CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Oh my God, Kristy, what the hell is going on here?”
Startled, Kristy looked up from her desk to find a distraught Carmen staring back at her.
Did Carmen know what she had planned? How was that possible? Kristy searched for something to say. Carmen slammed a piece of paper onto Kristy’s desk.
“Did you see this? It was posted on a job search site. Gus is going to do it. He’s going to fire me and hire someone else. Kristy, it can’t happen. I’m starting night school in the fall. I need this job to cover tuition,” Carmen said, sniffling and clutching a tissue.
Kristy seethed. Why in the hell was Gus picking today of all days to pull this shit? Don’t panic. You can get through today. Just get through today.
“Carmen, he’s not going to fire you. He has no grounds, and if he tries to, we have all his shitty, sexist, homophobic comments documented. You’re safe.”
Kristy pulled out a ten-dollar bill from her wallet. “Take a drive and go get some coffee, okay? And just breathe.”
Carmen grabbed her purse and car keys and left, still sniffling. Kristy understood Carmen’s frustration. When Carmen first started at the prison a few years ago, Kristy asked the young woman why she stayed in this backward town. Carmen wasn’t like Kristy. She didn’t have a kid or her father tying her down. Not only that but she worked in a place where her sexuality, her very existence, was judged.
“This is my home, Kristy. No one is going to run me out of my home,” Carmen said passionately.
Kristy saw this as a sign now, a reminder of what she was fighting for—her home and her family. She needed to take her own advice and not lose her nerve. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Once Carmen was gone, Kristy settled behind her desk, eyeing the clock, trying to assess any variables she might have forgotten, when her phone rang. She reached for it.
“Hello, Kristy Dobson speaking.”
“Kristy, this is Donald Kasen from ABC13. Do you have a sec?”
Donald was one of the local ABC affiliate’s top investigative reporters. If he was calling, her day was about to get a whole lot shittier. She leaned forward, nervously tapping her pencil on the desk.
“I have some questions regarding Gordon Peterson.”
Kristy closed her eyes. Shitty was an understatement. Gordon Peterson was serving a life sentence. A truck driver by day, serial rapist by night, he’d been convicted of assaulting at least thirty women, though the DA was convinced that there were many more. He’d gotten away with it by targeting minority women in communities with predominantly white, predominantly racist police departments. Many of his victims were prostitutes, who didn’t get a great deal of respect from cops to begin with. Gordon’s spree continued for years until he targeted the wrong woman. Alice Stevens, a fifty-year-old grandmother, was leaving 7-Eleven one night when Gordon grabbed her. She fought him off, managing to scratch him and get DNA under her fingernails. Her testimony and the physical evidence, as well as a pile of backlogged rape kits, managed to put him away for life.
“Tell me, Donald, how has the state wronged Mr. Peterson now?” Kristy asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Apparently, he’s filed a lawsuit claiming that his civil rights are being denied.”
“And those rights are?”
“His rights as a woman. He’s claiming he’s transgender.”
“I must have heard you wrong,” Kristy said.
“He’s written us a letter stating that his crimes were motivated by his own self-hatred. We’ve reached out to his attorney, who confirmed his story. He’s petitioning for gender reassignment. I wanted to get a comment from your department.”
“Please don’t tell me this is going to be a top story.”
“What can I say? It’s a slow news day,” Donald replied.
Kristy sighed, putting on her best bureaucrat voice. “The TDCJ has no comment but takes inmates’ civil rights seriously. We will look into Mr. Peterson’s claims.”
“Thanks. Sorry about any dustup.”
“Just another day at the office, right?” she said, before hanging up.
Kristy’s entire day revolved around Gordon Peterson and his ridiculous demands. Just the idea of a serial rapist living among hundreds of women was complete and utter insanity. She notified Gus and briefed Carmen, who would spend the rest of the day fielding calls about the story. Kristy then made the drive over to Polunsky, where she had scheduled to meet with Gordon. He was a small man, maybe five foot five, with the brute physicality of a man who worked out relentlessly, trying to protect himself from the larger inmates who made it their mission to punish sexual predators.
