Black Sun by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 37

Morning came with the usual chill in the air. The small apartment was especially cold, since the window had been left slightly open from the night before. The remains of the joint from Abigail’s attempt to medicate herself lay on the window sill, burned away by the constant breeze that had swirled through the night. Again, they were awakened by the morning chill as Abigail turned and, wrapping her arms around Ryan, pulled herself into him. With his mind coming to life, Ryan cautiously slipped his arms around her and, looking down into her face, gently kissed her on the head. The comfort of his arms was only magnified by the warmth of his body as she looked up into his eyes and kissed his lips. She had, essentially, isolated herself for several days while her soul recovered from the onslaught of violence she suffered at the bookstore, at the hands of an animal who had likely been following them for quite some time. From now on, they would be far more observant, and she vowed to herself never to let anyone commit such an act against her again. She would kill before allowing it to even begin, and would learn to tap the rage that had her soul had given birth to.

After rising, they prepared breakfast and discovered that the last several days had cost them a considerable amount of food. Staying at her side, Ryan refused to leave, even to retrieve more food and supplies. Now, there was no choice, and Abigail would have to confront her fear of another assault. She knew it was unlikely, but fear being the driving force of irrationality, she found herself compelled to find the smallest thread of sanity, something she could weave into a protective layer that allowed her to act quickly, without fear. With this in mind, she made a request that Ryan found almost shocking. She asked for a gun. She may never use it, but it would be there in the event she, again, faced the possibility of violence.

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked.

Abigail hesitated while she reconsidered her request. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sure.”

This required discussion, and Ryan thought it's best to begin by handing her an empty weapon. He wanted her to become accustomed to the feel of holding something that could easily end a life, reaching the understanding that some things cannot be undone.

Opening the green military bag of weapons they had acquired at the arsenal, Ryan took out a nine-millimeter pistol and after removing the magazine, he cleared the chamber and handed it to her. Abigail was stunned at how heavy it was and as the reality of her request thrust itself upon her, she struggled with the question of whether or not this was what she really wanted. The answer was yes. As she continued to examine it, Ryan interrupted and asked about their brief conversation of the previous night. “Do you remember anything about last night?” Abigail looked up with a puzzled look. “About what?” she replied.

Ryan paused, searching for the right words. “Well,” he began. “You were pretty fucked up. I woke up, and you were sitting near the window smoking a joint. Remember now?” Abigail lowered the pistol as her mind wandered back to the vague, smoky haze of the night before. Then, in a sudden flash, it all came back. The fear that had consumed her left her with the strong desire to seek isolation, and it didn't seem to matter where it could be found. Her mind had convinced her that, in spite of the fact that they were largely alone, the threat of violence was everywhere and unbeknownst to her, what had permanently sunk its claws into her soul was growing. For Abigail, the only way to resolve her pain was to get as far from people as possible, regardless of where they ended up.

“Oh, right,” she began. “Yeah, I was pretty messed up, wasn’t I? I guess I needed it. Doctors orders, right?” Humor seemed to be her way of coping, but beneath the slight grin of jest Abigail was desperate to leave and the sooner, the better.

After a brief lull in the conversation, Abigail made her case to Ryan that they find someplace else to live, someplace where they could just disappear.

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. “You know, it’s going to be harder to get the things we need if we’re out in the middle of nowhere, right?”

There was the problem. Finding another place to live that would be safe would be difficult enough, but food, water, and other necessities would be far more difficult to obtain. Now, Abigail was forced to reconsider her desire to leave and, dropping her head, was quickly struck with the despair of being forced to stay in a place that left her terrified. But Ryan had an idea, a compromise. “What if we went someplace on the outskirts of the city? Someplace out of the way?”

Abigail gave it some thought. She was quite willing to entertain the idea that they take up residence in a suburban area. Perhaps a small out-of-the-way house, bordering what had become something of a frontier, a vast gray area between urban hubs. “Well,” she began. “I guess I’d prefer to be out in the sticks somewhere, where no one would bother us. Kind of off the grid, you know?”

“I understand,” Ryan replied. “But if we can't find the things we need, then what's the point?”

Abigail clearly understood, but her mind was clouded with fear, and she strained to make sense of what was involved in leaving Albany. There would be no malls or bookstores, and few grocery stores. They would have to get by with much less. However, this realization did nothing to sway her need to put Albany as far behind her as possible. The trauma of being attacked with the sole purpose of being violated was too much for her, and the only thing Abigail wanted was a quiet place, where she could feel safe and comfortable. Of course, she would take what weed she had left with her. Given its effects, it seemed that it would be the perfect medication for a wounded soul.

As the day crept into evening, Ryan thought it best to delay any further conversation until morning, when a night's rest might produce more clarity for both of them. With hunger crawling up from inside him, Ryan began putting together a small dinner and although Abigail's appetite was lacking, she managed to eat most of what was put in front of her. It seems that the trauma of a sexual assault can rob someone of what they need most – nourishment. But time is said to be the great healer, and Ryan hoped that this would be the case. He just didn't know how much strength Abigail had. Certainly, everybody has their breaking point, and he wondered how close Abigail was to hers.