Chapter Two - The Beginning - cont'd

James broke the surface of her sleep, sweating and clawing for air. The screams in her dream still clung to her psyche, hanging in the air in her bedroom. She looked around, her eyes wide, her breath ragged. The still-new shapes in her room were distorted and unfamiliar, unnerving her further.

She struggled out of the sheets, which seemed determined to hold her captive. Finally wresting out of them, she staggered to the bathroom, fumbled for the light, and then managed to splash some cold water on her face. As she studied her own terrified face in the mirror, she thought, Is this what it’s going to be like?

She pulled on some clothes, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. 2:45 a.m. Her friends had left only a short time ago but it felt like days.

James made her way to the front door, grabbing her keys. She stopped, noticing that Guy had left his soft black leather car coat on a chair near the door. I’ll have to get it back to him, she thought. She picked it up, meaning to hang it on a coat rack but his scent caught her. Guy wasn’t one to wear cologne but the jacket hung on to the scent of soap and shampoo and just his natural smell. Unable to stop herself, she brought the coat to her face, inhaling. The visions from the previous night came swirling back, adding in a few more from both the good and bad side of the line just for good measure.

This is absurd, she thought as she hung the coat up. I can’t believe I’m sniffing his coat like a bitch in heat. For god’s sake, he’s my friend, not my lover.

She slammed the door behind her.

*******************

The streets were dark and vacant as James drove into the night. She didn’t know where she was going; she just knew she had to get away. She thought maybe an all night coffee shop would be nice. Not a diner, too many sad souls at a diner. Coffee shops seemed somehow more optimistic in the middle of the night. She could call Guy. He usually worked nights, although this was his night off, and she knew he’d be up. They’d had many a late night “lunch” and phone conversation at three in the morning but, after her coat-sniffing incident, she didn’t feel that she could talk to him right now.

The warm glow of an open coffeehouse drew her to park her car. She grabbed the notebook she always had in the back seat and headed inside.

It was like any of the thousands of local coffee shops that still manage to dot the landscape, despite the influx of franchise burned-coffee chains. Aiming for bohemian and funky, most of these shops borrow from thrift stores for this look and hang art that looks like your dog could paint it.

The place was pretty deserted at 3 a.m. and James was glad for that. She hunted out a table in the furthest corner, wanting to stay out of the view of the few occupants. She opened her notebook, not sure what she was going to write. She hadn’t written since that night. In fact, she hadn’t written much before that because of… well… because of circumstances. At least the notebook made her look like she was doing something other than hiding from her dreams.

She took out her favorite fountain pen. Pretentious, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. It was how she started writing in high school and she felt it was how she did her best work – long hand, in a notebook, with her Sheaffer Legacy fountain pen.

The waitress stared at her from the counter. James suddenly remembered that she had to go and order, that the concept of table service no longer existed. She left her things on the table and went to the counter.

“Yeah?” Customer service at its best, James thought as she studied the menu. That almost made her laugh. A menu of coffee drinks, tea drinks, non-coffee drinks, decaf coffee drinks, non-coffee non-decaf frappy coffee things. All of them cost at least a gallon of gas.

“Coffee,” James said.

“What flavor?” She pointed to a list of country/flavor/blend of coffees available that night.

“Surprise me.”

The waitress – sorry, counter person – waited for James to take back her lack of choice but realized eventually that she was not going to. With a condescending sigh, the counter person moved with great effort to the pneumatic pot that housed the heavenly Arabica/Columbian/Honduran elixir that was so highly in demand. She pumped the top and filled an enormous cup with something dark, dark brown and James had to admit that it did smell heavenly. She might actually have to ask what country/flavor/blend it was.

The counter person slid the boat of a mug over to James. Their hands touched briefly as James reached for it. Images of this woman with another woman swarmed over her. Suddenly, James felt her knees buckle and she had to hang on to the counter. These were the images from her dream. At first, she thought it was just coincidence but as she studied the woman, James recognized her worn expression, her tired eyes, her world weariness.

Without being able to stop herself, James grasped the woman’s hand tightly. She leaned over the counter, frightening her.

“Don’t go home,” James hissed almost without being aware she was speaking. “She’s waiting for you.”

“Who?”

“You know.”

The counter person shook her head but James could see recognition in her eyes. She knew what James was talking about but was in denial.

“She’s going to kill you.”

The woman again shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’ve seen it.”

“I think you need to leave.”

The woman slid the coffee back over to her side of the counter and James let go of her hand. What the hell was she doing?

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

James looked up into the woman’s eyes, which were filled with fear and knowledge and pain. She tried to speak again but the woman turned her back and stood pointedly beside the phone.

