CHAPTER 8

ONE PERSON TO TURN TO

Dark shadows flickered across the soft pages filled with poetry of love and beauty, as I rested snuggly in the creaky rocking chair near the fireplace. The crackling of the waltzing flames was calming as I tried to keep focus on the sweet words of my book. However, I was preoccupied with another thought, something more important than the sonnets of Shakespeare.

What had frightened Ichabod so badly? The question would not leave my mind for the past two days. Even while I slept, images of Ichabod's ghastly face haunted my every thought. The tree was different, spooky even, but not enough to scare, especially to send a man fleeing. There was something that Ichabod wasn't telling me, and he either flatly refused to answer my queries or he simply danced around the subject. But why? I pondered on the question until a sharp throbbing developed between my temples, and then the throbbing progressed into a rapid pounding, like fists colliding with wood. "Rent!" Mr. Rexroth's low voice roared through the quiet night's air. Startled, I dropped the book to the ground with a thud. I had completely forgot today was the thirtieth, the day my landlord came to collect rent.

"Just a moment!" I scurried across the room to a cupboard and pulled out a cloth bundle. I unwrapped the folds and cursed myself when I only uncovered two gold coins.

"Miss Olsen!" impatience screamed in his voice. Looking anxiously at the coins in my hands, I rushed to the door and opened it. Mr. Rexroth nudged himself through the crack and waited with an open palm for the money I did not have. He stood two inches taller than I, had a pudgy face with busy brows and an oversized nose. His thickening waistline was apparent even beneath his shabby brown coat.

"Mr. Rexroth," I began, but he interrupted me.

"Where's the money?"

"I don't…I…well…this is all I have," I said placing the two coins into the palm of his hand. Staring at the couple measly golds in his hand, his face reddened with fury. "But I'll have all the rent next month. If you'll just give me some time, I'll…" I pleaded, not giving him a chance to speak. "Please, Mr. Rexroth…"

"This is the song I heard from you last month," he ran his callused fingers over the coins, and examined the mint design as if he had never seen the type of currency before.

"I'm aware of that, but as you know times are hard, and, and if you'll just give me a few more weeks, I promise…"

He gently pushed the door shut, and I could faintly hear the click of the latch over the slow taps of his heels as he walked behind me. "You promise what?"

I took a deep breath. Mr. Rexroth's presence made me feel uncomfortable and the cottage, which was once warm and homely, now felt cold and drafty. I shivered. "I promise I'll pay every cent I owe you."

He clicked his tongue. "That will not do, but…" he gently brushed his fingers over my shoulders and effortlessly unfastened the button at the neck of my dress. "…Perhaps we could negotiate a payment of another kind," he whispered harshly in my ear. His breath smelled of booze and tabacco.

I forgot to breathe and gritted my teeth as his hand slid through the slit of my dress. His hand felt like a poisonous cobra with fangs of lethal venom as he grazed the small of my back. Finally, I could bear it no longer. "Wretch!" I shouted in a voice I didn't recognize as my own. I spun around sharply and my open palm collided with his cheek.

Ferocity exploded from the black of his eyes as he grasped my wrist and wrenched it back. The pain almost sending me to my knees, but instead sent me staggering back into the wall.

"I'll tame you, Bitch!" he yelled, tearing at my dress. I tried to hit him again, but my attempts were worthless and only resulted in a brutal blow to my face, and other countless strikes that rippled through every bone in my body. My cheekbone shattered into a thousand pieces and I shrieked as I crumpled to the floor. Rage and pain filled my every vein and I eyed the door that seemed so far from where I lay, the door that was my only way out.

I leaped to my feet and dashed for the door, knocking over a chair and various other objects behind me, hoping to stall my attacker. My fingers fumbled with the latch, blood stinging my eyes and finally I flung it open, cool air splashing my face. I ran out into the moonlight that guided my aimless trail. I didn't know where I was going, where I was headed, or if Mr. Rexroth was pursuing after me, but I didn't dare stop to find out.

I ran until the muscles in my legs burned, and the bottoms of my feet went numb. My eyes caught a glimpse of a dark shadowed area produced by the extreme angle where a two-story house and barn came together. I pushed one final sprint to my dark retreat and when I was certain I was hidden by the deep shadows, I panted heavily and examined my surroundings for any sign of another person, or Rexroth, the demon himself. I was alone. The left side of my cheek felt ten times its normal size and my eye was swollen shut. The pain throbbed with every beat of my pulse and I felt the dried blood stunk in my hair.

Reality sunk into my flesh; I had no money, no where to go, no one whose arms would comfort me, and hold me, and tend to my wounds. I was so insecure that I shook with every breath inhaled into my lungs. I was so terrified, so scared, and how I longed for the warm embrace of a loving body and cooing words that would let me know everything would be alright. And yet I was alone; utterly alone. What would I do? Where would I go? I smothered his face from my mind, but it kept reappearing. Was he the only hope I had? I could just wait here, I thought. But for what? Wait to live, wait to die? He was only one I could rely on, the only one I knew who to turn to.