CHAPTER 6
LOLA
The smudge before me was driving me crazy. No matter how much elbow grease or product I rubbed into it, I couldn’t remove it. It shouldn’t have mattered because the rooms were old. Clean, but old. This smudge was defeating me, though, and it bothered me more than it should have. My OCD was somewhat contained these days, but my need for cleanliness and order was always prevalent. This smudge was like my own demons laughing at me, daring me to try harder when I was doomed to fail. I was being overly dramatic, but the depression that lingered over me like a heavy cloud made everything feel ten times worse than it actually was.
Throwing the rag down I stood and arched my back, turning to take in the rest of the clean room that now had a hint of citrus to the air. All the rooms had their own small imperfections, but they were loved and comfortable for the guests who stayed at this small resort.
General Norman Gillies and his wife, Pen-Chan, ran the Chiang Mai Village Guesthouse like a finely tuned instrument. It was small, comprising of just ten one-bedroom bungalows in a traditional Thai design being wooden structures with steepled roofs. The small resort also had a luxurious pool and beautiful tropical gardens.
Chiang Mai was a beautiful village in Thailand, and the Guesthouse sat on the outskirts of the bustling city, right along the Ping River. Chiang Mai didn’t have the hustle and bustle of bigger cities, like Bangkok. Instead, people came here to disconnect from the world, to relax and just stop. It was perfect. I should have felt different . . . if not happy, at least content. I wasn’t. I felt like I was constantly swimming upstream and struggling to keep my head above water. Some days I just wanted to stop, let my head go under for a while and rest, maybe even stay under and drown. The constant bombardment of negative emotions was exhausting. Yet for some reason, I battled on. I kept to my routine and continued to put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t have it in me to give up. When the world says, “Give up," hope whispers, “Try one more time." I think it was the Little Mermaid who offered that pearly piece of wisdom, and I liked it. It seemed I was always willing to give it one more try.
Housekeeping allowed me the isolation I preferred, while my generous host, Pen-Chan was a great listener with a penchant for natural healing and offered excellent advice that helped me keep my obsessive needs in check. She helped me work through some difficult times, and come out the other end if not completely intact, at least holding on. We often sat quietly together and meditated, and I’d lost count of the times Pen-Chan would hold me while I cried. Once my tears had dried, she would help me stand back up and we’d walk through the gardens. Her peaceful presence was soothing. Where Pen-Chan was my unlicensed therapist and natural healer, Norm was the strict head of house, with hard working ethics and a take-no-shit attitude which helped me stay focused on the task at hand, rather than losing my head to memories best left in the past. He created my routine which gave me the direction and ability to climb out of bed each day. On the days where life just felt too hard, he would drag Pen-Chan and me on a three-mile walk along the river to a secluded spot where I would follow him and his wife through a slow Tai Chi routine. It helped, they helped, and I had no idea how I would ever repay them for their kindness.
Giving up on the stubborn stain on the bathroom vanity, I stood tall, arching my aching back. The reflection from the mirror caught my attention, and I paused. Twelve months had changed me, and I wasn’t sure it was for the better. Things were different. I was different. My black hair had mostly grown out and faded. My natural strawberry blonde was pulled into a high ponytail. Pale, amber eyes were makeup free, a stark contrast to the goth look I had adopted back in Claymont. Milky white skin had picked up a soft bronze hue from the hours I spent outdoors, but nothing could hide the dark shadows that hung below my eyes. Sleep evaded me now, not because of nightmares, though I did still have them from time to time, but a chronic case of insomnia that Pen-Chan was determined we would fight naturally, with meditation, exercise, and yoga rather than medication. I understood and appreciated her no meds approach, but I wanted to sleep so badly that pills didn’t sound like such a dirty word anymore. Just one entire night, from dusk to dawn, would be a dream come true right about now.
Wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, I turned away from the broken woman who stared back at me and collected my basket of cleaning supplies. Locking the door of bungalow nine, I stepped down from the small porch and onto the pebbled path that crept though a thick, tropical garden. Taking a sharp turn off the main path, I took the less traveled route through the flora, spying the main house amongst the large trees. Made of teak wood, with an elegant peaked roof and large verandas, the main house was simply stunning.
