The Wicked Garden Page 2

  Her heart racing, Gretchel jumped out of bed and scurried to the window. Everything looked normal, but something had changed. Her intuition had been dormant for years—deadened by drink for a time, and, later, suppressed by the amethyst’s power—but she trusted the feeling in her gut and looked outside again. Her attention was drawn to the white trash bag snagged in the branches just outside the window. It had been there since the Solstice. It thrashed in the wind, but it was nothing. She dismissed it as she continued to scan the neighborhood. By the natural light of the full moon and manufactured glow of the street lamps, she could make out a gray wolf padding down the road. She gasped, and the wolf turned toward her and howled.

  Gretchel closed the drapes, and she tried to close her ears to the mournful wail from outside. Wake up! she told herself. There are no wolves roaming this gated community. She rubbed at her sleepy eyes, and tried to adjust herself to reality, but the dream that had awakened her still clung like fog.

  Right before the siren had sounded, she had come face to face with the night mare, the black horse that had first invaded her sleep when she was a teenager. She had been in a field of poppies when she saw it galloping toward her. She couldn’t get away. She reached out for help to no avail. The horse reared in front of her, and then lowered its head to fix her with its huge black eyes—and then she heard the siren. It was a horrible dream. The damn necklace, she thought, I shouldn’t have given it away. I’m going to go crazy again.

  She glanced at the clock. 4:32 am. There was no use going back to bed when the alarm would soon be blaring for her morning run. She was brushing her teeth when a dreadful feeling washed through her. Something devastating was going to happen, she could feel it. Something that would change her life. She was ready for something to propel her out of the godforsaken inertia of the last seventeen years, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she was prepared for a new type of hell.

  She went to her walk-in closet. Above a full-length mirror hung the fraternity paddle. It was there as a visual reminder to sustain her fear and submission. It had worked that way for a long time, but it wasn’t working this morning, just like it hadn’t worked on the Solstice.

  Gretchel moved aside some sweaters, and pulled out a box that housed items she once used for ritual. Concealing it from Troy was a necessity, lest she face a beating. Troy wasn’t much of a Christian, but he was pretty sure that his carefully cultivated image did not include a pagan wife. It had been a long time since she’d even opened the box. It was easier for her to just go through the motions of being Troy’s gorgeous, adoring spouse, and she had been doing whatever was easier for quite awhile.

  Gretchel closed her eyes as she lifted the lid. A musty smell—the scent of things long hidden—floated toward her. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was an old rag doll. She pulled it out of the box, held it tight to her chest, and began to shake.

  Oh, wise ones, please forgive me, she prayed. Please be patient. I’ve lost myself, and I know I need to change, but I don’t know how. It felt right to pass on the amethyst. It was time to take it off. But I’m afraid without it—afraid of myself. Please protect me.

  Gretchel slipped a hand inside her robe and touched the scars on the right side of her torso. The skin felt tender and ached as if the wounds were fresh. On the edge of an abyss, Gretchel tried to retreat into the illusion of normalcy she’d wrapped around herself for so many years. It’s all in my head, she thought. The necklace was just a piece of jewelry. The wolf was just the fragment of a dream.

  She heard a lone howl, and her skin prickled. It was a sign. Change was surely happening, whether she was ready for it or not.

  ∞

  Later that morning, Gretchel stood in a daze at her kitchen sink. It was New Year’s Eve, and her wedding anniversary. She couldn't believe it had been seventeen years. It was worse than a prison sentence. ‘Til death do us part? If only. Gretchel couldn’t believe that she’d ever be free of Troy.

  The toaster popped, startling her.

  “Salon day?” Troy asked, grabbing his plate of bacon and eggs.

  Gretchel nodded. She was showered and dressed after her subzero run. A silk scarf covered her hair. It was navy blue and white, and had been a gift from Troy. It matched the fitted navy cardigan she wore over a crisp white shirt, and navy slacks from the Troy-approved winter casual collection.

