

station, they usually have a cordless for patients.” He was back in a few seconds. His

popping in and out and made me nervous with his urgent energy. Was I as urgent to get

to someplace else other than here? Not really. Not unless it was completely safe. Not

even to Dick and Cord’s. He handed it to me and sat down.

I punched the numbers, and it only took three rings to connect with Cordelia. “Is


40

that you honey?”

“Yeah. They’re done with me here at the hospital. Can I stay with you for the

night?”

“Of course, you needn’t even ask. I’ve put sheets on your bed because I was

hoping you’d call. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thank you, you’ve saved my life.” She quit the connection but I thought I’d

heard a sob before the call ended. I turned to Deputy Brickman. “Well, I’ve got a place to

stay tonight.”

“I’ll have to interview your mother tomorrow, when she’s maybe not so

shit-faced. I’d like you to be there. I’ll get you from the neighbor’s if that’s alright.”

All of a sudden I could laugh again, and it felt so free I didn’t want to stop. Brick

raised one eyebrow. It was a good interview trick, that eyebrow. “You want to talk to her

when she’s less shit-faced? Good luck with that.”

“It’s really that bad then?”

“Maybe in the daylight you’ll see some mustard on her.”

“She’s dying.”

“There’s news. She’s been dying forever, and the only reason she’s still around is

that she’s a dragon.”

“Excuse me?”

“A winged serpent, a fire-breathing reptile. You know, with scales and all that

shit.”

“Why do you say that?”

“My father told me before he died a horrible death. He told me she had put a fire


41

dragon inside him, and it burned him up.”

“C’mon.”

“Fine, don’t believe me, I can’t help that, but it’s very true. She’s a goddamn

dragon.”

“Uh, right. For the sake of not arguing I’ll say I believe you.”

“Whatever. Can I get my clothes now?”

“They’re right here. I’ll meet you by the nurses station.” He carried away the

phone. Did he think I’d want to make another call? To who? My girlfriends? Did I want

to make another call? Shit, I was too tired and my thinking had dipped into a paranoia

much like I got smoking pot. Too bad I hadn’t had near as much fun getting paranoid as

when Stoner and I sucked in and exhaled great gouts of thick smoke. Oh, well.

A middle aged woman not dressed in nurses scrubs came in while I was gingerly

pulling up my sweat pants. I jumped. “I’m sorry, Belinda, I didn’t mean to startle you.” I

made a vow right then to never turn my back to a door.

“What do you want?”

“I’m a social worker. In cases like this one we’ll need to make an appointment for

a follow up on your case.”

“Follow up? Why?”

She sat down on one of the uncomfortable stools in the room. “Well, most girls

suffer extreme depression and post-traumatic stress syndrome. You may not feel it now,

but you’re a very good candidate for PTSD.”

“PTSD? A venereal disease? You think that bastard gave me a disease too?”

“No, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, like I told you. I want to meet with


42

you at least one more time. I’ve got an opening in two weeks, at 3:30 in the afternoon.

I’ve give you a reminder card.” She scribbled something on the back of her business card

and handed it to me. I wanted it to slip out of my fingers and fall to the floor, but she

made sure I had it tight in my hand before she let go. “There then, I’ll see you in two

weeks,” she announced and left through the drapery. I turned the card over and found her

name. “Anne Flores, LISW”. More initials I didn’t understand. I put it in my pocket.

There was a phone number on it, if I chose to cancel the appointment. Perhaps I’d wait

for a week, then bow out gracefully.

I finally got released, with help from Deputy Brickman. The nurses all looked at

me with pitying eyes, and one began to cry as Brick explained that I needed to leave. I

thought that if she wanted to cry she should try having stitches in her ass. I know I almost

cried when they rubbed against my clothes.

#

I climbed into the back seat of his cruiser and immediately felt like a criminal

behind the steel mesh and bolted down shotgun. It wasn‘t a feeling I wanted, or needed,

so I stared out the side window and watched for landmarks to guide me home. Well, not

really my home, next door to it. We didn’t talk at all on the way, and probably couldn’t

have anyway between the spitting police radio and the static and flashing light monitors.

When we pulled up to their house, not on the lawn this time, he escorted me to the door

with his hand on his gun. He wasn’t taking any chances that Walt would be outside. Cord

opened up and I pushed past the gun-totin’ lawman with a low, “Good night”. I wanted to

sleep for three or four days before I thought about anything again. Even Brick. Maybe

mostly Brick. Cord took me to my old room and handed me a pair of pajamas that she’d


43

warmed up on the heat register, and kissed my cheek. For that moment, that one brief

moment, I felt loved. I waited until she left the room before I cried into my pillow. Sleep

was never so welcome before.

#

Chapter Four-

I cracked one gummy and grainy eyelid half open when I heard the phone ring.

The bedside clock said four-thirty. Am? Pm? I didn’t care. I’d slept all day, and would go

on sleeping as long as I wanted to. I closed my eye. Cord came into the room. “Belinda?

Honey? Are you awake?”

I am now. “Yeah,” I mumbled into my pillow.

“Deputy Brickman is coming to interview your mother, and he’d like to have you

there if you can.”

“How long?”

“How long? You mean the interview? I have no way of…”

“’Till he gets here?”

“Oh, about an hour. He wanted you to have time to clean up and eat something.”

“Okay.” Not very likely.

“Why don’t you get up and take a shower first.” I didn’t respond. “Belinda? Take

as long as you want to in the shower.”

I hadn’t thought of that. A nurse had cleaned me up at the hospital, but I still had

the stink of the beast on me. “Thanks.” She left the room and I dropped off the mattress,

with just a hint of reminder about hidden stitches. I ran the shower until it lost its hot,

scrubbing away at my skin with a soft washcloth, and then I dried off with a huge, soft,


44

and flowery smelling towel. I radiated bright, red hot, the same color as the scratches on

my chest. I smeared greasy ointment on them, removing the butterfly bandages as I went.

Nothing bled, so I figured I was better. Back in my bedroom was another set of sweats,

and they were red as my skin. I’d never seen Cord or Dick doing anything like exercising,

but if they chose to they’d be well dressed at least.

The smell of bacon and the cackle of scrambled eggs met me long before I

entered the kitchen. Cordelia was in her glory; taking care of, and providing for a child in

the house. I saw how deeply she yearned for, and regretted not having a child in the

house. I saw the core sadness behind her present happy face. From nowhere I asked

myself if I was to be her child now. The answer was a simple, “I hope not”. I got a cup of

coffee and sat down.

“You know, you really shouldn’t drink coffee,” she said. “It’ll stunt your growth.”

There was the mother talking, already.

“Yeah, and eggs have too much cholesterol, especially balanced out with the fat

overload of bacon. You’re cookin’ up some toxic mixture there. You want me to live out

the day?” I didn’t say it like it was a joke. I was in no mood for mothers or jokes.

“And many more.” There was a knock on the front door, and I heard Dick get up

with his newspaper in one hand and answer it. I heard low voices, one was Dick’s, and I

thought the other was Brick. Then the Deputy came into the kitchen. “Good morning,

Belinda.”

“Afternoon.”

“I work second shift, it’s morning to me.”

Then I remembered him working last night, thank God. “Do you always work


45

second trick?”

He smiled with grim humor. “Yeah, I get to deal with all of Michigan’s various

entertainments; drunk drivers, loud parties, and drunken domestic complaints.” He sat

back a second, then gulped. “Uh, I don’t mean yours'.”

“No offense taken,” I said as I stared down at the tabletop. “I’m glad you were

here.”

Cord turned around with the egg skillet in her hands. “Then you’ll have some

breakfast with us.” He tried to argue, but I can’t remember anybody winning an argument

over her cooking. He sat down next to me.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’d be good.” I got up and poured him a cup, then set it in front of him.

He sipped at it. “Mmm, that’s good.” Cordelia laid plates in front of us and we both dug

into them. I thought I wasn’t hungry. Brick wiped his mouth with a paper napkin when he

finished, and got up to get more coffee. “Belinda?” holding out the pot.

“No thanks. I’m trying to limit the number of times I have to wipe today.”

Cord spun around. “You’ll not talk of that horror during breakfast, and I’m sure

the Deputy doesn’t want to hear it while he‘s eating. Okay?”

Thanks mom. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I mean, it’s bad enough you have to talk to that miserable woman again.”

In the happiness of the kitchen I’d forgotten what I had to do next. Not because I

felt happy, but because it really was the last thing I wanted to do. Deputy Brickman saw

my face fall. “We’ll make it short, Belinda. No need to drag out the pain.”

Without any segue, Cord burst out, “But where is she going to live?” Cord asked


46

about me. “Could she stay here?”

He looked me in the face. “You’re sixteen now, you have a choice. I’m guessing

you don’t want to live over there,” with a pointing motion of his head.

I shuddered. “No.” I thought about Dick and Cordelia, and how they lived the

well-deserved retirement life. I’d never fit into their style. “Listen Cordelia, I’m young

and disruptive and obnoxious as a teenager can be. I’m not sure you’d want me around

for very long. You like peace and quiet.”

Brick actually seemed to agree with me. “You have how long until you

graduate?”

“A year and a half.”

Brick leaned back into his seat and moved his mouth around in deep, unspoken

thought. Then he rubbed his lips. “Ah, look, you don’t know me from Adam, but I just

can’t let you get lost in the system, which is what would happen to you if these fine

people decided to throw you out.” He smiled at Cord when she opened her mouth to

disagree. “I’m joking. Ah, about you, not the system.” He turned back to me. “I’d be

willing to check into the foster care availability.” He looked at both of us for some

affirmation, and didn’t get it. “You can live on your own, Belinda, but I’m guessing you

can’t afford it. Why don’t you let me check things out? What can it hurt?”

I nodded, and heard a gasp from Cordelia. “No, I’m not leaving you permanently.

I just want to know, that’s all.” Cord registered my comment with the slightest dip of her

chin.

“Well, may as well get the nasty stuff over with,” he said and looked at me.

I got up and put his plate and mine next to the sink. “I’ll do these as soon as I get


47

back.” Cord didn’t look at me. Outside, Deputy Brickman walked across the frost-crisped

grass and then stood on my house‘s porch.

“Get your clothes, books, and anything else you need while I’m talking to her. I

don’t think you’ll be coming back soon.” I opened the door and the scent of whiskey

almost choked me, and Brick leaned back and took in a deep lungful of outside air, then

nodded to me to progress inside.

“Mom? Where are you?” My, but wasn’t being polite? “Hey, is anybody here?”

The house was silent, and it reminded me of what happened last night. It was silent, too

silent. I was now feeling like some disposed garbage, and I wanted to burn the place to

the ground and cast salt on the earth beneath it.

She came out of the bedroom using all her limbs to navigate. Her arms reached to

the walls kept her from falling down, and her feet, once given the compulsion, couldn’t

stop until she landed in her chair. She looked at Brick with yellow eyes. “What’d you

want?”

“I need to interview you, Mrs. O’Conner, about what happened to here last night.”

“I already told that pig who was here last night. Nothin’ happened.”

Jim motioned for me to go and collect my possessions. “Nothing happened? Then

how do you explain Belinda’s injuries?”

“She’s a lying little bitch, is how. She does this shit for attention.”

“So, are you saying you weren’t at home at the time of the assault?”

“I was here. But there weren’t no assault.”

“Why did she have to run to the neighbors house in torn pajamas?”

“She’s a slut. She don‘t care if she‘s naked or not.”


48

I heard her last comment from up in my room as I tried to fit the pieces of my life

so far into a battered suitcase. I yelled, “You sorry-assed sack of shit!” as loud as I could.

I was trying to squeeze one more pair of torn jeans into the case when I saw the blood

stains. They were splashed all over the floor. I stared at what I’d done. Me. Where had I

found the strength to strike back with no air in my lungs? Hadn’t I felt a strong burning

inside before I hit him with the knife? I seemed to remember I did. I did feel a flame of

some sort, and it saved my life.

I carried my school books in a back pack, and the few clothes I had in my single

suitcase and walked down the stairs. Setting them by the front door, I knelt in front of

what had been my mother at one time. “Why did you betray me?” I didn’t expect an

answer, at least a sensible one. “Why, goddammit? Why?”

“I told you to be nice to him, didn’t I? And now I’m going to lose this house. All

because of you. You’ve always been my burden to bear, and now you want to hurt me

even more? It‘s more than I can bear.” She sounded so sad when she answered me, but

then she gulped and looked that her end table for her whiskey glass. Not finding it at

hand, she glared at me with pure, undisguised hatred. “You’re lucky I don’t put the fire in

you too, bitch. I’d burn you up like I did your goddamn father, curse his goddamn name!”

Before I knew it I’d slapped her so hard the force of it turned her whole body in

the chair. She didn’t move, and I was scared I’d broken her neck. What fucking irony that

would be, she’d have the last laugh, again. Then she turned to face me. “And you’re just

like him!”

“Good!” I shouted, spittle flying. Then I got in her sickening sweet smelling face

and hissed, “You can’t hurt me, or anybody else ever again. You don’t have the fire


49

inside you anymore. You put it out with all your drinking. You don’t have it anymore,” I

screamed at her, “I do!” What the hell was I yelling about all of a sudden? My mouth

made the words, but my conscious mind wasn’t telling it what to say. Where was it

coming from? My burning hate for her? Then I leaned over and whispered right into her

ear, “I’ve got it now. Me. Not you.”

She didn’t look at me, but her frame seemed to collapse in on its self, a burned out

husk even tiny fire demons wouldn’t go slumming in. Until she got to hell, that is.

“Uh, Belinda?” Brick asked softly and took my elbow. I want to get a couple of

photos of your room, if you don’t mind.”

I’d forgotten he was in the house. I pulled my fangs back in and smoothed back

my hackles. “Sure.”

Now he looked frightened. “What the hell was that all about? Yelling that you had

the fire now?”

“Nothing. It didn’t mean nothing. I just wanted to pay her back some.”

He looked away, but I could tell he was still thinking about my outburst. In my

bedroom he looked over the scene with eyes wide in disbelief. Blood had spurted

everywhere. “Craig, I mean the other Deputy, told me about this, but I didn’t believe him.

If Walt went very far he probably bled out and died.”

“That’s a loss,” I spit out.

“No, you did good. Very good. I sorry he had to assault…”

“Rape, Deputy Brickman. Not assaulted. Get it right. Raped.”

He tossed off an apology, “Sorry. Anyway, you did good, Belinda.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered. I’d seen enough blood, my own, and the filthy


50

beast’s too. It was time to leave this mausoleum. I grabbed my set of house and car keys

I’d left behind last night. They were mine, I’d earned ‘em fair and square with all my past

pleading, bargaining, and begging. Besides, I couldn’t see my mother driving very far, so

I figured I was doing the world a favor when I snagged up her set too.

Brick led me out of the house without a goodbye to my mother, with my suitcase

in his one hand and the Department camera in his other. “Hey, when you develop those

could I make a poster of the best one?” Again, I didn’t mean it as a joke. All I wanted to

do was to go back to bed and smother myself under covers.

He laughed and shook his head. “You know, I don’t have a clue about who you

are, other than the Stoner connection, but I like you. Uh, as a person who rises above fear

that is.” My mouth was open. The Stoner connection? “Hey, I’m a cop, Belinda. We

know things about the community that we need to know in order to keep the peace. No

harm on your part, no foul. Okay?” He looked into my eyes. “Besides, he the mayor’s

son, and the mayor is a poker buddy to the whole Sheriff’s office. Can’t let the royalty

get in trouble, can we?”

I knew my face must be green with nausea. The last thing I wanted to think about

now was sex or pot. “He’s headed for the west coast, you know.” I felt like retching.

Brick did see my sickening complexion. “Then you’ll stop seeing him.” It wasn’t

a question.

I nodded, and added, “You really don’t know who I am at all if you think I’m not

afraid.” I was, of just about everything, and everybody besides Deputy Jim Brickman. I

decided it was okay to call him Brick now.

#


51

I found out one other person I wasn’t afraid of anymore. I was frantically digging

into my backpack, thinking I must have left my biology notes in my room when I was

trying to load everything up yesterday. For some reason I panicked, like my whole life

hung on the papers I couldn‘t find. I couldn’t have cared less to be honest, but there was

this sudden weird need to find them, wherever they were. I trotted over to my house and

entered without a key. Inside the stench was overpowering. How much liquor does it take

to foul up a place? How much does it take to foul a person up? Whatever that amount

was, the house stank like some seedy, shit-kicker tavern.

I found my mother on the floor, unconscious, her tumbler having tumbled out of

her hand and rolled across the floor. I checked her breathing, and she still was. I called

9-1-1 hoping they’d get here before it stopped. I heard sirens approaching, and I was

woozy from the fumes, so I went out on the porch, out of the certain death stench. I

inhaled and exhaled like it was any other day, but I knew it wasn‘t, and never would be.

It was truly the beginning of the end for my mom. I didn’t know exactly how I felt about

this. She was going into the hospital to die, but so unlike the way my father went. Her’s

would be too quick, too merciful as far as I was concerned. That was when I remembered

I wasn’t afraid of her anymore. I remembered shouting at her last evening that she didn’t

have her power anymore, that I had it now. I still didn’t know what I meant by that

declaration, but I’d seen the light go out in her eyes then. She was already dead, and only

waiting for her alcohol saturated flesh to slip into the last dark corner.

A black cruiser pulled up in front and Brick got out. I could tell he wanted to hold

me and comfort, but he was on duty, and too close to this situation to risk rumor. Besides,

I didn’t want him too. He’d be doing it for him, not me, and my dying mother had built a


52

life on that program. “Your mother?” I nodded. “The ambulance is almost here.” Indeed,

I heard the siren ringing off of the houses on my block. “Why don’t you stay out here and

give me a statement while they attend to her?” I nodded again. He felt my hand. “God,

you’re near frozen. Why don’t we take this next door?” I nodded, and led him off the

porch and across the frosted grass. I didn’t feel cold at all, and with some good luck,

maybe never again.

Cordelia rushed to get a blanket for me as soon as I came through the door. She

wrapped it around my shoulders and helped me to a chair like I was the one the EMT’s

should be attending to. Finally I insisted, “Enough already!” I saw the hurt in her eyes,

but I couldn’t help my outburst. I felt something once agitated was now kicking around

inside me.

“Tell me what happened,” Brick said, and I did. It took all of a minute and a half.

“But unfortunately, I didn’t think to look for my class notes.” That was all that

mattered to me now, not family, not friends, just the next step to take. The right step. I

didn’t, couldn’t, know what it was.

He looked shocked. He couldn‘t know either. “Can’t you get them from a friend?”

“Do I have any friends now?” I didn’t know who they’d be.

Cordelia couldn’t contain her care any longer. “Of course you can dear. Give

them a call.” I shrugged, because I didn’t know if I wanted to.

Brick snapped his fingers in my face. “Belinda? Hey, Belinda!”

“What?” I replied while blinking my eyes.

“Do you want to go to the hospital? I’ll take you.”

I shook my head. I didn’t know what I’d have to gain by going. “Maybe


53

tomorrow.”

“Okay. Well, I have my statement to type up, so I better get going. Call me if you

want to?”

I looked up from the floor. He seemed so tall from this point, so solid. “Yeah,” I

replied. I didn’t know why I’d do such a thing.

“Are going back to school tomorrow?” That I just plain didn’t know. “You

should, you know. Getting back into your routine will heal faster than hiding inside

yourself.” He looked meaningfully towards Cord. She nodded in return. “Good night,

Belinda.”

I looked up at him again. “Thanks, Brick. I really do mean it.” He looked into my

eyes for a few seconds. “I know you do,” he said as he touched the doorknob.

#

I called two of my girlfriends to ask for their notes. Both of them were occupied

doing something else and couldn’t break away to find them. I called Sandy. She hung up

as soon as I said hello. I sat with the phone on my lap and shook my head. I was now

down in the muck and sewage where their sisterly sadism lived. I was the one raped. Not

to them. They’d say I was somehow asking for what happened to me. After all, I’d

already had a sexual relationship with Stoner. They didn’t know it had already ended.

What more did they need to prove I was some sort of common tramp? I bet their parents

had talked to them before I was even out of the emergency room.

How had it spread so fast? Small community, somebody close to one of the

sheriffs, a few phone calls burning up the ether, slack jaws called into chewing juicy

gossip. Without even knowing it, I’d had my fifteen minutes of fame. I was now a tramp,


54

a whore, and not a victim of circumstances. I started to cry. Seventeen, and my

sorry-assed life was already over.

The phone rang. I stared at it like it was a poisonous viper with a harsh voice. I

answered. “Belinda!” It was Kim. “Oh, my God! Are you alright? Sandy called and said

you called her and…”

“If you’re going to tell me I’m a tramp, you can hang up now.”

“Oh no, no, no. I didn’t where to get a hold of you before. Are you okay?”

The taste of her friends’ sewage was still strong in my mouth. “I’ve got stitches in

my ass, and my chest is like a roadmap. I’m sick, and angry, and all my so-called friends

hate me. How do you think I feel?”

“Not all your friends. Can I visit you?”

Investigation, or attraction? I really liked Kim, although maybe not yet the way

she might want me to. “Do you have the biology notes from last week?”

“Yeah.”

“Bring them with you.” I told her where Dick and Cord’s house was, but not that

mine was next door. That, she didn’t need to see.

#

Kim arrived and comforted me with her honest concern more than she could

know. I didn’t feel like hiding in bed from her, and that was welcome enough. We talked,

not about the assault, but about my thoughts and feelings for the future. Did I look

forward to returning to school? “God, no, but I’ve been told that getting back into a

routine is the best medicine.”

“What about the girls? You know how they are.”


55

I was copying her pages of precise notes when she said that. Did I? How about,

did she? “How they are?”

She stared into my eyes until I blinked. “You know. You talked to them.” Her

eyes were sending more of the story than her words were. I studied her girlish face. “So

fuck ‘em.” Then I cared what they might say about her. Maybe, after all she was sitting

here instead of anyplace else. “The question is, how are they with you?”

She nodded. I apparently asked the right question. “You know about me…”

“Doesn’t matter to me, Kim. I think you’re more real and interesting than any of

them.”

“Does matter to them, though. As long as they have a deviant in their group to

look down on they feel better about themselves. If fact, they all knew about me before I

did, but I didn‘t understand the signals they were putting out.”

I thought about her confusion and estrangement. Was I worse off than she was?

“Signals? So I was a deviant too.”

“Yeah. I have a confession to make. When you joined us I felt relieved. I wasn’t

at the bottom of the barrel anymore.”

Jesus Christ, what a social order. “Well, at least that’s over.”

“What are you going to do?”

“About?”

“Everything. Are you going to disappear into depression? I mean, will I still be

your friend?”

I shook my head to loosen the kinks. She‘d put an honest name to what I was

feeling. Depression. “Do you want to be?”


56

“I don’t do very well all on my own, and I’d rather have your friendship than

theirs. We could be rejects together.”

I was warmed by her honesty again. I figured it was time to offer some honesty of

my own. “I don’t…”

“Yeah, I know. I wish.” She giggled.

“Love takes many forms.”

“Okay, so you know and don‘t worry about it, I’d love you as a friend. If you can

return it.”

I took her hand on top of the dining room table. “I’d love to. Especially because

you take such excellent notes.” She laughed, and it was fine. Very fine. I had to tell her,

“Listen, I’m frightened by most things now, and about everyone. What am I going to do

when I go back to school?”

She did the staring into my eyes thing again, and I felt like shivering. “Belinda,

you have a new power in you. Remember? Power? I don’t know where it came from, I’m

guessing not from the attack, but I can see it inside you. It wasn’t there before. I doubt

you have much to be frightened at in school.”

Nice speech, particularly the spooky, mystical part her seeing inside me. But then,

she was the girl who told me that Chinese numerology declared power was to be my

“life-issue”.

How do I tell her that Walter is still out there, somewhere. I’ll never feel safe as

long as he is in my thoughts. We finished up with the classroom notes and the

heart-to-heart and she drove away in her parents’ car. I didn’t know what to do with this

friendship thing, but I’d try to figure it out as I went along. At least I’d go along for as


57

long as I could.

#

Chapter Five-

I didn’t want to deal with the house after my mother died. Then I had to, never

mind being sick with depression. I couldn’t pay the mortgage payment, and I’d heard her

say a hundred times or more that she could lose it without da’s disability or Walt’s slimy

wages of sin. Now, here I was with the piece of shit place to do something with.

“Here, Belinda,” Dick called to me and then handed over an address book. “This

guy is a realtor. Even more important, he’s honest, or at least he was when we used to

hang out at the VFW together.” The guy’s name was William Lestrange. Strange name.

“Go on, give him a call.”

I did. “This is Bill,” he answered, “How can I help you find your dream home

today?” He sounded like a sleazy shyster, and with a name of, “Lestrange”, how normal

could he be? Anyway, I explained my situation, and my connection to Dick and Cord. He

asked a few questions about my situation, then set a time when we’d meet. Lastly, he

asked to speak to Dick privately. I handed over the phone and went to my bedroom to

sleep some more.

When he showed up at our door he was cheery, downright exuberant when he

shook my hand. He said he’d talk to me in a while, but first we had to get past the reunion

part. It was a happy occasion, a meeting of war buddies and the time lag between them. I

was touched. I’d never known men who could be so totally themselves, and not care what

anybody thought of them. They’d paid their dues, and paid some others’ dues too.

Then we went to my house. I let Bill in and stood back. “You’re not going to get


58

much for this place,” he told me as he took his first look around. “And you’re going to

get a helleva lot less in its current condition. God, what distillery branched out here?” We

walked through each room, with him critiquing each, my hopes shattering more with each

step. Then he looked me square in the eye. “I know you’ve been through a lot.” He

opened a kitchen cabinet door. There was a mess inside. “I know a cleaning crew who

would work for you with the understanding you’d pay them when the house sold.”

“Yes?”

“You’re going to have a monster yard sale.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. My wife can help you sort stuff out. Plan on the weekend after next, and

advertise. Advertise in every paper and classified ad flyer. Hang up fliers on every

telephone pole, all over town. Get it out on the street as much as you can, because you

want this,” waving his arm all around to encompass the whole house, “to be done. Get

this carpet,” he instructed, and pointed to the living room, “ripped up as soon as possible.

The cleaners might be able to get rid of the smell before they lay down the new stuff.”

“New stuff?”

“Carpet. Spend a hundred dollars and get a thousand in return.” I nodded. “I’m

going to do everything I possibly can to help you, but you’ll have to sell it for more than

is owed on it or you’re dead. You understand? Dead?”

“Okay, I can do that. Uh, I think.”

“And for God’s sake, keep your grades up. Cordelia would string me up if she

thought I was overloading you. Right?”

I laughed. The thought of Cord hurting anybody was a hoot.


59

“Oh, so you think not? Let me tell you, Dick was a hard man to handle back in his

day. He was angry that his importance got lost the minute he stepped back on our shores.

It was very hard for him, for a long time.”

“The war?”

“The Korean war. A nasty business long before Vietnam. Some guys couldn’t get

past the action. Dick was one of those, he’d been a Medic, and seen more than his share

of tragedy. Anyway, one day he runs into me, all cool and smiling and all. I had to ask

why. “I was just given an ultimatum.”

“Oh yeah?” I prompted.

“‘Cordelia said she’d hang me up by my balls,’ pardon my French, if he didn’t get

to a real life. Never seen him so happy, and he’s been that ever since. The thing was, he

must have missed being told what to do, and when to do it, by a superior officer. Funny,

Huh?”

I revised my opinion of Cordelia. “And well you should,” Bill agreed as if he read

my thought. “I’ll give you the numbers you’ll need, and round up as many friends as you

can to help. And talk to the lending bank. Now. We have to know what we need to get

out of this dump. Ah, house. Your house.”

I already knew it was a dump. I gulped. “Uh, I don’t have any friends.”

He looked me over very carefully. “Not since the attack, huh? Great, just great.

Goddamn teenage girls. Uh, with present company exempted, of course. Well, I’ll see

what I can do.”

Suddenly I had a thought. “How much…”

“Oh, I won’t take it all, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He winked, actually


60

winked. “I think you’ll find my fee most reasonable. Dick would’ve never given you my

number if it were otherwise.”

We stepped out on the porch and into fresh air. He held out his hand. “I like you,

Belinda. You’ve had a rough road to travel recently. You’ll be fine now, I promise.”

I wanted to bite his hand off. “How can you make such…”

“Because I see the fire inside you, that’s how. I’m not saying it’s going to be a

whole lot better for a while, I’m saying you’ll rise above all adversaries. That’s what

matters.” Then he walked to his car, climbed in, and drove away. I felt my newfound

confidence in him wrap around me when he left.

#

By the next morning any fleeting confidence had flown away. Cordelia came into

the bedroom. “C’mon honey, time to get up for school.” I’d been dreaming about a

side-show style parabolic mirror focused only on suffering, and I growled at her like an

animal. Then she pulled the covers off. I started to scream at her, but heard Dick’s voice.

“Cordelia has never shown you anything but love, so if she tells you it’s time to get ready

for school, you do it.”

“Oh, you mean Sergeant Cordelia.”

He gave me a funny, kind of disturbed look. “Get up kid.” End of argument.

I got up. When I peed I noticed the stitches in my vitals had dissolved like they

were supposed to. Yea. I took an unenthusiastic shower, without shampooing, and threw

on what I found in my unpacked suitcase. In the mirror I looked like myself. Yea,

wouldn’t Rose and Jack be proud of my appearance now? I carried my book bag down to

the kitchen, dumped it on the table, and poured myself some coffee.


61

“You’ll be okay today,” Cord said softly.

“Yeah, everybody’s saying that recently.”

She looked puzzled, like she didn’t know if to be hurt or more supportive. “What

do you want for breakfast?”

“This,” I pointed at my coffee mug.

“You need something on your stomach…”

“I don’t think I can stomach school, let alone anything I might throw up later.”

My, wasn’t I the vicious little monster?

“Do you want me to…”

I held the keys to my mother’s piece of shit car. “No, I’m going to drive.”

Cordelia clasped her hands in front of her. I couldn’t blame her if she didn’t know me

anymore. I finished my coffee and went out the door without saying goodbye.

The car started. I put it into reverse and backed out into the street, and it didn’t die

on me. I was surprised. I drove carefully to the school and parked in the student lot where

all the better-to-do kids parked. I’d ridden the bus until now, while my old friends always

arrived in Sandy’s mother’s Chrysler Town and Country, a can full of girlish viciousness.

Then I sat behind the wheel and pushed the sickness back down into my body, where no

one could see it. Swinging my backpack out of the car, I walked slowly, and shakily, to

the doors of what could be the first new worse day of my life, and walked in just like I

belonged there. The world was too large, I was too fragile. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

#

I knew everybody stared at me. Some glared with spite, some followed me with

curiosity, and compassion. Some of them knew I was there but ignored me like I wasn’t.


62

Like my old friends. I didn’t see anything but their backs all day.

Kim said hello to me once, then stayed silent as ashes. I liked her more and more.

Then there were the boys. This wasn’t good, clean, fun like Stoner, this was a

rape. That alone made me a victim to their jokes and snide remarks. Oh, nothing I’d want

to stab them over, nothing outright, but those comments floated around the air inside the

school. Never a social animal, I withstood the shit and went about my business, even

though I wished I were back in bed. It was a shit day all around.

Then I got home, and decided a nice nap until tomorrow would be good, so I went

right to my bedroom. They let me sleep until six o’clock, and supper.

They never asked, but passed the potatoes when I reached for them. I ate mostly

what I didn’t swirl around my plate, without recrimination. Maybe because it was Friday,

maybe because I’d lived up to their expectations. When I rose to put my plate in the sink

Dick told me, “Oh, I almost forgot, Belinda, a lawyer phoned today. He said to tell you to

call him tomorrow. I’ve got his number…”

“A lawyer? What the hell for?” Okay, I caught some recrimination then. “What

have I done wrong now?” I set down my dinnerware and climbed to bed. I didn’t change

first, just took off my shoes and slid between fresh sheets. Cord must have put them on

today while I was gone. Fresh sheets twice in less than a week. When I lived with my

mother washing the sheets was up to my discretion, and I went for weeks without

changing them. I only had two sets anyway. People have different priorities, and mine

had always been a lot lower that others’. Of course, mine mostly concerned survival.

Sheets? Somewhere below that.

#


63

I held Dick’s handwritten note in front of my face while I drank a third mug of

coffee. I needed the courageous caffeine buzz to call this out-of-the-blue lawyer, and I

tried to think really hard what I might have done wrong to somebody. Offended some

shit-head for just existing? I had a bad feeling about this.

I called the number on the paper. An older male voice with an unmistakable

accent answered, so I told him who I was. “Great! Great! I’ve had a hard time finding

you, girl. I even called the Sheriff’s office to get your number.”

Great, the Sheriff Department knows everything. “Who are you, and what do you

want with me?” Here it comes, bad news.

“My name’s Stephen McAllister, and it’s rather what you want from me.”

“What?”

“You don’t know it, but I’m contacting you because of your father’s will.”

“What? What will? He died a long time ago.”

“Not so long ago, to be sure, but the contents of his last will and testament could

not be disclosed until your mother died.” Alright, this guy was one of my father’s

drinking buddies, and he was having a helleva laugh at my expense.

“I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t funny. If you call again I’m going to call

the same Sheriff’s office you like so much.” The phone was on its way to the cradle when

I heard him yell, “Firedrake!” I stopped my hand. “What did you say?”

“Firedrake. He told me to say it to you to make you believe I was sincere. I assure

you I’m totally sincere. Your mother put it in him, didn’t she?” The coffee had made my

mouth too dry to reply. “Belinda, I was your father’s attorney. Honest.”

Rubbing my tongue around inside my mouth, I croaked, “Why now?”


64

“He didn’t want your money to be discovered by your mother. He saved it for

you.” I couldn’t comprehend. “Listen, can you come to my office today? I think it’s vital

for you to know what’s yours'.”

“Where’s your office?” He told me it was about ten miles away, and we set a time

to meet. I had time to take a real shower before I left.

#

He was even more the Irish gentleman in person, even to offering me some of his

Bushmill’s Black whiskey. The desk, books, and filing cabinets had decades of thick pipe

smoke on them, and the air smelled of peat. I passed on the whiskey, and crossed my

legs.

He picked up a pipe and began to load with black tobacco. “Oh, I’m sorry, that

was thoughtless.” He held up the tobacco and asked, “Do you mind?” I shook my head.

After all, it was his own office. He finished packing the pipe, picked up a lighter and

exhaled a thick blue cloud of smoke. It was where the office got its peat moss smell from.

“Well, let me get right to the matter at hand. Your father left you an amount of money

equal to about $150,000, mostly in high yield bonds and certificates of savings.”

I was stunned speechless. He looked at me to see if I heard him. I nodded. “He

wanted you to have whatever you wanted in life. As he said to me one night in a bar, ‘It’s

bad enough she’s got the mother she does. I really fucked up there.’ Excuse my

language.”

Then he laughed with the ease and strength of somebody who really knows how

to enjoy a good joke. It was a grand laugh, and I felt better for hearing it. “Now, for the

good part.” Could it get better? “The house you live in.”


65

“Lived in. I’m selling it. I can’t afford it.”

He laughed again, and the joyful noise echoed around the walls. “That’s his little

surprise for you. The house was paid off long ago.”

“But my mother was always worried about missing a payment.”

“His, and her’s, payments went right into a savings account for you. Very funny,

isn’t it?”

“But the bank…”

“The bank was in on it. They loved putting all that money into one of his savings

accounts instead of seeing it fly away. If you’re selling it, that’ll be that much more in

your pocket. Can you see why he didn’t want you to know about this while your mother

lived?”

I nodded. “But how could he know when…”

“She’d die? He wasn’t a stupid man, Belinda. A little too prone to poetry and

destruction maybe, but not stupid.”

“If he wasn’t stupid, why did he marry her?”

“He understood her as if she were Irish. But that appetite for violence is not

strictly ours’ alone. Other, more vicious races know it too. Your da’ didn’t know the

difference, unfortunately, for both of you.”

“So, what do I do with all this money now?”

“That’s up to you after you sign some documents for me.”

“Is it cash?”

“No, something better. Nobody can take it away from you. The bank manager will

be more than happy to explain all of this to you.”


66

I was already thinking about how, and where, I’d live. “So I can’t touch any of

it?”

“I didn’t say that. Let’s consider a hypothetical situation. Leave the bonds and

certificates where they are. Only use the savings account sparingly, collecting interest for

the future, your future. Sell the house, and take only what you need for now. Let the dust

settle down. There’s no hurry to spend this small fortune, is there?” I shook my head no,

and really meant it. This was mine, all mine, and only mine. “Well, good then. Come,

sign these papers, and walk away a woman with broader possibilities.” When I was done

he handed me an envelope with the “mortgage” savings bankbook and the deed to my

house in it. It was no more than a feather weight in my pocket.

#

Chapter Six-

The whole way home I felt a burden on my shoulders. What the hell was I going

to do now? I had his money, but I didn’t have my da’. It wasn’t a fair trade, at all. I sunk

lower and lower into the car’s busted down driver’s seat until I was peering down the

road through the steering wheel. At home I parked the car on the street and crawled out of

the crappy thing. I had just enough strength to get inside the house, hang up my coat, and

head directly to bed for the day.

“So what was your meeting about?” asked Cord. She was at the counter making

cheese biscuits, one of my favorite things. I tossed the yellow envelope on the table. She

glanced at it, and me. I climbed the almost too steep stairs and threw myself under the

blankets. This day couldn’t end soon enough for me.

#


67

Kim called around five to ask if I wanted to come over for the night. I took the

call because it sounded like it could be an amusing distraction from thinking about my

da’s blood money. Kim wouldn’t care if I had it or not, she only wanted companionship,

and had chosen me as that companion.

I ate dinner with Dick and Cord, eating six of her incredibly fluffy biscuits.

Neither of them mentioned the contents of the envelope, even though It had been opened

and moved out of supper’s way. I ate in silence, and they respected my quietness. There

were moments when I wanted to stay with them all through school, but I knew, and now I

think they did too, when I was going to go find my own life. I’m guessing it hit Cordelia

hard, as she would worry about me, and my solo life, until I was thirty. It was sweet, but

it was also the reason I had to leave. Love could only stand so much pulling and tugging.

After I put the dishes into the washer I left without saying a word. Not to offend or

punish, but because it felt right to keep my peace. Decisions would have to be made soon,

but not tonight.

#

Kim was kind of like a puppy when I got there. She bounced around and giggled

and had a great time all on her own. We spent most of the night talking, and I decided to

tell her about the rape.

“I never knew he was coming. I should have, I should of protected myself better.

He pinned me down and tore my pajama bottoms off, and all I heard was that ripping

sound tearing part of me away. And all I could do was to keep breathing into the

mattress.”

“Does it hurt to talk about it?” she asked.


68

“Yeah, in a way. Talking about it makes it real, when all I want to do is forget it

in the secret code of normalcy, like, ‘Oh yes, I fought back, and it never really happened’.

But that’s pure bullshit, and the longer you hide inside the bullshit the more lost you get.”

I felt a tear on my cheek and wiped it away with my hand.

“Are you afraid of the future?”

“You know, I‘m not sure. I’m so afraid of everything else right now I can’t tell

where it starts or stops.”

“That’s how I was. All of a sudden I thought everybody knew about me, and they

probably did, thanks to our mutual friends. I felt out-numbered, cast out. I thought my life

as I knew it was probably over.”

“Was it?”

“That’s the funny thing. It was over, but I landed in a much better one. One I

could decide about.” She looked away. “And here I am, with a better friend than I’ve ever

had. I think it’s just the transition period that’s painful.”

“Then I hope I’m done transitioning.”

Kim laughed, the grew serious. “Ah, about that, you have some big changes ahead

of you.”

What was she saying? It sounded like her numerology stuff. “What do you

mean?”

She tried to shrug my question off, but I pinched her arm. “Owe! You didn’t have

to…”

“Tell me! What are you saying?”

She did the looking deeply into my eyes trick again. “When I look inside you I


69

see another creature trying to get out. It is your guardian spirit, and it will protect you if

you let it.”

I shook my head back and forth rapidly. “Now your sounding like my father and

his talk of fire-dragons inside him.”

“How do you know it’s not true?” She put one finger on my cheek. “It’s there, if

you only recognize it as part of yourself.”

Her fingertip felt like electricity and cold water mixed together. I wanted her to

pull it away, but while it was there I could feel a heat building up in my belly. Was this

love? Sex? Or was it a guardian warning me away from her touch? How the hell would I

know?

“It’s your guardian, Belinda.”

If I was a freak, what was Kim? “How do you know this stuff you’re telling me?

Do you make it all up?”

“It doesn’t matter what I say, it matters what you feel inside. I’m only letting you

know in what way you’re special.” She removed her finger. “Wanna watch a movie?”

#

I slept in all morning at her house. It was wonderful to sleep in the same room as

somebody I didn’t have to fear. I got up when I heard noises from the kitchen, and found

Kim and her mom were there. Kim smiled when she turned to me. “Coffee?”

“Always.” I sat down at their table and sipped. They were having a friendly

mother-daughter conversation. I studied them like they were something under a

microscope. They were beautiful together, spitting images separated by a time that treated

her mother well. Finally, I felt the need to discuss my inheritance. I began very casually


70

and built up to the disclosure of funds. Kim sat down. Her mother sat down.

Kim said, “God, that’s great, Belinda. You can live like you want to now.”

Her mother countered, “College. You can afford to go to college.”

Uh, I didn’t think so. “Well, I’m real uncertain about that right now.”

I moved on to my house problem, ah, situation. “I’d be glad to help clean up,”

Kim replied.

“Ah, I’ve hired a cleaning crew.” No way did I want her anywhere around the

house in the state it was in.

“Alright, I’ll make up the fliers and post them! Okay?” Her mother laughed. “No,

really, I mean it.” Her mother laughed again. “Sweetie? You know you have a hard time

finishing anything. Belinda needs to have those papers posted this week. Are you sure

you can do it?”

“I can for her. It’s not my fault, mom. It was those other girls, they made me feel

like dirt.”

I broke in fast. “I’d be grateful if you did that for me, Kim.” There then, one job I

didn’t want to do was just allocated away.

#

Kim did hang the fliers, and the monster yard sale brought in a little money. I

gave her half for helping, for being such a good friend. The house sold cheap at $55,000,

which I didn’t mind at all. I paid off the cleaning crew, the carpet installers, William

Lestrange, and gave Dick and Cordelia five thousand dollars.

“You can’t do this honey,” Cord told me when I put the check in her hand.

“You’re going to need this when you go to college.”


71

Again, the college thing. “Uh, about that. I’m not going.”

“For God’s sake why not? How do you plan to…”

“Look, I’m a mediocre student, at best. I think my calling lies elsewhere.” She got

that old hurt look around her eyes. “Really, I have a good feeling about this decision.

Please, keep the money. Think of it as decades of babysitting payments.”

She stuck the check inside a cupboard and dusted off her hands like she’d been

touching something dirty. Something dirty that came from me. I wanted to throw up, it

hurt that much.

So many changes had taken place recently that I stopped to think what I’d

become. Good? Bad? What was I? Who even cared?

It was later, when I huddled down into my covers that an image came before my

eyes, an image that described me perfectly.

Like Kim had said about herself, I was dirt. I was turned over earth, full of grubs,

worms, and little artillery pill bugs inside. But I was also warm and fertile, a pungent bed

for growing something useful in. Like flowers, maybe. Or maybe thorn bushes.

#

part two- buried alive

#

Chapter Seven-

I rented a small apartment, had a landline phone installed the day I signed the

lease, and bought a few pieces of furniture for it. Nothing fancy, just a place to be me.

Cordelia wasn’t even hurt. I invited Dick and her, and Kim, to come over and see the

place once I put away my few possessions and hung new towels in the bath. My


72

full-sized bed was basic, as were the simple cotton sheets, and my dining table had

placemats for four on it.

It wasn’t enough that Cordelia bought me flatware, a cooking pan set, and a set of

Correll dinnerware too; she instantly began to think of ways to make it “more homey”. I

didn’t have the heart to tell her I liked it the way it was. However, I could see colorful

potholders coming over the horizon. I hoped they wouldn’t clash with the packages from

the ramen noodles I usually ate at home.

Kim brought salt, a loaf of fresh bread, and a sage smudge stick. She also brought

me a huge armload of flowers and vases to put them in. She placed the salt in a dish and

sat it by the door. She gave us all a bite of bread to eat. “I wanted to cover your Irish

traditions.” Then she walked around the whole place with her smoldering sage. “I also

want to put a protectorate around the place, and drive any spirits away.” That was Kim,

all spooky, serious, and goofy at the same time. The sage stick still stunk, however.

I ordered pizza. Cord, Dick, and Kim sat at the table. I leaned against the wall and

let sauce run down my fingers before I’d lick it off. It was disgusting, slippery and slimy,

and I loved it for the first meal served in my place.

After they all left I sat down and thought about stuff, stuff I hadn’t had a chance

to think about before. I wanted a better doorstopper chain, and maybe new locks too. If I

didn’t tell the manager, he couldn‘t hand over my keys to any service man asking for

admittance . I wanted to put dowels in all the sliding windows.

I didn’t want a television though. I had no room in my new life for complacency.

There were two things I really wanted. I wanted music around me all the time. I wanted

to remember Merrill Ashe and his jazz amidst the trees, in the soft night. I didn’t have my


73

mother anymore, or Cordelia for that matter, to complain about when, or how loud, I

played it. I wanted a lot of discs, and a stereo to play them on. I thought about an I-Pod,

but realized it would prevent me hearing what was around me when I was outside. I did

buy one, however, and gave it to Kim for Christmas. I also wanted a cell phone with

9-1-1 first on speed dial.

That evening I spent three thousand dollars at Best Buy, and put the whole thing

together by myself. I sat on my sofa, remote in hand, and played John Coltrane’s version

of, “My Favorite Things”, first. I hoped Merrill was listening to the same song as I was, it

would bring a small circle back around to itself and free the world of a little misery.

Then I pulled out my homework and started on it. Weird. I was now independent,

no longer broke, but I was still looking at school next year. I played music as I sat at the

table, and felt a little bit alone.

#

A couple of days later Jim Brickman stopped by. The Sheriff’s Department knows

everything, and apparently I was the current topic of discussion. He wasn’t in uniform,

and he was carrying a small bouquet of yellow roses. “Hi, can I come in?” he asked.

“Sure, make yourself at home.” He looked around at the bare white walls, the

spartan furniture, and me. I said, “Not much to look at, but it’s mine.”

“So, that attorney found you?” Was there anything he didn’t know about my life?

“Yeah, he did. I guess I should thank you for that.”

“No need to.” He held out the flowers. “Can I put these in water?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. My friend brought me some vases, if I can find one that’s

empty.” I didn’t, so I added the roses to an already full container.


74

“Kim?”

“What did you say?”

“Was it Kim who brought you the flowers?”

What business was it of his? I didn’t answer.

“Well, I just wanted to stop by and say howdy.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at the floor, started to stammer, then looked at me and asked,

“Would you like to grab a burger one night this week? I mean, it can’t be much fun

eating alone all the time.”

What the hell? Was this supposed to be a date? “Ah, I guess it’d be okay.” He

beamed back a smile to me. “Are you, like, asking me for a date or something?”

The high beam dimmed. “Call it something. You don’t have an excess of friends,

but I’m offering, if you’d like. Friends.”

My radar was now humming at full power. My last encounter with a man had

kinda thrown them off my emotional menu. “Yeah, we can grab a burger,” I conceded.

“Good. How about on Thursday? I’m off.”

My social calendar didn’t even exist. “Okay, fine. I’ll be here.”

The smile returned. “See you then.” He walked away with a kind of swagger I’d

not seen before. What was I thinking of? What was he thinking of? Probably not the same

thing.

#

Kim made me promise to call her after the burger thing.

He was a perfect gentleman the whole time. He took me to a real sit-down


75

restaurant, with waitresses and all. They specialized in a half-pound patty of ground

round, with bacon and real cheddar cheese on top. Plus a pile of other garbage to put on it

if you were a masochist. “Do you eat here often?”

“God no. Craig does though. You remember Craig?”

The other Deputy from the night of my rape. Yeah, he was pounds over rapid

pursuit speed. I opted for the plain burger. They arrived at our table with a perfectly

cooked mountain of golden steak-fries. Jim drank a beer, and I had iced tea with lemon.

There wasn’t any room for conversation around the sandwiches we stuffed in our mouths,

but after I conceded defeat and put down half of my burger, I had a few questions I

wanted to ask.

“Ah, Jim…”

“Brick. Please call me Brick. My friends do.”

“Ah, uh, okay, Brick. Can I ask you some questions.”

He got a serious look on his face. “Shoot.”

Good. That was what I was thinking of too. “I want to make my apartment safer.

Any suggestions?”

He made the suggestions I’d already thought of. “Oh, there’s also an alarm system

you don’t have to install in the wall. It mounts to the door itself.”

“Sounds good. Could you help me?” I wanted to hook him fast. What good was it

to have a Deputy for a friend if you couldn’t ask him about the slightly unlawful.

“I’d love to, thanks for asking.”

“Uh, there’s one more thing.”

“Yeah?”


76

“Can you help me get a gun?”

“What?”

“A gun.”

He started shaking his head. “No way, you’re not even of legal age yet. Listen, I

don’t know what you’re expecting, but a gun is a drastic measure.”

“Walter. He’s still out there, somewhere. I bet the son-of-a-bitch won’t forgive

and forget.”

“That’s what we’re here for, Belinda. We carry guns.”

“Yeah, and how soon could you be at my place if the bastard broke down my

door?” He looked thoughtful, took a good pull on his beer, then looked in my eyes.

“Do you like to hunt?”

“What?”

“Hunt. You know; deer, rabbits, and the like.”

“I’ve never, and I’d never. It’s barbaric.”

“You can buy a shotgun, and a hunting license, at about two dozen places in this

area. Hunting’s one of our big local attractions.”

“I don’t know how to shoot a shotgun. I was thinking of something more point

and shoot friendly.”

“Not going to happen. But I’ll help pick out a shotgun that fits you. Then we’ll go

to the shooting range and I’ll teach you how to be deadly with it.”

“That’s the best you can do?”

He laughed so loud the other patrons all swivel-necked to look at us. “Yeah.”

“Okay. I’d appreciate it.” I looked at my watch. It was still early. “Can we go? I


77

need to get some sleep.”

He nodded. “Still hiding in the covers?”

Why did he have to let me know that he knew everything about me. It was

beginning to piss me off. “Yeah, at least there’s no boogie men in my bed. Just me.”

He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and stood up. He

didn’t offer to take my arm on the way out either, but he did open my door for me.

As he returned me to my place he made a clearing noise in his throat. I thought,

here we go, he’s going to ask me if he can come up. “Ah, I know you’re very sensitive

about this,” goddamn, I was right, and very disappointed in him, “But I can install a new

lock and the alarm while I’m off duty. That means while you’re in school.”

“Did I hear you right? You want into my place while I’m away?”

“It’s the quickest way. I can have it done tomorrow.” I wanted to shudder. The

thought of a man going through my personal items made me nauseous enough to roll the

monster burger around in my stomach like a meat washing machine. “Okay, I’m sorry. It

can wait.”

The thing was, I didn’t think it could wait. Every minute of anxiety I felt was a

march step to madness. “Okay, you can do it. I’ll get you my spare key. But there’s one

thing you must promise me.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go through my personal stuff. You’ll promise?”

He smiled. “I promise.” The smile got bigger, “Thank you for trusting me, I know

it must be hard for you.”

When he dropped me off I unlocked my door, pulled the apartment key off my


78

ring and handed it over to him. “Oh, shit. How am I gonna get in after you change the

lock?”

“I’ll meet you in the student parking lot. You’ll know me, I’ll be the one in the

patrol car.” He flexed his brightest smile on me. “Hey, I had a good time tonight.”

I fixed an eye on his mouth, and replied, “I’m jail bait, Brick.”

The teeth never retracted into a hurt look, and his mouth flowed into a more

friendly grin. “Not forever.”

I stood there, reflecting on his statement while he drove away. Was it a good

thing? I shrugged, I had time to think it over.

#

I called Kim, as promised. Her first question was, “Is he hitting on you?”

“Not outright, but remember, he saw my boobs in the hospital. What man can

resist?”

“Or woman.”

“Yeah, sorry. Or woman.”

“Are you going to buy a shotgun?”

Maybe. “I think maybe I should. That evil fucker’s still out there, wherever out

there is. I’m scared.”

“Yet you are so strong, so determined. I’d rather think Walt’s afraid of you. You

cut him last time.”

“So the next time he’ll make sure I don’t have a knife in my hand. I can’t live in

fear forever. I think a gun is the right answer.”

She laughed. “Don’t ever get mad at me, okay?” She got quiet for a moment. “Did


79

you takes notes in history class?”

“I always do, but they’re crappy. You need to copy them?”

“Can you come over after school tomorrow?”

“After I get my new keys from Brick. I can even give you a ride, if you don’t

mind being seen in the booze-mobile.”

“I don’t mind, but you need to know something.”

“What? I can’t stand anymore high school drama.”

“People are calling you ‘dyke’ behind your back. It’s from being around me.”

Of course it was, what else could it be? “Fuck ‘em.”

“You’re sure?”

“Okay, what else is going on?”

“I could arrange to not be seen with you.”

Stupid, stupid girl. “As if. You’re my friend, and I don’t want you hurt. If they’re

bothering you, you tell me. I’ll teach them all some manners.” Where was all this

high-toned bluster coming from? The thing was, I meant it, every word of it.

“If you’re sure.”

Yeah, yeah. “Name one person. I’m guessing it’s one of our old friends.”

“Well, Sandy does run her mouth. It could be her who started it.”

I felt my fiery muscles flexing already. “Fine, I’ll deal with her tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to hurt her, are you?”

“Nothing more than her feelings, like she did yours. Okay?” No response. “Hey

Kim, say goodnight. I’ve got to get to bed.”

“Goodnight, Belinda. See you tomorrow.”


80

I hung up, changed into pajamas while facing the door, And turned off the

overhead light. Still, the little nightlight that lit up the whole apartment was a reassuring

glow.

#

English Literature, Composition, Biology, Civics, and History made up my day. I

was a bored, C to C- student, taking too much time to think of other things not in the

course curriculum. I believed Kim was right, that it was Sandy putting her mouth on me.

Of the social club I always disliked her the most. She needled Kim a little too much, a

little too harsh. It didn’t mean anything then, but it sure as hell did now. I planned on

giving her every opportunity to bad-mouth me today. Just what I was going to do then I

had no idea, but I was sure something would come to me.

It happened after lunch. I walked down the hallway a little too close to the wall

when she had her head in a locker. I banged it, and she pulled her head out, rubbing her

left temple. “Fuckin’ dyke! Why don’t you go collect your little piece and get out of this

school? Nobody wants you here slut!”

I wanted to stop and crack my knuckles, my hands felt so powerful. I took a touch

of fire from one hand and shoved it into her mouth. It happened so fast nobody saw it.

She staggered back, a look of horror on her face as she tried to say something to me. I

didn’t care to hear anything she had to say, so I turned around and walked away. She fell

to the floor, and that’s how she was discovered.

The EMT’s arrived fifteen minutes later, and rushed her to the emergency room

where she was placed in a cold bath. Her fever spiked at 106 before they cooled her

down. She tried telling the staff what happened to her, but they all laughed behind her


81

back, knowing the fever had confused her.

Except for one old black nurse who remembered my father’s complaint, and the

creature she saw rise up from his burned out embers. She’d been sedated after pointing it

out the last time, so she didn’t say a word. When Sandy could speak plainly again, the

nurse asked her for specific names. My name came up. The nurse looked up my father’s

file on the hospital computer and compared notes.

#

“Belinda, some nurse is calling here, wanting to ask you some questions about

your father’s death.” Cordelia sounded beside herself.

“How did she get your number?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say. Do you know what this is about?”

I didn’t have a clue. “Did she leave a number I can reach her at?”

“The emergency room number. Here it is…”

“Did she sound friendly?”

“She sounded concerned.”

“After all this time?”

“Call her. It’s better to know than not know.”

“Fine. Thanks, Cordelia.”

“I’ve got some really nice kitchen accessories for you. How about I come by this

weekend?”

“I’d love to see you. Make it Sunday, okay?”

#

The nurse was nice enough when I talked to her. She wanted me to refresh her


82

memory as to my father’s long illness. Not one time did I say fire, dragon, serpent, or the

other multitude of labels for what ailed him. She asked if she could meet me, perhaps in

the hospital cafeteria?

“Why? What does all of this have to do with me? It was a long time…”

“Sandy Merchant.”

“What?”

“Sandy Merchant. She came in with a burning fever. Said you had something to

do with it.”

“No, I don’t believe I’ll meet you.”

“You mistake me. I don’t want to blame or incriminate you. I only want to talk to

you.”

“Why?”

“I might be able to help you.”

“Oh really? Why didn’t you help my father then?”

“I knew you’d say that. I couldn’t. He was the recipient, not the bearer. Now

you’re the bearer.”

“You know a lot about me already.”

“But you know nothing about me. Aren’t you curious?”

“About you? Not really.”

“No, not me, the fire inside.”

“Who are you really?”

“Let’s say I’m an older woman who knows good medicine from bad medicine.

I’m talking about your gift.”


83

“Look, I’m sorry, but you think I have something I don’t.”

“Not yet, you don’t. You’re flying blind, and your mind can’t remember what

your spirit can do, or did, in Sandy’s case. You’re dangerous.”

Dangerous? I’d be dangerous if I had a gun. I’m a girl just trying to get by. I

didn’t dignify her comment with a reply.

“Belinda? One time? Please?”

Like I had to be somewhere else. “Fine. When?” The next day, after school.

#

Kim asked, “What did you do to Sandy?”

“I’m not exactly sure, it happened so fast.”

“Really, you don’t know.”

“No, but I’m meeting this nurse at the hospital. Care to attend?”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you.”

“No, why are you meeting her?”

“She seems to think I’ve got some dangerous magic about me. She said she wants

to help me.”

Kim was quietly thoughtful. “Remember when I told you that I saw a spirit inside

you? I called it a ‘guardian’.”

“Yeah, and you also said my life-issue would be power. How am I doing so far?”

“You’re collecting your power, and this spirit is one form of your power. What

did you do to Sandy?”

“I hit her on the head with the locker door.”


84

“You hit her on the head, and she has to go to the emergency room? I heard she

had a horrible fever.”

“I must have hit her a little too hard.”

“Bullshit! It was you. You put that fever inside her, and you know it.”

“C’mon, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why is it that other people seem to know more about you than you do yourself?”

“Oh, you mean like being called a dyke?” I took a deep breath, because I wanted

to get the next phrase out before I offended her. “I mean, it’d be great if I were, but I’m

not. I love you, but there’s no romance in it, so we’re closer than if we were fucking each

other. Sex screws everything up.”

“How long did you practice that speech?”

I burst out laughing, and almost drove up on the curb. “It was that bad, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

I had no business asking her, but “Have you ever had a lover?”

“I already told you no. Why?”

“Because you’re quite the catch.”

She took my right hand in her’s. “So, who’s fishin’? You?” I didn’t pull my hand

back.

#

Her name was Odie Jefferson, and she was old enough to think about retirement,

but only under her terms, not the hospital’s management. She had a tray of food before

her, some kind of mystery meat, and a pile of rice. After I said hello and introduced Kim,

she said, “My family used to raise rice.”


85

Okay. “Where?”

“In the Delta.” She spooned some rice into her mouth and chewed slowly. “I

know what kind of beast lives in you, child.”

“Beast?” Kim eyes lit up. This was her kind of thing, not mine.

“For want of a better word, a dragon. Like your father complained of before he

died.”

That turned down some of my defenses. “Were you with him?”

