Wendy Chapter 11: Slasher

A Chapter by SweetNutmeg

Wendy just can't stay out of trouble, can she?

Chapter Eleven: Slasher

A week went by with no further menacing encounters with Dave. His constant fault-finding was wearing. Going back to re-do rooms meant I had less time for my other rooms and had to push hard to get them all done in the allotted time.

The next Friday evening Eric and I met at our favorite coffee shop for a quick meal. I chose the Cuban ham and cheese sandwich and Eric tried their Reuben. The sandwiches were a little disappointing to me, but this was Aiken, Illinois, not New York City or Miami, so what did I expect? The tiramisu was surprisingly good. Eric’s good humor and funny tales cheered me up after a grueling day at the hotel.

After our dessert, he said, “Let’s have a glass of wine at my place. It’ll help you unwind.”

My heart jumped at this suggestion. I had a sudden hunger for his touch, for his mouth on mine. All the strong emotions I’d been bottling up at work seemed to channel themselves into desire. I had never had this reaction to any of my previous boyfriends.

Eric caught my chair as I almost over turned it in my haste to leave. His smile matched mine as he pulled me to him.

“You’re in a rush, Miss Gaff. What’s got you in such a hurry?”

I clasped his waist and steered us towards the door, laughing. We were laughing right up until we reached my car. Despite the inadequate street lighting, we immediately saw my flat tire. Tires. Both tires on the driver’s side were flat. I went to the other side. The passenger side tires were flat too.

Panic flooded me so that I barely noticed Eric’s cursing. I turned to him.

“Someone did this. I couldn’t have four flat tires by accident.”

“Call the police,” Eric said.

I did so. I leaned against Eric while we waited, glad for his warmth and strength.

Officer Manero, a young man with a moustache, inspected all four tires and confirmed our guess that they had been slashed.

“Whoever did this, did a good job; he punctured the sidewall. You’ll need all new tires.” The officer was impressed by the expertise of the vandal.

He took pictures while we looked on, asking me questions.

“Do you have anyone mad at you? An ex-husband? Anything like that?”

“There is someone, a man named Dave Mason. My boss.”

“Mm hmm, and what’s going on with him?” he asked as he snapped another picture.

“I’m having him investigated for misconduct at our workplace,” I said.

“Yep, I bet he’s mad. Mad enough to do this?”

Eric and I both said, “Yes,” at once.

Then something occurred to me. Ross. He was crazy enough to do something like this. I explained that situation as well.

“Restraining order? Let me look that up.”

Officer Manero returned to his patrol car and I could see him using the computer inside. Eric had started cursing again. I thought to call my insurance company. When the officer returned, I was still on hold so I turned the phone over to Eric. I signed the vandalism report and accepted the officer’s card.

“That restraining order checked out. He’s already got a record. We’ll investigate this, ma’am, but don’t get your hopes up. This kind of thing is hard to prove.”

As soon as the officer took his leave, Eric handed the phone over and I was connected with an agent after not too long. More explanations, more assurances. I was glad I’d listened to Uncle Philips’ advice about comprehensive car insurance; it was all covered and I could pick up a rental the next day.

Eric drove us back to his place in his car.

“You’re going to stay here tonight, Wendy.” Eric sounded adamant.

I wasn’t going to argue with him. Now that the business with the police and insurance were over, reaction had set in. My legs were quavery and I couldn’t warm up. I wanted comfort and reassurance, but Eric was pacing and muttering curses again.

Acting as though this was my own apartment, I rummaged in the kitchen for something stronger than wine and found some whiskey. I located the shot glasses and poured two shots. I sat on the sofa, but Eric remained standing, leaning against the mantle as he sipped his drink.

“Dave’s got to be stopped,” he growled.

Great, just what I needed, Eric running off on some vengeful rampage.

“Eric,” I said. “Eric, I need you here with me. I need you.” This came out as a surprise to me. I had never needed anyone. I had always taken care of myself. Myself, Pam, my mother, I had always been the strong one, the capable one. I took care of angry landlords, broken down cars, leaky roofs, faulty plumbing, standing in line for food stamps, taking my mother to the clinic when Bruce got too rough, picking up Pam from school when there was no one else to do it. I did it all because everyone knew they could count on Wendy. Wendy the dependable. I was tired. I was tired of doing everything on my own.

