Heartless (29 page)

“Right.” I tried to push away my tears.

He kept staring at me but I saw now that his face had turned quite pale, almost ashen.

“Heather, there’s more.”

More? Did he mean the unwrapped gift? I had almost forgotten that.

He let go of my hands and looked down at his bare knees. I saw his face cloud with shame. Why? He looked so vulnerable. I wanted to hold him. I wanted us to hold each other through all of this.

“I followed the story so closely in the news. It was three years ago... That was when my dad died…The same time…” He got all choked up. “I hated him.” His jaw clenched and his fists curled into angry balls.

“Fate brought us together, Heather.” He had tears in his eyes now. “To heal something painful or make good what was bad, I’m sure of it. Our love is strong enough, isn’t it?”

His eyes were pleading with me. “It’s strong enough, isn’t it?” he said again.

“For what?” I wanted to wipe away his tears. My fingers reached toward his cheek.

He took a breath, had a hard time meeting my gaze, but he lifted his wet blue eyes to mine. I saw something desperate there, and
so
sad. And scared.

“He was my father, Heather. Pastor Guthrie was my
father
.”

One of the nearby candles guttered and went out. My fingers stopped in mid air.

My fingers, Josh’s fingers,
Pastor Guthrie’s fingers
…

Josh took a deep breath and continued to talk. “In his obituary it said he was survived by three children. He had two with his second wife.
I
was the first one. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

I didn’t hear anything Josh said anymore. I got out of the bed as if I were a zombie. I picked up my white sundress from the floor and pulled it over my head, started walking toward the patio. I think Josh followed me. I wasn’t paying attention anymore.

I was in that farmhouse again. A deep voice said, “Everything is fine. Everything is holy.” A kind smile, a caress along my thigh, strong fingers seeking my secrets. No one knew. No one knew the whole truth.

As if from a great distance, I heard him say, “I know it’s a lot to take in. I understand it’s hard. If you want to be alone for a few minutes it’s okay. I’m sorry, Heather. I know our love is stronger than this. It’s strong enough to face anything.”

But not this.

I walked through the narrow gap between the bushes and the building. I kept on walking. Into the dark, starlit night I walked with bare feet over dewy grass. Pretty soon I was running. Running as fast as I could.

Heather, Then

I am running through fire. My lungs are burning. Everything is white and hot. The smoke is thick and blinds me.

“Turn back,” he yells. “Turn back!” It’s Ethan. He stands by the edge of the cornfield. He’s waving his arms at me.

“Don’t look, Heather!”

But I do. Through veils of smoke that part for a second before clouding in again I see bodies with clothes aflame. I smell the stink of burning hair and flesh. I hear tiny explosions but no screams. I feel the heat. I see paint curling off the wooden sills of the farmhouse. I hear the crack of beams as the ceiling gives way.

I see
him
. He holds an open Bible in one hand. The pages curl and catch fire. The skin on his fingers begins to peel back in the heat. I cough as smoke fills my lungs. My body, of its own will, moves away, toward the door and the fresh air. No one in the house moves. It’s as if they’re all asleep and don’t know what is happening. Bodies are everywhere but smoke blinds me now. I can’t see my parents. Nor the other 80 or so others who’d attended their last sermon at the
NCAC
. Children, too.

I feel sick. I feel faint. I drop to the floor and crawl my way back through the back door, toward Ethan and the cornfield. Some survival instinct drives me. I hear sirens now. At the bottom of the stairs leading to the back garden Ethan gathers me up. He supports me around my waist. More sirens.

“Come on,” he says. “We have to get out of here.”

We run away from the sirens, away from the house, away from what used to be our lives. Of course, there’s nowhere to go but home. Ethan says he has a plan, tells me to pack my stuff, meet him at the train station.

My house is empty. The radio is on. Chicken is defrosting on the kitchen counter. I sit down and don’t get up. I’m told later I was in shock. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything for a long time. The authorities find me, and Ethan, too. Child Welfare arranges our lives. What’s left of them. We never see each other again. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. I just don’t care for a long, long time.

Heather, Now

My feet are scraped and sore. It’s dark. I smell eucalyptus, hear insects in the trees. In the distance, a passing car. Up ahead is a pole. A street sign. San Ysidro Road. I smell the sea. I have run to the sea to escape the fire.

A box of light sits by the side of the road. A pay phone. I run to it. I can think now. I couldn’t think before but now I can. And it’s like a drink of cool water after running through a fire. I have no change on me. I’m wearing only a white sundress. No underwear, no shoes. I begin to laugh. I realize I am in a predicament. I realize I am running from my past. I have run away from my tormentor’s son. I have escaped. I dial the operator, place a collect call to Brian’s cell phone. I wake him; his voice is groggy. I tell him who it is but he knows by my voice, even as high-pitched and panicked as it sounds. I tell him San Ysidro Road. He tells me wait. He’ll be there soon.

I walk along the highway in the direction that Brian will come from. I’ll meet him partway. I can do that. I’m good at my job. I’m more than competent. I am getting better everyday. I am getting stronger every day.

