7
...It was the last fairy, who came uninvited, full of wrath and seeking to punish the king for his impudence…

 

HIS

 

Something about the atmosphere of the church slipped him into timelessness and, caught up in the stillness and his own thoughts, he didn’t notice how long he actually stayed there. When he finally came to himself and looked at his watch, he saw it was over an hour since he had left the theatre.

Rubbing his eyes, he quickly got up, crossed himself before the tabernacle, and hurried out.

A small figure was moving along the back of the church and met him in the vestibule. The little nun in the blue habit. He saw that she must be about sixty, but she moved as lightly as a ballet dancer. Her blue eyes shining, she gave him a sweet smile.

“You know Rose Brier,” she said to him.

He paused, surprised. How could she have known that?

“Yes, actually, I do. How did you know that, Sister?” he asked respectfully. Father Raymond had told him one always addresses a nun by her title, even if you don’t know her name.

“I saw you at her sister’s wedding,” the nun nodded at him. “You greatly resemble the man her sister married.”

“Oh!” (He did?)  “—Yes, I’m his brother.”

She bobbed her head again. “It was a lovely wedding. I saw you dancing with Rose. You care about her, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he was puzzled, and a bit wary. Of course he cared for Rose. But what did this mean? Was this nun Rose’s confidant?

Disconcertingly, the nun took his arm and spoke fervently. “You must guard her. She has every need of your care. There is a shadow of evil over her family. A serpent lies in the grass. You must not let it harm her.”

Now completely thrown, Fish was about to reply when the nun released him and smiled her innocent smile again, and nodded. “We are praying for you both,” and walked away.

Part of him wanted to go after the nun and demand an explanation. But he was late to pick up Rose. And the nun reminded him of some of the odd ducks one met on the streets in New York City, self-proclaimed prophets with deep sayings for every passerby, little grounded in reality. All the same, the nun’s words gave him a peculiar feeling as he strode back up the hill towards the theatre. The night had turned dark, except for the glare of the spotlights on the walkway. He traveled from one pool of bright light through another patch of inky darkness, into light, into dark, and as he walked, a strange anxiety took hold of him.

If he hadn’t already been late, he would have ignored the uncanny sense, but since he was, he started to run.  As he ran, the feeling of urgency grew stronger. By the time he reached the theatre doors, he was racing so fast he had to slow himself to go inside. There was a light on in the vestibule, but the theatre building was dark, and silent. Panting, he looked in through the glass windows in the doors leading to the theatre itself and saw nothing but inky blackness. There was no sound but his breathing.

Carefully he opened the doors and stepped inside to listen. For a long moment he stood there, searching the dark, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Then somewhere in the darkness, faintly, he heard a voice say, “Give me the line again, Brier.” 

There was a menacing edge to the voice that had spoken, but then he heard Rose’s voice, sweet and calm, saying, “If for I want that glib and oily art to speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I’ll do it before I speak.”

The actors must be in the back of the theatre, someplace, running lines. Fish told himself to relax.

“Sister, you are jesting, and I am in deadly earnest.”  Again the voice was threatening, with a point to it that seemed more real than most of the acting Fish had heard this evening. Also, he didn’t recognize that line from the play.

“Such a tongue that I am glad I have not, though to have hath lost me to your liking,” Rose’s voice said blandly.

“You think we’re kidding, don’t you?” another voice said.

“I know what you are,” Rose said, and Fish sensed that she also wasn’t acting.

“Look, we’ll run this scene again until you get it right. What we want is your resignation.”

“I cannot,” she said, and her voice was almost lighthearted.

“Sooner or later you’re going to run out of lines from this play. And we can be here all night if we need to.”

Fish felt around for a light switch but couldn’t find one. He started making his way cautiously down the aisle in the dark.

“If I run Cordelia’s lines away, I can go on to another play,” Rose suggested with a laugh.

“Do you think you’re a better actor just because you think you know more Shakespeare?” the first voice was derisive. “You know I’d be better at the part than you.”

“Alas, that choice was not given me,” Rose said.

