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Still, when I get there, I hesitate before sliding the chain off its latch.
“Summer dear, I have a package for you,” she calls from the other side of the closed door.
I breathe a small sigh of relief but the news does nothing to quell my nervousness.
It’s Rock, he must have sent something, he’s the only one who knows where I live.
As metal slowly scratches against metal, my heart thuds harder and harder.
I have a bad feeling about this.
By the time I’ve got the chain off, the swishing sound of it as it swings back and forth thunders in my head, and the click of the dead bolt sounds like a gunshot exploding in my chest, I’m almost in full-blown panic mode.
“Hello, Summer, so good to see you,” Mrs. Jones smiles warmly at me, alleviating my simmering hysteria a very little bit.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m so sorry to bother you with this,” I’m gripping the edge of the door so tightly, my fingers are starting to cramp.
“Nonsense, dear, it’s no bother at all. Honestly, it’s good to see you finally making some friends here. I was beginning to worry about you.”
Mrs. Jones has never asked me any questions about my personal life, has never pressed me for too much information. She accepted that I needed a fresh start and handed me the keys to do it.
“You don’t have to worry about me. Privacy is exactly what I came here for, and your home gives me so much peace.” I mean it, I’ve never felt so comfortable anywhere else.
“Oh, Summer, it warms my heart to hear you say that. After the children grew up and moved to the city to start their lives, the house felt so empty. It’s so good knowing you’re here. And I noticed that boy from the tattoo shop came by with you last night. Those boys,” she smiles shyly, “they sure are something else.”
I can feel the blush creeping up my neck and face, even with my trepidation of what’s in the package she’s still holding in her hands. I won’t even look at it. It’s silly, thinking it’s not real until I see it. I notice it’s plain enough, wrapped in brown paper and no markings indicating where it came from or what’s inside it, just my name printed on a plain white label stuck to the top.
That might add to my leeriness of it. If there was something telling me who sent it and where it came from I might not be so freaked out.
She motions the box at me.
“Aren’t you going to take it? It might be from that boy last night?”
Finally, I glance down at the horrible creature in her hands.
“You don’t know who sent it?”
She hesitates before replying, she’s probably thinking I’m crazy because I still haven’t taken the thing.
“No, it was waiting on the front porch when I got home from the grocery store.” She lifts it a few inches, “Just this all by itself.”
This time she holds it up. If I don’t take it, it would be rude. Slowly I peel my fingers from the door and reach a tentative hand out for it.
“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be receiving anything else, but if I do, you can call me and I’ll come and get it, you don’t have to climb the stairs,” then I can put off getting it for as long as I can.
“I don’t mind, it’s good exercise,” she gives me another kind smile. “It’s getting late, you work too much dear, a girl your age should be enjoying life.”
The innocent comment makes my heart pang. “That’s why I’m here, Mrs. Jones. Once the business is doing well, then I can take some time off.”
“Well then,” she turns to head down the stairs, “if there’s anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask. I mean it. You’re a good girl and it’s a shame you’re all alone.” My heart squeezes from her generosity and gift of kindness. “Goodnight, Summer.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Jones,” it’s not the first time she’s offered, and each time I react the same way.
After I close the door and secure all the locks once again, I walk to the kitchen table. My feet feel like cement blocks leading me to the river so that I’ll sink straight to the bottom and drown once I open this missile of doom. I drop it on the table like it’s poison and lean against the counter staring at it. Nothing about it tells me who sent it or where it came from. From the weight of it, I know it’s clothes, which I guess is good because it’s not a bomb and won’t blow up Mrs. Jones when it takes me out.
“Just stop and open it,” I mumble. “It’s probably crotch less panties or some other filthy outfit from Rock.” It doesn’t matter what I tell myself, nothing is going to get rid of this feeling of dread.
Not until I open it and know for sure.
“Fine,” I sigh as I open one of the drawers and take out a pair of scissors. “I might as well get this over with.”
Stepping to the table, I lift the box and slice through the tape and open the wrapping. Inside is a white cardboard box, also with no identifying markings. My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking and my knees feel like I’m going to drop. I lift the top off and pull back the tissue paper covering the garment underneath.
“Dear God nooooooooooo!”
A t-shirt from The Club with a photo of me last New Year’s Eve in a gold lame’ gown. On my left with his hand resting on my shoulder is Wesley Danforth III, my would be father-in-law. Third generation manufacturing tycoon, turned child rapist. I’ll never forget that night. It was the last night I let him rape me. He’d been doing it since I was thirteen years old and he and my father had finalized the arranged marriage between myself and his son. He’d said he had to when I’d first met him, that I had to, to prepare me for the wedding, the union between the two powerful families.
He said that my father knew and that I had to with his approval. It was my duty to do anything he wanted, anything that was necessary.
That’s the last thought I have before the blackness envelopes me.