Eric turned back to me, as if just realizing I was there. He put his empty shot glass on the mantelpiece and came to me. He saw my trembling and pulled a chenille throw over us both and held me close. It was past midnight by now and exhaustion came down on me.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, Wendy. You can take the bed.”

Damn, I’d forgotten about Pam. She might be in trouble too. This was one of her late nights at Taco Hut. I left a message and hoped she’d be able to call me back soon.

“Eric, can you pick her up, give us both a ride back to my place?” I asked. “We can’t leave her alone there. That might have been Ross.”

“I can sleep at your place. You want me there?”

I thought this over. Eric couldn’t be there 24/7. But maybe Ross was drunk tonight, doing crazy things, on a spree.

“Just tonight. Please stay with us.”

***

Pam got off at one and we picked her up. She was utterly uninterested in what had happened. She rode the entire way home focused on her phone. I was too tense to say anything and Eric concentrated on driving.

When we arrived, Eric said, “Let me look around first.”

I nodded, happy to have him helping us. I heard him moving from room to room as we waited in the living room. Then I thought about the fact we were having an unexpected guest. I desperately hoped I hadn’t left a box of tampons out or a pair of panties on the floor of my bedroom. At least the dishes were done and the garbage emptied. Then the absurdity of it made me laugh. I was worrying about tampons and panties when a man who had threatened me with murder could be lurking anywhere.

“Something’s funny?” Eric asked, his expression lightening for the first time since we discovered the flat tires.

“No, it’s all just so crazy. Stress, I guess.” Once I had started laughing, I couldn’t stop.

“I could use a laugh right about now,” he said. “You sure you can’t share?”

Loosened up by the whiskey, I confessed what I had been thinking.

His expression perked up when I said, “panties,” but became alarmed when I followed it up with “tampons.” That made me laugh harder. Men could be so squeamish. I hugged him around the waist. Laughing, he folded me in an embrace. I loved the way he smelled.

All the desire I’d felt earlier came welling back up.

“Come back here, Eric.” I led him by the hand to my bedroom and closed the door.

When I clicked on the bedside lamp, he looked around in an exaggerated manner, saying, “Nope, no panties on the floor.”

I stepped close to him, looking up into his eyes, and said, “Not yet.”

Everything but the moment melted away and we dove into a kiss that went on and on. I pulled him onto the bed with me. When I slipped my hands under his shirt, he broke our kiss.

“Wendy, you’re all pumped up with adrenaline. You might be doing something you’d regret later.”

“I doubt I would regret anything I could do with you.” I looked at his handsome face and I remembered all of his affection and care. “But you’re right, I’m not myself.” With reluctance I let go of his hand.

“Give me a couple of pillows and I’ll crash on the couch,” he said.

***

Eric looked cramped and uncomfortable when I peeked in on him in the morning, but he was still asleep. He wandered into the kitchen with tousled hair as I was beating eggs for an omelet. There was a red line down his cheek where the seam of the couch had pressed into his face.

“You want ham and cheese in yours?” I asked. “There’s coffee over there and juice in the fridge.”

“Mm. Yeah, please.” He made his way to the coffee pot. “Thank you, Wendy.”

I checked my urge to start chitchatting. It was obvious Eric was not a morning person.

After he got a mug of coffee and half an omelet in him, Eric began to look around more alertly and I decided talking would be ok.

“Thank you for staying last night. Did you sleep ok?”

“Yeah, I did. Strange dreams. Something about aliens attacking me. Us. You were there too.”

My heart turned over. To be in someone’s dream seemed so intimate.

“You sleep ok?” he asked in return.

“Yes, I slept great.” I had no intention of telling him about the intensely erotic dream I had about him.

“This is delicious.” He forked up another bite. “What’s your secret?”

“Adding a pinch of white pepper,” I said. “And I whisk the eggs with a fork, not a whisk. You’ve got to soak the eggs in hot water before you crack them, too. Getting the right temperature is important…” I trailed off. This was not terribly interesting.

“That sounds hard. Here I thought it was just a couple of eggs. No wonder mine never turn out well.”

