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Light seeped through the thin cracks
of the bedroom curtains, allowing the bright sun to lie warmly on top of
John Gillis’ eyelids. There was no movement, no sound surrounding him.
His wife, Emera, was by his side, a calm and subtle comfort lying
silently underneath pale cream sheets.
The booming sound of the detestable alarm woke John with a start, and he
reached over with squinted eyes to shut it off. Emera shifted and
moaned, her hand finding it’s way to her head to rest on top of it.
“Seven already?” She groaned, her voice raspy.
John stood out of bed and stretched, remembering past events from the
night before.
“Em,” he started. He sat back down on the bed to talk to Emera more
intimately. “You have the day off today, right?”
“I always have off on Fridays,” she replied.
“I really need you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” Her mocha-colored skin almost sparkled in the daylight.
“You know Shuro, right?”
“The boy from St. Benedict’s that you see? With the abusive father?”
“Yes. Well, he came here last night, at around 4:00AM. He told me what
some men did to him during the day. Em, he’s beaten up pretty bad.”
Emera gained some of her strength and propped herself up on her elbows,
her expression was fearful and concerned.
“I need you to take care of him for today, alright?” John asked his
wife.
Emera nodded, not able to completely comprehend what was going on. Worry
still filled her eyes.
“Thank you,” John kissed his wife on the forehead and smiled, gratified.
He walked into the bathroom which was attached to their bedroom to wash
his face and brush his teeth. Moments later Emera joined him.
“What did the men do to him, John?” Emera asked, afraid of the answer
she might hear, even though she had an idea of what it would be.
John eyed his wife with a wet and clean face. “They beat and raped him.”
John grabbed the bathroom towel and dried his face with it. The tone of
his voice was rough and cold with hatred toward the truth of his words.
Emera shut her eyes tight as if the words stung her, and covered her
mouth silently and shook her head.
“I’m looking into it today. I only see Roger at eleven for his case.
They’re going to get what they deserve,” John said. He placed the towel
back on the rack and left the bathroom to set off down to the main floor
to start his day. He was far too angry to say anything else on the
subject.
His feet led him down the wood stairs, his hand brushing against the
railing. His jaw was clenched tight with determination. Wherever these
criminals were, he would certainly track them down. He stopped at the
bottom of the steps to face a fragile boy sleeping soundlessly on his
sofa, the covers draping gracefully off his thigh. The sun rested easily
on the surface of his body, and he breathed calmly and slowly, making
his stomach rise and fall. All of John’s anger and stress vanished at
the sight of the boy’s pure innocence.
John slowly walked away from the boy and into their large kitchen to
fetch a fresh cup of hot coffee. This day would bring a whole lot of
drama, and he could feel it hanging heavy in the air.
As John reached for his coat in the large and remarkably wide entryway,
he heard the stirring of a young boy not too far from where he was
standing.
“When will you be back?” The boy asked.
John peeked around the corner and smiled at the boy. “I finish at five
today. You can spend the day with Emera, my wife. You’ve met her before,
right?”
The boy shook his head. “But you talk about her enough that I
practically know her whole life story.”
“Hey, not true.” John slipped on his coat sleekly. “She’ll be making you
breakfast. Let her know what you’d like. Rest up, okay, Shuro?”
“I’m sure she won’t agree to that.” Shuro stood and scratched the back
of his head, his jet black hair sloppily flipped over every which way.
“A strange beaten up kid in her house and she agrees to making breakfast
for him? I doubt that.”
John ignored Shuro’s remark and gripped his briefcase which was on the
ground in front of the stairs.
“Rest up,” he repeated. “I’ll be back at five.” He gave a little wink
and shut the front door behind him as he stepped into the cool air, its
winds colliding with his hot breath.
I decided I’d look around the place. It wasn’t as big as Ron’s, but then
again I’m pretty sure no house was. I had been to John’s house once or
twice before, but I had never really gotten the chance to fully examine
all the little things. As I paced past the couch I had been previously
sleeping on, I eyed picture frames on a tall bookcase that nearly
touched the slanted ceiling. I picked up a photo in a sleek black frame
of John and Emera marrying. They both looked so happy, smiling from ear
to ear. I set it back down in its place and then eyed another. This time
it showed John and Emera, sitting down on what appeared to be the couch
in their living room. Emera was clutching on to a large and round belly,
the pair grinning once again. I wrinkled my brow. What was she doing
pregnant?
“You must be Shuro,” I heard a gentle woman’s voice say, alongside soft
footsteps on the wooden stairs.