“You mean when he died? Yes, I was. And because of that I rated a trip to the

psych ward.”

“For God’s sake why?”

“I saw it leave his poor, wasted body.”

Kim jumped in with, “It wasn’t his soul you saw?”

Odie spooned some more rice in her mouth, and chewed slowly. “No, I know

what a soul looks like, and if his soul had any smarts it would have left him far before it

got burned up.”

I brought it back around to me. “So, you saw this, ah, creature, leave his body?”

“In Technicolor. Terrible thing, it was.”

“Are you suggesting I might have this same, creature, inside me?”

“Not quite. You’re its master, not its victim. Well, you would be its master if you

were trained on how to use it.”

“Trained?” Kim almost jumped up out of her seat. “Didn’t I tell you, you’re

collecting power, Belinda.”

I thought the nurse might jump up out of her seat too, although more slowly.


86

“What do you know about this, child?”

I shook my head, and said, “She’s the resident mystic. She tells me my life-issue

is power. How to get it, how to use it, stuff like that.”

Odie peered at my face. “Don’t you mock her. She understands more than you

do.”

“See, I told you not to patronize me. I know stuff.”

“So do I,” I replied, “and one thing I know is this is a bunch of crap.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Odie warned around a mouthful of rice with a little

mystery meat and gravy thrown in for good measure. “If you don’t work with it, it will

work on you. Look at what it did to your mother.”

“Hey! Hold it! How is that you know so much about my life?”

“That’s the funny thing about electronic records,” she answered, “They’re in there

forever. All a body need do is to look, with a little help, that is.”

“Help?”

“You have yours', and I have my gift. I can pull information out of a computer

like street girls can suck off a John. And that fast too.”

Kim was actually blushing, and I was trying to put the image of Odie soul-kissing

a monitor out of my mind. It wouldn’t leave. “So I have a gift. Why?”

“Your father said it travels down the female line. It must be true, because they’re

aren’t any dragons in Ireland. Not since Saint Patrick, that is.”

“I don’t want to be like my mother in any way. Can I get rid of this, ‘thing’ I’ve

got?”

“No.”


87

“No?”

“You’d have to die without a female heir to get rid of it. Seems like a pretty high

price to pay, doesn’t it? She cut up more, ah, “meatloaf”? “Salisbury steak?” “SOS”?, and

put some in her mouth. She was way braver than I was. “Odie? When you say, ‘train me’,

what do you mean?”

She took her time chewing the brown mass in her mouth. “See, I bet you don’t

even know when it wants to get out and do something. Did you mean to put that girl in

here? Did you have some problem with her?”

I thought about my walk down the hallway. “I had a problem with how she treated

Kim. But no, I just wanted to bump her head into the locker door is all.”

“Well, your complaint was tongued in fire.”

“Tongued in fire? That sounds cryptic enough.”

“And after you left her? Did you know what you’d done?”

“No. Should I?”

“Absolutely. Take your little friend here,” and Kim perked right up. “One night

the two of you are going to be lying in bed together…it’s okay, I’ve got no complaint

with how a body loves, and you’ll have a nightmare. You’ll be protecting yourself

alright, but she might end up as toast. You got me?”

“I’m not a lesbian, but thanks for your approval anyway.”

Odie rolled her eyes at Kim. “Is she always the last to know a thing about

herself?”

“Yeah, take this fire thing, for example.”

Odie laughed silently. “Good luck to you. I hope she’s worth it.”


88

Kim laughed silently. There must be a conspiracy to keep the humor hush-hush.

“Yeah, so do I.”

“Back to the main topic, please. How would you train me? How long would it

take?”

Odie had a spoonful of rice just entering her mouth, but she looked up at me

sharply, and lowered her spoon. “For you? A stubborn white girl? It all depends. Right

now you‘re just casting shadows wherever you go.” In went the rice.

“On what does it depend?”

It seemed like minutes passed. Surely she must be finishing her lunch break by

now. “On whether you listen to your friend here. On whether you listen to me or not. The

exercises are simple, but the mind must believe and take mastery. You think you can do

it?”

“Look, Odie, I don’t know what to believe. I run around frightened all the time,

and I have no idea what I’m doing after school is over. My life’s complex enough

already.” I thought of what I’d said about my out of control life, and what she’d said

about the danger of not knowing what was inside me. “But okay, I’ll try.”

“You will try. Hmm, your life is going to get even more complex now. What will

you do, I wonder? So, is that a solid promise?”

I nodded my head, out my hand over my heart, and told her, “I promise.”

Kim grabbed my arm and shook me. “Great! This is so great!”

Odie did laugh out loud then. “You’d think she’s the one doing it.”

I didn’t reply, but I didn’t pull my arm away either.

#


89

Chapter Eight-

Saturday morning Brick took me to a hunting supplies store out in the country.

The owner didn’t have any visible tattoos, facial scars, black leather jacket, or NRA signs

on his wall.. If fact, he looked like a typical middle-age father, and he spoke that way too.

“Long time no see, Brick. How have you been doing?”

“Great. The job’s the same, and the perps…”

“Are the same too.” Both men laughed. “Who’s this here with you?”

“This is Belinda, Stan. Belinda, meet Stan. He knows everything about anything

that shoots.”

“I’m most pleased young lady. I take it you’re the one looking for something

today.”

“Yeah, she is. Something in the way of a shotgun.”

“Really? Are you taking up hunting? There are so few women…”

“It’s for defense.”

Stan looked me in the eye, and didn’t smile when he asked, “A boogieman?” I

nodded. “Well, that changes everything. If you want to protect yourself,” he moved down

the counter and pulled a shotgun off the wall, “You might think about this.” He handed it

to me. It was smaller than all the other guns on the wall. I tried to hold it like I’d seen on

crime shows. It was so light, and it fit in my hands.

“This is a Berretta ladies’ version of a twenty-gauge. It’s a gas-driven

semi-automatic, so you don’t have to worry about pumping a shell into the chamber.” He

pointed at the parts he described. “The barrel’s a special alloy. It will warp if you fire

about two hundred rounds non-stop, but the weight is the bigger issue. It won’t tax your


90

arms. The stock is cherry wood, with this big rubber cushion on the butt to lessen its

kick.”

Brick was smiling like we were in a candy store. “This is a very good selection,

Belinda.” He turned to Stan. “It’s a full choke.”

“Yeah. It should be great for short distance hunting, if you know what I mean.”

“But I don’t know how to fire something like this. I was thinking of something

more like a small handgun.”

Stan frowned. “No way, even if you are here with Deputy Brickman. I could lose

my license.”

“I already explained the situation to her. Look, if you buy this I’m going to teach

you how to shoot it.”

Stan added, “I have a firing range behind the building.”

“See, we can come out here and blast away until you’re comfortable. I’ll even

start today, I don’t have to work until five.”

I looked at both of them. They seemed so earnest, so serious about my safety. Full

choke, gas-driven, semi-automatic, chamber, stock, dangerous goddamn pipe. Would it

be dangerous enough for Walt if he showed up? “How much?” The nice man behind the

counter told me how much. I didn’t know that people would spend more than a thousand

on murdering animals.

I started writing a check, but Stan asked Brick, “What shells?”

“Double-ought, I think. Two boxes for now.”

Stan figured up my new total with the ammunition included. This had turned into

one expensive burglar alarm. I paid Stan, and Brick and I walked around the building to a


91

set of bunkers and far-away paper targets. Brick selected one with a fresh target, opened a

box of shells, showed me how to load them into the gun, then pointed and fired. The

noise was surprising.

“Oh, God, I forgot ear protectors. Hold on a minute while I borrow some.”

I held on, to the shotgun, and on to my dwindling nerve. Did I really think I was

going to be able to use this pricey monster? Brick returned, slid the earmuffs over my

head, And showed me how to hold the stock against my shoulder when I pulled the

trigger. I aimed, and fired, and almost landed on my ass. I straightened back up and

rubbed my shoulder. “You’ve got to stand this way with your feet just so, and the stock

stuck tight into your shoulder. Try it again.”

I felt a good solid thump on my shoulder, but it didn’t push me around this time. I

fired again, lookin at the target for the first time. It remained intact.

“You want to work some more?” I did. By the time we left I’d shot all but the

three shells I wanted left in the gun. The paper target was in shreds, and Brick had taught

me everything there was to know about the safety lever. My shoulder was sore, but my

mouth smiled past the cordite I breathed in. I was very much alive again.

When we returned to his car, he leaned over and handed me a bag from the store.

“Congratulations, this is a gift for you.”

I pulled a small box out that said, “Gun Cleaning Kit”. It was like getting roses on

a first date. Oh, no, he’d already sorta’ done that, but this was better. “Take care of it, it

could save your life.”

“How do you take care of yours?” I asked.

“Like it’s a dangerous lover.” I liked that. My lover was long and hard, and didn’t


92

need to be coaxed into going off. Yeah.

When I got home I called Kim and cancelled my stay-over. It was too suggestive

to say sleep-over, so I changed it. She didn’t notice the difference. I liked Kim, even

loved her at times, but wasn’t ready for any kind of sexual conversation with anybody. I

put ten compact discs into my changer, turned it up loud because Miles Davis was

blowing his horn, and then opened up the box of gun cleaning stuff. I read the directions,

hoping I’d understand them better with practice, and put my beautiful new lover on my

lap.

It broke apart like an infatuation forgotten because of a new, more serious love,

and I massaged the whole thing over with cleaning oil that smelled of caution and secrets.

When I finished I took it in my bedroom and leaned it behind the door, I wanted it close

to me while I was sleeping.

#

Cordelia stopped by on Sunday with another delivery of what she thought I

needed. As soon as she was in the door, she sniffed, then looked cross at the smell of gun

oil. “Have you bought a gun?”

“Yes. A shotgun.”

Then she looked sad. “Oh, child, what are you doing with a gun?”

“Protection. Walt’s never been found.”

“You don’t even know how to use it.”

“Deputy Brickman showed me how.”

“Deputy Brickman ought to have more sense.”

“I asked him. I’m tired of being afraid all the time. I’ll sleep better knowing I can


93

defend myself.”

“I don’t like it, but I guess you have to do what you think is right. Even if it’s

wrong.”

Right? Wrong? How could she decide? She wasn’t the one bent over a mattress

and getting drilled by a monster. I was.

#

Chapter Nine-

Appointments, appointments. There was Anne Flores, the social worker. I

couldn’t figure out what a social worker had to do with my situation, but I showed up at

her office at the appointed time. She opened her office door, smiled at me, and gestured

for me to enter. “How are you, Belinda?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Take a seat.” I sat, suddenly tense, with my leg and arm muscles bunching up for

a possible flight. “How are you managing since I last saw you?”

I explained everything that had happened since the night in the emergency room.

Oh, except the shotgun and the dragon thing. She didn’t interrupt once.

“You’ve had an incredible load on your plate. I can’t think of how you’ve done

it.”

“Well, Dick and Cordelia have been very supportive. And I have a friend now. A

real friend.” I described Kim and how we became close during the crisis.

“Tell me, are you drawn to Kim? Sexually, I mean. Some women who are

brutalized often feel safer in a lesbian relationship, if only for long enough to start the

healing process. It’s an unresolved mother\daughter complication sometimes.”


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“I didn’t have a mother, so I think you can rule that out. Kim is Kim. She’s funny,

and spooky sometimes. That’s what we share. Not personal juices.”

“Okay, I only wanted to ask. Do you feel anymore safe?”

That was one question I wanted to lie about, but I didn’t feel safer, really. The fact

I bought the gun in the first place showed I was never far from fear. “No.”

“What about that nice Deputy who was with you? He seemed very fond of you.”

“This is a trick question, isn’t it? You really only want to know if I’m hanging on

to him out of fear, if I’m that dependent. Don’t try that crap on me.”

“Well, I hit a sensitive subject, didn’t I. I’m guessing he’s more fond of you than

you are of him. Is he hitting on you?”

“No. Can I go now? This is pointless. You’ve seen me, so you’re off the hook.”

“I deal with angry women all day. It’s a part of the situation. You didn’t ask to be

raped, you didn’t ask to be frightened. But you are. Can you think of any better reason to

be pissed off?”

No, that about covered it. “So, do I have that PTSD shit you told me about?”

“Of course. You expected something different?”

I leaned back in my chair, suddenly feeling like maybe I wouldn’t run. “Can it be

cured?”

She smiled; gotcha! “It can be dealt with. You see, your past is a large pack you

carry on your back, only you can never set it down. Therapy helps you sort through the

stuff in your pack, and maybe toss out some of the heavier crap. You can’t get rid of your

history, but it’s possible to let the present come alive enough you can see your future.”

“Therapy? You said, ‘therapy’. Am I crazy? My father was crazy, you know. Did


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I inherent his illness?”

“No, you didn’t, you couldn’t. This is a state of being, not an organic disease. It’s

your reaction to traumatic events that were not in your control. Your father was a

tragedy.”

“My father? You knew my father?”

“If you decide to continue seeing me I’ll tell you how I know of your father.”

“Blackmail. You’re blackmailing me.”

“Only until you make a commitment to work with me, and decide what you can

continue carrying, and what you want to get rid of.”

“I could report you.”

“For what? It’s just us two women. Your word, versus my professional

confidentiality. I can‘t talk about anything we say in here.”

“Why are you doing this shit? What did I do to you?”

Anne leaned back in her chair, way back, and looked at me over her half-lens

reading glasses. “Belinda, there is so much you don’t know about yourself, about

possibilities, both good and evil. You can learn it all. You’re the most promising

candidate for healing I’ve met in a long time. Simply put, I want to work with you, and

you’ll benefit from it as much as I will.” She leaned forward. “So, are you ready to sign

on?”

“If I say yes, will you give me one little detail about how you know my da’?”

“Just one.”

“Okay, I’m in. So…?”

“You see, I work with Odie Jefferson. Can you return next week at this time?”


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I nodded, even though I was still chewing her disclosure over. I’d ask Kim to

think about it later. It was her kind of weird co-incidence.

#

I kept an appointment with Brick to go back to the firing range. I bought four

boxes of shells, my own ear protectors, and spent all morning destroying paper targets. I

was attaching the gun to my body like a deadly tumor. Brick was very helpful, instructing

me on the different firing stances. When he wrapped his arms around me to demonstrate

the shoot-from-the-hip stance he was warm and alive against my back. When his arms

intentionally brushed against my breasts I didn’t mind it at all, and he knew it. He, at

least, was helping to protect me.

On the drive home he said, “You’re getting very good. I’d say you have a real

feeling for the gun.”

Feeling powerful as the gun‘s kick, and reckless, I replied, “You don’t know half

of it.”

He turned his eyes away from the road to look at me when he asked, “What do

you mean, ‘the half of it’?”

“I keep it in my bedroom so I always know it’s there. Some nights I bring it into

bed with me.”

He got that uncomfortable look men get when their penises harden under a pair of

jeans with a heavy leather belt. “You don’t have shells in it, do you?”

“Not in the chamber.”

This was heating him up in a hurry. “Do you have any idea how dangerous…”

“Fuck, Brick, look around. Everything is dangerous. We exist only by the grace of


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the universe.”

“I’m not dangerous, Belinda.” His voice was soft, but not pleading.

“You don’t know that. What if I took you into my bed, and you broke my heart?

That’s one serious kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”

He was struggling now. “If you took me into your bed I’d never break your

heart.”

I realized how powerful it was to toy with this man. “Or, you’d kill me if I found

another lover.”

“If I was in your bed, you wouldn’t need another lover.”

I didn’t have a ready-made response. In fact, I felt myself warming up too. I shut

my mouth and tried to think about shooting something. Or somebody.

He pulled up in front of my apartment building and killed the car. He was trying

to think of the right words to say what I already knew he was going to say. I granted him

mercy. “Brick, you’re the best man I know.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s alright, it’s true. You’re also turning me on.”

“Really?” His face lit up.

“Stop being so smug, you know you are. I’m thinking of you helping me, and

they’re good thoughts. But I can’t do it. I just can’t right now.”

Shock covered his face like sweat. He nodded his head, accepting what I’d said.

“Is it Walt?”

I nodded back. “That piece of shit is still in my life, and usually he’s about all I

can think about. He’s the reason I sleep with my gun some nights. I have this totally great


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fantasy that he gets into my apartment some night, comes to the foot of my bed, and I rise

up and shoot his dick right off. Then I put a round in his face. Then, if I’m really enjoying

the process, I go through a box of shells before I call 9-1-1.”

“Now you’re turning me on.” he joked with a laugh. “I must remember not to ever

piss you off.”

I looked at his laughing face, tilted my head to one side, and in a serious voice

threatened, “Remember it.” He stopped laughing. “So, to repeat myself, I want you. But

not like this. You can stop looking so stupid now,” he closed his mouth.

And then opened it to speak. “I think I understand.”

“Oh, and by the way, did you forget that I’m only seventeen? That I might be a

little underage for you?”

“Cops never talk.”

I opened my car door. “Thanks. These are the happiest hours of my life right now.

I really owe you.” I slid out and got my gun case from the backseat.

“I won’t forget that.”

“What?” I asked, puzzled. Forget what?

“That you owe me. How about if you treat me to dinner some night when I’m not

working?”

It didn’t sound too dangerous. “Fine, I’d like to.” He was driving away before I

realized I’d agreed to my first real date. That was when I got my first warning, that I

maybe didn’t like men as much as I thought, and here comes more confusion as a

companion.

#


99

Then there was Odie Jefferson, with Kim playing tag-team. We met her on

Saturday afternoon at her home. Her little house was comfy, cozy even, and smelled

stuffy, like old woman. In a way I thought the combination said wisdom. I hoped.

“Have you given any thought to what I said?”

“Hmm?” I’d been staring at a doily on the arm of the couch.

“What I said, in the hospital?”

“I honestly don’t know. There’s been a lot going on.”

“Is it too much for you to see me? Cause if it is we can quit now.”

Kim was watching us like we were opponents in a tennis match. She opened her

mouth to speak, but I jumped in. “I don’t know, really. Can you give me one sign or

example I might have this thing?”

Odie frowned, but kept looking in my eyes. “You want to see something?”

“Could I? It’d be a good argument to keep seeing you.”

“Stupid white girls. I don’t know why I bother. I should just let you go up in

flames by yourself. That’d be a ‘good argument’.” I didn’t move a muscle, didn’t say a

word. Even Kim stayed quiet.

I’d pissed Odie off. She stood up and walked back into her kitchen for what I

thought might be some potion cooking on her stove; some nasty tasting, vile soup of

unmentionable ingredients. She came back with a tray holding a plate of cookies, cups,

and a tea pot. I figured the potion must be in the teapot, wasn’t that how all the evil

step-mothers did away with bothersome children?

Kim sniffed the air, smiled, and said, “Earl Grey, my favorite!”

Odie smiled at her. “These here are rice cookies.” Then she got dreamy eyed, and


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added, “My family used to farm rice.”

So she’d already told us. I picked a cookie and bit it. It was amazing! Easily the

best cookie I’d ever tasted. Odie was still smiling when she looked at me. “Good, aren’t

they?” She poured Kim’s cup full, and said, “It’s the rum. I put 105 proof rum in them.

Back when my family were still slaves they worked the cane and brewed up the sugar

mash for plantation owners. Rum was the only medicine they had, besides prayer, so all

their children grew up drinking the stuff.” She turned her head quickly in my direction.

“Not unlike your ancestors. They had the first bottling distillery in the world.”

“Bushmill’s.” She nodded. “It was my father’s ticket home. He’d drink and

remember where he came from.”

Odie spoke in stronger, more authoritative voice. “So, now we know where we

come from. Are you going to trash your history by destroying yourself. Or will you pick

up the responsibility you’ve been given to carry for a while?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re only the latest to house the fire. Generations have before, and I’d like to

think many more will. It’s up to you.”

“The thing is German, not Irish. I don’t have anything…”

“Hush up! You are who you are.” I shut up. She set her teacup down. “Take off

your shirt.”

“What?”

“Take off your shirt.”

Even around other women now I was self-conscious about my too-womanly body,

and I was only wearing a wife-beater tee shirt under my sweatshirt. No bra, and with one


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chill draft, I’d be embarrassed by my body‘s tightening response. “Go on, there’s a

reason for this. I’ve seen it all in the hospital already, and you’re not any more special.”

I lifted my sweatshirt up over my head and threw it on the chair behind me. Kim

was suddenly much more aware of my presence in the room.

“Hold your arm out, palm up.” I did.

“Think of holding a baseball, or anything else that’ll work for you, in the palm of

your hand. Go on.” I’d never played sports, didn’t even go to the games. I had no idea

what a baseball was supposed to feel like. Odie tilted her head. “C’mon, you can do

better than that.” I shook my head, “Yes you can!” I shook my head again. “Look, you

stupid white trash slut, I’m wasting my time on you. You’ll never get out of the gutter, or

away from men who’ll fuck you in a train until you bleed!”

A heat snapped into my hand, and I held it out to the old black woman. My face

was a scarlet roadmap to hell and eternal damnation, and sweat ran down my body like a

river that knows there’s shattering rocks below the falls, but can‘t resist gravity.

“See,” she said softly, I told you you could it.”

I caught a glimpse of Kim out of the corner of my heat-wave vision, and she was

staring at me openmouthed, and ready to run away. I lowered my hand. I reached for her

with my other hand, and touched her soft face. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’d never hurt you.”

At least she didn’t pull away.

“You see now,” Odie said, “a lot of women can only access the fire through anger

and rage.”

“Is that it? I have to be willing to kill in order to use it?”

“No. You can learn. You don’t always have to hurt somebody. I knew a woman in


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Mississippi used it to light her cigarettes.” Odie laughed. “Of course, with that display

nobody ever messed with her.”

“Do I have to have my shirt off? What’s the reason for that?”

“I didn’t want you to burn your clothing up. This was your first conscious attempt

to control it.”

“Where do I go from here?”

“Home, or wherever. Think about what happened today and practice. Don’t worry

if you can’t call it up on your own.”

“Do I see you again?”

“Sure. Let me know ahead of time and I’ll bake cookies.”

So that was that? I thought she was going to teach me something useful.

“It is useful, Belinda. You’re very good at this, and you’ll do fine. And you’ll

know when to come to see me. You’ll know.”

Kim got up, and I pulled on the sweatshirt. I wanted to thank her, but for what?

“You’ve already thanked me.”

She was turning more like Kim, with her mind reading. We left her house and

went walking in the crisp air. My hand and arm forgot what they’d done in there.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s get stuff to make dinner at your place. We could talk

about what happened. Maybe do it again.”

I wasn’t so hot on replicating my burning palm, but supper sounded good. “What

are we having?”

“Spaghetti. It’s the only thing I know how to make.” She laughed, and then I

laughed along.


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#

Chapter Ten-

Stop. Whoa. Take a break. Maybe even set this story down for a little while.

There are moments when your life changes, and you’re not sure where you’ll go

from there. I’m going to write about a couple of those moments as I now remember them.

I’d like to think I was really present at the time, but maybe I didn’t understand their

meaning. So, this is my second chance to talk about the turn my life took, and drug me

along behind it.

My memory was controlling me, and every trip down memory lane was to brave

the idle thugs hanging around the alleyways seeking fresh employment. They stood

around listlessly, smoking cigarettes and spitting; watching and waiting for my dark

shadow. The street I lived on was anxiety, my address, desperate.

I hope I write this better than anything that came before. I hope you understand.

Okay, let’s go on with the story.

#

We bought sauce, pasta, stuff to fix a salad, and Kim bought candles to dine by. I

snuck a box of Earl Gray tea in the bag too. It was her favorite. It was dusk as we reach

my place, a time of parting shadows and a pointer to caution. I put something dark and

moody on the stereo, Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue”, I think. I couldn’t shake the afternoon

at Odie’s. I’d done the unthinkable. I looked at my hand over and over, but couldn’t see

any scars or discoloration.

“Hey, Johnny Torch!” Kim yelled. “I could use a little help in here.”

She was funny, and smart, and I was very fond of her. When I got in the kitchen


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she was stirring a pot of sauce, and trying to break the spaghetti noodles in half. Half of

them scattered over the counter. That was when both of us started to laugh

uncontrollably, and the release of the day’s tension smelled like fresh oxygen in our

noses. “The salad’s yours',” she pointed. “If I get the chance to screw up my part, so do

you. Get busy!”

My kitchen was filled with laughter, and about forgetting my personal fire.

Dropping the pasta into the pot became an adventure, and I threw bits of lettuce at her

over my shoulder. She waved the sauce spoon under my nose, and I licked it.

The matches I used to light the candles smelled of brimstone, of an underlying

wicked condition. The dishes Cordelia had bought me were actually pretty once I looked

at them. So was the flatware as it flickered in the candlelight. We loaded up on both our

efforts and sat down, just like normal people do. But we both knew, as we did all the

time, that we weren’t normal. This night, eating watery spaghetti together, didn’t worry

about normal, didn’t know what it meant, and didn’t care to be normal.

My eyes were captured by her as she ate in tiny bits. For some reason she seemed

to be somebody powerful in her own right. Not with flame, but with knowledge and

gentle understanding. In my eyes she glowed, a softer reflection of the candles’ lambent

radiance. She so funny, so self-deprecating without putting herself down. She was an

unexpected gemstone in the rough.

After we ate I put Miles Davis’ “Porgy and Bess Suite”. Under Gil Evans’

masterful arrangement the music was spare, rich, and ultimately tragic.

“What is that music?” Kim asked from the kitchen sink. “It’s beautiful, but so sad.

Is that all you listen to, sad stuff?” I heard a clatter of plates. “Hey, get out here and dry


105

these. You don’t have a rack.”

So I went to the kitchen and grabbed a cutesy Cordelia supplied dish towel. Why

hadn’t she thought of a drying rack too? I picked up the first plate and rubbed it all over,

then stuck it away. I started on the second. Then I saw the sauce on Kim’s chin and

started laughing. “What? What do you think is so funny?” She was laughing too.

I reached over to brush the sauce away, but my hand never made it. I leaned into

her face and licked it off instead. She paled to white. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” I said

without any remorse.

“Why?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” She kissed me on the lips, amateurish for sure, but I felt the

need behind her lips. I kissed back, growing greedy for her mouth on me. She pulled back

and lowered her dish-soap bubbled hands from my face. I was sweating from the exertion

to not pull her into me and squeeze with all the love I’d ever missed. “Belinda,” she said

as a prayer, “This is for real?”

Did I hesitate? No. I put my hands on her breasts.

We stood looking at each other in front of the sink for enough time to figure out

what was going to happen next. She was shaking all over, and my knees ceased to exist.

“Look, I can’t stand up Kim. We need to take this someplace else.”

“Your bed?”

I nodded and replied, “Yes.”

We made it to the bed, fell into each other’s arms, I pulled my clothes off, then

her’s off. We lay naked face to face, exploring each other’s bodies. She was delicate


106

where I was sturdy, dark brown where I was red. “My God, I’d thought I’d never get to

touch these,” she said, stroking my breasts. I reached between her thighs and cupped her

pubic hair. She convulsed with pleasure. She did the same to me and I pushed against her

fingers.

I don’t remember when we pulled away from each other, when the last sweet kiss

had been delivered express, but I do remember how happy, how free I felt.

The music was long over, and I needed to pee, so I got up, went to the bathroom,

put on the tea kettle, and walked into the living room naked. Suddenly I felt nervous, like

I was being watched, like ants were crawling up my back. I sped into the bedroom, threw

a robe on, and grabbed my shotgun. Kim leaned up and exclaimed, “You’ve got a gun in

here? You have a gun?”

I didn’t answer her, and went into the living room, with the sharp snap of the

safety going off. I stared through the peephole. Nothing. I hand checked each window,

double checked the door lock. Nothing. So why was I feeling stalked?

I wondered if it was because of what I’d just done with Kim, but who would care,

much less spy on. Okay, I was paranoid. Maybe I’d smoked too much pot with Stoner,

and became conditioned to feel paranoia any time I had sex. Yeah, right. There really was

something wrong, and I wouldn’t give up until I knew what it was.

Kim came out of the bedroom with just a tee shirt on. “Why do you have a gun?”

The tea kettle whistled so I got down two cups and pulled out a tea bag for each. “Earl

Gray? You remembered?” I smiled at her and nodded. “So, why do you have a gun?”

“As a defense.”

“You really think you’re going to be attacked again?” I gave her a look. “Ouch.


107

Okay, who is it?” I swirled my teabag around in the cup and shrugged. “Do you know

how to use it?”

“Oh, yeah. I even enjoy it.”

She pulled her teabag free. “Are you afraid? Is that why you grabbed it?”

“I’m afraid, yeah. See, the thing is, I don’t want to be afraid anymore. The gun is

a part of the preparations I need to take.” She turned into me and I cupped her ass with

both hands. “I want you to be safe when you’re here too.”

She kissed me. “Do you hate the L word?”

“’L word’? What are you talking about?”

“Love.”

“I don’t hate the L word.”

“But you’re bitter.”

“What?”

“You can’t see yourself in love, can you?”

“Do you mean with you? Cause you’re the best thing’s ever happened to me.”

“Can you say it?”

I squeezed her butt. “Okay, I love you.”

She looked at me for some time. ”I love you, Belinda” She took a sip of tea. “As

much as I love this tea. Thank you.”

I let go of her and went to the stereo. I inserted a ten disc cartridge into it. She was

following my every move. “Okay, that’s taken care of. Let’s drink our tea in bed.” She

beat me through the door.

#


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It must have been around midnight when there was a knock on the door. I jumped

bad enough to wake Kim up. “Wha…”

“Shh, there’s somebody at the door. You stay in here, no matter what. You

understand?” She nodded silently.

I put on my robe and picked up the shotgun. The knock came again. I made sure I

jacked a shell into the chamber, and walked to the door. “Who is it?” I yelled.

“Brick. Deputy Brickman.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry, I was near and decided to check and see if you were alright.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you crack your door I’ve got something for you.”

“What?”

“You have to open up.”

“Why can’t this wait until morning?”

He didn’t reply at first. But then, “I’m sorry, I guess I’m being silly. Well, if

you’re okay…”

“I’m okay.”

“You all alone?”

What? Emotional red flares slashed the air, my suspicious inner bells rang loud

enough to wake up the neighborhood. Well, not really. But they should have. “Umm,

why do you ask?”

“If you have a evil meanie inside I’m compelled to protect you.”

Go away, just fuckin’ go away. “Jim, I was sleeping when you woke me up. Do


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you think we can end this conversation now?”

“Okay, sorry. I guess what you do in the privacy of your home is not my

business.”

What the hell was he talking about? “Yeah, I’m glad you see it that way.

Goodnight, Brick.”

“Goodnight, Belinda.” I heard heavy steps walk away. I made my own steps back

into the bedroom.

“Who was it?”

“Deputy Jim Brickman. He wanted to make sure I was safe.”

“Odd time of the night to be knocking on doors.”

I slid under the sheet. “It’s even odder than that.”

“What?”

“Curl up to me, I’m frozen.” I was shaking, but not from cold. Unless you

included my cold steel lover.

“Hey,” Kim whispered in my ear, “I know a way to warm up.”

I laughed into her back. “You know, for a beginner you’re very enthusiastic.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” She asked, and kissed me so I couldn’t answer.

#

I took my schoolbooks with me when I took Kim home. Her mother sang while

she fixed us breakfast, and one song was, “My Favorite Things”. I wanted cry from

happiness. I’d gone from showering with my lover this morning, and playfully

shampooing each other, to a home like I’d always wanted. I’d read that you couldn’t

mourn what you never had, but my heart knew different. I could stretch out here and hug


110

the whole house, and the family in it. Breakfast was a holy Eucharist; the pancakes

wafers, the orange juice holy wine. I ate the flesh, drank the blood, and put my hand on

Kim’s thigh. I could’ve died then and smiled the whole way to the grave. Instead, we

pulled our books out and struggled through the material for the History exam together.

All things end. When I was outside her house Kim asked, “What are we going to

do now?”

“I suppose we’ll make up excuses for you to come to my place. Do you think we

could get together here?”

“No, my sister and brother.” She looked down. “I was thinking more about when

we’re in school. I know I’ll give us away every time I see you.”

“Me too, but who cares?” I picked her chin up with a finger. “Are you saying you

still want to deny who you are? It’s that important to you?”

“I don’t know Belinda, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Then let’s play it by ear tomorrow. At least Sandy won’t be spouting off.”

She laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s a blessing. I love you.”

The declaration made out in the open air shocked me. Was I afraid someone

would hear? Was I denying what I was? I touched her face, fighting every fear of

disclosure. “I love you too. Thank you for last night.”

She teared up. “Go away, I want to kiss you too much to resist long.”

I climbed into my crappy car and drove away, and she stood on her porch the

whole time. When she disappeared I felt a hole suck light out of my belly.

#

School still sucked, with or without Kim. The History exam wasn’t as bad as I’d


111

thought it would be, and decided to study with her before every exam. I must have picked

up more information because of the electricity between us. We said goodbye at the school

door, and I collected my car from the lot. I couldn’t take Kim home because I had a

meeting with Anne Flores.

I knocked on her door and she opened it with a smile. “Belinda! I’m so glad you

came.” I bobbed my head as a reply. “Hang your coat up and we’ll get started.” I threw it

on a chair.

She eyed me over. “So tell me, what happened? You’re positively glowing.”

So, I couldn’t hide it. “Something good happened on the weekend.” Once the

words started they flowed out as forceful and certain as lava, and with as much heat.

When I finished I tried to catch my sprinting wind.

Anne didn’t respond right away. She seemed to be digesting a tasty dish. “I’m

very happy for you.” Then she leaned forward. “But something disturbs me.”

Shit, I thought, she’s going to tell me the weekend was some kind of coping

mechanism. But she didn’t. “The Deputy who came by Saturday night. He’s the one

who’s been so helpful to you?”

Yeah, that slimy thought had occurred to me too. “Yeah.”

“Do you think he’s trying to get you into bed?”

Coming from her, it sounded true. “Yeah, I do.”

“What are you doing about that? Are you ready for that kind of attention?”

“Sometimes I think so. Most time’s not. Anyway, I have a shotgun.” Then I

explained how, and why.

“Well, if he helped pick it out for you, and taught you how to use, he must know


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that you will use it.”

“On him?”

“Perhaps it’s my social worker curiosity.” She relaxed, so did I. “We were going

to address some of your memories. Is that okay?”

“I’m not sure I can right now, but I’m willing to try.”

“Remember this, Belinda, we’re after memories so vigorous they’ll trigger their

own resurrection. Powerful memories. You still…”

“Yeah, I want to.”

“Okay, I’m going to hypnotize you. Does that frighten you?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been.”

“Well then, I want you to relax.”

I dove into the murky waters of my past, with Anne piloting me the whole time. I

ended up in a memory of my father holding me. I must have been about three, and he was

a giant in my little eyes. He was tickling me and laughing when I laughed. Although I

didn’t know it at the time, his breath smelled of whiskey, and when I breathed it in I got

dizzy. I felt loved, safe, and wanted. There was no better memory for me. I resurfaced to

consciousness with a lighter heart.

“Was that painful?” asked Anne.

“No, just the opposite. I wouldn’t mind going back there again.”

“You can, anytime now, because you brought it up with you. Memories must be

just memories, not a place to hide in, or to hurt yourself with. Next time I’ll direct you to

another place inside, one maybe not so pleasant.”

“When’s next time?”


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“How often do you want to work?”

“Ah, everyday?”

She laughed. “Let’s get together, ah,” she flipped through an appointment book,

“Day after tomorrow. Same time?”

Between Kim and Anne I felt new, and improved.

#

The winter rolled on. I studied during the week, practiced at the shooting range

Saturday morning, and rolled around with Kim whenever we could. I was learning stuff

about the female body I’d never known. You know, a tongue is sweeter than a reaching

finger, a neck was delicious as new apples. We were deeply in love, with a need to be

close all the time. I knew it would eventually give us away, but when it came neither of

us got hurt.

It took place on a Sunday morning after a night of love-making and endless

caresses. We were sitting in Kim’s kitchen and her mother was making pecan waffles.

She turned from the waffle making and said, “I know.”

I knew what she meant, but Kim missed it. “Know what?”

“I know you two are in love.” Kim blushed scarlet. “No, it’s okay.” She wiped her

eyes with her hand. “It’s not for me to judge. I want you to be who you are, not what I

think you should be.”

“I never meant to offend you,” I whispered.

“I know you didn’t, and you didn’t.” She pointed a fork at me, and spoke angrily.

“Don’t you break her heart.” Kim began to cry.

“I won’t. To break her heart would be to break mine too.”


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She forked a waffle from the maker and pushed it on Kim’s plate. Her voice was

tender when she told her, “Eat it before it gets cold, honey.” She poured more batter in.

“In a way, I envy you.”

“Why?”

“You’re feeling the heat of first love, a passion that can keep you warm even

when you’re my age.”

“But you love dad, don’t you?”

“With my whole soul. But it’s true, the young can’t understand that they’re

young.” She pulled a tissue out of her apron pocket and blotted an eye. “All I ask is to

keep your grades up, and when you want to get together you do it at Belinda’s place. I

wouldn’t even ask that, but your brother and sister are so nosey, not to mention your

father‘s heart condition, and I don’t feel like trying to explain the situation to them.”

Kim looked up at her mother’s face. “Thank you.”

“Thank me later, eat your waffle now.” She forked one to my plate. Then she took

my hand. “Remember what I said. Okay?” I nodded.

#

Brick was edging his way around my broken barriers. He often came shooting

with me, and often invited me for dinner when he was off-duty. I grew accustomed to his

presence by my side, his aftershave in my nose, and he never, not even once, tried to

seduce me. But there was something about him that made me nervous, even suspicious.

He knew of my every coming and going. Oh, it was probably what anyone could learn if

they paid attention, but it implied he paid a lot of attention to me.

Little things would slip out of his mouth. Little details too close to my chest for


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him to be interested in, but he was. We were at the range once, and I was reloading at the

clay pigeon field. I found that I liked aiming in a fast moving arc and blasting the black

Frisbee to tiny pieces. I got a thrill every time I nailed one.

“So, did Kim stay over last night?” He said it in a disinterested, even tone, but I

backed away and removed my earphones.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I was driving by at about eleven-thirty and saw lights on. You usually have

lights on that late when she’s over.”

Putting my muffs back on, I turned, yelled, “Pull!” and took the target out before

it traveled ten yards. “There’s a saying Brick,” I replied with my gun pointed down

towards his feet, “No man shall come between a woman and her best friend.”

“Please, don’t misunderstand, when I go past your apartment it’s to make sure

you’re okay. I don’t plan on coming between you and anybody.”

“Pull!” and the flying disc didn’t make it any higher than the shooting stand in

front of me before becoming black confetti.

“Really. I’m not trying to spy on you.”

“Really.”

“Honest.”

“We haven’t got anything between us to fight over, so I’m going to listen to you.”

“We could have more.”

I froze for a second, then began loading shells in the gun, thinking the whole time.

“I like you, Brick. I like you a lot. You’re good company to have dinner with, you seem

to want to protect me, and you got me though the worst night of my life. But because you


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got me through that night, you know I’m frightened of men. Even good men like

yourself. You know what I’m saying?”

He actually smiled. “Of course I do. However, never blame me for trying, and I’ll

keep trying until you decide I might be worth it.” He began to load his over-under twelve

gauge. “I’m very fond of you.” Then he looked at me. “You know, you really don’t know

me. If you would come to my house for just half an hour, you’d see better who I am.”

“Come to your place.” I thought it over, and decided he could be trusted. “Okay,

fine. When?”

He almost danced a little victory dance. “Wednesday night. I’ll cook for you.”

“You cook?”

“Amongst other things. Really, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Make it six?”

“Great!”

I ran through the shells in the gun and packed it still warm in its case. “See you

then,” I told him over my shoulder. I wanted to go home, clean my iron companion, take

a long shower, and run my mouth over every inch of Kim’s body. The gun cleaning was

exercise for my certain, knowing hands, the shower to wash away Brick’s invitation, and

the oral, sucking conquest was to make me forget I might want his approval.

#

Kim and I were laying naked on the couch. I was savoring the taste of her skin on

my tongue, and she was badgering me. “Odie told you to practice. You haven’t even

raised a little finger to try since.”

“It’s too bad that you don’t have whatever it is, it’s right up your alley.”


117

“What did she say? ‘If you don’t learn how to use it, it will use you’.”

“And what about if you’re the one that gets hurt? I can’t let that happen.”

“Bull. You’re afraid.” I pinched her left breast. “Ouch! Stop that. You know I’m

right.”

“So, you’re going to piss me off to work up a little fire? That doesn’t sound like

too much fun.”

“I don’t think you have to be pissed to do it. Odie had to the first time, but you’re

beyond that now.”

“You’ll leave me alone if I try?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if I don’t cough up anything?”

“Yeah, but you really have to try.” I tumbled off her and the couch and landed on

my butt. She giggled. Then I stood up and held my hand out, palm up. “Concentrate!” she

ordered.

I felt an itch below my pubic bone, thought about scratching it, didn’t, and

returned my focus to my hand. The itch wasn’t an itch, it just felt like one as it traveled

through my body. I felt an intense burn streaking across my chest that was gone a second

later. It traveled down my arm, a rushing heat-wave with a mission, until I felt it in my

hand. My palm itched horribly. I almost reached over to scratch it, but a tiny glow began

above my fingers. It was a ball of light the size of a marble. I looked at Kim and her

mouth was gaping open. Holding it out to her I willed it to grow. Her face lit up by its red

light, then she pulled back as the fire grew. When it was the size of a soccer ball I willed

it away, and it disappeared.


118

“Good enough for you?” Her face was more naked than the rest of her body. She

nodded her head.

“What were you thinking about when it started? I mean, did you have to get

angry?”

“I was thinking about scratching my pubic hair.”

“No, really.”

“Really. It itched under my skin. Well? That display seemed pretty harmless.”

“Not to me, Belinda. I think you can do a lot with it you don‘t know about yet.”

“Like putting it in Sandy’s head?”

“Fire’s the most primeval power of humankind. We wouldn’t exist without it. I

think this is more important than frying stupid girls.” She took a deep breath. “They’re

beginning to talk about you again.”

“Who?”

“Kids in school. The going phrase right now is, ‘What a waste of great tits. I

could show her how to use em.”

“That’s from boys?”

“Yeah. I expect graffiti in the ladies room next.”

“That stuff doesn’t bother me. What about you?”

“Um, let’s say I’ll stick by you no matter what. But don’t go melting everyone.”

I’d been thinking while she talked. “Hey, how about this- you write on the wall

with a Sharpie that I’m your whore. Write it just like that- I’m your fuck slave. Head ‘em

off at the pass.”

“You’re my, ‘fuck slave’?”


119

“Well, you wouldn’t want to lie.” We both erupted in loud laughter until we

couldn’t breathe.

#

Anne took me down the memory slide-pipe fast and far. I felt like I couldn’t

breathe as years and scenes flew past my descent into a dark, wet chamber. My body

curled up in order to fit in the confining darkness. Then I heard a heartbeat. It was loud,

and all around me, counting the clock rythymn I grew by in inches. My thumb found

itself into my mouth, and I was comforted. There was nowhere else to go at this time and

I was warm, floating in encircling flesh.

Then a bright light flashed into my blind eyes. I was in a fire, didn’t know what a

fire was, but knew I was surrounded by flames of rage. This was my first experience of

my mother’s talent. It hurt; both the blaze, and the hatred that drove it. I heard voices, one

was loud and piercing even in my saline bath. I felt the fire thrown, heard the scream that

followed, felt a surge of powerful fight-flight hormones beat in my blood.

Then I woke up. I was curled up on the floor, tears running into my ears and snot

pouring over my lip. I moaned and wept, I rocked back and forth until my frail stomach

would stay inside my body. I think I screamed a couple of times. Then it was black.

The second time I woke up Anne was holding a cold washcloth on my forehead

and stroking my cheek. I was content to simply breathe for a little while.

“Can we talk about it?” Anne asked. I was still mute. “I’m sorry, Belinda, I didn’t

mean for you to go so deep. There’s something inside you that wanted you to go there.

Do you know what it is?”

Air passed in and out of my body freely again. “You work with Odie Jefferson.”


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“Yeah? Does she know what’s inside you?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Bless the old woman’s heart.

“No, of course not. She told me about your father, and his struggle. This is

related?”

“I’ve got a fucking monster inside. You must know.”

“No, really I don‘t. Can you tell me about it?”

I held out my hand, palm up. A wisp of glowing gold feather ignited a hard ball of

red hot. “This good enough?“

Anne was sitting back, her face horrified. “Belinda, make it go away, I’m

frightened by fire.”

Well now, we all have our own little complications, don’t we? I snuffed it out

with a fleeting, half-conscious thought. “There you go.”

“This memory you went into? It’s about your, ah, gift?”

“It’s about my mother. She was a monster, even before I came along.”

“How does it apply…”

“Maybe I’m a monster too. So, you want to keep meeting? Work on my

flashbacks maybe? Get past the trauma of my rape? Or,” my sarcasm dripped summer

roofing tar, “something hotter?”

“I still believe the rape is the first priority. That,” pointing at my hands, “has little

to do with the horror you went through that night.”

“I guess if I’d known how to do this trick back then, good old Walt would be a

pile of ashes now. Too bad.”

“Is that how to see this? As a weapon?”


121

“Yeah, that, or to toast marshmallows over. What good is it? It isn’t going to

make me get a better grade in Algebra Two.”

“Listen, can we meet day after tomorrow? Same time?”

“Friday, right?”

“Yes. I really want to see you again.”

“Fine, I guess. If you want. Oh, do me a favor, don’t share this with Odie.”

“I wouldn’t even if I could. Patient, therapist confidentiality. You’re safe with

me.”

I got up and turned the doorknob to escape. “Belinda?” Damn, almost free.

“Yeah?” “Thank you for trusting me, I really didn’t mean for you to go where you went.”

I swung the door open. “Yeah, it’s okay.” It wasn’t, but I smelled clean air from outside

and had a need to get there as fast as possible.

#

“You did what?!”

I leaned across the table and shushed her. Her father came in and opened the

refrigerator. He smiled at us. “You know, you two are thick as thieves. You could be

sisters, but you never fight.” He popped the tab on a can of beer and walked away. Kim

stuck her tongue out at me.

“You know,” I whispered, “I have a use for that.” I was pointing at her tongue.

She blushed deep crimson.

“Okay, you did what?”

I explained my weird meeting with Anne. Kim shook her head. “Power. It’s all

about power, just like I told you. You’re learning about your power.”


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“The thing is, Kimbo, I didn’t ask for it, don‘t want it.”

“Some things you can’t choose. Speaking of, why did you agree to go to Jim

Brickman’s house. It sounds purely dangerous to me.”

“He’s not totally a bad guy, really. He’s helped me a lot since that night.”

“He wants to be better than chums with you.”

I pulled a torn corner of paper out of my notebook. I wrote, “You’re the one I

sleep with,” and pushed it to her. She blushed again, and mouthed, “I love you”.

“Okay, can we get back to Civics class? You helped me pull a C on the History

exam, but I need more help with this.”

“Name the three branches of government.”

“Uh, oh shit. Oops, sorry. Okay, Executive, Legislative, and um, Judicial.”

“Very good. Where does law enforcement belong.”

I put my head in my hands. “Okay, I know this one.”

“Well then share.”

“Executive.”

“Very good. Where does Deputy Sergeant Brickman fit in all that?”

Brick? “Executive?”

“Why could that be dangerous?”

Stumped. Maybe he knew a little too much about me, but he wasn‘t dangerous.

“Uh, he enforces the law.”

“And…?”

“He enforces the law.”

“So, in a community this size, without a local judge, how much power does he


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have?”

“You’re trying to tell me he can do whatever he wants.”

“Who does he report to?”

“The Sheriff. Maybe his fellow officers?”

“Yeah, right. The Sheriff’s been elected for the past twenty years, is he going to

rock his boat over a little indiscriminate interpretation? Belinda, it’s one jolly men’s

club, with more loyalty in it than the military. They cover each other’s asses.”

“Where did you learn all this? And why are you telling me?”

“I did a little research because you’re spending time with Brick. One on one time.

It makes me nervous.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“He met you when you were a victim, and he protected you. He’s been protecting

you in his own weird way ever since. Knocking on your door at midnight? Asking about

me? Well, I want to protect you too. I want a future with you. Plus, he just plain gives me

the creeps.”

I laughed, but not loud, or for very long. “The creepiest I think he’d be is to want

to watch the two of us together.”

“You think he has us figured out? Well I agree. What does he think of us together,

as a couple?”

“Why should he think about it? I’m sure he has better things to do.”

“Goddamn it! He wants in your pants!” Then she put her hands over her mouth.

“Are you attracted to him at all?”

Truth? Or diplomacy? What did we two deserve, living as we did? Did I


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announce to the world that I was in love with this funny, spooky girl? No. Did she come

out announcing her preference for women between classes? No. I chose diplomacy. “Not

in the way you’re thinking.”

“And what way am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking about sex. There are other things…”

“He’ll be all over you. Then I can say, ‘I told you so’. But what if you get hurt in

the process? I couldn’t bear it.”

“Okay,” I retreated, “If he shows any inclination of beefing me I’ll never see him

again. How’s that?”

“Beefing? Were did you come up with that? You‘re reading cheap novels?”

I didn‘t tell her about my past summer of pulp fiction. “Obviously not from my

Civics book. Can we get back on track?”

She reached across the table and grabbed my hand, pulling it to her mouth. She

kissed it in the way she kissed my mouth with her velvet tongue, and I melted. “Okay,

whatever you want Belinda, but don’t ever forget this.” I knew I wouldn’t.

#

Anne pointed me down a dark path the next time I met with her. “You can go

there without feeling the pain. It’s a trance, not a flashback.”

“But why my mother? Walt was the one who raped me.”

“We’ll get there, but this is extremely important to your current situation.”

“You mean it’s that mother\daughter thing. You think I’m sleeping with Kim

because of her, don’t you? It’s not true. I’ve never cared for anybody like I do Kim. I

don’t have any reference for love, but I know how I feel.”


125

“This isn’t about Kim. This is about what you just said. You have no reference for

love. Want to know why?”

I slipped beneath Anne’s warm fountain of proof once more.

The rape had already happened, far back in a dark place I didn’t go to. My

mother’s words all came back to me then. Walt had raped my body, but my mother raped

everything else about me. Her instruction to fuck Walt so she could go on living out her

death. Imposing him on me to begin with, telling me I was worthless, and worse. The

summer away, at Interlochen, she declared it as a good excuse to get me away from her.

Even her condemnation of me to the deputies. When I screamed at her, “Why did you

betray me?!” I only touched on a lifetime of rage and failed approval-seeking. When I

yelled I had her power now, it was a warning. She knew that she faced a painful death

right then. But my threat was powerless, she was dead years before I lashed out at her.

And for what? Because I reminded her of my father. My red hair wavy as the

ocean, rounded woman body, and northern skin must have made her mad over the years.

In my recollection I wondered why she hadn’t killed me too?

Anne brought me back to the surface of my trance dream, and I cried beyond my

appointment time with her. She didn’t offer me solace or physical reassurance, she

offered me better, safety.

My eyes were so puffy I didn’t know if I could drive home, and I remembered I

was dinner with Brick this evening. Then my blotchy face and red eyes bothered me. I

didn’t want him to see me like this. Anne made an another appointment with me, and I

rushed home to soak my face in ice water if I needed to. I picked out the only dress I

owned, the one I wore to my father’s wake. Perhaps it might bring me luck now, not


126

make me look like a child, or victim, to Jim.

I’d told him I wanted him in a moment of weakness. I wanted to taste a man’s

strength, to remember a time of innocence and happiness, and to be awarded with simple

approval. Maybe, though I wasn’t at all sure, he’d touch me tonight, and I could give up

being the strong, sturdy one for an hour or so.

The phone rang as I got out of the shower. “You’re going to sleep with him?

Aren’t you?” Kim didn’t sound angry, although I knew she must be. “I’ve been picking

up these vibrations.”

“Vibrations?”

“Yeah, there’s a place inside of me where you live. I know what you’re feeling

because I feel it in my Belinda-space too.”

“I love you, Kim. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s dinner.”

“At his house.”

“You’ve eaten dinner at my place plenty of times.”

“Yeah, and look what happens after.” I could hear her breathing into the phone

like it was a tiny gust across my shoulder. “Nothing can come between us. Brick wants to

be friends.”

“You’ll call me?”

Jesus Christ, now she wants to be clingy. “Sometime. I shouldn’t be too late.”

“Well, have a good time tonight.”

“Yeah, but not that good of time, right?” She laughed her brilliantly colored


127

laugh, and hung up.

#

Jim picked me up though he didn’t have to. It was a nice gesture. I liked his

pick-up truck as it bounced around down the dirt driveway through tall trees. His house

was inside that heavily wooded area, facing a small lake. I thought it must be beautiful in

summer. I got out of the car and followed him to his front door, wondering what I was

about to see.

“Built it myself,” he said as he ushered me in. I looked around, amazed. It didn’t

have that solo man look at all. In fact, it looked like some woman had a hand in designing

and decorating it.

The walls were a pale wheat color, and the living room had a cathedral ceiling and

stained glass lights. A fireplace complete with burning logs dominated one wall, and

there was a painting of a nude woman above it. The woman was turned away, but that

fact didn’t take away from her naked sensuality. I wondered who painted it.

The hallway back to the kitchen was also decorated with paintings by the same

hand, but with different models. Still, the subjects were all nude, and simply sexy.

Later on I discovered the bath was fitted out with “vintage” looking fixtures. I

thought it quaint, charming even, and probably a good place to sit on the toilet.

The kitchen was a marvel. Every piece of equipment you might need were in easy

reach, and the granite top island was a great place to sit before and look out the window

that took up most of one wall. The theme was dark green, which set off cherry cabinets

and hardwood floors. It was wonderful.

Jim lifted the lid off of a Dutch-oven and fragrant steam rolled out. It smelled


128

fantastic. “What are you making? It smells good enough to eat.”

He turned. “A simple pot-roast, I’m afraid. If you were hoping for something

more exotic, you’ve come to the wrong place.” The lid went back on, and the cooking pot

went back into the oven. “So, what’dya think?”

“It’s a bit overwhelming, but extremely impressive. Who helped you decorate?”

He laughed. “You’re good. Well, a woman helped me, and I painted the canvases

you looked at.”

“You? You did those?”

“Uh ha.”

They’re from life, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“The woman above the mantle, who is she?”

The smiles and light-heartedness disappeared. “She was my wife.”

“Was? Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay, you couldn’t have known.”

“You’re a very good painter, Brick.”

“Thanks, but I’m not up to portraying women’s hearts. I can see their bodies, but

not their souls.” That was an amazing statement for a man to make. There was much

more to this man. “Almost time. Do you want some wine? A beer?” He was drinking one

in a green bottle.

“I don’t drink, and I think you know why.”

“God, that was thoughtless. Sorry. Ice tea?”

“Tea would be nice. Let’s call a truce; we’re free to say or ask anything without


129

offending.”

The salads came out of the refrigerator, and a home made rosemary dressing. The

roast came out of the oven, and Brick separated the carrots and potatoes from the meat ,

then carved the roast on a woodblock section of the island.

We ate, discussing little, making appreciative noises. I made a pig out of myself,

I’m afraid, but I hadn’t had food this good since I left Cordelia’s kitchen. There was an

interesting “Burnt Cream” for dessert. The custard cups came from the frig, and he used a

blowtorch to brown the sugared surface. This operation was done with skeptical

questions on my part, and reassuring laughs from him. Dessert was delicious.

After he loaded the dishwasher and made coffee we went to the living room.

Brick threw in a couple of logs and sat down in a chair near me. “How are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know.”

“Know what? You’re being very vague.

“The attack.”

“The rape?” The word was dirty in this high-pitched, echoing room.

“Yeah.”

I shrugged. “Good days, bad days. I’m seeing a therapist.”

“Oh really?” I nodded. “How is that?”

“Good days, bad days. She seems to think my mother did more damage than

Walt.”

“I agree. I mean, I only met the woman once, but…”

“That was all it took. Yeah, I know.”


130

He looked thoughtful, in a way that seemed he was going to trust me with

something precious. “I saw a counselor for a while.” I didn’t respond. “After my wife

came up missing. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or do my job worth a shit. I felt so guilty.”

“Can I ask why?”

“She disappeared near here. She liked to walk around the lake, and one day she

didn’t come home.”

“So why did you feel guilty?”

“Because it was right here, in our own backyard.”

“But you weren’t home then?”

“No.”

“Do you still feel guilty?”

‘Sometimes. I never walk around the lake anymore.”

The coffee was gone, the discussion at a dead end. “Will you take me home

now?”

“Sure, but I’ve got something to show you. I think you’ll like it.”

Okay, I thought, but it can’t be in any bedroom. I was feeling an odd vibration

inside, and a fleeting thought made me think of Kim. “Sure, lead on.”

He led me out into the garage, flipped on the lights and stepped aside. There was a

hulking piece of metal-flake flames and bright chrome machinery in the middle of the

floor. “Dressed out Harley Davidson Fat Boy. You want to sit on it?”

I did, but I was wearing a dress. “Uh,”

“It’s okay, I won’t look. You’d be surprised at how riding on one of these will get

a woman out of her clothes.”


131

That was crass, but likely. I hitched up my dress and put my leg over the seat. I

did like it, it was like my shotgun, man-made for men who were men. “I like it,” I said

with a smile.

“Just wait until you ride on it. You’ll love it.”

“Do you ride much?”

“In summer. I try to go to Rolling Thunder or Sturgis every year.”

“Rolling thunder?”

“We all get together and ride to Washington D.C. It’s a kick.”

“Sturgis?”

“South Dakota. The biggest get together of Harleys in the world. We take over the

whole town. Hell, the whole state. I’m kinda hoping you’ll want to go with me this year.”

“When?”

“August. Are you busy?” he laughed.

“I’ll check, but I don’t think I’m booked up yet.”

“Good. Make it something to look forward to.”

I yawned. “This has been a wonderful night, Brick, but I need to go home.”

“Okay. I’m glad you liked the scooter.” Scooter?

He went to collect my coat from a bedroom, and I looked at the embers in the

fireplace. They suddenly looked like a reflection of my heart, contained coals. Jim came

up behind me to drape my coat, and I turned into him. He wasn’t surprised when I kissed

him. He wasn’t even surprised when I put my tongue on his teeth. When I pulled away he

was smiling like he’d bagged a deer.

“I’m trying very hard, and I do mean very hard, to be a gentleman here.”


132

I thought he didn’t like it, so I turned away from him. He spit out, “No, you miss

my meaning. I meant I’d like to have you right here.”

That wasn’t so bad after all. “Okay, tell me what you want me to do.”

“That’s too easy. Is it time, or not? I’m afraid you have to decide.”

I had an aching in my pelvis, a need. “I can’t decide, which is a decision in itself.”

I felt sad. I could’ve, and dealt with its fallout later. Or, I could keep control until I really

wanted to give it up. “Take me home, Jim.” I felt his tension deflate into acceptance, and

that was sad too.

#

The next morning at the shooting range we didn’t talk about last night. In fact, we

didn’t talk much at all. I was hitting nine out of ten pigeons and didn’t want to break

concentration. I was the gun, and the gun was me. And God, it was so much fun.

#

Saturday night I ravished Kim until she actually screamed for me to stop. I felt a

testosterone spell in my belly, and I dove and dove my tongue into her like she was no

more than a receptacle for my greedy mouth. When she couldn’t take anymore of my

aggression I pulled her over me, and pushed myself into her face. We were both covered

with sweat when I finally gave up on my lust. Kim lay on her back and panted with one

hand covering her sex. “Care to talk about it?” she asked between gasps.

“I’m hungry for you. There are days when I want to eat you up until there’s

nothing left.”

