WISHBONE (38 page)

Julien held her. “Je suis désolé, Rachael. I’m so sorry,” he muttered through heavy sobs.   

He blamed himself. Had he been more convincing or known what to do. Had she not been afraid to tell him she was pregnant. Had he decided to go home and properly escort Rachael to the opera that night. Had he never moved them away from the city. It was entirely his fault, his choices, and his demands.

Julien held Rachael’s lifeless body to him for a long while. Eventually, there were no emotions left. He stared straight ahead; his body in shock, his mind reeling.

I could leave.

Go for help.

Help for what?

Go to whom?

Sarah…where is she?

With the utmost of care, Julien gently situated Rachael closer to the opening of the staircase. He had to find the girl and convince her to wish his wife and daughter back to life, or he would take his own life and join them leaving Sarah with nothing.

She’ll just bring you back.
 

He held on and descended several steps then turned back to weave an arm around Rachael, slowly taking her down the staircase with him. He was numb, pain no longer registered.

He mumbled to himself in French, rambling as he worked to get his wife to the first floor.  He hadn’t made it very far when his leg gave out and sent them backwards. He caught one rung of the banister with three fingertips, holding on for dear life and clutching Rachael now on top of him. He tried to pull them back up, but the weight was too much and one by one he felt his fingers slip and they tumbled to the ground. He laid there, his cheek pressed to the cold wood, trying to regain his wits. He turned over to look at Rachael’s body lying beside him; her vacant eyes aimed blindly toward him. An unexpected sigh escaped him, a shell-shocked haze in his eyes, he placed his hands beneath his chest and pushed himself up; Sarah’s shoes came into view just an inch from his face. He slowly raised his eyes, craning his neck to look up at the girl. 

Sarah glared at him beneath a creased brow. The sound of plodding heavy footsteps resonated behind him on the stair case. Julien knew what was coming and dropped back down. He covered his head and prepared for the blow.

Jérome.

Sarah dashed into the kitchen peeking out around the doorjamb as Jérome grabbed Julien from behind. He righted his son’s body, standing him up so Julien’s back was to his father. With a hard shove of his scuffed boot, Jérome slid Rachael out of the way so he could step around and face his son. 

Julien watched his wife’s body skid along the floor and his fear morphed into fury. He waited. The dog ran out of the kitchen past Sarah and behind Jérome. It leapt onto the couch, the cooked chicken in its mouth. Jérome laughed it off then turned back to his son.

Julien brought his hands up slowly and shifted his weight into a wounded boxing stance.  His father’s laughter directed now onto him. Julien’s mind came alive with vivid memories of his childhood. His father’s years of taunting and constant blame for his mother’s death; the permanent scars left by his abuse. He shook his head attempting to chase the memories from his mind. Jérome looked at Rachael’s body. Julien abruptly threw a punch; Jérome bobbed, shifting his upper body just out of reach. He put up his own fists and threw a false jab purposely stopping short of Julien’s chin, but Julien tried to weave and nearly lost his balance. He caught himself and threw another punch instantly, this one landing Jérome’s jaw. Jérome smiled, showing his few remaining discolored teeth; he reached out, gripped Julien by the bicep and threw him to the side, over Rachael, and sliding across the floor. Julien slammed into the sofa which shifted; the dog yipped then scurried away with its prize meal still in his teeth. It dropped back down beside the wall, hovering over the chicken and snarling protectively as Julien hurried to stand. He felt the ground shake as Jérome stomped toward him.

Sarah, with a sudden change of heart, squealed and ran past Jérome crouching down beside Julien protectively. She held up a hand stopping Jérome in his tracks.  Julien lay panting, his back to her chest. He looked first at Sarah, her arms wrapped tightly around him, shielding him. He then looked back to Jérome who was already gone.

Sarah hummed softly, rocking and petting him. The dog watched them warily, its tail thumped methodically against the wood floor. Sarah hugged him tighter then placed her lips to his cheek. Repulsed, he pulled away from her and sat forward. He looked at Rachael on the floor across the room, then the baby, her foot visible just over the table’s edge. Sarah inched closer to him, shimmying up to his side persistently. Julien looked into the girl’s eyes, his face slack and void of expression. Sarah smiled and ran a finger along his jaw, then his lips. He was staring at her, but not seeing her at all. In shock, the only thought on his mind was of his and Rachael’s ninth anniversary and how it all could have been so different. Without conscious thought, he watched his own hand come up to cup one side of Sarah’s face in false affection she welcomed openly. Without warning he shoved her face sideways, slamming her skull into the ground with one ruthless crack. He felt nothing, completely void of emotion.