  She glanced at her husband, who sat at the island in the kitchen eating and reading the sports section of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. It was Friday, and he was going to work as usual. If he did nothing else for her, he was a good provider. Sometimes, she tried to convince herself that was why she was still with him.

  She lived in a beautiful home. She always drove a brand new car. She had everything that money could buy a stay-at-home mom in a small, sleepy town. Focusing on how blessed she was, had always made life easier to handle—until now.

  As a teenager, when her family came close to losing everything, this kind of lifestyle seemed very safe, but now it didn’t seem to be enough. No, she disagreed internally; it’s not that it’s not enough. It’s more than enough. It’s just not me. This is all a lie.

  It may have appeared to the outside world as if she had achieved the American dream, but behind the veil of country-club living was the truth: She was married to a man she hated; her sixteen-year-old daughter was a pistol and constantly antagonizing her husband, and her fourteen-year-old son was becoming an ungrateful monster like his father. Gretchel herself was nothing more than the adhesive that kept the family together, and the glue was losing its hold.

  Once upon a time, she had been an art student with an affinity for the natural world. Growing up, Gretchel had turned to art to get through the very toughest times, and her garden had always been a refuge. Troy wasn’t interested in art, and he wasn’t about to let her replace their perfectly manicured lawn with a mess of herbs and wildflowers. So, she had a house full of white walls and a philodendron above the kitchen cabinets, dying from lack of attention.

  The last time she had done any painting, Gretchel had been beaten and locked in the basement for two days. It hadn’t been the act of painting that had gotten her into trouble so much as the subject of her work.

  Catching herself remembering those aquamarine eyes, Gretchel gave herself a shake and wiped toast crumbs into the sink. She wondered where the nostalgia was coming from. It’s the damn necklace, she decided.

  She picked up the last piece of bacon and began to nibble, when Troy came from behind and snatched it from her hand. “Aren’t you on a diet?” he asked, shoving the bacon in his own mouth. “I’ll be home around six, so make sure you’re ready, and tell the faggot to do something different with your hair. You’re due for a change.”

  Yes, I am, she thought.

  She’d forgotten they were going out for dinner and drinks to celebrate their anniversary. With friends. They weren’t her friends, of course. Well, one of them was—or, at least, he had been. But that was a long time ago. Gretchel didn’t have any friends now.

  She had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when her son walked in with a grumpy groan.

  “French toast,” he growled, pulling up a stool and laying his head on the island.

  An unusual wave of anger rushed over Gretchel, turning her face crimson. “I’m not a short order cook,” she snapped. She grabbed a box of cereal and slammed it down inches from her son’s head.

  The boy was stunned. It had been a long time since his mother raised her voice to anyone. He watched her curiously as she grabbed the ringing phone from its cradle.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi, Gretchel. It’s Ben.”

  “Hey, Ben. Zach’s right here.”

  “No!” Ben’s voice cracked. “I need to talk to you.”

  “All right. What’s on your mind?” Gretchel noticed Zach’s eyes grow wide as he poured milk into his bowl.

  “I really don’t want to have to be the one to tell you this, but….”


  “What’s wrong, Ben?”

  After a brief pause, the boy’s words came out in a rush. “Troy is screwing around with my mom.”

  Panic and anxiety washed through Gretchel like a tsunami. “Excuse me?”

  “Troy and my mom are, you know, bonking.” Ben had regained some composure.

  “What?”

  Ben spoke slowly and loudly. “My mom and your husband are doing the nasty. Having sex. Am I being clear, Gretchel?”

  Gretchel leaned against the island as she felt herself losing strength. “No,” was all she could mutter.

  “Yes. Last night I overheard my mom talking about divorce.”

  “No!” Gretchel wailed.

  “Look, I know my mom’s a bitch, but I don’t want my family torn apart. Make him leave her alone, Gretchel. I’ve got to go, she’s coming.”

  Gretchel wiped at the tears running down her face, and looked at them on her hand with a certain fondness, as if they were long lost friends come back to comfort her.

