A Dread So Deep

by Anita Rodgers

  The cuckoo clock on the wall announced the hour and Christine startled. She dug in her bag. “I have to call him. He's probably furious that I'm not home.”

  Violet grabbed for the phone. “Give me that thing.”

  Christine hugged the phone to her chest. “He's going to be livid. I shouldn’t have come all the way out here. He’s probably looking for me.”

  Violet struggled with Christine over the phone. “Don’t you dare call him. You’re not his slave. He doesn’t own you.”

  Pounding on the door rattled them both and the cell phone skittered to the floor. Phillip’s voice boomed through the door. “Christine, are you in there?”

  She swiveled for the door but Violet grabbed her around the waist and held her back. “Don't you let him in.”

  Christine didn’t want to hurt Violet, for all her vigor she was old and fragile. She gently pried her aunt’s hands off her. “Please, Violet. If I don’t let him in, it’ll be bad.” She trembled. “It’s already bad but it’ll be so much worse. I don’t want you in the middle of this.”

  Phillip pounded again and Christine felt his fury in her bones. “I know you're in there. Open this god-damned door, now!”

  Christine nudged Violet onto the sofa. “I’m coming, Phillip. Just a minute.”

  Violet reached out as Christine moved toward the door. “Honey, I'm begging you, don’t let that man in here.”

  But it was too late—Christine had opened the door. He burst in with such force that she stumbled back. He shoved her against the wall. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Christine stammered. “I was just going to call you.” She cast a look at Violet. “Wasn’t I, Violet? I had the phone in my hand.”

  Violet struggled to her feet and charged Phillip. “She was just visiting her old aunt. Something wrong with that Mr. Big Shot?”

  Phillip glared but Violet didn’t back down. He gripped Christine’s arm. “We’re leaving.” He dragged her toward the door. “Now.”

  “I have to get my things. My coat and bag. My phone.”

  He shoved her toward the sofa. “Then get them.”

  She hurried to gather her things, feeling the heat of his anger burn her back. Then, she let him drag her to the door. “I'll call you, Violet. Everything’s fine. Don't worry.”

  Phillip pushed her out the door then slammed it behind them. Christine cringed, expecting the glass to shatter. The wind whipped her hair in her eyes and the roaring surf echoed Phillip’s rage. He dragged her across the deck and she lost her footing on the stairs. “Please, Phillip, I’m going to fall. You don't have to force me.”

  He let go of her and stomped to his truck. She looked over her shoulder and spied Violet peeking through the curtains. She smiled and waved, hoping it would encourage Violet to stay inside.

  “Get in the fucking truck.” She jerked toward him and hurried down the steps. As soon as she climbed into the passenger seat he pinned her against the seat. “What were you doing up here? What were you telling her?”

  Christine stared through the windshield at the roiling surf. She imagined walking toward it. How it would feel to plunge into its icy rage. To be pulled under and let her lungs fill with the sea until her heart stopped. Then she’d be free. “I just missed her. I hardly see her, anymore.” She glanced at Phillip. “She's getting old—she won’t be around much longer.”

  Phillip sneered and switched on the engine. “We can only hope.”

  Through the rain splattered window, Christine stared at her car in Violet’s driveway. “Wait. My car. I’ll just follow you.”

  Without thinking, she popped her seatbelt and hopped out of the truck. She hit her key fob and released the door locks.

  She didn’t even know Phillip was behind her until he grabbed her by the hair. “The hell you will, you little whore.” He spun her around. “Leave it.”

  He pushed her toward the truck but she held her ground. “We can’t just leave it here. I need it.”

  He pivoted back to her. “Oh, you need it, huh?” He cocked back his fist and punched her in the face—sending her sprawling into the wet sand. He loomed over her. “You think I’m an idiot? I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “You leave her alone, you bastard!” Violet came down the steps, waving an old shotgun. “Damn coward.”

  Phillip advanced on Violet, shaking his fist. “Shut up, you old hag, and get back in your house. This is between me and my wife.”

