IMPORTANT: I did post this before, but removed it for several reasons. Now I've patched and added some things, and it's back. Enjoy!

CHAPTER NINE

Thriller Night?

They're out to get you, there's demons closing in on every side
They will possess you unless you change that number on your dial
Now is the time for you and I to cuddle close together, yeah
All through the night I'll save you from the terror on the screen
I'll make you see

-"Thriller", Michael Jackson

“Dad!” Dan barked into the phone. “You’re putting me in a difficult position. If you’re not willing to cooperate, then I’ll have to get a lawyer to obtain power of attorney.”

“Go ahead, Son, and I’ll tell your friend Brian that it’s OK to share what he knows about you and a certain young woman.”

Dan’s pencil plopped onto his desk just as the doorbell rang. He could hear Ryan opening the door and a chorus of children singing, “Trick or Treeeat”. Trick, indeed. Oliver was pulling more strings, but he guessed he partially deserved it for what he’d done to Rebekah last night. He’d become too much like his father, trying to reel Rose in with comments about his mother and not even realizing it until she’d shoved the truth in his face.

Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he said. “Empty threats, Dad.”

“Do you want to take that chance?”

“Her mother already knows. Besides, nothing significant happened, and his coming forward two years after the fact wouldn’t likely matter.”

“I can make it matter.”

“Why would you do that? What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I just want you to read me loud and clear, Son. Your mother stays with me.”

Click.

He lowered the phone, holding it so tightly that his hand began to throb. With curse words pouring all over his desk, he threw the receiver and shoved a folder full of papers onto the floor. Why was his father such a controlling, demeaning, untrustworthy, manipulative son of a…

He rolled back and stood, feeling the dampness on the back of his neck as he stalked toward the picture window. Across the street, a jack-o-lantern’s glowing smile greeted a pink-gowned fairy princess in search of high-calorie fare that would rot her teeth, weaken her immunity, and possibly broaden her hips if she wasn’t careful. But unfortunately, to children, sweets are worth every ounce of the risks they incur.

His father’s behavior fit right in with this disgusting “holiday”. In fact, Oliver’s parenting philosophy could be summed up with that one phrase: Trick or Treat. Obey his every command and receive “blessings” beyond measure. Choose your own path and the joke’s on you.

The pink princess with the dark glossy hair made her way back down the driveway with her treat bag weighing a few ounces heavier, as if she needed that sugar-laden poison. Why were parents so prone to poisoning their kids, sometimes with a full realization of what they were doing? Dan’s children would go trick or treating over his dead body- if he ever became blessed enough to raise his own, and he’d keep the poor tykes as far away from Grandpa’s tricks as possible.

He leaned forward, creating a circle of window fog with his breath, and then glowered over his shoulder at the computer. Last time he’d checked, Rose still hadn’t returned his email.

God, I’m trying here. Has she even read my letter, or is she completely ignoring me?

His cell phone rang. A “ghost” waved at him as he mounted the front hill, and a few seconds later the doorbell sounded again. His phone whined a second time. If Allie’s song had been playing, he’d answer. If Rose’s song had been playing, he’d answer. But the straight ring told him that no one of significant interest was currently seeking his attention.

Maybe he’d be better off to go stick his head in the dog’s mouth next door.

He began rubbing his forehead, the image of a white-robed Christ shining in his closed lids, and a still, small voice reaching through stars and nebulas, passing peacefully into the earth’s atmosphere and floating down through the trees and the rooftop to fill his soul.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you…thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

God was in control. God would pull everything together exactly as He planned. God was in control.

And what if that means you’ll lose everyone you’re fighting for? What if His plans are too drastically different from your own? What if you wind up with nothing but a cracked heart, beating in the palm of your hand?

What if his father continued to spiral into a dark and lonely eternity, while his mother endured a mental hell and Allie starved herself into oblivion? What if Rose…what if she carried this chip on her shoulder for the rest of her life? What if that chip grew into something she could no longer contain?

They’d nearly destroyed one another. So much for love.

Yes, he could feel his entire life reeling into some sort of tragic conclusion, just like in one of those Shakespeare plays with the God forsaken endings, and no matter how many steps he took to protect himself and his loved ones, the Red Death would find them all sooner or later.

The jingling sound in his iPhone pouch nearly sent his pounding heart into an arrhythmia, and he punched the window as he snatched out the device and frowned at the number on the screen. The “5547” seemed familiar, so he pressed a few buttons and began pacing in circles until the robotic female voice proclaimed that he had “one unheard message.”

I know it, Dimwit, now get on with it.

“Hi, Mr. Fields, it’s Alice.”

Rubbing his whiskers, he seated himself on the edge of the desk. Either Alice was still pissed because of his confrontation with Rose, or she was frightened. Either way, her voice continued to waver as she prattled on.

