Lance laughed lightly. “No need for guilt,” he said. “I have a very comfortable room and a big soft bed of my own with plenty of warm blankets. You’ll see; come on.”
He held the curtain back for her. She entered his bedroom, Lance right behind her.
“Wait right here,” he told her. She stared into the shadows until he turned up the lantern on the bedside table. He then reached up and pressed a button on the battery powered ceiling lamp and the shadows fled.
“Wow,” she said as her eyes took in the tree trunk stretching from floor to ceiling in the corner of the room. “I mean wow. What else is there to say?”
“I didn’t want to remove the tree, so I built around it.”
Lance’s bed sat under a shuttered window, the tree on one side and a small nightstand on the other. The mattress was covered in a beautiful quilt that featured the same strong colors as the rugs in the living area.
“That blanket is gorgeous!” Brook exclaimed.
“Thanks,” Lance said. “I got it from the same lady who sells my jewelry and sculptures. Handmade by a local craftswoman. She does fine work. I like to buy stuff from Denise whenever I can, and keep money in the local economy as much as possible. The Outpost is a great venue for Colorado artists, potters, and other crafters.”
“Sounds like a shop I would like,” Brook said, still looking around. A couple of books sat on the nightstand next to the lantern, and several pegs on the wall held some of Lance’s outerwear. He turned her gently, and she noticed a small open closet built into the wall behind her. One side had shelves that held folded clothes and bedding, and the other had a short clothes rod with more clothing hanging from it. Several pairs of shoes lined the floor of the small space.
Lance’s room was plain and unadorned except for a high shelf on one wall with more books, and a couple of guns mounted on racks under that. Even as austere as it was, she found it cozy and full of his presence.
“You built this room?” she gave him a look of admiration.
“I did. The cabin was originally just one room. I added on these extra rooms.”
“I have to say I’m impressed. It’s very nice, Lance.” She was so absorbed; she had almost forgotten her sore feet for a few minutes.
“Thanks, Brooklyn.” He couldn’t help but be a little proud as he showed her around. He offered her his arm again and she took it gratefully. There was enough room to walk around the bed, and not much more. On the other wall was another door. Lance escorted her through that doorway into a larger room. Again he had her wait by the door while he lit some lanterns. To her delight, this room also had a tree growing through it about midway along one wall. There were more shuttered windows here and the rough walls were stained a light color, making it much brighter than the rest of the cabin. Cabinets lined one wall and a generous sized worktable took up the center, its surface holding some sketches, a few tools, and a metal project in the making. A small square wood stove squatted in one corner radiating warmth, and a tall stool sat next to one side of the workbench.
“Tools and materials in those.” Lance gestured to the cabinets. “This is where I do most of my work, so I designed it to have more light. You’ll have to come see it in the daytime.”
“I will,” she promised. She turned to him. “I love your home, Lance. It’s really hard to find words, but it’s so unique. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a sanctuary, like a warm comforting cocoon. It envelopes me.”
Lance stared down at her, meeting her earnest upturned eyes, and let his gaze wander over her. He drank in the curve of her face, the blush on her cheeks, and the fullness of her lips. The urge to kiss her came over him and she leaned toward him as if she shared the feeling. Time lingered in the moment and his pulse picked up. Brook closed her eyes, and Lance almost gave in. He was so close to actually doing it, he could almost feel her lips on his. At the last second, he settled for putting an arm around her shoulders. She sighed, telling herself she had misread the moment. She leaned against him and he led her back to the living room, seated her on the rocking chair, and then returned to the back rooms to put out the lights.
Once in the privacy of his bedroom, he stood against the wall for a few minutes. He was suffused with the aftermath of the emotion he had just experienced. It felt good and bad at the same time, but more good than bad. He put his hand to his eyes and rubbed them, took a deep breath, and let it out. Calmer, he returned to the living area where he found Brook with a book in her hands.
Lance started some water heating, and then turned on the radio. “I’m going to wash up these dishes,” he told her.
“Not without my help,” she asserted.
“Oh, really!” he grinned at her. “Well, I’m not going to argue with someone who sounds that determined. How about you wash and I’ll dry?”
“It’s a deal,” she said as she laid her book aside and got up. Her feet complained a bit, but she ignored the discomfort and walked to the counter. They worked companionably, chatting while the music played in the background. Every so often they brushed against each other or their hands would touch, and the air around them was full and ripe with the promise of desire that they both tried to ignore.