“I’m here to let you know that we’ve been informed of your lawsuit and there are medical forms to fill out, interviews with a psychologist and psychiatrist that must be conducted. It’s a long, drawn-out process and there’s no guarantee you will get approval,” Kristy informed Gordon.
He didn’t say anything, and she could see him sizing her up.
“I bet you’re a good fuck,” Gordon hissed, reaching into his pants and thrusting his tongue against the glass. The guard grabbed Gordon roughly, stopping his grotesque actions.
Kristy stood up, ready to walk away, but something inside her snapped. Her hand was glued to the phone.
“You’re a worthless piece of shit and one of these days someone’s going to make sure you get what’s coming to you. I hope it’s slow and painful and you suffer.”
She slammed down the phone and stormed off, not even bothering to look at Bruce, who was escorting her. They reached the end of the corridor when Kristy stopped and leaned against the cold concrete wall. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She finally looked over at Bruce.
“Kind of lost my cool, didn’t I?” Kristy said.
Bruce stared straight ahead. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
Bruce would never tell anyone about Kristy’s outburst, that she was certain of, but she’d never let an inmate rattle her before. She had to get it together. She thought about speaking with Clifton, but she worried he might see something in her eyes, that he might say something to stop her, and Kristy didn’t want to be stopped. She managed to compose herself, going through the motions. By the time she returned to the Walls, it was a quarter to five. Carmen had a bottle of wine sitting on Kristy’s desk.
“I splurged on your favorite chardonnay,” Carmen said. “I think we’ve both earned it.” Of all the days Carmen wanted to bond, it had to be today.
“I’m sorry,” Kristy said. “I’m off to the movies. After this week, I need popcorn and George Clooney in my life.”
Carmen’s disappointment was evident, her shoulders slumping.
“Hey, rain check next week, okay? I’m buying,” Kristy said. Carmen offered up a slight smile.
“Sounds good. Have a great weekend and get some rest. You look exhausted.”
Guards and support staff called out good night as Kristy headed to the parking lot. She climbed into her car and exited the prison, its bars and the guards in the towers fading away in the rearview mirror.
Kristy arrived at the Lone Star Cinema, a popular movie theater in Conroe, and parked her SUV near the back of the building, closest to the exit. She bought one ticket for two separate films, a romantic comedy that started at six thirty and another for a thriller that began at eleven.
Lance actually encouraged Kristy to go to the movies when he went on his hunting trips. “Can’t get into trouble when you’re watching a movie, now can you?” he always said. She’d chosen this particular alibi because there were plenty of people that would see her at the theater. Going to a double feature wasn’t unusual for her, at least before Lance came into the picture.
This theater was recently built, designed to attract the millennials that weren’t content with an ordinary moviegoing experience. It had twelve screens, each of them equipped with stadium seating. There was also a restaurant and a bar, which Kristy made her way to once sh
e’d purchased her tickets.
She sat at the bar and ordered a margarita with salt and cheesy potato skins, striking up a conversation with two animated housewives enjoying their two-for-one happy-hour cocktails and a night away from their toddlers. When a couple of well-meaning cowboys offered to buy them all another round of drinks, Kristy accepted, taking small sips. She listened to the women complaining about their husbands, but Kristy said nothing, shooting nervous glances at the clock.
At six fifteen, Kristy stepped away from the bar and dialed.
“Lance, it’s me. You haven’t left yet?” Kristy asked, noticing the tremor in her voice, not quite her own, sounded fake to her, like an actress in a bad high school production. Jesus, Kristy, don’t screw up already.
“I got a late start so I’m just getting on the road now. Why? What’s wrong?”
“My car died outside the theater. I tried to get someone to jump it but it’s not the battery. Must be the starter or something else.”
“What the hell are you talking about? It’s a brand-new car.”
“I know. I called a tow truck. They’re on their way. I think I’ll skip the movie and call a cab to take me home. I just wanted to let you know.”
