8. Why can’t I just trade a dream for a way to peel back the shade?
8
Why can’t I just trade a dream for a way to peel back the shade?
Moth
I didn’t sleep, I didn’t even try to.
I stayed awake all through the night, huddled up on the couch with every door and window locked up tight, and curtains drawn against the darkness. I clutched my phone and the biggest knife left in the kitchen, my eyes darting from each window to the front door, but everything stayed still and silent.
There was no denying it, if there ever was before.
I’d seen him. He’d spoken to me.
He touched me.
His voice was like the warning growl of a hidden predator, deep and rumbling like distant thunder. With his arms wrapped around me, I could smell him. He smelled like a campfire, citrus, and expensive aftershave. He smelled oddly familiar. I knew him. I know I did.
I shuddered at the thought.
He wasn’t here for the money, he’d said so himself. He was here for me. He wanted me.
Around daybreak, I turned on my phone, went to my contacts, and slammed my thumb down on Barrett’s name. I let it ring once before I silenced it.
No, it was too early. I couldn’t do that to him.
Call the police.
A nagging voice echoed through my mind, and it sounded way too much like my dad.
I should, shouldn’t I?
But what would I tell them? I confronted my stalker, and he did nothing, didn’t even hurt me? I’d heard too many horror stories from my dad. He would stay up late at night, telling me about cases he worked. People dismissed women’s claims, and even when they didn’t, you couldn’t press charges or get a restraining order until they actually did something to hurt you.
Even if he did do something to me, I had never seen his face. I didn’t know who he was. Who would I press charges against?
My phone screamed in my lap, and so did I, jumping so hard that the knife fell from my fingers and clattered to the hardwood floor.
If I was jumpy before, I was a jackrabbit at this point.
Snatching up my phone, I accepted the call and held it to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice was tiny and shaking. There would be no hiding it even if I wanted to.
“Hey, did you call?”
It was Barrett, and he sounded sleepy. Dang it. I hadn’t wanted to wake him up .
“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry.” I sighed, a hand pushing against my eyes to try to chase away the fog that crept in at the corners.
“Sorry? Why?”
“Well, I didn’t want to wake you up. It’s early, and—”
“And I wake up at five to feed the cattle, so I’ve been up.”
Oh yeah, I’d forgotten. Barrett’s farm was a full-blown farm. I had just opened my mouth to speak when Barrett cut me off.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
Somehow, he always knew. If Barrett wasn’t gay, I wonder if we would be more than friends.
“I just…” I paused. How the hell do I even explain this? “I’m scared, Barrett.”
It made me feel weak, admitting it out loud, and I sighed.
“What happened?” His tone was suddenly serious.
So I told him everything. I told him about the money, the journals, and the gun. I told him about the journal entries that talked about the Cottonwood Falls Firefly, and how my dad seemed to not only know the arsonist, but knew what they were doing, and allowed them to do it.
Finally, I told him about the phone call, and the encounter out front, beneath the elm.
“The fuck?!” he spat. He sounded angry. I could hear it even over the phone. “Nessa, you need to call the cops!”
I sighed.
“I…” I gulped. I knew it would make no sense even before I said it. “I can’t.”
“Why?!”
“They know me,” I said simply. “They know my dad.”
“And? ”
“I heard my dad talk about cases like this. They never had a good outcome. Either they believed the man, or…” I paused. “They believed the woman when the woman was dead.”
“I’m comin’ over there. Stay put.”
The line went dead before I had a chance to speak, let alone argue.
Letting my phone fall to the couch, I wondered if maybe he was right. Should I call the cops?
But no, the voice of doubt screaming in my head was vehemently against it, even now.
I stayed there, my arms wrapped around my knees and my head resting overtop of them. More than once, I nearly drifted off to sleep before the fear crept in and woke me up with a jump, my heart pounding. This was exhausting.
The sound of the doorknob rattling kicked me into high gear, and I snatched up the knife, getting to my feet. My knees were shaking, heart pounding as I tip-toed toward the door. Just as I got to it, a knock sounded. I tried to speak, to call out, but my breath caught in my constricted throat.
