The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter 28

Art stared at the bathtub for several minutes, his hands shaking, his stomach churning. His head felt like it had caught fire, his mouth like he'd eaten sand. He slowly closed the shower curtain and walked into the living room. Twenty minutes later, Angie arrived, knocked on the door. He showed her in.

"Okay, Art, what's so urgent? You have me really scared," she said, her worried face boring a hole in his eyes.

"It's David."

Angie sighed, rolled her eyes. "David again. Art, when are you going to realize that she's--"

"—It's different this time," he cut her off. "She's, well, there's something I have to show you."

"Where is she?" Angie looked around the apartment.

"She's in bed, sleeping, passed out, I'm not sure. She's been ill."

Angie let out an annoyed sigh. "What's going on?"

"Look at this."

Angie cocked her head, raised her eyebrow. Art handed her the studio portrait of Brixton Jones. She studied it in her hands for several silent moments before asking, "Who is this?"

"It's David."

"Really?" She considered the image some more, very closely taking in all of the features. "Where did you get this? Did she give this to you?"

Art shook his head. "A week ago, someone came looking for her. A private detective. She said her family's looking for her. She went missing back in March."

"What?"

Art groaned. "Angie, I lied."

"You lied?"

"I lied to you. About David. We lied to everyone about her."

"What do you mean?" Angie looked at him sideways, almost like she was frightened.

"We didn't know each other as kids. She wasn't in the group home with me. I just met her for the first time in March."

"So what?" Angie said suspiciously. "Why would you lie about that?"

"I didn't want anyone to know....the circumstances....how we met." He lowered his eyes, ashamed.

Angie's eyes widened, "Is she a...did you...oh, ew. Is she your," she grimaced, "escort?"

"Oh god no!" Art exclaimed immediately. "Nothing like that. Nothing at all like that."

"Then what was it? Codependents Anonymous?"

Art stared her down.

"I'm sorry," Angie said quickly. "You're freaking me out. What was it?"

Art broke, hung his head, breathed out a long sigh. "Oh, Angie, it feels like a lifetime ago, but I was so lost, so alone, so miserable, I hate to talk about it."

"It's okay," she said softly, pulling Art into her arms. "You can tell me. I love you."

Art looked deep into her eyes and confessed that cold, dark night, the night he met David. He told her everything. Almost everything. When he was finished, they held each other for long, silent minutes.

Angie spoke. "So, a detective came looking for her last week? Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I was in denial," Art admitted. "You're right. I have an unhealthy symbiotic relationship with her."

"But, why say something now?"

Art pulled David's journal out of his back pocket. "I want you to take a look at this."