Sadie's Mountain (18 page)

I’m warm and wrapped up tight with the quilt and Dillon’s arms. I want to feel content, but something feels
off
in the room. It’s still dark out when my eyes flicker open. The room is illuminated by the slight glow of the moon; tree shadows dance about as my eyes begin to focus.

This has happened to me so many times. It’s as if being asleep and being awake overlap for a brief moment and my dream manifests itself into the air. Sometimes it will be a gigantic spider posturing above me or walking along the wall; more often, it will be a butterfly, a large one that flits around the very top of my canopy bed at home.

Very rarely, I will see what looks like a man. Not his features or his clothes—just his shape leering from the corner of the room. I don’t jump, ever, anymore because I know what this is. Dr. Amy has explained it to me so many times. It happens when I’m stressed and sleep deprived.
Like now
, I think to console myself.

It used to happen all the time after...and it used to dump me right out of my bed and push me, full of tremors and fright, into Aunt Lotty’s in the middle of the night. It’s called Hypnagogic Hallucination and it will be over in a minute. I blink.

It’s still there
.

I blink again, and a quake runs through my nervous system. There is a black figure in the corner of the room farthest from the door. This one’s not going away like they usually do. I close my eyes as tight as they will go and pinch Dillon’s fleshy arm between my thumb and forefinger. He jerks his arm away and bolts suddenly upright.

It all happens so fast. As the shape in the corner darts toward my side of the bed, I scream from the deepest part of my psyche and charge backwards slamming my skull into the headboard. The pain is nothing compared to the fear. A monstrous fear that comes from the past slamming into the present all at once.

He got in.

Dillon puts his arm over me and pulls me behind him on the bed.

“Run!” Dillon shouts, as he darts up and pushes Donnie, slamming his back into the other corner of the room. But Donnie shoves back and Dillon has to step backward with his right leg to stabilize himself. Donnie tramples into the light from the window and the two men wrestle to get the upper hand. I realize then that he’s wearing a dark facemask and midnight-stalker clothes.

Dillon swings first, striking Donnie in the nose, it crunches and his head snaps back.

When Donnie’s head comes back to center, he thrusts his fist into Dillon’s gut once so hard that it sounds like thunder clapping in the sky and then punches him in the eye hard enough that even I see stars.

Dillon moans in pain and then Donnie takes advantage by holding his head in place so he can beat him over and over in the face. The sound of Dillon being punched, an empty sound like a watermelon falling to the floor, makes me cringe and roll up into a ball.

“Stop!” I yell, helplessly, frantic. This
is all my fault. He’s going to kill him.
I never should have come here. I can’t call Donnie’s name or else he’ll kill us now for sure.
How can I distract him?

I bolt up to my feet on the bed as Dillon staggers and falls to one knee. Donnie looks at me wild eyed and evil as he walks around and purposefully kicks Dillon in the back, knocking him face down on the floor. Dillon rocks back and forth as if his mind says to get up but his body won’t respond.

Donnie moves away from Dillon and stands wide-legged at the edge of the bed. His eyes stab through mine in the night like bullets.

My eyes flit back and forth between the two brothers. One who would do anything to protect me, and the other who has hurt me more than should be humanly possible.

He says nothing. I say nothing as I stand here vulnerably, shaking so hard the bed feels like an earthquake.

“Just do it!” I taunt him. “Everyone will know the truth,” I whisper, in a low warning. “I have proof,” I state, full of rage and fright. Dillon gets to his knees, finds his balance and reaches out, getting between Donnie and me.

Sounding like a siren, the baby starts to cry from upstairs. Donnie’s knees bend and his arms go up in shock. It’s as if he hadn’t realized there were others in the house with us.

Getting a little reckless?

“Sadie!” Dillon shouts, as he scurries up, in front of the bed, blocking me from his brother like a human shield.

 Donnie walks past him, slowly, methodically as if he’s not sure he’s really going to leave us alive. He passes through the doorframe like a phantom. We both jump as we hear the front door slam into the wall next to it as it’s opened so fast and with such force.