  Zach glared at his mother. “He told you about Dad and Michelle didn’t he?” Gretchel was speechless. “He just couldn’t leave it alone,” Zach said, throwing his cereal bowl in the sink and storming out of the house. Gretchel heard the front door slam.

  She had known that Troy was sleeping with somebody. He’d put her in the hospital three years before, and hadn’t touched her since—well, not unless he was hitting her. She knew he’d taken a mistress after that, and she’d been grateful to whoever that mistress was, but why Michelle Brown? Of all the women in Irvine, why Michelle? she thought.

  It was bad enough that Troy worked for Michelle’s father. It was bad enough that Gretchel was forced into being friends with a woman who despised her. And it was bad enough they had to be neighbors. But this was the last straw. This reeked of karmic payback, and she wondered if her punishment would never end.

  Gretchel looked out the kitchen window, and tried to find some glimmer of sunlight, but her world was covered by a cloudy midwinter sky. She had known that she was ready for a change, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind. Not at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Irvine, 2010s

  Teddy Wintrop paced across the thick beige carpet in Gretchel’s bedroom. He was irate, but as Gretchel’s best friend, he knew it was his job to keep calm and gently guide her out of the chaos Troy had created.

  Teddy had nearly fallen over in shock when Gretchel had called him crying. He could hardly remember the last time she had cried—or shown any emotion at all, for that matter. He had been trying for years to coax her back to life, just as he had done before, back when they were teenagers.

  The disappearance of the Gretchel Teddy knew had been a gradual process. During the first seven years of her marriage to Troy, she still had a spark. Teddy thought that maybe he was the only one who could see it, but he wasn’t. He was just one of the few who cherished it unconditionally, and he had to watch helplessly as Gretchel’s husband thrashed it out of her. After a particularly brutal episode three years ago—one that required a hospital stay—every emotion Gretchel seemed to express was forced and fake. Her spirit had slipped away.

  Teddy glanced at her huddled on the bed, like a beaten puppy. He shook his head, and continued to pace. Gretchel had been acting strange lately—strange even for her—and Teddy had been checking in with her every day. He knew that Troy was beating her again. He begged her to file charges, even though he knew she wouldn’t.

  Teddy also knew that Gretchel wasn’t wearing the amethyst pendant she had worn constantly for almost two decades. He had spent a lot of time with Gretchel’s family over the years, and, although he struggled to maintain his skepticism, he knew that he had seen magic manifest. Grudgingly, he had become a believer.

  That was why he was so concerned about the fact that Gretchel had given away the amethyst. From the moment Eli put it around Gretchel’s neck, she had abstained from alcohol. If asked, Teddy probably wouldn’t say that the stone actually had healing energies, but he had to acknowledge the power it had over Gretchel. Within hours of Gretchel giving the pendant away, her world had turned upside down.

  As hard as it was to see her hurting so much, this display of genuine feeling gave Teddy hope. The Gretchel sobbing on the bed was like a wild animal being taunted—disoriented, hypersensitive, ready for a fight.

  Teddy was ready for a fight, too. He had felt nothing but contempt for Troy from the moment he’d first encountered him, and he hated what he’d done to Gretchel over the past seventeen years. It was just like Troy to sleep with the one person Gretchel truly loathed. Teddy was sorry to see his best friend undone by this betrayal, but he was more than willing to turn it into a catalyst for change. Of course, his slight form and complete disinterest in manly combat meant that he wasn’t about to confront Troy physically. Teddy’s instinct for intrigue and his love for Gretchel were his strongest weapons.

  Teddy turned away from Gretchel and gazed out the window, thinking. He noticed a ratty, wind-torn trash bag hanging from a tree in the front yard. He watched it flutter as he said, “Leave him, Gretchel. Leave today.”

  When he looked back toward the bed, Teddy saw his friend looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

  “Leave?” she asked incredulously.

  “Just pack up and leave. Go to the cottage. I’ll go with you. I’ll hire a bodyguard. I’ll be the bodyguard if necessary. Just go!”