“You were fucking me hard, not eating a banquet.”

“You have a problem with that?”


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“Yeah, what you really want is a penis in you.”

“You’re jealous? I can‘t believe you‘re jealous.”

“Yeah, and now you know why. I can’t give you what you want, and believe me,

you’re going to get it, no matter what. You’re going to climb all over Brickman like

twisted ivy, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Kim, don’t be like that. I love you.”

She got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. I heard the shower run and

splashes recalling a simpler time. I wondered what she’d say when she came out.

She was dressing when she said softly, “Okay, here’s the deal. You’re going to try

men again. If you prefer him, I walk away, no hard feelings. If you prefer me, you have

to let him go. That’s the best I can do.”

“It’s not some contest, Kim, where I walk away a loser no matter what. This is

our life here.”

“This is your life. I’d like for it to be ours, but that’s not possible right now. Just

remember, I want you, forever.” She was putting on her shoes. “Take me home please.”

The cold outside was nothing to the cold around my heart. What could I say to

Kim’s mother if I saw her? Sorry about breaking your daughter’s heart after all?

#

Chapter Eleven-

Events happened that continued to shape my life, but I had more control over

them now. I can thank Anne for that. She took me back in time so I could see who did

what to whom, and how I never had a chance in my home. Even the big one, Walt

violating and completely humiliating me, was painless while I observed it from the


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relative safety of now, and I got to cry it out on her floor afterwards. Never once did she

mention the ball of fire I’d shown her, and I never brought it up. Our work became play,

the thing I’d never been allowed to do as a child.

Was I a better person because of Anne? Yes. Was I better person because of me?

Was I merely seeking approval? Too soon to tell.

Studying alone sucked. I felt my grades slipping in every class hour. I saw Kim

around in school, said hi, but her resolve was ironclad. She wasn’t going to help me

study, much less let me back inside until I knew beyond a shadow of doubt I wanted to be

her’s. It was painful, for both of us.

I called Odie once. She listened to my accomplishment, then told me to get down

and work with it. She didn’t elaborate on that admonishment.

I saw Brick about every day, in one capacity or another. We had dinner together

at fast food places, and I began to put on a few pounds I didn’t need. I went on a salad

streak, and hoped the baggage would go away. I was a calm in the center of an upcoming

storm called Brick.

#

After I killed about fifty clay pigeons with the Berretta one Saturday morning I

found myself horny as hell. The precise shooting, it being the typical day Kim and I

would have hooked up on, and thoughts about the absent Brick all churned up into an

immediate need. I threw my gun case in the back seat of my junk pile, and drove to

Brick’s house. He must have seen me peeking in the windows, I was looking for a

woman, because he came to the front stoop and said, “It’s okay, Belinda, I’m alone.”

“Hey,” I said as I came around the corner of the house, “How’re doing?”


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He laughed. “I was polishing my Sam Brown belt. Would you like to come in, or

are you inspecting my shrubs?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you never have women out here. It’s a babe trap.”

“Really? Did I trap the babe I wanted to?” He stood aside, and said, “Come

inside, we can talk better in here.” He smelled my clothes. “You’ve been shooting. How

were you today?”

“Seven out of ten from the hip position.”

“You’re overqualified for the Sheriff’s Department. Nobody else is anywhere that

good.”

“Ah, I have to ask you…, well, it’s like this. I want you. Right now, I want you.”

“You certainly do know what you want, and I am obliged to respond. Here, or the

bedroom?”

I grabbed his shirt with both hands, kissed his mouth, and growled, “Bedroom.” It

was the last thing said for some time.

#

If Stoner had been a velvety injection without any further significance, and Kim

was a soft landscape to explore forever, Brick was an assault with a nightstick. He was a

workhorse plowing a long, hard furrow to his joy, and when he was done there wasn’t

any doubt about whether or not I’d been laid. I’d been laid. I didn’t want to talk about it

afterwards, so I dressed and told him I’d see him later. That was all I could move my

overwhelmed mouth for. I drove home thinking how much more I preferred Kim. I took a

shower, alone, and wondered what I’d do with my late-afternoon empty hours.

Then a thought hit me from nowhere, and I liked it, a lot.


136

#

Not having a computer at home, and not sure I wanted one, I still submitted hand

written papers, and nobody said not to. I drove to the local library, found a vacant

computer and entered the Internet via Google. It took me a minute with the massive

search engine to find the story.

Ellen Brickman was out taking a walk around the small lake her house was on at

seven o’clock in the evening. At midnight, her husband, Jim Brickman, came home to an

empty house. He made the calls to friends, and the one relative Ellen had, but no one had

heard from her. He called the Sheriff’s Department he worked for, and all the deputies

did a flashlight search of the narrow, circular footpath. Then they brought in the two K-9

units in the area.

One of the dogs found a sneaker, woman’s size eight. The dog wouldn’t let go of

it until his desperate handler pulled the equally desperate dog away. There were drag

marks that left the path and led to a set of mashed tire tracks in the long, wild grass. But

no footprints, the forgiving grass sprang back up from under a man’s weight. The tire

tracks led away to the road. End of immediate search, beginning of grieving spouse’s

offer of a reward, dead or alive. He wanted back her body if nothing else.

I wasn’t sure if the FBI had been called in on the case, Jim was, after all, a cop,

even if he was out in the sticks, or had they invited themselves to join the search, for the

same reason. Ellen was now a missing person, possibly a blackmail victim, and a

statewide hunt was called for her rescue, or recovery.

Jim shrunk his presence into the one room in the house he could be near Ellen; the

living room, with it massive, intimate painting. Not a man, or woman, passed through


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that room without locking their eyes on her without wishing she’d walk up the driveway

and ask what was going on. That, however, didn’t happen.

Her brutalized naked body was discovered submerged in an area swamp, with a

heavy log on top of her body so it wouldn’t float. She’d been mercilessly and repeatedly

raped and slowly killed, thrown alive into the swamp then having a tree-trunk thrown on

top of her after. Buried alive in water and decomposing slime, she must have seen the

membrane between water and the air she couldn’t reach, then looked beyond it at heaven

and silently asked God, “Why?”

An extensive search in the National FBI Database didn’t turn up any connections

between Ellen and any bad influences. No ex-cons or violent nutcases lived in the area.

She was a gentle, kind, and excellent high school teacher at the school I attended, who

had no enemies in her life.

So, why?

I sat in that cubical and cried for Jim. What a horrible way for life to turn. It

wasn’t any wonder he might be interested in a girl much junior in age. I wasn’t really

serious, instead I was something like a warm up fuck to practice with until he returned to

the big leagues.

Then a short paragraph told how Ellen had inherited a small fortune from her

father, of automotive royalty. How small? Well, when the probate court and taxes were

finished with it, it still surpassed $250,000. Not a lot, but not bad, and very similar to my

situation. Her money could put a Fat-Boy in his garage.

But why was he still working as a Deputy? It was a civil-servant position, and

probably didn’t pay much compared to his inheritance. That had me stumped. Worse, I


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didn’t know if I could ask him about it. He’d been extremely tight lipped when I asked

about the sexy woman in the canvas.

I drove home and put three discs of Sade in the player, and set it on random play.

I wanted to feel bad, and I was successful. I felt like terminally alone shit in about thirty

minutes. I called Kim’s cell phone, and waited for her to hang up on me. She didn’t.

“Hey, Kim.”

“Belinda! How are you?”

“I was just about to ask you the same.”

“I miss you.”

“Oh, God, I miss you so much.” I was hoping she’d invite me over for the night.

“Why don’t we catch up tomorrow?”

Why not now? “Why not now? I’ve got time.”

“I’d love to, but Beth is over right now.”

Beth? “Beth? The mousey brown-haired girl with the funny glasses?”

“Yes.”

“When do you want to get together tomorrow?”

“Why don’t you call? I’m not sure what I’ll be doing.”

I gulped. This was payback from hell, and she knew it. “Why don’t you call me

when you’re free?”

“Sure. Goodnight, Belinda.” I didn’t have the opportunity to say goodnight back

to her. I went back to Sade and felt even shittier. It was not one of my best nights. Ever.

All day Sunday I told myself I wasn’t waiting for a call, that I had no reason to

leave the apartment. I told myself I was supposed to use this time to “work on” my gift,


139

talent, or whatever.

I did, thinking of Odie and her approval the whole time. I held out flames that

overheated the air, and wisps that merely fanned a warm breeze in front of my face. I

wrapped myself in a cloak of dazzling light, and threw balls into the air like a clumsy

juggler. I even pushed real hard and grew a set of red and swirling wings. I liked that

best. I felt like an avenging angel come to earth to rid it of scum and rapists.

Mostly, I forgot about Kim’s supposed call for a couple of hours. When I finally

looked around the empty room I decided I was going to spend a lot of empty nights

unless I had a real diversion. By five o’ clock I’d purchased a computer from Best Buy

and was headed out the door with it. The geek salesman from my last shopping spree

remembered me and caught up to me in the parking lot.

“Can I help you with that?” he asked. I looked up at him. “Would you like some

help loading that in your car? It’s pretty heavy, and fragile. Let me give you a hand.” I

nodded, and he was all over the cart in a hurry. “Which one is yours'?” I pointed at my

dinged up rust bucket, sure he’d laugh. “Oh, wow, this is vintage,” he said, like a little

boy over an bad-ass old Camaro. “What? 1980? ‘82?”

I laughed and touched his arm. “That was nice, now let’s get this inside.”

He hefted, grunted, and shoved the big boxes into my trunk and backseat. “Do

you need help getting this inside your place?” Aha! There it was.

“I don’t think so, but if I do, do you have a business card?”

His hand blistered from whipping one out so fast. “Ah, I’m also very good with

software,” I’ll bet he was, “So you can call me if you need help with that too.”

“Can you put your own phone number on the back. Just in case?” He had his own


140

pen, and was just as fast at whipping it out.

“Are you using dial-up, or cable modem?” He hooked me right there. I didn’t

know a damn thing about this stuff.

“Uh, I don’t know. Which one is better?”

“Oh cable, by far. It’s very fast. I believe this machine has a built-in cable

modem, but you’re going to need a provider to get on-line. It’ll hook up to your existing

cable box on your television.”

“I don’t have a television.” His face fell, then brightened right up.

“This may sound a little forward, but what if I swing by your place after work and

see what kind of stuff you need? Then I can get it from work and bring it back to get you

all set up?” He had no right to smile so cunning, but he had me.

“When?”

“I get off at six.”

“Sure. Here’s my address…, and phone number. I’ll be waiting.” I think I made it

sound like some nasty invitation, but it was so fun to play with him. I intentionally

developed a taste for male manipulation, and he was an easy mark.

“Leave the boxes in your car, locked of course, and I’ll get them inside for you.”

“Thank you,” I looked at his card, “ah, Tony. I appreciate it.” I smiled the whole

way home, never once thinking of the call that never came.

#

He knocked on my door at six-thirty, and smiled when I opened up. “Hi. I’m not

disturbing anything, am I?”

“No, please come in.” He did, each time carrying a bulky box and setting them


141

down on the floor.

“There, all done,” he announced, then looked around my apartment. “You live

alone?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t see any evidence of anybody else.”

“Good eye. Can I help open these up?” pointing at the boxes.

“Nah, I’ve got this.” This, was a razor box-cutter. He unzipped the cardboard

like an old, favorite pair of brown pants. “Did your salesman explain any of this to you?”

“He did, but I don’t remember it now.”

“Well then, let me walk you through it.” He was thorough in explaining what I’d

bought, and how it all connected. After an hour I asked him if he’d like some pizza.

“Why sure! That’d be great!”

While we waited on the pizza he explained the Internet, and how to get there.

“You’ll pay over thirty dollars a month for a cable hook-up, and you’ll have to

pay the cable company to install the feed.”

“Okay.”

“Dial-up can be as low as ten dollars a month. It’s slower, and since it uses the

phone line you won’t be able to call out or receive calls while you’re on-line. There is an

add-on available that receives and records messages until you open it. I really recommend

it if you’re going with dial-up.”

“What do you recommend?”

“What do you for a living?”

“What?”


142

“A lot of people do work at home and send it to their workplace. Some need to

research a lot, and if you work with graphics you’ve got to have cable.”

“I’m a student.”

“Okay. What college?”

“High school.”

“Oh. I mean, you know, you seem much older.”

“Like about your age?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you. So, which one?”

“I’ve got a provider disc, phone modem and phone lines in my car. Why don’t I

hook you up with dial-up, and if want more we’ll go cable. How does that sound?”

“Fine.” The pizza arrived and he ate with one hand while stringing cables and

wire.

He was completely absorbed into the task at hand, and I could see his life had a

purpose mine didn’t. How about that, from somebody who seemed much older?

“You’ve got a modem, and I’ve tied the transmission line in. Now I’m going to

install a Best Buy provider site.”

“Explain.”

“This disc,” holding it up, “will get you where you want to go.” He switched

everything on and fed the compact disc into the front of the black case. I don’t know what

happened next, but then we were online. He smiled. “That’s easy.”

“Let’s take a break and finish the pizza,” I said, “I can’t do two things at once.”

We sat in front of the screen and folded slices in our faces. Tony was a funny guy


143

when given the chance, and he had me laughing with a tomato sauce mouthful. I had to

wipe my chin with three napkins.

Then the doorbell rang. I automatically jumped up and walked to the bedroom to

grab my gun, then I thought of the funny boy in the living room. A gun would probably

put an end to any levity. I turned around and cracked the door. It was Brick. “Are you

alright?”

“What? I’m perfectly okay. Why are you here?”

“I saw a strange car in front, thought I should check with you. Is there somebody

here?”

“Yes, a computer guy is setting up my new machine.”

He doubted, I saw it on his suspicious face. “So you’re okay.”

“Yes. Now go away, you’re interfering with my instruction.” I closed the door in

his face. How dare he?

“Who was that? He sounded like he was sorta upset.”

“He’s trying to save my life.”

Tony looked at me closer. “Ah, …”

“Never mind. Show me how to get around this site.” Tony left at about 10:30, and

I thought I saw a car follow him away from my place.

I suddenly didn’t know what to do. Brick was a man I’d trusted, then he was the

man who made my personal life an uncomfortable place to be in. Life with Kim had been

so much easier, but I’d screwed that up beyond repair.

#

Tony and I talked briefly on the phone about Internet service, but a certain chime


144

was gone from his voice. I finally got the nerve to ask him if he’d been followed home

the night he’d come here. “Yeah, by a police car. It scared the shit out of me. Why? Oh,

hold on. Is this about the man at your door?”

“Yes.”

“Is he cop?”

“Yeah.”

Silence, except for the sounds of the busy store behind him. “Look, I like helping

you and everything, but I can’t talk to you anymore.”

“Because he’s a Deputy Sheriff?”

“Cops can pretty much do what they want. They beat on a friend of mine last

year, and nothing was done about it. Goodbye, Belinda.” The line went dead.

#

“Goddammit Jim, you can’t do that shit anymore.”

“It’s only because I care about you.”

“Yeah. So, it’d be okay for me to stalk you?”

“You’re saying I stalk you?” he answered in a calm voice, and that somehow

made him seem creepier.

“I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not. Not really. I do pay extra attention to you, but that’s for the same reason

you keep a shotgun in your bedroom.”

“So, you’re protecting me.”

“Yeah, and any future relationship we might have.”

“I’m smothering, Brick. We’ve slept together once, and while it was okay, it’s not


145

a relationship.”

“Only okay?” he paused before he added, “I said, ‘future’ relationship.

“You want me back in your bed.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“You get a real kick nailing an underage girl?”

“I don’t think of you like that.”

“Here’s the deal as I see it. Leave my personal life out of whatever we’re doing,

quit following me, or I tell a teary story about being a poor, victimized child.”

“Blackmail? You’re blackmailing me?”

“Not quite, it depends on your behavior.”

“I can’t believe you’re blackmailing me. That’s pretty ballsy.” I didn’t respond.

“Fine, on your terms then. But let me say this, you’re not an easy girl to figure out.”

“What do you need to figure out?”

“You go from sleeping with your girlfriend, to basically seducing me in my own

home, to making ultimatums.”

It pissed me off when he mentioned Kim. I’d been rejected because of him. Well,

him and me. “Yeah, well that’s me in a nutshell.”

He laughed on the other end of the line. “And believe it or not, it’s a turn on.” His

voice sounded Brick-hard horny.

And so was I. Against my better judgment, my body was giving me up.

The tone of his voice changed to a salivating dog, and I liked it. He desired me,

wanted me. “Tuesday, I’m off. Meet me at my place?”

“Are you cooking again?”


146

“Depends on what you mean by cooking.”

I hung up on him, and questioned my motives. They were pure irrational, not at

all intellectual.

#

It was early Spring, late Winter, and still sloppy outside. I sat in front of the

computer screen putting on pounds, following up on the Ellen Brickman case. I found an

old chat-room kept going by somebody who went by the initials ME. There hadn’t been

any chat in it for over two years, and I wondered why this ME person was still hosting it.

I texted an inquiry, clumsy and slow using two fingers, asking about the site. ME got

back to me immediately.

“I’ve maintained this site in case a similar crime should take place. Ellen

Brickman’s death was more than suspicious, but the local Sheriff basically buried the

investigation as soon as her body was found.

“Her husband, Jim Brickman, got her inheritance when she died. The murder, as it

was portrayed, was definitely staged. He now has that money, and the home they built

together.”

I asked, “How do you know so much about it?” My texting was painfully slow

compared to her’s.

“I was on the FBI team who came from Detroit to assist the local boys. My

Department is for missing persons.”

“You’re FBI?”

“Yes. Do you have any additional information to share?”

I felt ashamed. I didn’t do any research when I met Jim, and now I was inside his


147

circle of interest. ME repeated her question. “Do you have any additional information?”

It was time to brave up. “I’m involved with him.”

Time suspended itself in the wires our conversation traveled in. Finally, “I can tell

you two things. Get the hell away from him, then move away with no forwarding

address.”

This was turning more bizarre with every word. “I don’t know where I’d go if I

wanted to run away.”

“You’ve no doubt heard there are underground agencies to help women in danger.

You could transit out with their help.”

“Is there a contact near to Loon Lake?”

“I can’t trust you’re who you say you are, so that information is unavailable at this

time.”

“How do I convince you?”

“Social Security number, date of birth, driver’s license number, address, father’s

name and date of birth, mother‘s maiden name and date of birth.”

“You make it hard enough. I don’t know my mother’s birthday, or my father’s for

that matter. What do I do?”

“You’ll email what you have to my FBI address, it’s secure, and best of all, it’ll

go into a personal file with your name on it, ah, just in case. Hold on for a minute, I’m

sending you the form.”

It sprang up on my screen. God, it was intimidating, all the boxes to fill in. This

was a time when I wish I had cable. I filled it out, with next to nothing about my father. I

knew he was born in Donegal, and hoped that would be good enough. I hit the send


148

button.

ME immediately sent back to me, “Belinda O‘Conner, age seventeen, eighteen in

May, address…” And so she continued. “Traumatized by rape. Is that the reason you own

a shotgun now?”

“How did you…”

“Gun dealer registration. Are you any good with it? Do you practice?”

“I’m good with it.”

“Okay, down to business. There’s a local contact, her name’s Anne Flores. She’s

a Social Worker. I know her, and like her. She very, very good at arranging extraction.”

Holy shit. “I see Anne as a counselor now.”

“Really? Does she know your situation?”

“Not much. We’ve been working with the trauma from my past.”

“Let her know what you decide for now, and tell her to contact me.”

“You really believe I could be in danger?”

“Depends. Do you have any money?”

That hurt. “Yes, from my father’s death. About $150,000.”

“Does he have any access to it?”

“No, I’m not that stupid.”

“Sorry, had to ask. What do you think you’re going to do?”

“I think I’ll stay here until the school year is over, then weigh the situation.”

“You live alone, both mother and father deceased. Right?”

“Right.”

“Friends you can go to?”


149

That hurt more than the money question. “No.”

“No friends? Are you isolating?”

“No, I lost her fair and square by myself. Over Brickman, if you can believe it.”

“I can. Now, email me every evening. Keep me, and Anne, apprised of your

situation. I’ll talk to you then.”

“Hold it! Two questions.”

“Sure.”

“Why did you say I needed to run away?”

“He’s a suspect in another missing person case. A girl disappeared, about a year

after his wife died, and she knew him.”

Ouch! “What was her name?”

“Debbie Underwood. She was just graduated from high school. Now do you get

what I’m trying to tell you?”

I did. “Where are you?”

“Never, never tell anyone this. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Columbus, Ohio, at the Branch office. We cover most of the Midwest in one way

or another. That it?”

“One more. What’s your name?”

A wait, a longer wait, and I thought she disconnected. Then a string of letters

appeared on my screen. “Melody Echo”, then, “Destroy these messages immediately!”

#

Chapter Twelve-


150

Melody Echo hated almost everybody equally. There were exceptions for two

groups in her book. She loathed any male co-worker who made rude or sexist remarks

about a woman. She sent them into a deep Departmental dumpster from where they

would never reemerge whole. Men who had worked for her, then demanded a transfer

out, told horrific tales about being assigned to shit duty by her that, in their words,

“Wasted my time and talent.” They weren’t missed when they left.

She also hated the women who asked for help to get a life for themselves, but then

returned to their abusive partner. She was angry because they were a permanent missing

person waiting to happen, then they’d return back to her Department when they were

dead. She especially hated crude bullies, assaulters of women, and she would gladly

shoot the dick off of any rapist without remorse.

On the other end of emotional spectrum were the people she fought for. They

commanded her affection when they rose above their circumstances and got free, got a

life away from pain and fear.

In between those two ends of humankind Melody hated about everybody equally.

But the true and most holy aspect of Melody Echo was her incredible restraint,

her subtle patience, and most of all, her piercing power of observation. She could see a

bad thing coming for miles. On this fine morning in Columbus, Ohio, she saw a bad thing

loaming on the Michigan horizon. On this fine morning in Columbus, Ohio, at six am,

Special Agent Melody Echo walked the hall to her Departmental office. Silence opened

up in front of her passing, and dissipated in her wake. She liked silence, she especially

liked it in other people, and the staff of the agency knew it after a string of well-placed,

personal requests. You listened to Melody’s requests. Whether the hallway was quiet or


151

not, she walked inside a silent bubble of concentration, her thoughts her only companion.

The question was, and many, many agents asked it, how did she get away with her

imperative, commanding manner. Even the brass were annoyed by her at times, but she

shrugged those moments off her shoulders as having little importance. So, why?

Agents, and especially Special Agents, are evaluated for performance

semi-annually. Goods ratings and remarks, you get approval, and maybe advancement.

Great ratings, based on exemplary performance, were lauded as the standard for the

agency. Good agents might have a sixty percent solved case load. Melody had a

ninety-nine percent solved case load. If fact, the Jim Brickman case was the only case

she’d failed. Yes, she was driven. Yes, she actually saw an opportunity to solve her

failure after all this time.

She was tough enough to get the job done, fair in her treatment of her team, and

respectful to those who warranted respect. In turn, her team and the people she respected

gave her total allegiance. That was how she worked, and why it worked.

The girl, Belinda, was seventeen, almost eighteen, and she sounded like a strong

young woman. She survived a rape and constant humiliation, survived her alcoholic

mother’s death, and kept her head about the money she had in the bank. Melody loved

having all these facts, and inferences, at her fingertips. It gave her a feel for each subject,

every fellow woman in need. Right now Melody was feeling that Belinda may have more

in common with her than the girl could know. It resonated, that fact, and wiggled

vibrations throughout Melody’s body.

She entered the glass office her team was contained in carrying folders, and a cup

of Starbuck’s coffee. All heads turned to her, and everybody had enough sense not to


152

address her with a good morning. She tossed the folders on the long table they met at and

worked on. “Gather ‘round.” When she sat down she opened up with, “I want you all to

continue working on what you’ve got. John Brennan and I are going to work on an old

case re-opened. It’s been years since this woman was murdered, but as you know, there’s

no statute of limitations. The deceased’s name is Ellen Brickman, the suspect Jim

Brickman. The motive was the tidy sum of $175,000.

“There is another aspect to this case. A female high school student came up

missing after Brickman’s wife was dead for about a year, and her body never recovered.

This girl knew Deputy Brickman very well. Oh, yes, the suspect is a local Deputy Sheriff

Sergeant. That’s another problem. The Sheriff Department’s fraternity is so tight they

won’t talk. At all. They‘re a classic good ole boy club.” Another sip. “I have a very

unpleasant and disturbing image of the wife gang-raped by Jim’s co-deputies before they

sunk her in that swamp, eradicating any usable DNA. That’s how tight they are.

“Now, the reason I’m pulling this case out of cold storage is that there is another

young woman involved with the suspect. She’s not a total idiot, well, not completely at

least, and we’re going to maintain steady contact. I told her to run into the local Suitcase

Society. She won’t do it because she believes her lover would be in danger. She‘s

probably right. Her lover is a girl the same age as her.”

Crisp and invigorated, uplifted even, when she stepped into her office she was

already hot on the cold case.

#

I got to Jim’s house at five. We didn’t eat dinner. Half an hour later I was bracing

my arms against the headboard, trying to keep my head from smashing into it. My body


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never felt so muscular, strong, so fit to the task. When he finished we lay beside each

other covered in sweat, my thighs slippery with exertion.

“That’s what you wanted,” I said.

“Yeah, and you wanted it too.” He was right, I did.

“So, are we going to eat?”

“That’ll come later.”

He meaning wasn’t the same as mine. I ended up on top of him, feeling like I was

impaled on a stake. My legs wouldn’t work when I tried to climb off, so I laid on my

back and tried to get some feeling in them. “Okay, how about dinner now?”

He laughed. “I made chili. I only have to warm it up.”

“Can I take a shower? I think my skin’s rubbed off.”

Another laugh. “Towels are in the linen closet at the end of the hall.” He got up

and walked into the kitchen naked and I watched, whether I wanted to or not. I went to

the bath and ran hot water over my body until I felt like it belonged to me again. Jim

opened the door while I was rinsing off and hung a terry robe next to the tub, then left.

When I exited the bathroom I was starving and the chili smelled great.

In the kitchen he was pouring himself a beer, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.

There was a flat screen computer monitor that looked very out of place. I wondered

what he was doing with it. On the food side, a crispy sort of flat-bread like a big cracker,

and a tall glass of ice tea waiting for me. I sat down and started to shove chili into my

mouth. It was good.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Belinda.”

I swallowed. “Yeah?”


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“You mentioned blackmailing me. It could never happen.”

I stopped eating. “What?”

“Think about it, I know everybody in this area, and they know me. I know all the

public officials, and their dirty habits. The Sheriff, and all the local law enforcement, and

the various agencies and businesses are all connected to me. I know everybody around

here. I know the manager of your bank…”, he let that sink in, “the hospital staff

including doctors and nurses. I know all the things in their private lives they wish I

didn’t.” He took a long swallow of beer. “ Like you, you’re an outcast because you fuck

little girls, and you come from poor white trash.” He reached over and took my hand and

I yanked it back. “So, who do you think is going to believe you?”

The question hung in the air unanswered. I felt like throwing his chili up right

there. “I thought you’d like to know. With what I know about you, I could spread your

story across the county, and I’d include your little girlfriend.” He turned on the monitor

and clicked a wireless mouse. “Wireless Broadband, ya gotta’ love it.”

There was my bedroom, the bed lengthwise to the camera, and on the bed Kim

and I were doing what we thought was private. The picture was clear enough to identify

both of us.

I ran to the bathroom and upchucked. Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry. He came in

and knelt next to me on the floor. “You don’t have to fear me, Belinda. Honest. All I’m

suggesting is that you stay to the straight and narrow with me now. Ah, accent on the

‘straight‘.”

“Or?”

“Your little show goes on the Internet, with bulk invitations sent to anybody


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important. Like your school. Like Kim’s mother and father, for example.”

“You’re a real fucker, you know that? Did you plant that camera when I let you

change the lock to my place? You really suck.”

“I’m not a fucker, at least in the way you mean. No, I’m just smarter than you.

You can’t run away from me, so you better make nice.”

My mouth smelled of vomit and mashed kidney beans. “I’m going home.”

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“God, no.” Even with the heaves wracking my belly I was dressed and out of

there in less than two minutes. Twenty more and I was in my living room, holding a tiny

chip board with a plastic lens on it. It’d been peeking at us from the heat register. I left

the retaining door chain off and held my Berretta, just hoping he’d try to come over and

check on me. Unfortunately, he didn’t.

#

I also called Anne. “Do you know what happened to Debbie Underwood?”

“I don’t know much, her body was never found.”

“How was she connected to Brick?”

“Rumor has it he was painting her. This was about nine, ten months after his wife

was murdered. She disappeared within days of his wife‘s death‘s anniversary.”

“He was painting her? I’ll bet she’s one of the women on his walls.”

“Women? You mean paintings? How many?”

“I don’t know for sure. Some look like he did them some time ago, they’re less

skilled, he has newer ones too. His wife dominates a whole room.”

“You’re in danger Belinda. You need to tell Kim about this.”


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“Tell Kim what? She won’t even talk to me.”

“Look, Belinda, she’s involved, and she needs to know it. She also needs to know

what’s going on in case you disappear.”

“Disappear? You mean like dead?”

“I mean disappeared as in going away. I’m going to tell you how it works, so you

can escape at any time. But not without first telling Kim the situation.”

“Oh, God, her mother must totally hate me. Maybe she won’t even let me talk to

Kim.”

“Then let me talk to her mother if she refuses contact. I can’t give any details to

her, or anybody else either, but I’d persuade her to hear you out.”

“Would you call her?”

“I’ll try, but you get a hold of Kim first. Understand?” I nodded, furiously

thinking of how I brought trouble to the person I loved. “Now, listen up, this is the key

into the Suitcase Society.”

“Why’s it called that?”

“Because you’re allowed one suitcase, at most, but nothing more.”

I’d leave my whole life behind. And everybody in it.

We ran overtime, and Anne cancelled two appointments, so by the time she

finished I almost understood the dangerous process. “What about money?”

“Take small amounts at a time, nothing more than five hundred dollars. You don’t

want to alert the manager. Use the ATM at night if you can, and if you think you‘re being

followed drive past it.”

“But I’ve got a lot in the bank. What about that?”


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“You can give me power of attorney. I’ll rescue it, and nobody will catch on to

your location.”

I wilted in my chair. “Oh, God, this is crazy. What have I done?”

“No! Don’t you blame yourself! If Brickman wanted you, he was going to have

you!”

“What about Kim? I’ve drug her into this.”

“Brickman’s a predator, and you’re his game. You, not your friend.”

“She’s more than a friend. I love her.”

“He’s more than a friend too. He’s your hunter.”

#

Melody confirmed Anne’s advice about talking to Kim. Now all I had to do was

make her listen.

#

“This is Belinda. I have to talk to you. It’s extremely important you hear what I

have to tell you. Please, please, call me back.”

I stayed off line so I wouldn’t miss her return call, and I waited. The minutes

slithered across my skin like dancing razorblades, stinging more each second. Then the

phone rang.

“Hey, Belinda. What’s going on?”

“Can we meet in private? This is for you only.”

“You really sound like this is life or death.”

“Kim, it is.”

“Whoa! Okay, I can meet you. But not here. My mother…”


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“Hates my guts, and I deserve it. Can you come here?”

“How about thirty minutes?”

“Great, I’ll be waiting.”

It was more like forty-five, but when I opened the door she was standing there,

radiant with beauty. I couldn’t stop looking at her face, the face I wanted to look at the

rest of my life. “Hi,” she said with a smile, “Can I come in?”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I shut the door behind her. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, I’ve missed you too.” She took off her jacket. “So, what’s going on?”

I sat next to her on the couch we’d made love on, the couch that remembered the

shape of her body, and started at the beginning, and ended with Anne’s advice yesterday.

The whole story hurt, but not as bad as the empty space between me and Kim’s body. I’d

screwed that up in order to get into this more screwed situation.

“What are you going to do?” she asked with genuine fear.

“I’m going to stay here. After all, I finally found a life with you I like, and I’m not

willing to give it up yet.” I reached to touch her cheek, but she quickly pulled back. “And

I’m not going to give you up either.” I did touch her cheek then, with a hungry hand.

As only she could do, she laughed. “I thought we were only going to talk.”

“Sorry.”

She looked down at the couch and maybe remembered the oneness of our past.

“Don’t be, I want you too.” I brightened up instantly. “But I don’t know when yet.” She

stood and stretched her back into a supple curve. “What kind of danger does Anne think

I’m in?”

“I rather think she wants you to know the facts in case something happens to me.


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She can’t disclose information, if asked, like you could.”

“Jesus Christ! What have you gotten into? Relocating with a different name?” She

began to pace. “What are we going to do? Disappear? I don’t think my family could take

it.”

“Ah, I’d be disappearing by myself. Not you.”

She sat down next to me. “Would I ever see you again?” I shrugged. “This sucks,

really sucks! We’re juniors in high school, not secret agents.”

“Kim, I’m not telling you because I want you in this any deeper. I’m telling you

as a friend, and lover. Stay away. Be safe. Stay away.” I started to cry heavily, but didn’t

mention the tiny camera in the bedroom. I held my face in my hands, cried some more,

and felt like scum. I heard her crying too.

“I can’t stay away, I tried to, but it hurt so much I didn’t know how much longer I

could stand it.” She snuffled. “I’m back now, but you want to send me away again.” I felt

her hands take mine and pull them away from my face. “Belinda.”

I lifted my head. “Yeah?” She pulled our faces together and kissed me. It was as

good and sweet as I remembered. I kissed her back, with tears wetting my lips.

“Do you really want me to go away?”

#

Melody was on the phone with Anne. “How is she?”

“Probably not as scared as she should be.”

“Is she smart enough to get clear if the situation escalates?”

“I think so. She’s not so much smart as she is resourceful. We’ve gone deep into

her past many times, and she transcends the pain every time.”


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“I’m worried about her friend, Kim. Is she in danger?”

“I can’t tell. I’m about to break confidence, but I think this has to be told. Kim

and Belinda were lovers. They’re not anymore, because of Brickman and Belinda’s

stupid decision to be with him, but Brickman likes little girls, and…”

“Debbie Underwood.”

“Yes.”

“Like I said, she’s not so much smart as resourceful.”

“How fast can you pull her out?”

“I’ve got a good team of women.”

“How fast?”

“Fast enough, I hope.” Anne took a deep breath. “Are you now looking at

Debbie Underwood’s case, instead of Belinda’s? I think this situation is volatile enough

of its own without an old case getting in the way.”

“No, I’m worried about this girl. That’s what I’m always interested in. The

living.”

#

After Kim left I got online and Googled Debbie Underwood. There wasn’t much

to read in the first site. She’d never been found. There wasn’t any mention of Deputy

Sergeant Brickman, or a photograph of her. Then I skipped over to the local newspaper

site. There she was, a photograph of a pretty blond taken away too soon. There was little

additional information other than her memorial service, who survived her, and what

charity to contribute to instead of sending flowers.

He must have painted her. I typed in- Jim Brickman+Michigan colleges+art


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schools. I got nothing. Then I tried- Jim Brickman+Michigan Universties+criminal

justice+law enforcement.

There he was, or there was his academic history. He attended Michigan State

University, following a criminal justice curriculum. He was also awarded two purchase

prizes in painting from the Art School, one in his junior year, the other as a senior. There

was a brief blurb about his talent. “I really don’t know if I want to go into law

enforcement. Painting naked women is a lot more fun.”

I discovered he grew up here in Loon Lake, returned here after school, and joined

local law enforcement full time. That was the end of the trail, but apparently not the end

of painting.

#

Chapter Thirteen-

That night I dreamed.

I’m not a big dreamer, with portents under every pillow. I’m also not a big

believer in the meaning of dreams. I think it’s like trying to find out the mind of a

producer after you’ve seen a badly directed movie. I wake up and my mind is already full

of all the stuff I have to do that day.

So, I dreamed a dream that I couldn’t forget, didn’t want to forget, and had my

da’ in it.

I dreamed I was asleep, and falling into a dream state within the bigger one. I

hung suspended as if restrained by the Tuatha De Danann, the fairy people of Ireland.

Whispers and dream filaments suspended my mind in a dusky light I couldn’t see

through, and a breeze smelling of peat smoke and wet wool sat on my shoulder.


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“Belinda,” a voice whispered. “Belinda, it’s your da’.”

I wanted to shout, to scream a greeting, I was so happy to hear his voice. “Where

have you been? You promised to come to me.”

“Ah, sorry about that. They’ve got some heavenly good mead over on this side.

Anyway, I’m here now, and I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I can smell you. Why can I smell you, but not see you?”

“I have no form here besides the memory from loved ones. Apparently you

thought my smell was more memorable than my sight.”

I remembered my early memory of getting tipsy from his breath, and couldn’t

remember seeing him around the house very often. “Ah,” he said, “I wasn’t around much.

Your mother and all, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for that.”

“I did say I was sorry.”

“You want to tell me something.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just perch here on your shoulder and whisper in your ear.”

I heard him blow his nose and wipe his dry lips with the back of his hand.

“In the Seventeenth century a woman was born in Connaught, Ireland, into a clan

of pirates. The clan knew one thing, raiding English ships, and they set about it with

thirsty abandon. Now this wee lass, this Grace O’Malley, cut off her fine red hair and

raided just as well as any man. Better actually, as she was vicious and unforgiving. She

was married, had two children, and probably still had to fix bangers and mash for dinner

every night, She succeeded the head of her clan when he passed, God rest his good

pirating soul.


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“Under her command the clan and its now fleet of ship’s were merciless, to the

point that Queen Elizabeth sent a new Governor to Ireland to put Grace’s fleet down. His

name was Sir Richard Bingham, spit on his odious grave.

“In time he did take control of her ships, and she spent eighteen months in prison.

Then she moved to County Mayo with her second husband.”

I thought I smelt ale in the air. “Uh, sorry, darlin’, ‘tis a long, dry story. I like to

keep my poor parched throat well-lubricated. This next part is the most important, and I

want you hear it well-told.

“So, Grace is land locked with children and Sir Bingham, piss and shite on his

headstone. Her husband dies, leaving the once powerful clan leader impoverished. Do

you know what she did? Of course you don’t, I haven’t told you yet.

“She writes good Queen Bess, stating she has no income because Bingham, may

he kiss my bullocks, took it away from her. She wants her flagship back, under the

Queen’s command this time, and a stipend to boot. All so she can feel the sea under her,

and to fly across the waves like some grand gull. Well good Queen Bess, may she be

remembered with generous forgiveness, actually meets with Grace, and because they’re

women of a kind, they like each other, and decide to work together, each as head’s of

their own dynasties.

“Grace O’Malley eventually had her fleet back. Bess, bless her memory even if

she was calculating and cold-bloodied as her father, now had a fearless fleet in the

troubled Irish Sea. Those who didn’t work with Grace feared her, just like Elizabeth‘s

minions did for her. Richard Bingham, fart generously in his general direction, was

removed as Governor, and life became grand for the former pirates. Grace died in 1603,


164

but still lives on as a bedtime story for all the wee lads and lasses. “Grace O’Malley and

the English Fleet” is a favorite of mine.”

I’d sorta slipped into dreaming this story within a dream within a dream. “Are ya

still with me, darlin’?”

“Why are you telling me this story, da?”

“There’s not much I can give you, but I can send you a possible solution to your

problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, mind you, it’s the best I could think of. When you’re in trouble, and you

most certainly are now, ask yourself this question- ‘What would O’Malley do?’ I think

that’s thumpin’ good. What do you think? Is it any good?”

My father, the consummate fairy-teller. “Yes, da‘, I think it’s good.”

“Ya, I thought so too.”

“Could you help me understand what she did that I’m supposed to remember?”

“Oh, didn’t I make myself clear? Hmm. Okay, she took on the opposition and

used them to continue her family’s way of life, and regained her heritage. She was bigger

than the situation.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Why couldn’t he have said that to begin with?

“One more thing, my wee lass. I know you have the fire now.” I waited for him to

continue. “You know what it is?”

“I’ve used it once, I’m ashamed to say.”

“Yeah, I know. Put your stock in what you’ve already got, not what somebody’s

sellin’ you.” What? What was that supposed to mean? She ‘d ask him, but he’d probably


165

tell her another fairy tale.

“Do you hate me da’? For these things I’ve done?”

“I could never hate you my sweet. Your path isn’t the straight and narrow one. I

certainly can’t condemn you for that, neither was mine.”

“But you stayed with my mother, even when…”

“Ah, about that. You may have brothers and sisters you don’t know about. Maybe

quite a few with red hair. I can’t actually count the women, you know.”

“Oh, really?”

“Your da’ was alive once, and had his appetites.”

I laughed in the dream, and began to wake up into the other. “I can’t blame you

for that, either.”

The next level showed me Kim in front of a waving Jolly Roger, wearing pirate’s

gear and stretching her arms out to me. I floated, swam actually, in the salty air before

her, unable to come closer to her hands. “Your issue is power,” she whispered. I retreated

from the pain in her eyes, and surfaced to the highest dream state. The world rolled on

pretty much like always, but on the horizon I saw distant smoke curling and waving. Out

of that sinuous smoke the visage of Walter Taft appeared.

I screamed and woke myself up. All I could think of was, “Not now, oh God, not

now.”

#

Melody Echo was never one to think inside a box, but she had a powerful

think-tank she relied on to solve difficult cases. The first time she saw her steel lover in

the dealer’s showroom she stopped to touch its pearl-white paint. The second to smell the


166

plastic, rubber, paint, wax, and new carpet cocktail inside the cockpit. The third time she

drove it, and wrote a check for it in full.

It was a Mitsubishi 3000, all wheel drive VRT with twin turbochargers, 90mm

throttle bodies, and oversized cat-back exhaust. But she wasn’t finished making the car

her own. She took it to the best speed shop she could find in three states, lowered the

body three inches, had the suspension tightened like a clock spring, traded up to

over-sized twenty inch rims, wide Michelin road-grabbers, and a two thousand watt Bose

stereo with I-pod capability. Then even more electronics- a GPS system, hands-free cell

phone, an illegal laser sensor that could pick up radar in the next state if you wanted it to.

There was a laptop that came out of the passenger’s side dash. There was a holder

for her Sig-Sauer nine millimeter weapon where she could reach it without thought. And,

most important to her when she entered suspect territory, the windows were tinted dark

with polarizing film.

She had Ohio state license plates that read, “ECHO”, and law enforcement left the

vehicle alone. Which was difficult, because Melody’s think tank was most efficient at

speeds between one hundred twenty to one hundred forty. She’d orbit Columbus on I-270

at four thirty in the morning, wrapping her mind in circles and unwrapping it in layers,

her body disconnected from everything but the machine’s pulse in her seat. It was erotic,

sexy as the feeling when she bagged another bad guy, or pulled another woman out of the

wreckage of their miserable life.

One time a State Trooper tried to keep up with her as she flew by. He lasted less

than five minutes, suffering a blown engine.

It was one of Melody’s maxims, and the only one she’d laugh at. “What good is it


167

to be a cop if you can’t bend the rules a smidge?” Her “smidge” was as big as the cajoles

the car had when she slid inside the leather interior and turned the key.

On this particular night she was torn, not a emotion she was very fond of. While

her love responded to her mere touch of fingertips on the wheel and shifter, her mind was

in Michigan, and the mess she’d handled and failed to clean up the first time. There were

too many opportunities for people to get hurt. Especially the girl, Belinda. What did think

she was doing? Her early life had been a debacle between an absent father, and a

draconian mother. But Belinda was continuing the fallacy of chaos and violence known

as her definition of love. She was horribly conflicted in her interpersonal relationships,

and had no concrete personal description for her own.

Melody knew gay people were born that way, and had her reason to know it, but

Belinda was all over the gender preference map. Her lover, Kim, was significant to her.

Why? Because Kim gave Belinda tenderness, something she desperately desired because

of her mother’s treatment of her. Yet she also became involved with an older man, who

saved her and made her feel safe after the assault on her body. The fact the older man

also happened to be an authoritative figure was the key to her attraction to him. Her

father had been a drunk escapist the whole time she was growing up, and she could never

depend on him to rescue his only daughter from her mother. It was textbook. However,

there was more to Belinda than her past could explain.

The shotgun. She’d bought it right after she was raped. Who taught her to use it?

The store owner told her that “Brick” had helped her initially, but she went beyond his

instruction. Stan expressed the hope Belinda would compete in the next state skeet

tournament. “Yes,” he said, “I’ve never seen the like. I think she could shoot over her


168

shoulder like Annie Oakley, and still win.”

Why did Jim Brickman teach her how to use a gun? Wouldn’t he be afraid she

might use it on him someday? The situation implied he was so confident in his abilities

and plan that she’d never have an opportunity to even point the thing in his direction.

Cocky. Of course, he’d done this thing before.

“What about the girl’s money?” she asked the wind as it conformed to her love’s

curves and then kissed goodbye. How is he going to get access to it? He’s going to make

the girl want to give it to him. Yes, that’s what he’s going to do.

Would Anne be ready if and when she was needed? Melody had to worry about

the arrangements because she was ultimately responsible for the girl’s life. There was

absolutely no room for error, or Melody would torture herself for the rest of her life.

Slowing down smoothly for her exit ramp it occurred to her that she should meet

Belinda face to face.

#

“C’mon Brick, I want to apologize. Is that so terrible?”

“You hated me the last time you left here, Belinda. What’s the turnaround?”

“Could it be your incredible virility? How about because we were friends before I

joked about blackmailing you. I only want to say I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t care much for my chili either.”

“Get over yourself, why don’t you?”

“Can you come tonight?”

“It’s a Thursday and I’m not booked. What time?” He told me five o’clock and

my stomach cramped. Why was I going to the lion’s den? Debbie Underwood, and


169

maybe for Kim. Not knowing if she was in danger was killing me. I’d finally become a

full-fledged whore, which disgusted me like nothing else I‘d ever done. Jim would want

sex, I wanted to keep him friendly, so I’d comply. Sex wasn’t a fun anymore, it was

infiltration, and strategy.

I knocked on his door and he opened up. I smelled the pine tang of turpentine on

the air. “C’mon in Belinda, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

I shivered with fear at his voice, then caught myself. “You what?”

“I’ve made coffee, want some?”

“Sure, but what did you say?”

“In time. Have a cup of joe with me while I explain.”

I sat at the bar and inhaled the black fumes from the mug. It almost covered over

the paint thinner. I knew what was next.

“Let me paint you,” he said. “You know, you look a lot like…”

“Kate Winslet. Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“You’re beautiful. I want to have your beauty captured forever. What do you

think?”

An idea came to me. “How about you show me all the paintings you’ve done, and

tell me a little about the subjects?”

His eyes narrowed. “Ah, well, sure. I guess I can do that.”

“Good coffee Jim. Are you forgiving me?”

“I’m holding off forgiveness until you pose for me.”

“Now you’re the one blackmailing again.”

“Yeah, but I’m better at it than you are.”


170

I’ll say, you snake. “Well then, let’s meet the other ladies so I can decide if I’m

going to be guilt-free over you.” I thought that was a nice statement to make. I still had

the power to decide my own, and Kim’s, future.

He stood up. “Follow me.” The first room was his bedroom, a place I’d already

been, but was too busy at the time to contemplate the walls. There was another painting

of his wife, cruder and more raw than the one in the living room.

“She was very pretty,” I commented.

“I did this the first weekend after we met.” Good lord, he’s never wasted any

time. “Over here is a small painting, but very detailed.” He pointed at a two by three foot

canvas with a full-frontal blond girl on it. Here was Debbie Underwood, right in front of

my face.

“Who is she? She’s so pretty.”

“This is Debbie, a girl same age as you. I painted her totally exposed because it

was the only way she could be captured. I thought you’d like it because she’s your type.”

“My ‘type’?”

“Understand, if you want to go face down in a forest of female short and curly’s,

everybody’s going to know about it.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean because she’s

a lovely blond, because I know you prefer brunettes, I meant she was a lesbian. Isn’t that

the right term?”

I was shocked, to say the least. Was this another attack on me? Did it include

Kim?

“Look, I know you like sex with men. Hell, your performance in this room

convinces me of that. You’re quite a girl. But it looks bad that you do women too.”


171

“It look’s bad on you, you mean.”

“Yeah, but everybody in this town is laughing at you. I’m your saving grace,

because everybody knows how picky I am with women.”

“Were you involved with her?” I pointed at Debbie’s picture. “You said she was

my age, that would make her what, fifteen when you captured her naked body? Did you

have sex with her too?”

The bastard smiled. “Yeah, I did. One time, after the painting was done. It was

very tender. She didn’t act like an underage schoolgirl.”

“You mean like me, don’t you? And everybody knows about your connection

with her?”

“Most do. But it was consensual, and only one time. It was my last serious sex

before you came along.”

“I’ve not experienced the ‘tender’ side of your lovemaking.”

“That’s because you like it rougher. I aim to please.” He leaned against the

bedroom wall. “So? Are you convinced yet?”

“I take off my clothes, and…?”

“I make you pose, but it’ll be an easy one. Every time you come over you’ll give

me at least an hour to paint. That’s it.”

“Where are you going to paint me?”

“A second bedroom I’ve set up as a studio. It has the right lights.”

“Show me.” He led me back past the kitchen, and opened up a door. “This is it?”

He smiled and nodded. “What is that stuff on the walls? It looks like soundproofing.”

“It’s acoustic tile. Sometimes I play really loud music for inspiration.” Indeed,


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there was a stereo on a shelf, and a platform on the floor against the farthest wall. “That’s

where you’ll pose. If you want to try it, take off your clothes and I’ll dial in the color of

the lights.”

I pushed my mind to a far away place, like where my da’ was, in the supernatural

depths of Tir an Og, and stripped. Jim messed around until he had my white Irish skin

looking healthier, more attractive. The lights were warm on my body, and warmed up the

inside of my decision. What would O’Malley do?

“So, what do you think?”

“Did you fix dinner? Cause I’m starving.” I got dressed, ate whatever he’d fixed, I

can’t remember, and told him, “Yeah, I can do it.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

“You’ll be the loveliest one yet.” I wouldn’t be, it was no more than captivating

flattery from a single-minded predator.

#

May came and loosed Michigan’s death grip on Spring. My birthday was still a

while away when I finally texted Melody about my posing for Brick, and my idea that I

could loosen him up enough to talk about past models, including Debbie Underwood.

She’d been a couple of months older than I was when she came up missing.

“You’re doing what?!!”

“I think I can do it.”

“You get out of there immediately!”

“I won’t go. Kim.”

“You think he’ll do something?”

“Don’t you?” There was a lull in her typing that told me she was seriously


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thinking about the situation.

“I want a face to face with you. Tomorrow, at Anne’s office. After her hours so

she doesn’t have to cancel any appointments. 6:00pm.”

“I don’t know if that’s safe. He, or one of the other deputies, follow me around

now.”

“All the more reason to meet.”

#

Just like my usual appointment, I walked the stairs up to her office, but this time I

listened for following echoes. When I decided it was safe I opened her door. There was

an extremely attractive woman sitting in one of Anne’s chairs. She stood up and towered

over me. She must have been six feet tall, slender, and supple as spring steel. Her straight

black hair hung to her shoulder blades, accenting the sparkling river green eyes that took

my measure in one glance. With a smooth motion she held out a slim hand. “Hello

Belinda, I’m Melody Echo. It’s a pleasure.” As if this were her office, she told Anne and

myself to, “Have a seat.” We did.

When I looked into her flowing green eyes I felt a gravity pulling me toward her

pale and perfect skin. I wanted to see her fingers again, their length and strength. I

couldn’t pull my eyes away.

“Anne here tells me you’re very resourceful.”

“Ah,” looking at Anne, “thanks, I guess.”

“Which doesn’t even begin to off-set your stupidity in this matter,” Anne tossed at

me. I didn’t respond this time. “This is not your battle.”

Melody looked at her black business suited lap. “I’m sorry, but you have to leave


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here now.”

Anne opened her mouth, “I agree, Belinda. It’s time to go.” Tears welled up in her

eyes. “I’m genuinely sorry. The fact is Jim Brickman fooled the FBI when his wife died,

and then when Debbie Underwood disappeared. Why couldn‘t he do it again?””

I said one word, “Kim.”

Melody didn’t address me, she didn’t need to. “Both of you think she may be in

danger. Why? The angle here is your money. How does that come together with her?”

“He as much told me she was the lever to me. I give him sex, or he tells the world

that she’s a lesbian. What’s worse, he had a tiny camera in my bedroom, and caught Kim

and I making love. He flat out calls it blackmail, and intends to use it if…, oh, no, what

if,…?”

“He holds her a hostage until you hand over the money in the bank? He’s a real

bastard. I wouldn‘t put it past him.” Melody leaned back in her chair, and thought. “What

if we re-locate her for a few months?”

“Her family would never agree to such torture. I want to get through the school

year, with her.”

Melody stood up, every impressive inch of her. Why was I getting a strange buzz

off her? There was more to her than showed on the surface, and I wanted to know what it

was.

“You’re waiting then?” asked an alarmed Anne. “For god’s sake why? Do it now

and get this mess over.”

“I know what you’re thinking, and I would, but for one reason.”

“What?”


175

“Belinda.”

“What about her?”

“It‘s her decision, unless we imprison her and strip away her Constitutional rights.

She heard our concerns, ignored them, and plans on somehow bringing down Brickman

single-handed. She‘s an idiot, but she‘s her own idiot until she asks for help, or gets

hurt.”

“Goddamn it! We talked about this, Melody. She’s not some secret agent. Hell,

she’s not even eighteen yet, and I’d like to see her make it to her age of majority.”

But the way Melody was telling it made me sound so clever. “Hey! I know, I

could wear a wire.”

Melody frowned, “Where? You’re naked.” Oops, maybe not that clever.

“The painting is going to be finished before my birthday. We all could have a

party.”

“Look, Belinda, this guy is a loose cannon who thinks he can get away with

anything in this area.” Anne explained, once again. “I’m sure he has a course of action

already worked out.” She covered my hand with her’s. “Do you want to end up in a

swamp?”

“Of course not, I want him to go away so I can live my own life.”

Melody cleared her throat. “I think what Belinda suggests about her birthday is

valid. We could all have a party, with agents all around his place. Look, I want her out

now too, but she gives us a reason to check out his house. She could scream, and we’d be

obligated to go inside to find what the matter is.”

Anne snorted. “Sure, that works on “Law and Order”, but here in the sticks? Try


176

to get a judge to back you up. Brickman’s also probably got some nasty videotape on

every elected official for fifty miles around here.”

“We’re a federal agency, not local yokels.”

I stood up too. “I’m going to complete the painting. My birthday is…”

“I know, the twenty-second.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s on the twenty-third.”

“But your records…”

“Have always been wrong. I’ve got my birth certificate. Somebody typed

something wrong somewhere else, and my original is the only right one.”

“Really? Hmm. Does Brickman know that?” She was thinking in overdrive.

“No, I never saw the need to tell him. If he thinks my birthday is the

twenty-second, who am I to confuse him?”

“I’ll text you the plan for your birthday. Between the two of us we can pull

something mighty together.”

“The two of you?” Anne protested.

“The fewer involved, the more concealment. You don’t want to give up your

re-location service, do you?” Anne shook her head and looked sad.

I stood up, and my eyes barely made it to her chest. “I’ve really enjoyed meeting

you, Melody.” I’ll say I have. “I hope to see you again.”

She laughed, but it was so low only I could hear it. “If we extract you out of here

you’ll see a lot more of me. You be careful, and scream if you’re in trouble, I’ve got

texting and email on my cell phone.” She held out her hand. I took it, and didn’t want to

let it go. She smiled. “You can trust Anne, and me, to be behind you. Understand?”


177

Yes, I did. That’s why I bought a box of deer slugs at Stan’s handy gun shop the

next day and researched the Internet for gun alterations. I hack-sawed on the barrel for an

hour, cutting it just at the end of the forward stock, then filed the cut smooth. The smoke

signals on the horizon still harkened bad news, but I was going to be deadly, if pressed.

#

I talked to Kim three times that week. Not about the situation, about my feelings

for her. Her voice was intoxicating, and I drank of it as long as I could. She said the same

thing, even pushed it to mentioning next Saturday night, and how she could be free. I

found out, at last, what true happiness meant.

On the other hand, I posed for Brick. He wouldn’t let me see it until completion,

but his fingers ran around my silhouette like he owned every line of me. Twice he ran his

turpentine scented hands over my naked body, finger-painting erotic messages, offering

to make me feel like a woman in every sense of the word. He was absolutely serious,

maybe to the point of restraining me, so I whored up and crawled into his bed. Once I

blew him so it’d be over as soon as possible. It worked, and it didn’t. Fifteen minutes

later he was taking me from behind, thrusting so hard my arms gave out and my face

scraped the comforter. It wasn’t comfortable at all.

He was all smiles when he nailed me, and invited me forcibly into the shower

with him, I think to wash away DNA evidence. He treated me like a real

lover-companion some times, and if I didn’t know more about him I would have been

totally his, to do with what he wanted. Like Debbie Underwood. Like his beautiful, sexy,

high school teacher wife. They died, certainly at his hands, hands that were hungry again,

chomping and smacking their knuckles over the scent of fresh female flesh, and I was


178

their the main course. After every of those nights I had to go to school the next morning. I

wasn’t sure which, if either, was the real world. I was split into two incomplete bodies.

Then I thought of Kim, and knew what direction I wanted to go in. If we were allowed.

#

Chapter Fourteen-

“Ah, Melody?” She turned around her chair. It was the man who was usually her

partner. “Yes?”

“This plan to go up to Michigan, are we joining up with Detroit?”

“Yes. They remember this case too, and will be there.”

“May I speak freely?”

“Always, Agent Malone, you know that.”

“This isn’t by the books, and while you usually get plenty of latitude in the

conduction of a case, this one’s going to stink to high heaven.”

“We’re dealing with a missing person’s case, two cold case murders, and a

possible abduction of another girl. What stinks about that?”

“Everybody upstairs knows you’re going after this guy, Jim Brickman, because

he’s the only blemish on your otherwise sterling record. If you fail, it won’t look good.”

Melody knew the Bureau was an institution like the church, with levels of

members following the ancient structure. On the lowest level were the angels, the Agents,

next came archangels, virtues, thrones, etc, up to seraphim and next god. She also knew

she was an avenging archangel who kept her violence on a chain. She didn’t figure to

ascend to heaven any time soon, and frankly, that ascension would interfere with her real

devotion, rescuing the downtrodden and injured. She was a true believer in action, not


179

some cleric.

“Thank you for that analysis, John. I appreciate how you watch my back.”

“One more thing. Why is that girl still there?”

“Close the door, John, and have a seat.” He did both. “She’s the reason we’ll be

able to go in.”

John’s face drained of color. “That’s civilian bait, entrapment…, I’m sure some

other infractions, also very dangerous, and wrong.”

“If anybody ever says anything nice about me, which is unlikely, remember this

moment. You know who I am John. You know I’m nothing like nice. I met the girl face

to face, and she told me in no uncertain terms, that she was going to do it this way. I tried

to dissuade her, but she wasn’t listening to any regulation talk. She really wants to nail

this bastard, no matter what.”

“It’s still wrong.”

“Yeah, it is. Before you judge her, or my, actions, hear her reason for doing what

she’s doing. Her lover, a high school girl like herself, is in danger if Belinda doesn’t do

something about it. Even if she has to disappear after, leaving her girlfriend forever.

That’s why she won’t listen to me.”

John sat and weighed it all. “She’s compelled out of love.” He looked up at

Melody’s eyes. “I can understand your empathy here, but it’s still wrong.”

“Objection noted John. If I get flushed down the toilet, I’ll be sure to tell the brass

you warned me. Watch my back still?”

“Without question.”

“Thanks, you’re a good man.” He left, understanding more, and less. It wasn’t his


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place to judge the boss lady.

