Angels Fall

wander over and see her if he wanted.
    He hadn't yet lowered himself to trying her cell phone, like some pussy-whipped idiot who couldn't be away from a woman for a day without dialing her number. Without hearing her voice. He'd just go to Joanie's for a while, hang out, maybe have a beer. And keep an eye out for her car. Casually.
    Nobody had to know about it.
    He spotted her car in its habitual place, and figured his luck was in. He'd just go on up, tell her he'd had to run into town for… what? For bread.

    Did he have bread at home? He couldn't remember. Bread would be his story, and he'd stick to it. He wanted to see her, to smell her. He wanted his hands on her. But she didn't have to know he'd been pacing around his cabin like a lost puppy for the last hour.
    He was playing games, he realized as he parked. Making up excuses to come into town and see her. And.  that  made him feel like that pussy-whipped idiot.
    Best way to offset that, in his opinion, was to be annoyed with her. Because it felt better, he had a scowl on his face as he went up her steps and banged with some impatience on her door.
    "It's Brody." he called out. "Open up."
    It took her so long to answer, the scowl had turned into knitted brow concern.
    "Brody, sorry. I was lying down. I have a headache."
    He tried the knob, found it still locked. "Open the door."
    "Really, it's moving into migraine territory. I'm just going to sleep it off. I'll call you tomorrow." He didn't like the sound of her voice. "Open the door, Reece."
    "Fine, fine, fine." The lock turned, and she yanked open the door. "Do you have trouble understanding the language we speak here? I have a headache; I don't want company. I certainly don't feel like heating up the sheets."
    He let it roll off him because she was pale as wax. "You're not one of those women who get weirded out if they get a bad haircut?"
    "Of course I am. I, however, have a great haircut. An outstanding haircut. To get it involved a very long day and some considerable stress. Now I'm tired, and I want you to go away so I can he down." His gaze tracked over, passed over the bags sitting on the counter. "How long have you been back?"
    "I don't know. Jesus. Maybe an hour."
    Headache, his ass. He knew her well enough by now to be sure she-could have severed a limb and she'd still have put her groceries away the minute she walked in the door.
    "What happened?"
    "God, would you back  off  ? I fucked you, okay, and it was great. The angels cried buckets. We'll do it again real soon. But that doesn't mean I'm not entitled to some goddamn privacy."
    "All true," he said in mild tones to contrast to her furious ones. "And I'll give you plenty of privacy as soon as you tell me what the hell's going on. What the hell did you do to your hands?" He grabbed one, terrified for a moment it was blood smearing her fingers and palms. "What the hell? Is  this ink?"
    She started to weep, silently. He'd never seen anything more wrenching than the tears simply raining down her cheeks while she made no sound at all.
    "For Christ's sake. Reece, what is it?"
    "I can't get it off. I can't get it off, and I don't remember doing it. I don't remember, and it won't come off."
    She covered her face with her smeared hands. She didn't resist when he picked her up and carried her to the bed to rock her in his arms.

Chapter 17

    PORTIONS OF the walls and the floor were smeared where she'd gone at them, Brody could see, with the wet towel now heaped in the tub. He imagined the towel was toast, which would upset her when she was calm enough to think about it.
    She'd torn the sketch off the mirror, leaving ragged triangles of paper and tape behind, and had balled it up, tossed it in the wastebasket beside the sink.
    He could visualize how it must have been for her, frantically grabbing the towel off the rod, dumping it into the sink to soak. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing while the water dripped and sloshed and her breath came out in gasps and sobs.
    And still the message was clear a dozen times over.
    IS THIS ME?
    "I don't remember doing it."
    He didn't turn to where she stood behind him, but continued to study the walls. "Where's the red marker?"
    "I… I don't know. I must have put it back." Fogged from the headache and tears, she crossed back into the kitchen, opened a drawer
    "It's not here." On another spurt of desperation, she pawed through the drawer, then yanked open another, another.
    "Stop it."
    "It's not here. I must have taken