Blackmailing The Untouched

Needing An Escape

A loud bang comes from downstairs, ripping me from the dream I'm consumed in. My eyes pop open after realizing who it was I was dreaming about— the stranger with the ocean-blue eyes.

What is wrong with me? I ask myself as I make my way down the stairs.

I find Dad violently searching the hutch in the living room, throwing books that are in his way. Glancing over at the pile of discarded books, I see that some are lying flat, others are lying wide open. And the culprit of the bang seems to be a touch lamp that's missing from the corner end table, the green glass of it scattered all over the carpet below.

"Really, Dad?" I complain in a huff as I walk to where he is, folding my arms across my chest. "What are you looking for?"

He disregards my question and continues pulling out book after book, sending them to join the others on the floor. Once he has cleared the cabinet with no luck in finding whatever it is that he is so desperately looking for, he slams it shut and opens another.

I study my father's outburst and can't make sense of it— then suddenly, it hits me like a ton of bricks.

He's looking for a small, white envelope.

In my lust-drunk dream state, when I'd woken this morning, I'd somehow forgotten about the significance of what today was.

The memory of last year comes flooding back to me as I remember the ninth anniversary of my mother's death—because Dad had done the same thing. He tore the entire house apart from top to bottom in search of their wedding vows. Something he hadn't done in years.

Glancing over at the cat calendar hanging on the nearby wall tells me I'm right, today is September 8th, which means that Catherine Abbott has been gone for a whole ten years to date. And the hard reality sweeps over me and begins to swallow me whole. All the memories I'd made with her. And all the ones we'd never get the chance to make. She didn't watch me graduate from high school. She won't watch me get married. She won't hold her grandchildren— my eyes sting with tears just thinking about it.

Turning to face Dad, my heart breaks for him. He's desperately searching for the last known writing from her, and the pain in his panicked eyes just wrecks me.

Mitch Abbott is normally a hard ass, a strong man who protects the town of Stoneside, but witnessing him in this devastated state is more than I can handle.

I know I've got to try to calm him down because he can't go on like this, so I walk over to him and force him into a tight hug that he tries to shoo away. Grabbing onto him as tight as I can, I tell him that everything is going to be okay. "Mom is proud of you, Dad. It's going to be okay." I cry into his shoulder.

"I have to find her vows. Sweetie, I need to hear her words." His voice breaks as he starts to sob, clutching me tighter for a short moment before parting and dragging himself upstairs. And I know he's going to go tear his bedroom apart now, but I just can't be around him while he does this. I need to get out of the house before I go just as crazy as he is.

I walk to the phone, and dial the first person who comes to mind. After three rings, Toby connects the call, "Hello?" His voice is deep and raspy like I've woken him from sleep.

"Sorry, Toby, I didn't mean to wake you, but I need to get out of here for a few hours, or at least until my father leaves for work," I explain, feeling all the weight of what the day means crushing me. Toby goes silent for a second, the gears in his mind slowly moving to the realization of the passing of my mother. "I'm on my way."

A loud bang erupts from upstairs which tells me that my father has most likely toppled over the nightstands in his bedroom in his search. I need to get out of here before I become just as unstable as he is!

Minutes pass like hours, but soon enough, a loud horn sounds from the driveway.

"Where to?" Toby asks with a genuine smile as he waits for me to get into his car. He places a warm hand upon my cheek with sorrow in his eyes, the pad of his thumb slowly reaching down to caress my bottom lip. My lips part, and my breath catches, "Anywhere." I whisper.

"I have some more paperwork to finish from last night so if we go to my house I might not be" Toby's voice is a little choppy, like he's fighting with his self-control as he quickly breaks the contact between us. I take a deep breath before buckling myself in as the car pulls onto the road.

"That's okay." I nod. "I won't bother you while you work, I can watch TV or something while you're busy."

"Alright. It shouldn't take me but an hour tops to finish up." He replies as the car speeds up to keep up with the morning rush of traffic.

Relaxing against the back of my seat, I watch as the trees start to blur as we drive on and it makes me feel slightly better about what is going on in my head. But I still can't erase the look of pain in my father's eyes. I don't think I'll ever be able to.

Toby lives in a two-story white-paneled house located just on the outskirts of town. And it doesn't have a garage, so he parks the Subaru underneath a makeshift car tent that has protected the vehicle from the harsh rain and windy storms that are common for Denver.

He's the first to exit the vehicle, pushing a button on his keypad to lock the car behind us.

"Nice deck," I say as we make our way to the newly stained deck. I remember how he'd spent countless hours slaving away in the sun, perfecting it after adding the build-on last summer.

Toby rummages through the many keys on his stretchy keychain that he always keeps in his back pocket, and after finding the right one he unlocks the front door and swings it open.

"Okay, go to work," I say once inside the house, gesturing toward the sleek, silver computer desk pushed against a nearby wall.

"Right." He shrugs out of his brown sweater and places it on the back of a red leather sofa in the middle of the room before making his way to the computer desk. He sits down and immediately begins sorting through documents the station had previously emailed over to him the night before.

After my light jacket is off, I slip off my brown riding boots, and then take a seat on the sofa and attempt to find something worth watching on the TV as Toby starts to type away on the keyboard.

Quickly, we fall into a rhythm and after two hours have elapsed, Toby still types away. And I get bored and restless.

"Toby, when are you going to be done?" I walk up to him and embrace him from behind. "I'm bored." My words are drawn out as my patience runs out.

"Almost done, pretty girl." He places a hand over mine, his free fingers starting to move faster against the keys on the keyboard. After a final stab of the "enter" key, he closes the top of the computer and then turns to face me.