James stumbled back to her table, gathering her things. The few nocturnal occupants hid their interest behind the free weekly newspaper and their own ragged notebooks but James could feel their curiosity bleeding through the pages. She quietly made her way out of the coffee shop, uncertain what had come over her.

*********************
James sat outside of the apartment, knowing she shouldn’t be there, not really knowing how she knew where to go. She knew, however, without a doubt that this was where the counter person lived and that there was going to be blood shed tonight.

Her Ipod played softly, James trying to keep herself distracted and seated in the car. She wanted nothing more than to leap from her seat, stand in front of the door to the apartment (number 14) and wait. Wait for what? Her dreams to come true. Yes, she knew that’s why she was here. Her dreams had brought her here.

James found her hand going to her throat and wrapping around the amulet that she was unaware she had put on. She must have grabbed it with her clothes. It was the amulet that the man had given her at the hospital. She hadn’t worn it until now. She didn’t seem to be able to leave it alone suddenly.

A light went on, distracting her. She knew it was the woman’s apartment. James killed the ignition and quietly made her way out of the car.

Effortlessly, James got into the building. The front door didn’t seem to be so secure when a single yank pulled the lock almost out of its housing. Couldn’t have been put in too well, she thought as she crept up the stairs to the second floor.

The only window with a light on belonged to apartment 14. James hung outside the door, listening. Everything seemed to be quiet. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her dreams were just that – dreams. Maybe she had lost her mind when she had taken those pills. She sure wasn’t herself lately.

The sound that stopped her wasn’t very loud. It was a simple “smack”, like a palm against a cheek. She shouldn’t have been able to hear it through the closed apartment door but she did. She moved back to the window, peering through the slight opening in the curtains.

All James could see where shadows. They were moving back and forth but it was hard to see what was going on. However, there was no mistaking the hand going up and bearing down on the figure crouched beneath it. The smack resonated again and that was enough for James.

Before she knew it, the door was on the ground, knocked off of its hinges by James. Three stunned figures stared at her in the doorway. James took it all in within seconds. A man standing over the battered counter person, another woman standing mostly naked nearby, clutching a sheet around her and holding a very lethal-looking knife in the her free hand. The tableau was frozen before her but James didn’t need anybody to sum it up for her. The bruises on the counter person’s face was all she needed.

In a blur, the man was on the ground, bleeding from various places. The sheet-clad vixen was de-sheeted and disarmed and left broken beside her lover. The counter person was swept up by James and into her car before she knew what happened.

James’ car flew through the almost non-existent traffic, the counter person hanging on for dear life. Blood flowed freely from her nose and her eyes were already turning purple. But she was currently more afraid of the driver of the car than the terror she had left behind.

“You. It’s you. From the coffee shop. But how did you…?”

James was concentrating on her driving.

“You couldn’t have known that this was going to happen. I didn’t know he was… I mean, I kind of thought he was… but he’s never hit me before.”

James slammed on the brakes, her anger breaking over her before she could grab ahold of it.

“You knew. You knew from the first time he fucked another woman. You knew the first time he punched you in the face and broke your jaw. And you know it’s not going to stop here. It’ll only stop if you stop it.”

The woman stared at James, tears streaming down her face, shame coloring her cheeks. James caught herself, pulling the anger back into check. She put the car back into gear and started to drive again, this time at a more reasonable pace.

“I’ve been there. You have no idea how much I’ve been there. I’m going to take you to a shelter. They’ll help you out. They’ll help you start over.”

The woman wouldn’t look at James, only stared out the window. Guess I’ve got to work on my car-side manner, James thought. They drove in silence a little while longer until James found what she was looking for.

The building was nondescript, which was the point. You wouldn’t know it was a battered woman’s shelter unless you knew someone who worked there or who had been there. James knew both. She parked the car around the back and helped the woman out. They went the few steps to the back door. James rang the bell a couple of times before someone answered.

The door opened and Maggie stood there, fully clothed but obviously just awakened. She stared uncertainly at James.

“James?”

“She needs help.” James gently prodded the woman towards Maggie, who took one look at her and immediately woke up.

“I’m sorry. I dozed off at the desk. It’s been a quiet night.” Maggie took the woman gently by the hands and pushed the door open wider. “Welcome. I’m Maggie. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Maggie turned to ask James a question but the tail lights of her car were already pulling away. Maggie watched in confusion, unsure what had just transpired. The woman looked after James’ car as well.

“Who was she?” Maggie shook her head and led the woman inside.

“A good Samaritan, sweetie, that’s all you need to know.”

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