Draith
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Chapter 127 - Bathroom Door
🕑 Added 2025-06-10 14:00:10 +0000 UTCWhile Nexxa had made it sound like she was going to leave immediately, she was planning to wait a few more days. If the horde continued coming at the rate it was, that would be enough to push her over the edge into Hydra souled. Once she took her next step on the path of Ascendancy, she planned to clear all the way to the front as her people started along the highroad. A trip that would actually be rather pleasant if slow, now that I'd repaired the relays.
I'd let her know that there'd be several fourth Order spells available for her to add to her grimoire if she succeeded, though I couldn’t afford too many.
We spent the night talking spell theory again, much like we used to. It was good, but different. In the couple months apart we'd both dealt with impossible problem after convoluted challenge and it wasn't easy to set those responsibilities aside to simply geek out over interesting spell design.
Not that we didn't, it was just that one of us would occasionally trail off, as we thought of how a little change could've saved us so much headache.
Amusingly, it was when we started talking about the issues we’d each faced, and how we could use what we’d learned to solve them, that we fell into something resembling our old rhythm.
We shared breakfast, gave each other a hug, and I told her I'd come check on her and her people in a month or so. Never had gotten the communication devices from Vetrov before the Howling season hit.
Hash said goodbye with a giant wave of his arm, and I was off.
It was funny, how much less my thoughts intruded on the way back. Seeing Nexxa, and admittedly, getting a chance to help her, had helped my state of mind greatly.
That night, when I entered Memory Palace, I couldn't help but notice that the angry red border around the edge of the bathroom door had receded. I could easily keep putting it off.
Much like how Nexxa had put off telling me about the soul police she'd been part of. Or how I’d kept putting off telling her about what really happened with Perry.
If it were Tamrie, she’d ask me what the priorities were. Whether it was what I should do, or if there was something more important?
So, in the fractured remains of an ancient stone tower along the edge of the highroad, barely inside its protections, I packed up Soaring Wolf, sealed the door, asked Neta to watch over me and made myself comfortable.
Then I went back inside Memory Palace.
And I pulled open the bathroom door.
…Magelord…
Once upon a time, the bathroom had been my sanctuary, the magical place where I could be safe. For all the years I'd spent under the old man, the one thing he respected was, as he put it, ‘a man's right to be alone when doing his business'.
So, when I needed a break, I retreated to the bathroom. Couldn't spend too long inside during the work day or the old man would haul me to the doctor after, then beat me for wasting his time and money.
I'd only done that once.
Still, long as the work was done for the day, if I went into the bathroom and closed the door, he'd leave me be.
That had continued right on up into my later teen years. Given the old man’s heavy hand, I obviously didn't get out much. Didn't interact with women or people in general, even most of the old man's customers.
There was one woman who was an exception to that. She had this old Mustang. Cherry red, just like her lips and the dresses she wore. She loved that car. Refused to let us work on it if she wasn't around. Paid the old man's 'vehicle voyeur' fee for the extra hassle of having the customer there to hassle the mechanic. Basically double his usual rate.
It also kept him from foisting all the work off onto me. Which meant she'd talk to me while the old man would work. And I… I kind of developed a crush on her.
Literally the only woman in my world. Wasn't too much of a surprise, I supposed.
She wasn't anything like Tamrie or any woman I'd known on Ro'an. Well, maybe a bit like some of the Magus Domini at Althon’s parties. All high class heels, designer dresses and perfect makeup. Late twenties or early thirties.
Sophisticated and beautiful. Like she’d stepped straight out of the movie screen and into my life.
Stood out like a dazzling ruby in our little slice of midwestern hell and she knew it.
Hadn’t known at the time, why she chose our shop or why she kept coming back. But after the fifth visit in as many months, my old man told me to handle her.
‘The extra money ain’t worth banging up my fingers to fix what ain’t broke,’ he’d said before grabbing a sixpack of Bud lite from the garage fridge and retreating into his office. ‘The boy’ll handle it from now on, and if you don’t like it, you can take your fancy little keister somewhere else.’
She didn't take her keister anywhere.
In fact, with me working on the car, she seemed to find even more excuses to bring it by. Change the brakes, even though they still had plenty of pad. Okay fine. Oil change, even though she'd gotten one a month ago. Whatever she said. New battery, cause it didn't match the color of the cables. She was the boss.
The old man didn't complain if I drug out her visits either, since she was paying by the hour. And it wasn’t him doing the work.
So… we talked even more.
About everything and nothing. Bout her car and about the little town I'd grown up in. The one I knew barely anything about. Learned more about it from her than I’d ever discovered myself, and she’d only just moved there.
I’d thought it was love. Might even have been true.
What was true, was she was the only rag-soaked light in my life. When I got knocked down in the ring, it was her face I pictured. When the old man lost it for no reason I could tell, it was her laughter that drowned out the ringing in my head.
So, when she'd come onto me one hot summer day, I'd gone all in.
Of course, there was only one place I could take her. Only one place that was mine. I’d opened the bathroom door and brought her inside. She'd loved it. Made it more thrilling, she'd said. More naughty.
My old man didn't notice or didn't care. She kept coming. Kept giving him money for the time I spent with her.
