Chapter 45: Cecile VI--I Know Those Eyes

Chapter 45: Cecile VI—I Know Those Eyes

"OK," Cecile said into the phone. "I’ll get my shoes on.... Love you too.... Bye."

Cecile darted downstairs into the basement, finally feeling a smile in her chest. Danny had called, and since he wouldn’t be skating with the team for another hour or so, he had suggested he pick her up and take her to the practice facility.

It was already past mid-morning, and Cecile had been feeling nothing short of useless. The house was empty. There was nothing for her to do. Patrick had left early that morning with the children, carting them to their hockey practices or wherever else they had to go. He had his own practice too, of course. Michele was off God knows where. They had left her in the big house alone. So Danny’s call was just the Godsend she was looking for.

As she was fixing her bed, one of her gold bracelets, a gift from her mother, flipped off her wrist and slid underneath it. Cecile sighed and crawled on her hands and knees, squeezing herself as far as she could underneath the bed. As she did, another cold, basement draft blew over her body. Shivering, she snagged her bracelet with her fingers and her hand brushed across the side of a cold, metal box.

Cecile drew her hand back, as if burned. The shape of the box was darkened and barely visible to her. Desire took her. Sliding her bracelet onto her fingers, she grabbed a corner of the box, which was surprisingly light, and she pulled it out from under the bed.

It was an old box, but there was no lock on it.

Cecile shivered again, and she noticed that there was a constant trembling in her legs. The temperature seemed to have dropped even more. Was the house this old to be so drafty?

I shouldn’t do it. Cecile thought. It’s not mine to be looking at.

But it had been left under there, unlocked, for anyone to find.

Cecile ran her tongue over her lips and glanced over her shoulder. A peek couldn’t hurt.

Closing her eyes, she pressed the latches on the box and with a snap that sounded to her at that moment like a gunshot, she opened them. The lid lifted easily with a plaintive, rusty squeak and she looked inside. It looked like a mound of faded white cloth. With a wrinkle to her brow, Cecile decided to pull it out. The cloth felt stiff and scratchy on her fingers and when she pulled it out completely, she saw that it was only an old hockey jersey.

Words couldn’t begin to describe Cecile’s disappointment right then. She looked around the rest of the room, at the rows and rows of autographed hockey sweaters displayed all over the basement walls. There must not have been room for this one.

Cecile wrinkled her nose. And she could see why! The front of the jersey was spattered with large rusty smudges that looked like blood. Gross! She flipped it over, there was no bloodstains on the back, just a large name. Tremblay.

OK, Cecile thought. Weird.

She sighed and refolded the jersey, sliding it back into the box, and then sliding the box back under the bed. Almost as soon as she did, the room seemed to warm up. She shook her head and leaned back on her hands, bored all over again.

Well, what had I been expecting...? A shriveled head? Cecile thought. She thought of Michele’s sparkly, blue eyes. She smiled. Maybe a voodoo doll!

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Cecile looked up at the floor above her head. Someone was walking around the house. Danny had come pretty quickly!

Heart in her throat, Cecile stood up and began trotting towards the steps, eager to see his smile. Then she put her hand in her pocket and stopped. She was gripping the housekey in her hand. The key Danny had given her. Momentarily, her mouth went dry and just as quickly she relaxed. Patrick must have come home.

I must be getting paranoid, Danny’s right, Cecile thought, smiling as she went up the stairs and exited the basement up into the kitchen.

"Uh," Cecile said. "Mr. Roy? Danny’s gonna be picking me up in a few, unless you really needed me for something I was just........"

The man who entered the kitchen in response to her voice was not Patrick. And he was wearing a black ski mask. He was just standing there in the door way, his black eyes glinting at her.

"Oh..." Cecile gasped. Prickles of fear were stabbing up her skin, and she couldn’t stop wheezing in her breath.

"Look at those eyes," the man said.

"Danny...Danny’s gonna be here," Cecile said in a voice barely above a whisper, or did she only say it in her head?

"Where’d you get those eyes?" the man said.

Her bottom lip was trembling, what did one say to such a person? She needed to scream, but as in all the worst nightmares she could remember. Screams didn’t exist at a time like this.

