EIGHTEEN Violence
ZACHARY
We’re all yawning at the Sunday breakfast table the next morning when Sadie joins us. It’s such a mindfuck to scan her face as she eats her microwavable oatmeal and not be certain of whether she’s conscious of having a one-sided argument with her dead mother last night.
Or that she was begging for her deceased father.
Shit.
Maybe it’s sadistic of me to tempt fate, but I have to find out if she’ll share with us on her own. That’s why I’m the one to push forth the question, all nonchalant-like.
“Sleep okay, lovely?”
Any other time, that inquiry would be innocuous. But based on how Dom goes as still as a statue and Jerome slices his gaze my way with the sharpness of a blade, I’m guessing my question’s significance isn’t lost on them.
“Fine. You?”
This is her answer, and it only adds to the mystery rather than solving it.
“Meh.”
“Would’ve thought you’d be worn out from all that swimming,” she emphasizes that last word, the tiniest bit of sparkle in her eyes. And don’t get me wrong. I had a great time with her in that pool, both while playing those games and for the naked bit.
But does she sincerely not know about the sleepwalking? I can’t tell.
Then, I bring up the topic I most expect to receive a positive response to. “So, Christmas is in a week. Do you wanna decorate this place? Maybe watch It’s a Wonderful Life or The Christmas Carol?”
Sadie’s posture becomes as stiff and unforgiving as a ballet barre.
When the silence lengthens for an almost ridiculous measure of time, Jerome comes in to save me. “We thought all four of us could pitch in. String popcorn. Put up a tree. Hang some stockings.” He pauses when her attitude doesn’t change. “But only if you celebrate it.”
“I do,” she speaks up, though her gaze stays on her plate. “I have.”
“Cool,” Jerome intones.
“But no movies. Not the Christmas kind, anyway. Maybe we can stream that FBI thriller series on Prime.”
We instantly agree, and throughout that afternoon and evening, we binge a season and a half of her series in her home studio, one of the rooms I’ve barely been in. It’s well-appointed with stadium chairs that have armrests and built-in cupholders yet lay flat if you want to stretch out. Since there are ten or twelve seats in there, there’s plenty of space where we can get comfortable.
We eat popcorn, drink soda, wine, or beer, and pass chocolate and red licorice around like we’re having a party. Well, a party teens who’ve broken into the liquor cabinet might have.
Sadie ends up with her feet in Dom’s lap as he provides her with a foot massage and her head in mine while Jerome sits cross-legged behind her in the middle. I think all four of us are addicted to the show, but even great television is no match for next to zero sleep. For me, at least. I’m struggling not to nod off.
We head off to our separate beds after that, and even though I’m a little disappointed that she didn’t ask for any of us to climb in with her, this is still early days. But the bonding of all four of us is going well, I think. Dom and Jerome already think they know what’s going to happen to the bad guy on the show, and Sadie thinks it’ll be this other more innocent character.
It’ll be interesting to see if any of them are correct.
Once I’ve worked out on my pole and showered, I find Maxine in the kitchen. She’s been with Sadie for a long time, right? Maybe she’ll be willing to divulge more about her. But I can’t just gossip behind Sadie’s back. I’ll have to be casual about this particular conversation.
“You stay here during the weekdays, don’t you?” I ask her after our customary greeting, and her reply is to raise an eyebrow behind her glasses. “Ever noticed anything odd?”
“Odd in what manner?”
“Anything. Seems pretty tranquil out here mostly.”
“It is.”
Shit. It’s like pulling teeth from this woman.
I don’t want to come right out and admit that the three of us have been researching Sadie and discovered the crash that killed her parents or that she has nocturnal sleeping habits that could be a concern. Maxine might’ve known her parents. Now that I think about it, I’m almost sure that she did.
But if I start prying into that, she could inform Sadie, and I don’t want her to think my motive is to nose around in her highly private life.
“Does the chalet have Christmas decorations?” I steer the subject into more sedate waters as the house manager prepares bacon and eggs on the cook surfaces she’s prepared. The sizzling sound is homey, and the smell is making my stomach growl like a beast.
“Why, yes. Of course. Years ago, every inch of this place would be alight.”
“Think we could do it this year? Sadie mentioned that she celebrates the holiday.”
Maxine straightens and places all her attention on me. “Did she now? Did she really?”
“Yeah. Absolutely.”
“You don’t know how happy that makes me to hear.” She flips over each piece of food. “After breakfast, I’ll take you round and show you where it all is.”
Sadie’s still asleep when the guys and I follow the house manager around and collect items to put on display. To make sure Sadie’s only involved in the stuff that’s the most fun, we do things like assemble the three trees—one’s on the first floor, one’s on the second, and one’s outside by the circle drive—and hang the evergreen boughs in high places.
Yet once she sees what we’ve done, she doesn’t thank us, nor does she seem overly enthused. My hopes that she’ll find this something to look forward to are dashed.
