Connection, page 10
She couldn’t see the face of the woman standing before her; her image was fuzzy, almost as though she was looking at her through gauze. Even so, Julie could see a smile, whiteness against the skin color of her face. She smiled in return, feeling as though a weight was being lifted from her shoulders, her heartrate slowing.
Green eyes studying the field around her, Julie could see the sun above, even feel its warmth against her face, evoking a sigh of contented relief. Startled to feel a soft touch on her hand, she glanced over to see her companion beginning to walk. Julie walked alongside her. Who was this person? Remmy. The name seemed to float along the breeze, entering Julie’s subconscious and bringing a smile to her face.
****
Remmy forced her mind to produce a lake, its water calm and inviting. She turned the focus of the dream in that direction, leading the way for her dream companion.
Julie walked alongside her, a soft smile on her lips, much like the one from Julie’s professional photo. It wasn’t a smile of true, full happiness, but it would do.
“It looks so inviting,” Julie said, her voice wistful.
“Enjoy it, Julie. Enjoy this.”
Julie turned to her out-of-focus companion. “I think I will.”
****
Julie groaned as she was pulled from the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks. Green eyes blinked open as she tried to figure out what had pulled her back into reality. Then it hit her, hard. She gasped, the cramps twisting her insides into knots.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, wishing more than ever that she could curl up. Or die. She grimaced as it suddenly felt like her insides were going to fall out from her very swollen, aching sex. She groaned again. She felt utterly vulnerable and exposed, standing there as a very private ritual of womanhood began. Hot, bitter tears seeped from beneath her closed lids. She hated to feel helpless. Within moments, it was confirmed that her period was right on time. “Fuck,” she whispered. It wasn’t long before she felt wet and uncomfortable.
Julie knew it was senseless to be upset or grossed out, that all her personal needs had to be taken care of where she stood. But somehow her monthly period was far too personal to not be able to take care of properly, and her cramps were about to double her over where she stood. She would have done just about anything for a tampon and some Advil.
****
Remmy had been holed up in her apartment for the past day and a half, plowing through the stack of books she’d gotten from the library. The titles read like a spiritualist’s bibliography: Lucid Dreaming for Dummies, Astro Projection: Climbing Into the New World (whatever that might be), and The Psychic Connection. On and on the titles went, old books filled with dry information, none of which seemed to strike a chord.
Since the previous night, she’d been sitting cross-legged on her bed, a volume open in her hands and another lying face down on the comforter in front of her. She read every word, trying to squeeze the last drop of information out of them. The only thing that even slightly resonated with Remmy was the book on lucid dreaming, the practice of controlling the events and characters in a dream. That was all true. It was exactly what Remmy had been doing, but apparently none of the books in the library could tell her how she was able to influence someone else during the dreams. She was reaching Julie, of that she was certain. She could feel her reactions, could actually feel her calming as the dream progressed.
The library books were all stacked in Remmy’s backpack, ready to be returned early. They had been of no help. She was resigned to just accepting her phenomenon as it was, just as she always had. She did, however, have an idea, and hoped Matt Wilson would be willing to work with her. In the meantime, she had eagerly accepted Joan’s invitation to dinner.
“What’s going on behind those baby blues?” Joan asked, chopping vegetables as she glanced over at Remmy, who was so lost in her own thoughts that she was in danger of shredding the cabbage for their salad into coleslaw.
“Huh?” Remmy startled from her thoughts. She saw Joan smirking at her. Cheeks flushing at being caught daydreaming—again—she turned her attention back to her handiwork. “Sorry. Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Well, don’t think so hard. You might just lose a finger.” Joan gestured at the sharp knife Remmy was using on the cabbage She changed the subject with a grin. “So, what do you think of Mabel?”
“In what way?” Remmy lifted the cutting board and scraped her lettuce confetti into the salad bowl. Moments later Joan added diced tomatoes, carrots, and onions.
