Connection, page 25
Remmy nodded. Very nice, indeed. She had left not long after her little breakdown, which had been incredibly embarrassing. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but felt it was only right. She had searched for Julie to...to what? To make sure she was okay? Certainly not to cry on her shoulder. She wanted to go back, but had no reason to. None that made sense, anyway.
“Oh, Remmy, I’ve been meaning to tell you—Mabel is going on a trip with her boyfriend; she’ll be gone for a few days. Can you cover for her?”
“Absolutely,” Remmy said without thought, then glared at Joan. “It’s not like I’ve got too many hours or anything.”
Joan smirked. “Hey, honey, you leave the party, you get what’s left over.”
Remmy rolled her eyes.
****
Julie chuckled at the mess that was her nephew. She knew that Matt would kick her butt when he saw Skylar. The nine-year-old had come over for the weekend to help her paint. He had helped, alright. He was more colorful than any rainbow, certainly more colorful than her walls. She made him go scrub all the paint off his skin and out of his hair before she took him for the promised ice cream.
****
Remmy took a step back, head cocked to the side as she tried to decide how to proceed with the display. They had about two hundred cases of Miller Genuine Draft and no room for them in the back room or in the coolers, so she was being creative, to Joan’s chagrin. She had already created the legs and feet of her intended robot, held sturdy by various hard materials she had scavenged—pieces of Plexiglas and wood—to help stabilize everything.
All morning she’d been feeling the buzz of her emotions reaching out, searching. She was starting to see her mind like an antennae: always reaching out to seek a signal from someone, picking up on random channels without her permission. Suddenly her mind would be filled with scenes she didn’t want to see, things she didn’t want to feel. When Fayola taught her how to clamp down on it, she’d given the greatest gift. The beautiful dark woman told her that her own visions had nearly ruined her life, certainly running it, just as Remmy’s had. In the past weeks Remmy had known more peace than she had in her entire life, now that she had learned how to block the signals. Now she was able to choose when she wished to “tune in”.
She closed her eyes and the buzzing came back. It wasn’t an audible buzz, more like a sensation, like her body beginning to vibrate, as though a wave of energy was trying to find a way around the prison bars she visualized to hold back the searching probe and all the information it gathered. It was strong today, and she was becoming exhausted.
The bells above the door jangled and the excited chatter of a young boy filled the store, along with the quiet hushing sounds of his companion. Remmy shot up, turning to face the store, eyes searching for the owner.
Over near the slushy machine, she saw the back of a blonde head. Swallowing nervously and running her hand through her hair, she moved the cases of beer out of the way and headed over to the bullpen, trying to keep her eyes off the two. She smiled at the debate Julie and Skylar on what size he would get, Julie finally settling on a medium, which he had to share with her.
After five very long minutes, Julie and Skylar approached the counter, Julie digging through her purse. Wallet in hand, she looked up, eyes widening in surprise when she saw Remmy behind the counter. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi. Find everything alright?” She nodded at the slushy that Skylar held against his chest, red straw never once leaving his mouth.
Julie glanced down at him. She brushed the straw from his lips.
“Skylar,” she said, “we haven’t paid for that yet.”
Remmy was amused. “Is that it for you?”
“Yeah. That’ll do it.” Julie plucked a couple of singles from her wallet. Her heart was racing, fingers shaking slightly as she handed over the bills. She met the gentle blue eyes, and smiled. “How are you?” she asked, thinking of Remmy’s emotional meltdown the last time they’d met.
Remmy smiled and shrugged. “I’m good. And yourself?”
“Just fine. Skylar here helped me paint this weekend,” she said, mussing the boy’s hair. He glared up at her as he sucked on the straw.
Remmy rested her forearms on the counter and leaned down. “Are you a good helper?” Skylar nodded vigorously, not releasing his straw. Remmy chuckled.
“He apparently preferred to paint himself and me more than the walls,” Julie said, capturing Remmy’s attention again.
“Like nephew, like aunt,” Remmy teased, an eyebrow raised as she stood to her full height. She grinned at the slight blush on Julie’s face.
“I said I was sorry about your shirt,” Julie said, smiling at the loud burst of laughter from Remmy—a decidedly wonderful sound.
“Well, were you able to finish the mighty project of repainting?” Remmy asked, smirking at the twinkle in Julie’s eyes.
“Not even close.” Julie said, thinking of the third bedroom, kitchen, and living room. Between her and Skylar, they’d managed to finish one bedroom, all three bathrooms, and the hallway upstairs.
“If you need help, I uh...” Remmy’s eyes looked everywhere but at Julie. “I could help.” The silence that ensued made her finally look at Julie, who was smiling at her.
“Don’t offer something like that unless you mean it.”
“I mean it,” Remmy said indignantly.
Julie studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll let you help, then.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Julie wiped her hands on her old cut-offs before reaching to open the multitude of locks she had installed on the front door. Their counterparts could be found on every door that led inside her home. She wondered whether this was a good idea—she didn’t even know Remmy Foster, yet she was bringing her into her home to help her paint. She was extremely grateful for what Remmy had done for her—saved her life—but she still needed to be careful.