Dillon is breathing fiercely as he bellows, “We have to call 911!”

Yeah, like that’s going to help!

Because sometimes when I’m scared it looks like I’m angry, I push away from him and stomp up the stairs.

Missy, holding little Joe, wide-mouthed and loud, opens the door before I reach it.

“What’s going on down there?” Missy says, with squinting eyes.

“He’s here!” is all I can manage, as I push her out of the way, run past Momma’s bed and pull on the closet door handle. “Where’s Daddy’s gun?” I say, my voice audibly shaky. Missy turns on the light as Dillon bursts into the room.

“Dillon? What are you doing here!” Missy cries, shocked most likely by the fact that Dillon is in his underwear.

“Someone was in the house,” Dillon says. I’m pulling down boxes in the closet, searching. Frantic to find what I need—Where’s the gun? Daddy’s gun?
He will not hurt me again.

I hear Dillon pick up the phone on Momma’s nightstand and tap the buttons.

“We’ve had a break-in...Yes, that’s the correct address. It was a man...all black, yes...black mask. Tall...muscular build. No...okay, yes...No, I have to go. Just get here fast,” he says, before walking into the closet with me. I stop to take in what’s happened to his face. His nose is bleeding and the soft skin under his left eye is turning a light purple.

The baby is still crying and Missy is humming a lullaby. I rub my knotty throat.

“Momma, just go back ta sleep. Everything’s fine,” Missy says, as little Joe starts to lower his cry to a whine.

“Sadie.” His voice is shaky. “What are you looking for?”

“Daddy’s gun—the hand gun he taught me with,” I assert, as I pull on a box and another one falls above it. Dillon has to jump in front to keep it from hitting me on the forehead. He grabs it with both hands and puts it on the floor as I look down at my feet. “I need the gun!” I declare.

 I’m shaking so hard that my teeth begin to chatter. “Baby. You’re safe now. He’s gone,” he says, as he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me. He feels jittery, warm. His skin is soft, but moist with that quick-sweat that rises on the skin during times of fear. The hairs on his arm prickle the top of mine as he consoles me. His heart is beating like the sound of the railway as he runs the tips of his fingers up and down my trembling back. I want to let go. Let him take over for me. Give up. But I can’t. I won’t.

“Did he touch you?” he asks, as he pulls me away from him for an inspection.

“No, I just banged my head, that’s all. You should go get some ice for your face, though,” I say, as I pick up a towel from the shelf and wipe his bloody nose with it. The under part of his eye is a deep grey and puffed up now, and a bruise on his jaw is coloring in front of me as I watch.  Gently, he starts to check my head for a bump. When he touches it, I wince and his hand stops.

“Who is he, Sadie?” he asks, cautiously, but furious. “You know who he is.” This is no longer a question for him.

I want to say no. “Yes,” I say, as I nod my head slowly.

“Please, tell me,” he says, with urgency. “I need to know so I can help you.”

I can’t tell him. Donnie could have killed us both in our sleep.
Why didn’t he?
How long was he there, watching us?

Dillon’s jaw is swelling up now under the purple bruise and his eye looks like raw meat—all red and veiny. I knew Dillon would be no match for Donnie’s strength. I have to take care of this myself. I have proof now—proof that he can’t destroy and there’s no way he’s going to risk losing everything once he knows what the stakes are. Right?

“I can’t tell you,” I say, unwavering.

“Why not!” he yells.

“Because he said he’d rather I was dead than with you. He said he’d kill you if I didn’t stay away from you.”

“That’s why you need to tell me, Sadie,” he asserts.

“I can’t. Please, stop asking me to.”

“Stop protecting this dirt bag,” he says, like he wants to shoot venom into the neck of a faceless man he hates.

“I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting you!”

“How? By shutting me out? By keeping the secret?”

“You wouldn’t be able to take it. If I told you, you’d never be able to help me. You’d go after him and he’d kill you. It’s that simple.”