“As an employee. Do you think she’s catching on?” Joan wiped tomato seeds off of her hands and then turned to the hamburgers that were browning in a pan on the stovetop.
Remmy thought about the question for a moment as she snared a couple of carrots from the bag on the counter. She chewed one thoughtfully, mentally reviewing the performance of the newest member of their team at the store. “I guess,” she said at length. “I think she’s still a little unsure on entering the cash drawer into the system.” She glanced at Joan. “Seems to make her nervous. But other than that,” she shrugged, “she’s good, I guess. Why?”
“We’re one short as of Tuesday. Todd’s leaving.”
“Really? Hmm.” Remmy was surprised to hear one of the night managers was leaving. She didn’t know him all that well, but it would make work schedules tight. She wondered why Joan was telling her. Even though it affected the store, she had the feeling Joan was stalling, like she had something else she wanted to talk about. Instead, Joan asked Remmy to get the table set as she flipped slices of cheese onto the patties. Remmy knew Doug wasn’t home for dinner; he had gone hunting with his three brothers.
Silently and efficiently, the two women took the food to the table, where plates, napkins, and condiments were set out. Remmy spread a generous amount of Miracle Whip on the top bun, then squirted a goodly amount of ketchup on the meat. She could feel Joan’s eyes on her and she glanced up at her in question.
“That’s disgusting,” Joan said, shaking her head as she piled banana peppers and mustard onto her own sandwich. She looked away before catching the raised eyebrow at her own preparations.
“What’s on your mind?” Remmy took a mammoth bite from her hamburger, humming in pleasure at the mixture of tastes on her tongue. She was amused by the surprised look on Joan’s face.
“That lady cop came by the store the night you were out with your friend Roman. She was looking for you.”
“Why?” Remmy wiped her mouth then sipped from her iced tea.
Joan met the curious blue gaze. “The town is going to have a memorial service for Julie Wilson.”
Remmy stared at her. “Why?”
“Because they think she’s dead.”
“But she’s not!” Remmy threw her napkin onto the table.
Joan was unmoved. “Remmy, she’s been gone for how long now…two months or more? They found her blood, honey. It’s likely she is dead.”
Remmy looked at her plate, her appetite gone. She had no idea why Joan’s declaration upset her so badly. Julie was alive, damn it. She was! “Well, I think that’s crazy. I mean, if it’ll make them feel better, whatever. But I think it’s just going to make them feel worse.”
“That might be, but that’s what the detective said. She asked me to pass the message on to you.” Joan scooped some salad onto her plate and squirted Ranch dressing on top. “I told her you’d be upset,” she said, not looking up.
Remmy remained silent. She was angry at Grace Cowan for acknowledging that they’d given up hope for Julie’s return. She was also angry at Matt Wilson. Hadn’t she told him she’d get his sister back home safe and sound? With a heavy sigh, she continued to eat her now-tasteless dinner.
Chapter Fourteen
Sergio checked his rearview and side mirrors. He was right where he needed to be. Checking the sleeping neighborhood, he made sure that there were no lights shining in any of the windows. Climbing out of the van, he carefully closed the driver’s side door and pulled open the freshly oiled sliding door to the back. Still unnoticed, he pulled gloves onto his hands—lightweight, easy to maneuver—and strolled into the backyard. He knew from earlier inspection that there was no dog, or any other type of pet that might harm him or give away his presence.
The yard was barren, the mark of a homeowner who spent little or no time back there. The only indication at all of habitation was a sheet pinned to the line. He took note of it, in case he should he need it later. Making his way onto the back porch, Sergio’s black clothing and dark hair blended with the shadows, making him seem to disappear. He reached into the pocket of his black jeans, removing the familiar pieces of metal as he crouched on one knee. Using the tips of his fingers, he felt the knob and deadbolt, easily inserting the picks and manipulating them patiently until he felt his target. Within a couple of moments, the lock clicked open. The first phase of his plan was successfully completed.
