Branded (2 page)

The ever silent walls greeted me as I arrived home and I quickly put my things away. It felt good being stocked up and knowing I wouldn’t have to venture out for at least a week. By then all remnants of this misrepresented holiday would be cleared.

I grabbed the two brown paper bags and the books and walked the distance to Sal’s house. It was still sprinkling slightly but by this point it was no more than a mist. I didn’t mind going out in the wet, it wasn’t like it could damage my hair. It was bad enough all on its own.

I gave two hard knocks on the door before I let myself in. Sal never answered but she was always home. And she never kept her door locked despite what I advised her time and time again.

Sal’s home was beautiful inside. It was newer than the house I lived in, only seven or so years old. It had at one time been decorated lavishly. The walls were painted a nearly blinding white and windows were everywhere.

Strong accent walls were spread throughout the house, red, purple, even black. But now its former glory was dampened, buried under the clutter that was everywhere.

The house was kept immaculately clean but Sal never threw anything away. She always said she might need it later, no matter how insignificant or how much it looked like garbage to me. The walls would have been lined with garbage as well if not for the housekeeper that came every few days.

“Sal?” I called as I set the bags down on the black granite countertop. “Sal?” I called again as I finished loading things into the fridge.

I would have started to get worried but it was not uncommon for me to have to search for Sal. She often fell asleep in odd places, the strangest being in the rafters in the dining room once. How she got up there I never found out.

I peeled my jacket off and laid it on the back of a chair and set out on my search. The kitchen and main living room were connected, the view looking over the lake. Just off from the big room was the dining room.

Stairs descended from the living room into the basement level. On this floor there was only a large office and an even bigger master suite.

“Sal?” I called at the door as I knocked. After waiting a few seconds I let myself into her bedroom.

The furniture in Sal’s room was elegant and grand, looking fit to be in a kings quarters. There were beautiful, elegant curtains that hung from the windows that looked over the lake. A large painting of Sal in her younger days hung above the bed. A sheet had been pinned over the picture though but I noticed it had been drawn back, as if she was trying to peek at it. But all this was marred by the things that littered the room. Heaps of clothes, waiting for the housekeeper to come, most of them probably still clean.

Piles of books, neatly stacked, but everywhere.

“Sal?” I whispered as I listened for any signs of life.

After a moment I heard what I was listening for and followed it to the grand master bathroom. The bathroom matched the rest of the house, elegant in every detail. And there she was, sleeping in the claw foot tub, a towel under her head for a pillow.

She looked so peaceful, her face so much more relaxed than it was when she was awake. Her hair was blonde and even though she was only thirty-five it was starting to grey slightly. Her skin at one time had been perfect and beautiful but now was in sad need of some TLC. Wrinkles were already spreading on her forehead but this was more from the concerned look that crossed her face constantly.

“Sal,” I said softly as I put a hand on her shoulder.

“Wake up, Sal.”

She immediately opened her eyes and a confused expression crossed her face. She looked around her and the expression of confusion deepened at her surroundings.

When her eyes landed back on my face she relaxed just a bit.

“Is it done?” she asked.

“Is what done?” I asked as I helped her out of the tub.

Without answering me, she walked back into the bedroom and I followed her up the stairs. She went directly to the oven and opened the door. As I followed her, I could hear her sniffing at something, her head halfway inside the oven.

“I don’t understand,” she said with a confused voice as she shut the door. “I put it in hours ago.” Without asking what in the world she was talking about, I opened the oven door and saw what was on the rack.

There was a frozen lasagna sitting on the top rack but the oven was stone cold.

“Did you turn the oven on?” I asked her as I searched around for the box it came in.

“Oh,” she said, dragging the word out. “I forgot about that part I guess.”

I found the box in the cupboard that contained the dinnerware, shoved on the highest shelf. She was trying to hide it from the housekeeper so it wouldn’t be thrown out.

After reading the instructions, I pulled the lasagna out and set the oven to pre-heat, not even thinking twice about why Sal wanted to have lasagna at ten-thirty in the morning.

“I got you some new books today,” I said as I picked them up off the counter and handed them to her.

Sal’s eyes grew wide and excited as she grabbed them from my hands and walked to the couch in the living room.

I followed her in and took my own seat.

Sally Thomas had once been a beautiful, perfectly normal woman. She married her husband when she was twenty-four and the marriage had been fairly happy for a few years. As her husband began making more and more money he became a very selfish and unkind person. He also took to drinking, a lot of drinking. And when he was drunk he became violent.

Sal happened to come home one day to find her husband in a drunken rage and she got in his way. He beat her silly. She should have left him then but like so many other women she was in denial that he truly had a problem and he promised that it would never happen again. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to make promises.

The beatings came several times a week for years.

