DESIRED PYROTECHNICS Chapter Four--Of Greed toward the Wise

  

Artwork by Felicien Rops

 

    We didn't speak during the cab ride to the airport. Nor did we speak all through the security or when 

boarding the plane. Once in flight, I dozed off, only waking to answer the call of nature. When I came 

back from the toilets, Haiden was spread across the whole row of seats.

    “Do you want me to move to another seat?” I asked.

    Startling awake, he grabbed his coat and magazines, giving me the finger while moving to an empty 

seat a couple of rows ahead. 

    Whatever, I thought. It didn't matter if it was a plane, train, or automobile, something would inevitably 

set him off when we traveled. He would either panic, or throw a tantrum, and I knew from experience it 

was better to leave him alone.

    Over the loudspeaker came the announcement for our arrival to Valencia in fifteen minutes. Sitting 

down, I clicked my seat belt closed.

    Like our flight, the airport was practically deserted. Immigration control stamped my passport without 

even looking at it. In all the drama, I had forgotten I was now legal again. For the next three months, I 

wouldn't have look over my shoulder for the Policia Local. It was fucking stupid the chances I had been 

taking, and I needed to rectify the situation, but at least for now, I was safe.

    Compared to Dublin, the weather in Valencia was scorching, without a trace of breeze, and the skies 

were a shade of meridional blue unique to the area. Swearing, I struggled with the rolling suitcase on the 

narrow gravel path, having left the car in the far away lot.

    Thankfully, no one besides Haiden was around when I started the old diesel engine. It blew out a bluish 

smoke cloud large enough to choke an elephant. So far so good, I thought as I made a mental checklist. 

Water, check. Coffee, situation critical. Cigarettes, check. Sunglasses, all good. Sleep, situation critical. 

Snacks, running on empty.

    Shifting the old warhorse into gear, we set on our way. Haiden was soon asleep, his head nodding 

against his chest. The beauty of the countryside thrilled me as the jagged peaks began to rise in the 

distance. I knew the road so well it didn't take much brainpower to navigate it – I only had to take caution 

not to speed.

    The fresh air blowing against my face kept me alert as I quietly sang along with the soundtrack on the 

car stereo. Haiden's intermittent snoring helped as well. My thoughts wandered to the night before. 

Underneath the shock and disbelief, I felt a lingering sense of rage and violation at his actions. How dare 

he treat me, and my body, in such a manner! On the surface he seemed like this cool and magnetic kind of 

guy. But once you peeled off the layers of gloss what lie underneath was oozing misogyny.

    We were almost to the turn off for our home when Haiden woke up and announced, “I need to get 

tobacco.”

    Holding up a half-used packet, I said, “I have some.” 

    “So?” He glared at me. “I need to get my own."

    “But we've already passed Beceite,” I complained. 

    “So? I need some.”

    “Okay,” I sighed, turning the car around.

    Smiling like a spoiled child, he dropped a bombshell. “As soon as we get home we need to email the 

proposal for the new work which I wrote up last night.”

    “You wrote up the new proposal?” I asked, not quite believing he would do such a thing without me.

    “Yes,” he replied. “I was working on it last night while you were fucking around on the YouTube.”

    “Why didn't you say something?” I stared at him.

    “What the fuck does it matter?” he snapped, “It's done – that's all that matters.” 

    “But I haven't even seen it yet.”

    “So? You had nothing new to contribute to it anyway.”  

    “What are you talking about?” My voice began to rise.

        “I don't want to talk about this right now,” he stated, breaking eye contact – his way of dismissing me.

    “What is going on with you?!” I asked, exhausted, emotionally sideswiped, and fed up. 

    “What the fuck is going on with you?” he shouted. “I can't take this level of abuse anymore! This 

relationship is dead! So fucking dead! We are over...!”

    “Why? Because I wouldn't let you stick your hand in my crotch in front of Paulo? I've told you before 

my body is my body and I have the right to say who I will and will not have sex with!”

    “You fucking bitch!” he snarled, getting in my face. “We are so done and I promise you that I will never 

lay one finger on your stinking, frigid, pussy ever again!”

    His words echoed in my ears, and I wondered if I'd heard anything so evil said out loud. “You know 

what? I'm done with this. I'm gonna pull in somewhere and grab my stuff and just go away,” I said, 

shaking so badly I almost hit another car. Realizing I had to get off the road, I made a right hand turn into 

the parking lot behind a supermarket that was closed. Pulling into a spot, I reached forward to take the key 

out of the ignition when Haiden's fist hit me in the side of the head. My neck snapped sideways from the 

force of it.

    “You lying, treacherous bitch!” he screamed, his face a contorted mask of rage as he punched me in the 

head and arms.

    Managing to get my hands above my head for protection, I begged him to stop. In response, his hands 

reached around my throat, squeezing as hard as he could. I tried to wrestle from his grip, but it was too 

strong. Panicking, I couldn't breathe as he smashed my head against the door window over and over again. 

I was shocked it didn't break from the force of it. Being choked, or having my skull smashed in, was not a 

way I wanted to die. In a desperate move, I reached behind me, grappling with the door handle. Somehow, 

I managed to push it down, and it opened. Spilling out of the driver's seat, I fell on my ass. Gulping air, I 

sat there in shock, looking around for help, but there was no one around.

    Doing something truly stupid, I stood up and reached into the car to get my bag, which contained my 

passport. I managed to grab hold of it, but Haiden caught me by the wrist, snapping my index finger. 

Howling in pain, I ran backwards with my bag in tow. The overnight case with my laptop in it would have 

to stay. I scrambled toward the far side of the parking lot. Haiden got out of the car, and for a second, I 

was terrified he would come after me.

    “You fucking lying, thieving, treacherous bitch!” he screamed at me.

    “Fuck you. You are an evil, hateful excuse for a man...” I managed to croak at him. Tears streamed 

down my face as I walked. My knees buckled every few steps, but I kept going, repeating my name over 

and over again, so I wouldn't pass out. A few blocks later, I realized I was near my friend Katia and 

Mateo's house. Praying to anything I could pray to, I hoped they would be home. When Katia opened 

door, she covered her mouth to silence a scream. Then she ushered me into her kitchen. Putting my head 

in my arms on the wooden breakfast table, I sobbed.

