Desperation’s Dance by Melissa Ann Long

Sarah tiptoed through the stacks of boxes filling the spare bedroom, searching for one box in particular. Her heart raced as she scanned the make-shift masking tape labels, and a deep breath did nothing to keep her from feeling like she might pass out. One by one, Sarah began lifting boxes to make a direct path towards the closet. With each box she mumbled positive words of encouragement. “You can do this,” she coached herself. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Although that wasn’t entirely true. There was plenty to be afraid of; lost souls haunting her dreams, their voices echoing in her head day and night, the more desperate ones latching onto her, feeding from her life-core. No. There was plenty to be afraid of.

Hands shaking, Sarah turned each box so that she could read its contents. Living room, living room, bath, kitchen…and then she found it, behind a tall stack, barely visible, peaking out from the mirrored closet.

Mom.

Her eyes grew moist, threatening to overflow with tears. Whoever said losing a loved one got easier with time was wrong. It was easier not to think about her mother everyday, not to conjure up the image of her body lifeless on the bathroom floor. But the pain was still raw and at times like this it clawed at her, eager to be set free.

No, Sarah yelled at herself. This was not the time. She could not get caught up in the memories of her mother. She needed answers and if she didn’t find them soon, Sarah didn’t know how much longer her relationship would last. She loved Brett more than anything in the world. But she couldn’t marry him yet. Not until she was certain he was over his ex.

Sarah reached out for the box and then froze, her fingertips inches away from the cardboard. An invisible field surrounded the box, protecting the contents from intruders. Once she opened it there would be no turning back. She would be unlocking the door to a world that took her mother and nearly killed her, and she would be risking exposure.

There’s a thought. Maybe Brett wouldn’t even want to marry her if he knew what she was capable of. That would solve both their problems, and they could go on to live bitter but separate lives, cursing the world for the unfortunate circumstance of falling in love with the wrong person.

But he wasn’t the wrong person. For the first time Sarah had let herself truly love someone and now she was terrified of getting hurt. Terrified of reliving the pain she felt when she woke to realize her mother was gone. She didn’t want to love someone and have to live through that loss again. So she shut herself off. She didn’t take risks, she didn’t love, until she met Brett.
If he had asked her months ago—if he had proposed before she learned of Darla—she would have said yes immediately. But then that would make her a reluctant fiancé instead of a reluctant girlfriend.

The alarm clock went off in the other room. Sarah flinched and stubbed her toe on the door of the closet. “Crap,” she muttered, partly because of her throbbing toe and partly because she had meant to turn off the alarm so that Brett wouldn’t wake up. She hobbled out of the room and down the hallway, hoping she could get to the alarm before Brett realized she wasn’t in bed.

Voices from the local morning radio show filled the bedroom. Peppy pop music played in the background. The DJ’s didn’t appear bothered by the fact that it was dark outside and seventy-five percent of their listeners were still in bed sleeping.

“Good morning WKSX listeners.” Sarah glanced at Brett. She took his deep breathes as a sign that he was still sleeping. “I’m Sue Lehey, and coming up I have your top news stories of the day, including more details about our runaway bride that made national headlines.”

Forgetting about the pain in her foot, Sarah leapt towards the nightstand, an ordinary yet graceful move, until she landed, almost losing her balance on her weak ankle. She reached out and smacked the snooze button before bracing herself on the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Brett reached out, his hand locking around her wrist.

“Nothing.”

He peered at her through one eye, the other half of his head still buried in the pillow. “It’s 6:45 and you’re wearing clothes. I’m pretty sure you weren’t wearing clothes the last time I saw you.”

“Well, I was…” Sarah had to think fast, “going to fix you breakfast, but you ruined the surprise.”

“Oh really?” Brett grinned. Within seconds he rolled onto his back, pulling her into bed. He let his fingers move beneath her t-shirt, tracing the line of her back. Sarah was lost in his touch, forgetting about her mother’s box and the past she was running from.

“I was going to serve you breakfast in bed.” She kissed him full on the lips. “But now I’m too distracted to cook, so you’ll have to eat frozen waffles.”

“Frozen waffles it is.”

As they kissed Sarah slid on top of her lover. Straddling him, she bent down to kiss his bare chest. He inhaled deeply and the pressure made his chest curve against her lips. She resisted the urge to lick him and instead moved her attention to the nape of his neck. There was a small groan as Sarah’s naked chest brushed against him. A tremor ran through his body as she rocked her hips lower.