Then one day her little red Mustang drove in without her. Instead of the woman I loved, it was one of the old man's friends. One of the men from the ring. He didn't even look at me as he went to the old man, one foot squelching as he walked past.
I'd looked over the car as I always did. Had gotten used to having her car in the shop. Used to checking it over for the slightest little scratch.
Voices were raised in the back of the shop, in the old man's office. I didn't pay it too much mind. That tended to happen pretty much every other day. Instead I made my way around the back of the car, only to notice that the trunk had been damaged. There were all sorts of scratch marks around the hatch.
This was her car. She wanted it perfect. Figured the guy was a friend who'd brought it in for her, cause she was busy. She’d said that she got busy sometimes, otherwise she’d come by more often.
I could do the work. Was sure she'd pay the old man next time she came by, if I was caught. And if I wasn't.
Well, I was in love.
Didn't need to bother her friend for the key. She'd given me a spare months before. ‘So I could work on it whenever,’ she'd said.
I popped the trunk, ready to inspect the damage.
Wasn’t prepared for the damage I found.
She was trussed up in her own trunk, blood running down from her forehead. Her eyes widened when they saw me. First in panic, then in relief when she recognized me.
It was my turn to panic.
Just about slammed the trunk on her out of surprise, though I caught myself after only wiggling it a bit.
Looked towards the office, trembling as I tried to understand what was happening. Why was she in the trunk? Who was that man? What had he done to her?
Then just as suddenly as I’d discovered her, I realized…
Didn’t matter.
They were still yelling. I pulled her out of the trunk and she sobbed in my arms. I held a finger to her mouth, trying to keep her quiet.
She begged me to get in the car with her, to take her away.
To my regret, I didn't. Maybe if I had, things could’ve been different.
But it seemed too dangerous. If you ran, you got caught. You got beat.
Instead, I took her to the one place that felt safe to me. I took her and hid her in the bathroom. My sanctuary.
The woman’s ‘friend’ came out of my old man's office still cursing to himself. He got in the car and drove off. As soon as he was out of sight, the old man started laying into me, beating me. Didn't say a word and I didn't respond, other than to give him the groans and cries he needed.
Figured he knew about her hiding in my sanctuary, and this was the price.
Except he left me alone, ignored the bathroom and went to his phone.
I didn't have a good plan for what would happen next. Some part of my brain thought that since she was in the bathroom, everything would be fine, that since the old man hadn’t realized she was there, no one would be able to find her.
That… wasn't what happened.
Not that much later, the man had come back, ranting and raving about his missing wife. About how he’d brought her out from New York and how much of a hassle it would be if she got back there for a divorce. How he needed to find her.
His. Wife.
His pregnant, and not by him, wife.
"Lindsey," I'd screamed, for some awful, unknowable reason. "Her name is Lindsey, and she's not your property."
"Boy," my old man had said, his tone low as he stood up. "Where is she?"
"Gone! I helped her run this afternoon," I'd said, stepping towards him and motioning out the door. But I'd glanced towards the bathroom door. The closed bathroom door.
I'd often wondered how he'd figured it out, and it was only as Memory Palace dragged me through my own worst nightmare, that I discovered I'd betrayed her. Not on purpose, but it’d still been my fault.
My old man had gotten up from his desk and paced out into the garage. He hadn't gone straight for the bathroom. I'd thought he'd somehow pieced it together from the room, from the way he looked around before slowly allowing his eyes to rest on the bathroom door.
Then he went to the door, flinging it open.
To my relief, Lindsey wasn't there. The window, set high in the wall was open, and she'd scrabbled through it.
Her husband, whose name I didn’t know, stormed out, determined to chase her down. But she'd spent time around the shop. I'd told her what vehicles ran, and which didn't.
And which just needed a screwdriver to jimmy in the lock to get running.
My dune buggy sped out of the yard, nearly clipping the man as Lindsey drove away.
I might've let out a ragged cheer at the sight, only to get cuffed by my old man. He didn't beat me though.
The man cursed, going to the car, which mysteriously failed to fire up. He stomped out with the old man eventually sending him on the way with a loaner.
I never saw her again. I did get a letter, delivered by another customer who'd come in for an oil change they didn't really need. It had been crammed up inside the engine, held in place by duct tape.
My dear Percy,
I am sorry that this is how I must tell you. I’ve written this letter perhaps a dozen times, yet I find my words still fail me.
Perhaps it is cruel of me to say this, but I feel you should know. The child was yours. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I never got to tell you. I’m sorry that I won’t be keeping our baby.
You won’t see me again, Percy. It’s not safe for me here. Your father and my husband are dangerous men. I’ll be back in New York by the time my friend gets you this.
I wish…
I wish you’d come with me. Then we could both escape. I’m sorry. Sorry that I’m not brave enough to come save you.
Don’t come to New York. I won’t be able to help you. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to help myself.
This… this is the end of the fairytale, my dear Percival. My shining knight.
With what remains of my withered heart, your dear Lindsey.
I crumpled the letter, wiping at my eyes with it, hidden under the undercarriage as the old man cursed at me, asking why I wasn’t done yet.
Felt like my whole oilsoaked world had collapsed.
Didn't matter.
I finished the oil change and the rest of the work that day. Then I got out of bed the next day and kept going. Kept fixing cars and going to the old man’s fights.
The bathroom door stayed closed.
