Chasing Shade. Sommer Marsden
and the warmth of her curve against his body and her laugh…God, her laugh. He fell asleep with the comforter pulled loosely over him and the late show’s laugh track sounding in his ears.
She could feel him coming but her legs wouldn’t move. The ancient Buick – faded black with scabby sections of paint peeling away – rolled towards her. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear it. Could feel it. She knew it was there and she knew it was transporting Denton Jackson Miller. A former mailman with a penchant for abducting and keeping young girls. The first three had been abducted along his route. It had brought him down, eventually – that connection.
She was to be the last. And here he came. His gasoline-powered beast huffing expectant breath behind her as she stood there, on her way to school, as always. She was frozen. Frozen in the headlights. It was an overcast November day. Cold and bitter and the wind blew right up her school skirt, bit through her knee socks, tossed her ponytails.
She tried to run. Betsey had been here before. Over and over again and she knew the sensation of her legs being nestled in wet, sticky molasses. Wanting to move – needing to move – and yet unable to.
‘Run,’ she said to herself and shivered. The car crept closer.
Here came his voice, a sickening, almost-pleading query. ‘Need a ride?’
She said no. ‘No.’ She always did. She had. And yet he continued to follow along in his car.
She was at the end of the road. No one was coming. He blocked her with his car. She could run off into the underbrush at the edge of the nearby park at the end of this cul de sac. She could. Why didn’t she? Because fear had locked her. Fear had buckled her down, muffled her instinct and clouded her judgment.
He got out of the car. Coming towards her. This is where she acted. This is where she ran. Made noise and ended this thing. But he reached for her with his short grubby fingers. Reached for her and took her wrists in his hand, his grip tight and unyielding. This time he had her. This time she wouldn’t get away. He was coming…
‘Jesus Christ, Betsey, wake up!’
She opened her eyes to find Archie over her. His blue eyes wide and wild and scared. ‘Archie?’
She was on her sofa, covered up, and for a second confusion overwhelmed her. ‘Did I fall asleep while you were showering?’ She was wrapped in his jacket so it couldn’t have been that long.
‘Hours and hours ago. I left you…I just came back because I heard you.’
She pushed the jacket away and sat up. Her head swam for a moment. ‘From your trailer?’
He dropped down next to her, putting his hand over his heart. He was pale. She’d scared him. It was then that Betsey realised her heart was pounding. ‘Jesus Christ, yes, from my trailer,’ he said, his breath short. ‘You scared the shit out of me. I thought someone was killing you.’
She shivered when he said that. Sobbed but then got herself under control. His expression one of concern, he reached for her but she waved him off. ‘Don’t. Please. Not yet.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a moment of silence. Her heart was slowing to normal. Her fingers and her face weren’t so cold. Still, she stood and pushed the thermostat up a notch.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Archie said. She realised he was in a giant sweatshirt and jeans. No shoes. No socks. No jacket. ‘Just tell me what happ–’ He stopped himself. She watched him reconsider and had the urge to kiss him just for the effort. He could read her. Knew he was treading sacred ground. ‘Just tell me what I can do for you.’
‘Nothing,’ she said. It was a lie. A small one, but a lie.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. Her eyes darted to the letter there on the small table by the front door where she kept the bowl for her keys and her umbrella and outgoing/incoming mail.
He followed her gaze but remained silent. Finally, he stood and rubbed his hands together, blowing on them. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I am.’
‘If you change your mind…’ He chuckled. ‘Just yell.’ He kissed her on the forehead and she fought the urge to melt into that contact with him. It would be unfair to Archie to bring him into this mess. After what he’d been through. He’d had enough shit.
‘I will.’ She hugged him very fast as if she might burn him if she held on too long.
When the door swung shut behind him, the sobs came out. Big wracking sobs that bunched her stomach muscles painfully and twisted her body so she bent double. She stuffed the heel of her hand against her mouth but they still came. Exhausting her. Twisting her up inside. Huge sobs that didn’t even come with tears. Her eyes were nearly dry. It was the fear and the anger and the memories that she’d stuffed down down down all rushing out at once.
The door popped open and she almost screamed. Archie’s face was there. Worried, pale, tired. ‘OK, see, I can hear that –’ he began.
Betsey’s sobs turned to laughter. Almost maniacal laughter. Crazy-person laughter.
Archie stepped inside, moving slowly as if he might spook her. As if he could! ‘See, you might think these things are insulated from sounds but, Betsey, gotta tell you, honey, not so much.’
Here came the tears, finally. Sneaking in at the end of the emotional upheaval. Then more sobs. He moved towards her slowly but deliberately. He sat beside her, his thigh pressed up against hers, but not touching her in any other way. Until she bowed her body towards his. Until she made that move. Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her.
She caved. Gave in to that welcome warmth of another person holding her. Caring what was going on. It was a heady feeling. More addictive and attractive than any drug.
‘What is it, Betsey? What can I do for you?’
She settled. Everything in her growing still, like the moment when a violent storm blows out and what was just chaos and darkness is silence and light.
‘Really?’ she asked.
‘Really. Anything,’ he said. His arm curled around her shoulder. He held her close.
‘Will you…go to bed with me? Hold me?’
It took an enormous amount of courage to ask him that. More than it had to read that damn letter from the state. More than it had to come to Turner’s Corner and start a life. More than anything in a very long time. Oh, she’d fallen into bed with two men since she’d moved here. But it had been temporary and just for fun, for release. She had never asked one to share her bed – or her emotional upheaval.
He didn’t answer her. Just stood, locked the door and held out his hand. ‘Let’s go. You look exhausted.’
Betsey took his hand.
She woke up hot. It was so hot and Betsey couldn’t figure out why. Until she remembered being so terribly cold and turning up the heat. Then there was the extra body heat of a large man next to her. Curled up against her. One hand flung possessively across her belly. She let herself lie there and feel that. How good it felt to have someone touching her.
Betsey moved his hand as slowly as she possibly could so as not to wake him. She’d probably scared the shit out of him, yelling from her nightmare. She’d been having them, the same one mostly, ever since the letter had arrived. She pushed the thought away, crept out of bed and went into the living room to turn down the heat. All she could think about now that she was calm and sleep-drunk was how long her propane would last if she kept cranking up the heat any old time she felt like it.
She hit the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She’d slept on the sofa and then the crying and yelling and heat of the trailer had left her with a dry mouth that tasted like death.
‘Death,’