The dog jumped up to run, but changed its mind and let out one startled bark before lowering itself back down cautiously. It bit into the chicken as it released a low growl, pinning the bird between its paws and watching Julien intently.

Sarah did not move, her eyes fixed on him she gasped. Blood drained from one nostrils as her her eyes went dull. Julien shook her; she was dead. Sarah’s body fell over onto her back, blood trickling from her ear, a small section of her temple concaved above her eye.

Julien looked at the dog still watching. He crawled halfway over Sarah, moving slowly toward the animal. The dog’s snarl revved with each movement Julien made; the sound muffled only by the meat still gripped in its mouth. Julien reached catiously for the bird, ready to lurch forward if needed.  He stared into the dog’s eyes keeping its gaze away from his hand. When the dog seemed intent on Julien’s face, he took his chances and dove for it, digging his fingers into the breast of the bird.

Our ninth anniversary with memory of this nightmare.

The dog snapped and gnashed down, one canine in the bird, the other in Julien’s finger.  They both jerked away from one another, tearing the meat in two.

Tink!

The bone snapped and the dog ran out through the front door with the remnant of its prize. Julien crumpled, his body resting across Sarah’s. He held the bone grasped tightly in his palm as his body gave out and he lost consciousness.

* * * *

Julien waited impatiently for his turn in the revolving door. He exited the office building on Madison Avenue, spilling out amongst the masses into the falling snow. He removed a pack of cigarettes from his coat, taking the time to tuck his scarf back in before lighting one. Igniting his Zippo he took a satisfying drag and leaned back against one of the leafless saplings lining the street. Looking up, he eyed the enormous glass office building. He began to hum as he waited for Matt. He didn’t think much of it until he stopped humming to take a drag; the tune was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. A young girl walked by, her red hair falling forward, as her eyes met his, and she looked away coyly. He watched her flirt with him as he exhaled his smoke. Out of nowhere, a soft, breathy whisper echoed in his mind.

Sarah.

The moment he heard the name he felt a wave of dizziness come over him. He closed his eyes and saw a fleeting glimpse of a white Victorian home. He shook his head, opening his eyes to pedestrians eyeing him suspiciously as they moved by. From the opposite direction, a man knocked into his shoulder, and he watched him pass unapologetically. Julien’s first thought was to grab the guy and confront him, but he was huge and built like a tank.

Jérome.

Julien turned away and took another drag from his smoke. He slowly looked up as, in a series of rapid flashes, his memory flooded back to him.

Sarah…Jérome…the coop…Rachael…

He tossed his cigarette to the ground and turned to the street. He stepped out into traffic and forced the first taxi he saw to a screeching halt. The driver hung out of the window about to eject a litany of expletives, but Julien grabbed the rear door handle and entered the cab. Matt stepped up beside the open door.

“What are you doing? I thought we were…”

Julien instructed the driver to go then turned back to Matt. “I’ll call you later.” he said quickly as the cab began to roll. He slammed the door shut, leaving his friend to stand abandoned and baffled on Madison Avenue.

* * * *

Rachael tossed $20 through the Plexiglas window separating her from the driver.

“Keep it,” she said, leaving the cab in a hurry. 

The doorman rushed up to hold the lobby door. “Good evening, Mrs. Grenier. In a rush, I take it?”

“I’m so late, Arthur…” 

She flew past him and skidded on the marble floor; the soles of her high heels wet from snow. She ran for the elevator hopping from one foot to the other and struggling to remove her shoes. Barefoot, she heard the bell.

“Hold the door,” she said, rounding the corner.

About to stumble into the elevator, she slid to a halt. Her eyes fell upon an older man holding the button for her. Her face drained of color and she felt a chill run down her spine. A name, strange at first, came to her—
Lind.
She backed away slowly, shaking her head.

“Never mind,” she mumbled.

The man, noticeably annoyed, huffed impatiently and hit the button closing the doors between them. 

