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16 Years Later

  March 10th, 2012

  “He’s out cold.” Alma stood in the frigid night air in a pair of sweats and a flimsy jacket. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she stood beside the van where Paul had been sleeping. “I tried to call you.”

  Paul rubbed his eyes as he climbed out of Jacker’s van. “Sorry, my phone died. Stupid thing can’t hold a charge for more than a few hours. Now, tell me again, what happened?”

  “Your friend bashed in my door and then I cut my foot on a knife. He saw the blood and freaked out. He fainted right in the middle of the hallway.”

  Paul smiled. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. Stop smiling, this isn’t funny.” She tried to look stern, but couldn’t help but grin along with him. She slapped Paul’s chest to get him to stop chuckling. “I can’t believe you made the poor guy stand guard outside my door.”

  “Jacker didn’t mind. He needs something to keep his mind off some shit that’s been going on in his life lately.”

  “I didn’t want you to post guard at my door.”

  Paul stretched and yawned comically loud. “I wasn’t going to leave you here without protection.”

  “So you made your friend guard me?”

  “I sat down there for a couple hours before I decided to call to see if he would come help me out.”

  “You’re crazy.” Alma started to limp back to her apartment as Paul closed the side door of the white van parked beside his motorcycle. It was the only van in the parking lot, which helped make it easy for her to find.

  “Is your foot okay?” asked Paul as he walked behind her.

  She looked down at her right foot, which she’d wrapped with gauze before putting on her shoes to head down to the van. “No, it hurts like hell. I cut the hell out of it.”

  “Come here.” Paul quickened his pace to catch up with her. He knelt beside Alma and scooped her into his arms before she could stop him.

  “No,” she said playfully as he picked her up. “Don’t do this; you’re going to kill us both.” She yelped and pressed her face into his neck as he started up the stairs to her apartment.

  “Stop wiggling or you’re going to knock us both down the stairs.”

  “I hate you sometimes,” said Alma although it was clear she didn’t mean it, at least not at that moment. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and enjoyed his smell. His aroma was fused with the scent of his leather coat, a mixture she adored. There was no denying how much she loved Paul and she couldn’t stop smiling as he carried her up the stairs.

  “There’s a thin line between love and hate. Isn’t that what they say?”

  “Shut up and take me home.”

  “I’ll carry you in my arms through the threshold like we just got married; and then over the big guy passed out in your hallway.” Paul and Alma laughed at the absurdity of the moment.

  “How did we end up like this?” Alma asked as Paul rounded the corner to head up the final flight of stairs to her apartment.

  Paul shrugged and then kissed the side of her head. His whiskers tickled her cheek. “Like what?”

  “Apart, and then together again, and then apart again. How did we get so screwed up?”

  Paul stopped at the top of the stairs in front of Alma’s broken door. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a sucker for messed up chicks, and you’re a sucker for idiots who don’t know a good thing when he’s got her in his arms.” He tightened his grip around her.

  Alma leered at him. “Messed up chicks, huh?”

  He grinned as if gloating. “Oh yeah, like really messed up. A borderline mental case.”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  He complied.

  “Alma?” said a man from inside the apartment.

  Alma recognized her father’s voice and fear overtook her. She tightened her grip around Paul as a chill of terror ran through her body.

  “Who the fuck?” asked Paul as he took the last two steps past the stairs that would allow him to see inside the apartment.

  The door was still open and Alma was hesitant to look. She couldn’t explain the emotions that welled within her as Paul carried her to the open door. For some reason, she was terrified of what lay in wait past the door at the top of the stairs. She couldn’t breathe and stared at the door as Paul approached it. Alma knew that her father was inside, and whatever he was doing would traumatize her.

  This had happened before.

  Paul set Alma down gently and then pushed the front door open further so that they could see what was happening inside the apartment. The moths continued to spin around the porch light, incensed by Paul’s approach.

  Alma’s father was in the hallway of her apartment, perched over Jacker’s body. He had one hand on the big man’s throat and the other on his chest, as if he was worried that Jacker was dead.

  “I heard someone break down your door and I came to make sure you were okay,” said her father. “What happened?”

  Paul glanced at Alma quizzically. “Is he one of your neighbors?”

  She shook her head as the color drained from her cheeks. When she spoke, it was hardly more than a whisper. “That’s my father.”

  Paul’s expression instantly changed. His brow furrowed and he clenched his fists as he turned back to face Alma’s estranged father. “Oh, mother fucker! You’d better get your ass out of here right now.” He didn’t pause before charging into the apartment.