#

I couldn’t go to the shooting range with my sawed-off weapon, so I made excuses

to Brick, and offered to spend the morning posing. He leapt at the offer. I dropped my

clothes off and assumed the position.

“You know, Belinda, you’re really good at this. Maybe you could do it in the Art

Department of the college you’ll go to. They’re always looking for life models.”

“The only person I strip for is you.”

“That’s nice, but not exactly true, is it?”

“What?”

“Kim. You still get naked with her, don’t you?”

I stepped out of the pose, and reached for my pants.

“You still get naked with Kim. I know it even without the camera.”

Tugging on one leg, I answered, “Not since I started fucking you, Brick. She

wants nothing to do with you, so she won’t touch me.”

“Don’t leave, please. We’ve got an hour left.”

“We have no time left, I’m leaving.”

I was slammed against the sound-deadened wall, my breath pounded out. Then a

hard punch hit me in the stomach and I buckled. “I don’t think you understand the

situation. I paint, you pose. You don’t decide to leave, you don’t decide to dress. If I want

more than posing from you I’ll throw you down on whatever surface I choose. Is this

sinking in? Or do I have to repeat myself?”

I still couldn’t breathe, but I nodded agreement. His hands on me were more than


181

ready for fast violence, and I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity.

“Another thing, I don’t want you seeing Kim anymore. You’re embarrassing

yourself, and me too. Everybody knows that any lady I choose is something special. My

wife was Miss Ohio. You’ll never be as good as her, but you’re better off with me than

some fuckin’ piece of snatch. Understood?” I nodded again and pushed my chest out to

pull in air.

“So, this painting will be unveiled on your birthday. I was kind of hoping you’d

agree to a little party. You know, just some of my friends.”

Like hell I wanted anything to do with his friends. This smelled distinctly of

swamp gas. But I nodded again. Anything to get out of here.

He finished forty-five minutes later. “Care to shower?” I shook my head. “You’re

upset with me.” He said it like he was buying shoes, brown and blasé.

“Uh, you hit me in the stomach. How did you think I’d feel?”

“You’re lucky it doesn’t show.” Good Christ, this guy was a slimy piece of shit.

Where did the guy go who helped me so much? Was he only an act leading up to this

ogre? Did he know he’d be killing me when he handled me like the porcelain I was in

those days? That, I thought, was the worse thing about this fucked up situation. He

hunted me from the moment he saw my scratched tits. The voyeuristic, savage

son-of-a-bitch.

I got dressed and drove home, watching my rear-view the whole way. I wasn’t

followed, and I thought that was weird, stranger than being followed. The guy had gotten

inside my head and turned it completely around.

#


182

When I got home I had an email from Kim. “I want to get together. Is your place

safe?”

What could I say? To come over was to risk a mad man’s wrath. I emailed back,

“I don’t know. He warned me about seeing you this morning.”

“Shit. We can’t allow that. Where, then?”

“I haven’t told you because it wasn’t important you know it. The FBI is going to

shut him down before my birthday.”

“What? Why didn’t you…?”

“Let’s face it, contact with me is toxic to you. I think we better forget it for now.”

“No, not acceptable. We’ve been apart too long now. I’m coming over. What

time?”

Shit, I loved her devotion, hated her hard-headedness. “Before dark. I don’t want

you out at night. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll bring a bag.”

End of conversation. I showered, studied the discoloring bruise on my stomach,

and wondered what Kim would think of it. Or, even better, Melody Echo. I got dressed

and went to the grocery store like I was preparing for a blizzard, pushing a piled-over cart

to the register and wondering what I’d missed.

#

It began to rain steady before Kim arrived. She was coming to my apartment on

an out of town two-lane when she saw blue and red flashing lights come up behind her.

She made a quick check of her speedometer and confirmed she wasn’t above the limit,

then she pulled to the side of the road.


183

The cruiser was parked behind her for over ten minutes before an officer opened

its door and walked up alongside her side to her window. It was a black uniformed

Sheriff’s Deputy.

“Do you know why I stopped you, young lady?” She didn’t, and said so. “May I

have your license, registration, and proof of insurance please?”

She’d never done this before, so it took some time for her to find the proof of

insurance card. The whole time she searched the Deputy had his head inside the SUV,

breathing down her neck. Finally, she handed over the document and exhaled a sigh of

relief. But not for long. The Deputy walked to his cruiser and climbed inside. And she

waited for another ten minutes.

He came to her window again. “Would you step out of the vehicle miss?”

“Why?”

“Just step out of the vehicle.” She did. “Turn around and put your hands on the

hood.”

“Why? I haven’t done…”

“Do it miss, or I’ll have to take you in.”

She turned around and put her hands out. The rain hissed and popped when it hit

metal, but only hissed and smacked when it hit her back. Her white cotton strapped tee

shirt was soaked through, and because she didn’t have a bra on, her thinly veiled motive

to please Belinda went transparent in the chilling rain. “For what?”

The Deputy took notice of her unfettered chest. He began to tightly feel her all

over, a pat-down with purpose. When he reached her breasts he felt both of them

together, squeezing and twisting. Then his hands ran down her ass and spread open her


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thighs. She squeaked out an ouch when he jammed a finger up against her crotch. “Okay,

you don’t have a weapon on you. Turn around please, I smelled alcohol in the vehicle.”

The SUV was less than two months old, and still smelled like plastic and leather.

She genuinely scared now. He administered the drunk test of fingertips and walking a

line. She must have passed because when she leaned against the SUV he didn‘t yell at

her. “Who does the vehicle belong to?”

“My mother.”

“Well. I bet she’d be pissed if she knew you were operating it in an unsafe

manner.”

She couldn’t stand it. “Operating in an unsafe manner? What does that mean?”

“In the state of Michigan we have safety laws, one of which is that a driver must

have their headlights on when it’s raining. You did not have yours’ on.” He pushed her

back against the SUV. He grabbed her breasts again, making his point. “I’m not going to

ticket you this time, but don’t let me see you do it again or I’ll come down hard on you.

You understand now what I mean by come down hard on you?” He let her go. “A word

of caution miss, your pussy licking days with Belinda O’Conner are over. You hear?”

She couldn’t move her head to even nod. “We know everything, and we control

everything. Belinda’s a worthless tramp, and you don’t want to associate with a tramp, so

stay away.” He turned to go back to his car, but turned around long enough to point at her

chest, “At least those high-beams are on. Have a nice day miss.” She heard him laughing

all the way back to the black Crown Victoria.

#

Kim was a puddle in my arms, one I couldn’t console. All she could say for the


185

first minutes was, “I wasn’t followed here, I wasn’t followed here,” in a litany of terror.

We’d both known things were going to get worse, and they just had. “I shouldn’t be

here.”

“Why? Do you think it’ll go away if you stay home?” I was livid and wanted to

do something that could help. “Come here, Kim. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

She looked around the apartment. “Who?”

“She’s not here, but she’s with us all the time.”

I waded through the dial-up process and the slow server. Then I went to Melody’s

text site. “Hey, are you there?”

It took a couple of seconds, but an answer came back. “Hello, what’s up?”

“I want you to meet Kim. She’s going to tell you what happened to her today.”

“Fine, put her on.”

“Come here Kim, have a seat.” She scooted the chair in front of the screen. “Her

name’s Melody Echo. Tell her what happened.”

Kim’s fingers flew over the keyboard, so she was done in about two seconds. Her

answer back was fast, “Both of you get in front of the screen,” Kim blazed an affirmation

back.

“I can’t let you two get hurt. You both have to get to a safe-house for a while.”

“A while?” I dictated to Kim‘s able fingers. “And when we come back? I don’t

think so.”

“Well, now your friend is definitely involved. Is that what you want?”

I had her enter, “I want to get the bastard.” Kim typed a post script. “On what

charges?”


186

“Conspiracy to endanger a minor, for starters. I‘ve got a number of ways to go

with Brickman.” Melody signed off.

Kim shook her head at me, asked “Are you going to be in his house?”

This was the time to be straight with her. “Yeah, sorta on my birthday. His

painting will be finished.”

“You’re bait. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Bait.” She threw a couch pillow

against the wall. It didn’t make a satisfying pissed-off sound. “And isn’t it your birthday

anyway? You’ll be eighteen, not a minor anymore.”

“According to him I will be.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I actually turn eighteen the next day.”

“You are so into this it almost makes me sick.”

“It’s the only way I can protect you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight. I want some hours alone with

you, not with some overbearing guardian. Can you do that?”

I kissed her. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you.”

#

Even if we had known it would be the last time I don’t think we would have

changed anything. Ah, except for the bruise on my stomach. Kim was really angry about

that. Still, we were halves of one, the need for dialog diminished to touch, language

turned to moist silence. I don’t remember if I slept, I remember trying to meld Kim’s skin

into me forever, massaging and pulling her closer, and closer. She didn’t complain, but


187

sucked at my lips, and swallowed my tongue. The wavy lights of night, and then day

played across my bed, ephemeral clouds bringing no rain to our parade.

She left in the late morning, not taking my warning seriously. She told me that

being with me brought her a courage to stand, and she wouldn’t stop her vehicle until she

pulled into her driveway. “Call me as soon as you get home, okay?” She grinned. “Hey, I

love you.”

Her expression was heavenly, like an angel peaked out from behind her eyes. “I

love you too.” Then she was gone.

She did call me when she got home. She even told me her mother had begun to

forgive me. Of all the moments in my life, I think that was the best. I stood at a precipice,

looking back at Kim, and looking forward to Jim Brickman’s crash. I was both fearless

and terrified, I was Kim’s lover and Jim’s whore.

It was time to set things right. I remembered his wife’s painting, sexy and honest.

Then Debbie’s, humiliating her with its dark target of pubic hair stating it was all she was

good for. Finally, I had unblemished eyes that saw clearly.

The rest of that Sunday I stayed inside even though the spring’s sun was washing

everything green. I was listless, because the minutes meant nothing now. I was in a

holding pattern, waiting for my birthday party.

Melody wrote me the plan. Two units from Detroit would back her and her

partner, up. Everyone would be unseen, but only waiting for my scream to act. Now it

sounded too much like a bad movie to me, and maybe my screaming neck was the one

getting slashed. Not likely, Brick certainly wouldn’t want any blood inside his house.

That was certainly a comfort.


188

But right now, on this last Sunday, I smelled Kim on my fingers and felt her on

my still warm skin. It was forceful poetry, like my da’s was when he recited the roaring

glory that incited violence .

#

I walked into Jim’s house on my assigned day. It was after school and he had that

night off. “Hey! Is anybody home?”

His voice came from the back of the house. “Yeah, c’mon back. I’m getting

things ready for finishing up.”

So I went. He was messing with a brush, but looked up. “Hey there, are you about

ready to see the masterpiece?”

“Yeah, lift that fabric off.”

“No, no. There’s a few minutes left to do. Details take longer to complete.” He

pointed at the platform. “Go ahead, get into your pose.”

A bitter cold wind whistled across my open bones. This was it. This was what I’d

imagined, the final scene. I had goose-flesh.

“Oh, are you cold? ‘Cause I can get a heater if you want.”

A poised gentleman to the end. I wondered if it was a line he used on Debbie?

“No, I’m fine. I’ll warm up.” In every sense of the word. What would O’Malley do? I

stood up and draped my body like he wanted.

That was when three men walked into the room. I recognized Craig the

overweight Deputy as one of them. The other two were deputies too. So, This was how

things were supposed to go. “Jim! What’s going on?”

He stepped around his canvas. “It’s like this, Belinda,” as he tossed the men


189

square packages of single condoms, “No DNA, you know.” He placed his brush in a can

of thinner. “Now, you have something I want.” He closed the door and leered at me. “So

nobody can hear you scream.”

Oh, so this was the loud music he played sometimes to inspire him. I let him see

how the shock shook me. In a whisper, “If it’s sex, you know you can have it anytime

you want.”

“No, not sex this time. You have a rather large amount of money in the bank for

so young a girl. You’re going to take it out and give it to me.”

“Oh stop! This joke’s gone far enough. If you’re doing this because it’s my

birthday I get it. Now stop.”

Craig, as big as a gorilla was undressing, and the others came up each side of my

body. “You’re about to pull a sizable train, Belinda. But you can stop it in its station right

now, all you have to do is say you’ll get the money.” Craig was down to pasty skin and

rolled over belly, and he got a hard-on when he looked at me while he rolled up the

condom.

“What do you say?”

“I can’t believe you’d do something like this. You helped me out so much…”

“Yeah, I did, which brought us to here and now. The money?” He stuck a thumb

in Craig’s direction. “He’s not going to be easy on you. And then there’s three more,

including me. I’m sure the situation is kinky enough to excite everyone to do you at least

once more. Do you have any idea how you’re going to feel after? You’re going to be

hamburger; raw, bleeding hamburger. These men are going to bury you alive under their

bodies. So then, the money?” I didn’t answer.


190

“See, this thing doesn’t stop with you. If you still don’t co-operate after this

persuasion we start over on your little piece of ass Kim, and you get to watch it.”

Naked Deputy Craig laughed at me with a sneer. “Yeah, I’ve already sampled

some of her wares. Yummy. She’s going to be one sweet ride. You know, all tight and

stuff.”

I felt the threat like a solid slam in my belly. I wanted to strangle him with my

enraged hands, but I was naked, confined by two men who waited to rape me after the

first one finished.

The son-of-a-bitch started laughing and pushed Craig at me. “Last chance.” The

first smoke alarm went off. Jim looked up, “What the hell?” The second, closer than the

first, started shrieking. The stupid monkey, Craig, with the rubber on went quickly limp,

shriveled inside the wrinkled sock. The kitchen curtains began to burn and thick smoke

made the piercing alarm in there go off too.

Jim ran out of the room, and started coughing. “Get out of here guys! The house is

on fire!”

We cannot conceive a world without us in it, and most of us will do anything to

remain on this earthly plane. The Deputies in the room were no different. They wanted to

save their sorry asses. They didn’t want to die, but they didn’t want to be horribly burned,

scarred, and disfigured beyond recognition for the rest of their lives. It didn’t matter,

because I wanted them dead.

They forgot all about me and made for the door, even naked Craig. But they

didn’t make it. “Just a minute,” I said quietly, and set a veil of dancing flames right

outside the door. They turned and looked at me in disbelief. I hit the first one so hard the


191

hot sphere splashed out of his back, and hit the soft tiled wall behind him. He fell to the

floor clutching at his chest and screaming. “Good,” I said, “maybe that’ll bring Melody

in.” I set a ceiling high, hot bonfire around the second asshole so he couldn’t escape

before he melted, flickering and smoking oily soot like a cheap candle. More screams,

high and girlish this time. Craig charged at me, but he never had a chance to reach me. I

was going to make sure he’d suffer for what he’d done to Kim. I put a slug of white hot

star-stuff in his forehead, and slowly pushed it back into his head with a noise like

sizzling bacon. No screams that time, he was too busy trying to claw the solid fire out of

his skull. I let him fall to the floor, vomiting sulfur fumes. He was going to last a little

while if he didn’t choke first, so I planted a slow roasting flare over his genitals. He

began to wrack horribly and seizure like a pair of scissors. Then he stopped. Forever.

We cannot conceive of a world without us in it, under normal circumstances, but

here I was, trapped inside a disaster of my own making, wondering if escape was worth

the effort. I peered down the dark tunnel of my future with an illuminating fire behind my

eyes, seeing nothing. I was drained of life, without any fire left for myself. I picked up

my clothes, then let them drop back to the floor. Why get dressed for death? I heard

ammunition going off in the house, and that I did worry about. I didn’t want Melody to

get hurt because of my rage. I’d never practiced completely conscious control over the

fire, even though Odie admonished me to. So I stepped to the door and asked it to let me

by. The flames parted, then snuffed out. I walked into the blackened cave that used to be

a loving home with a loving wife, until the subject of money came up. For safety’s sake I

damped the flames until they extinguished.

The other fires ignored me, and I walked out of the oxygen deprived house


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untouched, under my own power, and immediately fell semi-conscious into the Kevlar

vested chest of Melody Echo. I heard fire trucks arriving, then lost the fight to stay

awake. Later, I’d remember how I smelled the burning, meaty bodies even when I was

out cold.

I’d made one grand fire. My da’, and Grace O’Malley too, would’ve been proud.

#

part three- an apprentice to the trade

#

Chapter Fifteen-

I woke up in a restraining cocoon inside a truck of some sort. I looked up, and

there sat Melody Echo, her left hand on my forehead. She smiled. “You’re awake. Hey!

She’s awake!” An EMT released one of my arms so he could check my vitals, and I

checked out my surroundings. I had been trapped on a gurney swathed with sheets and a

standard-issue olive green Fireman’s blanket.

He shone a strong light into my eyes, flickering it back and forth. He wrapped a

blood pressure cuff around my arm and pumped the little black bulb. “I’m going to take

your temperature again. You were really hot the first time.” He stuck the probe in my ear,

then turned to Melody. “ Her temperature is back to normal.” He shook his head. “She’s

in pretty good shape for somebody who walked naked out of a burning building without

so much as a blister.”

“Thank you, now get us out of here, and hurry. Like with lights and siren?” The

young guy jumped into the driver’s seat and took off like a madman, complete with lights

and siren.


193

“Why are you taking me to a hospital? He just said I was fine.”

“You’re not going to a hospital. You died at the scene of the fire.”

“What?! I’m perfect…”

“No, you died too, along with those men. It was a shame we couldn’t get you to

a hospital sooner.”

“What’s going on?”

“This is what you call a relocation. You’re about to become somebody else,

somewhere else.”

“Oh, so this is what it’s like?”

“This is what it’s like, so you may as well relax and savor the ride. You’re never

coming back here again.”

“Can I at least sit up? I’m not going to run away.”

“Sorry, we had to make it realistic.” She removed the rest of restraining straps and

I sat up, wrapping the blanket around me. Melody yelled, “Hey guy, kill the noise and

lights.” The inside of the truck was more bearable then.

That’s when some more details came to mind. “What about my apartment… Oh,

shit, what about Kim?”

“Your death will hurt her, a lot, but it will be a clean break. She’ll heal, Belinda,

and eventually you will too.”

“I had two thousand dollars cash in my apartment.”

“Perhaps we can get Anne to look into helping with the vacating process.”

“I have nothing with me, not even clothes. Did everybody see me walking around

naked?”


194

“Everybody was looking at the fire. They were worried it’d spread to the trees

around the house.”

“Did it?”

“Give me your hand,” Melody said. I did, and it felt wonderful. “It was very odd,

that fire. It burned primarily where the men were, but not much more. The worst thing

was the smoke. It was as if the fire had a purpose, and once that was achieved started

putting itself out. Very odd. What was it like inside the house?”

She was holding my hand so she could tell if I was lying. Damn. “It was just like

that,” I answered honestly. “The fire was attracted to the men. Maybe it came from hell.”

“It wasn’t attracted to you? It let you pass through without injury? Now that’s

very odd indeed.” He inquisition was halted by her phone. She put it against her ear and

said, “Echo.”

I heard a tinny man’s voice. “You’re doing a marvelous job, David. I’m proud of

you.” I bet he stood a little straighter after she said that. It didn’t seem to be a compliment

she gave often. “Thanks for handling the press. Now you know what it’s like to head up a

team.” He must have said something funny, because she laughed. I wanted to live in that

laugh if I could. “Yes, the package is on it’s way as planned.” A breath. “Thank you.”

“Press?”

“Yeah, the other side of law enforcement. We make a move, and they get to report

it however they choose, for as long as they choose in order to second guess our decisions.

Sweet.”

“Ah, will my death be on the news?” I was thinking of Kim again, and how I was

spirited away wearing a ghost disguise.


195

“Yes. We’re even going to say you were barely alive when we got to you, but

died shortly after the EMT’s put you in this ambulance. We’re very good at this slight of

hand.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“We build you a life you want. You’re a witness in the Protection Plan, and

you’re a battered woman, saved from certain death.”

“What am I a witness to?”

She bit her lip, and I could tell she thought the next words were going to be harder

on her, than they were on me. She was wrong, one of the very few times in her life. “You

said there were three men.”

“Four, with Brick.”

“We found three bodies completely charred in that room. Totally strange, but

true.”

“You didn’t find him.”

“I don‘t know yet, but believe me, we’ve got one monster of a hunt looking for

him. We’ll get him.”

Yeah, I almost believed her. “Um, the garage wasn’t damaged, right?”

“How did you know that?”

Because I hadn’t thought to burn it too, that’s why. “I must have seen it before I

passed out.” She gave me one powerful look. “Was there a motorcycle inside?”

She got back on the phone to her partner, then frowned. “No, there wasn’t.”

“He had a big Harley Davidson. He called it a, ‘fully-dressed Fat Boy’.”

“What color?” I told her about the flames and polished chrome.


196

She used her phone again, and I heard her say, “APB”. When she looked at me

again her eyes were sad. “Nobody came out of the garage, motorcycle or not.” She leaned

toward me. “We’ll get him.”

I shook my head. “He’s fooled everybody all along.” I scratched my sooty nose

and the blanket around me itched. “Is there anything I can wear?”

“Sorry, but we’ll have something for you soon.”

“Soon. Where are we going right now?”

“There’s a mall ahead, called ‘Twelve Oaks’. I’ll buy you something there.”

“I’m wrapped in a blanket, how am I…”

“I think I can handle it.”

“But my size…”

“Don’t worry, I’m very good at gauging women’s sizes. We’ll also be transferring

you to a different vehicle. One of ours.”

“I like over-sized sweatshirts.”

She smiled and touched my hand again. “You’re not living with Walter Taft

anymore. Don’t worry, you’ll be decent when I’m done.”

#

The ambulance crossed over I-96 like any other off-duty vehicle, approached the

huge mass of a sprawling mall, then parked next to a black Chevy Suburban far out in the

lot. Melody open the aft door and slipped out. She smiled, “Hold tight, I won’t be long.”

The EMT pulled out a big package from a locker and gave it to me. “These are

like those moist toweletts you get from restaurants, just bigger. You can wipe some of the

dirt and smoke smell away.” He turned around and closed the drape behind him, then


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looked around for any sign of a motorcycle.

The damp wipes inside smelled of lemon, and as I scrubbed away at the fire

residue I felt cleaner, fresher, and definitely more human. I’d gone over my whole body

when Melody stuck her head inside. “Decent?”

“Naked.”

“Oh, sorry. Here you go,” as she thrust shopping bags through the crack of the

door. I fumbled them all the way to the floor of the truck. “Listen, we don’t want to stay

here very long.”

“I’ll hurry.” Melody had gone to the Gap, Foot Locker, and surprisingly,

Victoria’s Secret. I put on the sage green underwear that matched the bra. They were very

nice. The subtle green set off the color of my hair, and wasn’t the least bit slutty. The bra

really was a miracle, and I loved being supported again.

I pulled Gap soft washed jeans up my legs, and they smelled store fresh,

reminding me that I was new too.

The Foot Locker bag had a pair of Nikes, white socks and a large Ohio State

University sweatshirt. Melody laughed when I held it up, “For camouflage. Everybody

living around Columbus has an OSU shirt.”

“How did you know my sizes?”

“I know women’s bodies.”

Okay. I was dressed, and there were full bags still unopened. “I’m done,” I said

through the cracked doors.

“You’re going to exit the bus and climb in the open back door of the Suburban.

Okay?”


198

I did exactly what she wanted me to. I was exposed to light and air for maybe two

seconds, then behind windows tinted black. The ambulance pulled away quickly, as we

did once Melody tossed the shopping bags in the back and got into the shotgun seat. She

turned around. “Belinda, this Agent Steve Lambert. He’s your driver today.” He was also

a large, handsome black man.

“Hi, Agent Steve.”

He laughed, and his voice was very deep, very controlled. “ You can call me

Steve. Melody and I are going to keep you safe. From what I hear you’re one brave lady.

Good to have you aboard.”

Melody added, “Tell me what fast food you like and we’ll cruise a drive-thru.”

I hadn’t felt I was hungry, but now she suggested food, I was ravenous. “Oh God,

I don’t care. I could eat anything.” Steve pulled into the nearest one, a Burger King, and I

ordered a Whopper value meal, with both a Coke and milk-shake. Steve and Melody

didn’t order, they watched traffic around the SUV.

My hands and mouth were oily and goopy when I finished, but the knot inside me

had loosened.

“Belinda?” Melody’s voice was soft, but direct. “Yes?” I answered as softly.

“I want you to tell me what really happened in that house today. You know what I

mean by, ‘really’? What you say won’t leave this car.”

Could I trust her that much? And why did I so want to trust her that much?

“Belinda? You’ve nothing to fear.”

“It’s a long story.”

“We’re driving to Columbus, Ohio. We’ve got time.”


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I thought for a minute while I recalled a different life. “It began with my mother

and father.” I brought her forward to my meeting with Odie before I interjected a thought

from my new life. Then I described stupid Sandy badmouthing Kim, and my retaliation.

It’d been a primer for my fuse. I explained my plan to kill Brickman, either by shotgun or

fire.

Then there was today. They’d threatened me with hurting Kim. That made my

decision easy, and swift. I described how each man died, with special details about what I

did to Craig. When I heard my voice talking about the killing in a calm, rational voice, I

started to cry. My shoulders shook, my stomach heaved with pain, and my head began to

squeeze in a vice-like death grip. “Melody? Do you think I murdered those men, like my

mother killed my father?”

“No, they were going to murder you, in a horrible way like Brickman‘s wife. It

was self-defense. You did what I would have done- survived.” Melody had a little blue

pill in her fingers, “Here take this,” and then offered a water bottle after I swallowed. She

rubbed my cold hand. “You’re going to be fine now.”

The pill’s blue wave washed over my beached head, and I laid down across the

seat and fell asleep.

Without taking his eyes off the road, Steve asked, “Do you believe her?”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to say no, or even maybe? I wish I could. Yeah, I

believe her, every word. You heard what she did to that deputy. Did that sound like some

made up story?”

“God no, it didn’t.”

“So you believe her too?”


200

“Melody, she scares me. What are we going to do with her?”

“I’m thinking about that now. A safe house, I think.”

“But…”

“No, she won’t hurt any women.”

“So, Claire’s.”

“Yeah. I need to get David on this too.”

“Have you spoken with him recently?”

“He hasn’t called, and we’ve been busy.”

“I’d check in about that APB. Maybe something’s shaken loose.”

“Thank you, Steve, I will. I like working with you.”

It was these few minutes he treasured above all others. They’d talked about the

case like they were equals. He was free to make suggestions to her. And most of all, an

unexpected compliment warming his insides. He would do battle alongside her with only

bare hands, and she knew it without talking about his loyalty. On this day, with one weird

young woman unconscious in the backseat, and a long freeway drive where he had to

stare at everything around his SUV without thinking of anything else, he felt alive,

wonderfully alive.

#

David had a hit on Brickman’s motorcycle from the owner of a self-storage place.

He’d seen it pass the window of his office, compared it to the APB he heard over his

police scanner radio, and called the local police who passed the information on to the FBI

task force handling the arson.

“He rented a unit that was out of reach of the security cameras so we couldn’t see


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him, pulled out a car and put the bike inside. This guy had all of this figured out long

before his escape, Melody.” David reported. “He’s one step ahead of us every time.”

“Any idea what the vehicle he’s driving is?”

“Owner of storage unit said it was a white two-door, probably not new. He’s

guessing, but says it looked like a little Chevy.”

“David? What name is the unit rented under?”

“Umm, a Walter Taft.”

“What was the address he gave?” It was Belinda’s apartment’s address.

“Thank you David. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disclose that name unless asked

directly.”

“Boss? Melody? What the hell’s going on? This whole thing is too weird.”

“I’ll explain when I see you.”

Agent Lambert quickly glanced at Melody. “What bothered you about that

conversation?”

In a voice so quiet she could barely be heard above the muffled road noise, she

whispered, “Walter Taft raped Belinda, which is where the whole Brickman thing came

into play.”

To his credit, Steve only replied, “Oh.”

#

I woke up as the vehicle was coming off an exit ramp. The exit was full of pot

holes that shook and rattled us. Melody was talking on her phone. “Yes, that’s right.

Thank you Claire.” She must have heard me stirring because she looked back. “Hey,

we’re almost there.”


202

My mouth was stuffed full of cotton, but at least I didn’t feel like crying.

“Where’s there?”

“A safe house for women like you. You’re going to stay there a few days until we

decide what we’re going to do.”

“Who’s we?”

“You and I, Belinda.”

“I have choices?”

“Think of it this way, you’ll have more choices than when you were with

Brickman.”

“What’s Claire’s place like?”

“I think you’re going to like it. Claire is the mother every girl wants, but never

had.” She whispered something at Steve. He checked every mirror and circled around the

block twice before pulling into a simple driveway. “C’mon, Belinda, I’ll introduce you.”

“What do I do with these?” I asked and pointed at the shopping bags.

“Bring them in. They’re all yours.” I shuffled and grasped all the bags and

climbed down to the pavement.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Steve said. I’d forgotten he was there.

“Thank you. For everything.” Then I walked to the door. Melody opened it, and

motioned me to go in.

The house smelled like Toll-House cookies and oranges and cinnamon. A woman

who must have weighed three hundred pounds stood in front of me, holding a sawn-off

shotgun much like mine. She lowered it and smiled. “I’m so glad you could come.” I

didn’t know if she meant Melody or me. Melody nudged me in the back.


203

I stumbled for a reply, “Ah, yes. Thank you for having me.” The big woman

laughed.

“You get your goodbyes said, then you’re heading for the shower. You stink of

smoke. Oh, give me those clothes you’re wearing too. They need washed.” She walked

back into what must have been the kitchen, because I heard cookie sheets scraping

around.

“Get rested up. You can lay around or stay in bed, but only to a point. Claire

believes in domestically driven recovery.” Melody took both my hands. “I won’t be away

long, and you’ve no doubt seen how safe you are here.”

“Her gun’s just like mine.”

“Then too bad you had to leave it behind. But this is the beginning of a less

threatening process. Now you get a little down time here, next is research, and ultimately,

a new, safe life.”

“Thank you, I don’t know what I…”

“I think you would have done just fine without me, but I’m glad you’re here.”

She leaned right into my ear, and said, “Don’t tell anybody about your, ah, gift.” I

nodded. “Start thinking about a new name. We have to give you all new documents. Pick

a name that has meaning to you, that will fit you in the future.”

Melody pulled back. “There’s something about you, Belinda, something I can’t

figure out yet. I think I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

She left, and like the driver, Steve, I felt like I’d been blessed. She was an

amazing woman, and she was going to work with me. With me, the slut, tramp, and

whore. Amazing.


204

#

Chapter Sixteen

“Tell me what the hell happened up there.” Melody sat in her supervisor’s office

on the second floor. She didn’t even laugh at the internal hierarchy; the ascendance up

stories as an agent was promoted that placed them closer to heaven, and supposed purity.

Agents were common angels, Special Agents archangels, and so up to cherubim, then

lastly seraphim, or those who could stand in front of God without blinking. Men thought

this was natural order of the universe, but in fact it was the same old phallus thing.

Melody joined in their silly game because she was, in fact, an avenging archangel who

kept her violence on a strong leash. An dark archangel with a hidden sword, like

Michael’s, she knew more about blackness than she should know as one of heaven’s

Special Agents.

“There was no way we could know the house would burst into flames at the same

time as we were going to enter it.”

“And…?”

“I believe it was arson, and I think the investigation will back me up.”

“Arson by whom?”

“Brickman himself.”

Her supervisor scrubbed his face with his hands. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”

“What better way to escape a situation that was out of his control? He lost

Belinda’s savings, but he did destroy all evidence of his past deeds.”

“So, in addition to killing the girl, he also kills three other deputies?”

“They were in on his past murders. They had to go when he left.”


205

“He burns down his own house and kills three men, and a girl he was involved

with, all so he can get out of town? So, where’s he going?”

“That I don’t know yet, sir. I was occupied with transiting the girl you

mentioned.”

“Is your team on it?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll find him.”

“You better, or I’ll be the one sitting on your side of my boss’s desk. He isn’t near

as forgiving as I am.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desktop. “I need for

you to keep this girl, this ‘material witness’, close at hand. Violent Crimes is joining in

and reviewing your reports.”

“Why are they involved?”

“Ah, three Deputies dead, a young girl assaulted? Sounds violent to me.”

“But I’m the lead on this case, I was in contact with the girl long before the

violent part started. We’re looking for Brickman now.”

“I said Violent Crimes is reviewing, not taking over. At least not yet. If they ask

for information you’ll share with them. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, but I don‘t really like it. They don‘t know the whole story.”

“The major reason I want you to keep your witness close. They’ll want to

question her, I’m sure.”

“Now I really don’t like it.”

“Special Agent Echo?”

“Yes?”

“What the hell do you ever like? I’m giving you a heads up, not an edict from


206

God. This is still yours’, so go on and solve this mess, in a hurry.”

She stood up and replied, “Yes, sir. Thanks.”

She was one step away from the door and freedom when he said to her back, “If

CSU and the fire investigator don’t back up your supposition of arson we’re going to

have a confidence problem. Got me?”

The chill she felt froze her in her tracks. Without turning, she answered, “Yes, sir.

I do.” The thing was she knew it was arson, but not by Brickman.

#

I stayed under the warm water until I felt the smoke scent wash off my skin. I

rubbed myself hard with the soft, fragrant towel to finish the transformation. There were

pajamas and a robe on the sink counter. They were also a lovely sage green, and they

were silk, from Victoria’s Secret.

I felt fully cleansed when I came out of the bath. The silk rubbed my body in a

subtle, suggestive way that made me want to join the human race again. Across the

hallway Claire was folding up the now empty shopping bags. She motioned for me. “This

is your room for as long you need it. I took the liberty of putting your clothes away.” She

laughed in gusts and comfy waves. “You must be special, for Melody to have equipped

you like she did.”

I drew a blank. I hadn’t seen most of the clothing, but it all seemed nice. Didn’t

she do that for every displaced woman?

“You come on downstairs now, and we’ll have some cookies and milk before you

go to bed.” I looked out the window and saw it had gotten dark. My time sense was way

out of whack. Had I burned his house down just today? Or earlier? I really didn’t know. I


207

fell back in time to a torturing flashback, the first of many. “C’mon, you need some

uninterrupted rest.”

At the kitchen table she sat down a plate of home-baked chocolate chip cookies,

and she poured me a glass of milk. She sat down, joining me and eating cookies one after

the other. “They’re no good the day after. Eat them up.”

In between bites and swallows I managed to ask, “Is anybody else here now?”

“No, just you. But I don’t get the bad cases.”

“Bad cases?”

“The permanently damaged; physically or emotionally. The women who get

medical treatment for their wounds, rest a couple of days, then go back to the bastard who

hit them in the first place.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, a lot of abused women see themselves as hopeless, and think

they need somebody’s financial security, mostly for their kids. In spite of the beatings

and rapes. It’s all about money and a self-worthlessness. Many can’t identify themselves

as other than a sexual slave, and the job description fits them. I know it’s not right to ask

you, but it’s just us two. What happened to you? You don’t have to answer if you don‘t

want to.”

“It wasn’t…, ah, it was…, I don’t know. Melody took me out of a bad situation

with the local law enforcement.”

“You commit some crime, honey?”

“The only crime I did was to get away from a Deputy Sheriff who was trying to

kill me.”


208

“Kill you?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe it.” I yawned large. “I’m going to bed now, if that’s

okay?”

“Go girl. You must be wiped out. I see you tomorrow. Oh, don’t worry about

sleeping in. I’ll make French toast and bacon when you get up.”

I found it hard to get up from my chair, and once up had to lean on the table a

second. It gave me a moment to think about this even. “Claire?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She smiled as soft as anybody’s grandmother would, with the knowledge of all

women a twinkle in her eyes. “You’re welcome, child. You’re very welcome.”

No mattress was ever so soft as mine that night.

#

“I’m coming up tomorrow to meet with the Fire Marshall,” Melody told Anne,

“Can we meet?”

“Thanks for asking, I need to talk to you face to face. Six o’clock?”

“See you then.”

The investigation of the fire was finished, and as the FBI were involved Melody

needed to be there. This part of the process worried her, because she’d not seen what the

Fire Marshall’s finding were. It was arson, but who, or what, lit the flames? She knew,

and was hiding the information from the Loon Lake fire Department.

She drove past the blackened vacant house surrounded with yellow crime scene

tape and remembered that day. What a horror! Still, she’d salvaged some good out of the


209

chaos. She drove to the fire house and parked the big black SUV in front.

Melody always wore black business suits when she was on duty, some with pants,

others with appropriate skirts. She was wearing a skirt this morning that showed off her

taut, muscular legs. All the men watched her as she entered the garage, and their eyes

stayed on her when she asked where the Fire Chief was. One man pointed up, the others

were too stuck in a vision mode to react. Apparently, his office was up a set of open

stairs. She climbed them slowly, knowing the men’s eyes reached upward to her legs. It

made her laugh; typical hind-brain Neanderthals. She knocked on his door and entered

when he answered.

“Good morning, Chief.”

“Yes, ah, thank you, Agent…?

“Special Agent Melody Echo.”

A tall FBI agent stepped forward from the corner he’d been leaning in. “Good to

meet you, Special Agent Echo. I’m Special Agent Mourne, Violent Crimes, Detroit. I’ve

been waiting on you.” Melody began to reply, but, “Now, can we get to the business at

hand?”

“Yes, well… you’re here to discuss the findings on the Brickman residence?”

She nodded, and looked at Mourne “Well, it was arson.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought too,” she responded.

“But I don’t get any of this. I had the State Arson Inspector come and look at it.”

Mourne asked, “What made you suspicious?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. There were small break-outs scattered around

the residence, except for the room those three bodies were discovered, and the kitchen


210

next to it. That was the source of the fire and smoke. Not only that, but the other small

flares put themselves out. They put themselves out! How the hell did they do that?

“I knew you both would want a copy of the ME’s report too, so I had him send

me two.”

Melody sincerely added, “Thank you very much, that saves me time.” Agent

Mourne looked at her like she was being too soft on the old fire-chief. It implied he was

too far above such pleasantries. She loaded that fact into her file of the unpleasant agent.

“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know if you’ll want to.” He leaned over the desk,

imposing his authority over her. “Yeah, well…, the men’s bodies were completely

burned up in the fire. However, there is evidence they suffered more than that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mourne, already egging to jump on anybody who

might have messed up his crime scene. His.

“Don’t open that file, the pictures are horrifying.”

“I’ve seen plenty of bad things in my line of work.”

“Hey, it’s your breakfast to lose, just don’t do it here.” He crossed his arms on the

desktop.

Melody opened the file and rifled through the papers until she found the

photographs. She did feel her stomach lurch.

“Interesting, huh? They look like they were roasted in hell even before the fire

took hold.”

“That’s interesting, an acquaintance said maybe the fires were from hell, and they

came for each man in the room.” She wanted to retch.

“My favorite is the one with the hole in his head. It was burned through while he


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stood there in front of whatever was killing him. Or the candle-man, as I call him, burned

into a thin wick, including his bones. But maybe you like the body with a hole burned

through his chest. It missed his heart, went through his solar-plexus, and cauterized the

wound so he could really savor his coming end. He bled out internally.”

“Thank you for that running analysis, Chief, my stomach appreciates it.”

He laughed and it rolled loudly around the fire house. “You surprised me. I

figured you’d head for the ladies’ room.”

“You’re a real treat yourself, Chief. What caused all this?”

“An arsonist who doesn’t use an accelerant, who can place small, trained

outbreaks wherever they want, and can torture three grown men for however long they

want before they exit the house unseen.”

“That narrows the field down, Chief. How many people have you heard of who

can do that?”

He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Yeah, not many. Say, what happened

to the girl who was inside the house when it was burning?”

“So there was a girl inside.” Mourne peered closer at the photographs. “Where did

she go?”

“I’m sorry to say she died on the way to the hospital.”

“Her name was, ah…”

“Belinda. Belinda O’Conner.”

“Yeah, that’s it. The reason I ask is because I received a phone call from one of

her relatives, asking about her.”

“Asking you what happened to her? Why would they call you?”


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The old fireman still had plenty of spark left in him. “Well, let’s see, Special

Agent Mourne, how about I was at the scene, and she was transported by a bus I called

for. This is a small community, agent, everybody knows every body else. It may be a

strange concept to you, living in Detroit like you do, but we tend to take care of our

own.” Mourne didn’t reply, but I saw him grinding his molars together.

Melody asked, “The person who called, was it a male, or female?”

“A male, sounded like his throat was a little hoarse, you know, scratchy. Anyway,

I told him that she died.”

“What was his reaction?”

“Very sad, very concerned. I believe I heard a sob from him.”

“You’ve met Jim Brickman, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, he was a helleva nice guy, before this shit happened.”

Melody wanted to reach over his desk and shake that shit out of his ears. “You do

know he wasn’t found in the fire?”

“Yeah. Nobody’s seen him since. Why do you ask?”

“Did the voice on the phone sound like his?”

“I don’t know, maybe. It’s like I said, the voice was hoarse.”

“Like from smoke damage?”

“What would the girl’s relative be doing with smoke inhalation damage?”

“You see, Chief, Belinda didn’t have any relatives.” Mourne’s eyes got big.

The fireman’s eyes looked at the ceiling for a while, then he asked, “Was he

trying to kill those men, and the girl too?”

“No, he only wanted to kill the girl.”


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He frowned, shaking his head slowly. “Well, now, I’ll spread the word that he

could still be around.”

“Will the Sheriff’s Department bother to look for him? He was one of the boys.”

“Yeah, he was, right until he killed those three deputies. He’s not one of them

now.”

Melody thanked the Chief, told him how much she appreciated all his work and

thoughtfulness (except for the graphic descriptions) and followed the open staircase down

to the garage floor. The boys were waiting for a glimpse of her legs again, so she waved

at them like a silly girl would. If they’d followed her she would have broke arms like a

very un-silly woman. Mourne followed her down, but nobody looked at his legs.

#

When the two Special Agents were outside and standing by Melody’s car,

Mourne pointed a finger at her. “You’re going to share all your reports with me.”

She stood quietly deciding how best to take this bozo out.

“Did you hear me Echo?”

She decided a groin kick followed by a sweep kick to keep him down.

“Agent Echo?”

“Yes?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes I did.”

“So when may I expect your paperwork on my desk?”

“When I get to it.” He opened his rude and overbearing mouth to raise his voice at

her, but she turned around and got in her car.


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“I’m reporting you to your supervisor!” She pulled away, already thinking about

the Brickman call the fire chief received, confirming the son-of-a-bitch was moving

around freely while Belinda was imprisoned inside the shell of protective custody.

#

Anne had a grocery list of issues to deal with, and didn’t waste any time

announcing them. “I’m taking care of her apartment, and I’m grateful she wasn’t a

collector. Kim is coming on Saturday to have a moving, or estate, or yard, or whatever

kind of sale. We haven‘t decided which one‘s appropriate.”

“Is she interested in any of Belinda’s effects?”

“God, that’s creepy…her effects.”

“Sorry, it has to be that way. Give her whatever she wants.”

“She’s already taken the stereo and CD collection. Apparently Belinda had very

good taste, and a big collection of music. I pressed Belinda’s computer on her, but she’s

afraid of whatever emails between them are still in it.”

“I’m not surprised Belinda loved Kim. She sound’s like a decent sort.”

“She is. Anyway, that leaves the bed, couch, one table with four chairs, and

clothes. You know what she looked like, I’m taking the clothing to Goodwill.”

“That’s fine. Now, did you find the cash she had hidden?”

“Yeah, and just like the spare key she taped behind the toilet, it wasn’t easy to

find.”

“She had a right to be paranoid.”

“Yes, she did. How is she?”

“In a safe house right now. We’re lining things up for her, it takes a while.”


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“Can I ask?”

“Sure. The Bureau has a working relationship with a local company called,

‘Upper Crust Bread’. It’ll be a good job for her, out of sight, below the radar. There’s an

apartment in Dublin not too far away from the job. And I think I’m going to buy her a

used, older Honda to drive. Like I said, it takes a while.”

“Does she know any of this?”

“No, she’s de-toxing at Claire’s now. A few more days and Claire will put her to

work, and that’ll be the step up to the real recovery.”

“What about her is so important to you? You’ve never bought a used car for

anybody else.”

Melody shrugged into a slump in Anne’s therapy chair. “Frankly, it’s not so much

her in the now, it’s the woman she could be. She reminds me of myself. She reminds me

of myself very much.”

“So you could burn down houses too?”

“I know you don’t agree with the situation, but it happened. She gets a clean start,

and she got rid of those badass Deputies. The only flaw was that Brickman got away.”

“He was your target.”

“Yeah, so my boss reminds me.”

“Where do you want the proceeds from the sale to go?”

“To you. You worked harder than anybody to protect her. Hell, go buy a tank of

gas, if you can fill it with all that cash.” Melody got up and stretched.

“Not so fast, you don’t get off that easy.”

“What’s left?”


216

“Her money in the bank.”

“I don’t want to deal with it yet. I’m afraid somebody might be watching.”

“Here’s what I got so far. She has a lawyer who handled her inheritance. I know

of him, and he’s a good enough guy. A bit too, um, Irish for my tastes, but he treated her

very well. He called me, of all things, to make final arrangements for her estate. He knew

something about the situation he wasn’t telling, and wanted to help.

“His questions were odd enough to clue me as to what to do. He said that if he

received a dated, singed, notarized document from Belinda before her date of death,

instructing him to use his power of attorney to withdraw the funds and give them to a

person that Belinda had specified he’d be free to do so.”

“You think he knows, don’t you?”

“If Belinda’s father were a typical example of Irish, he’d be good at two things-

drinking, ah, a lot, and seeing into the spirit world. Irish men totally give me the creeps. I

don’t know if he’s guessed, but he’s listened to the wind enough to draw some

conclusions. He wouldn’t ever tell a soul, because he loves jokes about the American

legal system.”

“But you trust him?”

“Absolutely. He would never break confidence.”

“Will you give me his number? I want to make sure of this document from before

her death is correct.”

Anne really laughed for the first time since this whole mess began. “Good Christ,

rogue lawyers and crooked cops, who knew life could be so intense out in the sticks?”

She shook her head.


217

#

Lulls happen in life. They can be therapeutic, restful, mind-clearing, and an ease

for the soul. They can be as long as a walk in Claude Monet’s water lily garden, they can

be as brief as a punch drunk boxer’s realization that this isn’t going to be his day. They

are the timeless seconds, hours, months or years, when life decisions are made. They

were the hostel my flashbacks were bunked up in, waiting to visit fire scenes over my

vision. In those minutes and hours I fell back and forth between my past horrors, and my

possible future. I was a killer now.

Lulls are trance inducing, a river of distant memories unwashed and unasked for.

Story plots trip over themselves when they float into the algae covered, stagnant

backwash a lull floats upon. Stories become a soggy mess of narration, left wondering

where next to go. I saw my fire in cold-blooded flashback, over and over again in frozen

images. I was a killer now. Where was I to go next?

What happened at Claire’s was wonderful. I was a better person for it when I left

her than the wretched mess I arrived as. However, in the scented kitchen, amidst cookies

and washing dishes, the most exciting life got with her was learning how to make a good

meatloaf. So, this next section is boring. I hope you can see it as necessary for my

well-being, but it’s still boring.

#

I slept for three days, getting up only when it was time to eat or go to the

bathroom. I felt the discolored bruises in my brain begin to turn yellow before I crawled

out of my pajamas and took a shower. I didn’t feel the water hit my body, only a heat that

alarmed me with a recollection of danger.


218

Claire watched over me while I began to recover my mind from the dark

subconscious fall-out of what happened in that burning room, and wondering where Jim

Brickman disappeared to. On the morning of the third day she told me to get dressed and

join her outside. I shuddered, because the world outside was too big for me. She laughed.

“I doubt anything is too big for you, you just need some practice.”

When I joined her outside, the end of May sunshine warming my back, she

directed me to a mass of flowers that needed planting. Clair was too big, and too old to

crawl around on the ground, and she told me, “It’d be a blessing, child, if you could help

me. I’ll show you where each one goes.”

There was a pile of petunias, impatiens, begonia’s for the back of the house,

geraniums along the walks, and two hanging baskets for the front porch filled with a

daisy looking flower, but colored peach and purple. I crawled around on the ground,

gathering dark brown and green stains on my knees, and black under my nails. Claire sat

on a chair and directed each plant placement. Her voice was hypnotic while she taught

me some of the local geography.

“We’re in Grove City, which used to be a quiet little town before Columbus burst

its waistline and spread like an overweight juggernaut. Now there’s more apartments here

than private residences.” she stopped and pointed, “Put that a little to the left, honey.

We’re south of Columbus, inside the I-270 dividing circle, so we don’t get a whole lot of

respect anymore. Outside of the freeway is where people want to live now. They even

call us ‘Grove ‘tucky’ because of our Appalachian population.”

I held a green metal planting spade in my blackened hand, and when I brushed my

forehead I left a wide dirt streak. “Where do we usually go?”


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“You mean our recovered girls? When they’re not in the Federal Marshall’s

protection program? There’s a few places around the city. Melody and I agree that I don’t

need to know, safer for you girls that way.”

It took a second to sink in. “You met us at the door with a shotgun, and you’re on

a ‘need to know’ basis? Is this really that dangerous?”

“I trust in Melody, and my shotgun.” She leaned forward and pointed, “Put that

pink pansy farther up by the house. Yeah, that’s good. To answer your question- it’s been

known to be. I’ve cycled over twenty girls like you through the system. I feel my life has

been blessed with an abundance of good fortune, and I want to keep it that way. So, the

shotgun.”

I couldn’t envision somebody wanting to hurt Claire, so I pushed my mind

beyond its current limit. Jim Brickman, that’s who. He was an evil force out of control,

but maybe I was beyond his reach now. That sent me back into the fiery killing room.

Claire saw it instantly. “C’mon inside honey, and I’ll fix us some lunch.”

We had perfectly prepared egg salad and fresh lemonade. Then we went back to

work. When we finished with the flowers my whole body ached, and my hands were

stained dark earth black. I held them up and asked, “How am I going to get them clean?”

Claire chuckled. “Why, there’s nothing like washing dishes to chase the dirt

away.” I should’ve known. I wanted the soapy water to clean away more than just garden

soil, I hoped my skin would shed off to reveal a new me. It didn’t.

#

Chapter Seventeen-

It was over two weeks before Melody came back to gather me, and I left Claire


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behind with real sadness. In my time with her I planted flowers, did a ton of dishes, did

my own laundry, including the hand washable kind, vacuumed and dusted, learned how

to make the perfect meatloaf with her secret ingredient, and had nightly talks about where

my future would lead me. The secret ingredient to the meatloaf was pimentos, the nightly

talk couldn’t begin to guess what came next for me.

I loaded my clothes in the black Suburban, hugged the big woman, brushed away

hot tears, and climbed in the future wagon.

“You had a good stay,” Melody said.

“Yeah. You were right, she’s the perfect mother I didn’t have.”

“But you’re doing better, I can tell.”

“Yeah. Oh! I want to repay you for the clothes.”

“No need to, I’ve got an expense account.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“It’s my job, ah…? Have you decided on your new name? We’ll be filling out

paperwork today.”

“Grace O’Malley.”

“Grace O’Malley?”

“Does anybody know you by that name?”

“Only my father. It’s our secret.”

“It has some personal significance?”

“It’s all personal significance.”

We didn’t talk anymore until we reached the Federal Building, and Melody’s

small second story office. I saw some trophies against one wall, and looked closer at


221

them. There were two themes, marksmanship, and martial arts. It was an impressive

display of power.

A good looking man came into her office, and looked at me with a double take.

“Hello, you must be Belin…”

“I’m Grace O’Malley.

“Oh. Yes, right. I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re quite remarkable for such a

young person.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m sorry, my name is David Malone. I’m Melody’s partner.”

“I heard her talking to you in the ambulance.”

“Yes, we usually stay in close contact.” I figured he was being shunted to one side

by my presence, and didn’t like it. “If you’ll come over here, Grace, we’ll get started.”

First up was my formal statement about the fire. Melody had coached me a little bit to get

past the more esoteric parts of the experience. Second was Stephen McAllister’s

proposition, and writing the pre-dated estate document awarding the funds to a Grace

O’Malley, distant cousin and longtime friend. It would be the last signature I’d ever make

as Belinda O’Conner.

David steered me into the document processing room and Melody joined us there.

I received an Ohio Driver’s license, a new social security number and card, birth

certificate, high school GED, voters registration card, an ATM card, and checkbook. All

with my new name.

“What’s with the ATM card? I don’t have…”

“Now you do,” Melody grinned, “The money you had inside your apartment? I


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deposited in a bank near to where you’ll be living, and put a FBI specialist to creating the

card. You’ll still get one from the bank in a week or so. Either is usable. Here‘s the PIN.”

I took the paper from her hand, and sat down heavily. “I can’t handle all this.”

“No, not all at one time. It’s a bit beyond the routine, but I’m going to take you

under my wing until you get comfortably settled in.” I still sat heavily. “It’s not so bad,

Grace. Columbus is an okay place to live, and there’s safety in numbers.”

That shook me out of the chair. “You think he’s looking for me.”

“No, Grace, no. That’s not it at all. What I mean is you don’t want to run into

anybody who knew you before. Before you were Grace O’Malley.”

“Oh.” I shook my head, but it didn’t clear any cobwebs out. “Do I have a job?”

“Yes, you do. It’s hard work, but good pay.”

“What will I be doing?”

“You’ll become an apprentice bread baker.”

“This is that Upper Crust bread thing you mentioned?”

“They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

“Wait! Are there more women like me there?”

“You’ll find that out on your own. Now, I’m going to show you your apartment,

and get you a hair style.”

“A hair style?”

“What’s the most dramatic thing about you?”

“Okay, I get it, but it has to stay red.”

#

I assumed we’d be leaving in one of the agencies’ SUVs until she directed me to a


223

low slung sport car. “This is yours’?”

“Yeah, every lovely inch of it.”

“Wow!”

“C’mon, get in, strap up, and hang on.”

She wasn’t kidding. It wasn’t so much she broke the speed limit, it was how fast

she got to it. Zero to thirty-five, a second and a half, to fifty-five maybe two seconds. The

quick g-forces played interesting games to my head, and without the backrest I’d be

whip-lashed. We got on I-270 and flew low and fast.

“Isn’t there a speed limit here?”

“Sure there is.”

“Oh.”

She exited by a huge mall. “This is Tuttle Crossing Road, and Tuttle Crossing

Mall. If you ever get lost, ask directions to the mall. It’s easier that way.” She turned on

the road going away from the mall and drove a short distance before turning right. “Up

here on the left is a apartment community called Britton Woods.” She pulled into the

access drive. The complex was big enough to get me lost before she parked in front of a

building. “C’mon, check out your new digs.”

The furnished apartment was otherwise stark white, which was fine for me. It had

two bedrooms, and a laundry room. The living area looked out a large sliding glass door

with a narrow patio. The kitchen was a small galley type, but big enough for me. Melody

handed a set of keys to me. “I’m keeping the other set.” I nodded.

“Who’s paying for this?”

“You’re in our witness protection program for now, and not the Federal


224

Marshall’s similar program, so my agency’s footing the bill.”

“Oh. I’m really not ready to move in here yet. What do I do?”

“Listen, Grace, you’re an exception to all my directives. I’ve never gotten

involved with a witness before, and certainly won’t again. But you’re unique, and you

know why.” I nodded slightly. “My interest in your welfare is sincere, but my interest in

your ability is sincere too. I don’t want you going lost because this is too much.

Understand?” Nod. “So for a while you’re going to stay with me. We’ll get you all sorted

out. Okay?” Vigorious nod. She smiled, and said, let’s get your hair taken care of, then

we’ll get something to eat.”

#

The salon’s name was, “Running With Scissors”. I shuffled cautiously through

the door.

“Hey there Mel! Who do you have in tow behind you?”

“Hi Shirley. Meet Grace.”

The stylist looked over my head at Melody. “She your friend?”

“Not like you mean, but she is a friend. Do something wonderful to her hair.”

She ran her fingers through my mop. “You really do expect me to perform

miracles, don’t you?” She shook her head and looked at all my sides. “Okay, I’m about to

part the red sea for you. What do you want?”

“FBI standard.” FBI standard? What was that?

“Good choice, this mane needs to be as short as possible.”

I squeaked, “What!?”

“We were joking.” She picked up her first pair of scissors. “Be quiet now, or


225

you’ll ruin your aura.” I looked at Melody and she was laughing.

When I saw her result in the mirror I couldn’t believe it. I was attractive for the

first time ever. My hair was short, but not too much, and the cut seemed to tone down

its color. It had a fly-away effect in the back that made me look like I was running. “You

know,” Shirley messed with mousse on the sides of my head, then handed me the can to

take along with me. “You know, you kinda look like Kate Winslet.” She slid the smock

off my chest. “God, but I’m good!”

Melody replied, “As I’ve known all along.” She took green bills from her pocket

and pulled out a few. I saw a hundred dollar bill in the few. “I’ll be back in a couple

weeks for myself.”

“You’re skirting very close to becoming unattractive girlfriend. Better come in

next week.”

Melody laughed. “If I can get free.”

When we were in her car again, I stammered, “She called you unattractive.”

“She’s Shirley. She can call me anything she wants as long as she does my hair.

By the way, you’re quite beautiful now.”

“I’m not,” as I looked at my lap.

“You look like Kate Winslet, how could that not be beautiful?”

“I’m not her.”

Melody took her eyes off the road long enough to frown at me. “To every role she

plays she brings a strength of character. She’s my kind of actress.”

“You paid a lot for my hair.”

“Witness Protection Program. Can I say it enough times for it to sink in? You’ve


226

disguised yourself in one bold move. Get over the money issue, you’re not trying to

survive anymore. You can get comfortable and have your own life now.” She held a

moment. “As long as I’m in it now and then.” She swung into the parking lot of a

restaurant called “Max and Erma’s”. “Let’s get something to eat before I take you home.”

#

The food was excellent, as was her company. I tried to see her tough as a FBI

agent, but I’d never known one before this to compare with. Whatever, I was completely

at her mercy.

I started something I shouldn’t have, and felt ashamed all during dinner. “Please

tell me about your name. It’s uncommon.”

Her eyes should have fried me, but she leaned back into the booth and stared at

me instead. “My mother was a cello player. She named me Melody, because it was so, oh

how should I say this? Oh, yes- musical. I’ve thought about changing it, but everybody

has known me as Melody my whole life.”

“What about ‘Echo’?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“What? It isn’t your family name?”

“Look, Grace, you ought to know more about changing names than anybody.

Right? Given the chance we’d all pick one that suits us best, like you did. I also picked

one. The wrong one. It was long ago and far away. That’s all I’m going to say, so leave it

alone.”

#

Melody lived in an area of Columbus called “The Short North”. The main drag


227

was a crowded High Street, and there were two wrought-iron arches over the street

announcing the area’s name. The OSU campus was close, as was downtown Columbus. I

walked the area the next day and stared into the odd shops lining the street. They really

were odd to a hick like myself.

But Melody lived two blocks off High Street, in a brick house from many decades

past. After we carried in my clothes she threw her keys down and shrugged off her suit

jacket. “Please, make yourself at home. Whatever’s in the frig is up for grabs.” She

disappeared into a room. When she came out she was stunning in black jeans, and a red

silk blouse. She handed me a Victoria’s Secret bag. She got a bottled water from the

refrigerator and landed tiredly on the leather sofa. “I’m wiped.”

“Yeah, so am I,” I replied. “What’s this?”

“I know you won’t buy yourself nice things, so I do it for you. It’s not going to be

easy, but you’re going to have to feel like a woman again sometime.”

“This is too expensive, and I already have the silk pajamas you gave me when I

landed at Claire’s place.”

