Bitch Witch (32 page)

B
y the time daylight shone in through the narrow window beside the bed, the wound in Sarah’s stomach no longer felt fatal. Paul lay asleep in the recliner. Sarah sat up tentatively, wincing. Cautiously she stretched one short leg toward the far end of the bed.

Paul woke in an instant. “Don’t you dare.”

“Dude, I have got to pee.”

He rose and leaned over the bed, perfunctorily lifting her sweatshirt to look. Sarah gazed down, expecting to see she’d been gutted. Paul lifted the gauze pad an inch to peek and dropped it with a sigh.

“Ah, Sarah. You used dark matter, didn’t you?”

“I did not!” Sarah lifted the gauze to look, her stomach dropping in anticipation. A wide red wound stretched up her belly a good eight inches. She dropped back onto the pillow and closed her eyes, feeling woozy. “Maybe I should go to the hospital.”

Paul laughed.

Sarah flipped him the bird without opening her eyes.

“Tell me the truth. You owe me that much. Did you cast to heal that?”

Sarah opened her eyes. “No!”

“How did it heal? I nearly called 911 last night.”

“You promised!”

“I thought by now you’d be delirious with infection, but it’s closed. The tissue looks healthy.”

“You’re serious? It’s disgusting.”

Paul ran his hand over his messy hair. “No, but it sure was. So how did it heal so fast if you didn’t use dark matter? How did you sleep through me bandaging it?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but I think I passed out. I really do need to get up.”

Paul bent over the bed and helped set her onto her feet. “Would dark matter heal you even if you didn’t ask it to?”

“Like a freebie?” Sarah took tentative steps to the bathroom and snorted. “That happens.”

Paul followed.

“Get out.” Sarah went into the little toilet cubicle. “We’re not that kind of friends.”

Muttering under his breath, Paul turned away and flicked the light switch. Sarah slapped it back off. He leaned against the sink, his back to her. “I think whatever happened to your stomach and arms is dark matter.”

“Well, duh.”

“Maybe that’s even why light bothers you.”

Sarah didn’t respond as she hobbled out of the toilet closet and made her way to the sink. She’d been intimate with dark matter for a long time and light had never bothered her before. But he was right; the wound wasn’t bothering her much. It felt tight, but not painful.

“I don’t think any of your problems have anything to do with Henry or Kathleen.”

“It only happens when they’re around,” she said, washing her hands.

“It happens when you’re agitated and arguing with them.” Paul picked up his toothbrush and smeared his grape toothpaste onto it.

“I’d know if I was using dark matter. I’m done with it.”

Paul didn’t say anything as they brushed their teeth. Sarah discretely changed into her bloodstained jeans while Paul shaved at the sink.

“You might be done with dark matter, but that doesn’t mean it’s done with you,” he said at last.

Sarah grabbed her bra and one of Paul’s t-shirts and marched back to the sink. “I realize that, but it’s a choice. I discovered that in the hospital. Not just a choice not to use it every day, but a choice to send it out of my life.”

Paul arched a brow. “Are you trying to tell me you no longer have access to it?”

“It’s not even in the basement anymore.”

“Really? Huh.” He rinsed shaving cream off his face.

Sarah turned her back on him and yanked the big sweatshirt off. “It’s not like I can’t access it. I can sense it outside and it’s hopeful I’ll call, but I’m stronger with it so far off. I managed not to cast on Kathleen last night and she was being a royal bitch.” She grabbed her bra and hooked it on backwards around her waist, careful to avoid her newest wound.

Paul grabbed a towel and dried his face. “But it’s still inside of you,” he said.

“What is? Dark matter? No it’s not. Not any more than it’s inside you or anyone else.”

“Why’d you go after Kathleen last night? Or was it Henry you were after?”

Sarah scowled at him in the mirror. “Would you drop the Henry thing? I was just getting a glass of water!”

Paul tossed the towel aside and looked at their reflections. His jaw dropped. “Put your top on!”

She twisted her bra around and pulled it into position. “Geez. Don’t look.”

“I thought we weren’t that kind of friends! Though you sure don’t mind when you want me to remove your catheter or give you stitches! But I draw the line at topless! I’m not your gay best friend, Sarah! Try to keep in mind that I’m a thirty-year-old man who hasn’t had a date since before I went to war.”

Sarah grabbed her shirt off the sink. “Sorry! I’m having some trouble here.”

Paul took the t-shirt from her, bunched it up and thrust it over Sarah’s head. He shoved one of her arms through the appropriate hole and then the other, and gently pulled the shirt down over the healing wound. Sarah glared at him, feeling like a kindergartener. He’d put it on backward.

“You’re welcome,” Paul said between clenched teeth.

“Thank you, but I was not going after Henry last night. I’m not stupid.”

“That remains to be seen.” Paul turned and marched across the room. “I’ll make breakfast.” He left, slamming the door.

IT TOOK SARAH almost twenty minutes to tug a pair of dirty socks on. By the time she finished, the wound on her stomach felt like it might pop back open. She might have lain down to recover from the exertion of getting dressed, except Paul was frying bacon in the kitchen. It smelled like she needed to eat it all.

“That smells wonderful,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

Paul didn’t reply, his brows drawn low over his eyes in a thundercloud of a frown. A tray with a stack of pancakes and glasses of juice sat on the counter. Sarah assumed it was for Henry and Kathleen.

“Do you need any help?” she asked, pouring a glass of water from the tap.

Paul didn’t reply.

Sarah downed the entire glass, poured another, and went over to the stove. There was little she wouldn’t do for Paul, but putting up with the silent treatment wasn’t in her makeup. “Did you put butter on them while they’re hot?”