Fish had reached the stage. He remembered noticing that there was a door to the left, leading backstage, and tried to find it.

“It’s very simple, Brier. I’m your understudy. Tara is my understudy. All you need to do is resign, and we all get the parts we want.”

“If only it were so simple. Do you really think Dr. Morris will agree to this?” Rose asked.

He felt the doorway, but inside it was still black. The voices were louder, though. They sounded very close to him, but there was no sign of anyone. He put out his hand and felt a canvas screen. Scenery. He groped, found the edge of it, and stepped around it, almost bumping into another screen.

“He’ll do anything I tell him. All you have to do is use your mediocre acting ability to convince him that you really want to resign from the play.”

It was a maze back here. Fish moved silently, moving closer towards the speakers, whom he still could not see.

“And if I refuse?”

“Well, look at how easily you fell into our trap tonight. I’ll let you imagine how easily we can make your life miserable in the future.”

“And not just in the theatre,” the other voice said. “We know where you live.”

“Words, words, words, words,” Rose murmured. Fish felt for his handgun, which fortunately was in his breast pocket, and moved more quietly.

“You still don’t believe us. Maybe we’ll have to do that Gloucester scene again—see if you find it convincing this time. Hold her down, Tara.”

There was a scrape of metal.

Rose’s voice became melodramatic. “Is this a dagger I see before me?”

“But its handle isn’t turned towards you, is it?”

Fish rounded another corner and suddenly found he was looking down a corridor. At the end of it was a small stage light. In the glow he saw the heavy wooden throne from the Gloucester scene. Thick ropes on the arms and back bound Rose to it, and two figures stood around her. One held over her what was clearly a knife.

“We’ve told you what to say,” the taller figure, the first voice, was saying. “Now, this is your last chance—say the speech as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue.”

Rose’s face was impassive. “Lord what fools these mortals be,” she remarked calmly.

“Bravo,” Fish said, striding towards them. The two figures froze, and looked at him. Rose remained still, gazing at the girl with the knife.

“Quite impressive acting,” he said mildly as he reached them, his right hand still near his breast pocket, ready to grab his gun if necessary. The tall girl with blue eyes stared at him, her mouth open. “You almost convinced me.”

“We were just fooling around,” the shorter girl said defensively.

“Of course,” Fish said lightly, “you do but jest. Poison in jest. No offense in the world. But I think it’s time you ended your performance. I have to get Rose home.” He put out a hand to the tall girl, indicating that he wanted the knife.

“It’s only a stage knife,” she said flatly, and handed it to him.

Fish felt the blade, which was a thin flexible metal. “Still strong enough to damage someone’s eye, though, isn’t it?”  He put it in his pocket. “You’re a fine actress. You should do well in the part you have.” He looked down at Rose, who had visibly relaxed. “Why don’t you both help me get her untied?”

Sullenly the other girls untied the ropes from Rose’s arms and chest, and she got up and dusted off her jeans carelessly.

“Good night, sweet ladies, good night,” she said to the other two in the same tone she had been using.

The two girls melted away into the shadows, and Fish put a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said.

“I have to get my bag,” she said in a whisper.

He walked out to the seating area with her where she hunted around and retrieved her knapsack, but he took it from her and slung it on his back. As they exited the theatre, he looked around for the other girls, but they had vanished.

They walked to his car, and he opened the door for her and she got in. Then he closed the door, scanned the darkened campus, and got in himself.

“Rose, we’ve got to tell someone what just happened to you in there,” he said once the door was closed. “I want to get a hold of campus security. And who’s the director of this play?”  He noticed then that her hands were shaking.

“Dr. Morris is the director.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes. He lives right in town.”

“You and I are going to see him tonight. Those girls should be expelled.”

“You didn’t think it was just a joke?”

“Not in the least. I let them think that I did until I got that knife away from the girl. What did you say her name was?”

“Donna Stetter.”

“You might want to consider going to the police.”  He was talking faster because he was angry. “She’s a highly unstable individual. I wouldn’t take any chances.”

She nodded, and then covered her face with her hands.

