Page 40 of Bear Strength

“I know!” I shout out loud to no one really. But, the sound that filled the house comforted me, if only for a moment.

Just open it and you’ll see it’s nothing. Just an ad or one of those pesky phone companies trying to get you to change your plan and pay more than you really need to.

These thoughts calm me down. I’m probably overreacting. I’m definitely overreacting.

I sit on the sofa in the living room, with no more thoughts of that morning coffee. I’m wide awake now. My fingers are trembling as I fumble with the opening. I’ve already seen that there is no sender information on the other side. Only my name and address and a vast, empty whiteness. When I open it, I unfold the piece of paper I found inside.

I blink heavily a few times, trying to clear my vision. But, when I stare at the paper in front of me, it’s still the same. It’s still empty. There is nothing written on it. It’s just a damn piece of paper.

I swallow heavily. I jump up from the sofa, and look around me, expecting someone to lunge at me from the darkest corner of the room, from the kitchen, from upstairs. I wait, expectant. Ready to act, like a cocked gun. But, there is no one. The house is still empty and silent, save for the beating of my terrified heart.

I run upstairs and change into a dress, throwing my wet nightgown onto the floor. I don’t bother to pick it up. I run back downstairs, stopping only to grab my car keys from the little bowl, and my purse. I fumble with the keys in my trembling hand as I try to lock the door. It takes me twice as long now.

When I get into the car, I blink heavily again. I see dark stars, twisting and turning. Dark mushrooms bloom somewhere in the distance, and I feel like I’m on some heavy LSD trip. I try to breathe slowly, but nothing works. It’s the same shit, bothwith my eyes closed and open. I’m equally terrified. I’m equally unable to do anything to make myself feel better.

It takes me a few moments to realize that I’m out of the house. I’m in the street. If anything happens to me, the neighbors will see it. They will rush to help me. At least, I hope they will. That thought manages to calm down my distorted nerves a little.

I convince myself that the best course of action is to go see Mr. Porter and ask him who sent the letter, and when. Then, I can run and pick up Dominick, and we can get the heck out of here. We won’t have time to pack. I know he’ll hate me for it, but it’s better to have him hate me alive, then love me dead or for him to be taken away from me.

I drive like a maniac through the still sleepy streets of Swallow Springs. Luckily, there are very few people out, and I reach Mr. Porter’s house without an incident. I get out of the car and run to his door. I knock with a full fist, heavy, like thunder. I repeat the sound several times.

“Alright, alright,” I hear from inside.

First, footsteps, then the heavy door opening, with a creaking sound.

“What in the name of… oh, it’s you, Mrs. Brunswick!” His expression changes the moment he sees me, but there is still a perplexing look on his face.

“I’m really sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning, Mr. Porter,” I tell him quickly and out of breath, “but, you need to tell me who mailed this letter.”

I show him the letter in my hand. He takes it, and inspects it for just a moment, then he offers it back.

“We found it in the big mailbox yesterday morning,” he adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses as he replies. “With it, there was a $10 bill and instructions to deliver it by hand first thing Sunday morning. I asked Gordon if he’d seen anyone, butneither of us know who mailed it,” he ended his explanation with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no, everything’s fine,” I manage to smile, crumpling the letter in my hand and stuffing it back into my purse. “I’m sorry again.”

He says something else, but I’m already half-across the street, and unlocking my car. When I sit back inside, my whole body starts to shake. Tears start rolling down my face, and I know I can’t stop them. I know I can’t stop him. The only thing I can do is just keep on running, like I’ve been doing so far. Unable to do anything else, I bury my face into my hands, and just let the tears flow.

I have no idea how long I was sitting like that, but once the tears stopped, I felt better. I’m able to breathe again, to think again. I even regained a bit of my courage. The moment I’m about to put the key in the ignition, I hear the revving of a familiar motorcycle. I turn to my left and see Wagner.

I roll down the window, and he leans over, with a smile.

“Early morning?” he asks me.

Somehow, seeing him calms me down a little. But, not enough.

“Helluva morning,” I nod.

“Everything OK?” I hear worry in his voice. For a moment, I’m tempted to tell him everything.

“Yeah, just… you know… running errands,” I say stupidly, unable to come up with a more plausible excuse.

“On a Sunday morning?” he frowns.

“Well, those who don’t do what they’re supposed to during the week, need to wrap it up on the weekends.”

“Aha,” he nods, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

This time, he gets off his bike and rests his elbows on my open car window. He’s shifted his glasses to his forehead. Hiseyes are dark, you’re not sure if he’s to be trusted. But, there’s something about him that tells you that he’ll keep you safe. If he wants to, of course. Would he?

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