The sight of the meager remains of a butter stick was the only answer she received. Sarah reached over the bowls and pancakes to shut the bright kitchen counter lights off. Paul paused in his task of turning bacon with tongs to flip the switch back on. He looked at Sarah and flipped on a second switch, illuminating the kitchen in scorching light.

Oh, good. Passive aggressive anger. Everyone’s favorite.

Sarah took a clean plate from the counter and tossed a pancake onto it. She reached for the bacon cooling on paper towels and Paul moved it away from her reach.

“I can eat bacon!”

Paul ignored her.

“Fine.” Sarah rolled the pancake up with her fingers and ate it as she continued to stand next to him. “This is good!” she said, and meant it. “You’re the best cook.”

Paul dropped more bacon into the pan, carefully using the handle to dip and turn the pan so the splatters didn’t hit either of them.

Sarah watched it splatter over the front of the oven door and thought about criticizing just to make him talk. Instead she tossed her half eaten pancake back onto the plate and said, “I don’t understand what your problem is!”

Paul turned his head to glare at her. “Think hard, and don’t freaking lie to me!”

“I don’t effing lie to you!” Sarah shouted at him.

Paul, still jiggling the handle of the pan, twisted his body to better shout back at her. He carelessly moved the pan with him, nearly sloshing the grease out and onto Sarah. He yanked it back and shouldered her out of the way as it splashed down in a scalding wave, headed right for him.

Hot sizzling grease rained down toward Paul’s bare stomach and legs.

Everything slowed.

Sarah saw it happening as though she had all the time in the world. The hollow place in her middle where she cast from, where dark matter liked to nest, filled—but not with dark matter. It filled with light.

Not Paul. Please.

The light responded to her plea with colors. They moved from Sarah’s middle to her consciousness and she understood them.

Time seemed to have been suspended as Sarah rushed to Paul, wrapping her arms around his middle. She grasped his hips and pulled him backward, away from the splash of hot grease. To be safe she moved him across the kitchen into the far corner, well away from the spill.

She looked toward the stove where the wave of bacon and hot oil hung suspended in the air, like bacon-filled bubbles. Adrenaline flowing through her, Sarah tugged the pan out of Paul’s hand, raced across the space and caught the mess inside the pan. She shut the stovetop off, set the pan on it, and turned to look at Paul. He still stood in the same position, his hand clutching a non-existent pan.

Sarah waited, but he never moved.

“Paul?” she said, “are you okay?” She couldn’t hear her own voice. “What the hell?” That didn’t come either. “What the fuck!” she said loudly, frightened. She could feel the colors continuing to move gently in her core. “Is he okay?” she asked the light.

It heard the words she couldn’t, and responded in colors she understood.
No, but you are helping him.

“Whatever that means,” she whispered, and still didn’t hear it. The light moved away then, not leaving her entirely, but dimming the awareness of so many colors from her mind. Sarah blinked. The light in the room seemed normal now. She looked to Paul and waited.

“Noooo!” Paul shouted at last from across the kitchen, jumping backward and ramming against the kitchen counter. “Ooof! Ow! What the—?!” He looked up and down, then up again and across the room at the pan safely situated on top of the stove. Once more he looked down and ran his hand down his bare chest to his legs, and bent to examine them more closely. Slowly he looked up at Sarah. “What the hell did you do?”

“I’m not quite sure. Something strange happened.”

From out of nowhere her voice sounded again, although her mouth was closed. “Paul? Are you okay?”

Paul frowned at her, clearly noticing the discrepancy but he answered, “I don’t know. I think I blacked out.”

Sarah shook her head. “No. The light did something to me.” More disembodied words followed, echoing across the kitchen, “What the hell!”

That’s what I said when time froze. Those are the words I couldn’t hear!

Paul frowned at her, and once again Sarah’s voice sounded when her mouth wasn’t moving. “What the fuck!”

He reached back and held onto the counter, eyeing her warily. “Hell. I’m hallucinating.”

“Is he okay?” asked the ghost of Sarah’s voice.

Paul twisted to look around the kitchen, his complexion paling rapidly. Sarah ran to him. “No, Paul. It’s not you. That is my voice. I hear it too.”

Their eyes met as her voice whispered, “Whatever that means.”

Paul covered his face with his hands and moaned.

Sarah wrapped her arms around his trembling torso. He was slick with sweat. “Listen to me. You’re not going to hear it again. That’s the last thing I said.”

“Oh, my God, I’m hallucinating!”

“No you’re not! Listen, you spilled the pan of bacon grease. It almost hit me and then you, and time froze so I—oh, no!” Sarah let go of Paul and sank to the floor.

“What is it?” Despite his own fear, Paul stooped down beside her. “Are you hurt?”

“Yeah, oh, man! It kills!” Her stomach felt as if it had been torn open, and tears of pain leaked out the corners of her eyes. “Listen, Paul. It’s just my stomach again. I strained it. When that pan started to pour down your front—I don’t know—I guess I cast. But not with dark matter! I used light!”

“Sarah, I’m not following.”

“I don’t know how to explain,” she gasped, pressing her head against her knees and swearing mentally. “But I saw that you were going to be hurt and burned badly. I reached for help and the light came. It told me to help you. So I pulled you out of the way. I dragged you across the kitchen—it didn’t hurt. Not then, but shit, now it does!” Sarah looked up. “Everything moved so slowly. I had time to drag you across the kitchen, take the pan out of your hand, and go back and catch all the grease before it got anywhere near the floor. I caught every bit of it, and the bacon. I put it back on the stove, but you were just standing over here, frozen in position like you were still at the stove. I talked to you, but I couldn’t even hear myself. After a while—like five minutes later I think, at least it seemed that long—you finally moved. And then my words came!”