“Rose, are you all right?”

“I’m embarrassed,” she said, but her voice shook. “They tricked me so easily. I thought she just wanted to rehearse with me—I actually thought she was being nicer to me. So I said yes. But it was all–”

“A cruel ploy to get you to drop out of the play. Is that what they wanted?”

“Yes. I don’t know how much you heard.”

“I heard that part. Did they assault you?”

“No, they didn’t have to. They convinced me to read the Gloucester scene, with me playing the part of Gloucester. Then they just tied me up. It’s right there in the script. That’s when they dropped the acting and started on their agenda.” She reddened. “It was stupid of me.”

“Not at all. You were just being a decent, trusting human being, and they abused your trust with malicious intent.”

“I should have known better, Fish. I should have sensed that there was something wrong, but I didn’t.”

Fish looked intently at Rose. “They really scared you, didn’t they?”

She sighed. “They did.”

“I couldn’t tell from your demeanor. You were so calm.”

“I wasn’t letting them know. But I was scared. It was too much like—like being captured by Mr. Freet.”

“Ah. Yes, I can see that.” He knew. He was, of course, the only one who would know. He hesitated, and said, “You can’t let that fear rule you, Rose.”

She spoke resentfully. “I don’t want it to, and I thought I was beyond it, but when I was in that situation again, it reminded me too much. Going through it a second time was almost worse than the first time.”

“Because you knew what might happen, and how much you were capable of suffering,” Fish said grimly. “Yes, that’s the way it is. That’s why I said you can’t let it rule you.”

She looked at him suddenly. “Does it rule you, Fish?”

He moved uneasily beneath her gaze, but he kept his face expressionless. “Sometimes it does.”

“Does it?”

“More times than I care to remember.”

“Don’t you fight against it?”

“Why do you think I’m the way I am, Rose?” he asked quietly. “What you see in front of you is fighting.”

He thrust his keys into the ignition. “Sorry to cut this off, but we have a long night ahead of us, and I’d still like to get you home to your mom after we’re done contacting the appropriate authorities. Can you direct me to Dr Morris’s house?”

“Yes. I’ve been to his house before, actually. We painted some of the scenery there.”

“Good. Take me there now.”  He started to pull out.

“Fish, I’m glad you came to get me tonight,” Rose made a movement toward him with her hand, but then seemed to reconsider and withdrew. “That was one reason I could keep calm, because I knew you would be coming back any minute. I was just trying to delay them.”

“Well, you did a good job. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” said Fish, and all at once he was distracted. He turned away from her and looked out the car window to the chapel down the hill. He suddenly remembered why he had rushed up to the theatre so quickly. Because of that odd nun, and her words about snakes in the grass. For a moment he thought of telling Rose about it. Then he dismissed the thought. There were enough real issues to deal with here, setting aside ominous prophetic warnings.

Fish was glad to see that, despite her small breakdown alone with him in the car, Rose was calm as she went through the ordeal of retelling the experience to Dr. Morris, and then the Dean of Students, whom Dr. Morris had gotten on the phone. Both of them promised immediate action, and agreed that there was no difficulty in Rose’s going home for the weekend. In fact, they were glad she could go and be with her family after such a trying experience.

All the same, Fish looked critically at Rose after they had left the Morris’s home around midnight.

“You look a little peaked,” he said, “I’m taking you out to get you some food.”

He drove to an all-night diner, and told Rose to order whatever she wanted.

“Will you be very shocked if I order an ice cream sundae?” she asked.

“Aghast and appalled. But given what you’ve been through, I won’t bat an eyelash.”

“Then I’d like a hot chocolate, and a fudge sundae,” Rose told the waitress over the menu. Fish ordered black coffee. When the food came, he watched Rose eat and drink with relish. She’s still like a child, he thought, able to be comforted so easily.

When they got in the car, he insisted that she lie down in the back with his pillow and jacket and go to sleep.

“But won’t you need help staying awake?” she persisted.

“No. I usually drive alone.”

“But this late at night?”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “I have coffee. You need your sleep.”  He handed her his mp3 player. “Pick out a set that you’d like to listen to. Choose something relaxing.”

