False Security (8 page)

Spending an hour
sitting in Mark’s arms behind the bookstore had been therapeutic, despite the
weather cutting their time short. Interrupted by the cracking of thunder,
Rachel bowed out of going somewhere else and Mark drove her home. The calming
smell of rain followed them on the short drive to her house. Sparks of
lightning outlined dark clouds, confirming the radio’s warnings of
thunderstorms arriving soon in their county.

In her driveway, Mark brought up
the subject of dinner Sunday night at Greg’s house. Rachel said she would go,
but only because she couldn’t think of a good excuse to get out of the
commitment.

She wanted to have a normal
life, to do the meet-the-family things that came with a relationship, however,
with dinner would come the dreaded questions. Even though asked with routine
curiosity, the questions would seem threatening, suspicious, angry. Most
questions would elicit a reluctant lie, something Rachel did only when
necessary.

Rachel thought Mark sensed her
hesitation regarding the invitation to dinner. To avoid raising too many
suspicions, she widened her smile and did her best to convince him that dinner
with his family would be enjoyable. Sunday was still several days away. By
then, she would find an excuse not to go.

After kissing him goodnight, she
entered her house and tossed her keys on the couch on her way to the kitchen.
Rain tapped out a beat on the roof that only nature could compose, and the
sound comforted Rachel. She poured a tall glass of skim milk and put the carton
back in the refrigerator. She turned around and faced the table, letting the
cool liquid refreshed her throat. The sight of the roses drew her to the table.
She reached out to touch one of the silky red petals.

Creak.

Rachel’s head snapped around and
she froze, her ears alert, unsure if she had heard the noise. Her deliberate
breathing echoed in her ears, and she crept toward the living room, toward the
sound. When she reached the doorway of the kitchen, thunder rattled the
windows, and she jumped back. She stood still and waited for another sound, but
the house remained quiet.

Relief forced her lips into a
sheepish grin. Either she was hearing things or it was a case of an old house
settling. She put a hand on her chest and closed her eyes, coaching her
breathing to try and control the impending panic attack. Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale. In—

Creak.

Her eyes flew open and her
breathing sharpened. She squeezed the glass and the cold milk inside chilled
her hand. She stared into the living room with large eyes.

They’re here.

The thought reverberated through
her mind like a pinball unable to flee through the escape hatch. Her breathing
quickened, becoming a pant. Her eyes shifted to the left. The hallway leading
to her bedroom beckoned her, and her mind zeroed in on the gun in her bedside
table. She had to move.
Now
.

Rachel released the glass and
bolted for the door, ignoring the shatter behind her. Rounding the corner, she
dashed into her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She opened her bedside table
drawer, pulled her gun out, and slid over her bed. She crouched against the
wall in a position where she could see the door.

She drew her knees up and held
the gun close to her chest. She stared at the doorknob and waited for it to
turn. The light from her floor lamp reflected off the cheap gold-colored knob
and mesmerized her. At any second, the doorknob would rotate and they would
enter the room.

“Go away.” She meant to yell,
but the words barely left her throat between her frantic gulps for air. Her
head bobbed with each gasp and she tried to slow her breathing, to no avail.
Her fingertips numbed, and her grip on the gun loosened.

Leave me alone.

She wished someone would lift
the boulder off her chest, but no one came to help. Her tongue thickened and
the sound of her breathing melted with the background drumming of rain. Throat
tight, she let the darkness take over.

Rachel opened
her eyes and acquainted herself with her surroundings. Slumped down on the
floor of her bedroom, the gun had tumbled out of her hand and now rested below
her fingers.

She sat up and tried to clear
her mind. According to her watch, she had been out for over an hour. Danielle
had not returned home yet. If she had, she would have woke Rachel and launched
into a stern lecture on passing out with a loaded weapon, one that Rachel
admitted she needed.

She turned on the safety and
laid the gun down on her bed. She used the edge of the bed to pull herself to
her feet. Her mind drifted from the anxiety attack and focused on the dream
that found her while the attack rendered her unconscious.

Another dream, the same as all
the others. Vivid, realistic details. The leaves various shades of green, the
fresh smell of tree bark and rain. Walking through the woods in the black
evening gown. The bird fluttering down to her hand, telling her what to do. The
piano playing a song she used to know. Moving across the forest floor toward
the door. The door opening.

Rachel went into the bathroom,
where she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She had overreacted at a small
sound. She couldn’t afford to have a panic attack every time the house settled,
which was what the sound had been. If she had heard someone else in the house,
if she had heard
them
, they would have already made their presence
known.

She put her toothbrush away, and
caught her reflection in the mirror. Pictures from the past flashed in front of
her eyes, blurring with the weary face of the girl in front of her, a girl she
did not recognize. Dark circles outlined eyes that were absent of strength,
while lines of surrender encompassed her downturned mouth.

