“Maybe not.”
“I never want to lay eyes on him again.”
“Give yourself a chance to begin healing, and then see how you feel.”
She would never change her position. All she wanted was freedom.
“You got out with your life, Rachel. The next woman might not be so lucky.”
She went instantly cold, head to foot. He was ready to kill. His violence had ramped up from shaking her in frustration to the first punch—the one he’d delivered and then apologised for over and over again.
He’d fetched ice for her split lip, and brought her flowers the next day. They’d been married exactly a month.
Each time he “slipped,” as he put it, he upped the ante until it became his right to hurt her. The caring and remorse were long gone before they reached their first anniversary. And so was her hope he’d stop. By then her confidence was so badly undermined, she began to believe she deserved what he dished out… just like he said.
Mavis was going to stay the night, but when she and Dan were working out a ride for her the next day, Rachel drummed up her courage and said, “I’d rather stay alone.”
“What an interesting position you’ve put me in.” There was an amused glint in Mavis’s eye. “I can’t exactly overrule your preference without taking pot-shots at your newfound gumption.”
“Oh, well, then I guess I’m not supposed to feel bad about putting you in a predicament.” Rachel smiled. “I really do feel safer in an empty house.” The sound of another human moving around kept her on edge. Waiting. Anticipating.
When they left about an hour later, Rachel shut off the lights and wandered the dark house for hours, rarely sitting for more than a few minutes. Once again, a house prisoner of sorts, she watched the sunrise through locked windows. At least now she had a key to get out, and Dan had given her the codes for the alarms.
She was free to turn them off and walk away. Disappear if she wanted to.
The only thing keeping her from crossing the overgrown fields and vanishing was the nagging realization. She could prevent another woman’s suffering if she stayed at least until she told her side.
#
Dan came back the next day and drove her to meet with a lawyer. She gave a sworn statement, and then met with a policewoman who read the document before asking a million questions.
With the cameras still running at the end of the three-hour interview, Rachel said, “I’m going to be leaving town now, and will never disclose my location. If you need me, contact my attorney.”
Leaving there with yet another stranger, she was driven in and out of parking garages in every corner of the city. They switched vehicles twice, and she donned different disguises. When she climbed out at their final location—a quiet home in suburbia—she had no idea where she was. But she swore she could feel Richard closing in on her.
Every few days, Mavis, and an underground network of amazing men and women, facilitated another move, until she was finally back at the old farm. She stayed there for two weeks and got quite comfortable, hanging out in the barn loft, befriending half-wild cats, until Mavis arrived with the news.
“As you feared, Rachel. There wasn’t enough information or evidence to pursue charges against Richard.”
“Then it’s over. I did what I could, and now I can only hope he doesn’t hurt someone else. It’s time to move on. Time to finish taking back my life.”
Mavis held up her magic messenger bag. “I have some things here you might want help with.” She dug out scissors, and several boxes of hair dye.
Rachel was almost surprised by the layer of calm wrapping around her.
“I want to donate my hair, and I’ve done the research.” She used a rubber band to make a ponytail at the base of her neck, then braided it and fastened the end with another elastic. “If I cut it off this way, they’ll be able to use it for a couple of wigs.”
Mavis held up the scissors. “You ready?”
“I want to do it myself.”
Mavis grinned. “You’re really getting the hang of saying what you want without apologies.” Mavis guided her hand to get the first cut, then Rachel hacked until the long, thick braid swung free. She stretched it out on the counter. “I can only hope the wigs they make out of this will help someone else in need of escape.”
“We’ll make sure of it.”
Rachel glanced at the ball cap with red frizzy hair attached. It had been her most-used disguise. “Did you know her?”
“I did. Do. She gets a message to me once in a while. She’s safe now.” She smiled. “For the record, she cut her own hair off, too.”
“It’s like severing the last tie, both literally and metaphorically.”
“On that note, have you decided on a new color?”
Rachel grabbed one of the boxes.
“Style choice?”
“I like this. Long around my face, and short at the back.”
“Leaves you lots of options if you need to change it again, and I’ll have it tidied up in just a few minutes.”
It took longer, but when she finished snipping, it looked pretty good. Styled, as opposed to chopped.
Rachel’s gut churned. “I’m getting cold feet about the dye.” She went to the kitchen and stared out toward the barn where she’d come to love hanging out. Would she ever have this kind of freedom again?
“Rachel?”
“Tell me about the process. What happens next?”
Mavis leaned on the counter. “First, we strip the color out of your hair, then apply the one you’ve chosen which is...?”
“The mousy brown.”
“We do almost the same process with your brows, and then I’ll apply a henna-like stain to change the base color of your lips to a brownish tone, and we’ll pop in colored contacts to hide your dark brown eyes. They’ll end up a muddy greenish tone.”
So, when she looked in the mirror, the old her wouldn’t be there.
“Once we’re done, I’ll take photos for your new ID cards.” She fished one out of her bag and handed it to Rachel.