She waved my speech away like it was unpleasant smoke. She‘d continue the

giving habit as long as I was under her wing. “I understand you like music. Put something

on you like from my collection.” Her stereo was in a bookcase filled with CDs and

martial arts books.

I ran my finger across the plastic spines. “Who got my stereo and CDs?”

“Kim did. I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s what I hoped.” I picked a “best of” disc of Ella Fitzgerald and let the

player suck it in.


228

“You are good. That’s just perfect.” I felt like a puppy who’d pleased its master,

and wetted itself. “There’s some things we need to go over.”

“Fine.”

“Your job is from midnight to eight am. That’s when the bread is made. You

understand why I don’t want you behind the counter?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know if the hours or work is right for you, so Upper Crust is giving you a

week’s trial period. You’re not locked into taking the job.”

“Ah, fine.”

“You now own a used Honda that’s parked over at your apartment. I didn’t point

it out because you were overwhelmed when we where there.”

“I still am. A car? You bought me a car?”

“Relax, it’s a 1998 Honda Civic. Completely solid according to my personal

mechanic, but nothing to get excited about. I’ve paid the insurance for a year.”

“I can’t take all of this from you. It isn’t right.”

“Let me decide what’s wrong or right. You have a lot of growing to do, so like

any big sister I’m supposed to watch over you.”

“Is that how you see me? A sister?”

“You’re more than a witness, more than what meets the eye, and you’re alone in a

place I picked out for you. I think you need a sister more than anything else.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“There’s one more requirement for you.”

“Yes?” I drooled like the puppy dog I’d become.


229

She handed me a color brochure. I looked it over before I said, “It’s about karate.

Do you go to this place, this dojo?”

“I go to it quite a lot. It’s mine, and I’m one of the instructors- the sensei.”

“I have to go?”

“Yes, you do. You’ll thank me one day.”

Yeah, right. “What about the men in the classes? I don’t feel comfortable…”

“There are no men, the dojo is for women only.”

#

Melody went thoroughly over a map of the area with me. She drove me to a few

places to show what the map described. I listened. I listened a lot. I listened when she

drove me to my new job. I listened when I went to the dojo and she gave me a spotless

white uniform, a karategi, or simply, a gi. Her own uniform was light-sucking black.

“You’ll be studying Goju Ryu karate. The fist and open hand is our style of

fighting, our aspiration to become.” I was in the beginner’s class, and the first few

work-outs wiped me out. I never led a physical life before, and my body didn’t know

what to do.

“You did fine for a first class. Everything you learn will be by repetition, which

translates into time. I’m satisfied with your progress.” Happy, floor piddling puppy time

again.

We cooked together, well, mostly her, and she told me stories about the area,

“The Short North has the densest gay population in the city,” the dojo, and even the

agency. “It’s a men’s club. The only reason I’m allowed is because I work twice as hard,

and give them twice the amount of my life than the boys’ do.”


230

“David speaks well of you.”

She broke out laughing. “Yeah, he’s a good agent, and I’m glad he’s with me. He

covers my back, and I cover his.”

“You cover his?”

She eyeballed me over. “He’s gay, and nobody else knows.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“We’re a federal agency, so we live by the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ rule. It’s none of

their business, but they’d make things hard for him, like never being promoted to Special

Agent.”

“How do you know…”

“You don’t know?”

“Yes, but you just told me he was gay.”

“You don’t know about me?”

“You? Oh. You’re gay?”

“For somebody who was in a lesbian relationship, you’re not very perceptive.”

I coughed. “I grew up and lived in the backwoods of nether Michigan. What do I

know about gay culture?”

Melody started laughing until she was red in the face. She put a hand on my

shoulder, and gasped. “I forgot. How did you find out you were gay?”

“It just happened. Kim was exceptional, and I couldn’t help but want her after a

while. I tried not to. Hell, I had a sexual relationship with a boy for a couple of years

before I fell in love with her.”

“Typical growing pains. I have to ask, how do you feel about sex now?”


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“I never want it ever again, thanks. I OD’d on the twisted side of it.”

Her voice dropped to a hush. “I’m so sorry what you went through. I wanted you

out before it got so ugly.“

“It was my decision, not yours. I wanted to finish it.” I sat down in a chair. “I

wanted to finish it, and I killed three men.” Instant flashback to Deputy Craig with a

sizzling hole through his skull. I shivered because I made that hole. Me, a killer.

“ Listen, Grace, it was warranted no matter how you think of it now. They were

going to rape and kill you. Now, I want to get Brickman, so I can toast his ass too.” The

lettuce was torn into the bowl when she calmly asked me, “Can you show me your

talent?”

Just like I’d done a hundred times at Claire’s, I held my palms out and invoked

the memory of the fire. It didn’t work this time either. “Sorry. I think I used it up.”

“That’s okay, Grace, don’t feel bad. You’re exceptional just as you are.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’ve said it twice.”

Melody turned fully around to face me. “What made you tackle the beast in his

lair? What amount of guts did you display when you took on three grown men? What

depth of feeling for Kim made you want to protect her, even if it meant your own life?”

“My father taught me a saying. ‘What would O’Malley do?’ I only did what

O’Malley would have done.”

“But you’re O’Malley now. Is that the significance of your name?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Grace O’Malley must have been one hell of a woman. Do you know what

made her great?”


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“No, what do you think?”

“The same thing that makes you great.” I waited for her to finish, then she added,

“Adversity. Adversity made you strong, forced you to rise to the occasion and prove

yourself tougher than your adversary. That’s what I mean when I say you’re exceptional.

You’re bigger than yourself. Let’s eat.”

#

So, adversity was my pal, my friend, my boon companion bred to follow me

everywhere I went?

#

I started working at Upper Crust on the bread line. I’d come in at midnight and

start mixing the bags of dry ingredients in a huge, vertiginous mixer, load the industrial

pans, and unload them when they rolled out of the oven. Melody was right, it was hard

work, but satisfying in the way first jobs are, I had worth now. I also had a partner

working the mix with me, a pretty black woman with a shy smile.

“Hi, I’m Mindy.” It was a small offering, but an offering. “Mindy, ah, Moore.”

“Grace O’Malley.” I held out a floured hand but she didn’t take it.

“I thought you must be Irish, with your hair and all.” In her defense, the store was

in Dublin, Ohio.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Ah, well, I arrived six months ago. It’s not a bad job.” Did she say, “arrived”?

“Where do you live?” If she was in my complex how would I approach the

obvious topic?

“Very close to here. I can walk it in ten minutes.”


233

Walk? It must be close. Definitely not where I lived. “What about you?”

I told her directions as best as I could, but she’d never gone more than a half-mile

from her place. “You don’t have a car.”

“No, and the bus doesn’t run this late.”

“That’s dangerous, Mindy. Look, I know this is fast, but I’d be happy to take you

where you need to do. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my workout.”

“That’s nice Grace. I’ll think about it.” Bells went off. This was a woman who’d

been hurt by the people who were responsible for her. I shut up and worked the line.

The company had a lot of different breads to make. There was Sourdough, a

favorite from the amount baked, the flat oval Ciabatta, Asiago cheese, Honey Wheat,

Tomato basil, and my favorite, the plain crusty Baguette in three versions, and a whole

mess of other Artisan signature breads. Seeing how Mindy and I were the most junior

employees, we were regulated to the fairly uncomplicated process of mixing before we

shaped and put them in the oven.

Sometimes I had to fill in for absent workers, and got to see more of the whole

process. Except for the bagel line. The doughy boiling rings took a lot of skill to not get

burned. That was when I realized there were men working in the bakery. I’d never seen

them before, or probably phased them out so I could stick to my job. The thing was, they

all smiled earnestly, and worked completely at ease with the women around them. I

didn’t feel frightened of them. Mostly Mindy and I worked together in perfect synch, our

doughy relationship a friendly dance around the mixer and oven.

I grew to love the routine, even the reversal of my diurnal sleeping clock. The

nights were peaceful, and I slept through the bustling traffic of rush hour. I loved the


234

muscles growing in my upper body, and how they related to the karate workouts. Melody

noticed, and complimented my progress. I worked hard in her dojo, and left many gallons

of sweat on the mats, as well as five pounds of womanly fat. I was smoother than I’d ever

been, and slowly built a budding confidence in my body every time I hit the heavy bag in

its corner.

Columbus life agreed with me. Nights when Melody and myself didn’t have to

work we’d get together and fix a simple dinner. I’d bring the bread.

One night I asked the question bothering me since I met her, “I never see you with

anybody. Are you in a relationship?” It was skirting her sense of privacy, but she knew

me better now.

“That’s the point, nosy, if you don’t see them, then nobody else does either. I

have to be discreet because of my job.”

“But are you involved?”

“No, not at this time.” No further explanation.

“I’ve tried to imagine the type of woman you’d like.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Come on, you’re high powered material. You must get bored easily.”

“Not with the women I like. The problem is with my job. I can’t be seen with a

lover in the open, and also my hours are inconsistent. The women get whiny, just like a

wife. The best ones are married women, they don’t want to be discovered either.”

I felt jealous all of a sudden, imagining her sleeping with some other powerful

woman. I knew she wasn’t like me, but it hurt how I’d never be like her no matter how I

tried. I picked out a CD to put on for dinner, Billie Holiday singing the blues. “Billie?


235

Why so sad, Grace?”

There was a truth in my chest I wanted out. “I feel very alone sometimes. So

lonely I want to drive north and go to Kim.”

“You don’t have any friends in the dojo?”

“No. I have one person who might become a friend, but she’s a coworker, and

scared to death.”

“Oh, Mindy?”

“You know her?”

“I know of her. A different agency placed her. She won’t agree to counseling, or

medication, and refuses to ask anyone for help. You’re right about her being frightened,

she has a reason to be.”

“Why?”

“You can never share this information, because I’m not supposed to be giving it

out to you. Her mother and father both sexually abused her. How old do you think she

is?”

“Nineteen, twenty? Older than me.”

“She just turned sixteen. She was living under an overpass for two years, and that

life ages you fast. Be nice to her, she deserves a little kindness.”

Holy shit, ask, and you will receive both the good and bad. Teach you to ask in

the first place.

“How are you doing with your apartment?”

“I bought a stereo. Best Buy is directly across the street from me. I’d buy a mess

of CDs, but what’s left of the two thousand wouldn’t last long.”


236

“Have you given any thought to transferring the rest of your money?”

“I’m leaving it there for now. It would be a temptation to use it to build this new

life into something comfortable.”

“You could get a little comfortable.”

“You know better than that, Melody. I can’t allow it, even a little bit.”

“Brickman?” I nodded. “Afraid you’ll have to cut and run again?” Another nod.

“He’s not invisible, Grace. We’ll get him.”

“How long have you been saying that?”

“Ouch! Sorry. Some cases are easy to close. Some aren’t. Doesn’t mean they

won’t be.” I got up. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.”

“Are you angry at me?”

“No, I’m lonely and scared, things I thought I’d be over by now.”

“There are counselors.”

“My trauma isn’t in the past, it’s now. It could also be the future. Thanks for

dinner.” I let myself out and started the Honda. I could make Loon Lake in two and a half

hours. I banged my head against the steering wheel and chanted, “Stupid, stupid, stupid”.

Whatever I’d wanted the brief pain to fix wasn’t fixing. I drove home slowly, a

dangerous thing to do in Columbus, and watched the furnished, stupid television for a

few hours. That was why I didn’t have one in my old place, it was a soul-killer.

#

Chapter Eighteen-

Another lull. My time was divided three ways; class, work, and sleep. If I had to


237

say what I did over the summer it’d be boring. But it was my life.

#

I had to beg Mindy to let me drive her home after work one morning. “No, really,

I like walking.”

“Mindy, listen, I’m trying to be a friend here. Friends share, and I’d like to share

my car with you.”

“Friends? You want to be friends with me?”

“I like you, and you’re a good worker.” She perked up when I said she was a good

worker. I caught her wounded eye and told her, “I enjoy working with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, cross my heart. You make the job fun.” Okay, I lied about that. It was a job,

and as such would never be that much fun.

“Well, I suppose, ah, if you think so. I mean if you really want to.”

“Get in the car.” She slipped into the passenger seat like it was covered with shit.

I gave her a minute to close her door and strap in. She took a little longer, but got it

without coaching. “Where do you live?”

“Down that way,” she replied, pointing. I followed her directions until we came to

an older house. It was sort of seedy for this part of town, but the lawn was well-tended.

That’s how the natives here rated a house, if the grass was cut pleasingly.

She was out of the car before I stopped rolling. “Thank you, Grace.”

“Would you like me to pick you up?”

“Oh, no. This was blessing enough.” She hurried in the front door and quickly

closed it. I sat and wondered how she felt, because she was depressing me. What awful


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work some parents do to the ones they’re supposed to care for. If I knew where they

lived, and had my shotgun, there would have been two murders in Columbus that day.

I went home and hit the bed. Sleep was still my choice of narcotic.

#

I grew more skilled in the dojo, and applied the lessons with an urgency I’d never

known. My body was growing with the effort too. I didn’t know anything about kicks,

blocks, or punches before I entered Melody’s tutelage, but I made up the time with

serious interest. I worked the heavy bag for half an hour every time I went to the dojo. It

killed my gloved hands and wrists, but strung steel wire in my upper body.

We had kumite sparring contests every week. Melody would match up partners of

the same skill level, get things going, and walk around giving pointers and marks for

effort. I went through every student until they refused to spar with me. The problem, as

they stated it, was the match was over before they could assemble a strategy. Melody

explained they weren’t supposed to assemble anything, they were supposed to attack.

She made me stand up in front of the class one evening and take on two

opponents at the same time. This was a match only a more advanced student could take

on, not a white belt.

I bowed to both women and leaned back into a false defensive position to draw

them in towards me. I felt no emotion, and my mind closed to anything but the women

facing me. Melody threw down her arm dividing us and said, “Begin!”

They made the mistake of attacking separately, one approaching from the left, the

other, right. Apparently they never learned the shield circle and attack. I dropped the left

one with a sweep kick too low for her to step away from. Before she landed on her ass the


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other came at me with a frontal assault focused on my chest, a good choice of target. My

open hand pushed her fist off to the side, and my fist connected hard with her

solar-plexus. Her wind went away, and she fell backwards five feet. Melody said,

“Done!,” and helped pick them up. We all bowed to each other, and to Melody. Like

good little pupils we returned to a kneeling position on the mat.

Melody went back into her office and returned with a yellow belt. She said my

name and I rose and bowed respectfully. When she handed me the belt I fought back tears

of appreciation. “Get up,” she told me, and had me stand facing the line of students. “All

of you can do what Grace did. You all have the power she has, you need only to tap it.”

The message sank in for ten seconds. “The good thing about this is she won’t be sparring

with any of you now. She’s moving to the next level class.” There was laughter along the

line. I remembered hearing Kim saying my life issue was power, but I wanted to weep

from the weakness in me.

#

I got regular paychecks, a new experience I loved. I actually got paid for my

efforts, and happily deposited all the money into my bank. My needs were simple, and

few. One need I couldn’t fill was companionship. Melody was a sister, but I needed

somebody to talk to who wasn’t a relative. All I wanted was to talk, no sex, and certainly

no heavy relationship. I wanted a way to divide each day from the last, and the next.

Mindy and I worked together, but rarely said anything much when we were in the

bakery. She finally agreed to let me take her home in the morning, but not to pick her up

for work. She was transparently fragile, and her figurative fingers were bleeding from

just trying to hang on everyday. I brought her lunch a few times, brought her a rose when


240

I heard about her birthday, and gave her small gifts of chocolate, and her favorite, gummy

bears. But she remained breakable as isinglass, and fragile as a beleaguered feather on a

stiff wind.

The house she lived in was a group home for adults with a mental illness. I could

only imagine what she suffered from.

#

I entered the dojo for the first time since becoming a yellow belt, and there was a

different instructor, younger and rougher looking than Melody. She glanced at me as I

was slipping on my gi and strapping it closed with the virgin yellow belt. More students

arrived, mostly green, an orange, two blues, and one brown belt who looked like she

lived this discipline all the time. All her movements were sharp and crisp, even when she

was loosening up. I knew I would make an effort to watch and learn from her.

The sensei called us to order and we knelt by the wall in order of levels of belts. I

was last in line as the only yellow. She had us recite the pledge and evocation and bow

head down to the floor. Then we all rose and practiced the basic block and punch. She

walked down the line inspecting and correcting each student’s posture and performance. I

was last in line, and when she got to me she grabbed my arm in a vice-hold. “My name is

Atwood Sensei. You are very sloppy. Your movements must snap,” she demonstrated

and her fabric sleeve cracked like a whip. “Work on that.”

Then she went in front of us and commanded drills using kicks, punches and

blocks. Not the easy warm up kind; the forceful, destroying, whole body kind. I was

sweating like a pig, wiping my eyes, and stumbling on the steps. She appeared at my side

and pulled me out of line. I stood at the front of the class expecting verbal humiliation. I


241

got more.

“This student doesn’t understand the necessity of these movements yet.” The

room was silent, even of breathing. “Diane, would you please instruct her?” A very stout,

solidly built green belt came before me and bowed. I bowed back, and then was crushed

with a kick, thrown to the mat, and my arm twisted the wrong way. “Enough!” Diane fell

back, and I crawled to my feet, and semi-crawled back to the end of the line.

She closed the class and I leaned against the wall, thinking I’d get up in a while.

Like an hour or so. Sensei came out of the office and stood before me. “You think

because you worked hard and excelled in the beginner’s class this would be as easy. It

isn’t. Personally, I don’t think you belong here. You’ll take up too much of my time

making sure you don’t get killed. Now, you can quit, or you can learn very fast. You will

get hurt again if you choose to stay.”

“Did Melody say I was ready for this?”

“Why?”

“Did Melody say I was ready for this?”

She stared at me like I was a dung beetle. “She said you were a good student.”

I picked myself up and hoisted my gym bag. “Then I’m not going to quit, even if I

get hurt.” I walked out of the dojo full of false bravery, and real pain.

#

I began to jog. Not much, just a little to get the taste of it. Columbus is covered

over in car exhaust, so I found a park out in the suburb of Westerville called Sharon

Woods. It had a great peace-inducing circular trail for bikes, walkers like I mostly was,

and joggers, what I wanted to be. That summer was glorious to be out in, and the weather


242

encouraged me to grow and thrive, and also get a sunburn. I walked naked out of a

burning house without a mark, but the strong Ohio sun fried me one day when I was off. I

wore bright red for a painful week, with each rub of my uniform like hot sandpaper.

I also bought a set of weights. Nothing fancy, only toning weights in five pound,

sand-filled increments. I’d lift them whenever I was at home, and look at the definition

developing in my biceps and forearms. It was entertaining, if nothing else.

I didn’t speak to Melody about class, I figured she would get a full report from

Atwood Sensei whenever she wanted. We did some dinners, and her company always

cheered me up. She’d been right to call us sisters, her the big sister I never had, because

my love for her was a rock in the lonely storm I lived in. Every hug from her spread oil

on my disturbed waters.

After dinner one evening I asked if I could borrow a few martial arts books from

her. She raised an eyebrow, looking all the way through me, then answered yes. I cruised

past her books like they were candy in a sweet smelling shop, and found three I liked.

Then one night she told me she was going away for a few days. “Business?”

“No.”

“Vacation?”

“Close. A visit to a spa. I’ll be back on Tuesday night.”

“Okay. Is there anything you want me to do while you’re gone?”

“Stay out of trouble.”

“What?”

“I know you’re gunning for that green belt who humiliated you. Leave it alone.

You’ve much more to learn from Atwood Sensei, if you listen and practice hard. Don’t


243

do anything stupid.”

“Who? Me?”

“I should have known you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth.”

Then she laughed and pulled me into a tight embrace. “I’m proud of how you’ve handled

your situation.”

“You’re getting soft.”

“Pardon?” she asked me with a frown.

“You keep using that word, proud, and they’re going to take away your badge and

gun.”

“Get out of here, and keep your nose clean.”

#

Not all that book smart, I read all of them twice through before I tried any of the

moves. The best book was on the subject of “Hopkido”. It’s the art and science of

immobilizing your opponent with various wrist holds. The movements required a strong

grasp, so I started squeezing a tennis ball. I could do this exercise whenever and

anywhere I went, and I did until it was an unconscious activity. It would still be quite a

while before I could pop an old ball, but I was started on the way.

#

Two months and I finally convinced Mindy to let me pick her up for work.

Another month and she was waiting for me outside. It was slow going, but I saw her peek

out from her overbearing fear a few times.

Work was a constant both of us depended on. For her it was eight hours a night

when she was able to focus on one activity, not the overbearing terror of her past. For me,


244

it was human contact. Karate class was too adversarial to make friends, even if you

wanted to try with students on the outside. Karate smelled of strong defenses, fighting,

and attack. Not chit-chat over a latte.

I needed Mindy more than she needed me. I needed to think I was doing

something good, something of worth. I put energy into our budding friendship, energy

best spent that way, and not for fighting.

#

“What would O’Malley do?” A month after I started the new class I realized I’d

been sandbagging. It was worth every punch I took, every kick that laid me low because I

was drawing the more advanced students closer in my defensive circle. It was something

O’Malley would do in the face of adversity. I knew I was getting stronger because I could

leave class without the pain I’d first experienced. Sparring matches were the most

instructive part of class, learning how to fall without fear, and how to get back up with

dignity. I stayed humble, like a good little yellow belt should.

Then Diane and I were matched up in a kumite. She had that look on her face

letting me know she was going to enjoy this. I expressed nothing, felt nothing, and

thought nothing with anything but my body.

We faced each other and bowed, and she charged me. My body swirled sideways

to present a narrower target, and she landed in a pile behind me. I turned around and

faced her. She got up, glaring with anger, and I knew Sensei was going to let this match

go on until someone was prone on the mats.

She didn’t charge this time, but moved towards me in a series of hard kicks. I

moved left for the first, right for the second, then trapped her extended leg on the latter


245

and twisted her around, sweep kicked her other leg out from under her, and she landed

face down on the mat. I tossed her leg away, backed off, and made a “C’mon” motion

with my hand. She got up slowly, but now determined to kill me.

She began a series of punches at my chest. One glanced off my arm so I blocked

it away and kicked her in her chest. That time she didn’t get back up right away.

Sensei had us go through the closing formalities and ended class. She extended

her arm at me, and barked, “You! With me!” Diane was up, but she wasn’t quite steady

yet. Sensei spoke into her ear, then led me to the office. “Who do you think you are?”

“Excuse me? I only did what you teach us in class.”

“Really? Did I teach you to try to kill your opponent? Was that ever part of my

lessons?”

I don’t know what little hobgoblin popped out of my mouth, but it said in a firm,

level voice, “If I wanted her dead, she’d be dead. I work hard, follow your instruction,

and try to better myself. What were you doing when you sicced her on me my first class?

Humiliation, that’s what you wanted, she knew it, and you both got it. How did you think

I’d respond?”

“I’d throw you out, but you’re Melody’s pet.”

“Well jeez, thanks for that. I’ve got a lot to learn from you, but hating each other

doesn’t serve either of our needs. Let me learn, and don’t humiliate me. Okay?”

She thought for a long time, then sat down in the office chair. “Look, I’m sorry. I

don’t like being told what to do with my students, and I thought Melody was pushing you

on me. I normally don’t teach yellow belts, but what she said to me makes sense now.”

“Which was?”


246

“She told me that you learn best from an adversary. You proved her right

tonight.”

“Can I go now? I want to take a shower.”

Atwood looked up at me like I hadn’t been there. “Ah, what?”

“Can I go?”

“Oh, sure.”

She was so distracted I had to ask, “Are we straight with each other?”

“I have something to run past you next time. Remind me, okay?”

I left the dojo shaking my head. Diane was settled, I’d won an argument with my

instructor, and now she had something to “run” by me. I couldn’t wait to find out what it

was, and why it was so important.

#

Autumn arrived with a flare of burning beauty. It’d always been my favorite, and

I was intoxicated from it I went to Sharon Woods to jog. The tall beech trees reminded

me of Michigan’s forests, and made me miss Kim even more than I already was. Two and

a half hours and I could be in her arms again.

It wasn’t poetic, but the realization she could be in somebody else’s arms now hit

me like a quick stitch in my side and I had to stop running. My body bent over in a new,

stronger pain. Could I call Anne and ask? What would Melody think of me if I did? I let

my abdomen unclench while I walked to my car, trying to forget every delicious minute

with the dark brown haired girl. There was an end to the memories, and I’d faced it and

lived.

#


247

“There’s a statewide competition,” Atwood Sensei began, “talented students go to

in order to upgrade their level.”

Melody joined in, “There are two aspects to the competition. The kata, which is a

memorized sequence of moves. It’s done alone, and the judges decide if you’re ready to

move up. The kata shows who you are as a fighter, and also as a person. It’s quite

beautiful.”

It was stuffy in the little office, and I was getting too warm. Atwood Sensei took

over. “Then there’s the kumite competition. It’s like we do here in the dojo. The prize is a

trophy, and more importantly, honor to the dojo.” I was beginning to breathe harder.

Melody saw what was going on, and opened the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. When is this competition?”

“In a month. Are you interested?”

“I have to memorize a, ah, kata by then?”

“I’ll help you,” Melody answered.

“The sparring part, is that with other yellow belts?”

“Yes. I really do believe you’ll excel. Look, I brought two books explaining and

instructing katas. Pick one out and we’ll practice together.”

With the door open I could breathe again. “I’m not much interested in bettering

my belt color.”

“I know, you’re much deeper than that. But the sport requires you to identify your

ability by belt. Right now you’d decimate any other yellow belt in the state. You need to

move up, Grace.”

I reached for Melody’s books. “If I see something I like I’ll let you know.”


248

Atwood smiled. “Good. You will bring back much honor.”

“You mean I will bring you much honor because I’m your student.”

“You know, just when I think I might like you, you say something or do

something that pisses me off.”

“I think Grace’s right, Atwood,” Melody said with a grin.

#

My life with Mindy became richer with understanding and compassion. She had a

good soul, maybe even a great soul, and every now and then she let it show. Not when

anybody else was around, but in tiny little glimpses. In return I treated her as a sister. I

never asked her for anything, and gave what I could in the way of small favors or gifts.

What I saw was a woman trying to find her place in a dangerous world. Sound familiar?

#

I don’t really know why, but I chose the Sanchin kata. The book didn’t show

much beyond its steps, but I thought there was something secret inside it that could be

explored, an analysis and interpretation the discipline called “bunkai“.

I showed it Melody, and she got a strange look. She said, “I understand that this

kata is simple enough to teach to white belts. However, it is the most difficult to master.

Black belts may spend their whole lives trying to master it. Why did you choose it?”

“There’s a secret inside it. I need to know what that secret is.”

“Oh, God, you’re too inexperienced to know that. What did you see?”

At first I refused to answer. “C’mon Grace, this is me,” Melody asked.

I guess I was reeling from my epiphany concerning Kim, and didn’t want to feel

anything. I shrugged.


249

“I need to know. Please.”

‘It’s the slippery line between good and evil that defines the steps and

movements.”

“I’m sorry I even offered to work on your kata. You’re not supposed to

understand that yet.”

“What? Nobody knows about this?”

“We don’t talk about it with anybody but a fellow shodan. The reason the belt

colors begin with white, and end with black is because…”

“Yes, I know. Bunkai. As the student learns more and more they are infected with

dangerous knowledge to interpret within their style. Black belts are like monks, or

protective priests guarding the heart of the dangerous knowledge, and they don’t believe

lesser students can handle it. It gets dished out like some secret party favor if you‘re real

good. And that’s wrong. Whatever age, or ability, students are potential targets for evil,

and should be instructed in the more arcane areas of the discipline.”

“You told me you weren’t smart.”

“No, you thought I wasn’t. I can’t quote Shakespeare, but I can sniff out a secret

from forty miles. That’s what I learned growing up. So, when did you figure out the

kata?”

“About the same age you are.”

“You turned out well enough.”

She pulled me into her wonderful arms. Arms I knew could destroy as well as

love. “What am I going to do with you?”

I sighed heavily. “I honestly don’t know.”


250

#

A new employee started at work. She was a big, rawboned Appalachian woman

who was pretty rough around the edges. Mindy and I were to teach her about the

dough-line, the mixing, shaping, and baking the long crusty baguette loaves. We, or I

should say I, because Mindy was terrified of her, worked close together until she

understood the process well enough to work solo.

The reason she was hired was because an employee on the pastry and sweet bread

line had married and quit so she could have her baby in about two weeks. An amazing

gestation period; I’m sure a lot of women would like to have a pregnancy that short.

Anyway, I was being brought up to make pastry due to my work ethic.

And that meant leaving Mindy behind.

What was I supposed to do? What would O’Malley do?

When I went to collect Mindy at the end of our shift to drive her home as usual,

she was huddled in a ball against the outside wall by the dumpster. I ran to her, but she

didn’t want to be touched by anyone. Then I heard the hillbilly calling Mindy names,

shouting that my friend was worthless. Later I learned the woman had spilled a mixer full

of dough on the floor, and blamed Mindy. Everybody who worked there knew it wasn’t

true. I went from trying to comfort my friend to defending her in less than a second. I

stood before the foul-mouthed bitch, and in a plain voice said, “Stop shouting, you’re

hurting my friend.”

She got far enough along to say, “Friend?” before I took her wrist and pile-drove

her to her knees on the asphalt. “I told you to shut up.”

“You let me up or I’m gonna…”


251

“Gonna do what?” I twisted her arm closer to the pavement.

“I’m gonna call the cops.”

I looked at the crowd surrounding us. “Did anybody see an assault here this

morning?” The response was a loudly roared, “no!” I let her up. “Go away, and don’t

come back.”

She was full of bluster when she was working, but she left silently in the morning

light.

All my fellow employees asked me how had I done that trick, where did I learn it?

I said I took karate lessons, and then went to Mindy’s side. Her eyes were unfocused and

she didn’t respond to anything. I went inside the store and called 9-1-1. I followed the

ambulance to Riverside Hospital, and gave the doctors what knowledge I had about her

including why she had dissociated. I missed class, I missed work, but I was determined

not to let go of Mindy if she started slipping away.

#

Melody instructed me in the kata out at Sharon Woods in a field near the lake.

The air was crisp, brightly colored, and crunchy like a new candy apple, and I bit into it

with relish. The open field and air allowed our kokoro to breathe in and blow out. I had

already established my fighting style as mushin; “no mind, no need to think“, so we used

that as the basis of the kata. Melody was patient, making me repeat steps over and over so

I could remember them. We met three times this way, and she entrusted me to follow

through and maintain focus in the poetic moves. I practiced in my apartment with the

furniture piled against one wall. I practiced outside by the fountain-spray lake at my

complex when the weather was good. I even went out in a monster rainstorm to


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experience myself as a part of nature. I got soaked, but I also learned part of the secret in

the Sanchin kata. Nature is innocent, humans are only innocent when they follow nature.

The beauty of a new-born is because it has come from a wet chrysalis as a potential

butterfly. To deny nature, to attempt to control the cradle we all came from is evil. I still

didn’t understand the rest of the message, but my feet and hands could ignore the

darkness and implied violence from the razor’s edge virtue balances on.

#

I worked alone, and the work was twice as hard for it. The mixing bags so

difficult for me to manage in the beginning I could now carry without effort, but without

Mindy by my side I sweated heavily every night. The heat began to get to me too. Me,

the dragon lady. I started wearing a strap tee shirt to work, and my chest would be slick

and shirt soaked transparent halfway through the shift.

There was an attractive blond woman named Amber Watts who worked with the

bagels, and she’d make an effort to come by and say hello, or compliment the way I

protected Mindy. She was smooth as she looked at me with growing interest, and I liked

the attention. Living alone, and now working alone, was taking a toll on my previously

denied emotional life. I had needs too, and she held the promise of meeting some of

them.

We met for coffee before work a few times, talked about ourselves, talked about

our current situations, and asked a whole bunch of questions of each other. I knew I was

warming up to her attentions because a little thrill shot through me like static electricity

whenever I saw her. What I really liked was the ease she hooked up with me. This was

the city, not the Michigan sticks.


253

She was the kind of cheerleader, prom queen pretty, with only a tiny star shaped

scar on her left cheek to blemish her perfection, and because of her perfection I was

amazed she’d be attracted to me. I felt lucky that she was interested, and so happy to be

seen hanging around her attractiveness. She even talked me into buying a cell phone, so

we could, “Keep up with each other”. We held off sleeping together because she still had

an unfinished situation with a man who didn’t understand the word no. Was I shocked

about the man? Or because she’d been having sex with him? Or, was I shocked because

he was a typical male who didn’t listen? No, I’d encountered both in my own life.

Because of her circumstances we had a sensual anticipation making our bodies absolutely

thrum with hunger when we talked.

I asked her to come to the karate competition and gave her a ticket, without

warning her about who I really was. It would be up to her to be frightened of me or not. I

was digging deeper into the dangerous occult power within the Sanchin kata. Every time

I moved in the light of the kata and fought the shadows hidden beneath that light I

remembered Kim’s words, “Power is your life issue, Belinda.” Her innocent warning had

proven to be true. I didn’t consciously seek power, but couldn’t stop seeking it because

I’d already made myself into the image of the warrior inside me. Whether the power I

lorded over would be used for good, or ill, I didn‘t know.

#

Chapter Nineteen-

Every now and then Kim would get an uneasy feeling. Her father told her the old

tale of how somebody was walking on her grave, which wasn’t what she wanted to hear

at all. Belinda hadn’t been dead long, and she still grieved. Going back to school was


254

torturous, seeing her ex-friends pure murder to her heart.

Why hadn’t there been a funeral? Because Belinda had no relatives? Or because

the FBI disposed her body when they were finished with it. She guessed they only had to

complete the started cremation process. The FBI informed the news that Belinda died

en-route to the hospital, not inside that evil house. Kim got stuck feeling the fear that

Belinda had suffered horrible burns and died from the pain.

But then she had these uneasy spells. Belinda had called her “spooky”, with her

insight and inner knowledge of things unseen. The dizzy spell always led her to think

about power. Belinda’s life issue had been power. Kim’s was love, and the sharing of

love. The solution to Kim’s issue had died, leaving her alone without that love. So she

grieved, wracking her heart with sudden tears every time she was reminded of something

they shared.

The memory of meeting her at that silly sleep-over, the hunger she felt for

Belinda’s body, the shock of suddenly knowing what she was because of Belinda. What

she was then, and still.

What she was on this fine autumn day was sea-sick with unease. The only salve

for her was to think how she loved Belinda, and how she knew Belinda loved her. On this

Saturday the strange creepiness continued to suffocate her with mourning, and warning.

Somebody, most likely Belinda, was thinking powerful thoughts about her. Power. Can

ghosts do that? Can spirits oppress us with their attention? Where was Belinda? Really?

The unease passed, leaving a hole behind that memory couldn’t fill.

#

The competition took place in a huge high school gymnasium. It had to be huge


255

because all the corners and walls were lined with students, and the floor was filled up

with students warming up. The most obvious presence was the number of black belts.

Some were instructors, maybe even dojo owners like Melody, and some were judges. I

could tell who the judges were because they all frowned, all the time.

Dojos from all over the state brought their best and brightest to compete, but

Atwood and Echo only brought four students; me, two blue belts, and the disciplined

brown belt. The woman wearing the brown belt was making her first attempt to become a

shodan, a black belt. I had no doubt she’d get it, and she did, with relative ease.

“Okay, listen up,” Atwood Sensei called us to attendance. “The kumite match tree

is against that wall.” She pointed to a wall everybody was milling around looking for

their first match. “And over there is the kata order list. All of you have signed up for

both, so go find out what you’re doing when. Meet back here.”

I was already in the state of mushin, or no-mind, mostly because I was scared,

when I bumped into a boy in a gi. A boy? The room was filled with boys, and men too,

and I hadn’t even noticed them. I stood there stupidly staring at the wall for my kumite

match. I knew something was wrong when my insides started to squeeze.

Melody pulled me away, and I immediately accused her, “You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot this kind of contact still bothers you. I’m really sorry.”

I looked at her face, pissed. “You didn’t forget. You thought if you got me here

I’d be so high on myself it wouldn’t matter.”

“You’re right. That’s exactly what I thought. But you and I both know you’ve

nothing to fear. You’re going to be sparring against yellow belts, not grown,

accomplished men. You know you can do it.”


256

“Can I just do the kata?”

“If that’s what you want. I’d like for you to do me a favor.” I looked at her face.

There wasn’t deception in it. I nodded. “Watch the yellow belts spar before you decide.”

“You really think I can win or you wouldn’t have brought me.”

“Yes, that’s right. Just watch a few.”

“Okay. Where do I change?”

“There’s a girl’s locker room somewhere over there,” she pointed. “Come back

here when you’re done.”

I waded through a dense rainbow of belt colors set against snow white uniforms

until I found the door. The noise level inside the room was deafening, loud girlish voices

echoing off the concrete block walls and cement floor. I pulled my uniform out, then did

a double take. I had to peer down into the neck in order to find my name. It was there,

inside a sparkling white, stiff-starched new gi. I held it up and marveled that Melody

would think of this small detail. I took off my street clothes, donned the pants, and pulled

the uniform top on. Then I pulled out a brilliant yellow belt and tied it on perfectly. At

least I looked like a karate student.

A few girls started following each other out, but stopped. They were all from one

dojo. Typically, always one girl, the alpha-bitch pack leader, had to say something.

‘Whoa! Check out the hair. Do you do duty as a stoplight?”

Then one of the beta females followed with, “Hey Red, we’ll be seeing you. How

could we not!” There was generally self-congratulating laughter, then they filed out like

doomed lemmings heading for a cliff. What was most amusing was the their leader was a

yellow belt, when the others’ were higher colors. I wanted very bad to push the


257

alpha-bitch off the cliff myself.

I made my way towards my sensei, and damned if I didn’t hear, “Look at Red

there, she’s from that little group!”

Melody stood up, concern on her face. “Trouble?”

“No, but I decided I’m going to kumite.”

“What made you decide that?” I could see she thought it was because of anger.

“Because of this marvelous uniform you prepared for me. It shouldn’t be hidden

from the whole room’s view.” She smiled, but didn’t believe me a bit.

Power is my issue; where to get it, and how to use it, which I hoped meant how to

control it instead of being controlled by it. Every time I thought of power I saw Kim’s

face. Yes, I did love power.

#

My kata performance came between two kumites, the initial match, the second

further up the tree. I had no doubt I could make it to the second branch, even if I didn’t go

father.

There’s a trick to any kick. You kick fast, but you pull your leg back twice as fast.

If you’re good your opponent can’t grab your leg. If you’re very good the kick can’t be

seen. I’d studied and practiced that until I my groin muscles groaned.

My first match was against a boy a little smaller than me. In most sports small

isn’t a virtue. In karate it is. Small means smaller target. Too bad the kid never learned

how to use it to his advantage.

We bowed to the referee, we bowed to each other. The referee’s arm dropped,

telling us to begin. The boy came at me full forward. The whistling blaze of my white


258

uniformed foot hit him in the chest. I don’t think anybody saw anything but him landing

on his butt. The match ended, and I was going to proceed forward.

A strange peace came over me. Whatever else I might have been thinking, or

feeling, blew off of my shoulders, leaving me a hollow vessel to serve my training up in a

breeze. Art isn’t always an expression of anger or aggression. Neither should be the art of

the kata.

My name was called, I bowed to about everybody in the gym, then centered

myself on the mats. I heard the call to begin, then nothing more. My body-memory

proved I could walk the thin line of virtue between the ever-present dark, and the hard to

find light. I filled the darkness with brilliance, banishing it back to the hole it came out of.

The next thing I knew was standing centered on the mat, where I’d begun. Had I

already performed? Or was I waiting to? The front judge told me it was over, so I bowed

to everybody again and stepped off the mats.

Into Melody’s arms, and a warm kiss on the cheek. “You did well,” she said.

“Come with me.” I was given bottled water, and my legs rubbed down because my

muscles were still connected to the earth with iron spikes.

One of the judges approached Melody. “The young woman is called to come

before the judges panel.”

She whipped around, “Why? Are you telling me she didn’t pass?”

“She passed. They only want to ask the girl a few questions.”

“Fine, but I’m coming with her.”

The man bowed his head slightly, and led us before the table where the judges sat

and scored the katas. We stood before them and bowed respectfully. As it turned out they


259

asked more questions of Melody than me. Good thing, because I was standing before

them in a no-mind state, reacting only when directly addressed. “Are you the girl’s

Sensei?”

Melody answered respectfully. “Yes.”

“Were you aware of her kata before today?”

“I saw her practice a few times.”

“Did you teach her how to do that kata?”

“No, it was her choice, and she wanted to explore it for herself. If I had known of

her intention I might have prevented her. Maybe. However, she has proven she’s very

perceptive for her age.”

“Do you know she could have been swallowed up by the blackness inside that

kata?”

“Yes. I am of the darkness you speak of. But Grace has no blackness inside her.

How she performed her kata came from no lesser power than her soul.”

“Yes, her bunkai is powerful. Are you going to continue instructing her?”

“If she chooses.”

“The dark art?”

“No Sensei, not the dark arts.”

Then they looked at me. “Who are you?”

I didn‘t think, I reacted. “I am fire aspect.”

Lots of sharp indrawn breath. “What do you desire?”

“Power, and how to use it.”

They all leaned their heads together and spoke in whispers. Finally the oldest


260

judge stood up with his back bent over and slowly walked around the table until he stood

in front of me. He was short, and aged, but I wouldn’t have sparred with him under any

conditions. Then he bowed. I bowed deeper, and held it longer. No way was I going to

shame Melody’s teachings, or her dojo. I straightened up and the little man was right in

front of me, in my face. He had a green belt in his hands.

“Allow me the honor of presenting you with this promotion.” I held my hands out.

“You will use it only for good, for the light. Do you understand?”

I went to my knees and lowered my face to the floor. “Get up, child, you honor

me too much. I should be kneeling in front of you, but we don’t know how you’re going

to turn out yet. A dragon is a powerful creature to contain, much less train.” He gave me

the belt and bowed again.

Dragon? “Thank you, Sensei, thank you for believing me.” Melody took my arm

and led me away in a daze. We got back to our encampment and I drained two bottled

waters. I felt more alive than I ever had, and positively crackled with energy. “Did he say

what I thought he said?” asked Melody.

“Which part?” She gave me a look. “Oh, the dragon? I’m pretty sure he did.” I

stood up. “When am I supposed to spar next?”

#

They made me bump up to green belt for kumite. That was fine by me, I was

more interested in trying something I’d noticed today. If you used minimal, precise

movements, and the minimum number of movements possible, you could fight longer.

So I kept a sphere of immobility around me, and only reacted if an opponent got

inside it. Then I would attack swift and sure. Green belts fell before me until I reached


261

the trophy match.

Amber came up to me, smiling. “I had no idea you could do this.” I introduced

her to Melody. “That thing you did, kinda’ like a dance? That was cool. You looked so

completely into it.” Melody rolled her eyes at me, and I stuck out my tongue in return.

“I need to prepare for my next match,” I told Amber, “I’ll catch up with you

later.” She smiled and waved. It could have been hokey to someone else, but I loved it.

She cared for me. She didn’t have to, she wanted to.

It was a good thing I prepared for the final kumite.

The guy I faced had a big issue with women, and he’d really enjoyed beating all

of them before me. He was also smart. He’d been studying me all day, and had sort of an

understanding of my strategy. He was also big, standing five inches taller, and out

weighed me by forty pounds. His outstretched leg was almost as tall as my body, and

well-muscled too.

The thing was, unlike the first boy I sparred with, I did understand the small target

theory. It was the reason I survived the trophy match.

We bowed, the referee told us to begin, and he planted a high kick at my face. It

was illegal to hit me there, but he was more interested in scaring me. I moved aside and

fell back. I did the same thing for the next kicks and punches he threw, backing up as in

fear. I didn’t wait to react only when he entered my sphere like I had before, I opened up

to the whole room. He was smiling the whole time he was trying to kill me, but I felt

nothing in return, except for a heat in my chest, and a fever on my forehead. Melody told

me afterwards that I was beet red as I retreated. My opponent must of thought I was

struggling to continue because he started moving closer with every series of moves.


262

Invisible flames filled my hands, with a furnace fueling them inside my belly. I

retreated one more time, sending the last shreds of my sphere behind me.

He thought he saw me struggling, so he launched a full body attack. When I

nailed him in the solar-plexus he suddenly looked lost and confused, then he hit the mat

unconscious, and didn’t get up under his own power. I bowed to the referee, and walked

to where Atwood and Melody stood. I bowed to both of them, and said, “I have brought

honor to your dojo.” Then I sat down, totally used up.

Melody was called to the judges table again. She bowed, and waited for them to

say what was on their minds.

“Once more Echo Sensei, did you teach her how to kumite in that manner?”

“No, Grace is a quick learner, her bunkai powerful, as you said. Is there a problem

with her?”

“Not know. We’ll wait for future. Thank you Sensei, you may go.”

#

The trophy went on the wall of the dojo, and I took a few days of class off. I

wanted to catch up with Amber and feel the thrill again.

She came to my apartment in the October afternoon light. She hardly glanced at

the weight training equipment in the middle of the living room before she wrapped her

arms around me. There wasn’t any reason to hold off our need anymore; we were alone,

and couldn’t control our hungry hands. We were naked on the bed in seconds.

Kim once accused me of fucking her hard. I’d been driven to roughness by

Brickman’s seduction, and wanted to pass it on to somebody else. That crude time came

back to me with an intensity that rocked me. Amber had strong appetites, and felt no


263

shame in savaging to feed them.

I was dazed when we finished. But she got up and dressed, kissed me goodbye,

and left as uncomplicated as Stoner had. I crawled under the covers shaking and

uncertain about what I’d gotten into. The woman was hot, liked it hot, and did me hot. I

fell asleep, still the only balm for my troubled heart.

#

I went to see Mindy during visiting hours. The psych ward was a busy place full

of nurses, social workers, visitors, and the patients. She was in her bed, and refusing to

come out of her room except for meals. I knocked on her open door and leaned around

the door frame. “Hello? Mindy?” I honestly didn’t expect an answer, but I heard her

small voice say hello.

She was so tiny tucked under her sheet. “Grace.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

She smiled. She really smiled. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too. How’re they treating you in here?”

“Okay, I guess. They’re giving me medication, and it makes me feel better.”

Ah ha, the smile. “I miss you at work.”

“I wish they’d let me go back, that’s what work’s for me.”

“I know. You’ll be back on your feet in no time. Ah, I never should have left you

that night. This is all my fault.”

She looked uncomfortable, like she wanted to run right out of the hospital. “I’m

not supposed to think like this, but I saw what you did to her, and I liked it.”

Liked it? She saw? I thought she was gone to the world. “Who says you’re not


264

allowed to think that way?” She shut down. “Mindy? Look at me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t

have asked that.”

Her eyes slowly refocused. “Grace?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

I picked up her hand, and she didn’t panic. Rather, she looked at our hands as

being one object. I squeezed her’s lightly, and she squeezed back. “You don’t have to

thank me, I’d do anything to protect you.”

Then her eyes met mine and I was shocked at the anger struggling to get out of

hers. “They hurt you too.”

They hurt me too? The hillbilly woman? Some other person at work? No, not that.

I realized who she was referring to. “Yes, Mindy, they did.”

“I thought so. But you’re strong.”

“So are you. You’ve been able to keep working and moving ahead. That’s

strength too.”

“Nice of you to say, but I’m here, and you’re out there.”

I don’t know why, or even how I said it. “Do you like living in the group home?”

She made a face, like when you chew into a piece of undiscovered moldy bread.

“No. They scare me.”

“The other residents?” She nodded. “Would you like to try living in a different

place?”

She was really thinking hard, but eventually asked, “Like where?”

“With me?” She made no expression, nor any movements at all. “Mindy?”


265

“Where do you live?”

“I have a two bedroom apartment, and I’m not using one of the bedrooms. It’s a

nice place, very quiet.”

“I’d have a bedroom for myself?”

Oh my God, what this girl has gone through. “Yes.”

“We could ride to work together? ‘Cause I really like it when I’m in your car and

we‘re driving around.”

“We’d go in my car anytime we wanted to.” She started to cry, and I couldn’t help

but cry too. She was so sweet, so humble and affectionate, and her parents had ruined any

happiness for her too. Now, maybe, she could try to be free.

“I have to ask some people about this, so it’s going to take a while. Would you

like to try it?”

“I’m afraid to say yes, in case it doesn’t happen.” My heart was totally crushed,

and I had to go in the bathroom and weep into a harsh paper towel. I know she heard me.

“It’s okay, Grace. I know you’ll try.”

My mouth full of salt tears and anger-driven bravery, I told her, “Whatever it

takes, Mindy, it will happen.”

She cocked her head like a robin listening for a worm, like she was listening for

the truth. “Okay, I’d like to.”

Power is my issue, and it apparently manifests itself as a need to protect. After

talking to Mindy I needed to do something for her, and for my own sense of worth. Was I

right to offer her a different life? Or would it be criminal not to? What would O’Malley

do?


266

#

Melody called me, sounding happy. “Hey, how about I reward your victory with a

trip to Shirley’s salon. I’ve got a two pm appointment, and you need it.” I agreed, then

she added, “How about I pick you up at twelve and we’ll get lunch too?”

She was happy. Her black jeans and jacket had been replaced by a plum silk

blouse with a cream colored camisole under instead of a bra, khaki male cut trousers, and

low-heeled brown loafers. Her gestures were filled with a lightness I’d not seen before.

She handed me a shopping bag. I peeked inside and saw black panties and two bras. I

protested again. “You’re losing a lot of weight, and your clothes hang on you. Next time

I‘m taking you shopping for real.”

She talked about the cases her office was handling, about my performance at the

meet, and her latest trip to her spa. When her face lit up I knew why she was so animated.

“You’ve met somebody.”

That silenced her for a second, probably to deliberate what she should tell me.

“Yes, I did. At the spa.”

“Is she nice?”

“Is she nice?”

“Does she care for you too?”

“Yeah, she does, or seems to. Being who I am, I’m always suspicious, but at least

she’s upfront about her sexuality.”

I listened for a couple of minutes, trying to analyze her relationship as compared

to mine. Her antenna picked right up on my thoughts. “How’s Amber?”

“I don’t think she’s my type.”


267

“Oh. Well, she’s got good teeth and big tits. What’s not to love?” I explained the

mauling I’d received at her hands. “There are as many different ways to make love with a

woman as there is with a man. Some are soft, some are hard, as you’ve now discovered. I

wonder if you’re over Kim yet?”

“No, I’m not. I still want her, but have Amber in my bed instead. Maybe that’s the

problem.”

Melody reached over her salad and took my hand. “Missing Kim isn’t really a

problem, contrary to what you might think. It’s love, and love has a way of fighting for

its survival. You haven’t been apart very long. The grieving process takes at least a year,

sometimes much more, so, maybe you’re not ready for a relationship yet.”

I toyed my ice tea around and decided to change the subject. “Ah, I don’t know

how to ask this, but I’ve got a situation.” Her ears were all mine. “You can talk to me

always, Grace. What’s up?”

I told my Mindy story, complete with physically defending her. I wasn’t proud of

my angry outburst, but thought Melody should hear about it. The group home, the abuse

she was hinting to tell me about, her simple ways and need for affection, and finally her

fear I wouldn’t come through with my proclamation to help her.

Melody never said a word while I was talking, and when I finished she was deep

in thought. “I admire you,” she started, “you genuinely have a good soul. You want to

help people without asking for anything in return. Most of all, you follow through with

your promises.” She took a sip of her coffee. “On the other hand, you act without

thinking, you’re a one woman crusade for the safety of the down-trodden, and you really

are too powerful to be trusted in a tight situation.”


268

“But isn’t that how you are too? I’ve tried to be just like you, and I love you.

You’re everything I crave to become.” Jesus, where was this coming from? My

innermost being? My soul?

Melody was shocked. Her mouth opened and closed, her eyes were wide open and

didn’t blink. Gradually the surprise slid down her face and left her mouth free to speak. “I

had no idea you felt that way.”

“I didn‘t either, until now.”

She waved for drink refills, set down her fork, and put her elbows on the table.

The waitress came and went, then Melody began to speak in a low voice.

“I told the kata judges you had only light in your soul. Do you remember?”

I made a maybe-maybe not gesture with my hand. “I wasn’t really there until

asked who I was.”

“Ah, yeah. Well, you do. You have light in you. That’s the reason you can never

be like me.

“I’m going to tell you the story of my name.”

#

Chapter Twenty-

“You and I are two sides of a tarnished coin. Grace, what we have between us is a

recognition of what we share inside, and I suppose I’ve been flattered by your attention.

Out of everybody I know you are the one person that warms my heart. I told you there

was something about you when we met. I was right, that something is you’re my mirror

image.

“You and I are given the responsibility of power. It’s not an easy task, but you


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know what to do with it instinctively. You are kind, a person others’ can count on.

“I’m not. I’m not nice, I’ve never been kind, and I don’t want the burden of other

people’s expectations. You’re the closest friend I’ve ever had, with one exception.”

#

“My father was a career Marine, and still would be if he wasn’t so old. He went

wherever the winds of war’s fortune took him, and one night he finds himself in Lincoln

Center listening to this young woman playing the cello. Her nimble fingers strike a chord

inside him, and after the concert he’s backstage, outside her dressing room door. When

she emerges carrying her cello case he holds out his strong hands and asks if she will

allow him to carry her load. They take a taxi to a good restaurant where they talk until

they’re thrown out. She asks if he would like to come to her place and have some coffee,

and he accepts as only an officer and a gentleman can; without expectation of anything

more than caffeine.

“He’s been around the world, to all the places she wants to tour. He describes

Berlin’s gothic buildings, Paris’ streets full of the chaos of life, and London’s confusion

with struggling good manners and littered with curry shops. He doesn’t speak of

Afghanistan, Beirut, or Korea’s always implied violence. He tells her of all the beauty he

never knew until he shared it with her, even the real people he saw under some siege or

other, and the harsh beauty of their fortitude in the face of destruction.

“The sun is up by the time he leaves her apartment, and he’s not a bit tired. He

also has an invitation to return the following evening.

“This time he brings flowers, but the well-muscled body underneath his uniform

is the real attraction that night. Again, the sun is up when he leaves her sleeping arms,


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and he’s as charged up as Superman; all steel and invincible in this love.

“Like many love stories, this one gets tangled up quick. My father receives orders

that he is to leave the next day for Vietnam, and better have his kit packed. His balloon is

burst, but if he can get her to marry him, he’ll have a reason to live. He returns to her

place, but she’s not there. He sits on the steps to her building for hours, hours he should

been using to prepare for shipping out. When the sun lowers to dusk he sees a small white

paper sticking out of her mailbox, pulls it out, and reads, “My love, I had to go to my

mother’s today. Please don’t be upset, because I’ll be back in your arms tomorrow.

Thank you for making life fulfilling. All my love,”

He runs back to base and throws whatever he thinks he needs into his duffle, takes

a troubled catnap, and gets himself shipped out. Then he remembers that he doesn’t have

her address or phone number, never needed them until now. He’s crossing east over the

Atlantic totally lost without her address to anchor him.

“My mother was pregnant, and she knew how to play any system like she played

her cello; precise, intuitively, and with unstoppable strength. The Marine Corp found my

father and gave him the letter of glad tidings. He was thrilled. He was going to be a father

to a wonderful baby boy, and he’d teach the lad everything it meant to be a man.

“It never occurred to him he might be fathering a girl child. He was disappointed,

but not as much as if he’d known I wasn’t his.

After he shipped out my mother slept in contentment, happy for the beginning

relationship with a man so strong yet sensitive. As she lay unconscious a presence filled

the room, and filled my mother with a special egg. The visitor was a human-shaped

dragon, the egg was me.


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“Anyway, the Corp, in their compassion, send him home for a quick marriage and

blessed event. He walked out of the delivery room when he saw my lack of a penis, and

returned to the front a few days after that.

She named me Melody, which he absolutely hated, and my last name was Stryker,

like his.

He arranged to support my mother and me while he was away, and actually

returned to my mother’s side when he came back stateside. He loved her with his whole

heart. Me, he could care less about.

“We followed him around to each post as a family, and I began to grow at the age

of twelve like an unmanageable weed. My mother hated the bases, as they had no culture,

so she stayed inside and played her cello hour after hour, dreaming of a comeback that

would never happen. My father couldn’t comprehend why our little tribe was falling

apart, so he blamed me. Nobody, not either of them, ever gave me direction, ever taught

me the rules for human behavior, so I didn’t learn discipline until I stumbled into a dojo

on base.

“A class was practicing katas, and I thought they were dancing. It was beautiful.

Class got dismissed, but I hung around, looking things over and trying to comprehend

what I’d seen. The Sensei, a Marine Major saw my blank look and came to me. ‘Can I

help you, miss…?’

‘Miss?’

‘Who’s your father?’

‘Stryker. Why, are you going to report me for being here? He’ll hit me if you do.’

‘No, that’s not what I’m about. Are you interested in doing what you saw here


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today?’

‘It was cool.’

‘If you worked hard, and practiced, you could be doing it too.’

‘How long?’

‘How long…?’

‘Until I could wear one of those white outfits and do that dance?’

‘You’re not in school, right?’

‘It’s summer.’

‘Could you come everyday?’

‘Ah, sure, I’m not doing anything else. This place is boring.’

‘You won’t be bored in class, I promise. But it’s hard work. Are you sure you

want to try?’

‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’

“He talked to my father to get permission so he could teach me. The dojo was part

of the base, but open to family members. My dad told him, ‘Whatever you can do to keep

her out of my life, do it.’ The Sensei welcomed me in the next day.”

#

“It was my introduction to Goju Ryu.

I was twelve years old, half the size, or less, of the other students, and the only

female. I walked into the dojo like I’d walk down a street, half aware, but not afraid. True

to his word, Barber Sensei dug up a child’s size gi and had me change into it.”

“You’re so brave, Melody.”

“It wasn’t bravery, and let me tell my story without interruption.”


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“Ah, sorry.”

Her eyes faded back to a long time past, and a place far away. “Then we began

the drills. Punch, block, kick, block, over and over again. I hurt in places I didn’t know I

had. Then, the kumites began, and I knelt against the wall, out of the way. I saw how all

of that punch block, kick block was used when sparring. I also realized something else- I

didn’t want to learn solo katas, I wanted to learn this dance for two people.

“Everyday I drilled, and watched. Everyday I stretched a little bit more, pushed a

little harder. I began practicing kicks in my bedroom, and punches before a full-length

mirror. I made my hips do what the adults had done. Pushed forward and locked, they

were connected to the earth‘s energy. I was young and flexible, fast, and hungry.

“Bless his heart, my Sensei helped me understand muscle structure, paid attention

to my drills, and praised any progress I made. A lack-luster pupil in school, I read

anything I could find about anatomy, physics, and strength training. I did pushups until I

bored of them, not tired from them. Sit ups first thing in the morning, and last thing at

night. I hit the base’s heavy bag everyday until my arms were numb. And even though

my mom was usually studying some cello score, she smiled when she saw what was

happening with my body. Of course, she blamed it on puberty, not discipline.

“Finally I asked Barber Sensei if I could have a kumite like the other students. He

looked at me for a long time. ‘Are you sure, Melody?’ I nodded respectfully. He chose

the gentlest yellow belt to spar with me.

“When I bowed I realized how much taller the man was, and how to use it to my

advantage. Sensei told us to begin, and he began to advance while preparing a chest kick.

The second his leg lifted from the mat I squatted low and sweep kicked his other leg.


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When he landed on his back my fist was on his solar-plexus. It’d happened so fast that

only Sensei and a couple of students saw it. They saw me on top of him, and wondered

how I’d got there. The three of us bowed to each other, and went back to our respective

places against the wall. But I couldn’t go back to the innocence I had before sparring. I

was hungry for more.

