Authors: K A Jordan
The two room apartment was as he'd left it. He rummaged through the closet until he found clothes good enough for an interview. He got showered and changed, then it was time for the hair and the beard to go. There was a barber shop down the street.
The woman gave him a long look before she led him to the chair.
"It's been awhile since your last hair cut. What's the occasion?"
"I've got a job interview."
"I can handle that." She went to work with equal parts flirtation and scissors until she pronounced him done with a flourish.
"Good bye, Grizzly Adams, hello, Orlando Bloom." His hair was much shorter without looking military. She had turned his shaggy mustache and beard into something sophisticated. Not only did he look good enough for a job interview, he looked damn fine.
He tipped her very well and gave her a kiss on the cheek to boot.
Back home, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, Eric stared into the mirror. A total stranger looked back at him. The wild-man biker was gone; so was the clean-shaven soldier. So who was he now? Some poor shmuck haunted by a dead stripper? A divorced guy with a yen for a cute little witch? A drifter who lived over a bar? The feeling of being a stranger in his own skin gave him the cold chills.
What if he flipped them all the bird and never went back? Left the damn bike for Van Man Go and never saw it, the artist, or the town again?
Would he still feel so – displaced?
Maybe.
Enough navel-gazing, he had an appointment in Lexington. He wasn't coming back to stay for at least a couple weeks. He tossed his sleeping bag, a suitcase of good clothes and a duffle bag into his Explorer. He gassed up his beat-up SUV and headed south.
Lexington would be a fresh start - new town, new job, no baggage except what he brought with him. He didn't want a fresh start. The one thing that he'd dreamed of while stuck in the desert was home. He wanted a home and a good woman to come home to, maybe even a couple of kids.
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. The closest he'd been to normal was the time he'd spent with June. He liked everything about her – except she lived in a town where someone had tried to kill him; and the witch thing. How would he explain that to his family?
That night in a hotel room, he googled "witchcraft" for kicks. It came back with over 8 million hits. Wikipedia gave him a good starting place. One fascinating link led to another. The more he read, the more he felt like a fool. It was after 11pm before he gave it up. His mind was stuffed with more information on neo-paganism than he would use in a lifetime. It wasn't what he'd thought it was. He had copped an attitude when she'd called him a biker; he'd done the same thing right back at her.
Well, he was going back this weekend. He went to his empty bed wondering if he'd get the chance to do more than just kiss her. It had been too long since he'd had a woman in his bed. Cora might haunt his dreams, but that was cold comfort at best.
~^~
June prowled the basement, riffling through boxes in search of Aunt Lizzie's book of herbal remedies. She remembered packing them up, but which box had she put them in? She may not have mastered soap making, but there were plenty of remedies she could make.
Eric hadn't told her why he was leaving. Was he really coming back? She sighed; it was hard to guess. He was so lost, so bitter, she really felt sorry for him. But she didn't want a 'project' – she wanted true love. Someone who wasn't 'passing through,' but would be devoted to her and her alone. Was that too much to ask?
She stacked two boxes of books to one side so she could pull open another. There was an old Culpepper's herbal on top.
Found it!
The big old book was heavier than most dictionaries. A book below that one peeked through a cloth wrapping. Oh, was this one a diary? She reached for it. The top box of books shifted, catching her shoulder. June yelped as the falling box slammed over the book, catching her fingers.
"Ow! Damn it."
The dogs, who had been exploring the dark corners of the basement, barked, sniffing the air, trying to figure out what the fuss was about. She cradled her stinging fingers, tucking them under her arm as she scooped up the herbal book with her good hand. This was enough, for now.
"I'm okay," she reassured the dogs. Somebody didn't want her looking at the diary. Fine. One day she would come back for it. Then let them try to mash her fingers again!
She took her prize upstairs to the dining room table. Some cold water stopped her fingers from hurting. She made herself some tea before she settled down to look at the book. It didn't take long for her to copy recipes into a notebook, including Aunt Lizzie's annotations. This way she wouldn't risk damaging the old book. Soap might take a chemist, but she could make a simple tincture of peppermint and vodka. She gathered what she needed into a box, taking it and the dogs to the garage. The next few hours she followed the instructions to make tinctures, oils and simple salves.
The garage smelled like summer; June was humming under her breath, when the house phone rang. This time of night it was either a wrong number or a telemarketer. The answering machine would take care of it. Her friends and family all called her cell phone. She patted her back pocket to make sure her cell was in her jeans. It was.
By midnight she had jars of herbs in vinegar, oil and vodka. She cleaned up stems and shattered leaves, pleased with the jars lining the shelves. Back in the house she prepared for the next day feeling that she'd accomplished a great deal. She didn't need Eric's help with
everything
.
Tired, but happy, June made herself some tea before she went up to bed. Once again there was soft light coming from behind the door. Rags growled; Tasha sniffed the air with her hackles up.
The candles were lit – there was a perfect red rosebud on her pillow.
She held the slender stem in her fingers for a long moment before she slipped it into the water glass by her bed. A red rosebud – the symbol of love awakening; June smiled.
A stray thought of star-crossed lovers winged its way through her mind. Wouldn't that be her luck – her soul-mate was already on the 'other side' waiting? She shivered, how terrible – to love across the 'great divide' like that. She scooped Rags into her arms for a moment – taking comfort in his doggie warmth.
No, the spell had failed. She wouldn't try that again, either. She was going to learn to be happy just the way she was. She settled into bed, with Rags beside her and Tasha in the dog bed. Sleep came swiftly and with it – dreams.
