Callie's Gift Read online

  "What's the matter, I thought this would be a nice surprise, stopping over early like this. I have to work a few hours at the hardware today."

  "Yeah, it's great. I just wish we could spend some regular time together, not just in bed."

  "Abby, I'm not the one that gets into trouble here if we get caught. I thought we agreed. We're both enjoying this, can't we just keep it at that? I know you're lonely, but come spring your husband is coming back. I'm not going to be all torn up that I can't see you when that happens, okay?" Callie liked Abby a lot, but she had no allusions about it. It wasn't love, it was sex. Terrific as that was, she wanted to keep it as simple as possible. She sure as hell didn't want the older woman getting weird about things. "Maybe next weekend, I can spend the night again. But we have to be careful, we can't hang out like we're a couple, right?" She relented a little as the older woman smiled and pulled at her hand. They ended up back in the bed for another hour before Callie went home.

  *****

  Saturday nights Callie usually hid out in her room. Keg parties and screwing guys in the back seat of a car were never her thing, and she still encouraged Jenny and Holly to think that she spent Saturdays in the neighboring town with her secret boyfriend. It gave her an out, a way to keep the local guys from chasing after her, and it meant she wasn't expected to hang out at parties and drink. She had been to a few beer parties with the girls. The second time she went, she drank entirely too much and found herself behaving like the rest of the moronic teenagers at the party. More importantly, and concerning, she spent most of the evening following a statuesque blonde around, trying to start a romance. The girl was a cousin of one of the party goers, visiting from St. Cloud. Callie, with the help of some liquid courage, thought it would be a good idea to talk the girl into a romantic stroll down the lakeshore. There she planned to confess her adulation. Fortunately, the plan never got that far and she managed keep her mouth shut, but it worried Callie that alcohol could alter her judgement enough to risk giving herself away. She shied away from beer after that, and the parties. Jenny and Holly always made it their night to raise hell and get laid, if half of Jenny's stories were true. Saturdays were good nights for Callie to stay in her room.

  Chapter 3

  Callie started drawing and painting more during her senior year. She began to try to paint the things she saw in her dreams. She had reached the conclusion that her dreams weren't normal. From what she had read, and from quizzing other people, her dreams seemed unusually vivid, realistic to a degree that was frightening at times. And of course, there were the lucid dreams, the times when she felt like she was walking beside herself in her sleep, watching, and sometimes guiding the content. She dreamed about painting a lot, or painted what she had been dreaming, the two overlapped to a degree that was confusing. Sometimes, when she put brush to canvas, she had the feeling that it was something she had seen, but if in real life, or in her dreams, she was never sure.

  For weeks Callie had been painting a landscape, the same one, from different perspectives. The picture was always of rough terrain, strewn with rocks and small shrubs, like a desert, but without any cactus. In the distance, down a twisted trail or road, dust rose from a caravan of vehicles, and beyond that, stood what appeared to be a mountain range. In the center of the picture, in the foreground, a large rock, a dozen feet high protruded at an angle, casting a shadow onto the small area at the base of the picture. Callie was particularly proud of the shadowing. She couldn't remember having ever seen such a place, but it looked very familiar, and she decided she must have seen it in one of her dreams. She painted it three times in as many Saturdays, trying different angles, and colors. It always looked about the same, and never looked complete without the huge slanted rock in the center. But it still seemed to her that something was missing.