    “Who did this to you?” she asked.

    “Haiden,” I whispered.

    “He did this to you?” Her eyes were wide with shock.

    “Yes.”

    “You are never going back to him again. He is not a good man.” “No,” I shook my head, “I am never 

going back.”

    Leaving her cigarettes on the table for me, she went to call Mateo at work. Her young daughter came 

downstairs to see what the commotion was, and the look of concern and bafflement on her face when she 

caught sight of me was more than I could bear. Through my tears I smiled at her, but I was shaking, and 

two black eyes were forming, along with a set of perfect finger marks and scratches around my throat. My 

left index finger had swollen to about three times its normal size and stood out at a funny angle. Backing 

out of the doorway, she returned a minute later with a toy doctor's kit, offering me various fake syringes in 

an effort to help. I couldn't fucking stand it. Katia came back into the room and told her to go play 

upstairs. 

    “I'm really sorry,” I apologized. “She shouldn't have to see this.”

    “No. It's not a problem,” said Katia. “She's too young to understand, but she's concerned for you.”

    “No one should ever have to explain this,” I replied, starting to cry again as I lit a cigarette.

    “I spoke with Mateo who is on his way home,” she said. “We are going to take you to the hospital and 

then, we are going to the police.”

    “I can't go to the police. If I go to the police, he'll kill me.”

    “No. If you go to the police they can protect you and he can never bother you again. It has to be done. 

He needs help and if you don't do something, he will kill you.” Lifting my hair to see the bruises on the 

back of my neck, she noticed an enormous bulge that had risen at the base of my skull. “This is really 

bad,” she exclaimed. “No one has the right to do this to you.”

    When she touched it, my stomach lurched, and I nearly fainted. “All of this because I said no to him. I 

don't understand,” I sobbed.

    She raised an eyebrow at me.

    “He tried to force himself on me in front of one of our friends,” I continued. “We'd been up late and I'd f

fallen asleep and when I woke up my dress was over my hips and he was shoving his hand into my crotch. 

I asked him to stop and he pinned me down harder and he wouldn't stop. He scared the shit out of me. I 

finally managed to get away from him and lock myself in the bathroom. And when I came back he asked 

me what my problem was and said that he'd only been trying to hold my hand. It's so insane and he's been 

mean for quite some time now”

    Katia shook her head. “He is doing too many drugs and he doesn't know the line between reality and 

fantasy anymore. It doesn't matter because you are never going back to him.”

    She hugged me as I cried and cried. My world was exploding into dust; fragments of everything I'd 

worked so hard for flew through the air like pieces of left over confetti from a glittering party which had 

gone on far too long after midnight. Sadness and desolation didn't begin to cover how I felt.

    Letting go of me, she reached into the refrigerator, grabbing a couple of beers which she set on the 

table. “Where is the car?” she asked.

    “I left it behind the market where I left him,” I answered.

    “So that's where it happened? He attacked you in the open?” 

    “He attacked me in the car and I managed to get away.”

     “And that's all your stuff?” she asked, motioning at my bag.

    “No. I couldn't get my computer and overnight bag. When I tried to get my purse he did this.” I held up 

my left hand, which looked alarming it had swollen so much.

    “I think it's broken,” she said.

    I nodded, grasping the beer with my right hand and taking a long swig. Alcohol was probably the last 

thing I needed, but I was grateful for it all the same.

    A bluish haze hovered over the kitchen as we sat smoking until Katia opened the window. The tears 

kept falling and I couldn't make them stop. I was so gutted I didn't know if I had the strength to move from 

the table. If the earth had wanted to swallow me whole at that moment, I would have let it.

    The front opened and a moment later Mateo entered the kitchen. The look of horror that crossed his face 

said it all as he exclaimed, “Dios mio, Anabelle! What did he do to you?” He said something in Spanish to 

Katia that I didn't catch, but I did understand her reply, which included the word bad. “Okay. We go to the 

hospital. I will stay in the waiting room and Katia will go in with you,” he informed me.

    “And then we go to the police,” said Katia resolutely.

    Staring at her, I knew it was the right thing to do, but I was unsure if I would be able to go through with it.

    Sitting in the back seat of their car, I laid my head against the glass, willing myself not to throw up. The 

shock began to wear off. My left hand ached as well as the other various bruises and contusions, and my 

head felt like it was splitting in two. Closing my eyes to stop the double vision, I pleaded silently – please 

let me wake up from this nightmare. Please let me wake up and find out it was all a dream. Please don't let 

this be true. I cannot handle the reality of this. I don't want to be this person...

    The doctor was soft-spoken man in his early 40's. Resetting my finger wasn't exactly a cakewalk. 

During the procedure the world turned upside down as blue lightning flashed before my eyes. After 

putting on a splint, he left to retrieve the x-rays he'd taken of the back of my skull.

    When he returned, he held the x-rays up to a light. “This is very, very bad,” he said to me. “You are very 

lucky you are not dead – or permanently damaged.”

     Staring at my skeletal outline, the news settled in. It hadn't occurred to me I could have sustained 

permanent brain damage from the force of Haiden blows. The truth chilled me to the bone. He had meant 

it. He had meant to maim or kill me. I could be dead. I could not be me.

    “There is another problem,” he continued. “Some of your bruises are not recent. They are healing.”

    Crying, I babbled that Haiden had beaten me up before going to Ireland and had dragged me down the 

stairs by my hair, holding me prisoner.

    Katia looked aghast, like she could not believe what she was hearing. Pressing her lips together, she 

shook her head, and said “never again.”

    They spoke in Spanish. Turning toward me, the doctor stated, “I am writing up the report and we have 

to let the police know. This is a crime.”

    Nodding, I began to shake. Talking to the police and pressing charges would be the death nail in the 

coffin of Haiden and mine's relationship. The time was coming, and the hour of the apocalypse was near.

    With short, cropped dark hair and intense dark brown eyes, the cop was younger than I expected. 