“Listen...Bekah hasn’t said a word to me about last night. As a matter of fact, when I stopped by the restaurant after work, she wouldn’t even talk to me, so I get the feeling she’s put the pieces together. I don’t know. I’m not sure what to do, but…Don’t give up, OK? I think you really got to her. I mean, really…this morning she looked like she’d been up all night and her place was trashed.”

He heard a car horn honk in the background, and then Alice speedily ejected, “Hey, I’ve got to go now…Talk to you later.”

He pressed the “end call” button and took a breath that seemed to exacerbate the heaviness in his chest. What he should have been doing was contacting his lawyer or driving back to Indiana. Allison hadn’t sounded good earlier, and his mother desperately needed all the support she could get. He couldn’t stay in Columbus for a girl who wanted nothing to do with him, but neither could he just leave her hanging again. Leave her hanging and he’d lose her forever, including any hope of a friendship. If he couldn’t bring his mother and Allison home, then it only stood to reason that…

He cocked his jaw and stared out the window as though his thoughts had manifested in the form of an angel. His idea was ridiculous, to say the least, and it would probably never happen.

But maybe he could make it happen.

“Hey, Mate, sink’s all fixed.”

The phone slid out of his hands, but he managed to snatch it as he popped off of the desk and turned to the Aussie standing in the doorway. The taller man had barely changed in appearance since the last time they’d seen one another- at the bowling alley, almost two years ago. Still carrying that constant mirth in his eyes, he gestured at the paper-cluttered desk and the receiver that sat upside down beneath the computer screen.

“Troubles with your landline, too?”

Dan pocketed the iPhone and shook his head. “No…no, it’s fine.”

“Good thing, because that’s not my expertise. Neither are sink’s, actually.”

Dan had been reaching for his wallet to pay the jovial plumber, but stopped to send him a lingering frown. Richard stepped forward a few feet with a completely straight face as he scratched the back of his neck. Finally a toothy grin appeared, and he released a burst of laughter. “Obviously I’m only joking, eh?”

Of course. Of course he was only teasing, but right now Dan wasn’t in the mood for it, he guessed. He asked for the invoice as he opened his wallet and bristled when the other man asked, “How is your sister, by the way?”

He pulled out a wad of bills and smirked. “How much do I owe you, Richard?”

Now sending Dan a frown of his own, he ran his hand through his sweaty, blond hair and heaved a sigh. “Hey, Mate, I’m only concerned.” He extended a clipboard he’d been holding at his side. “Only concerned…”

OOOO

It was almost seven o'clock when he pulled into the Rose Garden lot, and the pink and gold hues that lit the western sky looked like heaven pushing back a blanket of night. He sat on his motorbike watching until the darkness began to win the contest and more hungry patrons pulled into the lot. Seemed these people just couldn't stop treating themselves tonight. And neither could he- treating himself to more and more punishment, that is. After sparring with his father, he’d briefly sparred with that “poor, concerned, Aussie Plumber,” and now he was about to spar with Rose, because she would undoubtedly have kicked up her defenses, and the fact that she hadn’t returned his email was proof of that.

He removed his helmet as he dismounted, the sound of his zipper lowering muffled by a nearby car that was struggling to ignite, and then he strode toward the entrance.

A slamming door was quickly followed by, “I can’t believe this is happening!"

Stopping about three feet from the building, he turned to face the lot. The redheaded woman he'd seen here the other night kicked the front of a white convertible, spun around with her arms folded and froze just behind one the hay bails that lined the walkway.

"Are you ok?" he asked and hoped she’d say yes, because getting to Rose was becoming more urgent. At least emotionally urgent, not that emotion counted for much.

The woman nodded. "Car won't start."

He resisted the urge to glance at his watch. "Do you have Triple A?"

"Maybe.”

Maybe? What the hell kind of answer was that? He was only trying to help, but he guessed Rebekah’s attitude must have rubbed off on this poor, unsuspecting lady.

“Just trying to help.”

“I know…I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s dark and…” Rubbing her arms, she stepped back and gazed into the restaurant light with wide, yearning eyes.

He glanced inside, catching a glimpse of Kaye as she carried a tray full of garbage to one of the tables, and then back at the redhead. Trying to fish her name out of his knotted brain would take all night.

Well, now what? She was just standing there like she expected him to do something.

Though he’d studied the basics of car engineering, he’d never actually had any hands-on experience, so he couldn’t even offer to help her beyond calling Triple A on her behalf.

“I have a Triple A card, if you’d like-“

“No,” she snapped and shoved her hand into her sweater pocket. As she did so, the material stretched to reveal two shirt collars beneath the cardigan- a white one neatly curved above a red one. Her dress rippled as her heels clicked onto the asphalt. Strangely, she seated herself inside the car and a curtain of light that lent a golden hue to her reddish spirals, slammed the door and gripped the steering wheel as she peered in his direction. What was she expecting him to do? Why was she staring at him like that?