A shadow stood behind her.
Ghostly hands landed on her shoulders and crawled down her arms with
determination. A seductive voice whispered in her mind, reminding her of who
she was, promising her the world, and enticing her to return to where she
belonged.

Rachel turned away from the
mirror and moved into her bedroom. The dream drained her of all strength, and
she tried to convince herself she could still handle the stress it caused. She
longed for one night of uninterrupted sleep with no nightmares. No bird, no
door, no damn piano.

Unable to hear rain outside, she
decided she needed fresh air. She picked up the gun from her bed, ready to
begin her nightly ritual.

Her face hardened at the sight
of the gun. She detested everything it reminded her of, everything it
represented. She didn’t want to sit outside in the backyard anymore and ponder
the night away with the gun acting as her sole source of sanity.

She returned the gun to her
bedside table and left her room. In the kitchen, she cleaned up the forgotten
broken glass and used a sponge to mop up the milk. All evidence of her panic
attack erased, she opened the refrigerator door in hopes of something to eat. A
half empty carton of skim milk, a tub of butter, a bottle of ketchup, and three
cheese slices stared back at her.

She shut the door. Sleep was out
of the question and there was nothing to eat. She desired Danielle’s company
and conversation to take her into the early morning hours, but it could be
several hours before she waltzed through the front door.

Rachel sat at the kitchen table
and stared at the roses. If only she was strong like Danielle who survived the
unthinkable, yet still had the courage to go out into the world and let go of
the past. Rachel was unable to forget the things haunting her.

In some respects, she was
getting better because she had let someone into her life for the first time in
three years. Any change in her, no matter how small, was only because of Mark.
With Mark, she had no past. There were no panic attacks, no fading nightmares.
With Mark, life was bearable, livable, wonderful. With Mark...

A voice in the back of Rachel’s
head nagged, telling her what to do.

Unwilling to put up a fight with
her smarter side, she withdrew a pad of paper and pen from the kitchen drawer.
She scribbled a quick note to Danielle and threw it on the table. She grabbed
her keys from the couch, set the alarm, and made sure each of the deadbolts
were secure.

Concern flashed
across Mark’s face when he opened the front door and saw Rachel standing on his
front porch. “Is everything okay?”

Rachel hesitated and took in his
image. He was barefoot and dressed in a pair of navy pajama bottoms. She let
out a nervous laugh. “I just realized how stupid this is. I’m sorry I woke
you.” She turned to leave.

“Wait,” he said, and he grabbed
her hand.

She bit her bottom lip and faced
him.

“You didn’t wake me. Come on
in.”

Rachel followed him down the
hall into the living room, and inhaled the familiar scent of citrus
multi-purpose cleaners. As usual, his house was spotless. Two bookshelves held
books lined up and categorized by author. The glass coffee table was free of
fingerprints, and there was not a hint of dust on any surface. Chaos had no
place in his world, and his perfect, organized life had no room for her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting
on the couch.

She sank into the couch cushions
and crossed her arms. “Nothing’s wrong. I couldn’t sleep.” She laughed at
herself. “I’m not quite sure why I’m here.”

“It’s okay. I was still awake,
paying bills. That’s enough to keep anyone up at night, sweating profusely,
unable to stop shaking in terror.”

She laughed again, and tucked
some stray stands of hair behind her ear.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

Her smile lingered despite the
changing tone of her voice. “You know I never meant for this to happen with us.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee.” It was a rare moment of truth for her.

He drew her head down on his
shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. “That makes two of us.”

She closed her eyes, and he
stroked the back of her head. Tension flowed from her body and the last
remnants of the dream disappeared. For the first time in years, she felt
protected.

Safe.

Rachel sensed him move, and she
opened her eyes.

“You fell asleep,” he said.

“I did?” She sat up and rubbed
the back of her neck. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.”

“I suppose I’d better go,” she
said, with a yawn.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re
exhausted. There’s no way I’m letting you drive anywhere. You can sleep in my
room and I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing.” Mark
stood in front of her and scooped her up.

She threw her arms around his
neck. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to break my back.” He
groaned and pretended to buckle under her weight.

She smacked his arm. “Now you’re
being mean,” she said. She squirmed in his arms and giggled.

“Are you ticklish?”

“I guess,” she said. A soft,
embarrassed laugh escaped her lips. “What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,
I just never thought of you as ticklish.” He maneuvered her through his bedroom
door and laid her down on his bed. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he took
off her shoes.

“This is what I call royal
treatment,” she said. “Does a massage come with this package, too?”

He winked and rose from the bed.
“It could.” He covered her with the blanket. Bending over, he kissed her
forehead. “Goodnight, my lady.” At the doorway, he flipped off the light
switch.