“When class ended Sensei asked to talk to me. ‘You’re very good already,

Melody. Do you want to spar with other students?’ I told him yes, ‘You may get hurt, but

sometimes that’s how we learn best. I give my permission, you may kumite.’

“You what it was like, don’t you Grace? Being young and powerful, and

uncertain about what to do with it? I got five broken toes, and a wrist snapped while I

attended that dojo, but I also got respect. Nobody toned down their attack on the mats for

me, I earned every victory. When I left my Sensei I was a blue belt, and I cried

inconsolably. He’d been my father and family, and I was leaving him, the first person I

ever loved. However, I was a true blue belt in only two years, not a charity case. You

could be a blue belt today too, Grace, if you didn’t frighten the ignorant so much.

“I made my way up the ranks using only one kata.”

I burst out, “The Sanchin. I knew it.”

“Yes, you’re right. I was as fascinated by it as you are. It’s not flashy, but it

connects our bones to the earth. Now, consider this, you interpreted the kata as a struggle

between darkness and light, and you’re right. You’re also right to choose the light. By

think upon this, what if a student chose the dark, and had the strength to contain it?”

“You’d scare the shit out of the judges. How did you convince them you were that

good?”


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“I stood before them. They had no choice, because I was that highly skilled.”

“You really did the Sanchin for every level?”

“Yes, every time. And every time they saw the darkness growing inside me, but

also that I was it’s temporary master.”

“When did you get your black belt?”

‘Ah, hold that thought. What say we go to the park? I’m getting uncomfortable

talking about this inside.”

She paid the bill and we flew to Sharon Woods in her car. We got out into a tepid

Chinook, with ripples across the melting surface of the lake. She put on her black leather

coat and gloves, and me a hooded OSU sweatshirt. We started to walk for the cover of

the beech trees. “First, there’s something else to explain. When I discovered I was gay.

“I was in the dojo all the time now, practicing kata after kata, and drilling every

move endlessly. It was my life-thread, and without it I would have perished. A woman

came to class, a brown belt. She looked about twenty, attractive, and also highly skilled.

She sparred only with Sensei, and beat him four out of ten times. I’ve never heard such

wonderful laughter from two people after they sparred, for matching each other in

different skills delighted them no matter who won. I fell in love with her, not sexually,

but because she was what I wanted to be.

“We started talking, conspiring, you know, just us girls. I couldn’t believe she’d

want to spend time with me.”

“Aha, now you know how I feel Melody. Now you know how I love you.”

“Hold on, Grace. The story’s not over. Anyway, one day she invites me to her

place. When we get there she starts kissing me, and I’m so ecstatic I almost faint. We


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don’t go any farther, but not because I didn’t want to. She was not a baby rapist; she was

lonely. We never really got naked and did the dirty, but she talked about a world beyond

the one I knew. Oh, there was one heavenly second when I sucked on her breast as a child

would, a moment I will always remember.

“My father heard about us keeping company and exploded, mostly on my mother.

He blamed her for ignoring my proper upbringing, and moved towards her in a way I

didn’t like. He wanted to kill me, and there I was standing between him and my mother.

He went to shove me backwards, and I put a solid kick under his chin. To his credit,

because he wasn’t a stupid man, he stopped and measured the monster I’d become, a

monster only a Marine officer could respect. He also came up with a plan. Military

school. The fall term was beginning in one week, for a fact.

“I arrived, took on the uniform, and beat the shit out of anybody who tried to haze

or terrorize me. I was lucky in a way, it only took me beating three students at the same

time to end the antagonism.

“There was no dojo, but there were mats I could spread over the gym floor and

drill, and kata. There was a heavy bag and climbing ropes, weights and a bench, which is

more than I worked with before. I found a couple of books on different disciplines,

Shotokan and Tang Soo Do, worked with them until I thought I understood their inner

meaning, and weight-trained alone until some other students wanted to join me and learn.

I became an itinerant Sensei to a bunch of mismatched students. I knew I was wrong to

presume so much, and hoped Barber Sensei would forgive his student‘s indiscretion..

“I drilled them in the forms, I even began to teach them the Sanchin, then stopped.

I was not going to lead anybody else past the growing dark in my soul. Eventually we


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started kumite instructional sparring, and then moved into the real thing. The girls in my

class were vicious, so the boys eventually refused to face them.

“There were girls, and there were lesbians in the midst of the girls, but I never

approached any of them, and discouraged their advances. I had become a chaste priestess

of the discipline first, last, and always. I’d become used to being alone.

“I was in that stinking school for two years, only returning home to my dojo and

Sensei for three months in summer. I asked him to forgive my disrespect to his teachings.

He laughed, ‘There’s no disrespect, you were spreading the art.’ He expressed some

concern about the features of my bunkai. I couldn’t lie. ‘I’m entering dark waters,

Sensei.’ ‘Be careful child, you’re very precious to me.”

“It was in the second summer home he took me to a competition. I was going for

my brown belt, and also hungry to fight with somebody my level. The students at the

school had allowed me to become sloppy. Well, I did the latest version of the Sanchin,

had to wait while the judges and my Sensei conferred about the condition of my training

and spiritual purity. I almost failed because one judge had ventured into the dark a little

bit, early in his training. I frightened him.

“When I had my brown belt I wanted to compete with other brown belts instead

of blue. I think they approved in order to test my metal; if I showed myself as a monster

they could revoke the belt I’d just won. I didn’t do anything during the matches but have

fun, sometimes even to laughing during the competition. I won, and Sensei told me how

proud he was. That, now that, was the happiest day of my life.”

“I know how you felt.”

“I know you do, Grace. Are you picking up some resemblances here?”


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“I wish. You’re still the most awesome woman I’ve ever met.”

“You’re wrong. Remember, you’re listening to a mirror now, and it speaks to

your reflection. Anyway, I had to figure out what I wanted to do after graduation, and

given my upbringing I thought of something military. I’d go to the state college nearby

and enter their ROTC program. I had the grades now, and I had an extra-curricular

activity. I was admitted, and my father agreed to help support me, so long as I didn’t live

at home. Shit, it was his money, so I decided to use a little of it to live on campus.

“But a long summer was coming before the fall term, and I wanted to see some

geography before settling into academic thralldom. A girl at the military school had a

motorcycle that didn’t run, so she leaned it against the side of a building and left it there

all winter. She was also my prime pupil, with a ready smile whenever we’d meet. She

told funny stories about the other students until I had to hold my stomach and gasp. I

asked her about the bike.

“’Take it, if you get it running, good for you.’ She gave me the title. ‘My parents

hate it anyway.’ Then she kissed me on the cheek, and added, ‘You’re my favorite.’ I’m

not sure what she meant, but it was sweet.

“I spent a weekend fixing the bike, without tools or parts.”

“Uh, how did you…”

“I reached inside the engine with my wa, my spirit, and realigned the molecules of

the steel.”

“You what?”

“Your gift is fire, Grace. Mine is an ability to go correct things. I put my spirit

into an object, and realign whatever’s broken. Anyway, I was riding that bike around


279

before school let out.

“So I approached my father with my idea on how to spend my summer vacation.

He liked it, and gave me the money to go. For a while I wondered if I was acting more

like a son than a daughter, because he was agreeing with me. Brr! I’m getting a little cold.

How about you?”

I hadn’t noticed I was so caught up in her story. “A little.”

“Let’s walk back to the car, and get a Starbucks.”

We retraced our steps, and the ducks on the lake thought we were returning to

feed them. They waddled along behind us to the point of diminished returns, then

waddled back. What an existence. The car seemed warm after the breeze outside, and

Melody fired it up.

“I wanted to go across the country and see some sights, you know, the natural

wonders and the like.” Her driving was so smooth I didn’t feel anything but kinetic

energy connecting us. “It was at Yellowstone I met an artist.” I waited for her to

continue.

“She was a photographer of some renown, and she was retracing Ansel Adams’

steps through what was in his time the wild. She wasn’t copying him, she was analyzing

his intuition, and interpreting his images to color film. She laughed easy and well, and

thought about things and their deeper meaning.

“We met in the parking lot in front of the visitor center. She was carrying a load

of equipment, accidentally dropped a heavy camera case, and my reflexes shot out and

caught it mid-air. We knew each other instantly; gay, alone, and searching.

“She called herself ‘Echo’, because, she said, photographs were no more than a


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reflection, an echo, of the photographer. We went north to the next town, she in a van full

of equipment, me on my motorcycle carrying nothing, and got a motel room. She wasn’t

a virgin like me, and she was more loving than sexual. Our opposites seemed to get along

very well.”

I was thinking about Kim. Melody said, “Yeah, you know how it feels, don’t

you?” I thought I’d break down if I answered.

“We spent the rest of the summer moving about, her taking photographs, me

living in freedom for the first time. College was disappearing below the horizon, and

when Echo asked me to follow her to Seattle, her home, I agreed completely.

“We wanted a bond stronger than we already had, so she got a tattoo of my name

inked across her lower back, and I put her name somewhere else on my skin. No, I’m not

going to show it to you either.”

We pulled into the Starbucks parking lot and got out. My cell phone rang. I raised

one finger up and said, “One minute.” She rolled her eyes at me again.

“Yes?”

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m having coffee with Melody.”

“Hmm, you sure do spend a lot of time with her.”

“Yes, she’s my friend.”

“So, you don’t want to get together this afternoon?”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m getting my hair cut.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Good. ‘Til then.” I closed the phone and went inside.


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“We’ll have to drink these on the way. I can’t believe I’ve talked so long.”

“Please continue too. You’re more fascinating with every word.”

“Yeah, sure, flattery will get you anything.” I wish she knew how much I wanted

that saying to be true.

“So, you’re getting inked with Echo.”

“Thanks, like I’m sure I forgot. So, I decide to take it one step further. I change

my last name to Echo. I’m beginning to think this is a marriage that will last forever, and

the name change is a simple process. Sure, I get a new Washington license, but my

picture stays the same. I’m the same person, but madly in love. Like you and Kim, Grace.

You’ve changed your whole life, name included, but you still love Kim because you’re

the same person inside. Actually, you’ve improved yourself immensely, but you care

about her the same.”

“I’d appreciate if we left her out of it. The anniversary of my death is just ahead.”

“Sorry. You asked me where I got my black belt. I received my first shodan in

Seattle. Again, by a thread. I was becoming a possible threat to the discipline. The

judging board discovered I was dipping into the blackness of the Sanchin kata. I knew it,

too, because I began to see things differently. That was the first time I was labeled a

sorceress, instead of something pleasant, more promising.

“Not a whole lot different, more like opening my eyes one day and realizing Echo

been lying to me. She never brought sex home, but I could see a confused, swirling

orange in her aura. Did she want to tell me? Or did she want to break it off, until the next

time it happened? I saved her the trouble.

“I sat her down one night after an incredible dinner I’d fixed for her. She was


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nursing a Zinfandel with her feet up on the coffee table and I sat down next to her feet,

like I did when I rubbed them. I never got angry, and I wasn’t accusatory. I merely asked

her what she wanted to do next? When she said, ‘I don’t know,’ I picked up my

motorcycle duffle and walked out the door. No goodbyes, no possible future in sight. The

only thing I knew to do was go home and recoup. Those three thousand miles took

forever, I found myself stopping every couple hundred and looking back to the west. But

all I ever did was look.”

“Why did you keep her name?”

“Good question. Queen Elizabeth the first (God, was I shocked she brought up my

da’s story’s subject matter) keep a successful suitor in her prison to remind her not to

trust men ever again. He was married already, and didn’t tell her. She really did love him

too. But into jail he went just the same. I kept her name as a reminder to never get that

involved again.”

“What did you do when you got back?”

“Applied for spring term, asked my dad for support, which he refused. He also

refuses to talk to me to this day. So I took out student loans, worked really hard in ROTC,

and then joined the Marines when I graduated. I did my four years term in Military

Intelligence, and let me tell you, that’s an oxymoron. I applied to the FBI Academy in

Quantico, worked as an Agent for five years before being offered the plum of Missing

Persons/ Witness recovery. In my division we do have some happy endings. When I

worked as a budding Agent I didn’t. A lot of death, and not much happy.”

She pulled in front of the salon and opened her door. “Hold it,” I called, “How old

are you?”


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“You forget, never ask a lady her age.”

“You’ve done a lot in your life.”

She looked at me, and answered, “So have you, Belinda. So have you.”

#

Chapter Twenty-One-

“But why do you spend so much time with her? She’s a lot older than you.”

“We’re not lovers, we’re friends. I enjoy her company.”

“She buys you lingerie.” Yeah, you have no idea, you needy piece of work.

“Look, this was nice and all,” I lied, “But I don’t need the interrogation and

jealousy. Thanks for your time.” I turned and walked away.

“Bitch!” came from behind. I raised a middle-finger salute and kept walking.

#

Mindy was so much better on the medications that she was allowed to come back

to work. I was so glad to see her I forgot my promise to move her in with me. She didn’t

mind, didn’t even mention it again. And I never asked her if she was okay at the group

home.

#

Because I was busy trying to get my blue belt. Loneliness forced me to work

harder, push stronger, and forget everything but the next form in front of me. I was so

intent on moving up that I tried to call Melody one night to see if she’d let me in to work

in the quiet dojo. Her home phone was a message machine, her cell unanswered.

Thinking there was a slim chance she might be at the dojo herself I drove there, and

parked behind the building.


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I felt a itchy, nape of the neck hair-raising energy coming from the building, one

that made me suspicious about what was inside. The door was unlocked, so either she

was here, or this was a break-in. I opened the door and stuck my head inside. The air in

the workout room was shadowed like thin stretched licorice, and I saw her in the middle

of the room performing a kata. The Sanchin, but black as the night outside.

Her steps followed the positions of the kata, but a violent fierceness filled her

body. This was Melody Echo in full battle, and she’d give no quarter, nor take anything

less than her opponent’s head. I watched safely, because her eyes were closed. Her hands

reached into the dim nimbus, her feet knew the direction of her dark, dark heart.

When she finished the shadows disappeared like odorless smoke, and the

humming itch on the back of my neck went away. She rubbed her head with a towel, and

stretched her lovely neck. Then she saw me. Her eyes weren’t friendly. “What are you

doing here?”

“I thought you might be here, and I wanted to work on my moves.”

A lid seemed to slide away from her eyes, and I think she recognized me for the

first time. “Grace.”

“Hi. Ah…?”

“You weren’t ever supposed to see that. It’s why I come here when the place is

closed.”

“What was that?”

“I told you I studied the darker side of Goju Ryu. You just saw it.”

“You really are a sorceress. You actually do wield black power.”

“Yes, all of that‘s true. Do you think less of me?”


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“Never, Melody. Never.”

“You’re brave Grace. You’ve always been brave. Hey, tell you what, how about

you show me your fire talent sometime?”

Not a subject I wanted to hear about. “I lost it.”

“I doubt it. Talents have their own necessity in time. You feel bad about those

three men who almost killed you. Maybe that’s why the fire’s been dampened.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’d tell you not to feel bad, but that’s not you. I once permanently crippled two

men, and never felt the slightest guilt.”

“You crippled two men?”

“In the Marines. They grabbed me behind a hanger and were going to rape me.

They hated me, and wanted to crush what I was.”

“What did you do?”

“The black air you saw? I took down the first man with one kite strike to his

throat and crushed his larynx. He never made a sound after that. The second must have

been more stupid than the other, because he grabbed from around my back. I crushed his

knee so hard he had to have a replacement. Anyway, he screamed, and a bunch of

soldiers came running. It was all over in five seconds, but the darkness continued to cling

to me for days. Nobody understood the incident, or my black mood. But they did respect

me after that, even though I was court-marshaled. Fortunately, they determined it was

self-defense, way too extreme, but still self-defense. I think they contacted my father, and

he persuaded them to clear my name, even if it wasn‘t his name anymore. He acted like a

father that one time, saving me from the stockade.”


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“I respect you, Melody, stockade or not.”

“I know. You look so confused, like you don’t know who I am now. Why don’t

you come home with me tonight? We can talk more. Or is Babb’s the cheerleader

expecting you?”

“No, we’ve parted ways.”

“Oh. Am I sorry?”

“No. I’ll go home with you.”

She looked like she wanted to reach out and hug me, then the look disappeared

and she smiled. “C’mon, I’ve got microwave popcorn.”

#

We talked and listened to Miles Davis, munching greasy popcorn and laughing at

our beat-up feet. All of her toes had been broken, some of them many times. Then Miles’

performance of “Porgy and Bess” came on. I was heartsick enough to cry, lonely enough

to sob.

Melody let me cry, then put her arm around me. “Hey, it’ll be okay. There’s a

love out there for all of us.”

“Yeah, yours’ was in Seattle, and mine thinks I’m dead. Ain’t love great? I don’t

know what I’d do without you, Melody.”

“I care for you too, Grace. We’re gonna make it.”

“I’ve never known anybody like you.”

She picked up my chin and pulled my face to her’s. “I’m a very dangerous woman

for to you follow around. You know what you saw tonight? That’s mild compared to

when I’m actually attacked. You’re good, you’re pure goodness. My heart is black. I hate


287

almost everybody equally, and you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. You’re innocent.

Where did you come from?”

“Out of a burning house in Loon Lake, Michigan, where I got baptized in the

blaze of my own power. But all I want now is the real reason I burned those men to

death.”

“Kim. You were protecting Kim.”

“Kim. I wish Jim Brickman would walk up to me, with any weapon, and we’d

finish this cowardly bullshit waiting for him.”

“He’s the coward.”

“The man outsmarted your team at every turn. Coward or not, he’s sneaky.”

Melody pulled me up from the couch. “Let’s go to bed and get some sleep. I’m

wiped out every time I do that kata.”

“I don’t have any pajamas. Maybe I should go.”

“Don’t be silly, Grace, I’ve got lots of pj’s. I enjoy the fact that you’re here

tonight.”

“Okay.” I felt a thrill in my legs. I really wanted something more, and didn’t

know how to tell my need’s to go away.

She opened a dresser drawer and handed me a short sleeper. I wouldn’t be very

well covered, but that was fine. She took off her black jeans and blue silk blouse and let

them drop to the floor. I stared with my mouth open until she laughed. “Okay, now you

know where the tattoo is.” She slid between the sheets naked, turned out the bedside

light, and asked, “Aren’t you coming in?”

In one hand I had a nightgown, in the other nothing, which is what I decided to


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wear. I carefully crawled under the covers until my foot touched hers. Where did I go

from here?

Melody softly whispered, “Remember, Grace, if I were good for you this

wouldn’t be happening. If I were kind you’d be home right now. If I were safe for you,

you wouldn’t want to match your light to my darkness in this double kata. I’m not meant

to be your life-time lover, so this is just for tonight. You have to leave this here and now.

I know how bad you want me, and I know how bad I want you. We have a whole night to

give love to each other, but that’s all. Can you leave it at one night?”

I was so excited that I came the first time my hands touched her intimate skin, and

when I was done shaking her hands were between my legs. I climbed on her chest to kiss

her, a chest all taut sinew and high tension wire wrapped around a magnificent rack of

breasts. It was only one night, but it was the one night that showed me she would always

be my sensei, in all things.

#

I woke up mid-afternoon and made coffee, then read the note she’d left on the

table. “You are so good, so powerfully pure, that what we shared can never be repeated. I

felt my vile side illuminated by your flaming innocence, and I hope you felt something

much like that too. Thanks for sharing your gift of heat. Thanks for you. Love,”

I had. I felt my fire encompass both of us, enter both of us. I didn’t see the dark

halo around her, but I knew it was there, waiting and wanting to destroy me. Melody was

right, we couldn’t repeat last night, but we’d always remember it.

I took a shower, smelling her soap and shampoo, feeling surrounded by who she

was, what I might become if I followed her steps into dead black. I knew she’d be at the


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dojo later, but I didn’t want to see her yet and let others know what we’d done, so I went

home and worked with weights until it was time to take a nap and then get ready to go to

work.

When I got to the bakery everybody was standing outside in a buzz. They saw me

coming and filed inside. I assumed they’d been talking about me, but I didn’t care

anymore, I now had something they didn’t. A girl who’d always been kind to Mindy

approached me and caught my eye. I stopped what I was doing and motioned to her.

She was awkward when she started,” Ah, Mindy…”

“Yeah, why isn’t she here tonight?”

“Ah, Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“Mindy committed suicide earlier today.”

No way, this was a nasty joke they were playing on me. Too nasty. “Oh really?

Why would she do that?”

“Her social worker was in right before you arrived. She told us Mindy went off

her medication, and crashed, ah, hard.”

“How did she do it?” The morbid question.

“She hung herself in the attic.” Poor abused Mindy, now the dead butterfly.

“You’re not joking with me?”

“No. Listen, the social worker brought a note for you. One that Mindy wrote.”

The girl held her hand out with a small white piece of paper on it. “I’m sorry Grace, I

know how much you cared about her.”

“Thank you. Um, I need to leave. Can you get somebody…?”


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“Not a problem. We’ll see you later.”

I walked to the privacy of my car before I opened the paper Mindy had folded, no

doubt while thinking of me. There was no preparation for this message.

“Dear Grace, thank you for what you did for me. I really liked working with you.

Don’t think it has anything to do with you, I just couldn’t take this place any longer. It

would have been nice to move in with you and get out of this house. I’m sorry I wasn’t

strong enough to wait longer. Goodbye.”

I hadn’t the strength to drive, I barely had the will to punch numbers into my cell

phone. It was after midnight, still she answered on the second ring. Unable to talk, I

breathed into the phone. “Grace? What’s wrong?” I couldn’t. “Are you at work?” The

first sob left my mouth. “Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be there as soon as I can. Will you stay

there?” I didn’t want to stop crying, the only way to stop crying would be to cut it out of

me with a knife. A dull knife. A dull serrated edged knife. I dropped the phone on the

floor of the car and let the black icicle cold seep out into my fingers, arms, and weak legs.

I had fire somewhere inside, but it didn’t matter. I wanted to freeze, should have frozen to

death, when Melody’s metal lover arrived with a bubble light flashing red on its roof.

I didn’t see her get out or approach, though I felt it in her wind. I didn’t look at

her when she opened the passenger door, but my mushin no-think registered her every

move. She turned my head to look into my eyes. I couldn’t see her, because I was busy

facing down every disappointing deed I’d ever done, every person I’d hurt. My mind was

falling away, buried under an avalanche of wrong until I hit bottom amidst Mindy’s

bones. Then I was gone.

Melody had already ordered a bus for me, then saw the note stuck in my slack,


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cold hand. She read it, drawing sharp breaths when Mindy asked me why did she have to

wait so long, so long that she couldn’t wait any longer. Melody wrote down all the

information she could pull out of the bakery workers so she could investigate what

happened, and followed the ambulance to OSU Hospital.

#

I lay unconscious, disconnected. My attending doctor waited for me to return so

he could evaluate my mental state. He was reasonably certain I was headed for the psych

ward because I’d been disassociated when admitted.

As did Melody. She took the day off and sat by my side for hours, sometimes

reading to me from a book on “Gekisai” kata, or how to destroy an opponent. I’m sure

some of the nurses must have been frightened when Melody described the kata in detail

to me. She didn’t read to deaf ears, however. I was listening somewhere in my body. But

over her measured voice I heard a stronger message whispering in my ear, addressed to

my soul.

“Come home, child. Come home. It‘ll do you good.” It was my da’s gentle voice,

and the home he spoke of was Ireland. His home, full of spirits and ghosts, and grand

stories of the mysterious past.

#

part four- giant steps

#

Chapter Twenty Two-

I exited the hospital against medical advice. I figured Melody would raise some

objection, instead she looked into my eyes and asked, “Can I trust you?” When I nodded


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she helped me out the door. She asked, “Where do you want to go?”, no doubt thinking of

her place. “I’m ready to move my money.”

“You want to transfer your money here?”

“Yes, to my bank.”

“Well, we’ll call your lawyer. Maybe he can do it tomorrow. Can I ask why? I

mean, not so long ago I worried that I’d lost you forever.”

How could I say what I had to? “I’ve been traveling around in circles. No, I don’t

mean the work at the dojo. I’ll never give that up. But circles inside myself. Now I have

to reach across the gapping ocean in my life. I haven’t been what I want to be, mostly

because I wasn’t ready. Now I need to do something more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take me to my place. I’ve got some things to sort out.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Don’t treat me like I was an emotional cripple! I’ve had plenty of that already.”

She took a new look at me, but didn’t say anything. “When I was blacked-out I was in a

place of horrid recrimination. I hated myself, and everyone around me. Sorry, but that

meant you too.”

“No offense taken.”

“Good. Then I saw the thing inside me, a burning bridge between light and dark

was waiting for me. I had to walk that lightening, those burning coals, before I could

claim myself back. I don’t know how to say it…”

“I think you’re doing just fine. Go on.”

“I’m that burning bridge, the shadow, the light. I never expected how much power


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I could have, if I chose to.”

“If you chose to?”

“Light, or dark? Look at what I did to poor Mindy.”

“You didn’t kill Mindy. Don’t you dare to take that on your shoulders!”

“Sorry, she’s perched there already.”

Melody didn‘t challenge my declaration. “So what about the money? What are

you going to do with it?”

“First, I need to get a passport. Would you help me?”

Give her credit, she didn’t ask why, and she did help me.

#

The bank manager handed me a sheet of paper listing the funds I now had at my

disposal. She spoke low, and dignified, but I could see her unease over a teenager having

access to withdraw all the money if I wanted to. I told her I wanted five thousand in

traveler’s check, and the rest could remain in whatever form it already was.

#

A few hundred miles north the manager of my old bank made a call to a cell

phone. It was answered after three rings by a voice raspy and low. The manger gave the

hoarse voice all the information he’d waited for; the transfer, where it went, what name

did it land in, and most important, the amount. When he was finished breaking the very

explicit laws of banking he asked about some other law he’d broken, this one very

personal. “So we’re even now. I want the tape back.”

With a laugh like choking, his answer was, “If you didn’t like little boys so much

we’d be even. I’ll keep the tape.” The manager heard the coughing laugh in his rage red


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ear until the connection was dropped.

#

What the hell? I had the money, so I went to a travel agent. “Do you have any

special areas of interest?”

I only knew one. “County Antrim.”

“Belfast?”

“And the area around the north coast.”

“It’s awfully barren around there.”

“Find me a bed and breakfast, and I’ll need a car.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll need a car and a nice place to stay.”

“No, I meant…”

“I know what you meant. You disrespect my family and their ancestors. If this

was back in the day I’d have your head.” Her face was horrified. “I’m joking, for God’s

sake. I’m not some barbarian, even though I’m traveling to where they live.” She didn’t

appeared mollified.

#

Melody took me to a great place called Mozart’s for high tea on my birthday.

Unfortunately, the pastries were great too, so I ate three of them.

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to know, don’t want a deadline.”

“What are you going to do when you return?”

“Probably come to the dojo a lot, if my weakness for pastry continues.” We


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laughed together and it was a sweet harmony.

She looked uncomfortable when she asked, “Are you sorry for that night?”

“I never will be. Funny thing is, you thought you were dangerous to me. Instead,

it’s the opposite.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I still don’t either, but I know it’s true. Think of it as a fire thing.”

“I’m going to miss your face.”

“Yeah? We’ll I’m gonna miss all of you. Try to top that!” We laughed again, a

duet of love.

When she dropped me off at the airport I had new luggage, better clothes, a good

stiff coat to fight the wind, and a great looking tweed rain hat. I also had four journals to

fill up with events past and present. When she dropped me off I didn’t look back.

#

Chapter Twenty Three-

Columbus International to JFK, JFK to London Heathrow in a huge British

Airways 747, Heathrow to Belfast via Aer Lingus. A day’s worth of sitting on my ass and

trying to stretch the meager legroom out. I sat next to a Swahili woman reading a book

written in Swahili. It did me no good to look over her shoulder.

I stood at Customs, and declared nothing while my bags were rifled through. I

had a sky cap tow my baggage to the car rental agency, then tipped him in American

dollars. I honestly didn’t know what to do next, but here I stood on a foreign shore, barely

eighteen years old.

The car I received was a Fiat “Punto”, and it was cute in a compact, tinny way.


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The rental place had assured me that I wanted a small car to navigate the narrow roads. I

asked, “So what if I meet a truck in the same lane as I’m in?”

“Well, should you meet a lorry, drive really slow.”

“Why? Will the ‘lorry’ stop?”

“No, but it’ll be easier for the constabulary to find your body pieces.” He said it

so dead-pan that I started to return the Fiat’s keys. Surely there were buses.

“I’m kidding you, miss. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“So, do you do that to all Americans, or just the females?”

“Just the pretty ones, miss.”

Yeah, thanks.

Then there was driving from the wrong side of the car, and the wrong side of the

road. I thought I-270 was a bitch before this. Also, they have a little treat called a “Traffic

Circle”. You drive into it while faster cars streak around in close orbits. Then you find

which one of five or six roads you want, and accelerate like hell until you’re free of the

circle’s gravity. Better yet, these things happened to me as soon as I left the rental

agency. This is the reason why they strongly suggest you take the upgraded insurance

package.

I headed north, past Belfast and the shipyard my da’ worked at. I stopped at

Carrickfergus to calm my nervous hands while I looked at the refurbished fort. After I got

out and stretched my airline muscles I resumed driving north towards Ballycastle.

The B&B I was looking for was named Mac Cool’s, and was supposed to be right

by the main road. I was driving slow, not advisable, in order not to miss the place when

the basalt columns appeared to my right, across the road. I was swept up in a sense of


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wonder much larger than myself. I would have gone into the park advertised, but the

B&B was right in front of me, to the left. I pulled in.

#

I explained my situation, that I needed the room for as long as my research

continued, and they were happy to accommodate. They hadn’t had much business this

early, and my traveler checks were most welcome. What I didn’t know was that the

Causeway had lost some of its glamour for overnight visitors. It didn’t have lights, or a

sound track, and wasn’t big on gift shops. It was cold even though it was May, with the

cutting atmosphere coming off the North Atlantic. However, it suited me fine, I’d had

enough fire for a while.

Breakfast was what they called traditional. Eggs up, two rashers of bacon, tomato

slices, and what they called “Black Pudding”. Thin poker chip black discs made of

animal blood and flour mixed together until stiff, rolled, and ready for the frying pan. It

was awful, and after one spat-out bite I told the woman of the house I didn’t require it for

my breakfast anymore.

Lunch was different. There was a nearby pub with peat burning in a stone

fireplace, a pot of hot tea with a ham and cheese sandwich. When the wind had burned

my face red, the owner offered me a bit of whiskey. “There now, drink this down, it’ll do

you good.” He was right. I understood why it had been the only medicine for my father’s

ailments.

Mostly I walked the waterline or sat on a low column and stared out at the gray

water so like Mindy’s fears. More than once I asked, “What now, da’?” out loud, so the

stone could hear. I didn’t get an answer. The water didn’t speak to me either. I tried to


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see, or think of what message he had for me to discover.

At night, in the big second story bedroom I’d write in a journal. It was

gobblety-gook, scattered chunks of where I’d been and what I didn’t know. One thing I

didn’t know then was how those fragments would be the seed for this book you’re

holding. Mostly, at first, I wrote about Kim, tried to explain the fire I’d killed three men

with, and what it meant to be dead to your old life. Then Mindy and what it meant to be

dead, period. The great hexagon columns of the Causeway would be written about later.

I’d been there for a week and a half when I met Ossian. He was sitting up on a tall

column playing a little silver whistle. Once I really listened I could tell he was playing

along with the wind which sounded like a harp as it blew around the basalt. He pulled the

whistle from his mouth, made sure I was listening, and said, “You’ve got quite the

affection for these, don’t you now?” His arms were spread out wide. “Everyday for over

a week now you walk around on them. Do they have something to say to you?”

Whatever else he was, he was captivating. “No, that’s the problem. They’re not

talking.”

He laughed in silver, like his whistle, and climbed down to me. Like any good

Irishman, he worn heavy work pants, a hand-knit wool sweater, and scuffed up but solid

Doc Martens. His hair reached his shoulders, and was the same red shade as mine. “Call

me Ozzie. And you are?”

“Grace.”

“Do you have a last name, Grace?”

I was suddenly embarrassed. I’d been too bold in choosing a name. “O’Malley.”

“Grace O’Malley, ‘tis it? Well now, that’s a right powerful name.” I didn’t


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respond. “So then, Grace O’Malley, what ‘tis it about these huge tall things that calls out

to you.”

“I wish they would call. They’re mute to me, as I expect they’ve always been.”

“Oh, not true, not true a’ tall. They speak of great times, and great heroes. The

problem, you see, is their language spans centuries, their speech deep as the sea. It’d take

you about forever to hear a single syllable. But you know, I think you’re here for a

different reason.”

“Really,” I replied archly, “And what would that be, Ozzie?”

“You’d be the daughter of Conal O’Conner, wouldn’t you?”

I replied as heavily as the stones, and sat down in silence.

“‘Tis no shock, surely. You’ve come on his request.”

“Who the hell are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m only a simple Irishman, sent to you from Conal.”

“How did you know him?”

“Oh, we talk now and then, mostly about you. He’s still sorry for leaving you on

your own, with your mother, and all. But, I also have to tell you how very happy he is

that you’ve come.”

“Why are you talking about him in the present tense? He’s dead.”

“To be sure, as we all are in time. Doesn’t mean he isn’t here.” Ozzie bent down

and spoke low. “He wants you to have a guide, is all.”

“A guide to what?”

“To the haunted lands that shaped his beliefs. Sometimes you have to go back into

the past to find out who you are. I will help you, as a favor to your da’.”


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I couldn’t get up. Of all the unbelievable things in my life, this was way beyond

them.

#

I walked all afternoon, finding myself in a sizable church ruin on a cliff at the

ocean’s edge. There were more ruins in this country than new buildings, and all of them

looked alike, black stone ragged edged walls open to the sky. But the emptiness inside

the remaining standing stones allowed me to think. Who was Ozzie? Was there

somebody around here I could ask after him? He wanted me to trust him, that was

obvious. For what? To tell me stories? To act on my father’s behalf? Or to lure me away

to some wet moor to rape and murder me? The perfect crime? “Now for some breaking

news, a lone American girl lost, asks for directions and ends up a bundle of dead meat,

with still no suspects. And now for our foreign report; this is BBC 3.”

I’d grown sloppy, flabby, and soft while sitting around on cold rocks waiting for a

sign. I broke out my trainers and sweats, and ran about three miles every morning. Add to

that the hundred push-ups and the same number of sit-ups. Three mornings of that

regimen and my stomach felt flat again, my arms bulged with life. After a week I was a

smooth machine oiled with the sweat of effort. I even felt so confident again that I wore

my new I-pod with its sound deadening earplugs. Louis Armstrong would quicken my

steps, and the miles flashed by. My hair? Well now, in the humid sea air my hair curled

into a wild mess of waves like it’d been when I was growing up. Was I turning into an

image of the real Grace? Was I a land bound pirate like she was before turning

allegiance? Would I plunder the riches I’d see? All good questions, all much neater than

the hot copper wire crowning my head.


301

I still went to the pub at lunch, ah, tea time, and sit in front of the smoky peat to

warm my feet while I wrote down ideas, impressions, and aspirations. It was during one

of these reflective times that I asked for a wee bit of whiskey, to address a cold inside my

bones. “Do you know of anybody named Ozzie?”

The pub keeper slid my amber drink over the ancient bar. “What’s that? Did you

say ‘Ozzie’?” Suddenly every eye in the place was looking at me.

“Ah, yeah? Do you know him?”

Silence hovered over the my question, and everybody was leaning in to hear his

answer. “Well now, sure I do, I do.”

“Is he a respectable boy? Or do I want to stay away from him?”

It was amazing, I could hear the room divide itself on the issue, just like the Irish

did on any issue, story, religion, or politics. A few simply witnessed my question, some

disagreed, and a few brave souls agreed I should keep company with him, if only for the

fine adventure. “So then, what’s your last name, miss Grace?”

Oh boy, this was going to create a stir. “O’Malley, sir. Grace O’Malley.” Some

older customers got up and put on their rain things to leave.

“Well, in that case, you’d want to be going with him when he says tis time to

travel.”

“I’m going to travel with him?”

“Everybody does, child, eventually everybody does.”

More confused now than I was when I came in, I finished my whiskey, paid my

bill with a generous tip, and drove my Fiat back to the B&B. There were a couple of

strange cars parked back by the barn, like they didn’t want to be seen. It wasn’t any of my


302

business so I went to the door leading inside. It was locked tight. Strange, but again, none

of my business. I walked down to the Causeway, hoping to meet Ozzie again.

The hot breath and inner burn of the whiskey allowed me to notice things I hadn’t

before. The strong blurring potion slowed time enough for me to hear the sky sigh, the

waves’ crash in, the tide pulling out, and the gulls laughing in the sky like a musical

children’s mobile.

“Ah, so there you are,” he greeted me from behind, “I was worried you were

avoiding me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, he had the smile to go along with his freshness. He was

dressed same as before, but with a Carhart jacket. “Hello. I had some things to take care

of.”

“Like asking ‘bout me down at the pub?”

My flesh crawled like dirty worms. “How the hell did you know that? Are you

spying on me? Stalking me?”

“You shame me, my friend. Truth is, I hear things.”

“Like my dead father?”

“Still don’t believe me, Belinda O’Conner?”

Oof. There was no way around it. It was time to take his measure as an opponent,

to prepare a place for his demise. “Who are you?”

“While you’re getting ready to beat me to a pulp, which I have no doubt you

could do, would you but take my hand for a moment?”

“Why?”

“I’ve something you need to hear.”


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“Hear? In your hand?”

“You know how to divide the light from darkness with a lightening strike in every

practiced step, but you won’t touch my hand to hear the truth? Certainly you’re better

than that.”

Against my better judgment, I took his hand. It was strong, and hard calloused

from work, and something I hadn’t thought it would be, his hand was warmer than mine.

Then the world ceased to exist.

#

“Hello, my darlin’. I see you’ve met my very good friend Ossian, although he

usually goes by Ozzie now. I’m so happy to see you come here, to the place of your

ancestors. Yes, your ancestors. Forget your mother, you look just like my blessed sister,

may she rest in peace. Let your fine red hair be a beacon daughter, for friendship, and

love.

“You wonder why I wanted you here. It’s not your failed friend Mindy, that isn’t

yours’ to claim. Leave that suitcase behind. You’re here now at the wild rocky shore

where the bridge was built. You’re here to learn how to build other bridges, and with

Ossian’s help, you’ll heal many ills, both yours’, and others‘. So, if nothing else, even if

you leave this ancient place merely thinking you had a grand stay, do at least consider

this as your father’s key to his world.

“I love you, Grace, like I loved Belinda. I want you to have a life both bigger, and

better, than I did.”

Then my vision cleared and ears heard. Ossian was kneeling beside me, with my

hand in his. “Grace?” He chafed both my hands with his warmth. “Grace?”


304

I opened my eyes to see him. “Yes?”

“I’m your friend now. Right? You really can trust me.”

I considered, unmoving except for my breath. I’d not had good luck with men. He

must have read it on my face. “Your father knows that. I also know if he trusts in me, you

can too.”

“I want to ask one thing, Ozzie.” He looked in my eyes. “Yes?” “Are you alive, or

are you dead?”

His laugh was melodic as a full silver moon. I laughed with him. “Well, now, you

see, there are many things beside alive or dead.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, for you, Grace, it’s a yes.”

#

When I got back to the B&B the cars were gone and door unlocked. I heard an

argument from another room, both lyrical and staccato. I climbed the stairs carefully and

laid down on the bed. I wasn’t tired, I was confused. I was afraid, I was anticipating the

road ahead that Ozzie and I had agreed to begin tomorrow. I was curious about my

guide, was he flesh or spirit? I honestly couldn’t tell. He had weight, and took up space,

so I supposed it was a moot point now, because we were going to be traveling in close

quarters. Not only in the tiny Fiat, but the lodging too. I wasn’t about to pay for two

rooms, even if the bed and breakfast had two to offer. That was the first issue we settled;

I wasn’t available sexually. “You act as if I were a beast, Grace. I’m pure gentleman, to

be sure.” Okay, I suppose we’d take it from there.

#


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Just as we began our journey we were going to pass some ruins to the left, and I

was slowing to drive up the narrow trail. “What are you doing now?”

“I jogged past here and never stopped to look.”

“’Tis nothing but an old destroyed church. We’ll see plenty on our way.”

“You’re telling me to pass it up?”

“I’m tellin’ you if you still want to see it when we get back, we’ll go. Right now,

the path is ahead, not aside.” I sped up and drove.

“Would you please do the driving, Ozzie? You’ve got to be better than me at this

backwards stuff.”

“Don’t have a license.”

“You don’t drive?”

“Never saw the need to, besides, you’re doing fine. We’ve been traveling for half

an hour and we’re still breathing.”

“Was that a joke?”

“Aye, a joke. Lose your sense of humor, you might as well be dead.”

With no traffic approaching us, I thought it safe to turn on the radio. I pushed all

the tiny buttons this way and that until I tuned to a station playing jazz. Dizzy Gillespie

blaring his horn while I drove. Next thing I know Ozzie has a CD in his hand and he’s

shoving it in the dash. Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks”. “What’s wrong with jazz?”

“Ah, take Van now, he’s a good Belfast man.”

“You didn’t answer my question, dammit.”

“Did you not learn from your discipline that some questions need no answer?”

“My discipline? What do you know about that?”


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“Your father is very proud of you becoming a warrior.”

“A warrior.”

“Aye, that you are. You have a dangerous mind, and hands to follow.”

“Where did you learn that about me?”

“Ah, dear Grace, there are things beyond your ken. That’s why I’m here with you.

You’re beginning to look for the true Way.”

“The way? Did I miss a turn somewhere?”

“You might say that. The Way, with a capitol W.”

“You’re spouting Oriental philosophy to me? I’ve had about enough of you.”

“Not just Oriental. Jesus said he was the Way too.”

“Madam George” came on the stereo. I’d always loved its sadness, the sense of

resignation and despair. But not today. “Alright, Ozzie, I’ll bite. What about the Way?”

“Did you think it was some path, some other place you would simply visit to feel

better about yourself?”

“I only sense it when I’m in the dojo.”

“Aye, so you keep it wrapped up in a proud little package, do you? Where is it

right now?”

He was right, and I wanted to hate him for it. “My da’ told me I’d be learning to

build bridges. Is that what this is all about?”

“You want to actually see a path before you. Instead, what do you see when you

look down inside yourself deep enough to touch the heat?”

“I don’t go there, and I won’t go there. Leave it alone.”

“Because you turned some very bad men into crispy critters?”


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“Look! Enough! I don’t know how you know so much about me, but I’m done

with this trip, so I’m going to turn around now and take you back home.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Oh, I believe I will.” I tried turning the steering wheel, to no avail. “What are

you doing?”

“There’s a wee pub right ahead, and I could use some tea. How ‘bout you?”

“Do I have a choice? I thought you said you didn’t drive.” If I ever felt frightened

before, I was more frightened now.

“I said I didn’t have a license. Don’t be frightened, Grace. No harm’s going to

befall you.” The car steered into the parking lot of a small pub, and Ozzie got out.

“C’mon, they have great pasties.” I climbed out slowly, trying to figure a way to drive

away and leave him here. Maybe after I ate.

He was good at his word, the food was positively delicious, not at all like black

pudding. The hot tea revived me, and a small dram of Bushmill’s calmed my nerves.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“Okay, so tell me this, how did you know about this pub. How is that?”

He smiled and poured more tea. “I’ve been here many times, Grace.”

“Many times.”

“It’s like this, every now and then somebody special comes along, somebody

seeking the thing in their heart they don’t know they’ve already got. Sometimes I join

them on their search.”

“This is such bullshit. I’m not in a Star War’s movie.”

“No, you’re not, what ever that is. You’re the most special of the special. This


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time I’m truly honored to be along for the ride.”

“Why?”

He rang his melodic laugh again, and other customers looked at us. “Because

you’re about to pick up the tab.”

End of round one. He won.

#

“We’re coming to Derry next, where we’ll cross the border.”

“Derry?”

“Londonderry. An old city. We’re not lucky enough to be here during an

Orangemen’s Parade.”

“They parade oranges here?”

“No, Loyalists’ are Orangemen. They’re the other side of the IRA.”

“And we’re not lucky enough, because?”

“It’s complicated. Concentrate on your driving.”

#

Down into County Donegal, then to the city itself. I saw my first street beggar

ever when I was walking back to the Fiat with a bag of snacks and bottled water. He was

at least fifteen, and he approached me from the alley side of a building. “Please, miss, can

I have some money for food?” It was a good thing my arms were full or I’d have opened

my small wallet and handed him some. Then Ozzie caught up with me, looked at the boy

and pointed away. The boy’s eyes grew huge and he backed away in a hurry, then turned

and ran.

“Good lord, what did you do to him?”


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“He didn’t want money for food, as they always say. It’s his job. He’s trying to

escape from a beating when he goes home empty handed tonight.”

“Why did he run?”

“My presence is well known here. Notice how many red heads are about? Let’s

get to the car, I’ve something to show you.”

“Whoa! Hold it! Your presence is well known here? Red hair, like’ yours’? What

does that mean?”

Ozzie took my hand and led us back to the car. “You really haven’t figured any of

this out?”

“Oh God, not more mysticism, please.”

“Sorry. You’re traveling with a legend. Now, let me take you to a special place.”

“Do I have any choice?”

#

The house was a small, white-washed, blocky building with smoke coming out of

the chimney in the middle of a thatched roof. “What’s this?” I asked.

“Your da’ was born there.”

In that tiny house? “Who lives there now?”

“Relatives of yours.”

“My da’s family?”

“Yes. Would you like to go in? You’d be most welcome.”

“You’d come with me?”

“Ah, now that could be difficult.”

“Because they don’t know you? Because you’re some kind of legend?”


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“No, because it would be improper for a young lady to travel with the likes of

me.”

“I will never figure out your society. Either we fit, or we don’t. They probably

haven’t heard of me anyway.”

“You were never close to your family, Grace. I understand why you don’t go

inside.“

I couldn’t reply. “It’s getting dark. I’d like to find a place for the night.”

“There’s one near here.” He gave me directions instead of commandeering the

steering wheel, and we approached the fine looking old farmhouse. I looked things over

and decided it was okay. Ozzie didn’t say a word. We pulled my small suitcase and his

leather knapsack out of the “boot”, and went to the door. They were happy to take my

money, and show us to a bedroom upstairs. It was quaint, but it was cold too. The missus

showed me how to fill a hot-water bottle and tuck it in next to us. She actually said us. I

was suddenly wide awake.

“Oh, Grace, we’ve worked this out, you’ve nothing to fear from me.” I went to

the bath and changed into my heaviest flannel pajamas, brushed my teeth, let the sink

faucet water get warm, then sat down on my side of the bed with the not-so-hot-water

bottle. Then I decided, “What the hell,” and slipped in between the sheets. I was pushing

the rubber bottle around in order to find a good place to warm my insides. My feet were

frozen, my hands ice. I put the sloshing thing on my belly.

Ozzie came out of the bathroom naked. I didn’t see it, as I was turned away. He

turned off the light and got in on his side. I was about to ask him something, I don’t

remember what, when I felt the heat coming off his body in waves. I turned towards him


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in the dark, “How do you do that?”

“You, the fire witch, wants to know about heat?”

“I’m a little off my game. Tell me.”

“I’m a legend, and when somebody believes in me I grow into flesh and blood.

When somebody totally believes in me I have surplus energy to spread around. I use that

energy to write poetry sometimes. It’s only fair you get the benefit, Grace, because

you’re the one who believes.”

I turned back over on my side, but I moved a tiny fraction towards his furnace too.

#

And woke up spooned against his back with my right cheek on his neck. I woke

up, and the air in the room was visibly freezing, not to mention the hot-water bottle was

slushy inside. I pushed the thing off the bed and cozied up to Ozzie again. Until my hand

brushed his butt. I threw myself out of bed and stood there horrified.

The shower offered some hope of warmth, so I closed myself in the bathroom and

waited for the water to warm up. I had to sit on the toilet to prevent my feet from freezing

to the floor. The water stayed a few degrees above freezing, and wasn’t going to go up

any farther.

I jumped into the bedroom and gathered up yesterday’s clothes. With a naked guy

in bed I didn’t want to see, I did as well as I could to pull and prod and tug everything

into place before Ozzie woke up.

When my boots were on I wandered down to a much warmer kitchen which was

dressed in dreary green. Was there nothing in the place that wasn’t a hundred years old,

including the paint? The missus poured me tea and I held it in my numb fingers. Without


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sounding too accusatory, I said, “You don’t have any heat or hot water up there.”

“Oh. You must not have read the ‘Fodor’s’ guidebook.”

I shook my head. This was nuts. She continued. “We’re listed as a ‘primitive

hostel’. Some people want to know what things were like on a farmstead at the turn of the

century. Even then, we do have indoor plumbing; don’t want to lose any guests down the

double-holer.”

It made me wonder why she didn’t fire up a wood-burning cook stove. That’s

primitive too, isn’t it? She started rashers in the skillet, ready to crack eggs into the

bacon’s grease. This morning wasn’t one of my better experiences. “No thank you,

please. No breakfast for me.” She turned around, aghast. Nobody in Ireland ever passed

up food, especially food that was already paid for.

“I’ll be havin’ that breakfast, mum.” Ozzie was far too cheery this morning. Had

he done something to me in the night? No, I found my pajamas, before the frozen

avalanche she called a primitive shower, in the same state they’d been when I went to

bed. “And a fine morning to you, Grace.”

“You’re a slime-dog.”

“Beg pardon?”

“We’ll discuss it in the car.” The woman of the ‘primitive hostel’ started cackling.

“Oh, you young people, you make me laugh.”

Ozzie bit. “Why would that be?”

“You see sex as something too confusing to truly enjoy.”

“I wasn’t talking about sex.” I finally reached my idiocy tolerance point.

She laid the steaming plate in front of Ozzie, complete with two little pucks of


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disgusting blood-pudding yak. Of course, they were the first things in his mouth.

Slime-dog. “Honey, everything is about sex. Well, there’s death, but that’s a different

thing altogether.”

I threw the bags in the boot of the Fiat, started it up and tooted the tinny little

horn. Ozzie ran out the door and slammed into the passenger seat. “What’s with this now.

Are you leaving me?”

“You’re inside the car, nimrod, so no, I’m not leaving you behind.”

He stared out the side window for a couple of kilometers. “What did you want to

discuss?”

“Why were you naked in bed?”

“It’s how I sleep.”

“It’s not how I sleep.”

“Not quite true now, is it Grace?”

“What? What?”

“When you’re in bed with another, you sleep nude.”

“You’re not the other, and aren’t going to be, so if you don’t have pajamas we’ll

stop and get you some.”

“Well, sure, ‘tis a fine thing to have sleeping clothes.”

“Good.” I realized I was driving without directions. “Where are we going?”

“Down past Ballyshannon, to Sligo. I think you’ll like it there.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a fine looking place occasionally, with the sea and all, especially

when the sun is shining.”


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“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” Then ahead of us, through the windshield, the

golden light of an unmasked sun poured down. I looked at Ozzie, and he was smiling all

over his face. “Tell me you didn’t do that.” He shrugged.

“I need to talk to an old friend of mine.”

“An old friend?”

“Just the same as you, I need a friend sometimes.”

#

“Tell me about the Way.”

“I thought you had all the answers already.”

“Not your answers, Grace. You have dichotomous answers, and I’d love to hear

all of them.”

“What the hell is ‘dichotomous’?”

“Of mixed mind. Two opposites together. You know, the dark, and light.”

“Look, are you trying to confuse me with words I don‘t understand?”

“I am good at a few things; hunting, stealing cattle, and wooing young women.

I’m expert only at one thing. You, however, have collected many talents, especially the

scary kind. I want to hear how you balance it all.”

“What one thing are you expert at?”

“Pardon?”

“You said you were expert at one thing. What is it?”

“Poetry. ‘Tis how I know so many words.”

“You’re expert at poetry?”

“I’ve written six epic poems, and some other incidental works. They’re known all


315

over Ireland.”

“Are you writing now?”

“Not so much, the demand for certain talents waxes and wanes.”

“You’ll have tell me some.”

“If you’re very good, Grace. Now, the Way.”

I kept both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the narrow road ahead. “The Way

is like the Warrior’s Code, which is called, ‘Bushido’. But there’s a slight, subtle

difference. All disciplines and religions follow the Way to obtain inner peace and

harmony. Warriors find peace through martial arts, or studying external death to create

inner life. The Way I follow is different. Hold it a minute! What was that about wooing

young girls?”

“Oops! Didn’t mean to say that. Sorry, it was a previous life.”

“Yeah, I hope so, for your own good.”

“Go on, you were saying...”

“What?”

“Your Way is different.”

“Oh yeah. Well, the higher degree you are the more dangerous knowledge you

collect. Not just dangerous, but maybe evil too, if you look for it. The Way I was given is

to seek power, find what is right, and what is wrong, and balance them.”

“Sound’s simple enough. You‘re trying to build bridges.”

“Have you ever got that wrong. Look around the world today, then tell me what’s

good and what’s bad. It’s a razor’s edge I walk, a cliff I face with every decision. I don‘t

know if that qualifies as a bridge.”


316

“You said, ‘the Way you were given’.”

“Yes. You know about my, um, inner condition.”

“Your fire. I do.”

“Yes, I did kill those ’crispy critters’ with it.” He didn’t even blink. “Some call it

karma, or cosmic punishment, but now I get to relive that decision every time I’m faced

with an opponent. To destroy, or free.”

“So what does your Way teach you?”

“The highest aspiration. To neutralize while harming your opponent the least

amount. Think of this way, I convince them they don’t want to proceed.”

“You sound like an expert to me.”

I started shaking my head. “It’s not that simple, and I think you know it.”

“I know it?”

“The ‘proud little box’ you preached to me? Tell me how to pack this strategy

into any size box and keep in your pocket.

“You withdraw from an opponent to draw them in closer, then you crush them

from their flanks. This is one facet of the my Way.”

“Good Christ and all the saints, woman! Are you so savage?”

“Why should that example shock you?”

“You sound like the original Grace O’Malley. She sought power her whole life. Is

that all there is to you? Attack and destroy?”

“No, not at all. Look, I’m a woman in a man’s world, so I have to protect myself,

my Way is the one thing I can count on.” He stared at the side of my face. “Look, I’m

beginning to enjoy your company. As long as you leave your clothes on, that is. Now it’s


317

time for me to say, ’you have nothing to fear from me’. When do we get to that place?

That Sli…”

“Ah, yes, Sligo. By sundown, when it’s at its best.”

“You asked, I didn’t offer the information.”

“I know, and I know you’re right to protect yourself. My only other question is

how much blackness, how dark is your soul tainted?”

“Only if you tell me about yours’ first.”

“Drive.”

#

I stopped at a shop where I bought Ozzie some “sleeping clothes’. There were a

couple of sweaters I really liked, so I asked for his opinion. Mistake.

“Aye, the green one flames up your hair very fine, but the white one shows off

your tits to their best advantage. I‘d but that one.” I didn’t buy either.

He knew a B&B close to the water, so we stood and watched the sun sink. The air

was chilled, but it wasn’t raining. “Care for something to eat?” he asked.

“I suppose you know of a pub nearby.”

“No, I was thinking of take-out fish and chips.” Oh really? We drove the Fiat a

ways down into the town proper, and Ozzie brought us two newspaper cones full of

frying hot fish, and perfect golden potatoes.

Blowing on fingers that grabbed a fillet too soon, I said absently, “This is food I’d

kill for back home. I had to give it up.”

“You gave up food? For God’s sake, why?”

“My youthful girlish figure.”


318

“Oh c’mon, you’re joking! You know, you look just like…”

“Kate Winslet.”

“I don’t know that woman. No, the original Grace O’Malley. But she has flesh on

her like a proper woman, not like your thin sticks.”

“Did you mean to offend me?”

“Did I offend? Sorry, but you could be so beautiful.”

“And instead of that, I’m what?”

“Ah? I fucked that up, didn’t I?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I was seeing you in a different light.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a question.”

“Good fish, isn’t it?”

“Coward.”

#

We got back to the B&B and I got ready to take a shower. “Just so we understand

each other- when I’m in the shower you’re out here. No peeks.

“To be sure. I’ll probably be in bed; your mistreatment of my poor ears has worn

me out.”

I shook my head and carried pajamas in with me. I let the water run as long as it

took to get last night’s chill out. The soap and shampoo smelled of lavender and thyme,

and I emerged feeling like a real, live girl again. I put on my jammies and came out to the

bedroom. Ozzie had left one low light on for me, which was fine. I started on my push

ups and felt blood pump into my taut arms, then I used the bed frame as a brace to do my


319

sit ups. “Good lord, woman, can’t you let a weary traveler get some rest?”

I still crunched away. He sighed in an exasperating manner.

“I belong to a brotherhood of brave companions,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, back in the day. We fought and made poetry, stole cattle sometimes, and

slept all the women into a beautiful dreamland.”

“You slept the women?” I was puffing out the words with every sit up.

“Multiple?”

“Those were easier times. I could take a whole fortnight to compose a single

stanza.”

“Multiple?”

“I was held in high regard.”

I was almost done. “Who did you fight?”

He answered into his pillow. “Villages, we all lived in villages, and the next

village over was so foreign you’d probably never see it in your life. We were the law

keepers, traveling around and dispensing judgments. We never took more than we

needed, and never took from the impoverished; which was hard, you see, because the

whole country was impoverished. It was only our connection with the king that kept us

flush. Will you stop that infernal rocking now?”

I lay back on the floor and let my breath calm. I definitely needed to workout

more, especially if I was going to eat greasy, but very good, fish and potatoes, the

ultimate starch. “You speak as if what you’re telling me was very long ago.”

“It was.”


320

“Who are you really?”

“I’m Oisin mac Cumhail, son of Fionn mac Cumhail, student of Liath Luachra.

You want to know how much my soul is tainted?”

“Yes.”

“I was a hero of many battles. That’s how stained I was.”

“You killed a lot of people. Why?”

“Yes, soldiers who were out to kill me first.”

“Self-defense?”

“Just like yours’, it was self-defense.”

“Just like me? I didn’t go out looking for somebody to kill, or lead men to their

deaths. How was it self-defense?”

“It was a different time, I told you. If you didn’t fight, you, and your whole

village would be destroyed, and a lot more people, innocent people would die.”

“There’s a lesson in your story, isn’t there? What are you really telling me, to

defend the innocent?”

“Enough already! Get in bed or I’ll perish from fatigue.” He put his pillow over

his head.

I got up and slid in, turned off the light, and turned to say goodnight. He was

naked again. “Excuse me, but why aren’t you…”

“Too constricting. I don’t know how you do it.”

“You’re outa here guy.”

“Ah. Grace, you could beat the shit out of me, but what good is that? I won’t

bother you if you don’t bother me.”


321

Damn, damn, damn. What was I to do? What would O’Malley do? She’d ask

herself why was it such a big issue to begin with. Was he offensive or frightening? No.

Or, was he tempting, and I was trying to hide the fact? Maybe. I swear, I hated

O’Malley’s wisdom in times like this. I faced away from him and quickly fell asleep.

#

Kim had an odd taste in her mouth that wouldn’t go away. It started a few days

ago, and it was like she was smoking, and was maybe smoking tar. But she didn’t smoke,

and she wasn’t around any tar. In fact, the summer job she was working before college

started was in the pristine palace of delight; Victoria’s Secret. She stocked the racks, bins,

and shelves with gorgeous lingerie, and even modeled when a customer needed to see a

perfect “B” cup in action. She also bought her own lingerie at store cost, and had a

collection second to none. Still, she had no one to share it with. Except for the odd smoke

tainted breath clinging to her now.