Shortly after, they went to bed and each fell asleep in separate rooms with the warm new excitement of knowing the other was only a few steps away.
Chapter 38
“Do you have paper and a pen I can use?” Brook asked one evening.
Lance looked up from a sketch he was making. “Sure.” He left the room and returned in a minute with a lined pad and pencil. “Will these do?”
“Perfect.” Brook said. She immediately moved to the table, wincing from the soreness of her soles, in spite of the cushioning of her soft shoes. Sitting, she chewed the side of her finger for a minute and began to write. She worked diligently for a long while, turning from one page to another frequently.
Lance could hear her sniffling and realized she was trying hard not to cry. He unobtrusively listened, ready to go to her if she needed him, but he did not interrupt.
Brook finished working after an hour or so and held her head in her hands as her shoulders heaved.
“Brooklyn?”
“Not now, please.” Brook’s voice broke and she rose and went into the bathroom. When she returned she lay on her bed, closed her eyes. Lance soon noticed her breathing become even and he realized she was asleep.
He glanced at the notepad she'd left laying on the table. He thought about looking at it but decided he should wait until invited; unless, of course, she left it lying there too long. In that case, he might have to take a peek.
The notepad remained on the table for two days before Lance picked it up. Brook was in the bathroom, soaking in a tub of hot water. As Lance read, understanding flickered across his face. Realizing these pages contained the descriptions of the people who had hurt her, he grabbed a second pad and began sketching, using her imagery as a basis. Soon, he had four rough drawings. He left his pad next to hers and waited for her reaction. It came soon.
Brook exited the bath, relaxed and feeling more herself. She ambled to the table and noticed the second pad lying next to her notepad. She paused a minute and then picked them both up. She froze. Staring from the top page was Jase, at least a likeness of him she recognized. Brook dropped the pad and turned to look around the room. Lance was seated in a chair by a window, reading. “You did this?” Brook asked, pointing towards the table.
“The sketches? Yes.”
“Why? How?” Brook stumbled over the words.
“I decided since you left the pad unprotected for two days that it didn’t contain anything too important, so I looked. I was wrong. It was very important. I almost left the whole thing alone but then I thought that maybe drawings would help. You know, when you finally can go to the police.”
Brook stared, first at Lance, and then back at the pad with the drawings. She picked it up and leafed through the pages. “Can you change these some? They’re not quite right.”
“Absolutely.” Lance stood. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.” Brook sat on the bench and leaned on the table. Lance sat next to her.
“Which one first?”
Running a hand over her face, she said, “Gina. Let’s do the easy one first. See how it goes.”
“Okay.” Lance sat with the picture of Gina he had previously drawn. “What first?”
“Her face is a little rounder, here, and here,” she pointed out the areas and Lance erased and redrew the lines.
“Her eyes are slightly closer together and her mouth fuller.”
Working in this way they finally reached a point when Brook sat straight and took the pad from him. “Yes! This is her. This is Gina.”
A tear trickled down her cheek and her jaw clenched, but she remained seated. In a flat voice, she simply said, "Jase next.”
It took several hours, but in the end, Brook claimed the pictures were perfect. She retired to the bathroom and Lance heard her sobbing quietly. He didn’t interrupt, but sat looking at the drawings; memorizing their faces. If he ever saw these animals, he knew he would kill them. His face was hard as a rock as he studied the images.
Chapter 39
Brook sat in the easy chair in front of the fireplace, diligently working on turning another pair of Lance’s sweats into something she could wear without looking like she had on a bag. She smiled as faint sounds from outside reached her ears; she could imagine Lance and Gilbert doing their special dance, or maybe just frolicking in the snow. Lance really cared for his animals and held a special affection for Gilbert.
A tapping at the front window caused Brook to look up. Expecting to see Lance giving her goofy looks she wasn’t surprised to see his face. But then, her grin turned to horror as she realized that Lance’s head was being dangled in the window by his hair, his neck ending in bloody sinews. Another face popped into the frame beside Lance’s. Jase!
Brook jumped to her feet, a scream erupting from deep inside. Before she could take a single step, the front door flew open and Benny walked in. Brook turned to run, but the rear door, one she had never noticed before, banged open, and Pete stomped over the sill. Backed into a corner, Brook’s head turned rapidly from one to the other, looking for a chance to escape.