He’s stumped. He stands there like a mute as if he’s trying to decide if he could help me if he knew who it was.

“If that’s what you need, for me to help you. I promise. I won’t go after him. I just need to know so I can protect you.” He’s begging now. He sounds as dangerous as a river too high for its banks.

“I think you really mean it, but everything will change when you find out,” I say, as I look at the wooden floor.
It’s your brother!
I want to scream. But he couldn’t take it if I did.

“I know him then,” he says, as if he’s trying to make that real to himself. I look at him impassively. I can’t let my face tell him my secret this time.

 He looks at me with rage behind his eyes. His whole body is shaking with adrenaline. Out of nowhere, he bites his bottom lip and swings his fist, striking the wall to the left of me. Stunned, I jump to the side and cower away from him as he cradles his hurt hand, his mouth in a pained O shape.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry,” he says, as he tries to hold me. I push him away. “I feel so helpless,” he says, in barely a whisper as he grasps his hand. “I just want to be able to make you safe. I couldn’t last time,” he cries, as he walks backward. Pain is written in the creases on his forehead. He leans his head against the corner of the closet, slides his back down the wall like a burden too heavy to carry anymore.

“He’s right, Sadie. Telling us who this is. It’ll protect you,” says Missy in a hushed tone, trying not to wake up the baby tucked up to her breast.

“I just want to find Daddy’s gun. Can anyone help me for Christ’s sake?”

“The Lord’s name,” Momma rasps from her bed loud enough for me to hear.

I get up, walk past Dillon still leaning into the corner and stand on the side of Momma’s bed. “I’m sorry, Momma. It won’t happen again.” I pick up her weightless broken-bird arm and stroke her fingers.

“I know,” she stops to take a breath, “where it is,” she says. I swallow so hard my throat aches.

“Where?”

“What happened, baby?” she asks.

“The man who raped me, he came here tonight. He was in my room when I woke up and he...,” I want to tell her that he hit Dillon but I’m scared that she’ll be mad that he was sleeping in my room. I’m still the pastor’s daughter, after all.

“It’s in the dresser, honey,” she says, pointing her boney finger toward the highboy dresser underneath the ‘Sadie’s Mountain’ painting. “Top drawer,” she rasps.

As if in a trance, I pad my way across the wooden floor and pull on the handle. My hands are fishing around until I feel it encased in leather nestled between soft nightgowns. Cold steel—Power. Safety in one small package. This will keep me safe. It will be my armor.
He will never touch me again.

I sit on the too soft couch in Missy’s bright blue robe and watch as Dillon talks to the two officers who came to write down stuff in little notebooks. This is futile. They cannot help me. It’s their boss who wants to kill me and bury me in his front yard like a hidden monument. They take a picture of the handle-sized dent on the wall opposite the door. They scuttle into my room and stare at the floor in the corner of the room where I said ‘The Man’ was standing when I opened my eyes.

“We’re going to have to ask y’all to keep out of this room tonight. We’re gonna need ta’ bring the fingerprinting guy from Fayetteville to check the front door and the bedroom for prints.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges and looks at me with a troubled expression. It makes me sad and empty to see him so worried. To know that all he wants is to make me safe and I can’t give that to him.

Part of me just wants to get on a plane right now. But the thing is, I’ve been running from that man for ten years of my life. Even when I was on the other side of the continent, he caught me in my dreams, and showed up at times in everything I did. The way I needed to feel safe. The way I needed everything to be clean. The reason why I can’t have a real relationship with a man. Why I have to control everything in my life. The reason why I have no real friends. I don’t even have a pet. I just live this empty existence filled with nothing but trying to accomplish more and more in my career.

It’s how I’ve filled the hole in my chest. But unless I face him, I’m doomed to go back to a life I’ve just realized I don’t want anymore. I know that now. I can’t walk away from here again. Here, at home, with my people and on top of the dirt that has been home to my ancestors, I can be a real person. I can live a full life with this man who would do anything for me to love him back. There’s nothing that can take me away from here again. Not even
Donnie
.