About six years ago, a friend came over to check on Sal when she couldn’t get a hold of her. She found Sal unconscious on the floor, in a pool of blood. She called an ambulance and Sal was lucky to have survived. The doctors said she was never going to fully recover and they thought there would probably be some brain damage.

Sal’s husband had fled that night but guilt eventually caught up to him and he turned himself in two days later.

He was arrested and sentenced to jail for a very long time.

All his money and assets were turned over to Sal.

I couldn’t understand how Sal had managed to take care of herself before I moved to Lake Samish. While she had her lucid times where she seemed absolutely normal, these occurrences were rare.

“Do you need anything, Sal?” I asked as I watched her flip through one of the books.

She shook her head furiously but after a second snapped her head up to look at me.

“Money,” she said before she sprang to her feet.

“Oh,” I said with a sigh. I knew what was coming. It was always the same.

Sal disappeared down the stairs and I heard her banging around loudly in the office below. After a few moments she reemerged with a broad grin on her face.

“Here you go,” she said as she shoved a few bills into my hands. “Thank you, Jessica.”

I looked at what she gave me and noted there was two-hundred dollars there. This was nearly twice what I had spent getting things for her. But I knew better than to refuse.

I had done that twice and it had thrown her into a screaming fit. It had taken me hours to calm her down. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Alright,” I said as I stood, tucking the bills into my back pocket. “I’m going to get going.”

Sal didn’t say anything back as she settled into the couch and flipped another book open, turning to a page three-quarters of the way into it.

“Call me if you need anything,” I said as I opened the door. Still nothing. “See ya, Sal.”

Getting no response, I closed the door behind me and started the walk back to my apartment.

I was ashamed to admit it, but being around Sal made me feel just slightly better about myself. I certainly felt terrible for what had happened to her. I had no doubts as to what would happen to her ex-husband come his judgment time. But I could usually hide my oddities. Occasionally numbers slipped between my lips but I knew I wasn’t the only one who counted my steps; it was something plenty of people did. I felt pretty normal when I was around Sal. I was the sane, rational one.

Ninety-one steps later I was back in my apartment. It was simple but cozy. The living area, kitchen and non-existent dining area were all combined. The kitchen contained one row of upper and lower cabinets. The stove was one of those old units that was remarkably smaller and narrower than the modern appliances. There was a sink, not one of the normal double ones, just a single sink. There was no dishwasher. The fridge sat at the end of the row and a microwave perched atop it. I didn’t exactly like this arrangement, it made it difficult to use, but there was nowhere else to put it.

The card table I used for dining upon was against the wall, floating oddly between the carpet of the living area, and the outdated tile of the kitchen. Again, no room. The living area was small but because I only had a small loveseat and a television that sat on top of one of those milk crate things, it didn’t feel too cramped. My bedroom was set off from all this and oddly it was as large as the other room, if not larger. There wasn’t much in here either; just my full size bed, a dresser and my guitar leaned in the corner. A walk-in closet led off the bedroom room as did the bathroom.

It wasn’t much but it was home. My own little haven where no one bothered me and no one could call me crazy.

The days passed slowly in the winter. There was nothing to distract me during the day as there was no yard work to be done and the garden had retired for the cold season. The rest of the house remained immaculately cleaned and would stay so considering I was the only one here. At least the days were slowly getting longer. One other major disadvantage Washington had is that in winter it starts to get dark at four-thirty. When one is trying to avoid sleep darkness is the enemy.

I looked at the clock that hung above the kitchen sink as I wiped my hands dry on a towel. Two thirty-six. I felt pretty good despite the late, or rather early hour. The fact that
all
the dishes were now sparkling clean might have had something to do with that. I
hated
doing the dishes.

As usual, I had on every light I possibly could in the apartment. As I said, darkness is the enemy. The temperature was also turned down as low as I could stand it and still wear my usual tank top and cotton shorts. Wearing anything else this time of night was just too uncomfortable.

I grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge. I hated to admit it but I was addicted to caffeine. In a way I had to be, how else was I supposed to go such long stretches without sleep? I may not have needed as much as everyone else but I didn’t exactly have superpowers. I popped the top open and took a long draw. Bubbles swirled around my mouth for a short moment before they slid down my throat and fizzed in my stomach. I tried not to think about what all the carbonation might be doing to the lining of my stomach and my liver. It took me all of twenty seconds to down the can before I crumpled it and tossed it into the recycle bin under the sink.

I made my way to my bedroom, grabbed my guitar and flopped onto my bed, my back leaned against the wood headboard. I stared blankly at the light yellow wall ahead of me as my fingers wandered on their own over the strings.

An irritating prickling began on the back of my neck and I could somehow feel every detail of my scar. This happened almost every night. It was as if the demented angels were calling to me in my consciousness, whispering to me to come to them. They would not even leave me alone in my waking hours. It wasn’t enough for them to torture me while I slept.