The stars were muted in the sky as Rose fell asleep and he drove east through the night. It was a long drive, and he stopped once to get another cup of coffee, but Rose kept sleeping. Once or twice he looked over his shoulder at her, and saw her resting soundly, her red hair spread out over the pillow, her shoulders curled up to her chin.

She’s young, and resilient, he told himself. She’ll get over her fear, and her usual unbeatable spirit will return. He had to admire someone who could restore herself so easily. After checking the road, he glanced again at the sleeping girl.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel at that moment, but for some reason, his emotions became wildly disturbing, blackly angry. He tried to subdue them, ashamed of the resentment that had suddenly flared up within him. It’s because of my internal mess, he told himself. I’m not reacting normally.

Isolating his turmoil, he gave his full attention to the road ahead.

 

Hers

 

She was safe. Rose blinked in the daylight, waking up in her old room, seeing familiar knickknacks and books on the shelves around her. A warmth spread over her, and she settled down further into the bedclothes.

So once again, I’m in debt to Mr. Benedict Denniston, she thought. That seemed to be Fish’s vocation in life, to be in the right place at the right time. She just happened to be at the wrong places at the wrong times, thus giving him more opportunities to exercise his mission.

She stretched out of bed, fully grateful to be alive, and wondered what her mom was making her for breakfast. Of course, it was nearly noon, but she still wanted breakfast.

Putting on her old terrycloth robe, yawning, she went downstairs and looked hopefully over the banister to the couch where Fish had crashed hours earlier. It was empty. A pillow sat on top of a folded blanket in the center.

She hurried into the kitchen, but there was only Mom there, cooking pancakes.

“Where’s Fish?” Rose asked, feeling rising disappointment.

Mom looked over her shoulder and smiled at her daughter. “He left. Said he had an appointment. But he’ll meet you this evening at Bear and Blanche’s house.”

“Oh,” Rose said, put out. “He up and ran, did he?”   It was the usual guy goal-orientation. Don’t bother to even say goodbye to the fair maiden you’ve  rescued, just rush on to the next duty calling you.

Men are so strange, she thought to herself for perhaps the hundredth time since she had started college, and pushed all thoughts of Fish and other males from her mind. She sniffed the pancakes, delighted to be home, and kissed her mother.

“Are there any ready?” she asked eagerly.

“Right here,” and Mom handed her a plate. Rose took it happily and slid into a chair.

“So Rose,” Mom said. “You and Fish had another adventure last night.”

“The most Gothic of horrors,” Rose said dramatically, and then shivered. “I’ll tell you about it after I eat. It was a bit too real for me. But you’ll be happy to know our in-law surpassed himself as a rescuer. He quoted Shakespeare, too.”

“Yes, tell me about it after breakfast—I don’t want to disturb your meal,” Mom said. “Blanche said I should call her when you got up. She wants to come over.”

“Of course! Bear too, I hope?”

“No, he’ll be working today at his stonecutting school, but he’ll be off work tomorrow. I’ll have off too, so we can all do something together on Saturday.”

“How is Bear’s school going?” Rose asked, the usual polite question.

“He’s doing very well with it.”

“Of course he is. He’s Bear,” Rose said, pouring a generous portion of syrup on her pancakes, and added, “Why should I expect any less of Fish’s older brother?”

“Rose, Rose,” Mom said with a bit of a sigh, putting down her teacup. “I hope this episode doesn’t keep you from getting over Fish.”

Rose paused, a forkful of pancakes an inch from her mouth. “Mom,” she said, tinged with irritation. “Don’t you like him?”

“Like him? Of course. He saved your life,” Her mother’s eyes creased with concern. “But it worries me that he doesn’t seem to have the same concern for your heart. He doesn’t seem to love you the way you love him.”

“Must you remind me?” Rose sighed, and put the food in her mouth with melancholy.

“Believe me, if he loved you, I would have no objections,” Mom said, pushing her graying hair back into a ponytail. “He’s a very admirable person. But right now, all I see is you hanging onto him and getting hurt. And that makes me worried.”