  Violet screamed, ready to charge but Christine intercepted her before she could get near Phillip. “Please go inside.” Gently, she lowered Violet’s shotgun so it was aimed at the ground. “I'm okay. I'm okay.” She hugged the old woman and whispered, “I couldn’t bear it if he hurt you. Please.”

  Violet’s eyes said she understood but didn’t want to leave her. Christine helped her up the steps to her door. She pressed her cheek to Violet’s. “I’ll call you.” Then she hurried down the stairs to her husband. “Okay, Phillip. I’m sorry. Let’s go. Please, let's go.”

  Phillip shoved her inside the truck and locked the doors. He revved the engine and pulled slowly away from the house, glaring at Violet, who watched from the deck as they left.

  Chapter 8

  THE DEEP PURPLE BRUISE on her cheek had bloomed overnight and spread to her hairline. She tested it with touch and flinched. Covering it would be a long and slow process. But the makeup wouldn’t hide the swelling. The best she could hope for was to make herself presentable enough for grocery shopping.

  Phillip drifted into the bathroom and watched as she gently applied makeup to her face. His eyes were soft with concern. As though he actually cared. “Does it hurt?”

  “Of course, it hurts.” She stared daggers at him in the mirror. “You promised you’d never do this again.”

  His eyes hardened and he jutted his chin. “Sorry baby, but you really pissed me off.”

  Christine threw her makeup brush in the sink and twisted toward him. “Because I went to see my lonely old aunt? The only family I have? That pissed you off?”

  His brows rose and uncertainty flickered in his eyes just long enough for her to see. He stroked her back lightly. “One of the guys brought your car back. It's in the garage.” He waited as though expecting her to thank him. She huffed and picked up her makeup brush. “I'll probably stay at the cabin longer than usual. A few days. A week, maybe.” Again, he paused, expecting some kind of response but Christine had nothing to say to him. He pinched her backside. “Give you time to come to your senses.”

  She couldn’t stand the sight of him or the sound of his voice. He could go to the cabin or go to hell, as long as he went somewhere. Out of her sight. She didn’t care. She ducked away from him to the door but he blocked her exit. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Quietly, she said, “You’re in my way.”

  He stroked her bruised cheek and grinned when she glared at him and winced. A subtle reminder that pain was merely a touch away. “Come on, baby, I just want things to be the way they were. That’s all.” He cupped her chin. “You and me. Nobody else between us.”

  Christine recoiled from his touch. “Nobody between us? You’re taking a trip so you can go screw another woman.” She raised her hand. “And I don’t want to know who she is, so please don’t tell me.” He said nothing but his set jaw showed his displeasure at being challenged. “It’s never going to be the way it was. Don’t you see that?”

  Christine shoved past him, not caring how he’d react. But he didn’t run after her and throw her to the floor or kick her. Hope washed through her. Maybe he wasn’t as powerful as she thought. Maybe she could fight him. She patted her belly and drew strength from the simple act.

  She left him to his packing and pouting and went downstairs to the kitchen. After rooting out his thermos from the cabinet she filled it with the last of the coffee. He could have just stopped at a Starbucks on his way but that would deprive him of being served hand and foot. And she needed to understand her
place. And her place was to please her husband—whether that was serving him coffee or offering herself up as a punching bag.

  Her cell phone buzzed with a text from Melanie. She wanted to lunch and shop but Christine had no patience for her sister’s boredom right then. She texted back saying she had to help Phillip pack for his fishing trip and didn’t have time to shop anyway. Then she turned off the phone and tossed it on the counter.

  Whistling and toting his duffle, he sauntered in, took the thermos, and went to the door.

  To his back, she said, “See you in a week.”

  Phillip smirked at her over his shoulder. “I don't know. Maybe just four or five days. Depends on my mood.” He was testing her and she said nothing. “You just make sure you do it while I’m gone.”

  Defiance bubbled out of her and she couldn’t keep the words inside. “And if I don't?”