“Leah Roberts. Hey, I’m three years younger, thanks.” She glanced up. “Three years ago, I was getting married, embarking on my very own happily-ever-after.”
Too much to think about. She picked up the clothes Mavis brought for her. The pale-yellow T-shirt would look really bad with her skin tone. Even worse with mousy hair. The khaki shorts and canvas shoes wouldn’t help either.
Rachel smiled at the woman she now thought of as a friend. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I’ve got to say, this is really ugly.”
“I know. Did good, didn’t I?”
Rachel laughed. “Knocked it out of the park.” She was going to miss her mentor, but disappearing properly meant all ties had to be severed—aside from maybe sending an occasional anonymous message. “Next steps?”
“You’ll be traveling from city to city, making your way to a final destination,” said Mavis while she cleared off the counter and stuffed everything in her messenger bag, “and I’ll be working the fine art of misdirection. Someone who looks like you will quite openly set up an apartment on the other side of the country. And another will be doing the same in a more secretive manner, which ought to keep him and his private investigator busy.”
Rachel sighed. She’d been doing her homework. Reading the pile of material she was given about staying under the radar and unnoticed in a new community.
Small towns were to be avoided, because their inhabitants noticed strangers.
Pursuing favorite entertainment was noted as one of the easiest ways for her to be found, which meant there would be no signing up for anything. She couldn’t even take out a magazine subscription. Had to stay away from her favorite type of coffee shops and clothing stores, because they were places a PI would look for her, and there was no doubt Richard would hire a professional to find her.
Protecting her identity was easy enough while using the internet, but searching her own name
or her husband’s or even her home town would potentially put her at risk.
Rachel would always be his prisoner, unless he was prosecuted—which wouldn’t happen without him getting his hands on her one last time.
She’d thought about letting it happen.
Could the team make it work? Could they be close by and prevent him from killing her?
Did she dare?
“If I run now, I’ll still be his prisoner, and I’ll never be able to choose where I live, what I do. Everything will be based on trying to stay safe from him.”
“True, but you’ll be alive.”
“Half alive.” She chewed on the inside of her lip. Then gave in to her pounding heart. “I want him caught and convicted.” Her breath caught in her throat but she powered on. “I’m willing to go back. To be his punching bag one last time, like the lawyer suggested.”
Their eyes met. “It’s an enormous risk.”
“I’m up for it. In my last meeting with the attorney, he said he didn’t think there was enough evidence for the prosecutor to build a case, and then he tossed an idea at me. They could set up something. Put audio and video surveillance inside the house, and then I could go back. Beg him to forgive me, and let him...”
“This isn’t television, Rachel. Stings don’t happen overnight, and shit happens. Plans go sideways. What if the team can’t get in fast enough?”
“I’m ready to risk it.”
As was the detective assigned to her case. He managed warrants and permissions in record time, because even though Richard’s history was arrest-free, he frequently hit the radar as a person of interest.
#
Two weeks later, they were ready to roll. Law enforcement officers were stationed in various locations, including the house beside Richard’s… Noreen was more than happy to help.
The manpower involved was astonishing to say the least, and Rachel was thankful for each and every one of them. The op—as they called it—wasn’t going to be easy for her, but it was something she needed to do. To prove to herself she could best the man who’d forced her to cower for way too long.
She still didn’t understand why she hadn’t left when the violence began, but the therapist Mavis set her up with said it would take time and a fresh perspective before anything would make sense.
And Rachel knew this op was where it would begin.
Headlights lit up the road as a car grew closer, slowed. The garage entry raised, and lights came on. Rachel’s heart slammed against still-healing ribs, but she was used to pain.
Giving up her hiding place behind the shrubs, she slipped in. Hovered on the passenger side of his fancy black car, carefully keeping it between them while he climbed out. And then he saw her.
Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod! She fought the burning impulse to run.
Breathe, Rachel.
She sucked in air, grateful for her guardian. She could do this. She would do this. She was supposed to make Richard think she was terrified. No problem there, she was terrified. Was certain she looked like a deer in the headlights while he slowly closed the space between them.
“Where the hell have you been?” His calm voice belied the fury in his eyes, but fit the expensive suit and shiny black shoes.
She backed up until her heels bumped into the bottom step. “I’m sorry. I—”
His hand shot toward her face, and she barely managed to swallow a scream, but he didn’t strike her. Instead he grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked her head back.
“Don’t—”
“Don’t what? Don’t punish you for running away from me? Don’t make you regret one more stupid move? Don’t show you who’s in fucking control and who isn’t?” He wrenched her head back, exposed her throat, forced her to stare up into his cold dark eyes.
“I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Piss me off? Make me cut my trip short? Leave me with no one to fix my meals, clean the house?”
He unlocked the connecting door and shoved her through so hard she rammed into the kitchen counter, and the pain from her ribs made her gasp out loud. A good grip on the granite was all that kept her upright.