I hear an engine. Is it Brian already? But no, the sound is behind me not ahead. A loud engine. Like a motorcycle. I panic. Pastor Guthrie’s son is coming to get me!
He won’t hurt you
, says a voice deep inside. Is it beach-girl? No, not her. The other voice. The dark one? I don’t know which one. The engine noise gets louder.

There’s nowhere to hide along the side of the road so I start to run. But I’m so tired and my feet are sore. I can only jog pathetically.

I turn back and see a single beam of light. It’s on me now, blinding me. I hold up my arm to shield my eyes. The light catches me, slows down, the engine dulls to an idling growl.

You can trust Josh
. Says my voice inside.

The motorcycle pulls up beside me.

“Hi Sweetheart. Awfully late to be out on the road in your nightie. Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

It’s not Josh. It’s a different motorcycle, a different man.

“Come on sweetie, get on.” He reaches a gloved hand out to me. He is on one side of me and a highway barrier is on the other. I shake my head and keep on walking.

“Someone’s coming to meet me,” I manage to mutter.

“Maybe it’s me coming to meet you, sweetie.” The man laughs a little and he sounds playful and happy, but I don’t think he is.

“No,” I say as I keep walking. “Brian’s coming to meet me.”

“Oh. Okay. Brian then. I’ll take you to meet Brian. How ‘bout that? You’ll find him faster if you let me give you a ride down the road a little.”

A wave of relief washes over me. “You’ll take me to him?”

“Sure thing, little lady.”

I just want to go home. I just want Brian to take me home.

The man on the motorcycle holds out his leather-clad arm. I see now he has a moustache. “Hop on,” he says in a sweet gentle voice.

I do.

Josh

It’s the longest five minutes of my life, waiting for Heather while she walks off her shock. When she doesn’t come back I’m worried she’s lost in the garden in the dark. I throw on my shorts and T-shirt and head out after her. Where did she go? It’s dark but I should be able to make out her white sundress. I walk around to the front of the building and check the parking lot. Where could she have gone? My heart’s starting to race. I must have totally freaked her out with the truth. I thought she might be ready for it. I thought her throwing away the remnants of her past meant she was ready to let go. And was I wrong about her feelings for me? Maybe they weren’t as strong as I thought. But they are! They must be. Shit, where could she be?

I run back around to the room and grab my boots and jacket. Suddenly I’m worried she’s taken off, run away or something. Now
I’m
the one freaking out. What if I sent her over the edge? What an idiot I am. Things were going so well. And I fucked it up.

I race back out to my bike and fire up the engine. I don’t care how late it is, I tear out of the parking lot like a son-of-a-bitch. Which is exactly how I feel. “Thanks for the great advice, mom,” I mutter to myself. But what I really am is the son-of-a-bastard. So much for the truth. It damn well hurts like hell.

I cruise down San Ysidro Road, looking for a spectre in white. Would she have really gone this far? Would she really be trying that hard to get away from me? And then I realize the devastating impact the truth might have on my life: I might lose Heather. My heart clenches. I rev the engine and pour my pain into the burning wheels of rubber on the road. I’ll die if I lose her.

Heather

At some point I started shivering and somebody put a large leather jacket around my shoulders and a blanket over my legs and feet. I was as numb as I was on that couch all those years ago, but I sat on a log now, and I felt sand under my feet. I heard people and music. I smelled beer and whiskey. And like years before, I saw fire. Burning, leaping flames. I stared into them, looking for bodies.

Somebody nudged me and I felt whiskers against my cheek and neck as thick lips reeking of beer searched for my mouth.

“How’s my little damsel in distress?” A deep, husky voice pushed into my reverie. A large hand swept across my chest, grabbed me, palmed roughly, and wasn’t satisfied for long. It strayed to my thighs and dug between my legs like a pickpocket.

“Stop,” I whispered. I couldn’t find my voice. Like in those dreams where you try to scream but nothing comes out and you want to move but your limbs are like lead.

Only mild laughter answered me as rough fingers crept up my inner thigh.

I heard more motorcycles drive up and engines turn off. Whoops and laughter. Clinking bottles and cans. Loud heavy metal music bounced around in the dark.

The hand pinched now as it tried to open me.

“Stop.” The same weak voice. I couldn’t make it work properly.

How did I get here?

Josh. I remembered Josh now. The birthday, the papers. I felt sticky between my legs from our sex. The animal of a man beside me touched my stickiness and thought it was for him. He growled with pleasure. I pushed him away. I remembered Josh and so I pushed as hard as I could.

I heard more laughing around me. “Save some ‘o that for the rest of us, Brody!”

I was certain that I was the ‘that’ being referred to. I started screaming. It started out as a whimper but got stronger. He put his hand on my face to shut me up so I bit down hard. He slapped me and I fell over the back of the log. The blanket flew off my legs. My dress fell up above my hips. I scrambled in the shadows behind the log, but before I could get up, a weight pressed me down. I could barely breathe as I struggled to free myself.