The Wall (12 page)

few minutes before.

Her eyes cleared, and she could see him, hair tousled and face hard

and the eyes so concerned that she nearly started to cry again, but

caught herself up in time. He asked softly, 'Better now?' and she

nodded a quick jerk of the head. 'Perhaps you can tell me about it,

then?'

The words tumbled out about the seven steps in the living room and

the creaky floorboard and that she didn't shut her bedroom door and

the tree roots that she stumbled over and the whole thing had started

when she couldn't sleep. Greg's face showed incomprehension.

'Sara, honey, maybe it's because I've just woken up, but I don't seem

to understand a word ...' He paused and his face whitened, and his

hand at her cheek slid to her collarbone to tighten convulsively,

making her wince. Then he was speaking in such a harsh voice that

she couldn't believe that it came from the same person. 'Someone

broke into your house? Tonight—just now? Someone was in your

house?' She nodded, and he seemed to hesitate, with a strangely sick

fear in his eyes. Then, 'Did he hurt you, Sara?'

She shook her head dumbly, sniffing a little. His dark eyes travelled

over her stained nightgown and bare legs, took in the bruised and

bleeding feet, the slender fingers nearly blue with cold, the trembling

lips. He then saw for the first time the crumpled dressing gown on the

floor and the small pair of shoes tumbled beside it. She saw his face

become expressionless, then realised that his eyes had turned nearly

black with a molten rage. He was nearly choking her and didn't seem

to realise it and she croaked, 'Please, your hand!'

She was loosened immediately, and Greg stood up in one lithe

upsurging motion. If she had thought he had looked dangerous before

tonight, she hadn't seen anything to compare with the murderous look

in his eyes and the taut, jerking line of his jaw muscle. His big hands

were clenched with the bones showing white and his body was held

like a weapon. When he turned on his heel and simply left the room,

she was left feeling nonplussed. Whatever she had expected from

him, it hadn't been that.

After a minute, she stood and followed him, wincing at the throb

from her bruised feet. Being alone in the den made her nervous. She

followed the hall to a stairway and uncertainly climbed the stairs. At

the top, she found a light streaming from an open door and,

approaching hesitantly, she saw Greg pulling jeans over brief

undershorts. His bare body looked very powerful, the chest muscles

and flat stomach gleaming in the yellow golden light thrown by the

bedside lamp. His face was like granite. After the jeans came a thick

pullover sweater, and he drew that on, shoulder muscles flexing. Sara

watched with a growing perplexity and fear. It didn't even occur to

her to be embarrassed by his naked body; she was too overwhelmed

with the problems of the moment to notice.

'What are you doing?' The question came out in a whisper, but he

heard and turned, his dark head moving in a neat swift movement.

'Getting dressed; what does it look like?' He was terse, angry. He was

angry with her. She crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive

gesture, her face flooding with unhappiness. The whole thing was

just such a nightmare. Greg crossed over to her and passed his hand

over her hair swiftly, his face gentling as he saw her distress. 'I'm

going to your house.'

'
No!
' she burst out, clutching his arms before he withdrew. 'You can't!

What if—what if he's still there?'

His dark eyes mocked her gently. He seemed almost calm. That was

why his words were so shocking to her. 'Then I think I might kill

him.'

The shock stayed with her until he had sat down on the edge of the

bed to pull on socks and shoes, and then she erupted in a wild babble

of incoherency. 'Greg, it's insane, you can't . . . you could get hurt,

killed—oh, please, promise me you won't go until tomorrow, no, you

mustn't leave me .. .' Then, as he bent to pick up his jacket, she cried

out,
'Greg, don't leave me here alone!'

That sank in. His head jerked and he stared at her with his eyes

widened, taking in her tangible fear, the shadows behind her, the

quiet house. He hesitated, then came over to her. 'You'd be all right

here with Beowulf. Nothing could happen to you.'

'What about you?' Her eyes searched his face. 'Please, if you go, then

I want to go, too. I—Greg, I can't stay here alone!'

'I know,' he soothed, then hesitated. 'I know. Come on, let's go get

your dressing gown and shoes. You're not going back barefoot.'

Sara didn't know whether to feel weak from relief that she wasn't

staying in a strange house alone or whether to feel sick from the fear

of going out into that dark night again. After she had slipped on her

shoes and dressing gown, he turned off the lights and put an arm

around her shoulders as he opened the door for them to go out on to

the porch. Beowulf slipped out of the door and then Greg was

locking it. All too soon they were back on the path that would take

them to Sara's house and, as if he knew just what she was feeling,

Greg put his arm around her, holding her firmly to his side. He didn't

let her go until they reached the end of the path, then he whispered in

her ear, 'Stay here a minute.' She barely had time for a nod before he

was slipping away, melting into the night like a shadow.

What would he find? What if he was attacked? She knelt and found a

thick stick by the path and was after him before she let her fear

conquer her. She came up behind him just as he reached the porch

and gently touched his arm. He whirled, incredibly fast, with arm up

and fist clenched, checking only when he saw it was her. He took in

her wary stance, and the stick in her hand before she felt a hand

plucking it wryly away. The moonlight was shining enough for her to

see his dark shape, bulky, strong, reassuring, in front of her. He was

hefting the stick thoughtfully. He kept it in one hand and held her

behind him with the other. In this way they crept to the dark rectangle

that was her front door. It looked so alien in the dark. She couldn't

have recognised it if she had been on her own.

