My Darkest Rose

Chapter 20

Sanctuary

"Lock the door," he said, just above a whisper.

He was afraid that if he didn't calm her down, she would open the door and run.

He touched her arm, gently, not to startle her. She was trembling. He reached over her lap and pushed down the lock, then did the same on his own door.

He thought back to the night Rose was taken. She'd been afraid like this then and he thought she was just having a bad trip. So he'd tried to distract her. He'd painted on her, nothing specific, just lines and colorful swirls. And once she stopped laughing about how it tickled and how ridiculous she felt, she'd let him cover nearly every inch of her.

And it had worked, for a time. But after she showered and washed it off, after they'd gone to bed, the fear returned and he'd done little to sooth her.

"I want you to climb into the back seat," he said, his voice calm and steady, at odds with the thundering sound of his heart that filled his ears. He lifted up the armrest of her chair. When she started to turn away and look out the window again, he stopped her. "No," he said. "It's just us, OK? It's just us." He kissed her and helped her step over the center console and into the back seat.

"Lay down." She did as he asked, laying on the middle seat. "I'm going to cover the windows, OK?" Behind the seat were more supplies that he had forgotten to take into the house. Trash bags and bungee cords, Gatorade and more light bulbs. As he sorted through them, he glanced back out the window.

The creature was closer. Not much, it was still by the tree, but he could see more of it now. It's black claws dug into the rotten bark.

"Is it still there?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "But it can't get inside."

He didn't know if that was true or not, but hoped it was. And hope was all he had left.

He covered the inside of each window with ripped garbage bags he'd bought for the kitchen and used duct tape to secure them in place. He didn't look beyond the windows and into the forest. If the creature was closer, he might give up, he might show too much fear to Rose and then they would have no chance at all.

"See?" he said, after he had one window covered. "Better?"

She looked so small and afraid, not at all like the girl he remembered who jumped into the lake years ago or the girl he'd shared a Diet Coke with on her front porch. He sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her as she leaned her head against his chest. He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

They heard something outside. Just a hacking sound at first, and then laughter. It sounded like the voice of Death, of Fear, of the end of everything.

She startled. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes," he said.

Rose started to cry and it broke his heart. She'd been so strong before, so fearless. She'd thought monsters were something in scary movies and campfire stories. And now, after what he'd done, what he failed to do, she was just as scared as him.

He went back to work covering the windows. Rose took the bags from the box and helped him tear long strips of tape to secure them in place. His hands shook as he worked, but he kept going, determined to soothe Rose if he could.

As they worked to cover the front window, when she seemed to have calmed down, he said, "Why does it want you?"

She handed him a piece of tape. He didn't think she would answer. She looked like she might not, then said, "Because you do." Her voice was steady, more in control than it had been just moments ago.

"Because I do? Why?" It didn't make sense.

She shook her head, she didn't know.

He looked outside. There was no sign of it, just the forest. Leaves quivered as drops of rain fell from the canopy, each time drawing his eye and making his heart race. He worked faster, moving over the middle seat to the back. Just one window left.

He could see the house at the end of the driveway, dark and silent.

He ripped the last bag in half and taped it over the rear window.

He looked at Rose. For a horrifying moment, she looked translucent. She seemed to be going away, and he reached for her, frantic, only to find she was solid, warm. There was sweat along her hairline and her breaths were fast and shallow.

He didn't want to take his hand off her. If he did, something terrible might happen. So he held her hand as he dug through the back seat for supplies. He handed her a gatorade which she sat next to her on the seat.

He wished for a cigarette, but the thought quickly vanished as he found a paintbrush on the floor. It must have dropped out of his bag at some point and rolled into a small crevice along the wheel well.

"Look," he said, holding it up.

She smiled, confused.

"I have an idea," he said, and climbed over the seat. He held her hand tight in his as he settled next to her and ran the paintbrush over her bare thigh. Up and down, slowly, twirling the soft bristles, making shapes and letters.

"Remember this?"

She nodded, her eyes on the spot where the bristled touched her skin.

"See if you can guess what I'm writing," he said.

He wrote out her name. R-O-S-E. She guessed it right away. Then he wrote I LOVE YOU in cursive and she guessed that too.

A bird sang outside. They stopped and listened. Neither said what they were thinking, that if a bird was there, maybe the creature was gone, but the thought passed between them as they met each other's eyes.

He wrote out a question on her arm. "What was that?" she asked, unable to guess what he wrote.

He wrote WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN but couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He was afraid the question would spook her, break whatever miracle he'd been given. And even more, the paintbrush was working. The laughing sound had stopped and Rose no longer looked so afraid.

"I wrote, WE'RE SAFE NOW."

She rested her head against his arm. The Jeep was warm and quiet, and the sounds of the forest outside were birdsong and rustling leaves. Normal sounds, that lulled them both into a restful silence.

Rose lifted her head from his arm and looked at him.

She looked just like one of his drawings. He was amazed at how perfectly he'd remembered the details of her face, the slight wave of her hair. He thought it possible that she had simply stepped out of the painting in the gallery and become real.

After everything he'd seen, it felt possible. That he'd created her. That maybe she'd never existed until that day in late August when he'd found her sitting on her front porch.

But that couldn't be true. She had a family, a whole life before him. And what of the creature? Had it too existed before Jack? Had it hidden in the shadows, waiting to be seen?

He didn't linger long on that thought as she leaned toward him and placed her mouth on his.

It was easy, like slipping off a cliff, the moment gravity catches you, and there's nothing to do but fall. Their bodies remembered, what to do, where to touch, how to breathe as one. For a while there were only the two of them and the tiny sanctuary within the forest where they hid from everyone and everything.