“If you’re not into this, we can trade activities,” Jerome tells her.
“We could go outside and do some exploring,” Dom says. “There’s all this fresh powder this morning so we could build a snowman instead.”
I glance over at the deep-voiced dude in surprise. It’s such a kid-like endeavor.
But Sadie vetoes it. “It’s too cold.”
It’s been cold since we arrived here, though.
“You under the weather?” I ask her, but she absently shakes her head. I’m not sure that I believe her.
“Let’s go ahead and decorate,” she insists, so we proceed.
After a protracted stretch of time stringing lights, hanging ornaments, and securing glittery stuff to lots of places, we have maybe a third of the chalet done. Still, while Sadie’s participating, her efforts seem half-hearted unless we ask her about it. Then, she picks up her pace.
I’m not sure if she loves this or not, but after seeing how thrilled the house manager was to have the decorations out, I’m bound to finish them. I take one last glance at what we’ve accomplished before lumbering off to bed, my limbs heavy from all the work we did today. At least it was fulfilling.
I slip into a doze hoping Sadie will be more into it tomorrow.
Maybe that’s why it’s so horrifying to stir awake to the sounds of glass shattering in the middle of the night. In nothing but my boxer briefs, I sprint from my room to the top of the stairs, seizing that globe of dried flowers to use as a weapon in case someone’s breaking in. Jerome is right behind me with Dom coming over to us next, each of us trying to ascertain what’s happening.
“We being robbed?” Dom asks in that deep voice of his.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I can’t see much.”
But then, something else crashes downstairs, putting us all on alert. That’s when I catch sight of Maxine materializing from the opposite wing of the first floor, all wrapped up in a fleece-lined robe and lifting a baseball bat. Scared she might get hurt from whatever evildoer might be down there, I tromp down the stairs to warn her off.
Yet, it’s not robbers or even vandals eager to damage private property. It’s Sadie.
And she’s ripping all those Christmas decorations down.
––––––––
JEROME, DOM, AND Iscreech to a halt to scan the utter devastation. It’s so bad a tornado might’ve roared through here. Worse, Sadie is continuing to wreak havoc by dragging her arm through the most visible limbs of the first-floor tree as if trying to tear all the needles off with her bare hands.
It’s amazing what she can do considering only one of those hands is even functional.
When the violence of her motions causes an ornament to jiggle free above her and crash onto her skull, we all surge toward her. Crimson dribbles from the wound and down her forehead, and the sight of her blood spurs me into action. I grasp her waist and tug her backwards even as she fights me, kicking and screaming. Dom and Jerome leap into the fray, and it takes all three of us to subdue her.
She flings herself around so furiously that she scratches Jerome’s chin, bruises Dom’s shoulder, and connects her foot to my shin hard enough that I tumble onto my side. I don’t let go of her, though.
None of us do.
“Get away from me,” she screeches at the top of her lungs, her nostrils flared, and her pupils constricted to miniature points. Her frame is trembling from top to bottom not in terror but from anger. This is an example of pure rage. “No! Get away from me. It has to come down. It has to come down now.”
Thank God for Maxine. Because it’s her presence that finally does the trick. And she does it without laying a finger on her.
“You will cease this nonsense this very instant,” the house manager tells Sadie with a terseness I’m afraid might set her off again, but it doesn’t.
“I can’t look at it... I can’t... It has to come down. It has to.”
“Sadie Caroline, look at me,” Maxine orders her, and I’m so grateful when Sadie actually does it. “This ends right here and right now. Do you understand?”
That’s when Sadie releases a howling cry so loud that I’m surprised more ornaments don’t disintegrate right where they hang. It goes on and on, and by the time it stops, our client is face down on the carpet. At Maxine’s fierce gesturing to back off, we do, giving Sadie some time and space to breathe.
She speaks to Sadie in low tones, turning her over and soothing her by pushing her bangs back from her temples. They both remain on the floor, and I don’t know what to do. The house manager’s form is blocking me from seeing Sadie’s face, but blood is oozing onto the neckline of her nightgown, creating an ever-growing stain.
Are we going to have to call an ambulance? Does Sadie need to go to the hospital?
My heart is pounding through my veins so hard I swear everyone must be able to hear it, yet something I can’t hear is whatever Sadie says to Maxine.
“Well, it’d be better for you to tell them that, don’t you think?” the house manager responds.
When Maxine shifts, Sadie glances past her and over to us, streaks of blood spiderwebbing down from above her hairline and into her right eye. The contrast of all that bright red against her pale, pale skin makes the effect even more terrifying. It reminds me of a scene from a medical show. Or maybe even a slasher flick.
Fucking hell.
“I’m sorry,” Sadie whispers, barely audible. “I’m not normally like this.”
“Zachary,” Maxine’s mention of my name is as crisp and businesslike as always. “Do be helpful and fetch a first aid kit for me? The best outfitted one is beneath the kitchen sink.”