Unfortunately, the very events that had brought the two women together had made Julie beyond paranoid about any- and everyone who entered her personal space. Last night while she had been lying in bed, knowing that Remmy was coming over, she wondered how Remmy knew where she’d been. Maybe she was in cahoots with Sergio Venti, and no one had realized it. Was Remmy trying to worm her way into Julie’s life simply to finish the job Sergio hadn’t?
Julie rolled her eyes. Any of her concerns could possibly be true, but she knew she was being ridiculous. She opened the door and found Remmy standing on the other side, just as she knew she would. The ever-present backpack was slung over one shoulder, the eyes, gentle and clear, darted nervously toward Julie’s face, and then away.
Julie smiled. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Remmy remained on the porch, her heart pounding at being face to face with Julie again.
“Are you sure you want to subject yourself to this?” Julie asked, giving Remmy, and herself, a chance to back out gracefully. She had never had such a reaction —feeling so close, feeling such a draw—to any one person in her life, and it frightened her. It was almost as though Remmy had some sort of spell over her that made her nearly breathless every time she saw her. It made her feel small and vulnerable, yet so filled with strength and calm at the same time.
“I’m sure.” Remmy looked past Julie, who still blocked the doorway. “But, unless you intend to give me a roller with a majorly extended handle, I can’t do much from out here.”
Julie frowned at her own rudeness. “I’m sorry.” She stepped aside, allowing Remmy to pass. Looking back into the beautiful spring day, Julie took one final breath and closed and locked the door with finality.
When she turned around, she saw Remmy standing in the center of the room, backpack still in place, waiting for instruction. “You can put that on the couch if you want,” she said, pointing. Remmy did as she was directed, then stood with her hands in the back pockets of her cargo pants.
Looking intently at Remmy, Julie noted the clear, beautiful face. The eyes, which had caught her attention from the start, were watching her. It wasn’t just the unusually blue color of the irises, but the depth of Remmy’s eyes that was astonishing and somewhat disconcerting. They seemed to be the eyes of a woman who was three hundred years old rather than twenty-something. They looked at her with so much gentleness and seemingly endless understanding, Julie felt as if she might cry, or beg to be saved and protected from all the unknowns of the world.
Realizing she was staring, Julie looked away, but not before noting the slender form, a bit of flat stomach visible where Remmy’s shirt had ridden up. “Well,” Julie said at length, purposefully breaking the curious tension in the air by clapping her hands together, “we’ve got a lot of work to do today. Well,” she clarified with a sheepish grin, “I’ve got a lot of work to do today. You’re not captive here, Remmy.” She froze, realizing what she’d said.
A lopsided grin on her lips, Remmy walked over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m here for the duration, Julie,” she said. “Let’s git ’er done.”
Julie smiled. “Let’s git ’er done.”
With George Michael’s “Freedom 90” blasting through the speakers in the CD player that sat on the hall carpet, Julie and Remmy went to work painting the second spare bedroom. Not much conversation passed between them, each fully concentrating on her task, as well as her own thoughts.
It took all of Remmy’s self-control to not stop painting and console Julie. Though she did her best to turn off her mind, she could still feel the slight unease radiating off her. She wasn’t certain of the cause, but had formed some idea. Perhaps Julie thought it strange that Remmy would come seek her out after months of no contact. Or, perhaps Julie thought she was a freak, her abilities creepy. Or, perhaps Julie was just unsettled by her being there. Maybe she shouldn’t have offered to help. She knew what a warm, loving person Julie was, and maybe she hadn’t had the heart to reject her offer. Or maybe she needed the help, but felt uncomfortable with a veritable stranger helping her. A furrow formed in her forehead as the possibilities flitted through her brain.
She really wanted to send out her probe, enter Julie’s mind to see what she was feeling, where her distress was coming from, but she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do that. It would be an invasion of privacy.
****
Feeling a strange...sadness, Julie glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t feel like it was coming from her, but from Remmy, who was working diligently on the other side of the room. As she continued to paint, Julie studied her. Remmy’s shoulder’s seemed slumped, almost as if she were dejected.
Suddenly Julie’s roller was sailing across a surface that was very smooth. She turned and looked, crying out in anger and shock when she realized she’d just painted over the window. “Shit!”
Remmy turned. Seeing the now very yellow window, she hurried over. Julie had dropped her roller into their paint tray and was scrubbing away at the window, making more of a smeared mess than progress.
“Hey,” Remmy said, gently touching Julie’s hand. “Calm, grasshoppa. I think you’re about to break your window.”
Julie wanted to be annoyed, but then she saw the amusement in Remmy’s eyes and realized she was being anal. It was glass, for crying out loud. She grinned. “Don’t paint the windows,” she muttered.
Remmy nodded sagely. “So glad you told me. That one over there,” she pointed to one near where she’d been working, “was calling to me.”
Julie burst into laughter, playfully shoving Remmy away and returning to her mess. Feeling the tension flow out of Julie like water into a stream, Remmy picked up her roller. She even allowed herself to get into the music, now “Faith”. How ironic, she thought.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Pamela Beecham hadn’t been to Beaumont County since before she had been snatched almost three years earlier. In the time she’d been gone—two years, three months, fourteen days—her house had been sold; everyone thought she was dead. That was fine with her. She had no desire to return to the place where that bastard had set foot. After her rescue, her son had come up from Texas where he had decided to stay after graduating college. After all, he had a wife, a local girl, and nothing to return home for anyhow.
