Grape Soda

      Annette looked like an angel sitting in a windowsill on the third floor of her sprawling gothic mansion. Her pale sickly skin, long golden hair, and glacier eyes gave her a porcelain doll appearance. I could and did watch her for hours from my hiding spot behind the pink rose bushes that fenced in her lush green yard. Often, she stared out the window in a dreamy way. Sometimes her eyes would fall in my direction and my breath would catch in my throat forming a hard lump that I could barely manage to swallow. Sometimes she’d flip through a book and sometimes type on a tablet. She always wore beautiful silk and lace white gowns. I wore similar ones in secret to feel closer to her. I’ve never seen anything in this world as stunning as her.

           Sometimes, I’d imagine she knew I was hiding and waiting for the perfect moment to rescue her. I’d walk into the house and she’d throw her arms around me, holding me tightly and thanking me for finally coming to take her from this dreadful place. I’d imagine what it’d be like to feel her soft, pale lips on mine and I knew from the warmth, my cheeks were as bright as those pink roses as I thought about what could come next.

           People would find it disturbing I’d imagine someone in her state like this, but I didn’t believe she was sick. Her paleness likely came from lack of sun considering she never left the house, and that was the only thing about her that seemed sick. Her eyes always looked alert and hungry. Not the eyes of someone consumed by an agonizing illness. I believed the real sickness was her husband, Dalton Gibbs.

           Dalton seemed like a nice enough guy, but that’s always the case. If evil people wore a label on their foreheads, life would be much easier, but they don’t. An evil person can still be an executive director for a non-profit that helps homeless veterans. An evil person can still dedicate each Saturday night to cooking food at a soup kitchen. I see it all the time. My father, for instance. He was a regular church goer and town do-gooder. He still murdered my mom and left me an orphan. How one acts in a community says nothing about how they act behind closed doors.

           Those warning signs of control my mom neglected to see were obvious with Annette. She never left the house, and he’d only return to bicker with her. I never saw anyone talk to her. No one in town knew her. Like a doll she remained locked in that house until he wanted to play with her and that was all. Things were similar for my mom. No friends. No identity of her own.

           Luckily for Annette, no harm will ever come to her. Not with me keeping watch. I was immune to Dalton’s charm. The dark waves of black that were his hair didn’t weaken my knees the way they did for almost all the other women in town. The sparkle in his dark honey eyes didn’t enchant me. The boyish way he smiled and acted like every small gesture of kindness was as spectacular as fireworks wasn’t enough to fool me. I knew that poisonous snakes sometimes had beautiful patterns. Big, sweet-eyed slow lorises contain venom, and fluffy bears can easily eat a human. You need to always be careful of the wolf in sheep’s clothing as the saying goes.

           I left my hiding spot behind the fragrant roses before any neighbors called the cops again. A few days ago, someone even snapped a photo of me in order to shame me on social media. I’ve found a more secretive spot since then. I turned back and thought I saw Annette staring longing into my eyes. I blinked and she was looking in the other direction. I wandered to the local bar where I knew the pleasant burn of golden ale down my throat would help sooth my nerves so I could think straight and plan Annette’s rescue.

           To my surprise, Dalton was sitting on my usual bar stool. He was throwing back shots and giggling like a gossiping child over whatever the bartender was saying. The bartender looked proud of this, but a drunk audience is an easy audience. I sat next to Dalton despite almost every seat being empty and catch the tail end of him saying, "...thinks some girl is stalking me."

           “It looks like you’re having a good time. Mind if I join you?” I asked.

           “Sure, why not? I’m Dalton.” He extended his hand to shake mine.

           “Misty,” I said, but I couldn’t shake his hand because my body froze. I made the mistake of looking into those honey eyes and felt myself trapped in their sticky, sweetness. He was much more beautiful than I ever realized. I scolded myself. Don’t fall for it. You know better. Father was handsome too. They all are.

           “Pleasure to meet you. Can I buy you a drink?” His fingers fished through a bowl of mixed nuts carefully selecting almonds to pop in his mouth and avoiding the cashews and pecans.

           “Wouldn’t that bother your wife?” I pointed to the ring that glistened on his finger, to keep up the façade I knew nothing about them. It surprised me a little he didn’t know of me, but I don’t think he had social media and he may not be tuned into the town’s rumor mill.

           He cringed. “I’m just being polite.”

The bartender brings my usual without needing to ask.

           “Where is she?”

           “She’s ill.” He said it in a way that sounded like he didn’t believe it himself and twisted the ring around his finger.

           “I hope she feels better.”

           “She won’t ever,” he muttered. Then added, “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem curable.”

           I’m sure you won’t let her. I noticed the bartender watching us while drying a glass with a black towel. I imagined he was searching for a juicy bit of gossip to grab hold of. Annette was this town’s favorite topic. No one had ever met her. In a small little town where nothing ever happens, that kind of mystery is tortuously appealing. We all scavenged for clues like hungry, stray dogs.

