CLAIRE FISHER'S APARTMENT
For Claire, the very sight of Stan
has sucked all air out of the room. Her chest tightens and a suddenly weak
hand reaches for the doorframe.
"Look," Stan says, eyes diving to
the carpet. He is clearly very uncomfortable having to do this. "I know
you probably believe I'm some terrible guy, especially if you've been talkin'
to Ryan. But I just--I need some help." He speaks with the tone of one
who has probably asked more than his share of favors in his time.
"W-what? What favor?" The words stagger
out of Claire's mouth, her only defense now. Hopefully he doesn't want
anything important -- but then why the hell is he here?
"It's about Ryan. He's been weird
lately. Since--I just moved to town, so I've been tryin' to see him--but
he's not lettin' me. Do you have any idea why?"
In a blinding flash, last New Year's
Eve is playing out right in front of her eyes all over again. Ryan's tortured
cries ... his sobs ... the shaking confession. That was the first time
she really remembered what Stan had done -- until then, it was always a
distorted image of Ryan blurred in with the rest of those sickening memories.
But ever since then, it's this face that has filled her nightmares, clear
as day and more sickening than anything else she has ever known.
"Claire!" His voice escalates just
slightly, but it is enough to rock her entire body with terror. She has
no idea how long she has been lost in thought but almost wishes she could
go back there, away from this reality.
"No," she stammers, not really sure
what she is saying it to -- maybe the whole situation. She feels Travis
by her side, half-hiding behind her as he looks at the strange man outside
their home. She wants to scoop him up and hold him as safely as she can
in her arms.
"Wait," Stan says, but it is too
late. She slams the door.
Her trembling fingers somehow manage
to get the locks done. She chokes back a sob as the encounter already begins
to replay itself in her head.
She waits for the pounding on the
door that she knows should be coming. By some miracle, it never starts.
Tempted though she is to look out the peephole to see if he is still there,
she can't. She can't risk seeing that face again.
She leads Travis into the bedroom,
willing herself not to cry. She has to play a game with him, or something.
Anything to bring her back into the world she knows, away from the nightmares
she has tried so long to banish.
***
Stan swallows the lump in his throat.
"What the hell was that all about?" he mutters to himself, casting another
glance at the closed door.
Something tells him not to pursue
it any further, at least not right now. That girl always has been bad news.
He can remember what a mess she made of Ryan's life that one summer Ryan
was living with him.
Still a damn good-looking gal,
he thinks with a shake of the head. Too bad she's such a damn headcase.
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