A silent push of the foot had the door swinging gently open. She put

a hand over her mouth to stifle any noise she might make. Greg

pushed her against the outside wall and warned her with the hard

pressure of his hand to stay there. Then he crashed inside, flipping

the light switch by the side of the door and moving swiftly. There

was silence, and she couldn't stand it, so she came in too, her eyes

darting around the empty room.

Greg had disappeared and she followed him quickly down the hall to

the light shining from her bedroom. He was standing in the middle of

the floor, swinging the stick thoughtfully against his thigh as he

looked around at the wreckage of the room. He turned at the sound of

her footsteps. 'The light was left on, Sara, I'm sorry about the -'

Whatever else he said rushed away in the roaring that filled her ears

as she took in the ruined furniture, the clothes strewn about. A

reeking odour told her that her favourite bottle of perfume had been

smashed, and the sense of violation at this invasion of her privacy

was so intense that she swayed dizzily against the doorpost.

Greg was very quick. He was at her side in a split second, putting his

arms around her and supporting her, hiding the room from her gaze.

It was nice to be held and rocked so gently and easily. After a minute

she opened her eyes and stared into his dark intent gaze. He rubbed

her cheek. 'Okay now?'

'I think so. Sorry about being so stupid.' She was shaky when she

stood back from him, but he kept his arm around her waist until she

sat carefully on the bed.

His face crinkled into a smile. 'If you don't stop saying you're sorry, I

may get violent!'

Sara laughed shakily, appreciating his effort. 'Sorry.' He growled.

As she looked around, the mess all over the floor brought the same

fear back again, and her mouth shook when she saw her favourite

blouse thrown into the corner, ripped in two. When she looked back

at Greg, her eyes reflected her hurt and fear and vulnerability. 'Why?'

she whispered. 'Why me? Why would someone want to do this? I

don't understand it.' She bent and picked up a broken piece of

ceramic near her ankle. It had been a hand-painted vase, picked up in

Mexico along with the coffee mugs. She said a little forlornly, 'It was

my favourite piece, too.'

Greg knelt at her side and looked for the other pieces, finding four

altogether. He concentrated briefly and looked up with an

encouraging smile. 'Maybe we can glue them together again. See, it

didn't shatter, and the jagged edges fit together perfectly.'

Seeing him at her feet, eager to comfort and reassure after being so

intense and huge and violent, made her smile involuntarily. 'We'll

try.' His hand came up and gripped her a moment, then fell away as

he stood up briskly. A trip to her half open closet had him pulling out

a suitcase and dumping it on the bed. She watched, eyes huge in her

exhausted face. He started to pull out clothes that were still hanging

up, dumping them in the open suitcase. 'What are you doing?'

He grinned. 'Favourite question for the evening, is it? I'm packing for

you, sweet Sara-Sue. You're going to come home with me.'

She didn't feel guilt or embarrassment at this, perhaps because she

was so tired. Instead, she felt suffused with an intense relief. 'Oh,' she

sighed, 'can I?' It earned her a quick kiss on the forehead.

'Just try and stop it.' Greg looked around the room assessingly, and a

slightly puzzled expression puckered his eyes. 'How did you manage

to get out of the house, if you were all the way down at this end of

the hall, and the front and back doors at the other end of the house?'

She stood and went to the window, pulling back the curtains to show

him the unlatched side. 'I was lucky. There wasn't a screen on the

window, and I just slipped outside.' With a finger, she showed how

easily and silently it swung open, then she closed and latched it again

with a shudder.

Greg had watched her with a frown. 'Well,' he muttered, 'that's

something we can thank your landlord for, although normally I'd

chew him out for not properly covering the windows. Funny, isn't it?'

He ran an eye quickly down her, and she looked down at herself at

that. The dressing gown looked dirty, and the bedraggled nightdress

peeped out from underneath. 'You might like to put on jeans or

something until we get back. It looks like your nightgown has just

about had it for the night.'

She chuckled wryly. 'I see what you mean. It's so cold out, I'd

appreciate something warmer, anyway.'

He was walking towards the door and paused. 'How long do you

think it will take you to finish packing?'

Sara glanced at the mess he had made of things. 'Maybe fifteen

minutes?'

'I'm going to check out the rest of the house while you dress and

pack. Don't shut the door all the way, all right? Yell if you need

anything. I'll be just a call away.'

A call away. It sounded nice. She gave him a sweet smile before he

left, causing him to stop and stare at her with an unreadable

expression. She turned and, shivering slightly, twitched the curtains

closed, blocking out that black night. Alone, she quickly dragged on

a pair of jeans and a sweater. Rummaging around on the floor, she

managed to locate her brush, and a few flicks through her hair took

care of the tangles whipped in it from the wind. Then she set about

finding underwear and night-clothes that weren't saturated with

perfume, stuffing them into one side of the suitcase. She then

straightened the clothes that Greg had thrown in, adding the rest of

the undamaged things. After that, she walked down the hall in search

of her purse. It was where she had left it, in the hall cupboard at the

bottom, with the linen. Out of curiosity she rummaged through her

wallet with a puzzled frown. A step sounded behind her and she

jumped before realising that it was only Greg returning from the

garage. He surveyed her kneeling posture. 'Anything missing?'