Peering at me, he checked out the obvious damage, his face registered little emotion. In fact, he seemed 

annoyed to be called out on such a mission as he asked me question after question.

    “Has he ever assaulted you sexually?”

    “Yes.”

    “Has he ever withheld money from you or controlled the finances?” 

    “Yes.”

    “Has he ever gotten angry and called you names?”

     “Yes.”

    “Have you felt afraid of him before?”

    “Yes.”

    “Have you been afraid to talk to anyone about this problem?” 

    “Yes.”

    “Has he threatened you if you talked to anyone about this problem?” 

    “Yes.”

    And so, and so on – yes to it all. Yes to the whole fuckfest. Hearing all of it at once was like being 

sucker punched by a black hole of misery.

    An hour later the interrogation was over. The officer informed us we had to follow him to the station 

where he would process the papers and I would have to sign them.

    Some of the painkillers the doctor had given me took effect so I wasn't so freaked out, but the whole 

fandango left me feeling disgusted: like I was a cockroach, which had been stepped on.

    Waiting at the police station on another set of grubby plastic chairs, I contemplated how different 

everything had been when I'd left Dublin a few hours ago, and how, in the space of five minutes, my world 

had shattered beyond recognition.

    The officer waved Katia and myself to the counter. My hand shook as I signed the report, and Katia 

signed as my witness. Staring at the signatures, I thought, there was no turning back. This could not be 

undone.

    “So what happens now?” I asked him.

    “We'll send a couple of officers to investigate and talk to him. He'll have to go to counseling and go in 

front of a judge,” he answered.

    “Okay.”

    “We will contact you if anything comes up,” he added.

    “Okay,” I replied. “Thank you for your time.”

    He nodded.

    The trial was over. The coffin was sealed, and life as I had known it, was officially dead. A few days 

ago I'd been on top of the world. Now, I was gazing over an obliterated landscape that held nothing. How 

did one keep it together after something this devastating happened? How? I wondered. The only answer 

was, they didn't... Then, I became really fucking frightened.

    Dropping us back at the house, Mateo left for the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions. Katia informed 

me she'd asked the doctor to prescribe me something that would help me sleep, and I was grateful for her 

foresight.

    “Thank you for being there,” I said. “And thanks for being so strong for me today.” 

    “No,” she answered. “It's what friends do.” 

    “Not all friends.”

    “Only the real ones.”

    I smiled at her logic, not having the heart to tell her I'd been swimming with the sharks for so long it 

was often difficult to discern who were real friends. People often acted like my friend – especially if they 

needed something, or hoped to gain something.

    Mateo wheeled in my overnight case. Pulling a plastic bag out of his pocket full of my prescriptions, he 

handed it to me, and asked, “You can read enough Spanish to know what those are, right?”

    “Yeah,” I replied. “I can – but – how did you get my bag? 

     Grinning, he answered, “I broke into your car.”

    Riffling through the small suitcase with my good hand, I didn't ask how he accomplished that feat. 

Everything was there except for my laptop. Haiden had taken the one thing I could not do without. “He 

took my fucking laptop,” I bemoaned.

    “Yes. But your cord for it is there.”

    Glancing up at Mateo, I lamented, “I can't live without my laptop. My new photos and all of my 

research and work are on it. Not to mention all my reference pictures.”

    Holding both hands in front of himself he reassured me, “don't worry, Anabelle. I will go tomorrow and 

get your laptop for you.”

    “He won't just give it to you,” I commented. “He knows it's a bargaining chip.” 

    “What is a 'bargaining chip'?” he asked.

    “It means he won't give it up because he knows it's something that I need. It's leverage”

    “He will give it to me.” 

    “Mateo, you are way more honest than he is.”

    “But the computer is yours.”

    “Yes. But that doesn't necessary mean he will give it to you.”

    Digging through my bag again, I said, “here – give him this.” Holding out the iPhone. “Trade him for 

the computer,” I added, “I know how much he loves this stupid phone. Besides, if I keep it, he'll accuse 

me of stealing it.”

    Shrugging his shoulders as he took the phone from me, he replied, “As you wish.” 

    Good riddance, I thought. I'd always hated that piece of technology. It had only brought me misery for 

as long as I could remember. Either it never worked properly which was always my fault, or there was bad 

news on the other end, which had always been my fault as well.

    Swallowing more painkillers, I took something I thought said 'for anxiety'. Taking off my boots with 

one operational hand proved to be tricky, but I managed. Grabbing a blanket, I laid down on the couch 

while I listening to the television news; not comprehending a word of it.

    Padding into the room, Katia's daughter set down one of her favorite toys, a stuffed rabbit, on the table 

by my head to keep me company.

    “Buenos noches,” I said, even though it was nowhere near bedtime.

    “Buenos noches,” she replied, running out of the room.

    Staring at the well-worn bunny, whose black button eyes saw nothing, tears fell down my cheeks, and I 

didn't bother wiping them away. Then, the drugs kicked in, and I went straight into a welcomed blackout.

    A gray dawn filtered through the gauze curtains hanging over the sliding glass door. During the night, 

Katia woke me a couple of times per the doctor's orders because of the concussion. I barely remembered. 

To me, she'd been a formless figure in a darkened dream. 

    Swallowing, it felt like my windpipe had been crushed. Eating, talking, and drinking were all going to 

suck, and the whole right side of my body ached something fierce, yet I was terrified to move, the pain 

being inevitable. My thoughts wandered to Haiden. I wondered what he was doing. Did he even care? Did 

he feel any remorse? What would he do when he found out I had pressed charges against him? He would 

go ballistic. Of course he would talk his way right out of it, and make it become all my fault. He was good 

at that. My breath grew shallow and I began to hyperventilate as too many thoughts bombarded me at 

once – all of them ugly. 

    Throwing off the blanket, I sat up in one not-so-fluid motion. My stomach rolled from the pain as the 

world swam before me. Sitting in the cold, pale light, holding my head in my hands, my teeth chattered, as 

I shook. Rocking back and forth, I hugged myself as hard as I could without hurting. Get a grip, girl, I 

told myself. But I couldn't – my soul cracked into a million pieces waiting to be scattered by the errant 

winds – soon, I would be nothingness personified. 