“I can show you if you’d like. It’s not that difficult. You just have to be careful.”

Eric laughed. “I’m sure it’s not hard for you, Wendy. No, I’ll just spend the night here more often and you can make them for me.”

I was a little flustered at the idea of Eric spending the night under other circumstances. Caught up in these thoughts, I didn’t realize he had been watching me make my own omelet.

“Wendy, your time is wasted at the hotel. You should be a chef.”

“I’d like that, Eric, but school costs too much. Thousands of dollars I don’t have.”

“There are scholarships and loans, all kinds of financial aid. And your uncle, would he help?”

I’d never thought to ask Uncle Philip for help. He had been a tax lawyer for a big San Francisco firm before he retired and moved here. I always knew he was comfortable, but it never crossed my mind…

Apparently Eric had seen the wheels turning in my mind because he said, “You never know until you apply. Working part time, grants and loans and scholarships, maybe some help from your uncle. You don’t have to be rich to go to the tech college.”

He got up to put his plate in the sink, then came to stand by my side, pulling me close and stroking my hair. “You could do it, Wendy.”

***

Eric dropped me off at the car rental company and went home to get ready for working second shift. I had the day off and decided to run errands, since I was out.

When I got home, I had to juggle my dry cleaning, a bag of groceries and a gallon of milk. I managed to get in the door and made my way to the kitchen. As I was stowing the milk in the fridge, I heard Pam’s bedroom door close. I was surprised when she came to the kitchen doorway.

“Wendy,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. Her face was washed clean for once, no heavy makeup. She had been crying and tears still shone on her cheeks. “Wendy, I can’t...” she trailed off.

I had never heard this tone from her. I said, “You can’t what, Pam?” Concern grabbed me.

“Ross, he…”

“What did Ross do?”

Then I saw it, clear and distinct, a red mark on her neck. I approached and turned her head with my hands. Another, larger mark on the other side of her neck. The marks exactly where you would put thumb and fingers if you were choking someone.

“We’re calling the police. OK, Pam?”

She nodded. I guided her into the living room and seated her on the couch, then got out my phone.

“Yes, I’d like to report a crime.”

I went through the litany of question and answer, now familiar to me. Yes, I was Wendy Gaff. Yes, I was at 725 Ford Road. I did my best to explain my sister had been assaulted.

I was grateful when the police car arrived without fanfare, no lights or siren. I was even more grateful there was a female officer. I sat back and let the police do their job. Pam gripped my hand tightly. It brought me back to the times she had held my hand in my bedroom as we listened to Bruce and our mother fight in the other room.

Finally they left. When Pam began crying again, I pulled her into a hug.

“It’s OK, Pam, he won’t do this again. They’ll find him.”

“I thought he loved me.” I held her while she sobbed.

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© 2016 SweetNutmeg

Author's Note

Thank you for reading. All comments, large and small, are welcome.

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Featured Review

AUU

1. I'm curious if there is a reason you keep mentioning the Dave issue as "physical intimidation. It's seems very official.
2. What kind of sandwiches did they have? And then dessert?
3. That's adorable that she almost fell over. Like Eric's reaction too. Nicely written.
4. The sentence describing where she parked fits oddly. Maybe make the description separate? "…until we reached my car. I was parked a block away under a large tree…"
5. NVM
6. Glad Wendy remembered Pam.
7. I chuckled at the tampon joke. Yep. I tampons are do make me squeamish.
8. NVM
9. I think chitchatting is one word.
10. I like the food lesson. Good show.
11. I feel as though the "Oh no" takes away from the following sentence. It kind of acts like a cue to the reader's that we should be worried, but I think you already accomplished that. Just an opinion.
12. This is a nitpick. I like you description of the hand marks, but the coyness of "grabbing something, someone," sounds off to me for the situation. I think you were trying to be coy, and let the reader's make the assumption that Ross was chocking Pam out. Not sure if you need that.
13. "We're calling the police[.] OK[,] Pam?"
14. I like the call back to Bruce. Wendy is very maternal, and it's great to see that trait for her sister.
15. That closing paragraph sits a bit oddly to me. I wonder if you could just end it with Pam sobbing, and skip the details of going to work?