I stopped my strumming instantly when a small sound disturbed the otherwise silent house. The sound of a door creaking open. I knew beyond a doubt all the doors were securely closed and locked. Nothing should be getting blown open.

My heart started pounding as I realized what must be happening. Someone had broken in, picked the lock. My ears started ringing in a weird way as I dashed to the door that led into the rest of the house. I crept silently to the bucket in a corner that held a large stash of sporting gear and grabbed a metal baseball bat. Numbers were racing through my head almost faster than I could even subconsciously process them.

As I reached the bottom of the steps, I heard two or three heavy things drop to the ground. I inched my way up each stair, my back pressed to the wall as flat as I could make myself. The sound of keys jingling floated down to my ears and light found its way into the stairway as a switch was flipped in the living room above. I thought I heard the sound of the fridge open and close. This made no sense.

Why would the intruder be checking the empty fridge?

I heard steps cross the kitchen back toward the living room and approach my hiding place. My heart pounded so loudly, surely that was what brought the intruder to my hiding place. Another switch flipped on and the stairway was suddenly filled with blinding light.

“Stop right there!” I shouted as I held the baseball bat ready to swing away.

The intruder had just stepped onto the first stair when I shouted. He jumped violently, his foot slipping, and gave a yell. He held up his hands and I was glad to see they were empty.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?!” I cried as I backed down another stair. “What are you doing here? There’s no money here, I can tell you that so why don’t you just leave and I won’t call the cops.”

“What are you talking about?” he said as he lowered his hands. “I didn’t break in, although I’m starting to wonder if you did. What are you doing here?” Nothing he was saying made any sense. “I work here!

I’m the caretaker. Now please leave or I
will
call the cops!”

“Calm down,” he said, a small smile almost spreading on his face. “I’m the Wright’s grandson. Paul and Sue were my grandparents.”

“Were?” I demanded, my brain not quite comprehending everything that was happening.

“Ya,” he said as he looked at the cream colored carpet at his feet. “They died a week ago in a car accident.” I didn’t say anything for a few moments. Maybe he was lying. I hadn’t heard anything about the owners of the house passing but he did at least know their names. If he was breaking in he had either known them somehow or had done his homework.

“I promise I’m not lying,” he said as he looked into my eyes. “I wouldn’t make this up.”

I actually looked at the man before me for the first time. He was tall, probably just over six feet. He was well muscled and certainly looked fit. His hair was a short, well-trimmed sandy blonde color, his features were strong and sharp. His eyes piercing blue. Had I not been so terrified I would have been tempted to stare open-mouthed.

“My name’s Alex,” he said and looked as if he were debating if it was safe to come closer or not.

Alex, the name rang a bell. I had seen the name somewhere in the extra room downstairs, engraved on a trophy or something. As I looked at his face a bit closer I vaguely recognized it. His picture hung in several places upstairs, in the master bedroom mostly. He was older now but he was defiantly the same young man.

“You’re telling the truth,” I said plainly.

“Promise,” he said, that same smile tugging on his lips again.

Realizing I was still holding the bat ready to swing, I lowered it to my side. I suddenly felt conscious of how I looked. I felt horribly exposed wearing a spaghetti strapped tank and knew my shorts were
quite
short. They were the same ones I had worn since I was thirteen and were covered in frogs.

He must have noticed me squirming and looked slightly away, that grin again begging to spread itself on his face. “Um,” he said uncomfortably before looking back at me. “Do you happen to have anything to eat? I’m starving and the fridge up there is empty. Guess I should have expected that.”

I was taken aback by his request. This seemed rather presumptuous, especially since I had just been ready to attack him with a bat.

“Uh,” I stuttered as I tried to decide what my answer was going to be. “Ya, I guess,” I said, a disbelieving look crossing my face.

“Thanks!” he said as a dazzling smile finally spread across his face. It was if he had been stuffed full of sunshine and it was begging to burst out of him. It stunned me for a moment. A flock of butterflies swarmed in my stomach.

He followed me as I headed back toward the apartment. It kind of felt like I was dreaming, but my dreams weren’t like this.

“Wow,” he said as he looked around the dim family room. “Looks exactly the same as when I was here last.” I didn’t say anything as I opened my door. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I decided to make the drive up here yesterday morning. Driving the entire west coast took a bit longer than I expected. I guess I should have grabbed something to eat on the way but I was ready to be done traveling.” Still slightly dazed by what was happening, I opened the fridge and examined its contents. After a second I shut it.

“I don’t know what you’d like. Have whatever,” I said as I walked past him toward my bedroom. I ducked inside for a moment and grabbed my pale pink bathrobe and wrapped it securely around myself.

“I really appreciate this,” I heard him call, his head buried in the fridge. “I know this must be really weird for you.”