Then for the second time that morning the alarm went off and Sarah wanted to throw the shiny electronic gadget at the wall. She reached to turn it off, this time for good, but Brett pulled her back.

“Leave it,” he said.

“Just let me hit the power button.”

“We can make love with the radio on. It’s not like they can hear us.”

“It’s distracting.”

Sarah made another attempt but Brett’s grip was suddenly stronger, force replacing lust.

“I didn’t know that sex with me was so dull and uninteresting,” he said.

Annoyance began to tingle at her insides. “That’s not what I meant.”

And then it happened. The perky news anchor returned as promised, ready to dive right into her juicy news update on the Runaway Bride.

Comprehension spread on Brett’s face and he pulled away from her.

“Brett.”

“I should have known.” Brett rose from the bed drawing the sheet around his waist to cover himself up, punishing her by no longer allowing her to see what lie beneath.

“Don’t be mad.”

He pulled on his boxers and tossed the sheet into the corner.

“Brett…”

“I can’t live like this.”

“Like what?

“God Sarah, you know what I’m talking about.”

“I just need some time.”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“Oh, really?” In two long strides Brett was at the nightstand. He opened the top drawer and pulled out the velvet box, setting it beside her on the bed. “Why aren’t you wearing the engagement ring? Two weeks, and you can’t even give me an answer.”

“What did you expect? That you could lie to me, keep a major part of your life, your past, a secret and I wouldn’t feel betrayed when I found out? You were married and divorced; you had an ex-wife that I didn’t even know existed! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?”

He stood there in silence and Sarah wanted to smack him. She was the one who was betrayed and yet somehow he made it so that she was always defending herself. He was always the victim.

They stood looking at each other and in the absence of words Sarah realized the alarm clock was still on. She turned it off and picked up her shirt.

“If the police hadn’t contacted us about Darla’s suicide would you have even told me about her?”

The silence between them intensified with each second that passed, like a plague spreading through the room immobilizing everything in its path.

There wasn’t enough air in the small bedroom, and even though the queen-sized bed lie between them she wanted to be a little further away from the devastation in his eyes. Brett walked into the bathroom slamming the door behind.

Sarah felt a chill run up her spine as she fled the bedroom. What was she doing? Why couldn’t she just forget about Darla? Everything would go back to normal if she could just agree to marry Brett. Moving through the hallway, she couldn’t help glancing back at her mother’s box. With fights like this three or four times a week, she was never going to get anywhere with Brett. Life seemed to be eating away at their relationship, and Sarah wasn’t sure how much longer Brett would be willing to hold it together. If she didn’t want to lose Brett she had to do something, and she had to do it now.

#

Sarah peered through the wrought iron bars of the balcony. Despite the tension that seemed to exist every time she was near him, she felt a flutter of excitement as she gazed at Brett, reminiscent of the rush she tried to suppress for the first three months they had worked together. He was dressed in his standard work uniform: black pants, tie, button down cotton shirt, and sports coat. GQ Casual was what she called it, and Brett’s face flushed every time she mentioned it.

She watched him unlock the car door and toss his leather briefcase on the passenger seat. The briefcase wasn’t him, and although it had been a generous gift, Sarah missed the faded messenger bag he had once carried around religiously. Following the car with her eyes, she watched as it backed out of the driveway, onto the main road, and turned out of her sight. She hesitated a moment, having visions of her lover rounding the corner, and then went back inside the apartment.

Sarah moved through the hallway to the second bedroom that was filled with her unpacked belongings. This time she didn’t let herself think about what she was doing. Action was key. She couldn’t get caught up in the memories of her mother. She couldn’t focus on the risk she was about to take. She had to meet Darla. She had to talk to her.

Sarah gently lifted the cardboard box from the top of the stack and carried it out of the spare room. She froze for a moment in the hallway, wondering which direction she should go and then headed towards the master bedroom. Tucked away in the back of the apartment there was the illusion of extra protection.

She shut the door behind her and moved to the bed, setting the box down deliberately like a bomb waiting to explode. She pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand and reached for Brett’s Swiss Army knife. It wasn’t the knife she preferred to use but she had discarded most of her mother’s ceremonial tools after her death. Plus using something personal to Brett would make it easier to connect with Darla.