"Danny’s gonna be here," she said louder this time, her voice cracking.

The man slowly nodded and lumbering like a heavy bear, he charged forward at her. This time Cecile did scream as she dodged to one side, barely avoiding his fingers and she darted out of the kitchen into the long hallway that led to the front door. She tried to make it to the door but his heavy, muscular body slammed against her back and she fell forward onto her stomach.

"Nooooo!" she screamed. "Danny!"

"Shut-up!" the man snarled, and he flipped her over onto her back. "I’ll smash your pretty face in, I’ll smash those pretty eyes! Now shut-up!"

He held his fist menacingly over her face, ready to slam it down. Cecile bit her lip. "Please," she whispered. "Don’t hurt me."

"I won’t," he said. "If you behave. You get points if I don’t have to hit your face."

Cecile closed her eyes. Danny will be here! She kept thinking.

"Where are the children?" the man asked. "Where is Michele?"

"I don’t know," Cecile whispered. "Gone."

"Open your eyes," the man said.

Cecile obeyed.

"Where did you get those eyes," the man said, speaking each word as if it were something to be labored on.

"What?" Cecile gasped. Answer him you idiot, she thought. Keep him talking! "My mother."

The man lowered his black gloved fist and he ran his thumb over the bottom of her chin. "Your mother?" he said. "I know those green eyes."

Before Cecile could answer, there was a high-pitched scream from somewhere close and the man’s masked face disappeared in a soft wrap of pale pink. He growled in surprise and anger.

"Batard!"

Cecile recognized Michele Roy’s snarl as she had thrown her flimsy button sweater over the man’s face and while he was blinded, she had begun raining kicks onto his ribs with her sharp toed shoes. Squeals came from the man as he clawed at the sweater on his face. Cecile, still too scared to stand began to slide back away from them on her bottom. There was another woman screaming at the top of her lungs in the room. It was Brandi Blake.

"Who are you!" Michele screamed, kicking his thigh as he finally pulled the sweater off his face.

The man howled in pain and grabbed Michele’s ankle as she was trying to deliver another kick; the woman screamed and fell onto her butt. Cecile covered her mouth with her hands and Brandi screamed even louder.

Instead of lunging at Michele, the man groaned and scrambled to his feet, shoving Brandi aside and lumbering into the kitchen, heading for the back door.

"NO!" Michele yelled, "You’re staying here!" She ran after the man, clawing at the back of his jacket, but he only shrugged her off and escaped out of the house.

As soon as he was gone, Brandi stopped screaming and dropped her face into her hands. Cecile could feel nothing but the throbbing of her blood in all points of her body. As Michele let out a string of French curses and stomped back into the hallway, Cecile shrunk back. There seemed to be just as much danger in Michele as there had been with the intruder.

"Batard!" Michele screamed and grabbing a heavy, pewter knick-knack, she flung it into the living room, smashing something.

"Oh my God!" Brandi gasped and she skittered the living room.

Michele screamed again and kicked the wall. Cecile dropped her chin and covered her ears with her hands. The woman was unstrung!

Finally, there was a silence and Cecile slowly looked up to see Michele, pale and breathing heavily, squatting down in front of her. "Did he hurt you?" she asked.

Cecile shook her head. "He didn’t have time....He just wanted to know where you were."

Michele jutted her bottom chin out. "And what else?"

"Where I got my eyes," Cecile whispered.

A slow, frightening smile spread on Michele’s face. "Pretty eyes too," she said. "Like a chaton, like a kitty-cat."

"I dialed 911," Brandi almost screamed the woman was near hysterics. "I’m calling Robbie now! I need Robbie!"

Michele looked in Brandi’s direction and rolled her eyes. Then she turned a soft smile to Cecile. "Come on," she said. "I help you up."

Cecile felt cold and limp as Michele gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. Almost immediately, Cecile wanted to fold her legs underneath her and curl up. She understood Brandi. Cecile only wanted to see Danny. Why hadn’t he come yet?