Taking the steps two at a time, missing the odd numbered stairs, I reached the veranda which overlooked the entire resort. Sitting down on the stair, I kicked off my flip-flops and drew in a deep breath of air. My gaze took in the green foliage and beautiful bright flowers that drew the eye in almost every direction. It was the first week of February, and the Chiang Mai annual flower festival had officially kicked off yesterday. The two-week long celebration brought many tourists to the village, and the guesthouse was at full capacity. Later today, the streets would be full as a parade wound its way through town. I’d been told it was a spectacular sight that I couldn’t miss, and although I wasn’t comfortable in large crowds, Pen-Chan had convinced me to go with her. Glancing at my watch, I realized I was running a little late, so I stood and reached for the basket of cleaning products before entering the house.
This had been my home for twelve months now. I’d arrived a shell of a woman, numb, stripped raw, and aching. They say time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t. It merely covers them in band-aids that hide and dull the pain, but it never goes away, and life threatens to tear open the wounds that never truly heal. Maybe I wasn’t as broken as I was that cloudy day I arrived on the Gillies’ doorstep, but I would never be whole again.
The house was cool, considering how humid it was outside, and the hardwood floors felt good on my bare feet. Incense hung in the air, like a smoky scented candle, and the soft tinkle of wind chimes sounded like a constant lullaby, singing the sound of peace and tranquilly. I liked it here and I liked my job, but something was missing. It had taken me some time to figure it out. The sweet scent of blossoms from the garden reminded me of my job at Bouquets back in Claymont, which I missed, terribly. Pen-Chan and Norm were good for me, strong and gentle, the perfect combination, but I missed the friends I had made in that small town back in the U.S. And even though what we had was barely a friendship, I missed Drew. I missed his enormous, brooding form that would sit quietly with a newspaper and sip coffee, watching me like a silent sentry. His staring unnerved me to begin with, but after a time, I found peace in it. His eyes never looked upon me with anger or hate, but a gentleness that sometimes stole my breath. The way he cared for his terrier, Max, melted my heart. God, how I wanted that. A man who would protect and care for me, make me feel like I was their entire world. Such devotion would never be mine, though. I wasn’t sure I could ever stomach intimacy with a man.
Slipping the basket of cleaning supplies into a small closet, I grabbed an apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter and pushed away the thoughts which would eventually lead to me wallowing in self-pity and locked in my room. I was determined that today would be a good day.
“I’m home!” I called out.
Pen-Chan would normally call back from her sewing room, but instead, I was greeted with silence. Poking my head into the giant room filled with different fabrics, sewing machines, and a rack of finished garments, I found it empty. A small smile tilted my lips when I noticed the long, flowing skirt Pen-Chan had been working on for me. The fabric was silk in a turquoise that matched the color of the ocean. I glanced down at my cutoff denim shorts that fell to mid-thigh and the baggy shirt that almost swallowed me whole. If only the people of Claymont could see me now. There I had worn nothing but black skinny jeans and fitted black t-shirts in an attempt to disappear into the shadows and hide. Color was now a part of my wardrobe, but I made sure all my clothes were dowdy and unimpressive. Standing out in a crowd was not something I dressed to achieve, and yet Pen-Chan insisted on making me something that would cover me but at the same time look beautiful and feminine.
“Pen-Chan?” I called out.
She had told me she would be in the house all morning, and after the severe panic attacks I was struck with during my early days here, she never steered from her routine. I found a certain amount of comfort in knowing where she and Norm were at all times. Even though the panic attacks had subsided considerably, she always let me know where she was going to be, and if she wasn’t going to be around, she would call or leave a note.
Biting into the apple, I padded down the long hallway, my gaze taking in the large rooms I passed. They were all empty. I ducked my head around my own doorway and smiled. The room was enormous, almost the same size as my entire apartment back in Claymont. The massive windows allowed a breeze to blow through and turn my long, white curtains into dancing threads of fabric. I continued on to Norm and Pen-Chan’s bedroom. Perhaps she was getting ready for the parade. I knocked gently on the door.