  Callie found that being nice to Jenny wasn't all that hard. As they spent more and more time together, Callie got better at avoiding conversations about religion, since it appeared they would never agree. Callie had tried to explain her opinion on such matters before, but the girl just smiled and told her that she would see, someday, and after a few attempts at logic, Callie gave up. Past arguments with Jenny on the subject had ended with Callie convinced that the girl was simple, and she had shared that opinion with her on more than one occasion. But in the spirit of her new found generosity toward the redhead, she decided to simply ignore the inane chatter. Opening herself up to truly liking another person was a new concept for Callie. She had tolerated Jenny and Holly most of her life, and called them her friends, but she knew she only kept them around to keep other people away. She wasn't sure why she suddenly thought of Jenny as someone to truly care about. She surmised that it had something to do with the fact that she was finally having sex with a real person, even though it wasn't Jenny. But she had no interest in sharing her friend, and began to push Holly out of their little group. She knew that Holly was aware of the shun, but if Jenny noticed, she didn't mention it. Jennifer had become even more exuberant in Art class, talking incessantly, and usually resting her hand on Callie's arm when it was available. Abby brought it up after spending an evening in bed, as Callie was just ready to fall asleep. She'd told her parents she would be staying at Jen's house, and was slightly annoyed that she had to miss a night of painting to appease her teacher.

  "I'm proud of you, Callie. Jennifer has been so happy lately, I knew you could be nice if you tried."

  "She is pretty easy to please, I don't beat her and I throw a stick once in a while. Next week I'm going to buy her some kibble, see if I can teach her to sit and roll over."

  "Funny. Just don't get any ideas if she wags her tail at you."

  "You are not seriously jealous? I'm just doing what you said. She's a sweet kid, and she is funny. Too bad she's all googly-eyed about that Johnson kid. I'm sure glad I'm not straight. How do girls let guys stick those things into them, anyway? Gross."

  "I used to love it, but I don't know anymore. You've made me appreciate other things."

  "You're welcome, now go to sleep."

  "I have to pee, save my spot." Callie watched Abby close the door, then grabbed the woman's phone from the end table, scrolling through the numbers until she found the one she wanted. She repeated it to herself a few times, then put the phone back where it had been. She heard the toilet flush and the water run as Abby brushed her teeth, then came out and slid back into the bed. "Callie, I'm serious. Davis and I were already on the rocks, now I really think I'd rather be with a girl, or at least with you. He's coming back the end of March, what the hell am I going to do?"

  "Like I said, let's just go to sleep. That's months away, you have time to figure it out. Maybe by then, dick will sound good to you."

  "You're an asshole. I'm falling in love with an asshole."

  "If you don't let me go to sleep, this asshole is going home." Callie turned her back to Abby, but when the older woman circled her waist with her arm, she pulled her hand against her body. The teacher sighed, finally willing to fall asleep. Callie lay awake for another hour, wondering if she had gotten herself in too deep with her teacher. She eventually drifted into sleep, and into a nightmare.

  *****

  She knew immediately that she was dreaming, and recognized the familiar scene from her paintings. It was unbearably hot, even in the shade of the giant rock that leaned over her and offered some protection from the sun. In the distance, she could see the low, rock strewn mountains and the far away trail of dust from the vehicles that she couldn't quite make out, but knew were there. She tried to tip her head forward to look around, but realized that she was too weak, without knowing the reason. Still aware that she was dreaming, she looked down at herself. She was lying on a makeshift cot of filthy blankets, her body thin and emaciated, her hair covered by a scarf of some kind. She saw that her face was bloodied, and that she was covered in bruises and dust. She felt a growing sense of dread, and in a panic, tried to stop, or redirect the dream, as she had done in the past.
It terrified her that she couldn't. She sensed an unspeakable horror coming, but had no way or strength to stop it. The heat scalded her eyes and she felt tears began to roll down her dusty face.

  She lay still, listening. There were voices nearby, coarse, loud, laughing voices that she strained to hear. She couldn't understand what they were saying, and realized that although they were speaking English, she could only grasp the meaning of an occasional phrase. She turned her head slightly and saw several pair of combat boots and the pantlegs of desert camo uniforms. She was sure the men were soldiers, but when she tried to see their faces, the sun suddenly blinded her, and she had to close her eyes. Then they were close, on top of her, and she could feel them pushing into her, their weight crushing her into the piles of rags. She lay still, terrified, and darkness took her.

