This month’s story is the result of a dream I had this past Tuesday. To make a long explanation short, the character Sarah, in my dream, was Rachael Leigh Cook and Stephen was Ashton Kutcher. Jesse, no one in particular.

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By John Pender

His hand in hers, with a gently welcoming shake, she replied, “Sarah Cohen, nice to meet you,” and took a sip of red from her abnormally large glass. Her shoulder-length almost-black hair glistened in the spotlight overhead, revealing glimpses of burgundy highlighted with streaks of silver, like the lining of a cloud at sunset. Soft brown eyes accented the baby-soft features of her face, complemented perfectly by the subtle pinkness in her lips. The black thin-strapped satin dress adorning her dainty figure revealed the silky soft smoothness of her skin, a hushed golden brown painted by the summer sun.
Stephen Mitchell had approached her with the shyness and caution of a schoolboy, knowing good and well the object of his desires was beyond his reach. The one open bar stool next to her, conveniently and strategically placed by fate, shone to him like a beacon. The volume of the room dimmed to a whisper as he grabbed the seat-back and pulled it out; it went completely silent when she turned her head and flashed a friendly, welcoming smile at him as he sat.
Thinking of the worst pickup line he could – and he had heard many; they had always worked well for him in the past, surprising women with the exact opposite of what they were expecting – he said, “So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” with a slight blush in his cheeks.
She laughed uncontrollably, some of her half-sipped wine flowing back into her glass. Simultaneously pulling it away, some ran down her chin and dripped onto the bar. Quickly grabbing a napkin and wiping the drippings from the surface, she replied “Wow” with a small giggle. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
He smiled at her, raising his hand to her face, and gently wiped her chin with his finger. “You missed some.”
Theirs was the most wonderful relationship either had ever experienced. The months sped by and became a year; their love grew. Their world was a dreamscape, each fulfilling the other’s desires to unexpected degrees. Their world was perfect – until Jesse showed up.
“Sarah Cohen?”
“Yes?” she answered, the voice on the other end sounding faintly familiar, yet not ringing a bell in her love-struck mind.
“Sarah Cohen, Bethlehem, Georgia?”
“With a lump in her throat, she again replied, “Yes?”
“It’s Jesse.”
Suddenly, her past came flooding back to her and a shockwave of fear ripped through her body. She flipped her phone shut, her body began convulsing, and she dropped to her knees in the cool grass and began to cry. The Motorola in her hand buzzed.

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Flipping it open, she read:

Don’t hang up on me bitch!

The tears began to flow heavily. Fearing his next move, she froze. But it didn’t ring again. Nor buzz. Once calm again, she cautiously surveyed the area around her but found no sign of the blond-haired ghost from her past.
She pressed speed dial 1, and the phone on the other end rang. “What’s up, hot stuff?”
“Steve?”
His face flushed. “What’s wrong?” And he knew something was wrong. Because she never answered that way; she always answered in her usual equally flirty manner.
“We need to talk.”
An hour later, they found themselves sitting together on a bench in Scott Park.
“I need to tell you something.”
Fearing an imminent breakup but not understanding the reasons behind it, a tear came to his eye and he answered with a quiver in his voice, “What?”
“There’s this guy …”
Quickly turning his head, his fear turning to rage, he repeated, “What!?”
“Stephen, no. It’s not like that!” she exclaimed as the blood rushed from her face, realizing what she had just said might sound like to her love.
“Yeah? Then what is it?” he asked her skeptically.
Bowing her head as tears began to flow, she whimpered, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you this. Oh, shit.”
He turned to her and placed his arm around her. “What is it, Sarah?”
After a pause that seemed like hours, she started with, “My ex. Jesse. He found me.”
Confused, “Found you?”
“I moved. It was the only way I could get away from him.”
Suddenly, the reality of her situation became clear to him. He pulled her closer. “Talk to me, honey.”
“He …” holding back a new flow of tears, “beat me.” But they came anyway. “Right out of high school. I met him at a rave after graduation. We hit it off – I thought it was perfect. But when I tried to leave him, he started beating me and threatening to kill me.”
He squeezed her tighter.
“When I was twenty he almost followed through.”
Whispering, he asked, “Is that where the scar on your belly came from?”
She turned her head to face him. Looking into his eyes for a moment, she searched for a way not to reply; he surprised her with, “Don’t answer that.”
The calls continued to come. The weeks crept by, Sarah constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for Jesse’s threats to become her reality. She had contacted the police and told them her story, but they couldn’t do anything, obviously not until Jesse took action. She did file a restraining order, but to a man like Jesse, it didn’t mean anything.
“Agree to meet him.”
With a surprised look on her face, she turned to Stephen and exclaimed, “What!?”
“Do it. I have a plan.”
“Steve, no. I can’t.”
“You said he was asthmatic, right?”
“Yeah. At least he was back then.”
“Agree to meet him. I’m going to turn the tables on him. I’m tired of this fucker.”
Having no idea what he was thinking of doing, and not wanting to know – Stephen wouldn’t have told her anyway; it would have taken the surprise factor out of the whole plan – she scrolled to

Unknown Number

and then to

Reply

and typed out

Scott Park
walking trail, behind the soccer fields
7:00 tonight

and pressed

Send

with her hands shaking wildly. She looked at Stephen, angry.
The phone buzzed, startling her. “Wow, that was quick.” She opened it to see

Change of heart?

staring back at her.
She held the phone up for Stephen to see. “Play along. It’s okay,” he said. Slowly lowering the phone, she typed out

Yeah. But I want to make a deal.