I zip there and back as fast as I can, assisting the house manager like a nurse might a doctor. Soon, Sadie’s cleaned up, and though the cut she suffered was only a half-inch long, it bleeds like a wound three times that size.
I glimpse over at Dom and Jerome, both of whom have blanched. I probably have, too.
“The skin of the scalp always bleeds a great deal,” Maxine tells no one in particular before propelling Sadie into a standing position. “Up you get.”
Ushering her toward the stairs, the house manager sets a foot on that first tread and beckons to us from behind Sadie’s back.
We obediently follow in their wake.
Situating Sadie back between her sheets, Maxine sits beside her on the mattress.
“It’d be best if someone stays with her. I rather not leave her to her own devices. I’ll take the first watch. Will one of you take the next one?”
We all speak up in stereo, each saying the same thing.
“I’ll do it.”
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OVER THE NEXT FOURdays, Sadie’s nearly catatonic. All I can think of is that I need to help her more, but other than remaining within arm’s reach of her, I have no clue what to do. When we bring up clinics or hospitals, she tells us no, and though I wish she’d let us take her, I feel obligated to honor her choice.
The three of us develop this system where one of us sits by Sadie holding her hand, one stays next to her on top of the covers of her bed, and the other sits near her feet on the trunk near her iron footboard. When Maxine takes a shift, she’ll pull one of the chairs over from the seating area.
It’s Friday when the house manager pulls me out of Sadie’s bedroom and into the hall. “I don’t think I should leave,” she confides in me. “What if she’s in need of something?”
It’s Christmas tomorrow, but it doesn’t feel that way. There’s no season’s greetings or holiday spirit anywhere.
“What are you two talking about?” A voice emanates toward us. It’s Sadie’s.
So, Maxine and I coast back over her threshold.
“I told him I’m not certain about going home.”
Sadie sits up. It’s the first time she’s done so other than the rare bathroom break. She’s hardly eaten or taken more than a sip of water. But she seems more self-possessed than she has been.
“Go, Max. I’m fine.” At the house manager’s pursed lips, Sadie amends her statement. “I’ll be fine. The guys are here. They’ll take care of me.”
“Are you certain?” Maxine presses, and Sadie nods, the movement emphatic.
“Yes. You will, won’t you?” she asks us, peeking at me, then Dom at her right side and Jerome at her left. We promptly agree. No way in hell am I abandoning her, and I’m willing to bet every dime Sadie’s paying us that Jerome and Dom feel the same. It’s only after we listen to Maxine collecting her things and departing that she speaks up again. “I’m a little hungry.”
“We can get you something,” Dom volunteers.
“What do you want?” Jerome inquires of her. And that’s how we all have this impromptu breakfast-in-bed scenario—even though it’s six o’clock in the evening—with whatever we can easily scrounge from the kitchen.
After going through a box of toaster strudels, a dozen sausage egg biscuits, and a carton of orange juice, a substantial amount of the color returns to Sadie’s complexion.
This being up at all hours is killing me, and it’s my yawn that has Sadie lacing her fingers through mine. “I’ve enjoyed you all being here with me. Will you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” I tell her. Like I’d deny her a single thing. I’ve been so worried about her—all of us have—that she basically has me tied up in a big boxy square-knot.
“There’s an extra king-sized bed down the hall on the right, in that last room. If you guys bring it in, we can push it up beside mine. You can all sleep with me.”
My cock kicks at that, which is exasperating. I’m sure she means go all unconscious rather than fucking. Don’t think she’s up for any of the latter. Not sure if she’ll ever want that from us again.
With some manhandling, the three of us maneuver the extra bed into place. Now that we’ve doubled the horizontal space, there’s plenty of room for all of us to pile in and nap with Sadie at her leisure. After taking turns heading to our rooms, we each change into soft pants and t-shirts and turn in for the evening. I’m so tired that my eyes are closing of their own accord.
At least until Sadie crawls on her knees over to Jerome on the freshly attached bed and kisses the holy hell out of him, running her hand over his pecs for good measure. That gets me more alert, and curiously, I watch as she reiterates this with Dom. I’m awaiting my turn, and she doesn’t disappoint. My cock pistons up like a buoy submerged just beneath the surface of a lake, but I try to ignore it.
I can’t assume that’s what she wants.
Yet that’s when she shoves her nightgown over her head.
“It’s been a tough few days,” she remarks, and I force myself to keep my eyes locked on hers.
“I know,” I say.
“I could really use some relief.” Sadie gives a onceover not only to me, but to Jerome and Dom, as well. “From all of you. Will you do that for me?”
“Of course,” we each tell her within seconds of one another.
She plummets back into her mattress, the motion making her breasts bounce, and fuck, it’s been a while. But this is for her, and only for her.
So, I spread her legs, kneel between them, and begin.