  Later, the laughter further away, she became aware of the pain, growing ever more intense, spreading between her legs. Her arms felt unbelievably heavy, but she managed to pick the right one up and slowly move her hand down to touch herself, feeling the hot, slippery wetness that covered her. She pulled her hand up slowly, fighting the impulse to look, knowing what she would see, but feeling uncontrollably compelled to do so. Her hand, then both her hands, were covered in thick red blood. She held them above her and watched, spellbound, as the dark red fluid dripped slowly down from her fingers into her face, oozing into her eyes and her mouth. Mesmerized, she watched the blood trickle onto her, faster and faster, covering her hair and clothes. She stared at her hands stupidly as the trickle turn into a stream, then became a torrent. A river of blood poured down from her hands into her face, gagging her with what she knew was the taste and the smell of death. She turned her head to the side and gathered as much of the hot, dry desert air into her lungs as they would hold, and began screaming as loudly as she could, over and over and over.

  "Callie, Callie!" She heard Abby screaming her name as she sat up, gasping for air. She was covered in sweat and still had the taste of blood in her mouth. She pushed Abby away and ran into the bathroom, emptying the contents of her stomach. She stayed huddled over the toilet for several long minutes, then let Abby help her wash her face, her hands shaking as she did so. Finally, she walked back to the bed, collapsed into it, and pulled the covers up to her neck. Abby sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair. "There's a horrible flu going around, you must have caught it. But you were screaming like a crazy person for a couple of minutes, I couldn't wake you up. I hope the neighbors didn't hear you, they probably thought somebody was getting murdered."

  "Yeah, I actually think somebody was. That was the most fucked up dream I've ever had. Can you just kind of hold onto me? I don't want to give you anything, but I can't stop shaking."

  "If it's the flu, I already have it anyway." Callie lay as still as she could, but she was still shaking slightly. This dream had reached a new, terrifying level of reality. She had felt the pain, smelled the war and the desert, tasted the blood. As much as her gut told her differently, she refused to believe that the nightmare was someone else's reality. She didn't believe in bullshit like that. But it wasn't just a nightmare, she was sure of that. The voices in her head were agreeing, loudly. She finally fell asleep, no closer to an answer, but dreamless the rest of the night.

  Chapter 4

  Christmas vacation meant working at the hardware store for Callie. She had spent summers and most Saturdays working there and knew the drill. The temperature was five degrees when she pulled into the back of the hardware at seven thirty to help her father open the store. She stomped her feet and rubbed her hands together, and walked into the storage area as her father started turning on lights. "Jesus Christ, it's cold as fucking shit out there."

  "Just because you're legally an adult now, doesn't mean I want my daughter talking like that, Callie. I don't, right?" Her father chastised her. She smiled and nodded, then went about making two pots of coffee and unwrapping the doughnuts her Dad bought every morning for the local freeloaders. After she had both pots brewing she went to the front and helped drag the outdoor merchandise onto the sidewalk and swept up the little bit of snow that was blowing around. Then she headed back to the storeroom to start putting away the freight that had come in late the previous afternoon. Working at the hardware was another way for Callie to hide out on the weekends, even though most of the guys in her class had given up on trying to date her long ago. She had learned to tolerate and even like some of the older men that hung around in the back room, with a couple of exceptions. She did her best to avoid contact with the most obvious degenerates, but it wasn't always possible. As she started opening boxes and loading merchandise into a cart to put on the shelves, the locals began wandering in from the cold, making small talk and greeting her.

  Richie Carlson was Callie's least favorite customer. He may have been Callie's least favorite human being. He was a few years younger than her father and taller. He might have been called skinny except for the protruding potbelly that attested to the fact that every day he went from the Fisher's Hardware to Jake's Bar, halfway down the street. There, Callie was sure, he dispensed even more bullshit than he managed to spew during his free breakfast at her father's store. His usual topics of conversation were the fact that he couldn't find any work because of the Mexicans, and that he was mistreated at home by an unattractive wife. Callie was well aware that his wife was a fulltime nurse, and provided the only source of income for the family. She was also aware that Richie spent most of his time in the backroom of the hardware checking out her backside.