I nearly jumped at the sudden realization that someone else was now in
the room and then spun around to see a beautiful slim mocha-skinned
woman standing on the last step with her hand on the railing. My hands
rested on the shelf of the bookcase behind me, sturdily supporting my
pressure.
“Yeah,” I replied simply. “And you must be Emera, or I’m in the wrong
house.”
She chuckled. “That’s correct.” She stepped off the last stair, eyeing
my bruises and injuries.
“Oh, you poor thing. John told me everything,” she said. “Come on in
here, I’ll get you cleaned up. John’s useless when it comes to wounds.
Would you like to take a shower or something?”
She struck me as a motherly-type, the way she genuinely cared yet shrunk
me. She walked in to the kitchen and dug around under the sink for a
tiny tin.
“Sure, I guess.”
“Alright, but only after I make you some breakfast. You need to eat to
get your strength back up. Take a seat,” she gestured toward some stools
which were behind an island counter, just a few steps from where we were
standing. The whole kitchen felt so warm, the sun shining through the
windows accentuating the wooden flooring and shining off the metal
refrigerator and sink. I walked over and sat down, wincing as I did so.
My body still hurt from the night before, and when I felt the pain shoot
through me like a streak of lightning it reminded me of Edward Marvin
and his stupid friend and everything that happened the night before. I
tried to blink out the visions as I looked up and watched Emera
gracefully walking over to me. She applied some Polysporin to her
freshly-washed fingers.
“Here,” she said gently. “Let me just...” she leaned forward, about to
apply the cream to my forehead.
“I could do it,” I said, before she reached my skin.
“Oh, sure. Here,” she grabbed my hand, transferring the cream to the
tips of my fingers. “Just apply it to your wounds. It’ll help the
healing process.” She placed the tube of it on the counter I was leaning
on, and walked back to the pantry, shuffling through it.
I looked at the cream on my fingers skeptically, before applying a bit
on my forehead and left arm. It felt cool and soothing, and soon I found
myself grabbing the tube and applying some more on my other injuries.
“What would you like for breakfast, then?” She held the pantry doors
open, eyeing it up and down, then looked back at me. “I can make
pancakes if you’d like? Or we have some cereal… or toast…”
“Toast is fine.”
“Alright, toast it is.”
Once I was finished with the Polysporin, I set it back on the counter
and played with it, thinking about asking her about the photograph I saw
earlier. As she put the bread in the toaster, I couldn’t help but blurt
it out.
“What happened to the baby?”
She turned slightly, just enough to eye me from the corner. “I’m sorry?”
She seemed as though she hadn’t quite understood me properly, and I
realized that wasn’t the best approach.
My tone was gentler this time. “Um... I saw a photograph of you and
John. What happened to your baby, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh,” she turned back around, her back facing me. “That’s alright.” She
paused for quite some time, and I didn’t think she was going to answer
me. Her head tilted upwards a bit, and I could feel her hurt. She was
looking out the window in front of her to somewhere further than their
backyard. I suddenly felt sorry for asking. “John and I were on our way
to New York for the weekend, the drive was so long. We were about to
stop for gas, pulling up at the nearest station. I guess someone was
trying to get away with free gas, because their car came swerving toward
us, and John hit the brakes hard. The car still collided with us. The
airbags protected me from flying through the windshield, but my body
still jolted significantly from the impact. We rushed to the doctor, in
fear of the baby being harmed...” She paused, looking in another
direction, clutching the counter in front of her. “The doctor told us
that all the trauma was too much for the baby to handle. And just like
that, we lost him. I know it was my mistake, that I shouldn’t have been
sitting in the front seat to begin with… But I just didn’t expect…” She
was quiet and still, but her voice was strong, as if she’d relived that
day seventy-five times already.
“I’m sorry...” I offered the most sympathy I could give at the moment.
It didn’t really seem as though she needed it, though.
The toaster chimed, and after a pause she retrieved the bread. “What
would you like on it?” She asked, trying to drop the subject.
“Jam is fine.”
Once she had spread the strawberry jam on both of our toasted slices of
whole grain bread, she walked over and sat directly across from me on
the other stool.
“I’m going out tonight,” she said as she bit into the toast. Her eyes
gleamed in the sunlight, staring right back into mine as she tried to
spark up a new conversation. “For the weekend, with just my girlfriends.
We’re going to be staying at my friend’s cottage. It should be fun. I
don’t know what John has planned, though.”
I bit into my toast, and the sweet taste strawberry seemed to almost
cleanse me. I hadn’t eaten for two days, and only as I swallowed I
realized how hungry I really was.
