Consume Me (14 page)

Surprised by how calm and at peace she felt, Tar nodded her understanding.  She couldn’t’ go on blaming him when she’d had a part in the whole ordeal.  As much as she hated the thought of him in that woman’s arms, she knew she had to move past it if they were ever to survive as a couple. “The important thing is that it’s over now.  I think she finally got the message.  And I think we’ll be able to move on from now on.”

Errol looked like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“But just so we’re clear, I do have a pretty mean jealous streak… added to that, I can wield a pretty mean set of kitchen knives.”

Errol smiled for the first time.  “I know.  You have fantastic knife skills.”

Chapter 17

T
ar glanced at her watch as she prepared to close Sam’s for the night.  It was almost midnight and she had an hour to clean up and get ready for the next morning before Errol arrived.

 After a few days away from Sam’s it felt good to be back in the swing of things, but the long days drained her energy.  Errol’s crew continued to be a blessing and although Bobby had already left earlier that night, he’d been on the ball since early that morning.  With Sam taking a well-deserved night off, Tar and Bobby had directed Errol’s crew with precision and efficiency.

Now all that remained were a few wipe downs here and there and some last minute preparations for the following day’s menu.  She jotted down on a slip of paper the few items she already knew she was low on…. fresh lettuce, tomatoes, cream and blue cheese.  She headed to the oversized pantry, and twisted and turned the combination on the lock… 15 to the right, 42 to the left and 2 to the right.  She yanked it off and pulled open the heavy door.  Though not a refrigerated room, it was nonetheless closed off from the heat of the kitchen and managed to remain cool at all times.

She grabbed the yard long stick leaning in the corner just outside the pantry and propped one end of it under the crossbar of the door and the other in a small dent in the cement floor to hold the door open.  Walking in, she flicked on the light.

The shelves, lined with a few canned goods, many dry items like flour, sugar and rice, and crates of fresh fruits and vegetables, ran up to the ceiling.  Most were full, but the shelf of fresh herbs was a little low.  As she bent down to look at the contents of the many containers, she jotted down the needed herbs; rosemary, thyme and although the container of sage was half full, she knew it went down fast and jotted it down as well.

Hearing footsteps in the kitchen, she didn’t look up, but called out, “Bobby, is that you?”

No response, but the footsteps approached.

Smiling, she called out, “Errol?” Perhaps he’d decided to come pick her up earlier than agreed upon.

Still no response.  She hurriedly jotted down the last item for her list and was about to set her pen and paper down when a loud rattling sound startled her.  The stick that held the door open, she thought.  It must have fallen. She tossed her things onto the shelf and hurried to the door just as it slammed shut.

“Hello,” she shouted through the dense wood as she tried to push it open.  “Is somebody there?  Open the door!”

She heard a strange scraping sound than the distinct sound of the latch being thrown onto the door.

“Wait!” she screamed as she pounded on the door.

The combination lock was settled into place and clamped shut.

“Hey!”  Her screams were now those of a nearly hysterical woman.  “I’m in here.”

She pressed her ear to the door and listened.  Other than a low rumbling sound, she heard nothing.  Leaning back against the door, she forced herself to calm down.  She had to think rationally.  She had to conserve her energy.  First things first.  At the very back of the large pantry was a small window.  With calm and purposeful steps she hurried to the back of the pantry, pushed a few boxes under the window and climbed up.

The window hadn’t been opened in ages and latch was old and rusted.  Unable to unlock it with her bare hands, she hopped off the boxes and rummaged through a crate of old utensils they no longer used but that her mother insisted on keeping.  With an old pair of crab pliers, she climbed back up and forced the latch open.

She hurriedly threw the window open, but just before she could sigh her relief at the abundant fresh air that came in, the lights went out and she was left in total darkness.

“Calm,” she said aloud.  “Everything that was there a minute ago in the light, is still right where it was.  Nothing has changed.  Nothing has moved.”

But despite her calming words of reassurance, her heart raced and her palms quickly became clammy.  She climbed down from the boxes and stood still for a long moment.  There was no one behind the shelf, she told herself.  There’s nothing hidden under the bottom shelf.  There’s nothing but the darkness.