  Alma was too frightened to intercede, or to warn Paul that her father was dangerous. Instead, she cowered against the wall across the landing from her apartment’s door and watched Paul confront the old addict. The terror that seized her was unlike anything she’d felt since her brother disappeared.

  A memory was trying to return, and she glanced at the stairs as if they somehow played a part. The act of ascending the stairs to find her father seemed horrifyingly familiar, yet she couldn’t explain why. Her throat was clenched, her hands shook, and it was a struggle just to breathe. She had no choice but to watch as Paul protected her.

  “Back off,” said her father.

  Paul lifted the thin man off the floor and threw him down the hall toward the front door. Paul weighed significantly more than Alma’s father, and stood a couple inches taller. It was like watching an adult manhandle a child. “Get out of here, you piece of shit.”

  “I’m her father! I just came here to help. You can’t do this to me. I’ll fucking kill you, asshole. I’ll fucking kill you!”

  Paul paused and leered down at the man. He cracked his knuckles and advanced, savoring the old man’s terror. “I’m real hard to kill.”

  “You don’t know who you’re fucking with. You’re dead. You hear me?” Alma’s father staggered away from Paul and leaned against one of the bar stools as he stood back up. “I’m not kidding, man. You really fucked up. I’ll kill you for this.” He still had on the dirty, ragged clothes he’d been wearing when he confronted Alma at the restaurant. His voice still sounded fueled by methamphetamine, and the drug was giving him the courage to face Paul. He held up his fists, and then lunged with a haphazard right hook.

  Paul knew how to fight. He’d been a bouncer for years in a college town and had learned how to subdue enraged drunks and drug addicts. He caught Alma’s father’s strike with a counterstrike of his own. He swatted her father’s arm away and then waited for another attempt. He was toying with the old man.

  Her father tried to punch again, and Paul deflected the strike with another quick shot to the wrist. The old man gripped his arm in frustration and started to scream at Paul. “You think you’re tough? You think you’re a big guy?”

  Paul sneered. “Yep.”

  “Well, big guy, let me tell you what I’m going to do,” said Alma’s father.

  “No,” Paul interrupted the old man with authority. His voice boomed loud enough that Alma’s father flinched. “I’m going to tell you what happens next. You’re going to pack your shit and get out of town. Now let me tell you w
hy.”

  Her father stuttered when he asked, “Why?”

  “Because if I ever see you again, I’m going to bury you. This isn’t an idle threat, pal. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” Paul stared down at the spindly old addict. “I will bury you.”

  “You can’t threaten me, you piece of shit. I’m her father. I’ll always be there for her.”

  Paul took a step forward, which forced Alma’s father to back up. “So will I.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Maybe,” said Paul. “Now get the fuck out of town. Or do you want to try and hit me again?”

  The old man rubbed his wrist and Alma could see that it was already turning purple where Paul had hit him. He turned to her and pleaded, “Alma, baby, don’t go back. Let him die. Okay?”

  She couldn’t answer if she wanted to. In fact, she only then realized that she’d been humming a tune as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Alma, you’ve got to promise me. Don’t go to Widowsfield. Let him die!” He advanced threateningly, but Paul caught the old man by the shoulder. Her father winced as Paul forced him to the stairs.

  “Get out of here.”

  Paul shoved her father down the stairs and the old man fell to the concrete. His head smashed against the railing and he gasped in pain and shock, but then crawled to his feet and darted away.

  “Get your stuff,” said Paul to Alma as he still stared down at the fleeing old man.

  She couldn’t respond and continued to cower against the wall, humming a tune as she wept. Paul turned to her, concerned. “Babe? You okay?”

  Alma shook her head and finally stopped humming. She buried her head in her hands.

  “Oh shit, honey. Don’t worry. I’m here, okay? I’ll always be here.” Paul rushed to cradle her as Alma sobbed. “I’m not going to let him hurt you.” He put her head against his chest and held her. “I’d do anything to keep you safe, babe.”

  “He’s never going to stop,” said Alma. “He’s just going to keep coming back, over and over.”

  Paul tried to hush her. “It’s okay. I’m here for you now. Alma, I’d never let anyone hurt you. I’d do anything to protect you. I swear.”

  “I have to go back.”

  “Go back where?” asked Paul.

  Alma didn’t want to say, but knew that it was time to confront what had haunted her all these years. Saying the word felt like a curse and she hardly had the strength to utter the name of the town, “Widowsfield.”