They were by the lake. The waves broke on the shore with that wonderful rhythmic hiss. The sun was already set – only a faint pink stain remained in the sky and on the water. He was here and she was content in his arms.
She laid her head on his shoulder as he held her close, her back to his chest. The night was clear and calm, June felt free and floating, relaxed for the first time in ages. In fact, she couldn't recall why she'd been so worried these last few days.
He stroked her hair, kissing her temple. "Stay here with me."
"Umm – yes." June tangled her fingers in his long, fine hair.
That wasn't right. Eric's hair was shorter and curly.
She turned her head to look at the man who held her so tenderly. His long hair was dark, with a lighter beard and mustache; his eyes were deep chocolate brown.
He wasn't Eric.
She woke up, her heart pounding. She scrambled out of bed, dislodging Rags who growled in protest. Her room was dark and silent, the windows closed. June turned on the light, went to the bathroom to splash her face with water.
A few minutes later she was back in bed, the dream fading away as dreams do. Silly of her to wake up like that, she should have just enjoyed herself.
It was only a dream.
~^~
October 5
th
The rose in her water glass brought the dream back in detail. June stroked the petals with a fingertip. There was nothing more romantic than watching the sun set, on the beach, in the arms of a man who cared. This guy knew the way to a woman's heart. Even at work, the feeling of being safe in the arms of a lover lingered; until after lunch, when she found Tiffany rummaging in her desk.
"Hey!" June couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice. "Can I help you?"
Tiffany gave her an over-the-shoulder look that said 'deal with it.' She closed the drawer without explanation, picking up a photograph of June and her two dogs.
"Nice Doberman." Tiffany tapped the glass with her crimson talons. "What's his name?"
"That's Tasha."
Tiffany's eyes flashed with pure malice.
She knows.
June felt the hair on her arms stand up as cold chills flashed up and down her spine.
"Nice name." Tiffany put the photo down. She gave June a sly smile, then sashayed off, her high heels clacking triumphantly on the tiles.
June sank to the chair. There
was
a connection between the man Tasha attacked and the plant. All this was connected – somehow.
What was Tiffany looking for? She checked her desk drawers, thankful that she scanned the invoices, not copied them. There was no incriminating paperwork for Tiffany to find. She opened her purse, rummaged for the flash drive. It was in her makeup bag.
What about the photo? June picked that up. It was just her with the dogs on the front porch. June sat with the photo in her hand, too scared for tears.
~^~
The big pines in front of the house whistled softly as they swayed in the rising wind. The house was restless, creaking softly with each gust. June lit a fire, then made a nest of blankets on the rug while she poured over Aunt Lizzie's herbal remedies. Tasha stretched out on the side closest to the fire, while Rags snoozed between them. June was nearly asleep when she heard the stair treads creak, footsteps across the landing and again down the twelve steps to the bottom.
"Be careful, June-bug." Aunt Lizzie's much-loved voice came from the stairway.
June started awake. The dogs were looking towards the stairs, Rags wagging his tail.
The house phone rang while June tried to focus. Had she really heard Aunt Lizzie? She got up to answer the phone.
"Hello?"
"Listen up, bitch."
"Excuse me?"
"We know who you are. You and that damn Doberman of yours."
June's mouth went dry.
Don't panic. Lie.
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Don't talk to the police. You shut your mouth and keep it shut."
"Who are you?" June's voice quivered when she wanted to sound brave.
He laughed; it was a triumphant, nasty chuckle that frightened her more than the threats.
"You go to the cops and we'll kill your dog and burn your house."
June hung up the phone. She paced the downstairs. Did Tiffany gave her phone number to those men? Who else was in on this? The details of that night were hazy because she had concentrated on hiding.
Would they really come here? Swearing, June dashed upstairs to look for Aunt Lizzie's old .38 revolver. The gun was in a wooden trunk with a bunch of other stuff, no problem finding it. The bullets were another matter. She tore the closet apart, but she never found the bullets.
The gun was shiny steel with a fancy ivory handle. June laid it on the bed, staring at it. Where could she buy bullets? Did she need to go to a special store? She didn't know how to load it or fire it. There was no way she could learn these things in the next few minutes. In frustration, she stuffed the gun under the corner of her mattress. Where was Eric when she needed him?
Downstairs, the fire had burned to mere embers. She carefully checked all the doors, then brought Tasha and Rags upstairs. Only after she settled down for the night did she wonder about the creaking stairs and Aunt Lizzie's voice.
She felt better with Tasha beside her. No one was going to get into the house without Tasha hearing them. She settled down to sleep with her dogs beside her. She had to go to work the next day. No matter what happened, she had to keep going.
June could hear the waves as she walked down the beach holding his hand. The moon sparkled on the water. They found a driftwood log to use as a wind break, so they could be comfortable sprawled out in the sand.
He drew her down beside him and into his arms. They kissed slowly, softly at first. It took only moments for him to start stroking her arms, her back. June inhaled sharply as his expert hands enticed her to passion with feathering touches.
"Tell me that you want me." His mouth tormented her throat as his hands slid under her shirt to cup her breasts. June moaned with pleasure and arched into his hands. He rewarded her with the brush of his thumbs against her aching flesh. "Say it."
"Yes," June whispered, quivering with anticipation. "I want you." She tangled her fingers in his hair. Their clothes melted away; she caressed his powerful shoulders.