Jesse replied

What deal?

She thought about it for a minute, sharing glances with her love, he constantly reassuring her everything was going to be okay.

I’ll do whatever you want if you promise to leave me alone.

After a couple of minutes – old Jesse was a pro at mind-fucking her – he replied

Anything?

Yes.

A few more minutes went by, she and Stephen looking at each other in silent, nervous anticipation. Jesse finally responded

See you at 7.

She sat on the bench of the concrete picnic table in Scott Park, leaning with her back against the table top, staring solemnly into the bushes opposite the paved walking trail. The tall holly bushes served a single purpose: to encompass the marble triple-tiered fountain within. They also provided a hiding place for one Stephen Mitchell quite well.
She could see her lover, peering quietly through a small leafless gap of braches between two of the bushes – his eyes and mouth anyway. To the rest of the world, Stephen Mitchell may as well have been anywhere else, for not even one of the multitude of joggers or bikers that crossed his path noticed him.
In time, Sarah’s apprehensions began to subside, completely relegated to the back corners of her mind when Stephen mouthed I love you through that little gap in the shrubbery. And she knew it was so. Her lips parted and her smile spewed forth the light of a love that not many of us ever get to know.
“Well, if it isn’t Sarah Cohen.” she heard from her left, startling her. It was an all-too-familiar, yet long-forgotten voice – although rather more banished than forgotten.
She didn’t have to look up. “Jesse.”
“Look at me when I talk to you. Or have you forgotten?”
She slowly turned her head to her left, only to see the many years of torment and abuse flash before her eyes. Her eyes began to water and her lip began to quiver, her body instinctively recoiling lightly upon his approach. It was as if he had never been gone.
“What the … are you fuckin’ cryin’?”
“What do you want, Jesse?”
“You know what I want.”
“What?” she asked, honestly confused – her text-messaged proposition had been temporarily set aside to make way for the unwanted feelings to come flooding back.
“Don’t play games with me, bitch.”
“Jesse, I …”
“Anything you want, right? Isn’t that what you said? If I leave you alone, you’ll do anything I want?”
The tears began flowing stronger. She began to feel like she had so many years ago.
“I did.”
“Well …”
She looked him in the eyes, as hard as it was, and as much as it hurt her to do so, her body trembling, and asked, “What do you want me to do?”
Jesse paused for a moment, then placed his hands on her shoulders. “You can start by turning off the fuckin’ faucets. Sit.”
And she did.
He pulled a box of Camels from his pocket, slid one out, and popped it in his mouth. Sarah asked, confused and afraid Stephen’s plan was about to take a turn in a whole new direction, “What about your asthma?”
“Mind your business, whore,” he said. He reached again into his pocket, pulled out his inhaler, and shoved it in her face. “Right fuckin’ here. Happy?”
“Sorry! Sorry,” she replied out of fear. What had usually come after a move like that had always been a backhand across her right jaw. And they were quite often strong enough to send her reeling to the floor amidst an ocean of stars and black holes.
“Blow me.”
“Jesse …”
“Go back on me, I’ll fuckin’ kill ya. Blow me.”
With a defeated sigh, she asked, “Where?”
“My truck. Let’s go.”
And they stood.
Turning to make their way down the walking trail back toward the parking area, they heard a loud rustle behind them. Before they could turn, a hand clasped itself around Jesse’s mouth and an arm wrapped around his torso, locking his arms. He found himself pulled violently backward through the holly bushes and out of sight of Sarah Cohen. It was the last he ever saw of her.
Jesse Eanes came face to face with a man with a hatred in his eyes he had never seen before. At some point during the struggle, this man had not only confiscated Jesse’s cell phone and broken it beyond use, taken the driver’s license from his wallet, and torn the looped earrings violently from his ears, his attacker now had possession of his inhaler. Badly beaten and gasping unsuccessfully for air, he would surely die soon if he didn’t use it.
“You listen to me and you listen good. I can let you die – right here, right now. Or I can let you live. It’s up to you. I think you have four, maybe five minutes before you black out. Am I right? You’re already breathless, wheezing; next step – you die. Do you feel the darkness creeping in? Isn’t nice, is it?”
The hand grasping Jesse’s neck gripped tighter and the man’s face drew nearer to his.
“Stay away from Sarah Cohen. If you ever come near her again, the pain you feel now will be nothing compared to what I will do to you then.”
The hand gripped even tighter, the veins on Jesse’s forehead nearing rupture.
“Do you understand me?”
Jesse managed a slight nod yes. The man continued to look into his eyes, those dark, piercing daggers stabbing deeply. He released his grip on Jesse’s neck and produced the inhaler with his free hand.
“This is your one shot. Choose wisely,” he said, and placed the inhaler in Jesse’s mouth.
Stephen Mitchell rose, wiped the soil from his jeans, and stepped through the hedge , gently patting Jesse on the head as he passed.