“Pen-Chan, are you in there?” When there was no answer, I knocked again, harder. Maybe she was taking a shower. “I’m coming in, ready or not.” Waiting a moment to give her time to cover herself if she was in there and not decent, I gave the door a nudge. A breeze from their own wide open windows washed over my face, and I smiled at the fresh scent of vegetation and flowers. The door to the ensuite was wide open, and inside appeared empty.
A niggling sense of worry made my stomach churn. Maybe she was needed up at the guesthouse office and had to leave in a hurry. Maybe she left me a note. Leaving the empty bedroom, I padded back down the long hallway and checked the kitchen counter for a note. Nothing.
Turning for the front door, I decided to take a walk up to the front office. As I passed the small laundry room, something caught my eye. Pausing, I took a step back and tried to peer around the door that was partially closed. Taking a tentative step forward, I reached out and pushed it.
My heart thumped loudly in my chest, a haze of white descended over my vision, and I stumbled forward in disbelief. Adrenaline forced its way through my body, forcing my limbs to shake uncontrollably, and the apple in my hand slipped free and rolled across the floor. Before me lay both Norm and Pen-Chan, face down, their hands secured behind their backs and blood seeping from their heads onto the stark white laundry tiles. So much blood. My breathing quickly became ragged as I struggled to stay upright. I’d never been good with blood, but since that night when I had worn it like a morbid dress, I was even worse. Just a drop caused me to fight passing out, and right now there was a lot more than a drop.
“Norm?” I whispered, my foot sliding in the blood as I stepped closer. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, I whispered under my breath, fighting the rapid breathing. Catching myself on the laundry bench, my stunned gaze took in the horror, my eyes seeing it, but my mind not wanting to believe it. I was no expert, but it looked like they had been shot in the back of the head.
“No, no, no,” I chanted, backing away from the bodies, my feet leaving a bloody trail of footprints as I moved out of the laundry room. They’d been shot. Then the fear hit me hard and fast. Was their attacker still in the house?
“Lola?”
I screamed and spun at the same time, the new voice flooding my body with the fight or flight response. With my legs poised to leap into a run, a familiar figure standing on the veranda brought my world to a stuttering halt. “Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said before his face morphed into a frighteningly beautiful mask of terror. He drew a gun from somewhere under his shirt. “Duck!”
While I couldn’t comprehend or find reason in his command, my body obeyed. Dropping to all fours on the polished hardwood floor, a popping sound rang out followed by a grunt and stomping feet.
Suddenly, I was lifted from the ground, and I lashed out at whoever had me, kicking and screaming to get free.
“It’s me, Lola,” said Drew, releasing me, that beautiful, familiar face leaning close, concern causing a small furrow in his brow. “Run.”
A not so gentle push in the middle of my back got me moving, and I ran out the front doors and down the stairs, almost face planting into the dirt at the bottom. Drew’s big hand latched onto my arm and prevented me from eating dirt.
“This way,” he urged, pulling me away from the path that led to the front office and instead around the tall support beams under the Gillies’ home.
When I reached the other side of the house, I paused, but Drew’s persistent hand pushed me again.
“Where?” I wondered out loud. In front of us was nothing but thick gardens which led to the Ping River. We’d be trapped between the water and whoever we were running from.
“To the river.”
This was Drew’s world, rescue and retrieval. He was once military, from what little information I was able to garner from Rebecca, so his instincts in this situation were far superior to mine. So, I ran, trusting Drew would keep me from whoever was behind us.
“Who was that?” I asked, already feeling short of breath.
“No idea,” he answered, not even panting.
Leaves slapped my face and branches scratched my skin as I ran blindly through the gardens. When I burst out the other side and felt the heat of the sun hit my skin, Drew grabbed my elbow and steered me along an overgrown path that ran alongside the river. Eventually, we came to a small bridge, and Drew pulled me up the slight incline until we were standing on hot asphalt. He didn’t stop, though; he tugged me along the road and towards the crowds which grew thicker as we neared the center of town.