  “I can’t just leave!” she cried.

  She had tried to leave before. The first time was early in her marriage. That attempt ended with her brother Marcus in jail for assaulting Troy. She had tried again after Troy had beaten her and locked her in the basement for a few days, but she succumbed to his apologies before she even made it out the front door. Teddy had been sure she’d finally leave after Troy put her in the hospital, but that was the attack that changed her—made her completely numb and almost invisible. Now, it seemed like the real Gretchel—the fierce, wild girl he had known—was back. Maybe this Gretchel could find the strength to get away.

  Teddy tried to be reassuring. “It may not be as bad as it seems.”

  “Well, this is how it seems to me, Mr. Glass-Half-Fucking-Full,” Gretchel spat, “When Michelle’s dad died six months ago, he left Sunset Automotive to her. If Troy divorces me, he’ll be free to marry her. That manipulative bastard is probably sleeping with her so that she’ll let him take over the company. Michelle hates me. I’m sure she’d be delighted to take away my financial security while she takes away my husband and breaks up my family. I’m sure they’re already trying to figure out how to make it look like I was the one who broke up two marriages.”

  Teddy gave Gretchel a chance to catch her breath, and then rebutted, “Point taken, but you have the upper hand in your power struggle with Michelle. You’ve had the upper hand for years.”

  “No, Teddy. We both called a reluctant truce. And besides Troy still has the video tape. What if he shows her? And if he hasn’t, he will. Did you think about that?” Gretchel’s voice rose and her eyes flashed.

  “No, I didn’t think about that."

  “What if she’s already told him everything about my past? What if she’s told him about Beltane? She’s going to destroy my family. Oh—my kids!” Gretchel began to sob.

  Teddy walked to the king size bed, and climbed up beside her. “This was a marriage of delusion from the beginning, Baby Girl. You chose to put yourself in this situation. I know it. You know it.”

  “Yes, Teddy. You’re right, Teddy. We both know that. But it doesn’t matter what we know!” Gretchel snapped.

  “It does matter,” Teddy retaliated, “because you have to take responsibility for your role in this mess. You don’t deserve to be treated this way, and you have to quit acting as though you do.”

  She stared out in to space, ignoring him. “They’re going to destroy me."

  “So your reputation suffers. This won’t be the first time, will it? So you lose everything again. So what? You
’re still alive, and don’t you dare tell me you don’t deserve to be,” he threatened as he saw her preparing to protest. “Your kids will forgive you. You can start over, Gretchel. Isn’t that what you want?" He laid his hands on her shaking fingers. “You’re a survivor, Gretchel. You’ve done it before and you can do it again.”

  “I don’t want to do it again. I want to start over, but not like this. I want to be prepared. I want to be in control,” she said ripping up a tissue.

  “Well, this is way out of your control. You took off that necklace for a reason. Now let go and get out.”

  “Where do I even start?”

  “Monday morning I’ll come over after Troy leaves for work. We’ll go through the finances, we’ll figure out exactly where everything stands. We’ll scour the house again for the tape. Maybe we’ll find it, maybe we won’t. Either way we’re going to get you through this, but you have to stay focused. You cannot let internal distractions get in your way.”

  “Internal distractions? Is that what we’re calling the voices now?”

  He shrugged. “For lack of a better phrase.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can thank me when you’re safely out of this marriage,” he said. Teddy put his arm around her thin shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She gave him a peculiar glance.

  “What in the hell are you grinning about?” she asked.

  “It’s just so good to have you back, Baby Girl.” Teddy planted a kiss on her forehead, and eased into the padded headboard as she slumped against his chest.

  ∞

  Teddy steamed as he drove to work. Gretchel’s marriage to Troy had been a trial for her and her kids, but it had taken a toll on him, too. Cautious where Gretchel was impetuous, a steady voice when Gretchel was utterly unhinged, Teddy had helped his friend through experiences that still made him shudder when he pondered them.