Page 5 of Secondhand Garagyre

MerryandPippindance around me, eager to go outside.Myboys have been by my side all week.Corgisare an active breed, but most humans underestimate the empathy that some animals possess.Myboys haven’t wanted to do much but lie in bed beside me whileI’vebeen recovering.Icouldn’t ask for a better pair of dogs than the twoI’vegot.

Thetrip across the house to the back door is tiring but necessary.I’velain around for a week, letting myself heal, but nowIneed to get back into the swing of things.Thefirst step of which is to make sureIget back into my routine.MerryandPippinthrive under a routine, and the last week has shot that to absolute shit.

“Merry,Pippin.Wait,”Icommand asIopen the back door with a squeak.Steppingto the side,Ilook down into their precious faces as they wait for me to release them to go into the out.

“Free!”

Theirexuberance as they bolt out the door makes me smile.Nevera dull moment with those two.There’sa reasonInamed them after the two most precocious hobbits from theLordof theRingsbyJ.R.R.Tolkien.Imean,Tolkienis my favorite author, soIuse his characters for lots of names for my animals.Peekingaround the corner of my house,Imake sure my boys are taking care of their business beforeIretreat back inside.

Turning,Imake my way back across my old ranch house, through my bedroom, and into my bathroom.Flickingthe light switch on asIshuffle through the door,Imentally prepare myself for the sight that’ll meet me in the mirror.Itake a slow, deep breath and allow my eyes to focus on my face for the first time sinceithappened.I’vedeliberately avoided the mirror after cleaning myself up that first night.

Tearswell in my eyes and drip down my face asIthink about what happened lastFriday, the evidence still clear on my face.Ablack eye not quite swollen all the way shut and a busted lip greet me in the mirror, along with shallow cuts along my brow and cheeks.Movinggingerly,Iremove the oversized t-shirtI’dstarted sleeping in to assess the rest of my body.Bruisesinvarious stages of healing litter my body.I’mliterally bruised from head to toe.

ThemenBradleyhired topunishme for refusing his “proposal” have thoroughly worked me over.Bradleyis truly demented for thinkingIwould ever contemplate marrying him after what he did to my brother.Themonths afterPatrickdied have made me complacent,Iguess.Apparently,Bradleyis being kind, or that’s the word he used as he watched his thugs work me over, and allowed me a whole six months to grieve my twin.

Turningfrom the mirror,Ibrace myself with one hand on the wall asIease myself onto the toilet.

Mybladder is on the verge of desperation to void.

Sweetrelief.

Clinchingmy teeth,Igradually stand, flushing the toilet and closing the lid asIgo.Thatchore taken care of,Ireach for the shower curtain and pull it back.Ahot shower should relax some of the tension from my body soIcan make the drive over to the cemetery.

Steppinginto the shower, the heat of the water washes over me asIlean against the tile wall for support.

Thelack of harassment fromBradleyhad lulled me into a false sense of security that came crashing down at the end of last week.Theywere waiting for me in the alley behind my jewelry shop and grabbed me asIlocked the back door.Bradleyasked me ifIhad given any more thought about his proposal, and the expression that came over his face at my scoff made fear skitter down my spine.Ithadn’t crossed my mind that he would stoop quite so low, butIshould have known better.

Theconsequential beatingIsuffered isn’t as bad as it could have been.Itpains me to admit that.Hecould have let them rape me, but he didn’t.Ihadn’t even bothered going to theERafter they left, andI’dtaken stock of my body.Ididn’t have any broken bones thatIcould tell, and the local police wouldn’t take any action.Theywere all either friends with his family or on theThomases’ payroll.

Bradley’sparting words chilled me to the bone.Hisbig body hunkered down next to my abused form asIlay on the pavement, gasping for breath.

“Youhave two weeks to change your no to a yes,Paisley.Ifyou continue to refuse me, your next punishment won’t be so light.Justremember…IfIcan’t have you, no one else will.Whydo you thinkIkilled your brother?”

WhatIthought was a drunken, negligent accident… is actually murder.

Theheat from the shower does nothing to touch the chill emanating deep from within my fractured soul.

Chapter Six

LAITHOG

Anotherweek passes,and she still has not come back to the cemetery.

IfIknew how or where to find her,Iwould have left my pedestal for the first time in several hundred years.Shehas not ever missed this many visits.Asit is,Ihave no clue how close or far she lives from whereIsit.Norhas that information mattered until now.

ThebestIcan do is to stay put and hope she shows back up.Iam not sure whatIwill do if she does not come back soon.

Myconcern at her absence only grows by the day.Somewheredeep inside me,Iknow something is wrong.Ido not know how, butIknow something has happened to her.Ithas taken me awhile to admit it, even to myself, but a tenuous connection is forming between she andI.Perhaps… perhaps it will allow me to locate her, if she does not arrive on her own.

Lately,Ihave developed the habit of napping during midday when the sun is at its highest and being ‘awake’ from early evening to moonrise.Ido not want to miss her if she comes atan odd time.Notthat she ever has before, butIdo not want to chance it either.

Thesun, in all its fiery glory, has almost fully descended, daylight giving way to the soothing embrace of night.Mysensitive ears strain for the slightest sound, hoping today will be the day she resumes her visits.Hadmy ears been flesh, they would be twitching restlessly, waiting for her arrival.

Faintrustling catches my attention.Iidentify it as the sound fabric makes as the body moves, and hope rises within my chest.Thefact thatIam so worried about a human female should cause a moment of concern, butIshrug it off.Ifeel as thoughIhave gotten to know her over the last few months, and she is the only being on the planet who intrigues me.

Hergrief…Iunderstand it.Ilost the other half of my soul, and so has she.Iknew twins in my past life.Thedeath of one is a wound the surviving twin rarely ever recovers from.Itis akin to losing one’s soul-bonded mate.

Asoft groan announces her arrival, andIhear her sit on whatIhave come to think of as her bench.Sheis the only one who sits on it as far asIam aware.Theparents she speaks of so warmly have not come to visit their son’s grave once sinceIawoke.Sheis the only one who keeps a vigil over her brother, the only one who comes to his grave and speaks as if he were still here.Itangers me that she should be so alone in her grief.AsIhave been alone in mine.

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