    A gray, fluffy cat rubbed his large body against my leg. Reaching down, I scratched behind his ears with 

my good hand. The panic subsided. Although, nothing was for certain, the one thing I knew for sure was I 

would leave as soon as possible.

    Hearing Katia making coffee in the kitchen, I went and sat down at the table. Taking the chair across 

from me, she offered me a cigarette, which I gratefully accepted.

    “Would it be okay if I used your computer?” I asked, striking the lighter.

    “Of course,” she answered. “It's upstairs. I think Mateo is going this morning to get your laptop.”

    “Good luck with that,” I snorted, smoke streaming out of my nose.

    “He will get it,” she said. “You will see.” Pouring us a couple of cups, she set them on the table along 

with a tin of sugar cubes and a carton of milk.

    Stirring some milk in, I took a sip, flinching as I swallowed. 

    Noticing my discomfort, she asked, “how are you feeling?” 

    “Pretty bad,” I answered. “I don't want to think about it too much. I still can't believe he did this to me.”

    Shaking her head, she said nothing.

    I continued. “I'm going to find somewhere else to stay as soon as possible. I can't stay here. It might not 

be safe and I can't upset your family and your life here.”

    “It's not a problem,” she replied.

    “You have been so kind, but it is a problem, and it would be better if I was far away from here where he 

can't get to me.”

    Smiling at me, she said, “you do what is best for you but you are always welcome here.” 

    “I know.” I smiled back. ”Thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being so strong.”

    Rising, she hugged me as gently as she could, and I started crying again. The tears would never stop – I 

was permanently fucking leaking.

    In the upstairs office, the Spanish keyboard flummoxed me. After numerous attempts, I'd finally logged 

onto my email, but typing with one hand proved to be a bitch. Giving up on capitalization and 

punctuation, I sent an illiterate message to my friend Tabitha, whom I called Tabby, who lived half an hour 

away.

    Sitting back, I prayed for a prompt response. There was a chance she would not be there as Tabby spent 

most of her time in Istanbul, but my prayers were answered. She must have been at the keyboard.

    “Darling – I can come and get you. Of course you can stay. Where are you? Are you safe? Name a time 

and a place and take good care of yourself. T. xxx”

    Tears of relief streamed down my face. Tabby lived in a gigantic mansion that was walled like a 

fortress. The place was so huge we often joked that it was sentient as it seemed to have its own moods and 

provocations, and it chose the people who stayed there with care. I'd spent some time and taken numerous 

photographs there over the years.

    “thank you. could you meet me by the fountain in the towns square at around noon. i am at katias and 

am safe for now. thank you again. a. xxxxx”

    She sent back a response. “Yes.”

    It was done. I began writing a message to Darcy, but scrubbed it. She couldn't do anything. I knew she 

cared, but the politics of her position were complicated.

    Katia came upstairs. “Do you want to take a bath?” she asked, holding up a bottle of medication 

prescribed by the doctor to disinfect the scratches around my neck.

    Shaking my head, I replied, “No – I'm afraid it'll hurt too much. Maybe in a couple of days.”

    “As you wish,” she answered. 

    “I got a hold of Tabby,” I explained. “She's going to pick me up at noon in the main square.”

    “Okay. But know you can stay if you need to. We want to know you are okay and you can never go 

back to him. It's not safe for you. He will kill you next time,” she stated, setting the bottle of disinfectant 

on the desk next to me.

    “I don't think he would kill me.”

    Staring at me hard, she said, “He might – even if he didn't mean to. Look what he did to you this time. 

The next will be worse. What will you do then?” She shook her head. “You cannot go back.”

    I saw her logic, but didn't want to accept it. Death should make an impact and yet, it didn't. Death. She 

was talking about death. And I was like so what? What the fuck was wrong with me?

    The door slammed below and Mateo shouted Katia's name.

    “Aquí!” she called back.

    Striding into the office, Mateo brandished my laptop in front of himself like a hunting trophy, grinning 

from ear-to-ear.

    “My hero. How did you do it?” I asked, as I took the computer, laying it across my lap. I wanted to 

stroke it like a cat, or hold it like a baby, I was so happy to see its battered façade – my old and trusted 

friend, my lifeline to the outside world.

    “The iPhone was a fair trade,” he answered.

    I rolled my eyes. “I knew it. Did he say anything to you about what happened?”

    “Yes, Anabelle. He gave me a whole long story, but I could not understand all of it, but I could see in 

his eyes he was ashamed and his hands shook when he lit his cigarette. But does he feel bad or sorry? No.”

    I hung my head. What had I expected? A complete fucking frontal lobotomy from the conscience fairy? 

“So he knows I'm here now.”

    He nodded.

    I sighed. “No matter. I'm leaving soon enough.”

    “You don't have to go,” he said, “but it might be for the best.” 

    “Did you tell him about the police?” I asked.

    “No,” he answered. “I didn't tell him nothing – he'll find out soon enough.”

    A chill ran down my spine. I didn't want to be on the same continent when Haiden found out, although I 

hoped he would receive the anger management help he so obviously needed. A court appointed, eternity 

on the shrink's couch might do him a world of good, as well, I darkly mused.

    Waiting on a broken curb next to the ornate wall fountain by the town's square, I wore sunglasses to 

hide my blackened eyes despite the lack of sun. The walk over had been only a couple of blocks, but it had 

been a chore, and I ached in places I hadn't known existed. It seemed like every person I passed stared at 

me – like they knew I had been beaten like an unfaithful dog.

    Tabby drove up waving merrily through the windshield of her Land Rover. Getting up, I waved my 

good hand back at her. Stopping the car, she popped open the trunk from the driver's seat. I threw my bag 

in the back. After climbing into the passenger's seat, I took off the sunglasses. Tabby screamed. Then, she 

hugged me, beginning to cry. “Anabelle. Oh my darling, what did he do to you?” she asked.

    Words failed me as I sobbed against her shoulder.

    “Come home – come home – come back home. Be safe. You can stay as long as you like. You will be 

safe there,” she murmured, stroking my hair.