Sarah stabbed the knife in the center of the box and slid it along the clear packing tape. As she folded back the cardboard edges the first thing she saw was a large wooly pink sweater. Sarah lifted it from the box and couldn’t resist bringing it to her face and lingering in the scent. She could still smell her mother’s perfume, sweet like sugar plums. A stray tear rolled down her check. She brushed it away quickly then set the sweater beside her on the bed and peered back into the box.

There were several other items: Birthday cards, photos, jewelry, but the small wooden box interested her most. No bigger than the size of her hand, the lid was intricately carved with Celtic knot work. She lifted the box and let her fingertips dance over the design, remembering the words her mother had whispered when she handed the box to her. “One day you will want this, the power that I have given to you. Do not be afraid.”

Sarah dropped it on the bed as if the touch had singed her skin. Her mother’s words still hung in the air along with her last experience raising the dead. It hadn’t gone exactly as she had planned. In truth it was more of a disaster that had left her with four months of endless nightmares and a five thousand dollar therapy bill.

Raising the dead was a complicated matter. There were so many things that could go wrong. You had to have just the right amount of blood for the magic to work. Too little and the person came back as more of a zombie, unable to have any rational thoughts. Too much blood and a whole other set of problems developed. You risked awakening more dead than you intended. Intoxicated by the lure of life they would continually feed off your blood, draining you of your life core. And even after you ended your contact, if your metaphysical shields weren’t strong enough, any dead who you had raised were connected to you and could call on that blood connection to rise again on their own.

Sarah had made all three mistakes the last time. She had survived, but barely. It wasn’t like there was a 911 for supernatural emergencies. To this day she never knew what exactly it was that saved her. But she was grateful. She moved on, reclaimed her normal life and was about to marry an incredible man who knew nothing about her supernatural past. Guilt swelled inside her but she swatted it away like an annoying fly. It was not the same as the secrets Brett had kept. And she had her reasons for not telling him. She was trying to protect them both and she had never seriously intended to use her powers again. Yet here she was, sitting in their bedroom, about to open the door to a world that had almost killed her. But she had to.

Sarah raised the lid of the box and lifted the luminescent crystal. As she sat there she couldn’t help thinking she should be hidden in some dark forest, surrounded by moonlight and candles, covered in goat blood and chanting incomprehensibly. Instead she took the knife and on the count of three sliced the length of her finger. The pain was instant and she struggled to keep her focus. The gash was almost an inch long and she wondered if she had cut too deep, if she would need stitches for it to heal.

Blood ran down her finger and she cupped her hand so that it pulled in her palm. In the other hand she held the crystal. Without giving herself time to think she clasped both hands together.

The stone was pulsing with magic. Rays of white light shot out from between her fingers. She closed her eyes and called out to Darla. She pictured the older woman, recalling the photo that the police had carried with them. It was the only visual Sarah had. She clung to the image, calling out her name until she felt a pressure on her shoulder.

Sarah opened her eyes, momentarily startled, then recognized the woman beside her. Darla was not dressed in the dark suit of the photo, but a long-sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans. Her blond hair curled up around her face, streaks of gray lost in the fullness. Her skin was tinted with a summery tan, and yet there was a paleness that only death could bring. She may have looked alive, but she certainly wouldn’t pass for healthy.

“What was that?” Darla gasped for air, surprised by her sudden need to breathe. She held out her hands in front of her, inspecting the genuineness. “I’m alive.”

“Not exactly,” Sarah said. She felt another pang of guilt as she struggled to find the right explanation. It was not her intention to piss off a dead woman.

“I remember dying, but now,” she paused. “I can feel my heart racing in my chest.” Darla moved her hand over her chest and up along her neck and face.

“You’re body is real. But it’s only temporary.”

Darla looked at her for explanation. Sarah could tell by the slight narrowing of eyes that Darla was confused, and probably a little suspicious of her.

“I have the power to raise the dead. And I brought you back because I needed to talk to you.”

“Who are you?” she asked. “No.” She gazed around the room, taking in her surroundings, her eyes scanning the furniture, the pictures on the walls, the sconces, the mahogany dressers. “I know this room and I know this bed.” She took a deep breath and as she exhaled said, “I know this scent.”

Darla wandered over to the dresser and ran her fingers along the wooden top. She paused, resting her hand on a picture frame. “You make a cute couple.” She said cute as if the word were poisonous.

“Not really.” Sarah shrugged it off as if she hadn’t noticed the sarcasm in Darla’s tone.