  He pivoted back and slammed a pack of photos on the counter. A few spilled out. The pictures of her and Michael confirmed her suspicions. He knew. If she’d had any doubts, his icy stare convinced her otherwise. “It's his. Get rid of it. Or I'll get rid of him. And you.” He pressed his cheek against her bruised face and whispered, “And they’ll never find the bodies.”

  Christine staggered back. “You don’t mean that.”

  He seized her by the wrist. “Try me and you’ll see what I mean.” He squinted at her. “You've pushed me over the limit, this time, baby. Phillip Logan doesn’t share. Remember that.” Then he cast off her hand as though it was garbage and stormed out.

  She stood at the kitchen window while he loaded the car. He turned once, waved to her, then climbed into his truck and drove away. She lingered, half-expecting him to return so he could catch her in something. He’d done it before. But this time, he didn’t come back.

  Her chest expanded and her lungs filled with air. She could breathe. For now. But for how long? He’d come back. And when the bruise on her face faded, he’d give her another. Just to remind her who was in charge. It was never going to change. She had to at least try to break away from him. For good. For real.

  She went to the pantry and pulled her secret phone from its hiding place. If she hurried—if they hurried—they could run. She had cash hidden in the pantry and a packed bag hidden in the attic. Just in case. If an opportunity presented itself. If she ever got brave enough.

  If Michael answered her call, she’d know it was right. It was time. She couldn’t rely on Phillip being gone for a few days. He lied all the time. They might have only a few hours. But if they hurried. If they left within the hour, they could be in Vegas before sundown.

  If she hurried. If he was home. If he said, yes.

  The front door opened and her heart fell. It was a trick. He was back. She tucked the phone in her robe pocket.

  “Phillip?” Her mother-in-law’s voice startled her. She scooped the pictures off the counter and tucked them into the junk drawer. “Christine?” She stood like a deer trying to blend into its surroundings. “Christine, where are you?”

  Cornelia Logan sashayed through the kitchen door and scowled at Christine. “Why do you always gape at me? Didn’t you hear me calling? You could at least let a person know that you’ve heard them.”

  She stood there, in her outdated designer clothes and salon tan, staring at Christine as though viewing a bad oyster. The hazel eyes probed her, searching for weaknesses. “Isn’t it time you got dressed? In my day, women didn’t even come downstairs until they were presentable.”

  Christine leaned against the island counter. The woman’s unctuous smile and crepey skin reminded her of an alligator. Her teeth were certainly sharp enough. “Was I expecting you?”

  Cornelia zeroed in on Christine’s injury. Her crows-feet deepened as she frowned. “What happened to you?” She tutted. “You have to be the clumsiest woman who ever lived.”

  Christine went to the sink and rinsed the coffee pot. “What do you want, Cornelia?”

  Always one to wear too much jewelry, her mother-in-law jangled her way to the sink. She smelled of gardenias and old age. “I want to talk to my son. Where is he?”

  She couldn’t stand to look at the old harpy. “He went to the cabin. If you hurry, you can probably catch him on the 210.”

  Cornelia snatched the coffee pot out of Christine’s hands and prepared a fresh pot for herself. “It was a simple question. No need for sarcasm.” She poked into the cabinets. “I need something sweet, what have you got?”

  Seeing her mother-in-law had no intention of leaving any time soon, Christine sat at the table. Cornelia rummaged through the kitchen as though she owned it. As though taking inventory for later reference. She found a box of Entenmann's coffee cake and brought it to the table.

  Christine eyed the clock, the moments ticked away. Every second with Cornelia was a second less for her escape. “What’s so important that you had to talk to Phillip at eight o’clock in the morning?”

  Cornelia plated a piece of cake and poured a cup of coffee. “I need his advice about something.” She added three teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk to her cup, tested it, then added more milk. “It’s important.”

  The only advice Cornelia wanted was in the form of money—and Phillip was her personal ATM. “If you're really strapped I think there's a twenty in the cookie jar.”