    Swallowing my tears, I nodded. The lump in my throat felt like an ostrich egg as I clicked on the seat 

belt.

    I gave her the unadulterated version of events over last 36 hours during the ride. The more I talked, the 

more tired I felt, as the fight or flight reflex which had kept the adrenaline pumping through me vanished. I 

gave up remembering how many painkillers I'd taken, as well.

    Inside Tabby's fortress we sat in the cavernous kitchen at an ornately carved, wooden table that could 

seat a small army. Fussing over me, Tabby's sea-foam colored eyes were full of concern when I showed 

her the extent of my injuries. Grabbing a couple of books from a nearby shelf, she looked up herbal 

remedies for bruises; putting a list together of what she needed from the garden.

    “You know he called me frigid,” I said, lip curling in disgust. “Can you believe it?” 

    “What!” she gasped. “You? Frigid? I have seen you wander around this place starkers and you could 

care less.”

    “Exhibitionism doesn't necessarily mean I'm not frigid,” I replied.

    “He was only trying to hurt you. Have any of your other partners ever accused you of frigidity?” she 

asked.

    Shrugging, I answered, “I don't know – there's never been any complaints from the peanut gallery 

before.”

    “He's a bastard!” she exclaimed, “No. If anything, I would say you were bold.” Setting the herbal 

remedy book on the table, she ran a hand through her long, silvery mane.

    “That quite a compliment coming from you,” I said, giving her the first real smile in what felt like an 

age. One of the things I loved about Tabby was she had a past. She shared the details of her more high-

profile relationships over a couple of bottles of wine the last time I had visited. She was exotic and 

worldly, and compared to her I resembled a choirgirl.

    “Darling, have you eaten anything?” she asked.

    “No,” I answered. “I can't – I'd probably puke,”

    “You need to eat something. I'm going to the garden and when I come back I'm going to make you a 

smoothie. You should be able to keep that down.”

    “I'll try.”

    “Good.”

    How long had it been since I'd eaten? I wondered, watching her exit through the large, glass-paned, 

Moorish doors. Not that it mattered. Hunger was the least of my problems. The events of the last couple of 

days were jumbled in my brain, and yet, parts were starkly clear: Haiden's snarling face remained in my 

mind's eye, and the words 'stinking, frigid pussy', ricocheted inside my head like a poisoned boomerang.

    I moved my chair so I could watch Tabby through the 18th century windowpanes. That was one of the 

house's secrets, which I'd discovered during a rainstorm when I'd been photographing there before. The 

glass itself was warped, and it gave the outside world a luminous impressionistic view, making the garden 

look like a Monet painting come to life. Tabby floated into focus, her hands full of herbs, and her gauzy, 

animal print dress billowed in the breeze as she strode barefoot across the landscape – always the beautiful 

earth mother incarnate.

    I managed to down the concoction she whipped up for me. Swallowing hurt like a bitch but I did feel 

better with something in my stomach. Exhaustion overtook me again and I closed my eyes.

    “Darling, why don't you go and take a lie down,” said Tabby. “You can have your old room. I've been 

thinking about renaming it the Anabelle suite.”

    Leaving my suitcase and bag downstairs, I did as instructed. The large wooden banister on the oversized 

stairwell felt soothing under my hand. It was like saying hello to an old friend. The room was as I 

remembered it with various pieces of furniture from Afghanistan mixed with Oriental rugs from Morocco. 

The linens were from Istanbul and you could tell by the way they felt they were of a certain thread count. 

The windows were shut and the heavy brocade curtains closed. Turning on the electric bed warmer, I 

curled up inside.

    I wandered through an unknown countryside with rolling hills and jagged peaks in the distance, which 

looked like broken teeth. Pockets of low-lying, heavy fog kept encircling me, impeding my way forward. 

There was an abandoned farmhouse that looked like it had been rotting for years, and the earth had come 

to reclaim the land. I went to take a closer look when it occurred to me I may not want to. Nothing lived in 

the landscape. This is where time had stopped and I had somehow become trapped there. Which might 

have meant that I wasn't alive anymore. Was I dead? I couldn't remember. There'd been some kind of 

tragedy which had made time stop, but I couldn't recall what that was even if it was on the tip of my 

tongue. It only I could remember than I might have a chance of making my way out of there. The fog 

wove its way around me again until it physically pressed down on me. I thought I was suffocating...

    My heart pounded and I gasped for air. Night had fallen and the room was pitch black. For a moment, I 

was disoriented, believing I was still trapped within the dreamscape. Lying there, I peered into the 

darkness until spying the outline of the marble fireplace across the room. My heart rate slowed. The dream 

didn't return. Crawling out of bed, I limped downstairs to see if Tabby was there – needing confirmation 

someone else was alive.

    All the lights were off downstairs as I bumped around the kitchen in search of a clock, which I never 

found. With my good hand, I poured myself a glass of wine and strolled into the garden to gaze at the 

stars. Even as a small child, staring at the night skies had been a source of comfort to me. Sitting on a 

black, corded, lounge chair, I traced the Milky Way with my finger as it spanned the heavens like a 

celestial spine. Sipping the wine, I listened for the frogs singing by the river, but they were silent, which 

meant it was the wee hours of the morning. It was all so peaceful, but the anxiety I felt with every beat of 

my heart, would not lessen. Emotionally, what I faced was blacker than the night and there were no stars 

to save me. Nothing would save me. I prayed to the skies for a respite. Give me vast fields of sunflowers 

as far as the eye can see. Give me anything that resembled a distraction. Give me drugs or alcohol. Give 

me a lover's arms. Give me anything to take the pain away and make me forget for a while. Please, don't 

let me crack up...

    I stayed in the garden until the first rays of dawn broke. Growing numb from the cold, I went inside, 

grabbed my case and did a truly stupid thing – I switched on the laptop to check my email. Awaiting me 

was a bombshell from Haiden.

    “Dear Anabelle

    First of all – I love you. And I'm sorry about the way I have behaved towards you. There are no 

excuses, not drugs, nor the lack of sleep – but the things you said to me in the car hurt. The thought that 

you truly hate me – that I disgust you – that you never want to touch me again hurts. It would hurt anyone. 