“Ness?” Barrett shouted from the porch. “It’s just me.”
I slowly undid the locks and popped the door open, and Barrett’s worried face peered in at me. Satisfied, I ushered him in before pushing the door closed and flipping the locks back into place.
“You alright?” he asked, looking around.
“I mean, all things considered,” I sighed, moving into the kitchen and dropping the knife into the sink. I felt safer now. Barrett was a cowboy and Kansas was an open-carry state. While he used his gun strictly on coyotes, the bulge in the front of his flannel shirt made me feel much better.
Bigger target, better odds. Right?
“Did you call the cops yet?”
I sighed, a hand coming up to press against my eyes.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Barrett, come on!” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “I have no evidence! I have no proof! Who are they gonna protect me against?! I don’t have cameras, and I have no idea who it is. My hands are tied.”
“So what are you gonna do?” he asked, and he sounded angry.
I didn’t blame him, even if part of me wanted to. It didn’t make sense to him. Why would it? He was a man.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“You need to get out of the house.”
“No,” I said, stepping past him and moving toward the stairs.
“What?!”
“If I leave, I let him win. I am not gonna let him win!”
“Oh okay, stay here and get murdered for the principal of it. That makes so much more sense.”
Ignoring him, I moved up the stairs. I needed to pee; I needed a change of clothes, and maybe I needed a shower. When I didn’t answer, Barrett followed after me.
“What are you doing?” he asked, standing on the landing with his arms crossed.
“I’m going to pee, find clothes, and take a damn shower. I am exhausted. ”
“When’s the last time you slept?”
When I thought about it, the answer made me nauseous.
Stepping into the guest room, I kicked open my suitcase and knelt, searching for clothes. I found a pair of jean shorts with butterflies on the pockets and wrinkled my nose. No, those were too close to moths for my liking. Pants? No, it was too hot for pants. Why had I even packed pants?
At the bottom of the suitcase, I found a pair of pink bike shorts and a blue tank top. It didn’t match, but it was clothes. I needed to do the laundry.
“Been a couple of nights,” I said honestly.
“So why don’t you take a shower and then take a nap? I’m here. I’ll keep a lookout.”
I stopped, standing with arms full of clothes and looking over at him.
“You’d do that for me?”
“No shit,” he said. I watched as he plopped down on the top step, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on and shower. I’ll be right here.”
And he was. By the time I got out of the shower and dressed, he was sitting on the top of the stairs, leaning back against the wall with his Stetson pulled down over his eyes.
“You awake?” I asked.
“You decent?” he countered.
“Yes,” I snorted.
He popped his hat up and looked up at me.
“All clear. No one here but us chickens.” He gave me a cheesy grin. “Now go nap. ”
“Well, about that,” I said, stepping into my room. It was weird to think of it as mine. “Showers tend to wake me up, so—”
“So breakfast?” Barrett suggested.
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
I knew it was a bad idea. I knew that I would crash hard later, but for now, I was going to take advantage of my wakefulness while I could. I stepped into a pair of white flip-flops and frowned. At one point, my toenails had been painted a deep, plum purple. Now they were chipped and scuffed. I could not go out in public like this.
Grumbling, I kicked them off and grabbed my black tennis shoes instead.
I was a hot mess, and it showed.
Barrett was already downstairs, waiting. In typical country boy fashion, he was annoyingly impatient. Snatching my keys and purse off the table near the door, I shuffled out the front door, carefully locking it behind me, and then we climbed into my car, and off we went.
I’d opted to let Barrett drive. I didn’t trust my sleep-deprived brain not to put us in a ditch. I must have nodded off, because just a few minutes later, Barrett was shaking me awake in the parking lot of good ole Mae’s.
“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, and I nodded, stretching. I had to stifle my yawn before I pushed the door open and struggled out of the car.
“Yes. We’re already here.”
Shuffling through the door, I was a little shocked to find it nearly empty.
Oh yeah, it was still balls early, wasn’t it ?