  Cornelia pulled out a chair and draped herself onto it. “It’s a pity, really, that your temperament spoils your beauty. You can’t help but make everyone around you, miserable. What my son sees in you, I’ll never know.” She smacked her lips as she gobbled up the pilfered coffee cake. “But he won't listen to me.”

  She’d heard it all before—no one was good enough for Cornelia’s precious boy. Christine didn’t listen to the words anymore—it was just noise, like a fan or a squeaky wheel. “Phillip’s a grown man. He doesn't need you to protect him. Especially not from me.”

  Cornelia moved on to her second piece of coffee cake. “Just one more flaw in your character, dear. You don’t understand a mother's love.” Crumbs from the coffee cake clung to her rouged lips. “Not your fault, I suppose, since your own mother abandoned you. But you’ve no maternal instinct.”

  Christine rested her hand on her tummy and smiled to herself. If only you knew.

  Cornelia yammered on, preferring her voice to that of others. “You'll never understand the bond between me and Phillip. You'd have to have a child of your own to understand.” She mocked her with a dismissive look. “And the only child in this house is you.” She blotted her lips with a napkin and left a red stain that would never come out. “That suits you just fine, doesn't it? Letting my son work himself to exhaustion so you can have everything you want?”

  Christine bobbed her head slowly. “Oh yes, you’re so right, Cornelia. Phillip is perfect and you’re the perfect mother. You’ve taught him to value all the important things in life—drugs, sex, alcohol—how to mow down anyone who disagrees with him.” Christine nodded. “You should be proud, you’ve raised the perfect narcissist.”

  Cornelia sprung to her feet. “How dare you speak to me that way.”

  Christine swept the dishes off the table and carried them to the sink. “This is my home. I’ll speak to you however I wish.” She returned the coffee cake to the cabinet because it pleased her to take things away from Cornelia. She glowered at the old woman. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to leave.”

  Cornelia rose in outrage. “I’ve never—”

  Christine spun toward her. “That’s right, you never. You never listen. You never think anyone is worthy of your attention. You never see the truth that stares you in the face every day.” She pointed to her cheek. “You honestly believe this happened because I’m clumsy? Are we really pretending that you don’t know that all my clumsiness happens at the end of your son’s fist?”

  Cornelia raised her penciled brows in fury. “You’re lying. Phillip treats you like a queen. He’s given you everything. And you repay him by slandering him?”

>   “Get out.”

  Cornelia raised a hand to her ear. “What did you say to me?”

  Christine marched to the door and flung it open. “Get out. Get out or I’ll drag you out.”

  Cornelia fixed a hateful gaze on her daughter-in-law. “My son will be very interested in what his wife says about him behind his back.” She raised her head as though royalty, and strolled to the door. “We’ll see whose house this is in the end, my dear.”

  “Yes, we will.” Christine slammed the door behind the old witch. “And it won’t be you.”

  Chapter 9

  THE TWO-HOUR DRIVE to Big Bear was bliss. The phone was off, the music was up, and his mind was empty. No nagging wives or bitchy clients to irritate him. Just the truck and the road and a hundred miles between him and trouble.

  He needed some ‘me’ time. A few days of unwinding and doing what he wanted for once. It baffled him that the people closest to him didn’t get how much he did for them. Christine, his mother, hell, even Shaw got two months pay. But did they thank him? Appreciate him? No, they just bitched and complained that they didn’t get more. He was done being the only one who carried the load. When he got back to town, things would change. Period. The age of bullshit was over and he was done being a chump.

  He pulled his gear out of the car even though he didn’t plan to fish. He just wanted to be gone while Christine did the deed. That way, when she thought back on it, it would be her who’d gotten rid of the thing. She couldn’t blame him for it. And why should he be there anyway? It wasn’t his. They’d tried for years to have a baby until a fertility doctor informed him his swimmers would never make it to the finish line. He’d kept it to himself. Better that she believed it was her fault. Kept her humble.

  Then Shaw came along and got a hole in one without even trying. The kid was lucky Phillip hadn’t shot him and dumped him at one of their sites. He laughed. There was still time for that if it came to it.