There were lots of times she thought about Belinda, and worse, how she died. But

now, was the fire flavored breath a message from her, or a taste of some hell she’d gone

to? Kim knew Belinda set the house afire herself, probably burnt up those three Deputies

too. However, where had Brickman gone? He hadn’t been in the house, so where?

If Brickman wanted her dead she’d be dead. But it wasn’t her he escaped, it was

Belinda and her talent. There was only one question Kim asked herself, and she asked it

almost every second of the day. Did Belinda really die in the fire? Kim was beginning to

think not.

#

I dreamed of Kim. I hadn’t dreamed like forever, and then I dreamed of Kim. She


322

was alright, and working a summer job. She went through the motions, and she got by. I

saw how lonely she was, and it broke my heart. I wanted to run to her and take her in my

arms, forever.

The dream turned into a nightmare- Kim had found somebody else to take her into

their arms. Kim wasn’t over me, but she was seeking shelter in an uncertain storm, shelter

that could become an anchor. Then a brief glimpse of a face over Kim’s shoulder that

terrified me. He didn’t look like he used to, and he had no business in my dream, but

there he was, and he looked like he was hunting.

I clung tight to Ozzie all night, and he was as good as his word and remained a

gentleman. It was only in the early morning did I feel something poking my lower back.

That something wasn’t hunting anything more than a toilet, so I let it pass.

I got up while the windows were still gray and started the push up, sit up routine,

then took another shower and shampooed my wild red waves. Suddenly I really felt a part

of this travelogue, a brave companion to Ozzie ’til the end of the journey. If O’Malley

was right, and I secretly desired the prince of cow thieves, I was going to join him, not

fight him.

#

Chapter Twenty Four-

The dream continued to plague me. I rarely dreamed at all, so why Kim again?

Why Kim now? Was she taking a new lover? A replacement for me? I decided not to

waste time or space to consider all the possibilities, as I was dead to her, and had slept

with two women since I left her. The dream showed Jim Brickman was very much alive.

Was he threatening her? Planning to harm her?


323

Ozzie walked out of the bathroom stark naked, and saw me looking. He never

showered, shaved, or changed clothes, but he never looked or smelled bad. He didn’t

smell like anything at all, and sometimes he looked a little younger or a little older in the

morning light. Other than those shifts in appearance, he did look like a fine catch in the

sex pool.

When we got in the car he was highly agitated and sparkling. He directed me

down the N15 roadway with excitement growing as we neared his destination. I saw a

signs reading, “Drumcliffe,” and even more, “William Butler Yeats Grave”. He pointed

at the latter sign, and we arrived next to a cemetery. Ozzie almost jumped out the car

door, so single-minded and urgent he was. I followed along behind.

Ozzie was standing at the foot of Yeats’ grave in silence, hands folded together. I

didn’t approach, and waited while he prayed. For over an hour I waited. I walked around

the stark 19th century church and looked at graves of long dead, boney bodies. I was

taken by the thought that the Irish truly revere their dead like a Paleolithic tribe. That’s

what they were, tribes fighting for their villages and religions and mysticism, not a

modern people at all. They were still a band of primitives who loved their poet warriors

and fighters, or all together like Ozzie. I was sitting on a cold stone bench we he sat down

beside me.

“Did you get what you need?”

He smiled, and like sometimes when he was happy in his own way, it was

beautiful. “Och aye, I did. He’s always been a true friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yeah. When some academic bull-shitter claimed he’d written my poetry,


324

William cast a host of nether beings on the guy. It’s a free country, so some know I wrote

them, and some are posers who’d never survive in my world.”

Ah ha. “What did you talk about?”

He held out his hand and pulled me along with him. He pointed at the headstone,

and I read, “Cast a cold Eye On Life, on Death. Horseman, pass by!”

“Life and death, Grace, another one of your dichotomies. Both at the same time as

you walk along a razor’s edge, as you say.”

“He’s dead, where’s the glamour in that?”

“Death is inevitable, the important thing is how you live your death.”

“More gobblety gook, Ozzie.”

“You search for truth. This is truth.”

“I’m ready to go now. What’s next on our itinerary?”

“Knock, then Galway.”

I spent the drive concentrating on other subjects rather than him, like driving and

admiring the sun that seemed to follow our trip. He played another Van Morrison

compact disc and hummed along. I got really tired of his tuneless hum. “You have a Way

of your own?”

He looked at me and frowned, like he hadn’t considered the subject. “I have

poetry.”

“Oh. So, do you suffer from dichotomous thoughts?”

“You’re a quick study.”

“It was a serious question.”

“One or another, or both at the same time, pleading one must be wrong, and one


325

laurelled as truth. It’s the struggle of the modern mind.”

“How so?”

“I’m going to use you as an example. Just so you know.”

“It’s a small car, and we’re the only ones in it. Go ahead.”

He leaned against his door and rolled the window down further. “There’s two of

you, and neither is complete without the other.”

I shot him a look. “This would be a good time to start explaining yourself.”

He laughed. “Or quit. Which would you prefer?”

“Go on.”

“There is the oppressed child inheriting a God-awesome talent.”

“How is it you know all this shit?”

“Conal. He’ll talk to anyone who’s interested after he’s had a few pints in him.”

That I could understand. “Go on.”

“Suffering builds strength, but it’s a strength covered in scars. Scar tissue can hide

almost anything, anything that is, but the power inside you. You know what I mean. One

day you spoke in flames, and now you listen to ash. That was the line, as you see it, that

you drew in the sand, never to cross again.”

“I’m supposed to play dead.”

“You are supposed to hide. How brave does that feel? And what else do you hide?

Your power?”

I drove along on the road and caught glimpses of the Atlantic, the ocean

separating me from Kim. “It was Melody saved me.”

“In more than one way. She’s a powerful guardian.”


326

“What?”

“She’s given out many false clues as to your whereabouts. She’s following your

enemy that way. Do you not recognize her strategy of deception? It sounds very much

like something you’d do.”

“She protects me. I learn from her.”

“And her mind?”

“Unreadable.”

“You give her a reason to continue her work, to continue her teaching, to continue

pulling back from you and remain lonely.”

“She’s lonely? I don’t think so.”

“One night stands? She even did you in a one night stand, didn’t she? She loves

you, so much it can hurt her sometimes.”

“How can you know all this?”

“The truly fine thing about you, Grace, is that you’re wide open, like a book of

instructions for building the perfect friend.” I pulled the car over, opened the door and got

out. The air had saltwater and coal smoke in it. I wanted to go running, but it hurt my

lungs after a while, and I could taste the black smoke in my mouth most times.

Ozzie walked up alongside of me. “I’m sorry, I was telling you how good you

really are.”

“I’m not. I walked down the path of evil before I even knew of the light.”

“You had to kill them.”

“Can we find a pot of tea somewhere?”

“Sure. Are you going to be alright?” I shrugged.


327

#

I drank hot milk tea and a dash of whiskey. “For a travel guide you’re awfully

stuck on things internal. What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Sometimes a desolation on the land like yours.”

“Ozzie. Where are we going?”

“Galway. I think you’ll like it.”

“No, where are we going? Are you going to tear me to metaphorical pieces?”

“No, nor would I want to. You’re very dear to me now.”

“So what is you want?”

“Your fire.”

“You want my fire?”

“I want you to recover your fire. It vitally important that you do.”

“’Vitally important’?”

“It’s a balloon expanding inside you, with the help of your martial training. Do

you want it to explode?”

“I think you’re wrong.” I got up to get another small whiskey, and got one for

Ozzie too. When I set them on the table he looked up. I said, “Sure, go ahead, it’ll do you

good.”

He laughed. “I’ll recite poetry for hours.”

“We have time.”

#

The way to Galway was easy and we made good time. I’d sped up because I

sensed something important was waiting for me. Ozzie was right, it was a beautiful place.


328

I stopped at a petrol station and asked about bed and breakfast places. They told me of a

grand place, all big and white, with the name, “Mandalay on the Sea”. I drove us there,

missing some turns along the way, and knocked on the door. They had a room for us, and

the woman of the house was classy and extremely friendly. It wasn’t a false friendly,

because the owner’s were American.

The room was right out of a grand castle, and as I sat down my bag I looked over

the sumptuous bed. I wanted to live here, to be what the room said I was. Ozzie sat down

his pack, “Wow! This is great!”

I was tired from the drive and the three whiskeys in the pub for tea-time. Ozzie

recited traditional poetic storytelling, spanning half of the creation of the Celtic people.

Still, it was a new city to explore. “Do you want to go out?”

“I could use some air.”

#

We drove down to the strand along Galway Bay until I realized the water in the

bay was silver plated. I pulled over and parked, stepped out into air heavily seasoned with

salt and fish. I leaned against the car and looked at the full moon hanging bright and high.

I felt Ozzie lean beside me. “You really miss her. I can almost taste your sorrow.”

“Who?”

“Kim.”

Of such moments are unexpected life’s gifts. Where else but in a strange land

alongside a stranger could you be confronted with impossible questions? “Yes, all the

time.”

“She was your first true love. I can understand your ache.”


329

“Oh can you? What about your first love? You still miss her?”

“Even after all these years.” He looked down from the sky to his shoes. “Every

day, just like you.” He inhaled through his nose sharply. “You only love women? ‘Cause

I pick up different vibrations.”

Men! “A counselor told me a couple of things about myself I didn’t understand at

the time. She told me I had an ‘approval issue’. I need to find acceptance where I can,

and I do it through sex. I’m promiscuous, and I don’t care. The second thing is how a

woman might turn to other women after an assault, you know, for a little softness. I agree

with her first point because I know I seek acceptance as much as I seek power. For a fact,

they are the same hunger. I want to protect those women weaker than I am, don’t even

think about while it’s happening. That’s why power is so vital to me. I don’t want it for

myself. Her comment about women turning to other women may be true for others, but

not for me. I love Kim for the sake of loving Kim. I mean, how could I not? Is everyone’s

DNA hardwired to do one thing?”

“What’s DNA?”

“Ah, it’s what we are even before we’re born. Um, a molecule with all our

personal information in it.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“We call something similar a gift from our ancestors.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Okay. Go on…”

“What I was asking is are gay people born that way?”


330

“They were back in my time.”

“You had gays in your time? Oh, God, of course you did. Wow, I never once

thought.”

“Sure, women and men.”

“Were they accepted by others?”

“No, not so much. However, most men fantasized about joining two women

together.”

“That’s never changed.”

“You were saying?”

“I don’t seem to be permanently wired one way or another. I had a sexual

relationship with a teenage boy, but it meant nothing to either of us. I was raped, which

meant a lot. I feel in love with a strange dark elf who could see more than what was the

surface. I still do, as you know. I sought out a relationship with a grown sadist because

my motives came from my darkest moment. When he fucked me I knew where my power

had led. Yes, he fucked me, make no mistake about that. He was a plough horse built for

a long nights’ work.”

Ozzie wanted to laugh, but he very wisely decided not to. “So? Are you all

women now?” I started to cry, couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry Grace, that was thoughtless of

me.”

I waved my hand in front of am face and gasped for air. “No, that’s okay. I don’t

know, Ozzie, I don’t know.”

“Because you’re still seeking power and acceptance?”

“My body craves both, all the time. My heart is dead right now, but my appetite


331

sharpens the longer I ignore my base needs. That’s why Kim’s memory hurts so bad. I

feed on it like a vampire.”

“Surely you must have given something back to her.”

“The greatest gift I have, I let her into my soul.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. That belongs to the son-of-a-bitch I’m going to kill.”

“Listen, Grace, it’s my turn to make a confession to you.”

“Sure, fire away.”

“I haven’t felt this way about a woman in a dark eternity. You know that I want

you, don’t you?” I nodded. “I can give you more of what you seek than anyone else can. I

can give you power, and more. Much more. I want to make love with you.” He touched

my arm, and I didn’t even flinch.

“Let’s go find a nice warm pub, I’m freezing.”

#

There was a small city within the city, and a pub advertising traditional music.

The air inside was thick with tobacco smoke, with peat as a chaser, and I stood at the bar

wondering what to drink. Whiskey made my head swim and sedated me more than I

wanted to be. The bar was thick with young women speaking fast and expressively, and

sipping from tall glasses.

“Pardon me.” They looked at me like I was somebody they knew, an old friend

perhaps. “What is that you’re drinking?”

The prettiest young woman was shooting off some sexy vibes, and she pointed

them at me. “Are you Kate Winslet?”


332

“Sorry, no.”

“You look a lot like her.”

“I’m her sister, Grace.”

“Oh, how brilliant! I can’t wait to tell…”

“Please don’t, I’m very tired of being mobbed. That’s why I came here tonight.”

“Och aye, I can imagine. You asked…?”

“What are you drinking?”

“Guinness, with black current in it. Like to try?” She held out her glass. I took a

sip. It was quite good. “Yes, thank you, it’s good.”

“Let me buy you one.” Where had I heard this application before.

“Thank you, but no. My fiancé is down there waiting for me.”

You could have weighed the disappointment in her reply. “Oh. It was nice to meet

you anyway.”

Down the bar where Ozzie waited I ordered two of the black pints. “I’m assuming

you do drink every once in a while.”

“Your risk.”

“What?”

“A couple of these and I’m quite amorous.”

“Well I guess we know when to cut you off, don’t we?”

The music started again and I leaned against the bar letting the creaks in my back

stretch out. Then a hand grabbed my ass.

Due to the smoke and crowd of bodies in the place, I don’t think anybody saw

what happened next. I spun around with my elbow against the guy’s head, and kept


333

spinning until I was leaning against the bar again. Then somebody stepped on the victim

and yelled. Ozzie looked down and smiled, “You’re as good as I thought.”

“Why don’t we go to the B&B. I’d like to get a run in.” He laughed, and we left.

#

I jogged alone on the lunar lit strand much freer since before Ozzie and I had that

remarkable conversation. I wanted him too, but had lost the ability to navigate the male

body.

The days in the car had taken a toll on me, but decking that guy made me feel like

wind. I must have been out for an hour, and when I returned Ozzie was looking at an old

book in his hands. He looked up from it. “Hey. Good run?”

I nodded vigorously. The carpet was wonderfully thick and soft so I went into my

push ups. Each one made me feel more alive. I turned over and crunched out a hundred

without pain or tiredness. Wiping my face with a towel from the bath I went to him.

“What’s that book?”

He looked up, and for the first time I saw the bright sparkles in his unbelievably

crystal sharp eyes. Why had I not noticed them before? “It’s an old manuscript, a story of

an Irish hero from long ago.”

“How long ago?”

“The Causeway.”

“That long ago.” He nodded, closed the book, and said, “I’m tired. I think I’ll got

to bed now.”

“Okay, I’m going to take a shower.” I stripped off my running clothes in the

bathroom and entered the shower. It was rich with clean swirling steam and aromatic


334

herbs. I took great gulps of wet air, and thought the pub smoke film was disappearing. I

dried off with the softest towel that had ever caressed my skin. Then I realized that I

hadn’t brought my pajamas in with me.

Unconscious wish fulfillment? My body being devious about its needs? A

decision to be made here, a line in the sand? What would Grace O’Malley do? I hung up

the towel and slid into the bed. I outlined his profile with my body. “Eh, what’s this

then?” I put my hand on the answer to his question and pressed my chest into his.

“You’re sure, then?” I answered him with a kiss. He wrapped his omniscient arms around

me like he’d been doing so for centuries; long years he’d known me inside out. He

probably did.

Every lover I’ve ever had was different, but still human and physical. Ozzie was a

vapor steaming in my veins, an igniter to my inner fire. When I took him inside I burned

with the hottest lust I’d ever experienced I would never be the same after making love to

him.

#

I went for a morning run before breakfast, invigorated beyond belief. When I

returned I asked the lady of the house if we could have the room for two more nights. I

suppose you could say I was hanging on to a good thing. After the bacon and eggs I

asked Ozzie what we were going to do on this fine, sunny day?

“How ‘bout we play tourist? There’s some fine things to see around here.” I

agreed, and we were off. We went to Belleek to look at fine china, then turned around

and hugged the west coast around Lough Corrib, Clifden, right up to the city of Westport.

“There’s a lovely island out there I wish I could show you. ‘Tis a place of powerful


335

magic. But we’ve missed any boat that’d go by there. They’re all out fishing now.”

“What’s the name?”

He answered, “Innisroan,” as we entered Westport. “‘Tis a shame.”

“Okay, so where do I park?”

“Anywhere. I’m going to walk your legs off today.”

“Yeah, right.” I parked on the street and we set off in no particular direction.

Westport is just that, a port. It’s industry is fish, diesel, nets, rope, and warm wool

clothing. I pulled Ozzie into a shop that had some nice sweaters in its windows. Then, not

believing my boldness, I kissed him on the lips. “None of that ‘make’s my tits look good’

stuff, okay?”

“It did.”

“It’s over.”

“Sure, sure.” A brass bell tinkled when we opened the door, and a matron looked

up from a tray of buttons. “Hello.”

Ozzie said something in Gaelic to her, and she smiled large. “What did you tell

her?”

“That you needed an outfit that could measure up to your beauty.”

“No, really.”

The twinkle was back in his eye. “Truth.” The woman came over carrying ten sets

of matching skirts and sweaters. “Would you tell her I don’t wear skirts?”

“I speak English, miss, and you’d do well to follow your man’s lead. I think

you’ve a fair set of legs under those jeans.”

“She does,” Ozzie agreed. I wanted to hit him.


336

“Try these, miss, I guarantee it.” She piled two or three sets in my arms and

pointed at a dressing room at the back of the store.

When I pulled up my hooded sweatshirt up I realized I wasn’t wearing a bra. We

were supposed to be driving around all day, not buying clothes, and while it felt good to

go commando in the car, it was embarrassing under wool. I could only imagine what the

fabric was going to do my nipples.

The first set was a plaid tan and orange skirt with a tan top. Ozzie began, “Nice, it

shows off…”

“Finish that sentence and you die.” He shut his mouth.

The next was forest and pale green plaid on a grayish background. The skirt was

shorter than the first, and I didn’t bother to it walk up front.

The third one really caught my eye. It was a powerful mix of native landscape

colors and ivory, with an ivory cardigan top that had bone buttons. When I looked in the

mirror I gasped. I was pretty, but not vapid. I guess power and attractiveness weren’t

mutually exclusive. I walked to Ozzie and held my arms out from my side.

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s the one for you, Grace.”

The shopkeeper smiled, I was the first sale of the week. “Is there anything else

miss?” I bought a pullover sweater, called a “jumper” for some unknown reason, a wool

tam to keep the rain off, some lamb’s wool socks that matched my outfit, gloves, and a

bright orange scarf for Ozzie that bounced off his red hair like a light show. He laughed,

obviously pleased. “Well at least you got the color right.” I carried the bags to the Fiat,

asking, “Can we get fish and chips here?” Apparently everything I said was funny,

because Ozzie laughed.


337

“Sure, let’s walk through town.” Great! I was feeling very good today.

“Do you feel hot there, Grace?”

“Warm, the sun’s nice.”

“No, do you feel warm inside?”

I stopped. What? Is that what I was feeling? Was my pilot flame lit again?

I stopped walking suddenly weak in the legs. “Is that it, Ozzie? Am I dangerous

again?”

“I don’t think you’re dangerous, or I wouldn’t be here with you. However, I think

you’re coming back to life.”

“Did you do this to me?”

“Yes, Grace, yes. It’s time to start building bridges.”

“My da’ said that.”

“Yes he did, and he picked me to help you.”

“You mean he knows we, you know?”

“He’s your father, not my pimp, so you can forget that. There are no more

mysteries over there on his side. No secrets, no doubts. I’m to keep you safe, and bring

you back to what you deny. To lead you to your power.”

I walked back and leaned my butt against the car. “He knows how much I hate to

be manipulated, but he sicced you on me.”

“Maybe you might want to do a self-check on your anger.”

“What other bridges am I supposed to build? You bringing another man into our

bed so the two of you can tag-team me?”

“Good God woman! Can you hear yourself!? It’s always you vs. men, or the


338

world, your way or nothing. Well, here’s news, you’re not the center of the fucking

universe, and you’re not the only woman to ever be hurt. If you want to be a one woman

warrior against the male army of darkness, that’s fine. But never, I mean never!, expect to

have somebody love you, or to be able to truly loved back. You had a shot of that torment

after Kim. You cut and ran from your home, and soon you’ll have to decide if that chance

is dead and buried, or worth the effort of rebuilding.

“You want pain, Grace? Just look around, you’ll find plenty of pain, with misery

as its companion. You want love? Start looking inside.”

When he finished and stomped away from the car I started walking too, down

along the seaweed and fish smelling water. This whole trip had been a collection of

seascapes and rock, and maybe nothing more. I put my hands in my pockets to shield

them from the raw Atlantic and stared down at nothing at all.

Maybe he was quit with me. Maybe he was supposed to “light my fire,” and move

on. Well, he’d done that. He was under my skin and inside my bones now. The words

he’d chosen had been hurtful, but honest. What if I wasn’t the center of my world? Could

I give myself away so easily, and gain more back?

I looked out across the water, and saw the breakwater for the first time. The

fishing boats leaned against the wall, their keels in the sand left bare by low tide. I

wondered how a sailor got out of his ship if it was so high?

“They plan ahead for low tide,” Ozzie said behind me. “To be a fisherman is a life

of always planning ahead.”

“Something I’m not good at.”

He shrugged. “Change is hard, whether you plan for it, or not.”


339

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I’m not easy to be around sometimes.”

“Yeah, well. You ought to have met my father, he was the king of not easy.”

“I have to ask, do you think I’ve got a chance?”

“Wouldn’t be here if not.”

The breakwater held my attention for some reason. “Ozzie?”

“Yeah Grace?”

“I’m that steel and concrete wall, with all my shit propped up inside it.”

“Yeah.”

“Do I want to learn how to tear it down?”

“That answer’s yours‘. Not mine. But we should go back to the car now. We’ll be

in Galway within the hour if you hurry it up some.”

“I‘ll treat you to a real dinner tonight.”

“Are you going to wear…”

“The sweater that makes my tits look good? For you I will.

#

We dined on seafood at the water’s edge. The fish never had a chance to draw a

breath of air before it was cooked and served hot, unbelievably fresh. I was wearing the

skirt and cardigan outfit he liked, and I sat close enough to him that he could run his hand

up underneath it. We both had a high-wattage glow going, and each minute spent in

public was sweet torment.

In the beautiful bedroom we giggled and laughed, moaned and sighed. I was


340

afraid I’d set the covers to burn, but couldn’t turn down the fire inside. He was oxygen

inside me, pumping my bellows until my back arched into a bridge between us which

couldn’t break, a bridge he walked along with his tongue.

His body absorbed mine, our blood mingling together, one breath between us. I

came and came, and came back for everything he could give me.

The sun rose, and I was still burning hot, so I put on sweats and trainers and went

outside. I loosened up, like I really needed it, and began to run in the ocean air I was

going to leave, and was going to leave with some sweet memories. The memories fit my

happy mood this morning.

Until a police car pulled up behind me. “Excuse me, miss,” a cop yelled, “Can we

ask you some questions?”

I dragged to a stop and gauged how fast my heart-rate had been when running.

“Yeah?”

“We’re you in Brannon’s Pub night before last?”

“Up in town?”

“Yes, miss.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing the name of the place.”

“Well, then let’s see- did you tell some girls you were Kate Winslet’s sister?”

I laughed. “Oh, that. I get that question all the time.”

“So you did talk to them.“

“Yeah, I asked what they were drinking. I’m not from around here, as I’m sure

you can see.”

“Do you have some identification on you?”


341

“Oh, no. It’s back at the Mandalay.”

“What’s your name then?”


“No, I mean for real.”


“You’re American?”

“Yeah, can I ask what this is about?”

“A customer was assaulted in the pub that night, and according to some patrons it

happened right where you were standing.”

“And?”

“We’d like to talk to you further about this matter, at our station.”

Shit! There goes one wonderful morning. “Okay, I’ll go.”

The set me in a bare room with one bolted down table and two sparse chairs.

“Were you with somebody that night?”

“Yes, Ozzie.”

“Ozzie?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“Watch your mouth, miss. Ozzie who?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I never caught his last name.”

“Is he from around here? Or did he come with you?”

“Yes.”

“Which one, miss?”

I had a frightening edge to my voice when I said, “My name is Grace. Use it.”


342

The officer’s eyes got big.

“Surely you’re not threatening me?”

“Only of poor manners. Didn’t you mother teach you better?”

“Miss,…”

“Yeah, I know, you want to threaten me and say bad things to me, but, shouldn’t

we be talking about the pub?”

“If you weren’t American…”

“Don’t let geography stop you. So, some guy got assaulted. How?”

He glowered at me. “A blow to the head.”

“Really? What kind of blow? With an object?”

“No.”

“So you’re saying he got his bell rung.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And somebody saw me do it?”

“No.”

“Why am I here instead of finishing my third mile?”

“The victim stated he had his hand on your, um, posterior.”

“Hmm, seems to me back where I come from a man who grabs a woman’s ass is

taken outside and gets the shit kicked out of him. Sounds to me your ‘victim’ got off

lucky.”

“He said you did it.”

“Head injuries will do that to you, you know, scramble your brains? I think that’s

all this is.”


343

There was a commotion out in the reception area. I heard Ozzie’s voice as a

mumble, then I heard it raise. “Oision mac Cumhail,” he announced in a clear voice.

Then things quieted down and I could hear him talking in Gaelic. The cop across the

table’s face paled to white.

The door to the interview room opened, and Ozzie said, “C’mon Grace, we can go

now.” I stood up, and extended my hand to shake my interviewer‘s. He began to reach,

and Ozzie said, “Don’t do it,” directly at me. I shrugged it off and left the building behind

him.

“Hey! Ah, hey Ozzie. What did you do in there?”

“Cleared your name. Told them a girl couldn’t possibly do what had happened to

the poor guy. Said I did it, and you were trying to cover for me. You know, we can‘t have

visitors sexually abused, it‘d be bad for tourism as a whole.”

“So, if you did it, why aren’t you sitting in that room with the little slime dog

bastard now?”

“They can’t lock me up.”

“You have immunity?”

“The bars and walls can’t hold me. If you’d been paying attention this week you

would’ve known that.”

“Goddammit! I do know it! All the time! I’m going to be with you a few more

nights, and you want me to think how, ah, ephemeral, you are?”

“Let me correct your statement, please! We’ve one less night here.”

“What?”

“The police want you out of their city by tonight. Says you’re a menace.”


344

I suppose I am. “How did you get here?”

“Taxi.”

“You don’t carry any money.”

“You do.”

“You took money from me?”

“Yes. Rather go back to the Guardia station?”

“Good point. Are you angry at me?”

He stopped, and took my hands. “What you said earlier, about only a few nights

left?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never felt this way about a flesh and blood person, not once. I don’t want it

to end either. Problem is, I can’t do anything about it, and neither can you.”

I waved for a cab, and once we were in, I asked him, “What do we do now?”

“How soon are you leaving?”

#

Chapter Twenty Five-

I drove south on the N18 to Ennis, close to Shannon International Airport, then

kept south to Limerick. I didn’t want to stop moving, so we took the N69 to Tralee. We

got out to stretch, held hands un-self-consciously, then got back in for the final leg to

Dingle. Ozzie led me though the town to “Benners Hotel,” which was right in town.

Parking was impossible, and I circled the town until a car pulled out of a space. We

carried our bags into a nice room and tossed them down. I hadn’t paid attention to how

tired I was, and I laid down on the top of the bed and fell asleep.


345

#

I dreamt of Melody, and her body illuminated by moonlight. I dreamt of Kim, and

how it felt to fold around her. I saw myself far apart from them, farther than the ocean, a

far margin of safety around their precious lives. I saw myself full of fire.

#

Kim dreamt of me, alive but far away. Sometimes she still cried when she felt my

life in her heart. Sometimes she wondered if she could really, not this trial separation, but

really live without the love I gave her?

#

In a moment of sincerity while we walked the 180 kilometer Dingle Way Ozzie

said, “In your dreams, the both of you reach out for the other, and meet somewhere

between. This is your spirit talk. It’s certainly one of the things your father wanted you to

learn.”

“You mean building bridges.”

“Aye, but right now it’s a high-toll road, and you both pay for the passage.”

“Pay?”

“The two of you still belong to each other. You tell me, how does missing her

feel?”

He had a good point. “I can’t go back.”

“True love is more powerful than any obstacle. Find that obstacle and get rid of

it.”

“Jim Brickman.”

“Aye, that’s the one. Remember, Kim’s very much alive, while you are gone.


346

Think like the warrior you are. What must you do? Who do you protect?”

“You’re telling me something bad horrible is going to happen.”

He turned and took me into his arms. “Something horrible is always going to

happen, Grace. You have to plan your battle.” Then he stood back. “I belong to you too.

You bring me such love and happiness.”

“Please, don’t speak of such things. I may go mad missing you.”

“Aye.”

#

Then I woke up, in the same clothes I’d been wearing in the car. The window was

now dark. I looked around for Ozzie, but he wasn’t in the room. My eyes were coated

with grains of sand, and my chin slippery with sleep drool, so I took a shower.

When I got out wrapped in a towel he was back, with a pot of tea and toasted ham

and cheese sandwiches. I hadn’t noticed I was hungry on the drive here. What, or who’s,

spell had I been under?

“No spell, Grace. Need.” He unwrapped my towel and let it fall to the floor.

When we got back to eating the tea was cold, and the sandwiches weren’t toasted

anymore. Oh, the sacrifices I made in the good name of knowledge.

#

There was a girl in the mall, a few stores down from Kim’s, and sometimes they’d

have lunch together in the food-court. Her name was Abbey, and she loved clothes above

all else. Kim thought her comical when Abbey would critique passersby. This one should

never wear that color, that one wore shoes totally wrong for her size or shape. Abbey

gave a running commentary on everybody. Everybody but Kim, that is. Kim didn’t


347

remember how the two of them met, or when they became friends, but she knew

precisely when Abbey knew Kim gay. It was a certain interested spark, a deception based

on protection, a loneliness that a young woman shouldn’t have. Abbey was twenty years

old and had her own apartment, and Kim walked into it knowing what she wanted.

#

It was a good thing Ozzie was with me, the whole area spoke Irish, and while the

language rolled off of his tongue, I didn’t have a prayer of learning a single word. We

walked everywhere. The traffic was a brutal mess, so we walked because it slowed time

down. More than anything I wanted to slow it down.

Then there were the moments of insane pain. No matter how we tried, sooner or

later on of us would ask, “What will do when you get home?” I answered with tears, the

same as I would at home. I asked him where he lived. “Not far from the Causeway, near a

church.”

“Will you miss me?” and the tears kicked in.

“More than anything or anybody in my whole existence.”

“Does my face look like shit?”

“Oh no, oh no, I love a woman with red, puffy eyes.” I hit his bicep. “Ouch!

You’re far too powerful to go around beating on a poor man.” The way he said it was

funny.

We walked the whole peninsula over many days, sometimes with rain slickers on,

sometimes cozily dressed in warm wool. Then one morning I rolled Ozzie out of bed

early, to many protests, and announced we were going to climb Mount Brandon. “Why?”

he asked with one eye open. “It’s a mountain, for God’s sake, we’ll climb it because it’s


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there.”

He sat up. “Is this what you do for fun?”

“No, that was last night.”

“Are you holding that out that fun as a reward for climbing some stupid rock?”

“Will it work?”

“Och aye, you know it will.”

#

Kim couldn’t remember how long she’d been with Abbey, but she started college

beginning of next week. “You’re leaving me.”

Kim shook her head. “I’m going away to school. Don’t take it personally.”

“Can I visit you sometimes?”

Abbey’s voice had taken a definite turn to the clingy. “This has been nice, but it’s

over.”

“You know, you wear the most hideous clothes, and your shoes are even worse.”

“Thanks Abbey, those are words to remember.”

#

Kim walked into the University of Michigan with few expectations. She took her

allotted half a dorm room, bought two hundred dollars worth of books, and ate listlessly

in the dining room all alone. Her roommate was no more than that, not a companion, not

a future friend. Kim wasn’t uncivil, she wasn’t protecting something she wasn’t. She was

walking the line of giving up and moving on. She’d seen girls like her, even caught the

eye of a couple. But still she couldn’t let go, not while Belinda might still be alive.

#


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Parts of the climb were steep, and at 950 meters, Mount Brandon was a real

mountain, so we had a ways to go to the top. I got winded every so often, but Ozzie did

not. I wanted to talk around the heavy breathing, “How many have you had before me?”

“What? I couldn’t hear you.” See.

“How many women?”

“You don’t want to know that. Who do you want to beat up now, yourself? Or me

instead?”

“Oh come on, we’re all pilgrims of one sort or another. You really are a

marvelous tour guide, you know?”

“Thank you for that glowing recommendation. Leave it alone.”

“I’m just curious.”

He stopped, looking exasperated. “Look, I’m dying inside here. For the first time

I’m in love with my equal, and we know it has to end. You tell me, which hurts worse,

leaving me? Or Kim?”

“You can’t compare…”

“And neither can you. So leave it already.”

Suddenly I didn’t feel much like climbing, so I sat on a rock, the national

furniture of this island. “I want to ask a serious question, Ozzie, and I want an honest

answer.”

“I always do give you one, Grace.”

“Have I changed? Am I a better person?”

“You always worry about that, because you were never good enough as a child.”

“That I already know. Get to it.”


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“You’re bigger than your body, you have a tendency to push everything to the

limit, and you’re so narrowly focused sometimes I wonder how you can see around

yourself. But you’re the great love who has come into my heart. You’re heat, fire, and

power, and the most exquisite heart I’ve ever laid next to.

“Since you’ve been here you learned how to stretch out and join, build a bridge

between us as you say.”

“But how much of that happened since I met you?”

“All, or none. You are you.”

I began to feel queasy, sort of sick to my stomach. I put my head between my

knees. “Hey Ozzie, I think I want to lie down.”

“Can you make it back to the hotel?”

I vomited between my legs. “Ah, no.” Once I threw up I began to feel like myself

again. “That’s odd.”

“How do you mean?”

“I feel okay. Do you suppose it’s some sort of bug?”

“Maybe, or it could be something else.”

“Oh, great. Where’s the nearest emergency room?”

“You said you felt fine. How about we keep going?” He made sense, I felt alright,

maybe even great again. “After all, you’re holding out that prize if I reach the top.”

“Is there anybody around?”

“Why?”

“I’d have you right here if you want.”

“Too many rocks, I want you limber, not bruised.”


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“Good point.” We made the top, ate our packed lunch, which didn’t come back to

haunt me, and started down.

#

I started my morning run and noticed the air had grown colder, the sea grayer.

Leaves were blowing around the buildings and footpath, carrying bright colors. It

occurred to me that the summer season here was damn short. I did my three miles while

my ears and face burned red. Ozzie came in the bath while I was in the shower, and asked

over the water fall, “Where to today, Grace?”

I’d studied the map downstairs in the lobby with the intention of finding places

I’d like to visit if we had the time. “Dun Beag.”

“Oh, so you’re interested in living in a stone hive, are you?”

“Oh yeah, sign me up. It’s the last place on my list.”

“Breakfast?”

“As soon as I get dressed.”

“Oh, now there’s a shame.”

“Sorry, no can afford room service.”

“Just as well, we’d never get to your stone huts.”

“Ha, ha. Now leave me alone.”

I dried off and picked my outfit of the day. I had clean jeans, a tee shirt, the lovely

jumper from Westport that made my breasts look so good, and a wool jacket for the

weather. I dressed extra careful this morning because I was thinking of relocating, in a

big, big way. I was going to ask Ozzie what he thought.

He was in the dining room eating oatmeal, and I ordered the same. He looked


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abstracted in a way I’d not seen. “Are you alright, Ozzie?”

“I think I may have caught that bug of yours’. I’m a little off my feed.”

“Do you want to stay in today? It’s kind of cold out.”

“That would be good, thank you. Besides, I’ve something to talk over with you.”

“Great! Me too.”

“You’ll be wanting to hear mine first.”

My bowl arrived with a fresh pot of tea. “What’s up?”

“I need to go home, and so do you.”

“We need to go home?”

“No, you need to go home to America. I need to go back to my home on the

Northeast Shore.”

My spoon dropped into my lap, and I wiped at the stain without much success.

“You’re done with me.”

He laughed. “Truth be told, I’ve just started on you, and that‘s the shame.”

“Can you be a little less cryptic?”

“How long have we been traveling?”

“Mmm, I only planned on staying two or three weeks. I guess about that long.”

“Do you know of the Tuatha de Danann?”

“No. Oh! Hold it. My father told me about them. Yeah, the fairy folk.”

“And how their time runs differently than ours?”

“Right. A person could spend a night with them, but it’d be a year in mortal time.

Yeah, that’s right, Why do you ask?”

“I brought you here to Dingle for a reason. That reason was because I wasn’t


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ready to give you up.”

“And what? You can give me up now?”

“We’ve been here for a long time, Grace.”

“Bull, it’s been like, ah, four days.”

“Four months.”

“Bullshit! What kind of crap are you trying to hand me.”

“Call your friend, Melody. Ask her.”

“What about asking somebody here?”

“My dearest love, time is uncertain here. You’ll get as many different answers as

those you ask. Call your friend.”

Okay, fine. I went to the lobby and front desk. “I need to make a person to person

trans-Atlantic phone call.”

The receptionist sat an old-fashioned two piece phone in front of me. “This’ll go

on your bill.” I talked to heavily accented operators and heard static. Then a phone rang

and the line cleared.

“This is Melody, whatever you have to say better be damned important. It’s the

middle of the night.”

“If you’d let me get a word in edgewise you’d know it was important.”

“Grace? Is this Grace O’Malley?”

“Hey there, how are you?”

“Where the hell have you been?! And why haven’t you called me? We’re sick to

death with worry over your inconsiderate ass.”

“First, answer a question.”


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“What!”

“What day is it?”

“What day is it? Are drunk or stoned?”

“No, I’m serious. What day is it?”

“Well, before I went to bed it was October 12th, so it must be October 13th now.

Why?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. “I’m coming home soon. Would you be able to

pick me up at the airport?”

“If I’m in town. Listen, I’m really angry with you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t do it intentionally.”

“Call me when you know your flight.” Click. That click snapped shut any doubts I

may have had about Ozzie.

I sat down at the table, acting calm. “So you know.”

“I know. Why?”

“My time with you is limited, but I could make it last longer here in this place. It

was grossly unfair of me, and I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. What about you?”

“Every day and night with you has been grand, so I would have stretched them

out too. You say we need to leave now.”

“Home. It beckons to both of us.”

Suddenly I felt queasy. “Excuse me…” and I ran for the women’s toilet. When I

got back I sat down and took his hand. “I think we need to leave too, but because we’re


355

allergic to something here.”

“Could be. Feel like driving?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good.”

#

Kim met a really nice girl next to her studying carrel in the library. The girl was

quiet, like Kim was in her own years before Belinda, and flushed red when Kim put a

hand on her upper leg. “Say, would you like to go get a coffee with me?” The girl did.

How could she resist the pick-up line of the twenty first century?

Kim warmed to Carrie, and Carrie returned the fascination. Now all they needed

was a room all to their own.

#

It began to rain as soon as we left Dingle. It was a gray lined, soaking sort of rain,

seeming to cling to the windshield like clear paste. Ozzie and I didn’t talk much, it was

all too depressing, too terminally sad. At one point I took his hand in mine. “I don’t know

how to thank you. What do I say?”

He pulled the orange scarf tight around his neck, like he was choking off the

words. “We loved well, didn’t we?”

I figured with the distance to drive, I’d get one more night from him. “Yes, we

did. Worthy of poetry?”

He laughed a little, nothing like his previous outbursts. “No, Grace. No. Our love

is why poetry was invented, why it goes on when every other media blares false shite. We

fuel the words with our fire, we make it physical with our sex, we give the world


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meaning. Such a naked thing is power, as is poetry, such a lust for eternity.” He shut up

then, but I was sobbing and shaking over his words. I pulled over and stopped.

“I want one more night. We can be in Dublin by tonight. Please, please tell me

you want that too.”

“One more bridge to build. Yeah, that would be good.”

“One more bridge to build?”

“I mean our memories, Grace, yours and mine. Forever.”

I agreed, “Forever,” and sped up the N21.

#

Kim’s roommate went home for a weekend, so she had a place for them to get

together. It was a Saturday, in October, when the Michigan sky is unbearably blue, the

blowing leaves transient treasure, and there’s a hint of wood-fire floating past your nose.

It was a perfect day.

They walked around the quad speaking softly about their families, their high

schools, and about what they were. Kim’s story was tame compared to Carrie’s, because

she’d been ganged up on in the high school locker room, punched and kicked and left

bleeding in the showers. Then she had to go to the Vice-Principle and explain that she

was gay and that’s why she’d been attacked. Not as lenient as Kim’s school with its don’t

ask, don’t tell policy, Carrie was asked to transfer to another school thirty miles more

distant. She didn’t give off a whiff of her condition for three years. Obviously, she was

terrified of being discovered. Kim was kind, and soft like her. If she were going to lose

her virginity, she wanted it to be with Kim.

Then Kim started her story, one of passion both good and evil. She cried the


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whole time she talked about the fire, about Belinda’s death, and her feeling that she

wasn’t dead, she was merely in hiding. It made no difference, Kim would never see her

past lover again. Obviously, she was terrified of losing another.

So they made a team, a soft parade marching towards an ignited tempo. And they

found it.

#

We stopped north of Tullamore, and lucked into a room at a very nice B&B. If it

was the last one, I wanted tonight to be special. I mentioned buying a bottle of Tullamore

Dew whisky to enjoy in our room, but Ozzie objected to it. “It may worsen your stomach

problem. Besides, I don’t think you’ll have the time to drink it.”

I stepped out of my wrinkled jeans and oatmeal stained jumper, had the rest off in

seconds. “Okay.”

I don’t remember ever coming up for air, such a creature of fluids I’d become.

There was our skin, inseparable, and hands touching one or either or both, it didn’t

matter, nothing mattered, everything mattered. Our time was soon done, so we moved

together, a single night creature communicating in monosyllables. It was my no-mind

turned soft, instead of sharp.

In the morning I wanted breakfast, I was so famished. Ozzie looked at me over

the menu. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never felt better in my whole life.”

“Your stomach…”

“Was recently filled by something other than food. I’m hungry.”

We ordered and drank tea and smiled at each other. “Did you sleep?”


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“You were there, what do you think?”

“No, I guess not.”

Then there was a terrible moment of silence in honor of the time passing away so

quickly. “Are you sad, Ozzie?”

“Never. I am a great chieftain. Chieftains don’t get sad. You?”

“I have become a great architect of bridges. Architects don’t get sad.” I poured

some tea to cover my lie. “Anxious to be home?”

“In a way. It’s peace I look forward to. And you?”

“I’m looking forward to a proper workout, and some sparring. I’ve been here so

long I feel bloated and my belly’s gaining weight. Say, before breakfast arrives, in the fey

world do women have their, ah, their, their periods? I didn’t have one the whole time we

were in Dingle.”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Oh, right, great chieftains don’t talk about periods.

“No, I meant it’s not a topic covered in the tourist’s guidebook to the supernatural

and mystic.” Breakfast did arrive, and mine was beautiful.

“I won’t miss all the bacon. It’s going to take me months to unplug my arteries.”

He looked from his plate. “What do you normally eat for breakfast?”

“Uh, toast with jam, bagels with salmon spread, oatmeal with cut up apples. I’m

very big on add-ons.”

I ate some, tasting every bite like it was my last in this island country. Then it was

the last, as I ran to the lady’s room.

The waiter came and asked Ozzie if everything was alright. The damned spirit


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replied, “Yes, absolutely fine,” then went back to his plate.

I returned. “I’m sick of this. I mean literally sick. I guess I’ll eat later.” I bit into

dry toast, poured and sipped tea while Ozzie quietly finished. He wiped his mouth with a

cloth napkin and laid it across his plate.

I took his hand. “I’ve got a question.”

“Sure.”

“If we were in Dingle that long, how did I pay for the room? More fairy tale

nonsense?”

“No, your Visa check card. You must have had a lot of money in your account.” I

raised my hand to my mouth, like I was about to vomit again. “I’m joking, of course. I

paid them.”

“With what?”

“With what I carried in my bag. Fey folk only accept one type of payment. Gold.”

“You carried around a bag of gold?”

“What? You didn’t see a rainbow following us around? Of course I did. In my

own time I amassed quite a fortune in gold and silver. All I did was to access some of it

before we left the Causeway.”

“Where was it?”

“In the tomb, of coarse. If your followers think highly enough of you when you

were alive they send you off with precious metal. I was well regarded.”

“So you’ve said more than once. Are you ready?”

“Yes. I’ll get the bags.”

I pulled the Fiat up in front of the hotel, we loaded the baggage, and drove north


360

towards Belfast .

“We didn’t make it very far around the island, did we?”

He brushed the back of his hand across my cheek, then looked sad because he

wanted to show me more tenderness. “Was that your intention?”

“I think my intention was really my father’s. He wanted me to know some of what

he knew when he lived here.” Then I thought. “He wanted me to be with you.”

“Yes.”

“Have we accomplished our objective?”

“I think so.”

“You knew you’d sleep with me.”

“Yes, so I hoped.”

“Hmm. Am I a better person? Do I get your approval? Isn’t that what you said

I’ve asked since childhood? So, am I?”

“Yes.”

“Not very talkative today.”

“No.” I took his hint and focused on driving in the rain sometimes horizontal,

sometimes thick on the windshield as jiggling lime jello.

We passed Mullingar, Kells, and Ardee on our way to Newry and Armagh. then

streaked further up the N54 into Belfast. I remember stopping there to get a cup of tea

and a sandwich. I say I remember, because there were gaps in time as we laid down the

kilometers. The rain grasped my sad mood, and there were gaps in the water-vision

landscape that foretold where we were headed. My stomach rolled like there was a living

creature pushing me around inside. I held on tight, swearing I would do it, I could get us


361

there.

“You’re going to have a full and happy life, Grace.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I’m fey folk too, as you well know. I can glimpse the future sometimes when I’m

touching a person.”

“Well. You should know my whole life, seeing as you touched me all over.”

“There’s one blot of blackness to deal with, then a life like you could never have

imagined as a child.”

“That’s vague enough.”

“It’s not a perfect science.”

I had to laugh. “What about you?”

“I will sleep, as I always do, until I’m called forth again.”

“Who calls you forth?”

“The one who governs us all.”

“God.”

“I suppose so. I’ve never really asked.”

“Ah, yeah. I’m going to drive now.”

My foot was lifting from the gas pedal involuntarily, and sometimes I found

myself coasting.

“It’s not going to make it any better to stall the inevitable, Grace. Go north, and

then beyond.” The mystery of the Causeway pointed us ahead, and how much farther to

go. “We’re almost there.” I said softly. There was the drive up the hill to the ruined

church he’d said we could visit when we returned. I drove up toward the desolate rocks


362

and parked.

“‘Tis time,” he said. “Can I hold you once more?”

“The damn car’s too small.”

“No, outside, in the wet and cold.” I pulled up my collar against the drizzle, and

he tightened the bright scarf around his mostly transparent neck. We jumped out of the

car at the same time and met in front. He wrapped warm arms around me. “Let me see

your flame, Grace.”

I held out an arm and a small incandescent ball of energy floated above it. “Och

aye, that’s a fine thing. Come hug me, then I’ll go.” I didn’t want to let go. He kissed me,

and the fear subsided. “Tell you what, you go look at the precious church you’re so

interested in, and I’ll meet you down the hill a ways.”

“Okay.” I wish I would’ve had more words, more kisses. If the sanctified stones

could speak, they‘d be weeping. The church was as empty as I felt, so I looked around to

see where Ozzie was.

He was gone, but the scarf was a blowing orange flag stuck to a small branch, so I

went to gather it. It was stuck next to a flat grave marker. “Ossian”. I didn’t need to read

any farther, so I went back to the car, soaked completely through, and drove to the B&B

I’d stayed at before. Tomorrow I would drive to the airport and catch the first plane

home. There was nothing left for me here.

When I got to my lodging place I opened the boot of the Fiat, reached inside for

my smallest travel case, and saw Ozzie’s leather knapsack. Had he forgotten it, or did he

leave it intentionally? I opened it and looked inside. The old book he’d been reading was

inside, as was one shining gold coin. Three silver Van Morrison discs lay abandoned in


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the bottom. The book felt like the weight of centuries when I picked it up, and was hand

written in brown ink, surprisingly in English. Or Gaelic. The language seemed to shift as

I looked at it, much like Ozzie himself had. The handwritten title of the book was, “The

Legend of Oisin mac Cumhail”. Ozzie. The coin was old enough to be hand stamped,

having a crude relief of a man jumping over a bull. He looked like my netherworld guide

did during sex; commanding, and virile. This was the final material bridge between my

past and possible future.

I feared returning the Fiat to the airport rental place, where I expected to pay a

thousand pounds for truancy. When I went to the desk the clerk looked me up in the

computer. “Alright miss, that’ll do it. Have a nice flight home.”

“Pardon me?”

“You’re paid in full, thank you for renting from us.”

“Excuse me, where did the payment for the car come from?”

“Let’s see, the money was transferred this morning from a bank in Dingle. Why,

is there a problem?”

“No, no problem.” I wheeled my bags to the gate and passed them off to a

security agent. I kept Ozzie’s book, and two of my notebooks for the flight. I wanted to

get these past months down before I forgot a single feature of his face.

#

Kim and Carrie went to Kim’s room in the early evening, when shadows define

things unknown, like Kim’s memory. They were in no hurry getting to know one

another’s skin and ticklish areas, until Carrie softly asked, “Please?” and full night fell.

#


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part five- The breadbaker’s fire

#

Chapter Twenty Six-

Melody met me at the airport and struggled to fit all my stuff into the trunk of her

Mitsubishi. I was wiped out, having thrown up after every airline meal, and in no shape

to struggle with anything. She sank into the driver’s seat and pulled away. Once she was

approaching I-270 she asked me, “Good trip, was it?”

‘Yeah, a little longer than I thought, but good. I hope I didn’t leave anything

volatile in the fridge.”

“I went by every week to check up on your place. By the way, who was your

interior decorator? I love the weights in the living room.”

“My needs are simple.”

“So why were you gone so long, goddammit!? I was worried sick! Why didn‘t

you have your cell phone on?”

“I didn’t have an voltage adapter.”

“They sell those over there, don’t they?”

“It didn’t seem to matter.”

“It mattered here, goddammit! What happened over there?”

“I met someone, and I guess I just lost track of the time.”

“You just lost track of the time? That’s a lot of time to lose, Grace. A huge

amount of time to lose. Must have been somebody really special.”

“Are you fishing?”

“Of course. What kind of bait do I have to use?”


365

“The same kind you’re using for Jim Brickman.”

“Pardon me?”

“You’re trying to lure him to a place where you can catch him.”

“There’s no way you could know that.”

“My special friend did.”

“Who was she?”

“He. He was a he. I don’t know how he knew it, but you just proved that he did.”

“Look, there’s a lot of business going on right now in the Agency, and yours’ is

only one of them. Yes, we’re trying to lure Brickman in.”

“So how does he know I’m here? And how do you know he‘s here?”

“A phone call from the bank manager up in Michigan. The guy was being

blackmailed, and he wants Brick caught.”

“What did the manager do?”

“Told Brickman where the money was being transferred to, and what name, and

unfortunately, how much. We know he’s somewhere in the area, looking for you.”

“Great, Ozzie warned me this was going to happen.”

“Ozzie? Is that your friend in Ireland?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“Everything. Listen, I need to get some sleep, then I want a hard workout. My

pant’s are too tight now, probably from all the potatoes I ate. I don’t know, it’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

“Oh, some kind of virus I picked up. You’d think with all that vomiting I’d be


366

losing weight.”

“You’re vomiting?”

“Yeah, about every morning. Not a lot of fun.”

“Um, Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be pregnant?”

That was a shock to my system. No, not possible. “That’s impossible.”

“Yeah? That’s what Mary and Joseph said too.”

“I’ll tell you the whole story. But for right now I’m going to explain why I can’t

be pregnant.”

#

I talked all the way home, then Melody came in, made a pot of coffee, and heard

the rest. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed coffee. Over there it was dreadful muck,

and tea was the proper drink after all.

“This Ozzie, he was a ghost?”

“Not when he was with me. He was quite solid most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“When we had sex he’d sort of, like, vaporize. I felt his weight, but he was in my

blood too.”

“You didn’t find that odd?”

“I hope you go there someday, because you’d like it. Everything’s a mystery,

everything’s odd, and you can sink deep into the spirit world while time passes on by.”

“He’s the father then.”


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“If you’re right, and I am pregnant, he’s the father.”

“Good God, what kind of child will it be?”

#

Planned Parenthood confirmed it, I was with child, and they referred me to an

Ob-Gyn doc. Why didn’t the sudden prospect terrify me? It was Ozzie’s child as well as

mine. Melody and Sensei Atwood discussed how I would continue Goju Ryu for as long

as I could, practicing drills and kata, but obviously no kumite. It felt wonderful to be back

in the dojo, and my body thrummed with the demanding drills.

I began to grow close to Melody again, to share lunches, listen to music, and walk

around Sharon Woods. The evenings we were together always came around to the Ozzie

question. She a hard time wrapping her head around the possibility that a spirit made me

pregnant. I couldn’t fault her, I’d been the one there, not her.

Then there was the question of employment. After months away I’m sure I’d lost

my job at Upper Crust, and knew I couldn’t go back where I’d be reminded of Mindy on

a daily basis. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, what would be constructive in my life.

Until one day I’m driving to the dojo on High Street and the Short North and I see

a pizza shop with a “For Lease or Sale” sign in the window. I double-parked long enough

to write the phone number down, and piss off about thirty drivers behind me. I parked

behind the dojo and called the number on my now fully charged cell phone, with thanks

to Amber Watts’ communication insecurities. I got a man’s voice.

“Can you tell me something about the property at…on High Street?”

His voice got more excited, and he burst into information. The lease was half of

what other buildings went for. It’d had a string of broken leases never lasting more than


368

six months, and the last business had left their pizza oven and long stainless steel

preparation counters behind in their hurry to clear out. Best of all, there was a huge

stainless steel hood over the ovens with strong exhaust fans. It made me think of the

smell of baking bread falling on the neighborhood like a delicious bomb.

I asked him when I could see it, and we met at the store an hour later. When he

opened the door I smelled the ghost of oregano, and the haunting shade of pepperoni was

everywhere. The two ovens were in good shape, and one was a big brick monster that

used wood. It had been the original oven back when the store was a bakery. Hmm.

“Oh yes, about that thing, they had a permit, so you should have no problem

getting one too. All the place needs is some cleaning, and maybe paint.” I’ll say, puke

green wasn’t my favorite color these days.

“Why did everybody leave so fast? Is there some structural problem?”

The realtor leaned back against the wall. “You need to know, especially in your

current condition, and however much the owner doesn’t want you to know, the store is

haunted.”

“Haunted?”

“Yeah, you know, some spirit…”

“I know what haunted is, how does it show itself?”

“Show itself? Oh, show itself. Well, it rattles things pretty well, the pans, other

stuff, you know.”

“Has anybody ever been hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t do that sort of thing.”

“I’ll take it.”


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“You’ll take it? The store?”

“Yeah, when do you want to sign papers?”

#

The next evening I showed the place to Melody. I was all excited, so she played

the practical side. “You’re going to open a pizza place? There’s about a hundred on High

Street alone.”

“No, I’m going to bake bread.”

“A bread store.”

“Uh ha, “the breadbaker‘s fire”.

“Catchy name. Still, this place needs a lot of cleaning, maybe some paint too.”

“Yeah, that’s why I need to ask you a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“I want to hire a relocated woman. Preferably one who’s been at Claire‘s. I need

another woman to help run the shop.”

“Really. And what if you tank? That kind of disappointment could hurt them,

especially a woman with loyalty or commitment issues.”

“I’m not going to go under.”

She looked in my eyes and started to shake her head. “I believe you. Why in hell

do I believe you?”

“Because you love me and I love you.”

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you call me from Ireland?” She was still pissed off about

that. “When? And where is she going to live once she gets here?”

“There’s a two bedroom apartment upstairs. It’s a mess, but I believe the two of


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us can fix it up. As to when, I sign the papers tomorrow.”

“Do you have enough money, Grace? What with the baby coming and all?”

“Easily. I’m not tempting fate. You want to help pick out some colors?”

“I‘m pretty busy right now.”

#

Kim lived the next months in a state of happiness she hadn’t known since her

brief time with Belinda. Carrie and she shared everything with a sense of humor, hope,

and permanence. One day Kim found she could really breathe again without thinking of

Belinda. Then on an evening of full moon and silly fancy they pricked their fingers and

held the wounds together while they laughed. “Nothing can separate us now.”

#

Her name was Micah when she joined me. She was an extremely withdrawn little

person with dark hair and olive skin. She didn’t speak voluntarily, and didn’t look at my

face when I spoke to her. Still, I liked her because she had survived, had the reserve

strength to break free, and determination enough to leave everything in her previous life

behind. I knew that stormy passage myself.

She also had scars, some of which I could see, some I imagined, unseen. But after

three days I saw her beauty was perseverance. She was a hunter-gatherer, carrying a

bulky faggot of dead limbs and sharp branches on her back. She never broke under the

weight. She didn’t dare. In marriage her job had been to keep the home fires burning, and

to receive the sadistic scars on her skin without screaming. Finally freed from carrying

the heavy load of fear, she still braced herself against the time her new life would to go

up in smoke.


371

Micah and I worked on the upstairs apartment with brooms, mops, strong

cleaners, a vacuum, and hard scrub brushes. The floors were old oak, except for the

stained and smelly carpet in the two bedrooms. We scrubbed the walls, then the floors,

and tore up the nasty carpet. The kitchen I gave to Micah, and I started in on the

bathroom. The fixtures were antique, a claw foot tub, a pedestal sink, and a just-plain-old

toilet. Everything worked though, even the water heater and furnace, so I began to think

colors.

Micah had made the old kitchen shine, the tile floor sparkle. “This is beautiful!

Great job!” I wanted to sound supportive like Claire, God knows the girl needed it. She

didn’t reply.

“So, let’s pick out a color for your room.” That made her look up.

“My room?”

“Yes, your room, to do anything you want to do. I know we don’t have furniture

yet, but I want to get the painting finished first. So, what’s your favorite color?”

I saw she was deliberating, wondering if she should hide her favorite so it didn’t

come back to haunt her. “Ah, I like yellow.”

“Great! Let’s see if Melody can come with us to buy paint.” I called her at work.

#

“Are you telling me he’s been seen, and nobody apprehended him?” Her cell

phone rang, and she saw it was me, so she turned it off. “David?”

“You’re asking us to blanket the whole city to get one man? It doesn’t make sense

Melody.”

“He was seen outside Grace’s bank, right?”


372

“Are there security cameras that may have a photograph of him?”

“One did, a bad one. Looks like every other man on the planet.”

“Did anybody see his car?”

“A uniform did, but he didn’t know we were keeping a watch on this guy. Officer

said it was a white Chevy, Ohio plates.”

“Probably stolen. I’m at my wit’s end, David. How long has this been going on

now?”

“Years.”

“And how many other cases have we solved in that time?”

“I’m thinking about twenty. Are you as intent on getting this guy as you were

when Grace disappeared?”

“Yes. He’s getting bold, and if we focus on him, I mean really focus on him, I

know we can get him this time. I need you in the field with me, David. You need to know

the current conditions for yourself, and how to place our team.”

“Fine, when do I…”

“Tomorrow morning, seven o’clock. Okay?”

“Good, I’ll bring the Starbucks.”

#

“You called me?”

“Oh, yeah. Want to help pick out paint tonight?”