Her legs jellied when Michele led her to a kitchen chair and Cecile easily collapsed on it. All over, she couldn’t stop trembling. Maybe she should be crying, she thought, but tears didn’t come, she only felt a bit dizzy and light headed. Brandi was crying though, she could hear her sobs. Michele went to Brandi to comfort her. Cecile leaned forward, resting her elbows on her still trembling thighs and blowing out a long breath of air. Her heart was still pounding heavily.

With shoes clumping like a carthorse, Michele came back into the kitchen, her hands on her hips. Since she had taken off her sweater top, she was wearing only a flowery tank top and Cecile could see a circular row of angry bruises on her upper arm. Cecile had volunteered in enough battered women shelters to know how those were made. Those couldn’t have been from a few minutes ago, and they couldn’t have been made more than a few days ago. Well, Danny had said her marriage wasn’t going well.

There was a loud sigh from Michele and she leaned against the refrigerator. Cecile blushed and looked down at the floor when Michele gave her a long, cryptic look.

"I don’t know how he got in," Cecile murmured. "I just came upstairs and here he was."

"Oui," Michele said, and she walked to the kitchen sink, pulling out a washcloth and running water over it. "We should have changed the locks. I think he has a key. I was stupid."

"No!" Cecile said. "You were...I couldn’t have done that! You almost had him!"

Michele twisted the water out of the cloth and looked at Cecile with a slight sparkle in her eye. Cecile actually felt some warmth from her, and she felt some for her. It gave her goosebumps. "That was nothing!" Michele said. "If I could have done what I wanted to. But no. We are women, nes pas? We can only do so much."

Cecile found herself looking at the bruises on her arm again. Things didn’t seem so simple anymore.

Michele walked to Cecile, tilting her chin up with her fingers. Cecile couldn’t avoid looking into Michele’s face. "And how are you?" Michele asked.

Cecile dropped her gaze. "Fine," she said. "Physically."

Michele nodded and wiped the cool cloth over Cecile’s sweaty forehead. "So terrible that you had to go through this," Michele said. "Unforgivable that you should have been alone here like that."

"No!" Cecile said quickly, she was bothered by the way she suddenly felt compelled to make excuses for Michele. "You couldn’t have known that he was going to come here. It’s not your fault."

Cecile held her breath as Michele pressed the wash cloth onto her sensitive throat, it felt frigid and made her tremble all over again. Then Michele ran her fingers through her hair, and Cecile blushed.

"You have such pretty hair," Michele said. "Like a raven’s wing."

"Thanks," Cecile mumbled.

Cecile cringed a bit when Michele parted her hair and began braiding it. Her fingers were as quick as any experienced mother braiding a girl’s hair.

"It’s too long and thick to be down on your back so much," Michele said, finishing the braid and patting it. "You should pull it back more often. Show Daniel that pretty, pale neck of yours."

"Oh," Cecile said, blushing again and putting her hands to her throat, she suddenly felt like she should cover herself up. Was this how Danny felt when in Michele’s company? It was worrisome.

"You two make such a lovely couple," Michele said and then Cecile gasped and leaned forward onto her knees when Michele blew against the back of her sweaty neck.

"Bon," Michele said. "Cool off. You’ve had such a scare."

She smoothed her hand over Cecile’s back and then went back into the hallway to Brandi who had broken into sobs again.

Fluttering her eyes and exhaling, Cecile shook her head. Maybe Michele didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe she was just one of those women who naturally stir people up. Maybe she was being paranoid and Michele wasn’t the least interested in Danny.

Cecile frowned. And maybe Siamese cats were never up to mischief.

Within the hour, the house and kitchen were full of police, husbands, family, and outside news cameras were tramping along with curious neighbors. It was a mess. Cecile had already been through countless rounds of questions and mostly the same questions over and over again. How did he get in? What did he say? What did he do? What did he look like? What did he weigh? How tall was he? What race was he? How old was he?

Over and over and over it was drilled to Cecile. She didn’t mind the questions so much; it told her that they were being thorough. In fact, Danny seemed more concerned over the repetitive questions than she was.

Brandi and Michele were going through the same. Brandi kept sobbing off and on, constantly in her doting husband’s arms, turning her face into his chest, telling him

what a horrid experience she had gone through.