“He’s tall, I’m short. He’s old, I’m young. He’s—”

“Yeah but you’re happy.” Darla lifted the frame taking a closer look at the black and white photo.

Sarah didn’t know what to say to the woman who had loved her boyfriend for more than twenty years. So she sat there, watching the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman that she had invited into her bedroom.

Darla placed the photo back on the dresser then turned to face Sarah. “Why did you bring me here?” Her voice was flat.

Sarah took a deep breath. Why did she bring Darla here? What had she hoped to accomplish by meeting Brett’s dead lover? Nervous she found her gaze scanning the room, searching for something to settle on that didn’t remind her of her Brett. She didn’t have to ask the question. She could still back out. But some part of her knew that she would always wonder. She had to know because it was the only way she and Brett could move on with their life together. Sarah decided honesty and directness was the best approach.

“He never talks about you,” Sarah started. A flicker of pain seemed to flash across Darla’s face but she continued. “If it hadn’t been for your suicide I would have even known you existed.”

“That’s why you brought me here,” Darla crossed her arms over her chest, “because you want to chitchat over tea and cookies? At this point I am not really looking to bond with anyone.” Her words seemed to crack through the air.

“I know it’s awkward, but I really needed to meet you.”
“Why? To gloat?” Darla waived her arms in the air.

“No, of course not.” Sarah was on the verge of pleading. This wasn’t how she had anticipated the conversation going. She hadn’t expected Darla to still be bitter towards her ex-husband.

“How dare you bring me back to this world and force me to watch you flit around in your perfect little dancer body!” Darla yelled. “What gives you the right?”

There was a slight ringing in Sarah’s ears. The sound reminded her that she had very little time. The longer Darla was in human form the weaker Sarah would become. She couldn’t risk being so weak that she could not break off the connection to Darla properly. She would have to try a different approach if she was going to get anywhere.

“He’s been different since your death,” Sarah said. “He won’t open up to me and I thought by talking with you, I could find some answers.”

Darla’s face remained stony. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?’ she snapped. “That the only man you’ve ever loved is shutting you out of his life? I mean, I can’t possibly imagine what that feels like.”

Sarah wanted to cry, not because she was sad, but because she was so damn frustrated. She hated not having any control. Fate just swooped in and did whatever the hell it wanted and she was beginning to feel like no matter how hard tried nothing would change the end result.

“He still loves you,” Sarah blurted out in a last ditch effort to connect.

Darla froze and for the first time looked the part of the cold dead body.

“He doesn’t talk about you, because he still loves you. He won’t say it. He’s too much of a gentleman to do that to me, but the truth is—I think it’s just too painful for him.”

Darla seemed lost in thought and Sarah could almost see the questions racing through her mind. She wanted to give Darla privacy, but she didn’t have the luxury of time. The ringing had gotten louder and her vision was growing spotty, as if someone kept flashing a bright light directly into her pupils. She closed her eyes tightly and waited.

“We separated almost 5 years ago.” Darla’s voice was softer showing a vulnerability that hadn’t existed moments before. She was looking at the photo again.

Sarah remained as still as possible, afraid that any movement would cause the bitter version of Darla to return.

“I know,” Sarah said. “But you were also married for 20 years.”

“After the divorce he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me.”

“Yeah.”

Darla looked up, her eyes glossy. “Then how can you stand here and tell me my ex-husband still loves me?”

Sarah didn’t have an answer, at least not one that she could put into words. Instead she asked a different question. “Why did you get divorced?”

“That’s not really any of your business.”

“Yeah. Except that it kind of is.” Sarah pleaded. “I am about to get married to your ex-husband. He proposed to me two weeks ago, and I can’t say yes, because I think he’s still in love with you.”

“Even if he is still in love with me, which I doubt, I’m dead.”

“You’re dead, and he’s in mourning or at least as much as he can be without insulting me. I want him to grieve for your loss. I want him to remember the good things about your time together. But I need to know that he’s really in love with me, and not in love with the fact that I’m not you.” A quick tear flitted down Sarah’s cheek, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Darla, the other woman, the shadow she felt like she was chasing.

Darla moved to the bed and sat down beside Sarah. Both with watery eyes, it looked like a tearful mother and daughter reunion. Sarah felt a pang of remorse that she could not share this moment with her own mother, but in a way, she wouldn’t be able to have this moment if it hadn’t been for the gift her mother had given.