“Mom, any hurt I suffer is my own fault,” Rose said, picking at her pancakes. “He’s never led me on. He wouldn’t. He’s a cold fish, but he’s an honest cold fish.” The last analogy was not a good one, and she sighed and took another bite. “I just don’t know what his problem is.”

“He might not have any problems. It might just be that he’s not the one for you.”

“But he would be so good for me!” Rose protested. “He’s not flighty like I am—he’s very dependable and practical. I think we would complement each other.”

“Maybe so,” Mom said softly. “But maybe there’s someone out there who’s better for you, Rose. Someone who’s not quite so solitary and withdrawn. Someone who has a bit more of your zest for life.”

Rose almost didn’t want to consider the possibility, but she had to admit it probably existed. “I don’t know, Mom,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

“Well, don’t worry about it now,” her mom said. “Your sister got married young, but that doesn’t mean you have to. You have time to do a lot of things with your life before you have to start picking a marriage partner.”

   “I know,” Rose said gloomily. “I know. If I could only turn off my heart until then, I’d be fine.”

“Remember the Song of Songs? The one phrase that keeps repeating throughout the book is: ‘I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, not to stir up love or rouse it, until it chooses to awake.’ I can understand why. Many times women are forced to wait.”

Rose gave a deep sigh. “I suppose this waiting cultivates all sorts of virtues that help you when you’re actually married, right?”

“Yes, it does,” Mom put her chin on her hand and smiled at her. “The man who marries you is going to be very lucky indeed, Rose,” she said softly.

Rose had to smile at her. Mom, so sentimental. She scraped her plate of the extra syrup and wondered what kind of appointment Fish had today that was so important.

 

HIS

 

Fish sat in the courtroom beside his lawyer, Charles Russell, waiting. Presently the door to the courtroom opened, and the prisoner came forward.

There was a chill in Fish’s spine, seeing him. After all, you can’t look at the man who kidnapped you, tortured you, and tried to murder you without some feeling of repulsion. Fish kept his gaze set, and attempted a professional detachment. The man was shrunken, older. He had not weathered well in prison. His eyes were sunk into their sockets, and they were vacant.

Fish swallowed, but didn’t move.

The prisoner shuffled to the stand, his shoulders slumped, and gazed around the courtroom before turning to face the judge. His eyes swept over Fish, and for a moment, the two of them locked gazes.

A brief, savage smile flitted across the old man’s face, and Fish felt his palms sweat. He despised himself for the weakness, and did not move.

The judge, business-like, took his seat and the bailiff called for the opening of the hearing. “This hearing is to establish veracity for the defendant’s request to transfer from the federal maximum security prison facility to a minimum security prison for health and medical reasons. Opening statements.”

The lawyer of Edward Freet stood up and explained the reasons for the request. His client was ailing. His client was advancing in years. He pointed out that he would not be eligible for parole until he was ninety-three, and that in his current condition, he wasn’t likely to live that long. He read a statement from the prisoner’s brother, former principal of a Catholic high school, stating his belief that the change would benefit the prisoner’s health.

Charles Russell rose, a high color in his face. He reiterated the crimes of the prisoner, including but not limited to three counts of kidnapping, two counts of assault, two counts of attempted murder, trafficking in controlled substances, and burglary. Fish listened intently to the statement, which he and the lawyer had prepared together. Mr. Russell also made a skilled aside to his client, Mr. Benedict Denniston, drawing the judge’s attention to the fact that at least one of the prisoner’s victims thought it was important enough to come to the hearing to make sure Mr. Freet stayed where he was for the rest of his life. When Fish’s legal name was mentioned, the old man turned to look at him again, this time, his glance lingering. Fish met the gaze stolidly, without moving a muscle.

The hearing was short, but to Fish, each step seemed to take unnaturally long: for the prisoner and his doctor to be questioned about health issues, for Charles to derisively make little of their answers in his cross-examination, for the judge to recess and consider, and, at last, for the decision to be read. The judge found no substantial reasons for a transfer, and Edward Freet was returned to maximum-security prison for the duration of his fifty-year sentence.