Now it hurts worse than ever. It hurts bad. Everything here reminds me of you and just makes the hurting 

worse.

    I am still utterly shocked by everything that has happened. I do not want to believe you hate me but do 

not understand why you began yelling at me. I was super tired, just like you, but knew it was essential to 

get the wheels in motion.

    I wish I had just gotten out of the vehicle when you ordered me and not tried to fight you for the keys. It 

just seemed such a bitter end to the trip and I'm so tired of having my life torn to pieces.

    I'm sorry I cracked. And I'm sorry I hurt you. God knows. Perhaps you are right to say the things you 

do. That I am bad, evil, disgusting... Whatever. Again, I apologize. I miss you and cannot believe we have 

caused each other so much hurt. Nor do I even understand why.

    It felt like the creative work was receiving the recognition it deserved. You had finally resolved your 

difficulties with entering and exiting the country and we seemed to be an inch away from making it to the 

next level. It hurts beyond words it could end so badly.

    Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. I don't know. All I know is being alone sucks. In the meantime I'll be 

right here trying to paint. And, yes. It still makes me think of you. 

    Shit hurts...”

    Thousands of barbed verbal hooks embedded themselves into my flesh. Then, they all yanked out at 

once, like that fucking scene in Hellraiser. The plethora of conflicting emotions bombarding me stopped 

my breathing. Staring at the screen it felt like one frozen moment stretching out forever. He loved me. He 

was sorry. But it was all my fault? He had re-written history and made me the villain? I hadn't said any of 

the things he was accusing me of saying. Where had he even gotten that from? I didn't understand. And 

for me not being affectionate enough? No one had ever said that of me before. Never. Through the various 

lovers there had never been a complaint. Yes. I could sometimes be introverted, but unaffectionate? That 

was his justification for beating me up so badly? I never ordered him out of the car... My head swam as I 

puzzled over the details of his message against the chain of events as they had happened.

    Racing to the bathroom, I threw up. Laying my head against the gleaming porcelain, I cried again. How 

could he be so crazy? What the fuck had I done other than try to love him and try to have a life with him? 

Why was it so impossible? How did he rationalize his behavior?

    I couldn't accept his apology it was so half-assed. Getting up from the toilet in a rage, I thought, that 

motherfucker! I was not letting him get away with his version of the truth! Storming back to the computer, 

I banged out a response with my good hand that would be my ultimate kiss off.

    “This is the only message I will send to you.

    I loved you like the sun and the moon and looked up to you as lover, partner and mentor. All I ever 

wanted was the chance to be a part of your life. I read all of your excuses in your earlier mail and they are 

history being rewritten by yourself. I have at no point said you were ugly or that you disgusted me, which 

you keep accusing me of. Why would I be with you if I thought such a thing? It makes no sense. I have 

always thought you were the most handsome, magnetic, intelligent, and creative man I have ever known. I 

have told you this many times. My big crime was saying no to you that night because I was uncomfortable 

and tired. That in no way makes me a 'frigid bitch', which you have called me continuously. You want 

someone to be nice to you? Try being nice to them and not criticizing them at every turn and pushing them 

beyond all physical endurance and then beating the crap out of them...”

    The door handle rattled and turned as Tabby entered the room. Carrying a French press full of coffee 

and two oversized, pale green mugs, she placed them on the table next to the laptop. Pouring two perfect 

steaming cupfuls, she sat down on the chair opposite me.

    “You won't believe this shit,” I grumbled, grabbing the cup and taking a sip. “Sorry. Thanks for the 

coffee,” I added.

    Tabby gave me one of her impenetrable stares. It was the same one I had mastered, only she was even 

better at it, but I could feel her concern as she scanned my face.

    “He fucking sent me an email telling me he did this because I wasn't affectionate enough,” I continued, 

practically gnashing my teeth. “I can't fucking believe it!”

    “You need to block him and have no contact with him,” she replied. “There's no excuse for what he's 

done to you,”

    “The fucking bastard is rewriting history! Just listen to what he is saying!”

    “Darling, I don't want to hear it.” Holding up her hand, she advised, “I want you to trash the message 

and block him.” 

    “But I'm midway through setting his ass straight,” I protested.

    She sighed. “That's what I'm worried about. You will start talking to him and then get sucked in again.”

    “No way,” I replied, shaking my head. ”I am never going back to him.”

    “You've said that before.” Setting her cup down, she continued. “Listen, I tossed and turned all night 

thinking about this, but you have to go back to America. You have to get far away from here. You need to 

have a complete nervous breakdown because the enormity of what has been done to you is too much. If 

you went back to him and he killed you, which it's obvious he could do, I would never forgive myself. So, 

I can't take that chance. For your own sake, you can't stay here.”

    I tried not to register shock as the words settled over me. It would be a lie not to say it was an 

unexpected blow. I could understand her logic, but in my mind, her house had been my safe haven, and I'd 

been in Europe for far too many years to consider the U.S. home. What would I do? How would I survive? 

How could I get back? The thought of the plane ride alone was overwhelming. Daunting. Horrible... The 

tears welled up again and I did my best to push them down. Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded.

    “I'm closing the house up for the season in a couple of weeks when I leave for Istanbul. You can stay 

here until then.”

    The words sounded like they were traveling through some dark, viscous fluid before reaching my ears. 

    “Okay,” I finally responded.

    Tears filled her eyes. Taking my hand, she intertwined her fingers with mine. “It's not that I don't love 

you, darling,” she explained. “It's just that I don't think I'm in any kind of position to help you. You are 

going to need real help to get through this. You have been with him for a very long time and you probably 

should have left him ages ago. There's a reason that you stayed and you are going to have to look at that 

reason.”

    “Yeah, but, it's not all him,” I interjected. ”It's the place. I love this place. How can I leave my home?” 

Something inside of me cracked. He had beaten me up and now I was the one who was going to have to 

leave? I couldn't stand it! I could not fucking stand the thought of it! At that moment I'd never hated 

another human being as much as I hated him. My world turned upside down and inside out as I felt the 

poison of it seethe through my veins. Considering the intensity of the emotion I was surprised the walls 

didn't start to shake, or melt – if I'd been pyrokinetic the place would have been at a flashpoint.