No, no, no! This can’t be happening! They can’t have found me!
Jase strolled into the room, looking around in admiration. “Nice place you got here, Brooky baby. Don’t mind if we hang out a little, do you?” He tossed Lance’s head onto the floor where it tumbled before coming to rest, his eyes staring at her in accusation, as if to say,
why did you let this happen to me? Why did you come here and cause this?
Brook pulled her gaze from the grisly sight and turned to face the three demons who had returned to haunt her, to destroy her, to demoralize her further.
“Close the fucking doors, you idiots,” Jase said with contempt. “We don’t want to freeze our balls off when we start playing with our toy.” He turned to Brook, throwing off his gloves as Pete closed the door. “You ready for some fun, bitch?”
“Hey man,” Pete said. “I get firsts.” He dropped his coat to the floor, pulled his gloves off with his crooked yellow teeth, and reached for his fly. “I ain’t had none since you kilt Gina. I ain’t used to goin' without.” He unzipped and stepped forward.
“What the fuck ever,” Benny snorted. “We ain’t using nothing after you stick that log in. You’ll stretch the bitch so far out of shape we won’t even be able to feel shit. Ain't that right, BrooklynBridge?”
“Benny’s right. Besides, I’m the boss here. I’ll go first.” Jase threw Brook to the floor. He grabbed her pants and yanked, pulling them down in one smooth pull.
Brook screamed for all she was worth, not caring there was no one for miles around.
Gentle hands touched Brook’s shoulders. “Brooklyn.”
Brook fought, slapping, clawing, slugging.
“Damn it, Brooklyn. It’s me! Lance!”
The scuffle continued for a few seconds before Lance’s words penetrated her terror. “A dream! A nightmare! You’re safe.”
Brook's mind cleared and she sagged with relief. “It was so real.”
Lance frowned. “It was probably the sketches. Seeing them had to bring it all back.”
“Oh my god! It was so real. I’m sure you’re right; it had to have been the drawings that brought on the nightmare. But I'm glad we did it. It was hard, but it had to be done.” Brook sank back onto the bed, her heart still pounding. “I’ve been having other dreams, too. Dreams of Clark with Jase or Benny. And I’ve been remembering things. Like Benny with that key to my car. He had a key, you know. And I just can’t understand it.”
“I don’t know, Brooklyn. It’s pretty odd, though.”
“I know it. It haunts me.” Brook felt a growing suspicion, but it was absurd. It made no sense, and she wondered if paranoia was one of the aftereffects of a traumatic experience.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her head so she could relax. But, her mind whirled with unanswered questions and it was some time before it let go enough for her to drift off once more.
Lance sat with her until she fell back asleep.
Chapter 40
The snow continued to fall with only short respites between storms. As the days passed, Brook and Lance settled into a routine. He went out and did his chores in the morning while she puttered around inside, and then repeated the process in the evening. Sometimes he did a little ice fishing or snared small game for their larder. With the addition of the ducks and wild game, the cold pantry was well-stocked, putting to rest any fears Lance had about food supplies.
The attraction hummed between them like a plucked string and provided an undercurrent of tenderness and warmth in their interactions. More than once, Lance held her to his chest while she battled a bad memory or woke from a nightmare. But they carefully avoided taking things any further.
Between chores, Lance worked on his projects. Sometimes Brook came in to sit with him and they'd visit, talking about things they'd done, or might still do, during their lives. Or she'd write in her journal, simply enjoying his nearness as he applied his skills to his art. At his urging, Brook began detailing everything she could remember about her captors and the events that took place while she was held. She found the process disturbing at first, but came to appreciate the sense of release that followed each painful entry.
The days unfolded, pleasantly for the most part, and she and Lance grew closer with each passing hour.
The time came when Brook grew restless with her sedentary pursuits. She was feeling much better and her feet hardly pained her when she stood.
Now was the time for her to cook a meal. The time to show Lance she could be of some help, not just someone who needed to be taken care of. She waited until Lance was outside. He’d be gone for a while, doing chores.