Maybe she was hoping he’d get lost, so he shook his head and opened the door, but as the scent of pumpkin pie hit him and the old Monster Mash tune rattled his eardrums, he leaned over to peek through one of the windows. She still seemed to be sitting inside that broken convertible. Was she OK? Was there some underlying reason for her strange behavior, or was she always like this? How would someone with such anti-social skills ever manage to land a job in a restaurant? She hadn’t seemed this strange last night.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

The voice yanked him back inside, but when he reeled around he found himself facing the costumed children downing burgers and fries at the counter. His eyes bounced off of the floor and the welcome rug and then up to the Indian woman standing before him with some menus pressed to the side of her chest. Which stood out rather nicely in the tan leather dress that seemed a little too short to resemble the Native American dresses of old. The slit sides angled upward, revealing enough of Rose’s smooth, shiny, and quite muscular legs to raise his temperature through the roof, and he especially liked the way the fringed leggings concealed just enough of her calves to keep him guessing. The band around her waist was the stem of her hourglass figure, and her dark, short hair had somehow managed to be forced into two braids. Black make-up outlined her wide, brown eyes, and she licked her glossy lips as she gave him a once-over. Then a twice-over.

He smiled. He’d managed to hit something inside of her. Possibly with his letter, and possibly with his black leather. His flannel shirt and jeans had been too casual, but this “costume” appealed to the tough girl.

And he was feeling pretty tough, himself. Like picking her up and carrying her to his bike and demanding that she spend some time with him, because she knew she wanted to, anyway.

Even as he indulged in another glance at her legs, he berated himself.

Down, Boy, you’re not close enough for that yet.

She set her jaw and raised her chin, but her eyes slid back to his outfit once more as she asked, “Are you here to eat or to stare at me all night?”

He pocketed his hands, smirking at the ornery retorts that flooded his mind and knowing that right now the Rose was feeling quite vulnerable. Perfect chance to strike.

“How about a ride? I brought an extra helmet.”

She rolled her eyes but the twinge at the corner of her mouth betrayed her desire to smile, and she pointed the menus toward the heart of the restaurant. “I’m working, Fields. Again, I might add.”

“For another hour.” He checked his watch. “I already know your typical schedule.”

“I can’t imagine how you got it,” she drawled, and her lighthearted retort was quickly followed by a scowl.

Damn.

Careful. This was like mixing baking soda and vinegar. Do it too quickly and the mix would bubble all over the place. Do it slowly and carefully and the powder would fizz a bit as it dissolved into the acid.

“I’ll be waiting, Rose.” Even if I wind up sleeping on the damn floor.

She followed his finger as he swung it in the direction of the bench beneath the side windows. There her gaze lingered as he asked, “Please don’t run off this time, OK?”

She settled one of her hands on one of her very nicely rounded hips and gave him the same type of look Allie usually gave him when he’d been prying into her business.

“Why do you keep showing up while I’m working?”

“Because…here you can’t run. Not too far, anyway.” And showing up at her house might have chased her away completely. Too much too soon. Just as it would be too much too soon if he reached over to caress that bare, left shoulder of hers. Seriously, if she wanted nothing to do with men, why was she dressed like this tonight? He imagined every young man in the building wound up with their tongues stuck to the floor as she delivered their orders, and he’d like nothing more than to sever the strongest muscle in their bodies. And the weakest one, too.

“I’m going back to work. Sit here and wait all you want,” she announced rather smugly and tipped her nose in the air as she waltzed away.

Dan smiled again, forcing his eyes not to wander where they shouldn’t. He hadn’t expected to turn into a drooling animal upon seeing her tonight, nor had he expected to feel so territorial. He didn’t have any right to feel that way, but he definitely had a right to pursue his feelings…and her feelings, which became more evident as she peeked at him from behind the soda fountain, and then again as she delivered some drinks to a nearby table.

Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” picked up where Monster Mash ended, and he could only hope he’d have some thrills of his own tonight. His stomach felt like he’d eaten one of the sloppy cheeseburgers other patrons were struggling to hold together as they brought them to their lips, and he sat down on the bench beneath the window as promised.

Rose was cracking, he decided when she stared at him over her order pad and shoved one of her braids behind her ear. She must have read the letter. His outfit might have gotten her juices flowing, but the letter would have prepped her heart for his second return. But again he could only hope.

Only hope he wasn’t dreaming.

OOOO

Bekah was sure she’d have to run and toss her cookies again. Her face felt hot and her insides were shaking and pounding like some poor, little mouse who’d been cornered by a cat. Dan was the cat and she was the mouse, trying to pretend she wasn’t what she really was.