“I’m probably busy.”

“This is your FBI takin’ care of business voice. “

“Yes, it is. I’ll try to call you later.”


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#

“I think you’re bunking at my place tonight, even if it is on the couch. So what

say we cruise a couple of furniture shops before we go home?”

Eyes down, possibly confused about where she was staying, or what I was

suggesting she replied, “Okay,” in a tiny, protective voice. I made a mental note to try

and get a hold of Claire, because if Micah wasn’t ready to be out in the world then she

should go back there.

I didn’t buy cheap furniture, or expensive either. The wood looked homey, which

mattered most to me. We went to Mattress Mart and bought Queen sized beds. I wasn’t

the one who’d be carrying the mattresses up the narrow stairs, and I wanted comfort

when my due time came. I wasn’t ready to buy a crib or bassinet yet, but I was starting to

think ahead.

“Are you pregnant?” she asked me once we were in the car.

“Yeah, does it show yet?” I wanted her to smile, but to no avail.

“No. I just see things.”

Just see things? Dear God. It seemed to me that she felt easier to talk in the

security of my car, so I asked, “Do you have children, Micah?”

“No.”

“Can I ask how old you are? I mean, I’m nineteen, are you about my age?

Getting her to use her mouth was harder than flossing a lion. “Eighteen.” She

seemed older, but tire tracks do deceive.

“Micah? I really need to know before we do this whole thing, are you okay with

me?”


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“You’re nice.”

“Are you frightened of me?”

“No.”

“Will you be able to talk to me soon? This pulling teeth is tiresome.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand how this works. I got married at fifteen, and don’t

know anything but being married.”

Yeah, and look where that got you. Ouch! That was catty. Just because I think I’m

the poster child for downtrodden women doesn’t make me queen. “Where are you

from?”

“West Virginia.”

“That’s funny, you don’t have a strong southern accent.”

“I lived in Ohio when I was abducted.”

“Abducted? How old were you then?”

“Twelve.”

“Where did you live before then?”

“Toledo.”

It was a wonder that she could talk at all. “How about some Chinese food?”

#

We ate at a Chinese buffet where I could indulge my recent craving for fish. I

think the tiny traveler inside must have come from a seaside town, or a small island.

Micah ate sparingly, nervously, like she had to eat in the same bowl with a much larger

dog. I took my time and let her finish. “That’s a very pretty necklace. Is it topaz?”

“Yeah. It belonged to my mother.”


375

“And you kept it the whole time you were abducted?”

“I hid it. It hurt, but I had to hide it away. I can wear it now.”

“Yes you can. It makes your whole face light up. Is your moth…”

“Dead. She’s dead now.”

“Father?”

“Never knew him. I’m on my own now.”

“Ah, Micah? You’re never alone now, as long as you live with me.” She nodded

slightly. “Is the furniture for your room alright?” She nodded again, still slightly.

“You do know it’s your room?”

“I don’t understand, how can you give me a room?”

“I live in a FBI witness protection apartment. Melody gave me that when I joined

her, but I don’t want to live there, especially alone. I want to make my business succeed,

considering I poured most of my money into it. I want you to decide for yourself if you

like the bread baking business. If so we can be a team, until you want to do something

different. How’s that sound?”

“Okay.”

“One more thing, I want you to feel free to talk to me about anything. I’m in the

same program you are, and I’ve had some lumps too.”

“Ah, okay, I suppose.”

“Well, I don’t think Melody’s going to join us, so let’s go buy some paint.” She

acted like she didn’t hear me. “Micah?” No response. “Micah.”

She looked up. “Are you really letting me paint the room yellow?”

“Of course I am.” She started crying softly, as only wounded game can. I put my


376

hand on her arm, and she flinched. “Sorry, Micah.”

“It’s okay. You just surprised me.”

“When? When I touched you?”

“All the time. You surprise me all the time.”

#

We went to Lowe’s. For every step Micah took forward she took a half back. The

huge building simply overwhelmed her. I tried to maneuver her to the paint counter.

“Hey, look, right there is where we’ll buy paint. Okay? See the color charts? You’ll be

able to find just the right color you want.” I drug her, doe-eyed, to the color chips and

finally it sunk in. She began to act excited as she pulled chip after chip off the wall.

I picked a dusty rose, suitable for calm, and a girl child. Oh, I knew already, like I

knew she wanted to be named, “Fionna”. She was Ozzie’s daughter too, and once I’d

acknowledged her presence she almost spoke to me. A girl child, a gift from Ozzie, from

the Tuatha de Danann, and the rest of the fey world he’d lived, and died, in.

While Micah jumped from shade to shade I picked up rollers, pans, a stepladder,

brushes, etc, etc, and a nice linen color paint for the kitchen and living room. This was

costing me a small fortune, but it was my money, my apartment, my livelihood, my life.

It was a cleansing anticipation for my delivery’s near future, and perhaps best of all, I

was sharing it with Micah. She found the perfect yellow, and when she rolled on the wall

I couldn’t believe how great it looked. It really was the perfect color.

#

Chapter Twenty Seven-

“You’re sure this is the car?”


377

Agent Steve Lambert had followed his gut instinct when he followed this car to a

parking lot in the seedier east side of Columbus. He’d seen the man get out of it and enter

the decrepit warehouse connected to the lot. He’d called for back-up and waited,

watching the car as if it might take off on its own accord. Melody and David arrived

twenty minutes later, and the man hadn’t exited to reclaim the white Chevy yet.

“He went in right there,” Steve said. “Do we go in?”

Melody got the same feral smile on her face as she did at the shooting range.

David waited for her answer. “I think we have to. One of you has to stay out here in case

we miss him inside. Care to draw straws?” Both Agents laughed. “I’ll stay here,” replied

Steve. “I’m sorta attached to that car anyway.”

“Fine then, keep contact with us.”

“Always.”

Melody and David moved in a perfect vee formation. If he was going to shoot he

couldn’t get them both at the same time. They doubled up at the door and entered with

their weapons up and ready. The place was dim, but not so as to need flashlights, and the

open space was empty. They clung to the wall before entering the next section. Nothing,

and nothing. “Go out the back and see if he’s there. I’m going into the last bay, over

there.” David nodded and split off.

They both were cautious and careful, but neither saw anything. Standing in the

vacant space, Melody called Steve. “You have an owner on that car yet?”

“A George Nicholson, reported it stolen two weeks ago. He lives in Bowling

Green, Ohio. What’s next?”

Melody pointed to an oily spot on the pavement. It was fresh. “He had another


378

vehicle in here.” David frowned, this search was going nowhere, and his promotion was

following along.

“Turn the car over to CSU. I’m not sure what comes after that.”

“Sorry, Melody, I should have followed him in.”

“No, you did the right thing. This just shows we’re not the only one’s who know

how to make somebody disappear.”

#

Another November in Ann Arbor, Michigan. There was a chill when the pale sun

disappeared behind a fast moving cloud. Kim had to remember not to hold Carrie’s hand

when they were out walking despite the overwhelming urge to. The university was a

liberal enough place, but Carrie was still terrified from her hazing. They shared what

intimacy they could find between studying and roommates, and having study carrels next

to each other in the library turned unbearable at times.

They talked about Thanksgiving. Kim’s parents knew, but wouldn’t let them sleep

in the same room. Carrie’s parents knew too, but hated any reminder that their daughter,

“has something wrong with her”. They’d separate for four days, and probably without

phone calls. Only the memory of wet kisses would get them through until they returned,

thankful then themselves.

#

I couldn’t stand the paint fumes, so I set in to cleaning the store. It wasn’t so dirty

as undisturbed. No rodent droppings, but plenty of dust, and some grease on the stainless

oven. The realtor was right, it was easy for me to get a permit for the wood fired one,

because he was the one who called the city and explained the situation. I heard later that


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the inspector who came to certify our equipment had a brush with the “ghost”, and

wished me all the best. He didn‘t expand on the subject. So far no specter showed up

when I was around. Maybe the paint fumes made him dizzy too.

Micah was a painting machine, getting all four rooms done in two and a half days.

The furniture arrived, fit the space well, and made the place home. Micah smiled so

bright when she looked at the bed and dresser in her sunshine flavored room I wanted to

squeeze her and jump up and down. I didn’t, that might surprise her a little too much.

She volunteered to begin painting the store area while I went out and bought

sheets, silverware and cookware, towels, curtains(yellow for Micah), and all the other

crap a real home has to have. She and I moved my clothes, weights and stereo from the

government apartment. She had only the small suitcase she brought with her. Not able to

figure out what to do with it, I put the weight-bench in my bedroom. I was probably

going to use it as a clothes rack now.

She kept painting while I called suppliers and set up accounts, and arranged

deliveries. One food service supplier was so kind they gave me the name of their

accounting firm, and told me they’d get me an appointment. The firm was the cheapest in

the city, but prided themselves on solid customer service. I was nineteen, a mediocre

student, and didn’t even graduate from high school, what did I know about bookkeeping

or accounting?

As far as my accounting went, I’d used about a quarter of my funds between

Ireland and the North End store. Soon, I told myself, soon. Soon I will be selling the staff

of life, a noble endeavor, and hopefully lucrative too.

I had to return to the dojo in order to find some sort of focus, the shop littered my


380

mind so. I’d go in for class, do drills, then practice the deadly Sanchin kata. I moved with

agonizing slowness in order to analyze the curve of the earth under my feet, and the

growing curve of my belly. Heaven provided the distant sky above my movements, and

the planet fully explained its mystery of gravity. Best of all, whenever I made a miss-step

the tiny creature inside my belly would move too, pulling me back to correctness like an

internal gyroscope.

Micah and I arranged our schedules. When I went out she’d lock the door. Her?

She didn’t go out unless to shop at the local Kroger supermarket with me. I was very

lucky she liked the store, and was a uniquely talented cook once we brought the food

home. So we survived the beginning of our relationship. After the first night’s dinner of

pizza in the apartment, she kept me well fed.

#

“This vehicle has been stolen for over a month.”

“A black Ford Crown Vic? Where did it happen?”

David looked at the open file again. “Circleville.”

“Without a clue?”

“Circleville police found a stolen Dodge Neon abandoned near where the Ford

was stolen. It fits with what we already know.”

“Same type of theft as the Ford?”

“Car unattended, owner couldn’t say when it was missing exactly, yeah.”

“It could be him. The police are already looking for the Crown Vic, right? I don’t

want to waste our effort racing against them.” She leaned back in her chair. “He’s still

here, where he must know we’re looking for him. He’s laughing at us.”


381

“He fooled the Agency three times, and is not known to be forgiving to those who

wrong him.. Add to the mix he’s got dirt on everybody he comes in contact with. I’ve got

a concern because of that last item, Melody.”

“Yeah, let me hear it.”

“The guy’s a wizard with a video camera. If he’s watching us as hard as we’re

looking for him, there could be some, ah, compromising footage of any of us.”

Melody asked herself why she hadn’t thought of that? Why? She didn’t care about

herself, but maybe David was right. “Have you done anything, ah, intimate in public?”

“No, of course not. I was thinking of you and Grace. He wants Grace, or I should

say her money, then her life, and she’s one of your charges. It could look really bad.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about that, but you gave me an idea. We know he’s here?

Don’t we? I think we can assume he’s found her and is trying to figure out how to do

whatever he‘s planned. We’ve been focusing on how he got here, and what he’s driving.

If he’s here we don’t care what car he’s stolen. We need an agent following her, out of

sight. That’s how we’ll get him.”

“Melody?”

“Yes?”

“You allowed this girl to play bait once already. You want to do it again, without

her knowledge? I’m not sure I like it.”

“Well, the option is to hang “Wanted, Dead or Alive” posters on every light pole

on High Street. I believe we need some discretion in this, but I won’t ask you to join me.

You do what’s best for you, with my blessing.”

“I’ll go find that Crown Vic.”


382

#

Micah and I began our first vat of yeast sponge for baguettes. We were covered in

dusty flour, and one of the bags had a tear in it we didn’t discover until it dumped all over

our feet. I burst out in loud laughter, then noticed Micah was hiding her head underneath

her arms like she expected to be beaten. I pulled her head up. “Oh sweetie, oh Micah, it’s

okay, it’s okay. These things happen when you least expect them. That’s what makes it

funny.” I saw she wanted to cry, so I brushed flour off her cheek. She didn’t flinch, but

she wasn’t catatonic. I took her into my arms and held her close until she could move on

her own.

We went back to the mixer and added dry ingredients until the batch looked either

like real dough or failed silly-putty. I shaped the loaves while she swept up my mess,

again, like she’d be beaten unless she got it perfect the first time. The oven was up to

temperature so I placed the baking sheets inside. Granted, it wasn’t the right oven, really,

but I was going to make the best of it.

I wanted to use the wood-fired one, but I hadn’t found a source of fuel yet.

Finally, in my brassiest manner, I called a local pizza restaurant chain named “Uno” that

had wood-fired ovens, and got the number for their supplier. I arranged a delivery for the

next day. Anyway, I took those first loaves to the dojo and gave them out. According to

feed-back, they were passable. Passable. Like I’d learned in Ireland, any free food was

passable. I aspired to more than that.

I had very specific breads in mind, and was trying to figure out how to produce all

of them. Certain ones I had to have, like Irish Soda Bread baked in the brick oven,

crunchy French baguettes, the airy Italian Ciabatta, cute British Cottage loaves, hearty


383

San Francisco sourdough, a braided Hebrew Challa with eggs in it, an incredible rolled

cinnamon bread recipe I picked up from Upper Crust, and hopefully, if we had space,

chewy, richly flavored Pain de Seigle rye bread. And of course; scones.

#

I wanted to open the store around the second week of December, and it was

Thanksgiving now. I hadn’t been paying enough attention to the shop or its product. I

hung a “Grand Opening” banner across the front window, hung an inviting Gay-Lesbian

Alliance rainbow flag next to it, fired the wood burner up and produced passable samples

of four of my specialty loaves. They were a big hit at the dojo. Again, free is good.

Micah wanted to start work at midnight so as to get the bread into the oven by six

am. I would come down at six and help clean up until I opened the door at nine. She’d

have the whole day free, not like she went anywhere, and I’d lock up at six pm. It suited

us both, because we wouldn’t be getting in each other’s hair, like living together can do.

In the evenings I went to the dojo and committed myself to learning every new

aspect of the Sanchin kata. I would hold one position for an hour until my muscles

shrieked for release. The last time I faced judges I’d named myself “fire aspect”, and that

label was more true now than it was then. I could produce the fire to prove it. How did

that talent effect the swimmer in me? She breathed amniotic fire, and swam in red

energies that nourished and sustained her incubation, like a warm dragon’s egg waiting to

hatch.

Truth was, I wanted my brown belt before I delivered Fionna. The delivery toll on

a woman’s body, matched with keeping the schedule of the new child, would definitely

rule out any serious competition for who knows how long.


384

More important, how would I work the bakery with an infant? She’d be with me

either in a belly pack or a sleeping in a fine crib away from ovens. Not that the heat

would hurt her, but rather as a safety measure to not wake up the talent in her too soon. I

had planned things out as best I could, it was my life, and Micah’s too, and I wasn’t

going to let it fail on both of us.

#

I couldn’t wait until Christmas to give Micah gifts. The girl had so few, and so

worn out, clothes, that I dragged her to Wal-Mart and kept a hold of her wrist while I

shopped. I filled a cart with the basics; underwear, bras, blouses, slacks, sweaters, and

new shoes too. I wanted her to pick out a winter coat for herself, her thin windbreaker

wasn’t cutting it anymore, and she found a yellow one I could see she really desired. Into

the cart went a scarf, but definitely not orange like the one I had hanging in my closet,

and woolen mittens.

We picked new toothbrushes and paste, the shampoo she liked, it didn’t matter to

me, my hair was unruly no matter I washed it with, feminine needs, and oh yes, prenatal

vitamins. Finally, as a special treat to myself, was a “Mr. Coffee” espresso maker with a

steamer-foamer. We also bought bright plastic clothes hangers so she could put her stuff

away.

I knew I was imitating what Melody had done for me, and I was really hoping I’d

be reimbursed by the Bureau, but to see the look on the girl’s face was priceless. If she

wasn’t careful she’d come back to life before my very eyes.

#

Melody didn’t sleep well, or much. She’d drive by the bakery at six am and look


385

at the cars parked up and down the block. She’d drive behind the store at nine to see if

anyone was around that shouldn’t be. She usually drove her Mitsubishi so as not spook

Brickman away, or, if she did spook him he wouldn’t have a chance at getting away.

Sometimes David would come along, always looking for the stolen black Ford. They

burned gas, but achieved nothing.

“Goddammit! I know he’s around here. This is getting really old.”

“I don’t think he is, Melody.”

“Then where is he?”

“Most of his contacts are in Michigan. Is Detroit still looking for him?”

She shook her head, and answered, “No, they wrote the whole thing off. They’re

saying he died in the fire.”

“And the white Chevy?”

“We inherited it. If it isn’t in their hands, it doesn’t exist. Tell me, David, did I

devote too much time on Grace’s transition?”

“I don’t think so. I believe it’s because we don’t think like him. He’s pure evil,

and I can’t get my head around that mind-set. Can you?”

Should she tell him again about how she wasn’t nice, that she knew plenty of evil

darkness in her heart? No, no point to it. “I believe you’re right. He is pure evil.”

#

“What are we going to do about semester break?” asked Carrie.

“I’m not sure. I think I can get my mother to have you visit, no sex, but seeing

each other. I think Christmas may loosen up your folks too.”

“You don’t know my folks.”


386

“So how about I visit you, then I can meet your parents.”

“Ah, I don’t know about that.”

“They don’t have to know, if we don’t tell them.”

“I’ll see. When are you leaving?”

“Wednesday. I’ll pack after my last final. Dad’s supposed to pick me up after he

gets off of work.”

“When will that be?”

“Around six.”

Carrie reached out to Kim’s face and touched her cheek. “I’ll try to come. If I

don’t see you, take good care of yourself.”

“You too. We’ll talk.”

#

With one week left until the store’s Grand Opening Micah asked if she could

come to the dojo with me. I smiled inwardly where she couldn’t see. Maybe, just maybe,

she‘d reach out and grab something she wanted.

She sat in one corner and watched us drill punches, kicks, blocks. There was an

atmosphere of happiness in the air that evening. Atwood Sensei announced the holiday

dinner plans at Max and Erma’s restaurant. We’d all pay a set amount for a pre-arranged,

delicious dinner. Food is still the great motivator, as it was back when Goju Ryu was

invented.

After the drills, but before my kata practice I asked Atwood Sensei if she’d heard

from Melody. Atwood looked at me strangely. “You mean you haven’t?”

“No.”


387

“Well, when she’s working a major case she’s sometimes out of touch for days,

once almost a month. I’m sure she’ll get in touch with you when she can.” With that said

the Sensei went to supervise some of the newer students.

I called for Micah to come over where I was practicing. She sat in the corner and

never took her eyes off of me. Which should have been difficult, as I was working on

only one movement tonight. I stepped into it, and stretched my power as big as I could.

Then I let the energy in my body flow around my bloodstream, like Ozzie had, and seek

ground on the matted floor. I held that pose of power for fifty minutes, fifty minutes

when I could count the sweat beads raising on my body, and follow the direction they

fell.

When I finished and was toweling off my head, Micah approached me. “Do you

think? Ah, no. What if I? No, that‘s not what I mean. Can I do this?”

I wanted to kiss her. “Yes, you most certainly can. You can start tomorrow if you

want.”

“What about the, ah, thing you wear?”

“It’s referred to as a gi. We’ll get one for you tomorrow if you’re still interested.”

“Oh, thank you! Oh thank you.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad…”

“I bet no man could hurt you.”

How do you answer that question? “I don’t know, I had my heart broke recently.”

She didn’t reply, and I figured I’d been insensitive towards her condition. “You’ll be safe

too, if you practice and learn.”

#


388

Melody spent her time in the office handling, or delegating, new missing person

cases. Usually abduction cases. It was so depressing that almost all were young women

and girls. In every case, the recovered person faced a life sentence of core fear and

suspicion. She felt for them, but hated the hopelessness attached to each and every one of

them. Then again, Melody hated almost everyone equally.

But there was the Brickman case hanging above her head now, and the boys

upstairs were making noises about giving up, cold casing it. Shit, it was already cold, and

she was trying to heat it up. No luck with the black Ford, no luck with watching the store,

no luck, period. She was about to send David and Steve back up to Michigan to see if he

was in the area of his previous criminal domain. She’d called the fucking pedophile bank

manager once more, but he had nothing to say. She wished she had Brickman’s video of

the bastard, she’d go there and shoot him herself.

Which was the only joy she had in life now. She’d spend a hundred rounds of

discarded brass blowing large holes in paper targets, then clean her gun and reload for the

street. Damn, she wanted to kill something, or someone.

One thing she knew for sure was she couldn’t contact Grace in any way, including

by phone. She had to be an inky spot of blackness if she was going to get the bastard.

Chapter Twenty Eight-

After practice one evening we were relaxing at home, listening to a Kenny G. disc

and feeling the delicious burn of worked muscles. Micah would be going to bed soon in

order to acclimate to her work schedule, but I had something I wanted to talk to her

about. “Micah? Do you believe in ghosts?”


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“Oh, yeah. When things were at their worse I talked to my aunt Jenny, and she’d

give me the strength to keep going. I wanted to kill myself a lot of times, but she said it

wouldn’t be a good thing to do.”

“Did your aunt Jenny help you to escape?”

“She made me invisible.”

“Invisible?”

“Yeah, I walked out while my husband was drinking a beer on the couch.”

“Do you still talk to her?”

“Not so much anymore. She’s says I’m safe now, and once she even said I was

happier.”

“When was that?”

“Last week.”

I couldn‘t let this one go. “Did she say why you were happy?” She looked

confused, and uncertain as to what to say. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

“You.”

“Me? What?”

“You look out for me.”

“Of course I do, you’re my friend.”

“That’s what she meant.”

“Friends?”

“Yes.”

Then I remembered why I’d brought the subject up in the first place. “I’ve been

told the store is haunted. Well, not so much by a ghost as by a poltergeist.”


390

“I don‘t know what that is.”

“A noisy spirit. It’s supposed to rattle stuff around and raise a ruckus. Have you

heard anything like that?”

“No. Is that why everybody left before?”

“Yeah. Anyway, we don’t have anything to worry about. You talk to ghosts, so

maybe you can interpret its message for us.”

“Yeah, okay. Grace?” “Yes?”

“I’m not so frightened anymore.” Yeah, she was coming to life.

#

What’s in a name? Take mine, Grace. You already know what significance it has

for me. Belinda? No, it never seemed to fit. What about Micah? I asked her what it meant

to her, even asked her what her old name was. It was a true test of friendship that she

trusted me with the knowledge.

“My name was Joyce.”

“Did you want to keep it?”

“No. I wanted a different life from what I had.”

“So, why Micah?”

“It means “near to God”, like the angel Michael. I thought it would help to protect

me.”

“Do you feel safer now?”

“I don’t know.”

#

I’d drill her in the living room on the Sanchin, but at a yellow belt level of


391

sophistication. She had the most impressive degree of concentration I’d ever seen. It was

the remnants of her “get-it-right-the-first-time” training, and it was frightening at times

when she visualized her opponent in front of her. I wouldn’t want to be on the other side

of her attack. The meek was inheriting her own.

#

We baked plenty of baker’s dozens for the store opening, and had a fine sample of

each bread I wanted to present. And the fruit scones. Thanks to Micah. She worked hard

every night, and asked for little in return. I raised her salary every two weeks, and she

was still a bargain.

When the doors opened we were mobbed. The combination of wood smoke and

bread baking comforted our customers like their grandparents memories, and a loaf of

bread was a cheap ticket to nostalgia. We sold out in the early afternoon but I kept the

door open for late arrivals. I had a sign up that bulk or special orders had to placed twenty

four hours in advance, and told everyone who came in. Two late customers placed an

order of five, and eight, loaves for tomorrow. Money in advance.

We worked even harder, and I came down to the stove at four am to worked

alongside of Micah. We mixed bigger batches, rotated more loaves into the ovens, and

stacked hot loaves, complete with their warming smell, into wire racks to cool. That day

we had enough bread to last until four pm, the two prepaid orders included.

At one point a short, self-important looking guy came in and bought one loaf of

each variety. The next day in the food section of The Columbus Dispatch there was a

review of our store. I didn’t see it until Atwood Sensei pushed it at me. I read it twice

because I couldn’t tell if the critic liked us, or not.


392

#

“I had the pleasure to sample some breads and old-country pastries from the new

store, ‘the breadbaker’s fire’, on High Street, in the Short North. In today’s world were

you can buy a cup of signature coffee at Starbucks for five dollars, I suppose paying more

than twice the market price for a fresh loaf of bread isn’t so unbelievable. I bought one

loaf of each of their variety, at five dollars each, like Starbucks. They were all

refreshingly delicious, with good tooth, marvelous crusts, and satisfying flavor.

“I’ve always proclaimed a handmade loaf of bread is better than lesser types, and

nowhere is that statement more true. The owner, Grace O’Malley, is no flash in the bread

pan, having worked at Upper Crust for a while, and traveling overseas to bring her

recipes back for us. Also, the other woman working in the kitchen is fastidious and

focused, and probably responsible for the consistency in baking the bread.

“If you like a hand-crafted cup of coffee, then their hand-crafted bread is for you.

And most certainly, try their blackberry scones. ‘the breadbaker’s fire’ is Columbus’s

best to warm up with for a tasty morning.”

#

How the hell did he get so much information about me? How did he know Micah

was so deliberate? I called the paper and asked for him.

“You can’t hide anything in this town. Everything’s public knowledge.”

“How did you…”

“Listen, Grace, if that is your name, you got a positive review from me. What

more do you want?”

“Who’s watching me?”


393

He chuckled into the phone. “Let’s just say it was an inside job.” Click.

#

“Was it you, Micah?”

“No, I never talked to nobody.” I thought her lip may start quivering.

“Don’t be hurt. I believe you. I don’t know who he could’ve talked to. Melody’s

out of touch, Atwood Sensei isn’t ‘an inside job’. Do we know of anybody else?”

“The ghost?”

‘The ghost? We haven’t heard a thing out of it. Still, I can’t think of anybody else.

Hey, think about it, if it‘s true, then the food critic is a ghost writer.”

She didn‘t get it. Damn, it was a good punch line too. “Ghosts are real, Grace.

Maybe it likes us.”

I thought about any ghosts who might like us. Only one came to mind, but I didn’t

believe it for a single second. “The critic really liked you. You sure you haven’t heard

any suspicious noises?”

“Well, not noises. Sometimes something like cobwebs brush against me. Kinda

like when my aunt Jenny protected me.”

“You didn’t say anything to me?”

“I figured you had them too.”

“No, I don’t, but I’ve had more than enough spiritual encounters recently. You

don’t sense any bad stuff?”

“No.”

“You’re not frightened?”

“No, I’d tell you.”


394

“I believe you. Hey, how about on Sunday I take you to a really cool park called

Sharon Woods?”

“Sure, okay. Grace?”

“Yes Micah?”

“Will I pass my kata test?”

“With no problem. You’re very good.”

“Not at that kumite, the fighting part.”

“I know, it seems too much like your past life. You’ll be ready when you’re

ready.”

“Thanks. The park sounds great.”

And the thing about the park was if you dressed warm, it was still cool right

before Christmas.

#

Chapter Twenty Nine-

It was four thirty pm on December 22nd when a neatly trimmed man in a dark suit

approached the front desk of the dorm where Kim lived and flashed an identification card

with badge at the receptionist. She saw the letters FBI, and almost wet herself. Her voice

shook when she asked, “How can I help you?”

“Do you know if Kim Waters is still here?”

She looked like she hadn’t heard him. “Miss? Is Kim Waters still here?”

“Oh. Ah, I’ll call her room.” She did, and Kim answered. “Ah, there’s a guy from

the FBI down here. He’s asking about you. What’s that?” She listened a second. “Kim

wants to know why you’re here.”


395

“Tell her it’s about Belinda.”

She repeated his answer, and hung up. “She’ll be right down.”

The federal agent backed away from the desk and waited without moving a

muscle, like he was most at ease that way.

Kim entered the reception area and saw a dark haired and mustached man in a

black suit and white shirt. She didn’t have to ask who was waiting for her. “What about

Belinda?”

“You’ve had feelings she wasn’t dead, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Where is she?”

“She entered the FBI’s Secure Protection Program after the fire, and was moved

to a safe place in Ohio.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry to tell you, she’s been in an accident, and she isn’t expected to survive.

She asked only one thing, to see you again before she dies. I wouldn’t be here if the

Bureau didn’t think this wasn’t important. We’d like for you to come with me, to see her.

She’s been very brave, and this isn’t the way we wanted to see her go.”

“But my father…he’s coming to pick me up soon.”

“Can you leave him a note explaining things? The longer we wait, the less

chance…”

“I’ll write one right now.” She asked the receptionist for paper, pen, and an

envelope. The explanation was written within a minute. “Is there anything else I should

do?”

“No, we’ve got it covered. If you’ll just come with me.” He led her to an official


396

looking black Ford and opened the back door for her. She scooted inside.

#

“This is pure bullshit!” her father raged. “The FBI! Belinda dying! Pure bullshit!”

He was rightfully pissed because he’d driven fifty miles to pick up his daughter, and she

wasn’t waiting for him like she should. “Just wait ‘til I get home, I’ll FBI this shit!”

He called the Detroit branch when he got home, and they denied any involvement.

He raged and raged at the agent on the other side of the phone, until the man said he

would call other offices and, “Get to the bottom of the matter.” Kim’s father stewed, but

at least he got some action going.

#

The call came in while Melody was doing her own stewing. She was deliberating

packing this case away like the big boys wanted her to. It hurt deep in her gut to even try

to make a decision, and she knew it would hurt more if she gave up.

She listened for a minute, said, “Hold it! Hold on a moment!” Through her open

door she yelled, “David, pick up this line! You’ve got to hear this.” Then back to the

phone, “Okay, start over at the beginning.”

#

“He called the front desk at her dorm, where the girl said this guy showed

identification, talked to Kim. Kim wrote a note to her father, and then left with the agent.

This can only be Brickman.”

“So what’s he doing with the girl?”

“Leverage. He wants Grace’s money before he kills her. What’s one more dead

girl? How did he think he was going to get away with this?”


397

Melody laughed. “God bless decent parents who care about their kids. If her

father hadn’t call Detroit we wouldn’t know anything about this.”

“How and when, Melody?”

“He’s going to the bakery, tomorrow, when the bank’s open. How? No cars, no

suits. Get Steve in here.”

It took a couple of minutes, but he arrived. “What’s up boss?”

“Do you still play saxophone?”

“Of course, it’s the one love I can count on.”

“Do you own any nasty clothes?”

“Nasty? You mean like a gold lame g-string? No.”

“I need a street person. The dirtier and smellier the better. I want you stand in

front of the bakery with your case out for donations and play your heart out.”

“Cool, I’ve always wanted to explore the more desperate side of music.”

“You know I’m not asking this because you’re black, don’t you?”

“What? I’m black? Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“So you’re good with this?”

“I’ll be there. Wired for sound, I presume.”

“Whatever’s going to happen will happen fast, outside the back door. I’m

guessing if you have the wind to play your ax you have wind to sprint.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it. What time?”

“Be there at eight.”

“Thanks, Melody, after all this time I can almost taste this.”

“David?”


398

“Yes?”

“Look, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really, really mean it.”

“So ask.”

“There’s a dumpster behind the bakery.”

“Why didn’t I see this coming?”

“Because you’re too pure of heart.”

“I’m guessing I go in tonight?”

“Dress warm, I don’t want you getting frostbite.”

#

Around Toledo Kim asked, “Ah, Agent ? What’s your name?“

“Agent Remington.”

“So, Agent Remington, what kind of accident was she in?”

“Pardon me?”

“You said Belinda was in an accident. What kind of accident?”

“Well, I had to pretty it up for you. Actually, she was assaulted.”

“Assaulted? What’s that mean?”

“You remember Deputy Jim Brickman?”

“Never met him. What’s he got…? Oh.”

“Yes, he surfaced in Columbus where she’d been moved to. He used a knife.”

“Oh my God! I never thought he’d show up again.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long wait.”

“You said she was going to die.”

“I said; expected. It all depends on what she does.”


399

“So there’s still hope?”

“There always hope, Kim.”

#

Then around Upper Sandusky on US 23 Kim asked if he could pull into a rest stop

because she had to pee. “Let me get out first, I have to watch to see if we’re being

followed. I’ll open your door if it’s clear.” Kim nodded, and squeezed her thighs tighter

together. She was beginning to leak when Remington opened her door. “I’ll wait for you

here.”

She ran to the small building and barely made it into the stall. When she was

finished she had to fold toilet paper in her panties to soak up what she hadn’t been able to

hold while waiting for the overly cautious agent. Did he make her stay in the backseat

until she was wet? Did he try to humiliate her that way? She’d ask him back at the car.

She never had a chance to. He wrapped his strong arms around her and put a cloth

over her nose and mouth. She suddenly felt sea-sick, then plunged headfirst into the

unconscious ocean. When she woke up she was taped together at her ankles and wrists,

had a restraining rope joining her arms and legs together, and a dull gray piece of duct

tape across her mouth.

#

Micah worked on her kata, then I showed her why mine was the same, but

different. She didn’t see the larger, spiritual side of it, but she tried to imitate my moves.

She couldn’t, they weren’t her. We double checked the calendar and the date circled in

red, and the competition was still December 28th.

She was turning into a happy little person, enthusiastic at work, more enthusiastic


400

at the dojo. I felt an inordinate pride for helping her like Melody had helped me. I knew

all the positive energy in my life was making me a better person, even if I still carried

that approval quandary from my childhood.

We went home and fixed a salad to go with our fresh Ciabatta. We didn’t talk

much while we ate . I told her I’d do the dishes, and smiling, she went to bed. I played

Johnny Mercer quietly as I washed up, then I took a shower and went to bed feeling

stronger and safer then ever.

#

I had just unlocked the front door that morning when I heard a street musician

playing his saxophone in front of the store, a mournful rendition of “My Favorite

Things”. I thought it a little early in the day for the blues, especially in front of my store. I

thought he looked familiar, but as I’ve discovered, all street people look like somebody

we’ve forgotten. I threw two dollars into his open case, thinking of the musical Merrill,

and Ozzie, Kim, Melody, and Micah as the “favorite things” in my life. The things,

places, and people that kept me moving, searching for more in my life. That was music.

#

I hadn’t gone by my birth name for over a year on that I was busy stacking fresh

raspberry scones in their wire racks when I heard a familiar, and frightening voice behind

me call across the counter. “Hey there, Belinda.” Despite the heat radiating from the

pastries, I froze.

“Brick.”

“Yeah, long time no see.”

“Not long enough. What brings you here?”


401

He looked entirely different with black hair and moustache. “Turn around so I can

see your hands. I don‘t want to see anybody get burnt.” I did, and he was pointing an

automatic pistol at my belly. “Went and got yourself knocked up, did you? I thought you

only liked pussy.”

“I made an exception in this case. What do you want?”

“Your little exhibition in my house cost me a lot. Almost everything, and I want a

piece of it back. I want what you have in your bank.” I laughed. “I’m glad you think this

is amusing.”

“You’re standing inside of what I had left in the bank.”

“Not true, and don’t ever lie to me again. I know what’s in your accounts. Now,

you and I will go together and you’ll close those accounts.”

He hoisted the gun up in a “move it” gesture. I shook my head. “Look, ass swipe,

you can’t shoot me or you’ll get nothing for your effort, so put that toy away.”

Then he laughed, and it was a wicked, vile sound. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’ve

got something in my car will change your mind.” He waved the weapon towards the back

door. “Go on, go out.”

I opened the door and immediately saw Kim with duct tape across her mouth.

Since she couldn’t move I assumed her feet and hands were in the same condition. “Well,

you certainly have my attention now.” I called up fire in both my hands, but he put the

gun to Kim’s head.

“Don’t even try.”

“Okay, you’re right, I’ll go with you. Let me get the checkbook from the desk.”

He positively zipped by my side. “I mean it, Belinda, try anything and your lover


402

dies. Understand?”

“Perfectly, Brick. I always understood you, to my shame.” I pulled the checkbook

out of its drawer and stood up. “I assume you know where I bank?”

“Like always, I’m one step ahead of you.” He led me out the backdoor, and the

dumpster sprang open at the same time as Melody rose up behind the black Ford.

“FBI! Drop your weapon and show your hands!”

Brink squeezed me back into the store with his gun at my head. “Hey!” I said,

“Don’t squeeze so hard, I’m pregnant here!” My outburst had added to his confusion, and

he pushed me towards the front door.

To see the sax playing street person holding a weapon on him. Brick was getting a

little too confused for my comfort. “If you shoot, you’ll probably hit me. Is that what you

want?” I hoped it wasn’t.

Brick yanked me to the back door, but stayed inside of it. “This is your pretty

little bitch. You want me to shoot her? Or do you want to let me walk away? Your

choice.”

Melody smiled, a serpent about to strike with enough venom to kill ten

Brickman’s. “Put the gun down and you may walk, but not away. I’m getting very tired

of holding back, so make the decision soon.”

He jammed his gun into my temple even tighter, and clicked off the safety. “I

don’t…”

There was a bang like a baseball bat against a watermelon, and at the same time

the gun exploded beside my face. I felt a hot streak brush my cheek. Brick dropped to the

floor like a brick. All of us looked at him, wondering how he got there. I saw Micah


403

holding the hefty aluminum bowl from the mixer. She was making sure he was down,

because she wanted to smash him again if he wasn‘t.

Steve made to Brick first and laid his fingers against the fallen man’s neck. He

looked up, and shook his head at Melody. “Want me to call a bus?”

David was out of the dumpster, standing next to Melody, when he said, “No, not

yet. We’ll give him time to get up under his own power.” The three of them laughed.

“Kim!” I yelled, and got to her door. David removed the tape from her mouth.

“Belinda!” He was trying to cut the restraints from her wrists, but she wouldn’t hold still.

“Miss? If you keep this up you won’t get free, much less see your friend. So hold

still!” He finally got her free and she flew into my arms.

Old memories ripped through my flesh, and strangled my heart.

#

Micah watched me and Kim kiss and embrace. She’d done what she’d been told

to do, and now I was ignoring her. She went inside to clean up whatever mess she’d find.

Kim couldn’t let go, and I didn’t want her to. It was only when Melody cleared

her throat that I looked away from Kim’s beautiful face. “We got some paperwork to fill

out, and Kim? Call your parents.” Melody handed her the phone. She motioned with her

head, and I followed. “Seems to me we have a hero around here somewhere, and she

hasn’t been thanked. Grace? She just killed a man for you.”

How could I answer? I went inside the store and found her sweeping underneath

the stainless oven. “Hey.”

She looked up. “Yeah?”

“Would you please stop doing that and let me give you a hug? I owe my life, and


404

probably Kim’s, to you.” She came into my embrace full of angry tears and guilt. I held

her, and held her, and held her until she pulled her face away from my chest. “I’ve got an

old friend I’d like you to meet.” She wiped her nose with the back of one hand. “Okay.”

Outside lay Brick’s body, and she walked around it like it was dog shit on the

ground. She was definitely a fast study. She looked up at Kim’s face, and managed a

weak smile. “Micah, this is Kim, an old friend. Kim, meet Micah. She saved both of our

lives.”

Kim swallowed her up in her arms and squeezed tight. “Thank you.” Micah

nodded in Kim’s neck.

I asked, “Did you get a hold of your folks?”

“Yeah, they’re relieved. Not as much as I am, of course.”

David finally called a bus to pick up Brick, and waited to ride along. Melody put

an arm around him. “You did great. I’m going to recommend you for an accommodation,

or a raise up to Special Agent.” He smiled. “One thing though.”

“Yes?”

“You might want to take a shower.” He managed to laugh, though not happily.

“Grace?” she called, “I need some coffee. How about the three of you?”

She was leaving us alone to sort things out. “Sure.” We went inside. A customer

started banging on the door, then left, so I flipped the “closed” sign over.

“God, Belinda, look at this! This is amazing! And look at you. Pregnant. You’ve

been very busy since I last saw you.”

“You have no idea. How about you?”

“I’ve been great. School’s okay now I’ve met Carrie.” She started. “Oh, I’m sorry,


405

that was thoughtless.”

“Not at all, I expected you’d meet somebody who fit well with you.”

“And you?” She made a head nod at Micah. I shook my head. “No, I’m not

involved, and doubt I’d have time to be.”

“The baby’s father?”

I did laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “A story to tell you later, now we’re

able to talk again. Oh, one thing, my name’s Grace now. Grace O’Malley.”

“That’s a nice name.” Nice? Not so much.

#

Melody returned and we drank coffee while co-coordinating all the facts of the

case at hand. Micah remained silent, and hung close to me. I didn’t mind at all. Finally

she spoke, “What do we do with all this bread?”

“Send it to the FBI to thank them, it’s the least we can do.”

#

It was later, after Melody spoke to news reporters, and we declined to make an

appearance for their stupid questions, when the solstice moon shone white through our

windows I took a shower and tried to scrub Brickman’s hands off me. We were sitting in

the living room, and Micah had almost lost the panic from her face. I spoke quietly, just

between the two us. “I didn’t see you in the store, Micah. Where were you?”

“Hiding behind the brick oven. I was scared.”

“Not too scared.”

“I did what he told me to do.”

What? “Who told you what?”


406

“You know, the ghost. He told me to hit that man on the head, so I did.”

“The ghost told you that.”

“Yes, he was more frightened for you than I was.”

“Well, you followed his instruction well enough. Did he say anything else?”

“Ah, sort of.”

“Sort of, what?”

“He said you were warrior enough to take over from here.”

No! I refused to believe it. “Did he give you a name? This is important.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t understand it. ‘Oisin’. Do you know what that means?”

I started to cry. Why hadn’t he talked to me? Why Micah? This was his daughter

too. “Yes, I know what it means.” I wiped away silly Irish tears, salty and grainy as basalt

columns. “Did he say anything else? Is he still around?”

“No, he was leaving. Just that thing about you being warrior enough now. Did he

mean your kata?”

I wanted to choke on the memory of sea stones in my mouth, but Micah was

beginning to look scared. “Yeah, he meant my kata. Say, are you coming to the dojo with

me tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I got much more to learn, thanks to you.”

How do you tell somebody so innocent that you wouldn’t be here except for

them? I really didn’t know yet, but I wanted a lifetime to try.

#

Chapter Thirty-

Micah performed her Sanchin kata like a Bach cello suite, precise and beautiful in


407

progression. She received her yellow belt shedding tears of gratitude for the judges, and

for me. I couldn’t have been prouder.

As for me, I asked for special circumstances and got a separate room to perform

in. I’d invited Melody, who would have come anyway, Kim, and Carrie. Not Micah. She

was definitely not ready for this.

At the judge’s nod I assumed the opening position, took a deep breath, then burst

into flames. Not flames that would burn anything, but the flame inside my daughter and I.

Each step I took was a triumph over darkness, a torch to rid the kata of shadows. I stood

on the earth and reached for the spinning constellations. The crackle of the blaze matched

my crisp movements, a sound from our prehistoric beginnings. If mankind was the fire

user, I was the fire that mankind used to better itself. I stepped into the last position and

the fire went out.

Nobody said anything, not Melody, or Kim, and the judges just stared at me. The

little hunched judge who had spoke with me before got up and walked around the table to

face me. I bowed, low and long. When I came back up he was still bowing like he might

to a holy shrine. Then he peered into my eyes, maybe to seek the dampened fires behind

them. “When we last spoke I said we didn’t know how you’d turn out. It is my pleasure

to see you again.” he bowed again. “Is your child…?”

“Yes.”

“Good, there aren’t enough of you in the world. You honor me with your

presence, magnificent one. Deeply honor me. Now, what do we do about you? It’s

obvious you study very hard, and I saw your influence in one of the yellow belts earlier.

So, tell me, will you continue your studies after the child is born?” I nodded. “Good. So,


408

where do we go now? I think the next time you face us we will see much more joy in

you, since happiness is not excluded from the Way, is it?” I smiled, like Ozzie would,

with mischief on my lips. He handed me my brown belt with a deep bow, like he had my

green one, and said, “Go, child, live life well, and come back to us.” He bowed again, and

the whole, somewhat frightened panel followed his lead. I was released to build bridges

where I saw fit.

#

Kim and her friend were shocked and amazed at my exhibition and wanted to talk

about it over and over. “No, don’t, that’s the reason I asked for special circumstances, so

it would be our secret.” Melody held me, and for the first time since I’d known her, cried.

Our relationship had just grown in leaps of confidences. I could see Micah wondered

what all the secrecy was about, but didn’t ask. She held her new yellow belt up for me to

see with such a shine on I thought maybe she was the one on fire.

Everything was right in the world, and God was in her heaven.

#

Chapter Thirty One-

Then there came the day when everything changed.

I paid Micah and took her to the bank, and she kept out half of her check. I

wondered at the time, but I wasn’t her boss, not even in the bakery. She’d grown all

through the winter, and now that May was upon us we talked like equals, and she felt safe

disclosing who she was with me. Days would go by with the ease of laughter, a joke on

those who had kept her down. I absolutely loved her, and Melody felt the same. We were

honored to experience her bloom.


409

We get back to the bakery and I go upstairs to lay me, and Fionna, down for a

nap. Micah disappears.

I sorta woke up when I heard the backdoor buzzer go off, but Fionna wasn’t

finished with her nap yet. I closed my eyes, and woke again at about six thirty. Looking

for Micah, I went down to the store, but I heard her before I saw her. She was sobbing in

her hiding place under the oven, hands covering her head.

“Micah?” No reply. “Micah? It’s Grace. What’s wrong?” Nothing. “Please, please

come out of there.” She finally looked at me, but I doubted she could see me with one

swollen eye, and the other still blackened. “Oh my God! What happened?”

I got a damp towel and cleaned her face. One cheek was bruised and scratched. I

looked at her mouth and saw swollen lips cracked wide open.

I don’t know exactly why I did, it really wasn’t her jurisdiction, but I called

Melody. “What’s up?” she answered.

“Micah’s been beat up, and probably robbed. I think she may have to go to the

hospital. Can you come over?”

“I’m on the way,” she said with iron in her voice.

Micah, baby, can you tell me what happened? Were you raped?”

I saw a spark of hatred in her beat up eyes. “No.”

“No, you can’t tell me? Or no, you weren’t raped?”

To hear her voice made my mouth hurt too. “I wasn’t raped. They took my

money. Grace! They took my necklace too.”

“Who’s they?”

“Three boys.”


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“What did they look like?”

“Two white, one black.”

“Can you remember what they were wearing?”

“Hooded sweatshirts, jeans.”

“Would you recognize them if you had to?”

She started crying, wiped her sniffles away, and nodded.

The back door slammed open, and there stood Melody with a poisonous black

aura. She held Micah’s face in her fingers. “Did they hit you anywhere else besides your

face?” Micah lifted her shirt. Having sparred as much as we had I could tell she had a

couple of bruised, and maybe broken ribs.

“Get her to OSU Hospital right away.“ She was pointing at me.

“No, I’m going to find the boys who did this.”

“No you’re not, Grace, that’s my territory. You take care of her.”

“Melody!”

“Shut the fuck up and do as I say for once. What did they look like?”

“Three boys, hooded sweatshirts, one black, two white.”

“Did they take anything besides her money?”

“My necklace. They took my necklace.”

Melody touched Micah’s forehead. “The topaz one?” Micah nodded, then began

to cry. “Listen, Micah, you’re going to be fine. Now go to the hospital with Grace and get

yourself patched up. Trust me, I’ll get your necklace back.

Melody looked to me and I couldn’t raise my eyes. There was a creature in front

of me disguised as my best friend, and it was scaring me to death. “Get moving Grace.”


411

I helped Micah to my car and we began the short trip to the hospital. God only

knows what Melody was doing.

#

Some love storms, the lighting and thunder, the swift changes and violence

without ambivalence. Some people are born in the space of one storm, a few take its

aspect, maybe its blackness. Melody was that storm, and could wield the force of its

deadly strikes. She was driving slowly up and down all the streets in the area, looking for

three crude thugs, and her hands vibrated with hatred. Barely able to drive her car

because it was too small inside to fit her foul mood, she parked it and started walking.

#

She was admitted overnight for observation, her ribs wrapped and her face

cleaned and stitched in one place above her eye. I wanted to join Melody, not sit at her

bedside. “You’re okay with this?” I asked her.

“Yeah, go on, I know you want to. I’ll be okay now. Find my necklace.”

I kissed her on a place where she didn’t have any injury. It was a small area. I had

to ask her, but I didn’t want to pry into her life too much. The ask side of the mental

debate won. “Ah, where were you going?”

She looked at me in disbelief. “It’s your birthday. I was going to buy you a

present, and maybe some flowers.” Good Christ.

“Thank you Micah, that was very thoughtful. We’ll have a party when this is

done.” I had to leave the room. I had to find those boys.

#

Melody walked past every shop, and every bar and restaurant. Her anger building


412

in every step.

#

I saw Melody’s car parked so I pulled into a lot connected to a bar and grill. Let

them try towing me. I got out, not an easy feat since I was getting as big as a house in my

belly. I walked like a duck along the sidewalks, then cut away from High Street and tried

the next alley that faced dumpsters and little else.

#

She saw them through the window of the lone pawnshop in the area. Three boys,

two white, one black, in hooded sweatshirts. They were at the counter and she saw a flash

of gold and topaz. She calmed herself of all thought, and waited for them to emerge.

#

I saw Melody standing in front of a pawn shop, wearing her signature outfit, tight

black jeans, brilliant red silk blouse with no bra on, and black ankle boots. Her black

leather jacket was tight-waisted, so I could she her weapon in the holster over her right

buttock. Then I saw three boys matching Micah’s description come out of the shop. They

did a physical “Whoa!” when they saw her. I tried to cross the street without getting

killed. Not easy. I finally played up the whole woman with a baby thing until a decent

soul let me cross. I looked at the shop and she, and the boys were gone. I asked myself,

“Could she really be THAT angry?” I decided yes, and made for the alley.

#

“Hey boys,” she said, “Want a date?”

They had fresh money in their pockets, liked the way this babe looked, and

intrigued that she should pick them out. They felt special. Very special. “What you got in


413

mind?”

“I don’t know, how ’bout I blow all of you for ten bucks a pop? Or a tag team

sandwich? What you got in mind?”

The three of them thought about the money in the leader’s pocket, and spoke with

quiet voices. “Man, ten bucks each? I say hell yeah.”

“No, hold it! Wouldn’t you like to see what’s under those clothes? C’mon, admit

it.”

“She looks pretty fuckin’ hot. I say we go for the gold.”

The alpha dumb shit said, “No man, we already got the gold, let’s go for the

pussy.”

“C’mon boys,” Melody interjected, “I’m getting cold out here waiting on you.”

She unbuttoned her blouse.

“Shit yes, man. We’re all over it.”

“My car’s out back here. Or do you want to do it in a gravel parking lot? Fuck up

your knees plenty that way.”

#

I saw Melody talking to them, then they talked amongst themselves. I thought I

saw her unbuttoning her shirt, so I waddled as fast as I could to meet up with her, but she,

and the boys, disappeared around the building. I picked up speed, wishing I had a duck’s

wings to fly.

#

The alley behind the pawn shop ended in a dumpster, and Melody knew it. If they

tried to leave they’d have to get past her, and she also knew that wasn’t going to happen.


414

When the kids caught up with her she pulled aside one half of her shirt. The boys started

shucking and jiving. “Okay, who’s first?” They looked at each other, ignorant, unable to

decide.

Finally the alpha piece of shit stepped forward. “Do me first, bitch.” he started

unzipping his pants.

#

I walked around the corner and saw them, Melody with her deadly breasts

showing. “Melody!”

#

She pulled her service weapon and pointed it at the three boys. “Move and you’re

dead.”

“Melody!”

She didn’t turn at my call. “Get out of here now, Grace! Get lost!” I came up

beside her. “I mean it! Get out of here! You don’t want to see what happens next.”

All three boys turned pasty white, even the black one. I whispered, “I want

them.”

“You can’t have them, they’re mine.”

Alpha fuck head said, “Shieeet, what’s you talking about? I ain’t nobody’s.”

“Shut the fuck up! Nobody asked to hear your stupidity.” The rage in her voice

was becoming uncontrolled.

“The necklace, do they have it?”

“They pawned it.” Under her breath she whispered, “I’m serious, get out of here.

Go to the pawn shop and get her necklace. That’s the best thing for you to do.”


415

“Let me have the one who stole it. Let me have just that one.”

The leader of the pack of dumb-asses started laughing. “You? You big as a

fuckin’ house. What you going to do?” He turned to his companions. “Fuck! We got two

women trying to hold us down, and the fat one wants me! This is seriously whacked.”

He pushed the wrong button without knowing it. “Last warning, Grace. If you

stay you might get hurt.” I stood my ground. “Alright then, don’t blame me.” She put her

weapon back in its holster.

“Shit, bitch, if you done jerking us around we’ll say adios.”

#

There wasn’t much to see, if you could have seen through the blackened air. Only

one boy made a sound, and it was a weak whimper. My beautiful friend and lover was no

more, or less, than a finally honed killing machine too fast to see, too impossible to stop.

Then she came at me. Fionna knew it first, and jolted me into action. I wouldn’t

use my deadly fires on my sensei, but I would use the heat of illumination.

She had her hand on my throat too fast to dance away from, so I turned

incandescent white. I saw the black sphere around her melt away, I saw her deep green

eyes close. Her silk blouse melted, leaving burn tracks behind, and then she fell to the

ground.

“Grace?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. You?”

“I have one hell of a sunburn, and I smell scorched hair. Is it mine?”


416

“Yes. Can you see?”

“It’s coming back to me. What did you do?”

“I stopped you.”

“Was I trying to kill you?”

“Yeah.”

“I warned you.”

“Yeah, you did. What did you do to those boys? I don’t see them…”

“They‘re gone.”

“But where…”

“Leave it. I told you I wasn’t a nice person.”

“Can you get up? I want to get her necklace”

“Help me up, I think I can stand on my own.”

I pulled her jacket together and zipped it up. “You’re not going to like what you

see tomorrow.”

“What’s that?”

“Can you say lobster?”

“You had to do that to me?”

“Yeah.” I opened the pawnshop door and a bell rang.

A voice came from the back of the store. “I’m closing up. Come back tomorrow!”

I slipped behind the jewelry case, and spotted Micah’s jewel. They hadn’t pawned

it, they’d sold it for a few bucks. It made me want to kill them all over again. The case

was locked. “Hey, get your ass up here before I come looking for you!” I heard

grumbling approach.


417

“What are you doing behind the counter!? Get outa there now!”

I pointed down at the topaz. “I want to see that one.”

The thought of instant money made him smile. “Ah, yes, a very good choice. I’ve

had this piece appraised…”

Melody’s patience level had dropped to nil. “You just stole it from three stupid

boys for next to nothing. The problem is, it was a stolen piece when you purchased it.”

“Yeah!? And who are you…”

She pulled out her FBI identification. “Special Agent Echo. Any questions?”

“Are you going to shut me down?”

“Not if you return the necklace to us now, I won’t. Refuse, and who knows how

fast the Columbus police can get here.”

You could see the pain on the man’s face as he handled over the gold chain.

Melody smiled pure venom. “Thanks, you made the right choice. Have a nice day.”

When we left the shop I asked, “You can’t see, can you?”

“Not very well. I’m afraid you’ll have to drive.”

“Afraid? Why?”

“That’s just it, your driving.”

“What? Because I don’t fly around at warp speed?”

“In a Honda? Yeah, right.”

#

Everything changed on that day.

Survival mode woke up Fionna. She was her mother’s daughter after all. Anyway,

we began communicating on the simplest of levels, and I was often amazed what the little


418

alien already knew. It was the softest of discussions, and reassuring for both of us.

Melody and I, once so very close, tended to shy away from each other. She was

black, I was white, and together we were an uncomfortable indistinct gray. Oh, she

praised my power and performance as much as before, but was on edge and wary around

me. Much like Kim and I, we loved each other very much, but couldn’t be together. No

bridges either place.

I wish you have seen Micah’s face when we went to collect her from the hospital

in the morning. Even without the gem I hid in my hand she glowed.

“You look good, Micah. How do you feel?”

“I’m very happy.”

Okay, so we’re going to do that verbal puzzle thing again. “Why are you happy?”

“I had a dream last night.”

“About you.”

“Meaning me, or Melody?”

“You, Grace. You brandished a flaming sword to drive the dark away.”

I looked at Melody, and she looked at me. I shrugged. “You ready to go home?”

“Yeah.”

I’d forgotten. “Oh, here is something for you.” Her eyes grew too round with

surprise to believe. “You can thank Melody for that. She’s the one who found it.”

She looked up at Melody with an expression of awe. “Thank you.”

We packed her up and returned us to the bakery. We’d already lost one crucial

day of sales. Oh, my goodness, I was thinking like a business person.

#


419

Everything changed that day.

Micah was happier every day, the work grew easier into a pace and rythymn the

two of us liked.

I sometimes told Micah stories from Ireland, and she loved them. We smiled, and

made a pact to go there together in the future. My father’s voice would wrap around my

ears like wet wool and peat smoke, but all he wanted was to talk to his granddaughter.

Did I feel left out, excluded? Yeah, sometimes. I was glad, however, he explained to her

who her father was. I didn’t think I could do it without laughing.

Kim and I talked regularly, at least once a week. We got to know a whole new

version of each other, and I invited her for Fionna’s birth.

So, was all right with the world and God was in her heaven?

#

No, I will never be able to look at life that simplistically again. Melody and I both

killed men without retribution. And she thinks she’s the evil one. Micah is the only

person I know who is innocent, free from the stain and taint of a human life seeking

power. I myself kept right on staining my life at the dojo, learning more deadly art. Oh,

nothing at all like I used to. No kumite. I know I used it as a church, a place to atone and

seek forgiveness for my lust, both physical and spiritually. It was the only place left

where I could watch Melody, my dark goddess, hiding love’s hot tears over our

separation. I spoke in ashes instead.

Sure, and then when I get things sorted out to suit me, up comes a new

complication. Before Fionna was born Micah climbed into bed with me and ran her hands

over my swollen abdomen, then kissed me with a heat of her own. I had been suffering


420

the pregnant woman’s dilemma of raging hormones, and raging horniness too. Was I

going to reject the love I’d wanted from my sister, my sibling of the oven’s fire? No, I

was thankful as hell. Micah loved my daughter almost as much as I did. Sometimes more,

like when the little angel filled her diaper. Micah would hoist her up and change her

without asking. It was the little things that mattered to her.

It really was the little things. After Fionna was born I had a little time to read

Ozzie’s book, and scribble a little more into my essay notebooks. But in the morning it

was time to get up and work in the fragrant bakery.

The bread shop was a success, we even made a profit the very first year. Micah

was so at home that she waited on customers and smiled when she made change. Her

own time at the dojo gave her that confidence. My plan was to give the bakery to her, so

she could employ another damaged soul to watch and learn too. I wanted her to be as

happy as much as she did, and I knew firsthand how ownership of the hands could heal.

I was going to open a cake bakery, right down High Street, in an old tavern. I’d

never forgotten the exquisite Mozart’s Café, or the beautiful pastries. I’d never be a

competitor to them, but any beauty you can commit upon this tired world is a blessing.

How soon was I planning to do all of this scary business stuff? That was kinda up to

Fionna. She attached herself to Micah, and followed her around as much as she did me.

She was her mother’s daughter, only wiser.

# # #

scones and ash

Economy & Finance

possible names

robert mccool

girls names

copious tears

motherschoice of names

meaningful death

kind of thing mattered

stackingfresh raspberry