Close the Curtains

I sat, staring numbly at the bruises on my arm. Dark blue and sickly yellow swirling together, forming the fingers and palm of the one who put them there. The numbness never stays. That feeling of terror still comes so easily, even though years have passed. That gate is always open.

I allowed my mind to wander from one dire scenario to another. Slowly, my gaze shifted from my arm to the window. The quiet view of the tree line and the star-dotted sky above it offered no comfort. My thoughts were all-consuming.

Suddenly, three sharp knocks shocked me back to the moment. My eyes darted to the door, just feet away from where I sat. Instinctively, I rolled my sleeve down over my injuries and rose, but then stopped myself. How could I be sure? I waited.

Three more knocks. “Ma?”  The muffled voice, the one I’d hoped for, brought great relief. “Ma? Are you in there? It’s Joey.”

“Yes, honey,” I called back. “Come in. Quickly.”

The door swung open and my son entered the room. At forty, he stood over six feet tall with the muscles of a laborer but the looks of a city business man. All this and a good man, too. He was and always will be the pride of my life.

He came toward me, thinking to embrace his mother, but I intercepted. “Lock the door. Please.”

Recognizing the worry in my voice, he obeyed and asked, “Ma, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Where’s Dad?”

“He’s on a fishing trip,” I told him. “He’ll be gone the whole weekend.”  I paused, searching for the right words. “I… just didn’t want to be alone.”

Joey’s brow wrinkled. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well,” he began, “usually you just call me….”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s what I did, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but then you practically begged me to come by.”

“Is there anything wrong with a mother wanting to see her own son?”  I turned away and sank into an armchair.

“Ma,” Joey said, “something’s wrong. You’re not acting like yourself.”  He paused. “Now that I think of it, I didn’t hear the dog when I knocked. Where’s Grayson?”

At the mention of Grayson, I broke. My face fell straight into my hands and filled them with tears. A moment later, I felt my son’s warm hand rub my back gently.

“Ma, tell me what’s going on. Please.”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” I said. “Your father doesn’t.”

“Try me,” Joey said. He sat in the chair across from me, his sweet eyes focused on mine.

I took the deepest breath I could. This was my chance. “I’m being… I don’t know… stalked, I supposed.”

“Stalked?” Joey repeated.

“There’s a man…. I don’t know where he came from…. Out of the woods behind the house, but before that, I don’t know…. I caught him skulking around the property…. I told your father, but….”

“When was this?” Joey interjected.

“The first time was about a month ago,” I said. “But he must have been watching at other times. He seems to know your father’s schedule. He only comes when I’m alone.”

“What the fuck?” Joey exclaimed, more to himself than to me.

I went on. “The worst of it…. Two nights ago…. I had let… Grayson… out into the courtyard. Maybe five minutes, ten minutes went by…. She started barking her head off… and then… and then I heard that… horrible yelp.”

Another wave of emotion washed over me, forcing me to stop. When at last I could speak again, I added, “I ran out to see what was happening… and there he was… and there was Grayson…. He… mutilated her!”

Joey leaned back into the chair, his eyes wide and flaming.

“I tried to… fight him off…. He gave me this.”  With that, I rolled up my sleeve, revealing once again the handprint on my arm.

Joey sprang from his seat. “I’ll kill him! I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Joey, calm down,” I begged.

He began to pace, huffing and puffing all the while. “Did you call the police?”

“Of course, I did. Useless. He was gone by the time they arrived.”

“Didn’t they see Grayson?”

“They said a coyote did it. A goddamn coyote!”

Joey’s pacing became frenzied. “I’ll fucking kill the bastard!”

I begged him once more to calm himself, but the words stuck in my throat as movement caught my eye outside the window. Something was moving among the trees. A familiar shape. “Dear Jesus,” I sputtered.

Joey followed my gaze. I turned to see his eyes widen. Yes, he had seen it, too.

“Help me close the curtain!” I yelped. “Quickly! Please!”  Before he could object, we each had taken charge of a panel and covered the window.

“Where’s Dad’s gun?” Joey asked at last.

“Upstairs in the closet,” I answered, instinctively. “Don’t go out there, Joey, please!” I quickly added.

“Someone has to stop him!”

“He’s dangerous! You’ll get hurt, or worse!”

Joey paused for a moment, his gaze becoming distant. At last, he said, “I’ll shoot him from the window!”  Before I could even object, he was bounding up the stairs.

“Please be careful,” I begged.

I was now alone. My knees knocked. My heart raced. I could barely move. It took every bit of strength I had to make it back to my chair. My thoughts raced. Images flashed before me of all the different ways this horrible scene could go wrong.

I was jolted back to reality by a terrible crack.

“I got him!”  Joey’s muffled voice preceded his thumping down the stairs. He threw open the door and rushed out without even bothering to close it behind him.

Silence fell. I waited.

A sudden pain-stricken cry cut through the tense air. It was Joey. “Oh, fuck!” I heard him say. “Oh, fuck! Dad! Get up, Dad! Please get up!”

I never expected the relief would be so immediate. The sudden lightness in my chest. The smile into which my lips had curled themselves. It would be harder to feign distress than I thought, but I was certainly ready for the challenge.

I looked down once more at the mark on my arm. Yes, my little plan had worked, and it would all be worth it in the end. At last, I thought to myself, no more bruises.