As soon as the darkness fell on
her, the dread of being alone overcame her. Her stomach tightened, and she
feared another panic attack. “Mark?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“Please stay.”

“Wait a minute.”
Greg stopped his work on the computer and looked at Mark in disbelief. “She
slept in your bed right next to you, and you never once thought about sex?”

Mark wiped his hand across his
desk, brushing away dust only he could see. “Strange, huh?”

“I’d say. Aliens have invaded
and taken over my brother’s body.”

“Remind me which one of us is
older.”

“You have to admit that everything
about you has changed. You used to have a new fling every week.”

Mark frowned. “Not every week.”

“Close enough. You’ve been
seeing Rachel for over two months, which is some kind of record, and now you’re
telling me that you don’t want to sleep with her?”

Mark glanced at his watch,
impatient to open the store and end this conversation. “I didn’t say I don’t
want to, but I haven’t really thought about it. I’m content spending time with
her. Sex isn’t always a necessity.”

“I think my heart stopped.”

Mark ignored him. “Last night,
it felt so natural to have her there. It was like she’s always been there. Then
this morning, I woke up and the first thing I saw was her face.”

“And?” Greg asked.

“What makes you think there’s
anything else?”

“There is.”

“And all I could think was how
much I want to wake up every morning and see her there.”

Greg grinned. “You know what
this means, don’t you?”

“Are you going to start talking
about aliens again?”

“It means you love her.”

The realization of his emotions
washed over him, and he could no longer ignore what he felt every time he
thought about her. “I know I do.”

“Have you told her?”

“Are you crazy? My stomach is in
knots having this conversation with you. If I told her how I feel, she may say
she doesn’t feel the same, or she may outright reject me. I don’t want to take
the risk of losing her.”

“I’ve seen you two together a
lot, and I can tell you she’s definitely in love with you, the same as you are
with her. What makes you think she doesn’t love you?”

Mark’s smile faded and all his
insecurities rushed in at once. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think she does.
Other times, I feel like she’s not all there. It’s like she’s holding part of
herself back from me.”

“What do you mean?”

Mark paused. He never considered
telling anyone about his fears, but Greg might be able to shed some light on
the subject. “It’s hard to explain because it’s nothing specific. It’s like
she’s not always being honest or not telling the whole truth. Something about
her doesn’t make sense. It sounds strange, but I feel like there’s something
else to who she is.”

Greg creased his forehead and
leaned back in the office chair. “Like she’s hiding something?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what it
could be or why she would think she has to hide something from me. If she has
the same feelings for me that I do for her, then I don’t understand why she
would do that to me.”

“What do you know about her?”

Mark shrugged. “She’s from
California. Her parents died in a car accident when she was ten and she went to
live with a foster family. She teaches self-defense at the shelter and lives
off a trust fund her parents left her. She lives with Danielle, her best
friend, and they came here from Indianapolis.”

“That’s it?”

Mark’s inability to think of any
additional facts about Rachel unsettled him. “I thought I knew her better than
that.”

“There’s more to knowing someone
than factual data. You know her, but you don’t seem to know a lot of things
about her life before she moved here.”

“It’s almost like she has no
past.”

“Don’t get all mysterious on me.
It sounds like you’re operating on suspicion, and nothing concrete. Have you
ever asked her about her life? Like specific questions?”

“I guess not.”

Greg waved his hand. “There you
go. You can’t expect to know everything about her if you’ve never asked.”

Mark couldn’t deny Greg’s logic.
Rachel had answered every question Mark ever asked. If he didn’t know many
facts about her life before she came to Wichita, it was his fault for not
asking. He couldn’t expect her to offer up information about herself every time
they saw each other. He needed to ask her some questions to fill in the gaps.

“When are you seeing her again?”
Greg asked.

“She’s coming over for dinner
tonight. Speaking of which, you don’t mind if I leave for a few hours around
lunch, do you? I’ll come back later this afternoon, but I want to get a head
start on dinner.”

“Depends. What are you making
for dinner?”

“I thought about a simple
lasagna.”

“Nothing about your lasagna is
simple. Can I have your leftovers?”

“No!”

“You know how much Anna loves
your lasagna. It is imperative at this stage of the pregnancy that I keep her
happy at all times.”

“Is she getting bad?” Mark
asked.

“The mood swings and cravings
are killing me. She asked me to go to the store at four o’clock this morning to
get her coleslaw.”

“What’s so strange about
coleslaw?”

“It’s what she did to it when I
brought it home. Ketchup and mustard all over it. Then she went into the
bathroom and threw it all up. I wish pregnancy lasted nine days, not nine months.”

“I’m sure she feels the same
way,” Mark said. “Tell you what. I’ll make a second lasagna to keep you out of
the doghouse for a couple of days.”

“In that case, you can take as
long of a lunch break as you want.”