Chapter 8

As soon as we entered and the door closed behind us, Jim hugged me and tried to kiss me again. He seemed sad when I refused. I tried to explain that it wasn't him. I still love him. I never stopped loving him. It was just that after what happened I could never kiss anyone again. I was ... dirty.

He cried out and pulled me closer. He forced his lips to mine.

I didn't resist. I couldn't fight him. But I didn't return his kiss.

"You aren't dirty," he sobbed. "You're a victim. You're a victim because I'm an ignorant asshole. This is my fault. I fucked up in Vermont. I had trouble dealing with things. Unfortunately I didn't realize what was important to me until you left. I won't let you go again."

I smiled at him. I really do love him.

"Yes you will," I said calmly, reasonably. "It's worse now. This past weekend ... well, it's worse now. You can't love me now. You love who I was. I think she's gone now. They killed her."

He held me close and said, "I know about this weekend. Well, I know about most of it. I don't care. I already learned my lesson. I know you were hurt, badly. You have been damaged mentally and physically. We'll work at it. You'll get better. We'll get better. I won't let you go again."

I knew he meant it. It didn't matter, though. I was going to die soon.

I asked him how he found me. I didn't understand what he was doing here and I was curious to know how he found me.

He replied, "I received that check you sent me from the sale of the house. I tore it up. I was so pissed. Not at you. I was mad at myself for being such a stupid asshole. I realized I had let the best thing that ever happened to me get away. No, worse than that. I didn't let you get away. I drove you away. I threw you away. It didn't take long to get your address. You can't keep secrets in our little town. I got your address and drove straight through to Augusta."

"I had the name of the place you work. I couldn't wait for you to get home. I drove straight to your office. Your secretary told me that you were out of the office on business. So I waited in the parking lot outside of your apartment for you to come home."

"When you didn't come home I gave up and got a room in a nearby motel. The next day I waited in the parking lot again. I was getting worried. But I didn't know what else to do. I called the cops and they said that there were no serious accidents or anything of that nature in the area.

"I checked. You weren't admitted to any of the local hospitals. There seemed to be nothing I could do but wait."

"On Sunday I called the emergency contact number on the door of your office. I had a terrible time convincing the answering service that it was an emergency. They finally agreed to try to contact someone. I ended up having to wait until church got out for them to reach anyone."

"Finally your secretary called me in the afternoon. It seemed to take forever but I finally convinced her that something was wrong. She told me where you went when you left the office.

"Since last year I always carry a weapon. I had my M1 carbine in the trunk with a couple of banana clips. I got it out and drove out to the studio. I pulled up to the house and went to the door. There wasn't anyone there. I heard a noise in the barn and headed across the yard to the door.

"I saw what was happening when I walked in and I just started shooting. I went crazy. I didn't even know how many people were there or if they had weapons. I just wanted to kill them all. So I did. And I'm glad. I wish I could have done it last time."

My hero! No, really. I mean it. It's sad. He's going to feel bad when I die.

I made him some supper. I ate a little. I couldn't stand much. It still hurt like hell to swallow. After we ate we sat and held each other and comforted each other.

"I love you, Jean," he said softly. "I'm so sorry I was such a dick. Believe me. I'll never forgive myself for what I did. But I outgrew it. I swear I did. It doesn't matter now. None of it matters.

"Well, that's not true. Of course it matters. It happened to us, to you. But I don't care anymore. That was a terrible experience. You're going to need help to get over it. I'm going to help you. I'm going to get you all of the best professional help that there is. In fact, you're going to meet Kevin tomorrow."

"Who is Kevin?" I asked.

"When I got back from reserve duty in Iraq I had some problems. I had trouble dealing with some of the things I saw ... some of the things that I did. Kevin was the guy that helped me work through them. He's good. It's like he can read your mind. He isn't a rape counselor. But he just has a way. I think he can help. I called him from the police station. He's flying down in the morning."