“He may still be in love with me,” Darla said, “but it was a different me. It was a different him, really. We were young and somewhat foolish, completely caught up in ourselves. Then life happened. Money, jobs, bills, and a mortgage. Every thing that came our way pushed us a little farther apart. We didn’t agree on anything. We couldn’t compromise. In the end I resented him for keeping me from what I really wanted.”

“Did you suggest the divorce?” Sarah held her breath, knowing the answer she wanted to hear and terrified that she wouldn’t hear it.

“No, he did.”

It was not the answer Sarah had expected. She was certain that Darla had ended their marriage, that Brett would have gone on living that unsatisfactory life as long as she was willing.

“He suggested a trial separation right after he met you.”

The ringing in her ears grew louder and Sarah thought she had misheard Darla. The sound of her pulse rushing though her body made her feel more than a little faint. “What did you say?”

“You don’t remember do you?”

“Remember what?”

“We met before, in ‘99 at Jacobs Pillow. We watched you dance. I remember the solo piece you did. He was mesmerized by it, but then again so was everyone else. I didn’t give it a second thought. Afterwards there was a meet and greet…”

“—where platinum ticket holders get to mingle with the dancers—” Sarah mittered.

“Yes. And when he met you, when he took your hand, something in him changed. I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the recognition that he could be with someone else, someone who loved him for the person he has become and not the person that he was. He was just different after that.” Darla paused. “Less than a month later he moved into a small apartment close to the office and we were headed for a divorce.”

Sarah tried to recall the brief encounter, but there were so many meet and greet receptions that they all blended together. “Wow,” was all she could manage to say. “I never knew that he had even seen me dance?”

“I am not saying he fell in love with you that night. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was a fluke that your paths crossed again, or maybe it was meant to be. I don’t know. But I do know that he loves you, and it has nothing to do with me.”

The two women sat in silence, lost in their own memories. After a few minutes Sarah looked up at Darla. “You have to go back now.”

“Already?”

Sarah nodded. “I’ve already lost a lot of energy keeping you alive. If you don’t go soon the magic won’t hold and bad things can happen.”

“What things?”

“Bad things.”

“Oh”

Neither woman moved.

“Why did you stop dancing?” Darla asked.

“I was injured. I couldn’t dance.” Darla only looked at Sarah not calling her a liar out loud. “I had a fractured ankle and weak knees. I had to stop. You can’t jump, you can’t land, you can’t support the force of your body weight; it just doesn’t work.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

“No one.”

Darla reached into the cardboard box still open on the bed and pulled a bundle of cloth. “I don’t think Brett is the one having trouble letting go.”

She set the bundle on her lap and unfolded it delicately. Sarah stared down at the black leather Capezio shoes. To someone unfamiliar with the world of dance they would have assumed they were ballet slippers. But these were best for lyrical routines, the split sole and pleated toe provided a better feel for the floor than a regular ballet shoe. Sarah looked away. Each breath was harder than the last. Her skin was on fire and felt like it would melt away.

“Can you put those away please?”

Darla set the bundle on the bed but didn’t bother covering the shoes. She stood.

“You have to go back to the spiritual plane.”

Darla nodded and handed Sarah the crystal. The blood almost completely dried out. This time she didn’t need the knife to reopen her wound. She pressed firmly around the cut, moving her fingers in a downward motion to draw out blood. The crystal reactivated and Sarah was pulled into blackness. She collapsed on the bed.

#

Emotionally and physically drained Sarah climbed out of bed. A quick glance at the clock showed that several hours had passed by. She must have blacked out after breaking off the connection with Darla. Her body was sore and covered in dry sweat. He needed to clean up before Brett returned and she could use a long hot shower right about now. Passing the dresser she froze in front of the mirror. She could see the photo of her and Brett in the reflection. They did look happy. But how long would the happiness last before the ghosts of their pasts caught up with them? Hesitantly Sarah brought her right foot to her knee. Arms out she began to lift up one centimeter at a time. Soon she was on the full of her toes. Without taking her eyes off the ground, she extended her right leg and swung it around, propelling the rest of her body in a tight circle. Her heart rushing in her chest as she landed the turn she couldn’t help but smile. She had to take a step forward to regain her balance but just the movement made her happy.

Brett had seen her dance.

She put her arms down and walked into the bathroom. Maybe she could do this. Maybe they both could.

The End

Copyright: © 2007 Melissa Ann Long