As Mr. Freet was led out of the courtroom by the prison guards, he turned his head to Fish.

“Benedict,” the old man rasped his eyes glinting, “Given in yet?”

When Fish didn’t respond, Freet emitted a cackle that continued as he exited the room, only ceasing as the door shut behind him.

Charles glanced at Fish in some surprise. “What was that about?”

Fish attempted nonchalance. “Nothing important.”  He picked up his trench coat. “Freet was always convinced I was going to end up just like him,” he added as an explanation. Feeling he was saying too much, he shouldered on his coat. “It’s just a broken man’s malice.”

The older lawyer grimaced. “I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Psychos like him are best kept locked away from society. I appreciate you coming down. Don’t think it didn’t help the judge’s decision. When victims show up at these hearings, it seems to make an impression.” 

He and Fish exchanged some further pleasantries, then Fish got into his car, and drove out of the City. The entire courtroom ordeal had been less than an hour.

But seeing Freet again had jarred some tectonic plates within, setting in motion some repercussions that he was going to have to endure for a while. He knew it.

 

Hers

 

Rose loved the house that Bear and Blanche had bought. It was a small, run-down stone farmhouse on thirty acres of wooded land, with outbuildings that were just big enough to house Bear’s budding stonecutting school. Right now the interior of the main house was still being renovated, and for the visit, Blanche had draped the studs with leftover bolts of old fabric to disguise the barrenness. It was very much like sitting in a tent inside a house.

Fish didn’t show up at the house until evening. “Welcome!” Bear said to his brother, who slipped inside the door wearily, dropped his hat and trench coat on a chair, and fell into it himself. “How was the day?”

“Trying,” Fish said shortly. “Have you all eaten yet?”

“We were waiting for you,” Blanche said, getting up and pushing back a strand of black hair that had fallen from her bun. “Hungry?”

“Starving. Haven’t eaten all day,” Fish said.

“That was silly of you,” Rose chided him. “Mom said she offered you breakfast this morning.”

“I didn’t feel like eating until now,” Fish said, still brief. He seemed barely civil, so Rose, puzzled, let him alone.

He ate his meal in silence, refusing attempts to draw him into direct conversation. After dinner, Bear, Blanche, and Rose took up the Scrabble game they had begun before, but Fish picked up a book and sat in a corner chair reading. In a little while, Rose saw he had fallen asleep, but with a troubled expression on his face.

Though a bit concerned, Rose focused on the game. She was very close to beating Bear, who was an experienced player, and that was enough to absorb her for the rest of the evening. In the end, she won.

“Two out of two games,” she gloated as the three of them picked up the tiles and tossed them back into the bag.

“Rematch tomorrow night,” Bear reminded her. “Pride goeth before a fall, Miss Brier.” 

“I’m not prideful,” Rose protested. “Just pleased.”

Fish rose from his chair and stretched fitfully, rubbing his neck. His brown hair was more askew than usual.

“We’ll see what tomorrow’s game brings,” Bear winked at Blanche. “Fish, do you want to drive Rose home or should I?”

“I will,” Fish said abruptly.

“Sure you’re not too tired?”

“I’m fine. I need to get out.”

Rose hadn’t expected this, and put on her coat with a touch of too-familiar anticipation. Great, she thought mournfully. I’m falling for him again. If only I didn’t get so excited every time he does something for me.

She had expected him to be morosely silent in the car, but instead he was talkative, inquiring about how her day had been, asking about her studies, and even brought up some topics from his own classes, complaining about deconstruction in literature, something she had been spared in her own English classes at Mercy.

Rallying to the challenge, she entered into the repartee, wondering what was going on. But perhaps he had just regained his equilibrium.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said as he pulled in the driveway. “Will you be all right at home, alone?”

 

“Oh, definitely,” she assured him, getting out of the car. “Goodnight!”

He threw his car into gear. She noticed that he hadn’t said goodnight in return, and that his face was tense. Troubled, she watched him drive away.