Sergio took it slowly, easing his way through what appeared to be a room that had been added on. A washer and dryer lined the left wall, tall, metal cabinets rose on the right. Straight ahead was an open doorway, which led to an “L” shaped kitchen. He ran his hand along the counter, following the smooth line until it was interrupted by the stove, then over another stretch of counterspace. At last he reached the arched entryway to the room, which led to a larger space. He stopped, looked around, listened. Somewhere a clock ticked, its constant marking of time seeming crude in the perfect stillness. Two large windows at the front of the room let in just enough light to show the top of a console television and the arm of what appeared to be a couch or armchair. Apparently this was the front room of the house. The glass panes in the front door confirmed his assumption.
Sergio glanced to his left, seeing a wall with a window in the center, its shade pulled down. Something reflected the muted light from that window and further inspection showed him a built-in cabinet of some sort. It was too dark inside to tell what was stored within. It didn’t matter. His treasure lay elsewhere.
Feeling his way past the cabinet, not wanting to misstep and fall against the glass, he felt another archway just beyond it. This led to a dark hallway with another door directly in front of him, one further down the hall to his left, and one further down the hall to his right. From the smell of Irish Spring soap, he placed the bathroom directly ahead. This left him to choose either right or left. Moving to the left, which took him to the room at the front of the house, he realized almost instantly that he had gone the wrong way. Inside was the muted blue light from a gigantic fish tank. A futon couch sat against the opposite wall, and a desk with a computer on it occupied the area under the large window. The room smelled of furniture polish.
Sergio backtracked, his pulse racing and heart beginning to pound as he crept into the final room, where he knew his prize awaited. He could feel the excitement rising in his throat and he swallowed reflexively. As he got closer to the room, the door slightly ajar, he thought back to his mother, who always slept with her door closed, no matter what. He thought of the bedroom beyond her closed door—sparsely furnished, with a huge, wooden cross that hung over the bed. He always thought his mother’s room looked more like a nun’s cell than a bedroom in a house in the suburbs of Chicago. The rest of the house had been almost as devoid of any sort of humanity or indication that anyone inhabited its cold, white walls.
He shook the thoughts away as his hand reached out, barely touching the door as he tested the hinges. They squeaked just enough to make him stop. He tensed, listening intently. Nothing. Slowly pushing the door open a little further, he stopped again, then pushed one last time until the door was fully open. The room was very dark, but he could hear the soft breathing of the woman who lay sprawled in the bed. He waited a frozen moment as his eyes adjusted to this new darkness, eventually able to make out a large patch of light color, which he realized was the light-colored bedding. The floors in the room were wood, unlike the carpeting in the rest of the house. Good thing his boots had rubber soles.
He moved slowly, stopping when he felt the gentle resistance of the edge of the mattress against his knees. He smiled at the woman who was sleeping on her side. One arm was outside of the covers, the hand up by her face. Her long, dark hair was spread out over the pillow. He reached out a hand, yearning to touch it, but stopped when he heard a gasp.
In a heartbeat, Sergio was on top of the woman, forcing her to her back, a hand tight over her mouth. Huge dark eyes stared up at him in terror.
“Shh,” he cooed, his hand firmly in place. “Don’t be frightened.” The girl began to whimper. With his much heavier body weight, he held her in place while he snagged a t-shirt from the floor next to the bed and then reached into the pocket of his jacket to produce a tiny bottle. With a quick twist of his fingers, he had the cap off the bottle and the liquid on the cloth. The barest bit of a scream was audible as the shirt was pressed over her mouth. The girl struggled for only a moment before she went limp.
Sergio kept the pressure on for a moment, making sure she was indeed unconscious. Reassured, he pushed himself up, breathing hard and sweating profusely. He knew he didn’t have much time, so he threw the covers off of her and lifted her in strong arms. Mindful of her legs and head, Sergio quickly went back the way he had come, and out into the chilly October night.