Patrick never left Michele’s side either. The deep blue glint in his eyes had frightened Cecile when he had come stomping into the house. He had gone straight to Michele kissing her and holding onto her with his large hands. Cecile had found herself staring at those hands as he seemed to hold onto her real gently. And he had caused her those bruises no doubt? Then he was like a mother lion right now, holding her gently in arms that could crush her in an instant.

"You see!" Patrick kept snapping at policemen, "My wife is not a liar! You could have left her to die for your ignorance!" Michele seemed to be disdainful of the police herself.

Their three children were crawling over the both of them and Jana couldn’t stop following policemen and gawking at the guns on holstered on their hips.

"Oh, I should have been here sooner," Danny kept whispering into Cecile’s ear.

"Danny it’s OK," Cecile told him in an almost irritated fashion as she grabbed a glass of water. She was taking advantage of a brief lapse in the police’s interest in her. "It could have been worse, but it wasn’t."

Danny smiled a large, colorless smile. "I don’t know what I would have done if it were worse," he said

Cecile took another drink of water and sighed. "But it wasn’t!" she almost snapped. "Alright?"

"Yeah," Danny said, and he leaned over and kissed the side of her neck. The feel almost shocked her like a volt of electricity.

"Danny!" she gasped.

"Sorry," Danny grinned. "You have such a pretty neck. How come I never get to see it more often?"

Before Cecile could say anything she heard a voice that both relieved her and cut through her with fear.

"My daughter is in there!" the voice snapped. "Let me in! She is probably terrified and she needs me!"

"Danny!" Cecile hissed. "Keep back! That’s my mom! She can’t see you yet, please!"

Danny looked over in the direction of the commotion and he squeezed her hand. Wordlessly, he left Cecile’s side, scooping little Jana off the waist of a policeman and carrying her to her parents.

"Cecile!" Pauline Darcy came cutting through the crowd, her green eyes shining with tears.

"Mom," Cecile said weakly, finally feeling as if she were going to cry. She relaxed into Pauline’s bony, tight hug.

"Baby!" Pauline said. "Did he hurt you? He didn’t touch you? I’ll kill him if he touched you!"

"No," Cecile said. "I wasn’t hurt...Mimi..I mean Michele chased him away. I think she saved my life, mom."

Pauline kissed the top of Cecile’s head and she looked at Michele who was lounging on Patrick’s lap. "Is that her?" Pauline asked in an uncertain voice.

"Yeah," Cecile said.

"Oh," Pauline said. "Um, Mrs....W-W-uh.... Roy."

"Wah!" Cecile whispered into Pauline’s ear.

"Yes, darling," Pauline said. "Mrs. Woo-raw."

Michele looked up at Pauline. "Oh, yes?" she said, blinking.

"Thank you so much, for saving my baby. Who would be so horrible as to do this?" Pauline said.

Michele smiled and yawned. "I really don’t know, I’m just happy that Cecile was unharmed. This will not happen again I assure you miss..."

"Darcy," Pauline said. "I’m Pauline Darcy."

"Yes," Michele said and she reached out shaking Pauline’s bony hand.

Cecile noticed Patrick’s gaze on her mother. He was squinting as if he were studying her face, every detail of it.

"Excuse me," a cop said, nudging Cecile’s arm. "I need to take your full name down for the records."

Cecile nodded, "Danceny. Cecile Marie Danceny."

"Thanks," said the cop and he walked off scribbling on his notebook.

"Not Darcy?" Patrick asked Cecile. Cecile looked at him and couldn’t answer. She felt intimidated. She couldn’t say why.

"No," Pauline said. "Her father died when she was just a baby, I’ve remarried since then."

"Oh," Patrick said. "Danceny."

Pauline hugged Cecile again and Cecile caught another glimpse of Patrick’s gaze. He was looking at her mother again, and nodding, as if he had figured out a large problem in his head. Maybe that was nothing.

She looked across the room at Danny who was carting the black-eyed little Jana on his shoulders. He looked back at her, and smiled. A sad smile. It made Cecile sick to her stomach. She couldn’t stay like this forever. Sooner or later, she had to make either a decision, or get her mother to compromise. It wasn’t fair to hold Danny in limbo like this, and it wasn’t right to keep lying to her mother.

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