    Tabby let go of my hand as a look of alarm crossed her face. She'd felt it.

    Taking a deep breath, I continued. “I hear what you're saying and I know you want the best for me and 

that this is your home, but I cannot stand the fact that I'm going to have to pay for his actions.”

    “Darling, you have to go somewhere and get better. You have family in America, and they need to help 

you. If you stay here you will start to feel better. Then, you will get lonely and he will worm his way in 

again. I know it. You have to put some distance between the two of you and three thousand miles should 

just about do it.”

    Did I have a choice? I wondered, staring out the window. I had nothing as it was and would be relying 

on the kindness of friends. No. I didn't have a choice. That was the reality of the situation no matter how 

much I hated it. “I will try and figure something out,” I muttered.

    “Oh good, darling. You will see. It will be for the best.” Rising, she grabbed the French press. “I'm 

going to make some more coffee. I think we both need it.”

    I sat there seething in silence, thinking about screaming into a pillow, or punching a wall, but even those 

actions wouldn't mitigate the rage inside of me. Digging through the plastic bag of medications on the 

table, I grabbed a painkiller, and the medicine for anxiety. Contemplating finishing the message to Haiden, 

I swallowed the pills, but decided he was a bad person to play mental chess with because he played by no 

discernible set of rules and had you at checkmate before you even realized it. Still, it was tempting to 

defend myself or yank his chain. Too tempting. Tabby was right – I needed to block him or we would 

continue to throw poison darts at each other.

    My hand shook as I typed his email address onto the blocked list. Then I went onto the social sites and 

did the same. He had no access to me, and I none to him. I thought I would feel empowered, but the 

feeling was empty. He was never going to be a part of my life again. There wasn't the vague hope of 

happily ever after. I would never hear his laugh, or bounce ideas off of him, and get caught up in the 

creative buzz of our chaotic minds... Stop it Anabelle, I told myself, this isn't a good thing. But I couldn't 

let it go, delusional as it was. Mess, I snarled at my bruised reflection in the mirror across the room. Mess. 

Mess. Mess. Fucked up on the outside, and the bruises inside, were even uglier, and at that moment, I 

couldn't stand the person I was looking at.



    The days merged one into another at the fortress and we spent most of our time in the garden. Tabby 

laid in the hammock listening to music while I sat in the lounge chair sketching out ideas for the new 

series I had floating around in my head called 'Desired Pyrotechnics'. I wanted to illustrate the connections 

between religious ecstasy and the female orgasm. Kind of my version of pious saints blended with the 

myths of the sacred prostitute, but in a modern-day scenario. Although, I didn't want to over think it, 

preferring to let the imagery be more emotional and intuitive than cerebral. I asked Tabby to pose for me, 

but as liberal as she was, she wouldn't go for it. Unlike myself, some preacher had left their mark on her.

    Sitting, smoking on the stone stairs one night, I saw a huge, glorious full moon rise over the horizon.

    “Tabby!” I shouted. “It's the full moon tonight. I totally forgot.”

     “Are you ready?” she yelled from inside the kitchen.

     “For what?” I answered.

    Appearing on the doorstep, she carried a large bag, two jewel-toned blankets under her arms, and a 

Moroccan lantern in her hand. “We're going to the river, darling.”

    Jumping up, I exclaimed, “Oh, hell yes!”

    After a short car ride we arrived at the sandy outcrop on the edge of the favorite local swimming hole. 

Folding the blankets and setting them on the ground, I straightened the tea lights inside the lantern while 

Tabby made another trip to the car. She returned with a cardboard box stuffed full of dead branches and 

firelighters. Setting it down, she struck a match, and within seconds we had a ready-made fire.

    “Well, that was clever,” I told her.

    “Isn't it though?” answered Tabby, looking pleased with herself.

    “You are full of surprises.”

    “Wait...” Digging into her bag, she brought out a bottle of wine plus two antique wine glasses.

    “And you think of everything,” I added.

    Smiling, she nodded toward the water, and said, “C'mon let's go...”

    Stripping down to nothing, we ran into the river screaming like children. The water was cool, but 

refreshingly so. Swimming out a ways, I stopped, turning to float on my back. The moon filled the whole 

sky and for one shining moment everything was all right in the world. Maybe I would make it through, I 

thought. Maybe everything would work out. I stayed in that moment until my skin started to prune before 

paddling back to the shore.

    Tabby sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket as she opened the bottle of wine. Shivering, I took the other 

blanket, sitting down next to her.

    Handing me a glass, she made a toast, which sounded more like an ancient incantation. “To la Luna – 

may she light the way and protect and bless us always.”

    “May she protect and bless us always,” I echoed her words, raising my glass to the glowing orb 

overhead, and taking a sip. “I'm going to miss the old country,” I stated.

    “You'll be back,” she replied.

    “You think so?” I asked.

    “I know so.”

    “I wish I had your faith.”

    “It's not a matter of faith, darling. You're a lot stronger than you think.”

    Shaking my still dripping hair, I replied. “No, I'm not. I'm scared and overwhelmed and I don't think I'll 

ever be normal again.”

    “Were you ever normal?” she teased, her eyes glowing in the firelight.

    “No,” I grinned at her. “I've never been normal. That was a poor choice of words.” 

    She refilled my glass. “If you can laugh, you'll live.”

    “Even when it hurts?”

    “Especially, when it hurts.”

    “All right, wise woman. I'll give it a try.”

    Polishing off the bottle, we waited for the fire to burn down. Blowing out the candles in the lantern, we 

gathered our clothes, and headed back to the Range Rover still wrapped in our blankets.

    The ghosts in Tabby's mansion were particularly rowdy during my stay and I wondered if they weren't 

reacting to the 'SOS – help me Obi Wan Kenobi’ plea broadcasting from my soul. While shutting the door 

at night to my suite it would often yank back as if pulled by an unseen hand. I got so accustomed to the 

door handle rattling at regular intervals in the dead of night it didn't make me jump after a while.