I walked back into the living room and watched as he pulled the makings for a ham sandwich out and set it on the counter.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” he said as he unscrewed the lid to the mayo. “I should have guessed someone would be though when I read in the will about a big chunk of money being left to pay for the caretaker. I wasn’t really thinking straight when I was reading it though.

It was kind of a shock.”

His sandwich made and the ingredients put away, he turned and sat at my shabby table. “You want one?” he said through a mouthful, his expression unsure, as if he realized he should have asked about sixty seconds ago.

I shook my head and didn’t say anything. The last thing I expected to happen today was to have a man sitting at my table at three in the morning.

“What’s your name?” he said as he swallowed.

“Jessica,” I half whispered. “Jessica Bailey.”

“Jessica,” he said as if to test out how it felt on his lips. “I’m really sorry about this. If I would have known you were here I would have waited until morning to come.” He scarfed the rest of the sandwich down in one bite.

I waited for a few moments, still staring at him in unbelief.

If there were any hints of tiredness in my system earlier they were gone now. It felt like my entire body was buzzing with awareness.

He swallowed his last bite and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Won’t you sit down?”

I moved stiffly to the other seat at the table. I could not even begin to search for words to say.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he looked at me. “You seem really shook up.”

His words seemed to finally jar me from my stupor.

Way to make a good impression
, I thought to myself. He hadn’t even seen the worst of anything yet and he already probably thought I was crazy. “Ya,” I finally managed to spit out. “You just… scared me. I didn’t exactly expect to have a visitor in the middle of the night.” That smile tugged on his lips again. “I’m sure.” He seemed to be studying me for several long moments and I felt self-conscious again. I was sure my hair was a mess, its wild mane of curls everywhere. I wasn’t wearing any makeup, though I hardly ever wore it. Even though I had gotten some sleep the night before I knew the bags under my eyes must still look frightening.

“I was in Africa when they called me.” I almost jumped when he finally spoke. “I was doing volunteer work in Kenya. I got the call just a few hours after the crash and I had to fly back the next day to take care of the funeral arrangements. Wasn’t exactly how I had planned for my week to go.

“They were buried in southern California and I was told by their lawyer that they had left everything to me.

Including all their real estate investments.”

“And that would include this house,” I said quietly and wondered if he realized he was starting to ramble.

“I guess so,” he said as he looked around. “This house was always my favorite. It’s quiet here, peaceful.” I nodded my head without saying anything.

He said nothing else but stood and stretched. This was followed by a yawn. “Well I’m spent,” he said as he headed toward the door. “Good-night, Jessica. Thank you for the sandwich.”

He paused at the door for just a moment, leaving it half open. He looked into my eyes and it took me a moment to realize why fear and intrigue suddenly set into my heart.

Those eyes, perfectly blue. Almost exactly like the exalted ones.

Just as he walked out and quietly closed the door, I managed to whisper, “Good-night Alex.”

I crawled onto the couch, wrapping my arms around my knees and listened to his movements. He walked up the stairs for a few moments before coming back down. I heard a door open and close and I had a sudden terrifying realization.

Alex was staying here. I had heard him bring in suitcases. He would be sleeping here at nights. And in the room that shared a wall with my own.

I don’t know why I had not realized this before. If I were to fall asleep I would seriously freak him out when I started screaming.

Of course as soon as I had this thought my eyelids became heavy. It sucks sometimes how the brain works, when you tell it it can’t do something that is of course the first thing it wants to do. As if in response to this, my scar began to tingle again.

A door opened and another one closed. A few moments later I heard the shower in the other bathroom being turned on. After a minute or so I heard a faint humming, a song I did not recognize.

A thought occurred to me and I sprang from the couch and retrieved my laptop. As soon as it was up and running I opened up the Internet. I typed in the words and a fraction of a second later I was sorting through hits. The fifth one down gave me what I needed.

Alex had been telling the truth. Paul and Sue Wright had indeed died a week ago in a car accident. The article said Paul had likely fallen asleep at the wheel and drove into oncoming traffic, hitting a semi truck. The truck driver had not been hurt but they had not stood a chance in their little compact car.

I heard the water shut off and I snapped the computer closed. I listened for his movements again and heard the bathroom door open and his bedroom door close. I counted to fifty and heard no more movement.

All my life I had been envious of everyone around me, just for the simple fact that they could sleep without fear, without having to face judgment for the dead.

Absentmindedly I placed a hand on the back of my neck and ran my fingers over the scar.

After downing another Dr. Pepper, I sat back on the couch and listened to the house breathe in the night. The wind picked up slightly, whispering to the house to let it in and warm itself. A light sprinkle began, giving the world a cleansing rinse from the day’s grime. Finally the house sounded like it should this time of night. Silent.