At first their reunion was everything Pam could have hoped for. She and Patrick cried together, clung to each other, and she was invited to go back to Austin with him and Christy. Without a second thought, she accepted. Her relationship with him had been so spotty over the years, it meant more to her than she could ever express to Patrick, that he cared.
Unfortunately, even tragedy hadn’t taken Patrick’s father out of him; the arguing and the hair-trigger temper were fully intact. After nearly six months with him and the girl he had married, Pam was more than ready to set out on her own. She packed the car she had bought with money she’d earned working for a dentist in Austin, and started back home. At least there she had friends, and a former boss willing to give her old job back. She missed going out with the girls, and the men, and looked forward to having a cold beer with Shelly and Ellen.
Pam drove with her window rolled down, allowing the wind to rush in and whip her hair every which way. She didn’t mind; she was alive. She had also heard that the psychic who saved her had returned to the area and was staying in Woodland. She was glad; she really wanted a chance to talk to the woman. Pam had always been interested in the spiritual. She’d read books by Sylvia Browne and watched John Edward on TV. She wondered what Remmy Foster had to say about the whole episode. Was the Venti case her first? Or was she one of those psychics who helped the cops all the time? Pam had seen those on TV, too.
Pam pulled the coffee cup from the console’s holder then sipped, enjoying the taste. McDonald’s always did have the best coffee. She’d been a coffee addict before Sergio happened. That was one of the things she missed most while she was held captive. Patrick had forced her to go to therapy, which she supposed had helped, but she was still torn over how she felt about Sergio. She had been around him nearly every day for more than two years. He kept her fed and mostly warm, but, it was because of him that he’d had to keep her fed and warm.
She grinned, remembering how she’d felt when she found out exactly how that feisty little blonde had escaped. She couldn’t believe Julie had bitten his cock. What guts! Pam, herself, had had the opportunity to do that. He always waited a while before he allowed one of the women to perform a blow job on him. She was surprised he let Julie do it after only having her for a few months. He must have really thought he could trust her.
“Dumb ass,” she muttered, pushing her arm out the window and allowing the wind to move it as it would—flowing up and down, up and down. She glanced in the side mirror, noting the sunglasses she had bought on her way out of town. Her hair was cut short again, the way she liked it. That kept it out of her eyes. Her mother had made her keep her hair long when she was younger. Just after she got married the first time, she chopped it off, keeping it short ever since. She lost a lot of weight while she was with Sergio; she was actually grateful for that. She had managed to keep it off, too. Over all, she looked pretty good. Another thing she was grateful for was that her time with him had gotten her off cigarettes. She’d been trying to quit for ten years and hadn’t been able to. Though she craved a cigarette now and then, she had no desire to go back to that. Nasty habit.
During the intervening five months, Pam had wanted to get on the phone with Julie Wilson and thank her for what she’d done, but she didn’t. The mere thought of speaking with her fellow captive brought back a myriad of memories and thoughts that she really didn’t want to relive. She had forced herself to let it go, to forget about it, but now was the time to start thinking about it again, to say a simple thank you. She owed Remmy Foster her thanks, too.
Chapter Thirty-eight
“So, you actually knew I was in danger that first day?” Julie asked, leaning back against the arm of her couch, bare feet curled up under her. She took a long drink from her bottle of water. Remmy, who sat on the arm chair adjacent to the couch, nodded.
“Yes.”
Julie glanced out the window for a moment as she absorbed that. “Guess I should’ve listened, huh?” she said quietly, attempting a joke that failed miserably.
“It wasn’t your fault, Julie,” Remmy said, draining her third water bottle of the day. They had finished the second bedroom and the kitchen. The only reason they stopped before painting the living room was because all the furniture needed to be moved out. “I truly believe he would’ve gotten you no matter what.” She looked deep into green eyes, making sure she had Julie’s full attention. “He was watching you.”
“How do you know that? Do you realize how creepy crazy that sounds? How can you sit there and tell me what this guy was doing long before you ever met me?”
Remmy shrugged. “Just know.” She tapped the empty water bottle against her paint-stained pant leg. “One night I had a dream. It scared the hell out of me. It was actually a few nights before I started toward Woodland.” She stared off into the distance. “I saw his kitchen, all the weird crap he had in there.” She met Julie’s gaze again, eyebrows drawn. “You saw his kitchen, didn’t you?”
Julie nodded with a small shiver. “The last day,” she whispered. Her stomach was in knots, going back there, but somehow talking about it with Remmy sitting a few feet from her made it far less scary. By remembering without the accompanying fear, she almost felt like she was standing up to Sergio.
“What was in it? I was never in the house.” Remmy grinned. “I was too busy getting shot.”
Julie chuckled at the disarming smile tossed her way. “Yeah, about that—”
“I’d do it again,” Remmy said quickly, cutting her off. “Any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