My breath came in rasping gasps, and my lungs no longer felt big enough. My thighs burned, and my head thumped in time with my too fast heartbeat. My bare feet felt raw, and sweat dripped down my back and face when Drew finally slowed us to a brisk walk. Casting him a quick glance, I noticed he was no longer holding his gun, but he was hyper aware, glancing back over his shoulder and all around, his gaze never staying in one place longer than a heartbeat.
“Shit,” I spat out as I kicked my toe on a curb, and Drew cursed before taking my elbow and pulling me in another direction.
Allowing Drew to lead me to wherever he had in mind allowed my jumbled thoughts to find order. Oh god, Norm and Pen-Chan were dead. Like a taut rubber band, reality slapped back and hit me with sharp focus. Blood, so much blood. Glancing down at my feet, I noticed the dried crusted residue wedged between my toes. My gaze frantically sought something, anything, to prevent the panic attack that was about to own me. A slapping noise caught my attention, and my gaze settled on the colorful flags that flapped in the breeze atop one of Chiang Mai’s most famous restaurants. There were twelve in total; I’d counted them before. One, two, three, four, five, six . . . The familiar process calmed my frayed nerves a little, and I would have continued to count from the last flag back to the first if Drew hadn’t dragged me into a dimly lit store.
My arm was still held in his firm grip as he guided me to a rack with rubber soled flip-flops. Glancing at my feet, he swore.
“Pick a pair.” And with that, he vanished down a narrow aisle.
I quickly found my size and grabbed the first pair from the front of the rack, red, like blood. Shoving them back into their place, I took the blue pair that sat beside them. Drew was back, and his hand wrapped around my upper arm as he guided me toward the checkout. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a wallet, and threw on the counter what looked the Thai equivalent of twenty US dollars then turned and dragged me back towards the front doors.
“Change, change,” the young Thai woman behind the counter called out.
“Keep it,” Drew answered in fluent Thai.
Once back out in the crowds, Drew guided me to a shadowed alcove and knelt before me, ripping open a small pack of wipes. “Foot up,” he ordered with a quiet voice, tapping his thigh.
Lifting my foot, I placed it on his sturdy knee and watched in morbid fascination as he gently wiped away the blood from both feet. Then he tore away the tag from the flip-flops and placed them on the ground so I could slip into them. He nodded with approval before those sharp, intelligent eyes were surveying the world around us once more.
“They’ll do.”
“We should go to the police. We need to tell someone what happened to Norm and Pen-Chan. We can’t just leave them there like that,” I rambled as Drew began hauling me out into the open.
“No police, not yet.”
The thought of Norm and Pen-Chan lying in a pool of their own blood made me feel ill. I didn’t want their bodies disrespected like that. I wanted someone to care for them like they’d cared for me.
“When?” I solemnly asked.
“Soon, I promise. Right now I need to get you to the safe house.”
I would have asked where, but it didn’t really matter. As long as it was safe.
Drew cast me a quick glance. “There’s a safe house in Bangkok, from there Dillon will get us on a flight home,” he said, as if hearing my thoughts.
“Home?” The word felt so foreign off my tongue.
“Claymont,” Drew clarified.
My heart lurched. As much as I missed the place, there were memories from there that tarnished the idea of going back.
“Be calm, Mouse,” Drew whispered, pulling me closer to his body as we sidestepped a young child running through the crowd.
“I can’t go back,” I gasped, my throat closed tight with emotion.
Going back meant facing the place I was raped, and it almost felt like I’d be walking right into the arms of a waiting monster. I knew I was being overly dramatic, yet again, but it was difficult to separate emotions.
Drew gave me another quick glance, those eyes that saw everything taking me in, observing every detail, searching for something. Finally, he nodded and resumed his quick pace.
“Let’s just get to Bangkok. We’ll do this one step at a time, Mouse.”