She gripped the edge of her shirt, tugging and pulling as panic slowly but surely trickled into her veins, pumping her blood with adrenaline as the fear mounted.  Fear of what, she didn’t know, but it remained all the same, just as it always had... ever since those days...

Shaking her head she tried to keep from going to that long ago place... that dark and scary place, but the child in her took the reins, bringing her back to the many times she’d been locked in a closet.

Her father; she remembered little of him and what little memories remained were all bad, fearful even.  His drunken tirades were the most vivid.  And then there were his many fights with her mother; fights that went beyond loud arguments about money and gambling and drinking; fights that usually ended with Sam bruised and in tears while her father ran off to drink or gamble some more.

Tar closed her eyes and tried to shut out the awful images that rushed to her.  She pushed the memories back so far, always refusing to acknowledge them, always refusing to allow them to come forth, to explain her fear to her.

But now it rushed full force, the last times she’d been locked up, and she couldn’t escape it.  One drunken night while Sam worked late to provide for her family what her father couldn’t, he’d made a clumsy attempt at making dinner; macaroni and cheese, but instead of adding milk as the box instructed, he’d poured a bottle of beer into the mix.

“This isn’t very good, Daddy,” Taryn had said as politely as she could.

Across the table from her, Bobby had sat silently staring into the disgusting pasta.

“What did you say?” her father had bellowed.

“Nothing, Daddy.”  She’d tried to force down a huge forkful, but gagged and spit it back into her bowl.  “I’m sorry, Daddy.  I don’t like beer.  I can’t,” she said with a shaky voice.

“You ignorant and ungrateful brat.”  He grabbed her by the wrist, yanked her out of her chair and dragged her to the linen closet by the back door.

“No,” she shouted and she tried to wring free, but she only succeeded in angering him more, pushing him to squeeze tighter on her tiny wrist.

She glanced up at Bobby and saw the horror in his tear filled eyes.

Her father opened the linen closet and shoved her inside.

“No, Daddy.  Please don’t,” she begged as she crouched down under the shelf of towels.  “I’ll eat it, Daddy.  I promise.  I’ll eat it all.  Please...”

He slammed the door shut and hooked the latch that Sam had put in several weeks before to keep Bobby from going in the closet to play with bathroom cleaning products.

For an hour Tar sat on the floor, her feet amidst the scouring powders, window washing liquids and other chemicals that kept the house clean.  She’d long ago given up calling and begging her father to come open the door.  She’d long ago stopped staring at the line of light that came in from under the door, hoping to see the shadow that would be her father coming to let her out.

But as she heard her father carry Bobby off to bed and prepare for another night out drinking and gambling, her calls for release began anew. They were quickly silenced, however, when the kitchen light was switched off and she heard the front door slam shut.

In complete darkness a whole new fear set in.  Imaginary spiders crept out from every crevice.  Monsters that could seep in through the bottom of the door came to her child’s eye.  Shocked silent, she simply stared straight ahead as her body numbed.  She hid inside herself, deep, so deep that no monster would ever find her.

The hours dragged on and she dozed off, her dreams bombarded with impossible creatures that filled the darkness.  When, in the wee hours of the morning, she heard the distant voice of her mother, Tar opened her eyes and saw the ray of light that beamed in from under the door.  It was morning.

“Mom,” she called, her voice coming out thick and raspy from her dry throat.

The door opened, and while blinded by the bright morning light, Taryn rushed out of her holding cell and ran into her mother’s arms.

“Taryn, honey, what are you doing in there?” Sam said with a lighthearted chuckle.  “Were you playing hide and seek, and no one found you?”

“No,” she said.  She wanted to be a big girl and not cry, but the tears streamed down her face.  “Daddy punished me.”

“Daddy?  Daddy put you in there?”

Tar nodded as Sam’s cheeks turned red and her lips white.  She gripped Taryn’s shoulders.  “I’ll be back in a minute to make breakfast.  Just sit here a minute.”  She stormed off and headed to her bedroom.