    One afternoon though, a truly creepy event happened. The day was warm and lazy with endless blue 

horizons. I wandered onto the stone steps to grab a little sun and have a smoke. After rolling a cigarette, I 

glanced up to see Tabby walking towards me with a towel wrapped around her. Her face so pale, it looked 

bloodless.

    “What's wrong?” I asked.

    “There was a man in the garden,” she answered.

    “What!” I exclaimed, looking around in a panic, thinking it might be Haiden. But there was no one 

there, plus the garden had six-feet-high, thick, stonewalls. “From next door?” I asked. “How did they get 

in?”

    “I was lying in the hammock dozing and suddenly there was a man standing in front of me,” she 

explained.

    “Were you dreaming?”

    “No,” she stated, shaking her head before continuing. “He was about thirty-years-old and he was 

wearing old fashioned looking surgical scrubs and he was staring right at me. He told me that I reminded 

him of his wife. When I asked him who he was he said he used to live here with his wife, but she had died. 

Then he had gone off to war.”

    “That's so sad...” My gaze wandered to the striped hammock she'd been lying on and it moved like 

someone was getting out of it. Then, it began to rock of its own accord even though there was no wind 

whatsoever. Pointing to it, I said, “Tabby, look!”

    Turning around, she saw the hammock swinging. “Darling, how can that be?” she asked, her eyes like 

saucers.

    After a few minutes the hammock stopped and our version of normality restored itself once again. After 

a while, we laughed about the incident, but neither of us dared to go back onto that hammock for quite 

some time.

    One afternoon Mateo and Katia came for a visit. Walking through the nearby village to an open café, I 

explained to them I only had a couple of more days in the fortress before I had to find somewhere else to 

live, and that I was trying to scrounge enough money to get back to the States. Mateo and Katia spoke to 

each other in Spanish as we grabbed an outdoor table.

    “I have a house you can stay at for as long as you like,” offered Mateo.

    “Really? That is so kind of you,” I said, smiling at him.

    “It is my old family house where I stay sometimes, but mostly I stay with Katia, so it is not a problem 

for me,” he shrugged.

    Their daughter had gotten a chocolate ice cream and delighted in smearing it all over her face. Now that 

the bruises on my face had faded, she was much more at ease with me, seeming to have forgotten I'd been 

a monster a few weeks earlier. How I envied her childlike ability to forget so quickly.

    “Does it have Wi-Fi?” I asked.

    “Yes, Anabelle. It has Wi-Fi,” answered Mateo.

    “Then it's perfect.”

    “No. It's not perfect. You will see,” said Katia, “but you can stay there.”

    “So we will come and get you in a couple of days and we will go,” added Mateo. 

“Thank you,” I answered. Hesitating, I asked the question that hung on the tip of my tongue. “Have you 

seen Haiden?”

    Shuffling his feet, Mateo replied. “Yes. He invited me up there. He is still telling a story. Like when you 

left before and he said you took 20,000 Euros to make a big party. Then, we come to visit you and you 

have nothing and we see this isn't true.”

    “You know that's total bullshit,” I said, “I never took a dime from him. I don't have access to the bank 

account. What is he saying this time?”

    “It doesn't matter,” answered Mateo. “We know it is a lie.”

    Damn, I thought. If Mateo wasn't willing to tell me than it must be really bad. “And the police?” I 

asked. “Do you know if they have done anything at all?”

    “No. I don't think so,” he said. “But these things take time. They will do something. You will see.”

    “No, I won't see,” I said darkly. “I'm leaving for the U.S. for the winter, remember? I don't know how 

yet, but I will make it there.”

    “It's a good decision. You can promote your new work and be safe for the winter,” replied Mateo, 

nodding with enthusiasm.

    I shrugged. “I don't know what kind of decision it is. I have no other choice.”

    “It will be for the best. You will see. Then you can take good care of you and find a better man,” 

soothed Katia.

    “No.” I shook my head. “No one is going to want me after what I've been through. I'm a mess – 

damaged goods. People can sense that sort of thing, and I'm a shadow compared to who I used to be. 

Besides, when people hear that we have split up, no one is going to dare touch me with a ten-foot-pole.”

    “You will be fine. And you will heal,” she predicted, offering her open pack of cigarettes to me.

    Taking one and lighting it, the smoke flooded my lungs before I answered. “No, I'll never be fine again. 

But the last thing I will do is stop moving, because if I do so, I will die.”

    “You will not die. You are a strong woman who has created much in her lifetime. You have much to be 

proud of.”

    But it's all gone! Destroyed! Done! The five-year-old inside of me wailed so keenly I wondered if 

anyone else could hear her. Clenching my hands into fists, it took all of my will power not to smash them 

again the café table. “I have nothing left,” I muttered, “and therefore, I have nothing to lose.”

    “Just go,” she said. “Then you will be safe and you can rebuild. Besides, you can always come back.”

    “I am going.” Tears welled in my eyes as the finality of those words hit me. Biting my lip as hard as I 

could, I didn't want to breakdown in front of them. In my mind's eye the wasteland stretched before me: 

vast, relentless, further than anyone could see. I didn't know why this image was on constant rotation in 

my subconscious, and why I feared it so damn much, but I did. Maybe it was an actual place that existed 

outside of time, or else it was where fractured psyches came to beat themselves senseless.

    “Anabelle, you look tired,” said Mateo. “We are going to go.”

    “Sorry if I seem distracted,” I apologized. “There's so much up in the air that I don't know which way to 

turn any more.”

    “All in time,” murmured Katia in an enigmatic matter.

    Fuck time, I thought, like beaming, black ray of sunshine. Time was not making things better. Now I 

would move onto another strange place and from there it would be a sea of strange places until who knew 

where the hell I would land. My fate was in the hands of the gods who seemed more than content to watch 

me fail.

    Walking back to the Tabby's mansion my shoulders slumped as I stared at the ground attempting to 

avoid the dog shit littering the narrow alleyway. I stopped at the old church to see if it was open, which it 

wasn't, and for the first time noticed the name of the street, Avenida de San Antonio – Saint Anthony – the 

patron saint of lost things. I laughed out loud, although not in a pleasant way. That was exactly what I was 

– a very lost thing.