  By nine o'clock Callie had gotten close to the bottom of the small stack of freight. The backroom coffee group was at full capacity, talking shit and laughing. Richie must have been trying to get a laugh from the group of gray haired adolescents, or just had too much coffee, but he made a large error in judgement. Callie had bent down to lift a box of paint, and in doing so, stretched as far as she could across a second box. The floppy sweatshirt she was wearing slid up across her back, baring a considerable amount of skin and uncovering the back of her jeans. As she strained to lift the paint she heard a distinct and very loud whistle. She immediately dropped the box and stood up, spinning around to face the men, most of whom quickly started examining their boots. Richie was smiling broadly at her. She looked at him, as calmly as she could manage.

  "Did you just whistle at my ass?" Richie totally misinterpreted the situation and gave the wrong answer.

  "I can't help but compliment a pretty lady." Callie put down her box cutter and walked over to the coffee pots. She grabbed the fullest one and pulled the pour spout off, then she walked over within a few feet of Richie.

  "You know Richie, you've been eye jabbing me in here since I was in the eighth grade. You're a disgusting bastard, and I'm giving you to the count of five to get your dirty, filthy ass out of here, then you're going to wear this coffee, and I'm guessing it's hot." No one in the room doubted that she was about to douse Richie with the coffee, least of all him. But he wasn't looking at the pot of coffee in her hand, or the hatred evident on her face, he was looking into her eyes. To the other occupants of the room, Callie's eyes appeared to have paled slightly as she advanced toward Richie. Richie saw something different. As he stared into her eyes he watched the light blue drain completely away. Even the pupils became indistinguishable and all he could see were two white orbs that seemed to be floating toward him. He couldn't explain the panic that swept over him, the dread that took his breath away and made his heart feel suddenly heavy. He lunged quickly to his feet and ran out the small service door in the back of the building, casting a fearful look back at the tiny blonde before disappearing into the morning light. Callie stared after him for a minute, then turned her pretty blue eyes back toward the other denizens of the backroom. She raised the pot, smiling. "Anybody else want some coffee?"

  She was on the paint ladder, putting cans on the top shelf, twenty minutes later, when her father came to talk to her. She glared down at him. "Sorry Dad. I lost it, I just
couldn't put up with that disgusting asshole anymore."

  "Don't be sorry, Callie. I should be sorry. I didn't know that shit was going on. You shouldn't have to put up with that. I'm closing down the coffee clutch, right away." Callie climbed down the ladder, using the last step to lean forward and hug her father.

  "No, don't do that, most of those guys are okay. Richie's the worst. I mean if you're sick of giving them free shit, that's fine, but don't do it on my account. I can handle them."

  "Callie, what did you do?" Her father laughed a little. "Richie is a big guy, and he likes to think he's tough. The boys said he ran out of here like his clothed were on fire." Callie shrugged, it had surprised her too, but the rush of adrenalin had felt good.

  "Guess he figured he didn't want to wear that coffee. I don't know."

  *****

  Callie went back to school after New Year's, parking her new car near the back of the lot. As she got out of her car and wrapped her coat tighter around her, she glanced at the old pickup truck that had pulled in beside her. The occupant was wearing a cowboy hat and she noticed the license plates on the beater said Texas. As a rule, Callie avoided contact with her classmates, especially the guys, but she was intrigued. She guessed the young man that unfolded himself from the truck to be her age or maybe a year younger, and probably a foot taller than her. He slammed the driver's door, then went around to the passenger side, limping slightly, and grabbed something from the seat. He tossed his cowboy hat in the pickup. Without his hat, Callie could see his hair was red. Really it was orange, almost the color of the squash her mother had made for Christmas. She was sure it hadn't seen a comb in a week. Callie wondered about his nose. It wandered down his long face, twisting and turning so severely that she knew it had to have been broken more than once. He glanced at Callie for a moment and she realized that whatever calamity had befallen his nose, had disfigured his left eye and cheekbone as well. He was about as unattractive a guy as Callie had ever seen, and she thought again of that rescue dog.