She glanced at him again as she hurried away from the fountain area with a pitcher full of Coke. He looked freaking hot in that leather, and he knew it. And to make matters worse, she’d stupidly peeked at his letter before completely deleting the damn thing, and now she wouldn’t be able to wipe the few lines she’d seen out of her mind forever. Even worse than all of that was that she’d-

She lunged forward, the toe of her black shoe dragging on the carpet, and stared in horror as the pitcher went sailing off of her tray and showered the old man sitting at booth eight with ice and caramel-colored liquid. Gasping, she gripped the edge of the table to keep from hitting the floor along with the tray, and her customer closed his eyes as the entire building seemed to fall silent. Except for Michael Jackson’s repeated warning of The Thriller.

The whole thing seemed to have happened just like in those cheesy movie scenes where everything is played in slow-motion. Her heart must have been beating in slow-motion, because she could barely detect it, and every ounce of air seemed to have been sucked through the roof. Finally, she dragged some oxygen into her lungs, and the Coke-covered man began to blot his face with a napkin.

“I’m…I’m sorry.” Panting, she handed him the clean towel she’d slung over her shoulder.

“I don’t need a dirty towel,” he growled and tossed it to the other seat.

“It’s not dirty!” She retrieved it and dangled it over the table, but he scolded her with cool, blue eyes and snapped, “It’s dirty now, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“Rebekah, what happened?”

She turned around as her mother handed a stack of napkins to the gray-haired grouch who was cussing and fuming over the “nitwits restaurants hire these days,” and she felt like belting the jerk with a sharp uppercut. Or maybe a roundhouse kick to the stomach. Or maybe-

“Rebekah, come here.” Kaye’s cold hand wrapped hers, and the two of them shuffled a few feet from the table. “You’re going home early,” her mother announced as Bekah nearly ran into her from the suddenness of the stop.

“What? What, just because I-?”

“Because you’ve been shaky and listless all day, and now this!”

“What are you talking about, shaky and listless?”

“Well let’s see.” She twisted her lips and tapped her chin and studied the stupid costume she’d forced Bekah to wear. “You didn’t fight with me about the outfit. Definitely listless.”

“Why waste energy on something this dumb?”

“You’d normally fight.”

“Not necessarily!”

“Yes, YOU would fight! I know my daughter! Now go get something to eat and relax, OK?”

“But-“

The Mommy scowl sent laser beams into her soul. Or at least Kaye probably hoped that was the case.

Watching as Mommy Dear hurried back to the old grouch, she felt a tap on her shoulder. OH no…

She swallowed. Not now. No, no.

“Rose?”

“Dan…”

Warmth enveloped her bicep as he gently pulled around to face him. She evaded his gaze, shaking her head in quick, little bursts that did nothing to discourage the stubborn man. He tugged one of her braids and bent as hungry eyes devoured the whole scene like it was the best soap-opera they’d ever witnessed. But what could one expect from tween girls dressed as female Vampires?

“Come on, Rose,” he pleaded in such a husky voice that her stomach actually trembled. She raised her hand, only to have him squeeze it- and her other one, too, as he bent further to finally catch her eye. Those adorable lines appeared above the bridge of his nose as he studied her, and she could feel his pulse pounding in the palms of her hands. This was too soon, didn’t he understand that? Too soon to come back and flirt, too soon to come begging for a ride, and if he’d just stayed away, she probably wouldn’t have dumped Coke all over that poor, old man.

“Your mom’s right,” Dan whispered. “You’re shaking like hell, and I hope it’s not my fault.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn't." She tugged the feather dangling from her waist band and wished she hadn't said a word.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…me too.”

“Come with me.” He tugged her hands so that she was forced to step forward a few inches. “One ride, Rose. Just one ride, and then…”

She guessed he’d been ready to say that he’d leave her alone after that, but one glance at his tense frown and bobbing Adam’s apple and she knew he wouldn’t say what he was thinking. He couldn’t keep that promise- that he’d leave her alone, so why say it?

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said in such a choppy, shaky voice that she wanted to just shoot herself and get it over with. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, but she just couldn’t muster the strength to free her hands and march away from him forever.

“But I did come, and…”

She could see her mother staring at them as she crossed back toward the kitchen, but didn’t look close enough to make out her expression. What, were these two plotting behind her back, or something? Dan shows up, so Mom dismisses her so that she wouldn’t have an excuse to buck him?

He cupped his hand under her jaw, and she aimed her moist eyes at his. He licked his lips and caressed her like she’d been his all along. “I’ve got a jacket and a helmet, and you need the air. Let’s go.”

Give in and she might be doomed. But it seemed her damnation had already begun, anyway.