“John talks about you a lot,” she said, smiling.
“Does he?” I said while chewing. “He talks about you, too.”
She took another bite of toast, still a small grin on her face. “Well he
shouldn’t, if he’s working.”
I chewed some more, taking in all the delicious features of the warm
breakfast. “Oh, yeah, I know. I tell him to shut up all the time, remind
him he’s on the job.” I could feel my nose starting to leak with blood
again, but I tried to sniff it away.
She wasn’t looking at me; she was too busy examining her meal. Her smile
faded, as if she were realizing something dark. “I don’t understand why
you refuse to go to court.”
I sniffed again, this time wiping my nose with my free hand; the one
that wasn’t holding the toast. I saw a streak of red appear on it when I
pulled it away.
So John had really been talking about me. I didn’t really know how to
respond. To be honest I didn’t fully know why I didn’t want to go to
court either. It was probably because I knew it was the right thing to
do. I was the type of person that didn’t like doing what others thought
was best, or even what I thought was best. It’s hard to explain. I kind
of contradict myself all the time. If I know it’s right, I probably
won’t go with it. Either that, or maybe it was just because of my fear
of change. That one seemed harder to admit, though.
“I’ll have nowhere to go,” I said, which seemed to be the only thing I
was capable of telling her at the moment.
“Of course you will,” she turned toward me again. “There are plenty of
lovely foster homes.”
I laughed mockingly. “As if. I would rather live on the streets.”
She seemed taken-aback. “They aren’t that bad.”
I shook my head, looking outside. “This is stupid. Why are we talking
about this?”
“You can’t keep running away from this forever,” she said, sounding a
bit like John. No wonder they were married.
“Look, I don’t want to live in some dumb foster home, waiting to be
adopted by a family that I don’t even know. I’d rather take my chances
with Ron until I’m old enough to move out. It’s only a few more years…”
“But don’t you understand? What he is doing is illegal. You can’t live
with this every day of your life,” she clutched at her glass of orange
juice, staring me down.
I didn’t stare back; I was still fixed on the window behind her. “Yeah,
I know.” I finally looked back at her. “Look, can we just drop it? I
really don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“But things have to change, you can’t keep —”
“I know, I know,” I mocked her, imitating the words I knew were about to
escape her lips. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s alright, right?”
She leaned back on her stool, and she now seemed irritated by me.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I said almost sarcastically as I crossly stood
up, grabbing my plate and cup and dumping them in the sink. “I’ll be in
the shower.”
• • •
The hot water collided with my skin, washing away dried up blood and
cleansing me in more ways then one. I shut my eyes, letting the water
trickle over my eyelids. It felt almost as though I was being soaked in
my own blood, because all over my body hurt. I looked down on the floor
of the tub and saw red mixed in with the water, seeping toward the
drain. Where was it all even coming from? My wounds everywhere burned
when the water touched them, but at the same time felt so good. I tried
at that moment to forget everything that happened to me in the past few
days. I was grateful that I wasn’t lost somewhere in Virginia, or still
at Ron’s manor. I was fortunate to be where I was, even though I was
finding myself not particularly fond of Emera.
When I was out of the shower, I saw that she had slipped a little note
under the door, letting me know that there were some clothes for me to
wear on the bed in the next room. I wrapped the towel around my waist
and opened the door to the bedroom, the contrast in temperature biting
at my bare skin. I saw on the bed some of John’s clothes, neatly folded
for me. I put them on; a loose plaid shirt with some comfy sweatpants —
also too loose. At least they were clean and not splattered with blood
stains.
When I went downstairs she suggested I watch some television or movies
for the rest of the day, since she had to get ready for her little
weekend trip. She didn’t seem to be upset with me for earlier, but I
could tell she was carefully picking her words. I guess she was wary of
me snapping if she said the wrong thing. I went with her proposition and
chose to watch Sleepy Hollow. They had a wide variety of DVDs but none
as amusing as that one.
I watched the movie, sitting on the couch with my knees to my chest, and
a few times Emera would come down the stairs to retrieve something, then
dart back up. One time she asked me if I needed anything.
It seemed like the whole day I was just waiting for five o’clock to come
around.
An hour passed, and the more time I spent on the couch, the more drained
and physically exhausted I became. I could feel my eyelids yearning to
shut, and every noise Emera made upstairs got louder and louder. The
movie was still on, but I wasn’t paying attention. All I could think
about was how tired I was. Before I knew it, my heavy eyelids won a war
against my straining muscles. I shut my eyes, falling into a bottomless
sleep. |