He trapped her with an arm on either side and his hands flat on the surface in front of them. She stared at the manicured nails, crisp white cuffs, and platinum wedding band. The cloying scent of his aftershave lined her nostrils, stuck in the back of her throat.
He grazed her ear with his teeth, then snapped them together, and she flinched.
“Good,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten who’s in control.” He moved away. Stripped off his jacket. Poured a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. Sipped.
“You were discharged from the hospital six and a half weeks ago, Rachel.”
She nodded.
“Where have you been?”
“A lady. A volunteer. She offered to drive me home and—”
“You’re lying. You could have walked home faster.” His calm, quiet self-control made her shiver.
“Cold, Rachel?”
“N-no. Well, maybe a little.”
He tossed back the whiskey, heaved his glass at the fireplace, and wheeled around to grab her by the throat. “Who were you with?” His fingertips dug into her windpipe.
“No one.” The words were little more than a gasp.
“Lies! You obviously need to be reminded who you belong to.” He backed her into the wall and pinned her with his upper body while he unbuckled his belt, whipped it off, unsnapped his pants. He grabbed her shoulders. Started to shove her down.
“No!”
He stared. Obviously shocked by her use of a forbidden word.
And that’s all it took for her terror to turn into strength. Cold resolve filled her bones, and she shot away. Scooted to the far side of the island.
“You think you can spend forty-five days screwing someone else and then just walk in here and—”
“No! I wasn’t with anyone. I just needed time away from you. From the fists and the boots. I’m tired of you hurting me, and my broken ribs needed to heal.”
“And how the hell did you get broken ribs, Rachel? By stupidly falling off the roof, of course. And because of you, some stupid woman was here the next morning with a fucking window service in tow. Said she didn’t want you getting hurt again.”
For every step he took forward, she took one back.
“She wanted to visit you, and I had to lie and say you were staying with your sister while you recovered.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough.” He lunged and grabbed her arm, forced her to her knees, but she went limp. Flopped to the floor. She’d take a hit or punch or even a kick to try to get evidence against him, but no way was she servicing him first.
Never again.
“Get up.” The calm and cool were slipping again.
“No.”
He dragged her up against the counter until she gave in and stood. That’s when he back-handed her so hard she went flying, falling, falling until her head struck something rock-hard, and the world went black.
Rachel.
Floating. Felt like she was floating, but she didn’t think she was in water.
Rachel.
It was like when she was a kid, and laid out in the backyard at night in the summer and watched the stars. Dark. Yet not? She sighed. This was quite lovely.
But then everything lightened, and there was a wide cobblestone bridge in front of her, and a ginger cat crossing toward her. Tink! She hadn’t seen him in nearly ten years, but knew that funny walk, and the double hook at the end of his tail.
She’d held him in her arms when he died. He’d been twenty-two, and frail, and more than ready to go. Movement caught her attention, and to the left she saw a big black cat with a crooked white stripe on his nose.
You need to make a decision, Rachel.
His mouth hadn’t moved, but she knew the voice.
“You’re the guardian. You’ve been helping me.”
&nb
sp; He sat. You don’t have to cross yet.
“What do you mean?”
Your lessons on earth are complete, Rachel. But you don’t have to leave unless you want to.
She glanced at Tink. He’d stopped shy of the threshold, and a tabby cat had joined him. They waited, watching her, with their tails entwined.
“Complete? Like I had a goal and I got there?”
“You overcame great adversity and risked your life so others didn’t have to suffer.”
“Richard?”
You will have work to do there, and until he is sentenced, your life will be unpleasant.
Unpleasant was a familiar state.
Or she could have what was on the other side of the bridge. There was brightness over there, and was that gentle sound music? Tink looked up at her.
“May I touch him?”
If you’re quick.
Rachel crouched and ran a hand down her old friend’s back—now firm and strong like when he was young—and when his butt rose, she smiled. “I’ve missed you, and would love to be with you now, but there were some kittens in a barn where I was, and I have an idea for how to help them, and other women like me.”
Tink put his front feet on her leg and stretched up to bop noses with her. She gathered him close and buried her face in his fur, inhaling his wonderfully familiar scent.
“I love you, but I can’t stay, Tink. Not when I’ve only just become someone I like.”
Then it’s time to go, said her guardian.
One final hug, then she set Tink down. He rubbed once against her legs before strolling back across the bridge with his friend.
She woke up slowly, the throbbing in her head making her wince with every heartbeat.
“It’s over, Rachel. Come back to us now.”
Opening her eyes just a slit, she groaned when something like white lightning ricocheted around in her brain. “Hurts.”
“That’s good. Pain is your friend,” said Mavis.
An unfamiliar woman sporting scrubs and a stethoscope leaned in close. “Wiggle your toes for me, Rachel.”
When she did, there was cheering in the room. She tried to turn and see who was there, but couldn’t, and more pain banged around in her head.
Hands gripped her shoulders and she had a quick flash of Richard’s face in her mind. But these hands were kind.
Betrayed: Powerful Stories of Kick-Ass Crime Survivors Page 18