Moving into the kitchen she took stock of the supplies. Lance had lain out a deer roast. She unwrapped the meat and verified it was thawed. Next she sorted through the jars of seasonings and selected salt, pepper, thyme, and a bit of basil. She broke open some garlic and crushed it with a press she found. She made a rub of these ingredients and worked them into the meat. Laying the roast in a medium-sized Dutch oven, she added water, placed the lid on top, and set the pan on the hot stovetop.
Next, she took several potatoes, carrots, and onions and chopped them, covering them in cold water until time to add them to the meat.
She considered making rolls but decided that her skill on a wood burning stove probably wasn't up to that task yet. Satisfied she had gone as far as she could for the time being, she moved to a chair and sat to read. She became engrossed in a novel by Richard Adams,
Watership Down
. She was immediately pulled into the story of a rabbit named Hazel, his friends, and their plight. Brook lost track of time.
The smell of succulent meat cooking brought Brook back to the present. She moved to the kitchen and found that almost all the water had evaporated in the roast. She added more water and determined it was time to add the vegetables. She did so and moved to the bed, lay down, and resumed reading...
“What the hell is going on?”
The question brought Brook to her feet. Smoke bellowed from the pan on the stove. Lance reached the pan in three steps, grabbed it up with a towel, and moved out the door. He set the pan in the snow on the porch and steam sizzled from the hot metal, rising in swirls into the cold air.
“Oh my god,” Brook gasped. “Oh no! I fell asleep.”
Lance, after determining the cabin was not on fire, looked from the pan to Brook and his face softened. “It’s okay.”
“No, no, it’s not. I wanted to do something special for you. You've taken such good care of me. And you gave me my beautiful tree, and these shoes.” She gestured to her feet. “And now I've made a mess of things. This isn't how it was supposed to turn out at all. Oh, god. I’ve ruined the meal. And wasted food.”
“Brooklyn, there’s plenty of food. Now just hold on. Let’s see what the damage is here.” He cautiously lifted the lid to the pan. Wafts of smoke rose, sending a pungent stink into the air. Lance waved the towel above the food and nodded. He stepped inside, opened the windows wide to air out the smoke, and returned to carry the pan back inside. Using a slotted spoon, he scooped the mushy vegetables out and took the pan to a thick wooden cutting board where he set it down.
“How about you peel some more carrots and potatoes?” He smiled at Brook who still had tears rolling down her cheeks.
She moved to perform the task while Lance washed up from his chores. By the time he returned from the bathroom the room had grown quite cold. Most the smoke was gone so he closed all but the front door and heaped wood on the fire. Soon the room began to warm and Lance put the veggies on to boil. “Okay, let’s see what we can do with this meat.”
Using a metal spatula and a long-handled fork, Lance pried the burnt meat from the pan. He took a sharp knife and began hacking off the edges. Soon he had a small piece of meat that looked like it might be palatable. “Can you hand me some apple cider and a couple apples?”
Brook passed him the items, and watched closely as he worked. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Lance chopped the apples small, adding some onions and soy sauce to the bowl. He sprinkled the mixture with brown sugar and added enough cider to make a paste. This paste he rubbed over all the meat and let it sit for a few minutes while he turned to Brook. He moved to her and reached out slowly, gathering her into his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” Brook sobbed.
“Listen. I’ve burned more meals than you can shake a stick at. Cooking on a wood burner is not easy. It takes time to learn the peculiarities of the beast.”
Brook didn’t answer and Lance tilted her face up, “Sweet Brooklyn. You didn’t do anything wrong. You just tried to help and I appreciate it.” He gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. “Now, how about watching a pro fix a broken meal?”
Brook placed surprised fingertips to the spot his lips had touched.
Sweet Brooklyn?
She felt as if she was walking on air as she moved to stand beside Lance and watched him make his repairs. Placing the meat in a clean pan, he poured in enough cider to cover the surface and then covered the pan with a lid. He sat the pan on the stove and said, “This will boil quickly. When it boils, I’ll take it off and let it steep for a while. Then we’ll see.” He smiled.
The meat, when it was served, was coated in a thin sweet-salty glaze and was surprisingly good. Only a trace of burnt taste remained. The meal ended up being a cheery affair. The smoke had cleared, the door was closed to newly falling snow, and the room had regained its ordinary pleasant feeling. Lance promised to let her supervise the next several meals and then to set her free in the kitchen once more.
Brook went to bed, knowing it was probably wrong, but still wishing to feel Lance’s lips on her again.