The only faces in the place were Mae, standing behind the counter, the cook clinking dishes in the kitchen, and Sheriff Banner sitting in a booth way off in a corner, nursing a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper.
“Wanna sit at the counter?” Barrett asked.
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” A sudden thought struck me. “Just give me a second. Order me whatever you’re having. I’ll be back.”
I didn’t know what I was going to say exactly. I just knew that it was the perfect opportunity.
With my head down, I strolled across the diner towards the sheriff, my heart flip flopping in my chest. What was I going to ask him exactly?
Oh hey, could you maybe have a cop car outside my house 24/7? I have a stalker.
I couldn’t just say that, could I?!
“Hey there, Nessa,” he said, smiling up at me.
Had I really just been standing there like a moron?
“H-hi, sheriff,” I said, smiling. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”
“Something bothering you?” he asked, motioning toward the empty seat across from him.
With a mutter of thanks, I slid into the booth and set my purse down beside me.
“Well, a little I guess.”
“Something I could help with?”
Good question.
“I was just wondering, uhm,” the words were on the top of my tongue, but I couldn’t spit them out.
“About your dad?” he asked .
“Yeah,” I spat, nodding. “Yes.”
Except no, not really. I think he could sense it, too. The look he gave was knowing.
“Well, what can I help with?”
“I was just wondering,” I said, stealing a glance at Barrett. He wasn’t even paying attention, and maybe that was for the better. “What happened?”
“How’d he die, you mean?”
I nodded. Still, I had a feeling he knew I was holding back, but if he did, he didn’t say it.
“Heart attack,” he sighed, taking a quick sip of his coffee. “You remember Tommy?”
“Of course I do,” I asked. “Why?”
“He was driving by. He noticed your dad’s grass was a bit taller than normal.”
I snorted. Dad had always been super anal about his grass. Anything over a couple of inches would be super concerning, especially for someone who knew him like Tommy Eades.
“He knocked on the door, and didn’t get an answer, so he let himself in.”
I nodded, fighting the prickling, burning ball of emotions that had begun to roil and twist in my throat. Not now. I couldn’t cry now. I didn’t even have the energy.
“He walked in and found him unresponsive in his chair.”
I stayed quiet, just listening to him talk. There was something so comforting about his voice.
“I need you to know he did all he could,” Sheriff Banner said, giving me a sad smile. His brown eyes caught mine, and my emotions began to escape through my eyelashes. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “He worked on him himself, and then he called it in. He never got a pulse back. Coroner estimates he was gone for just a couple hours before Tommy found him.”
I nodded, blinking the tears from the corners of my eyes.
“Th-thanks,” I said, reaching up and angrily swiping away a tear that clung stubbornly to the outside of my eye.
“I need you to know that even after what happened, he still loved you,” he said, catching my eyes once more. “Even after your fallin’ out, all he could ever do was sing your praises.”
I nearly lost it then. I could feel my lungs inflating, ready to burst. My throat burned, and my eyes swam with tears, and more than one escaped and slipped down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes, willing it to stop.
“Thanks, Sheriff,” I said, fighting to pull on a smile. “I’m glad to hear that, and to hear that everyone was here for him.”
“We were,” he nodded. “Every single one of us. I made sure to respond to that call personally. Tommy was distraught. Half the boys on the force couldn’t even step in the door knowing who was in there.”
He sighed, looking away, as if the memory was painful.
“I’ll have to thank him for everything.”
He nodded, and a long pause stretched between us.
“You sure you didn’t come over here intendin’ to ask me something else?”
Well, damn, he saw right through me, didn’t he?
“Nah, that’s it,” I said, smiling at him. “I’m tired. Haven’t been sleeping. ”
“Well, I’m always just a phone call away,” he said, and I nodded. “Number hasn’t changed.”
I thanked him and stood up from the booth, making my way over to Barrett. I sat down, plopping my purse down on the counter. He’d ordered me a breakfast scramble, well-done toast, just how I liked it, and hash browns.
I picked at it. I wasn’t hungry now.