****
Pamela felt as though she was about to lose her mind. Roxie had been crying off and on for the past... Hell, she had no idea how long. It was a long time. She was at the end of her rope, and if she hadn’t been bound to the fucking wall, she would have gone over there and beat the living shit out of the woman. Pamela could tell Julie was sick of it too. Sure, the cute little blonde had said she felt mean for telling Roxie to shut the fuck up and quit her whining. Now, after far too much of this crap, even Julie sounded like she was tired of it, and often told Roxie to stuff a sock in it.
Pamela’s musings were cut short when suddenly the little door swung open and the asshole backed in, grunting. She wasn’t at all surprised to see that he was dragging someone inside.
****
“Evenin’, ladies,” Sergio said, amused at his own casualness. He dropped the hands of his captive and stood to his full height to stretch his back. He looked at the women—one to his left, one to his right, and the sad sack straight in front of him. His gaze was fixated on her. Her eyes were tear-streaked and swollen, her bottom lip protruding. “What?” he asked, his patience thin after his long evening.
Roxie shook her head. “I don’t wanna be here no more,” she cried, voice thick from hours of crying.
Sergio took a step toward her. “What?”
“Shut up, Roxie,” Julie said, her voice breathy with fear.
“I don’t wanna be here; I wanna go home,” Roxie said, fresh tears leaking down her cheeks.
Sergio’s patience ran out, leaving him cold and irritated. He took another step toward her, his facial features hardened into planes of shadow-chiseled stone. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice low. His blood began to warm then simmer as her tears not only didn’t stop but increased. “I said, stop crying.”
“Roxie, please,” Julie pleaded.
Roxie’s sobs echoed in the tight space, her head shaking as her eyes squeezed shut, tears still falling. She gasped and cried out as a large, strong hand suddenly gripped her throat.
“Stop crying!” Sergio yelled, his face mere inches from hers. He could feel the smooth, cool flesh beneath his hand, the continuing tears making the flesh wet and slippery. Angered that the bitch wasn’t following his commands, his blood raged at the sight of this nobody who was not worth his pity, not worth his spit, not worth his mercy. “Stop crying, you bitch!” he screamed, Roxie’s gasping face merged with that of a woman much older, eyes small and dark, looking at him with hatred and disgust. “I said stop! Fucking stop!” She opened her mouth, sharp little tongue waggling at him, telling him what a bad boy he was, what a waste and how pitiful he was. You’re not a man, she hissed. You’re pathetic. God’s castoff. He tightened his grip, watching in satisfaction as those dark, beady eyes bulged, his hatred burning strong, burning deep.
****
Julie couldn’t take her eyes away from what was happening. Her heart stopped in her chest, fear ice cold and heavy. She could hear the rattle of Roxie’s bonds as her body convulsed, as she tried desperately to reach for the hand that clenched tighter and tighter, but impotent to do anything—just like Julie was.
****
“Stop crying,” Sergio whispered, Roxie’s wide blue eyes staring sightlessly back at him. No longer struggling. No longer crying. No longer breathing.
Pamela watched in a daze as her jailor let go of Roxie, his barrel chest heaving as he panted. He stepped back from the woman whose head fell forward as soon as it was released. Pam was truly terrified for the first time in many, many months.
****
He ran a trembling hand through his hair, which hung in his eyes, almost giving him the appearance of a little boy. He looked around, unable to meet either woman’s eye.
Sudden movement and noise startled them all as the body he had left near the door moved, the girl groaning and coughing. He hurried over to her, gathering her up in strong arms and quickly reaching into his pocket. He shoved the drugged t-shirt over her mouth again, rendering her unconscious within moments.
The stunned silence was broken only by the sounds of Sergio dragging his new victim over to the wall where Julie was bound. He grunted as he hefted the girl’s dead weight, holding her in place with his body as he quickly got her into place. Stepping away from her, he bent over, resting his palms on his bent knees and taking several deep breaths.