Rachael, stunned, stood there for a moment. She slowly backed away from the elevator then bolted for the front door, confused by her actions and overcome by an urge to find Julien immediately. It was Friday, their ninth wedding anniversary. She knew he would be at the bar around the corner from his office having drinks with Matt.

With purpose, she moved on autopilot past a concerned Arthur.

“I thought you were late, Mrs. Grenier?” he asked.

Rachael kept walking, ignoring the doorman and heading straight for a parked taxi dropping someone off at the curb. Squeezing through them she entered the cab directing the driver to Madison Avenue. She sat back disoriented; she rubbed calming circles over her belly, soothing both herself and her unborn baby.

* * * *

The taxi stopped alongside the curb in front of their apartment building. Julien tossed money at the driver. He flung the door open and left the car, the driver holding up his change and yelling after him.

Julien rushed passed Arthur who was helping an elderly woman down the front steps.  The doorman called to him, but Julien refused to stop. He held up a hand to acknowledge Arthur as he headed for the elevator yelling back, “Call the police, Arthur…right away.”

“But…Mrs. Grenier isn’t…” Arthur paused unsure, but went to the phone by his post and dialed 911.

Julien tapped frantically at the up button between the two elevator pods. He stepped into the first car to open and impatiently watched the doors close. Reaching their floor, he charged down the hallway toward their apartment. The door was slightly ajar.

He pushed it open and quietly stepped inside. He looked for signs of Rachael, but he had left before her that morning and didn’t know if she had worn the coat he spotted on the back of a foyer chair that day. 

Is she here yet?

He crept down the hall listening closely for any sounds. He turned into the bedroom where the closet door was wide open; the room was dark. He stepped in front of the closet, but she wasn’t there. He turned to check the bathroom and came face to face with Rachael’s attacker.

In the darkness, he heard the click of a switchblade.

“Get on your knees, mother fucker!”

Julien’s mind raced, fixated with the notion that this was the man who had raped his wife and caused them both nine months of hell. 

“I said get on your fucking knees, bitch! You ready to suck my dick, old man?”

Without hesitation Julien blindly reached for the man, wrapping his fingers around his throat and knocking him back against the wall. There was no struggle, just a warm sensation spreading across Julien’s chest. His hand released Rachael’s attacker and the man stepped away, panic-stricken and rambling.

“Oh shit! Fuck!” He slid sideways along the wall as Julien dropped to his knees. His voice cracked as he said, “Fucking asshole. Shit, man, I wasn’t trying to kill nobody.” He stood in the dimly lit hallway looking back at Julien.

Julien stared down at his hands held at his chest. He turned to look out into the hall. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-years-old. He wasn’t big and menacing. He wasn’t Jérome. He was a kid, now terrified, maybe a junkie, maybe just broke.  The kid looked into Julien’s eyes then sped off disappearing from view and leaving Julien in a state of disbelief studying the knife protruding from his chest. His heart struggled, thumping and pausing beneath his sternum. He tried to grip the handle but his hands were shaking violently. His heart seized and he fell forward sliding down the wall.

EPILOGUE

Rachael kept the SUV’s pace slightly below the speed limit. For the past two years, she spent all of her waking hours reenacting the plan in her mind, working out each potential consequence or snag, and building up her courage. The day had finally come and she was more afraid than ever. If it did not work, two years of hope and planning would be wasted. She was in no rush as she continued slowly toward Kings Hollow.

In the back seat, eighteen-month-old Jessica chewed on a saliva-soaked animal cracker, kicking her feet at a dangling toy and sounding a continuous bell. Rachael watched her in the rearview mirror. She was the spitting image of Julien, and sometimes it hurt to look at their daughter. This was one of those times. She glanced back to the road just in time to pass the winding turn up to the Victorian’s driveway. She pulled close to the tree line and parked the Lexus. Stepping out of the SUV, she lit a cigarette, fussed with her hair and neatened her clothes.  She looked through the tinted window at Jessica, who grinned back at her with crumb-smeared lips and four stubby front teeth. Rachael drummed the window with her fingers playfully reassuring her daughter. She turned away and looked into the trees. Her mind was distant and her heart raced. This was it, her plan was about to become reality; no turning back now. If it failed, for the sake of their daughter, she would have to find it in herself to let go and move on.