At first the voices were muffled and hard to make out, but they quickly rose in volume and intensity.

“How could you lock her up in there?” Sam shouted.

“I told you.  The kid refused to eat dinner.  Stop hassling me over the way I discipline my kids.”

“Discipline?  That’s not discipline, that’s child abuse.  She spent the entire night in a closet.”

“I just wanted to put her in there to show her a little appreciation.  What kind of a kid are you raising if they can just turn their nose up at the dinner you put down on the table?  You tell me.”

Sam stomped back to the kitchen and picked up one of the uneaten bowls of macaroni.  Bringing the pasta to her nose, she sniffed.  “This is what you call dinner?”

“Hey, I never said I was like Chef Samantha.  Hell, I was just trying to help.”

“What the hell did you put in here, beer?”

“I don’t know.  I read the box.  Hell if I know.”

“You tried to feed the kids macaroni and cheese and beer, you idiot,” she shouted then she pointed a shaky finger at Tar.  “And she’s the one who gets locked up for the night?”

“I didn’t mean to leave her in there all night.  I forgot her is all.”

“Get out.”

“What the hell you talking about?”

“I want you out of here.  I’ll give you one hour to get your stuff and get out of my house.”

“Sam, I forgot her,” he said with his hands in the air.  “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“You got drunk, tried to feed you kids crap, locked your daughter up for no good reason and ran off to gamble my hard earned money away.  I’ve had enough of you.”

Shocked, Taryn had watched the scene with a blend of relief and guilt.  After that day she never saw her father again and while she often felt responsible for that, deep down she knew it had been for the best.

As she stared into the blackness of the pantry in the restaurant her mother had worked so hard for, she remembered that horrible day and she tried to remain calm.  Errol was set to pick her up within the next hour.  Surely she could sit out waiting for him in the pantry.  He would arrive, open the door and the whole ordeal would be over with.  Just the image of his face was like a soothing balm.  She had nothing to worry about.  All would end well.

Her frazzled nerves found a semblance of calm until she smelled smoke.  Fumbling her way in the dark she returned to the door and immediately heard the distinctive cackling of fire.  Suddenly panicked, she pushed on the door, but the already intense heat kept her from touching it again.

“Help!” She shouted through the door, but knew no one was on the other side.  The window, she thought.  She turned to run back to the window, but slammed into the corner of one of the shelving units.  Instantly, a trickle of blood ran from her forehead into her eye and on down her cheek.  Patting her hand to the wound she felt the unusual amount of blood that flowed and was thankful it didn’t hurt as much as it should.  She reached the back of the pantry and felt around for the shelf with the small towels, grabbed one and pressed it to her forehead.

At the window, she climbed up once more and screamed out for help.  Surely someone would hear her.  Surely someone would see or smell the smoke.

She coughed and realized the smoke was coming in more than she’d thought.  In the pitch blackness she couldn’t see it, but breathing had quickly become difficult and her eyes now burned to the point of barely being able to keep them open.  With the layout of the pantry clearly marked out in her head, she climbed down the boxes, grabbed as many towels off the shelf as she could and quickly but carefully returned to the door where she lay the towels out neatly over the crack under the door.

Despite her efforts, she coughed repeatedly and felt a little lightheaded.  Crouching down on all fours, she brought one of the towels over her mouth and temporarily managed to catch her breath.  As she crawled to the furthest corner of the pantry, she willed Errol to hurry to come pick her up.  Since knowing him, he’d always been there for her; letting her stay with him when she had no place to live in Paris; helping her and her family when Sam got hurt;  and now... surely he wouldn’t let her down now.

Increasingly weak, she lay down on the cool cement floor with a towel draped across her face.  Breathing was possible, but barely.  Though she tried to remain optimistic, the dreaded outcome of this ordeal plagued her.  She would not make it through the night.

“Errol,” she whispered as she thought of the wonderful but short time they’d had together.  She wanted so much more of life, of her time with him.  “I love you, Errol King.  I love you.”