           “It must be hard,” I said.

           “What?” He asked.

           “Having your wife so ill. It must be hard.”

           “Oh, yeah.” He turned towards me and I could see a shield of glistening water covered his mesmerizing eyes, but he sniffled it back and smiled in an exasperated way.

           My hand hovered over his shoulder. A part of me wanted to offer him comfort. Needing to seal my heart from him, I reminded myself of all the times I’d hear them yelling and screaming at each other. I tried to make out the details but couldn’t. He’d storm off and slam the door, and she’d stare blankly out the window. Who could yell at someone so sick? I pulled my hand away.

           “So, tell me more about yourself,” he said with eyes now filled with curiosity. He rested his chin on his fist, and his elbow on the bar.

           “I…I don’t know what to say.” No one asked me about myself. I haunted this town with the invisibility of a ghost. Except for that handful of times his neighbors called the police on me for spying. I couldn’t tell him who I was. I am your wife’s stalker. I’m the one who wants to tear your whole world apart and save your victim. Or maybe I’d save you too since you clearly don’t seem to care that much about her.

           “What do you like to do?”

           “Create stories.”

           “A writer?”

           “I’m not successful though. I make these stupid animated videos. No one likes them.”

           “Can I see one?”

           “Fine, but you’ll hate it.”

           He grinned. “You won’t know if you don’t show me.”

           I pulled out my phone and find one of the videos. It’s a short animation about a bumbling idiot breaking into a castle to save a princess in a tower. She’s been locked away by an evil prince, and I wondered if he’d see the resemblance. He laughed with pure delight at all my hidden jokes. No one ever gets my sense of humor.

           “You’ve got quite an imagination,” he said. “I like it. It’s cute.”

           In the video, the idiot cuts off the prince’s head. Uncertainty tingled through my body. I knew I couldn’t cut off his head. Talking to him weakened me. “Thanks.”

           “Oh, I love this song!” His head fell back, and his eyes closed for a moment. Then he snapped back to attention. “You want to dance?”

           Absolutely not! You’re my sworn enemy. You’re an evil, terrible man. “What would people think?”

           He sighed. “I’ve definitely had enough of worrying about that. If people don’t like something, maybe they should look away.”

           With that he jumped to his feet. He danced alone with such a confidence you’d think the room was empty. My cheeks flushed red hot in embarrassment for him because he was a terrible dancer. In a way it looked more like he was convulsing. He’d kick his feet around, jump in circles, and flail his arms aimlessly in the air. An elderly couple joined him to slow motion shuffle by his side, and he enthusiastically embraced their company. Sweat glossed his skin and a thin mustache of perspiration built on his upper lip. He rolled the sleeves of his white button-up shirt up and loosened his tie. Then tripped over a stool but caught himself before he could hit the food stained floor.

There was a sense of peace about him, I envied. Deep within me I felt a magnetic pull to convulse with him under the rainbow of lights. With it, my heart softened towards him. I scolded myself again. My weak heart always softened for my father and look what kind of man he was. Dalton doesn’t deserve this peace. Classic books often warn you about these men who lock their wives up in the house, cry that they’re mentally ill when they’re not, and present themselves as appealing to younger, new women. Under my watch, he wouldn’t get to be the man that makes passionate love to some other woman in his house while his wife wailed in agony in the next room. I’d protect her.

           I’ll save her. Right now. I’ll save them both. He doesn’t want her. It’s like he wants me to steal her away. Maybe he’ll be grateful to me for giving him an excuse to move on to someone prettier, not that that exists, and more doting. 

           I vanished into the night. I walked the path to their house. This path I have walked so many times I could do it blindfolded. I took a deep breath, puffed up my chest, and flung the door open. I have imagined this moment a million times in my head, and knew I was enacting it flawlessly.

           “I’ve come to save you!” I yelled. I didn’t have a sword in hand, but I imagined one because it felt cooler. I held up my hand with my invisible sword clutched tightly. I imagined a shield held securely in the other.

           “What’re you doing in my house?” She asked as she walked over to me.

           “I’ve come to save you.”

           “Are you drunk?”

           “Maybe a little, but that’s not the point. You need help and Dalton isn’t fit for the job.”

           “He’s tired of taking care of me,” she admitted. “Did he send you? Why are you holding your arm up like that?”

           Embarrassed, I pulled my arms down to my sides. Unfortunately, I did it a bit too stiffly and looked like I was imitating a soldier prepared for orders.

           “I think he’s quite drunk.” I said.

           She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Of course, he is. Do you need help getting him in here?”

           “He’s still at the bar.”

           “Should I call a cab?”

           “This isn’t about him. I’ve come to help you.”

           She put a hand to her forehead. “I need to lie down. Can you bring me my medicine? It’s in the kitchen. In the refrigerator.”

           “Of course. I’d do anything for you.”

           She gave me a confused look and wandered into her bedroom. I could hear her saying, “I can’t believe he sent some stranger to our house to give me my medicine. He’s really lost his mind. He remembered I needed it though, and that’s a good sign, right?”

           I can’t believe she thinks this is him. My grand rescue has been turned into his thoughtfulness. I looked in the refrigerator and saw a row of bottles filled with purple liquid. Each had a label that read: Medicine. They didn’t have a doctor’s name, a drug name, instructions, or any of the things medicine normally had. I opened one, which fizzed up, and smelled it. It smelled like candy grape. Odd. As suspicion crept through my veins, I took a small sip. It tasted like grape soda. I couldn’t taste a hint of anything medicinal. I brought the bottle into her room.

           “I don’t think is from a doctor.”

           She shrugged. “I have to make my own. I’ve been to so many doctors and they never know how to help me. I’ve given up. They all tell me I’m healthy when I know I’m not.”

           “It tastes like grape soda.”

           “You didn’t drink it did you? It’s incredibly dangerous to try someone else’s medicine.” 

           “No, I didn’t. I meant it smells like grape soda.” I lied.

           “Oh, good. I make it that way to help me.” She looked tense. She had her hands behind her back like she was hiding something from me.

           “I saw him buying some woman a drink, you know.”

           She narrowed her eyes. “Did he?”

           “She was showing him some silly video.”

           “Oh, I bet he loved that. Was she pretty?”

           “No, not as pretty as you.” Every movement I made; she adjusted her position to hide whatever was behind her back.

           “Of course not! But Dalton doesn’t care about beauty. It’s annoying really. Everyone told me being beautiful was all I needed, but it’s not all he needs. I think he might leave me.” Her eyes were alert and fixated on me. Her lip trembled slightly. Is she afraid?  

           “I doubt it’ll go that far. Besides, why stay with a guy who locks you away like this?”

           She laughed nervously. “He doesn’t lock me away. He’d do anything for me to leave this house. He’s always begging me to go outside. Saying fresh air will help me. What can fresh air possibly do?”

           Probably more than grape soda. “Why can’t you go outside?”

           “It’s terrible out there. All bad people, polluted air, germs galore. I’m perfectly content in here. But Dalton is a social butterfly. He loves people. He loves being out there. He tried to leave me before.”

           “What happened?” The lights felt too bright and my eyes squinted. I sat on her bed. My head felt airy and I wondered if I drunk too much. I thought I only had a beer.

           “I got sick. I needed him and he couldn’t leave me. I thought I’d make him love me again. I tried, but I’ve never been what he wants. A sweet, wholesome girl. I’ve always thought if he found her, that’d be the end. Did he dance with her?”

           He wanted to. “No. I don’t think it was anything to worry about.”

           “He’s tired of taking care of me. Thinks I should see a psychiatrist. He probably sent you to trick me into making a friend and seeing people are okay. I bet you’re here to lure me from the house.”

           “Is it working?”

           “He has poor taste. Probably thinks you’re nice. Maybe you are. I don’t care for niceness.”

           “What do you care for?”

           “Please, give me the medicine. I feel so unwell.”

           “What’s it made out of?” A sharp pain tore at my stomach. The room felt hot. My vision blurred.

           “You promise you didn’t drink any right?”

           “Yes, I’d never do that.”

           “I’ll tell you a secret, but you need to promise not to tell him.” She looked more relaxed. Her arms dropped to her sides and I noticed a knife in her right hand, and a cell phone in the other. Did she think I’d hurt her? Why would I hurt her?

           “I don’t even like him.” I lied. “I’m on your side, here.”

           “It’s what makes me sick.”

           “What?”

           “He won’t leave me if I’m sick. He’s too good a person.”

           “You’re making yourself sick?”

           “Yes. I’ve really built up a tolerance over the years, so that bottle is strong. It could probably kill you, but you didn’t drink it, right?”

           “Can you call an ambulance? I didn’t drink it, but maybe what you have is contagious.”

           She grinned mischievously. “I would, but I can’t let him know what’s in that bottle. If you drank it, I’ll have to kill you. You’ll die anyway.”

           “Please, don’t. I can keep a secret.”

.          “If I kill you, do you think he’d report it or cover it up for me? It’s an easy cover up. Everyone knows what a creep you are watching us all the time. Who wouldn’t be scared in my place? In fact, I was ready to defend myself.”

           She did notice me.

           “Please call for help.” I fell back on her bed, unable to sit up. I grabbed at my throat with my hands as it burned.

“This is perfect. If he covered up a murder for me, he’d never leave me then. How could he? Maybe I could even heal.”

“He’d never love you either.”

“Oh, I’m sure he already doesn’t.”  

           I picked the wrong person to save.