Kristy’s entire plan hinged on the fact that Lance liked to control Kristy. Things could go one of two ways. Lance would be pissed and tell her to “figure it out your damn self” or he’d want to rush to her rescue. Her abusive knight in shining armor.
“Shit, darlin’, I’m not far from you. I’ll turn around and head over, drop you at the house and we can have dinner. I’ll drive out to the deer hunt at first light.”
“Are you sure? I hate ruining your weekend.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve got to make sure my wife is taken care of.”
So far so good.
“I think it may rain soon. I’ll be waiting near the back of the theater,” Kristy said.
“I’ll see you in twenty,” Lance replied, and then he hung up.
Kristy returned to the bar, paid her tab, said good night to her new friends. She hurried toward the usher, making small talk about the brewing storm, the skies darkening with each passing minute. He tore her ticket and directed Kristy to theater eight. Friday nights the theater was usually packed, and tonight was no exception. She sent Ryan and Pops a text. Movie starts soon. Love you guys. Seconds later, the lights dimmed. An endless stream of previews advertising noisy superhero remakes and crass comedies played on the massive screen. Kristy waited five more minutes and then she slipped out the emergency exit.
She hurried toward the edge of the parking lot where her car was parked, the smell of movie popcorn filling the air. Kristy had to leave her phone in her glove box so her location couldn’t be tracked. As long as they didn’t talk or text while Lance was at the theater, she should be fine. Yes, a call would be documented but it would only show that she’d simply called him while he was heading to the campsite. Technology was often the biggest downfall for criminals. She wouldn’t be that careless. She grabbed her tote bag and headed to the back of the theater just as a light rain began to fall. She’d canvassed several other theaters in the area but this one had the most lax security. She’d discovered that after phoning the corporate office.
“Hello, I’m with Fox News and I’m doing a story on movie theater security. I was wondering if you could answer some questions.”
It was amazing what people would tell you without verifying your credentials. The woman calmly explained that this theater was new, so there were no security cameras installed currently but the safety of their customers was paramount.
“A security guard patrols the grounds. Lone Star Cinema is committed to providing our customers with a safe and enjoyable moviegoing experience,” she assured Kristy. That commitment didn’t translate to the security guard Kristy spotted dozing in his patrol car each time she drove by the theater. She hoped he didn’t suddenly have an urge to wander around the theater while she waited for Lance. She stood in the alley, her stomach fluttering with nerves and uncertainty. Almost thirty minutes later, Lance pulled up. Kristy climbed into his truck and leaned in to accept Lance’s kiss.
“Traffic was a nightmare. Bad luck, isn’t it? Of all the nights,” he said.
“I know. Thanks again for coming to get me. The tow truck just left. They said I could call the mechanic in the morning.” At this point, the lies rolled effortlessly off her tongue.
“Well, don’t let them do any work on it until you tell me what they say,” Lance replied, determined to control her until the bitter end.
“Of course. That’s what I told the driver,” she responded. God forbid she might actually make a decision without him.
“Traffic is easing up. We’ll get you home and we can fire up the Netflix.”
“Actually, I was thinking maybe I could come with you,” she said tentatively, knowing her suggestion would raise suspicion.
“Yeah, right. What’s the catch?” Lance said, chuckling.
“No catch. I didn’t say I’d go hunting, but I could hang out in the camper, right? I could use some peace and quiet. We both could. And you and I could have some fun before you head out in the morning.” She laid her hand on his lap. Lance inhaled, tilted his head.
“This a surprising turn of events. You sure about this?”
“Of course I am. Unless you don’t want me to come?” she asked. Lance smiled back at her, throwing his truck into drive.
“Don’t be silly, darlin’. This is gonna be a night to remember.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
All this time Lance had anticipated her every move, but not tonight. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Kristy made a mental note of the time. The first movie would finish two hours from now. The second one would begin at eleven and end at one fifteen, which meant she had exactly five and a half hours if she was actually going to go through with her plan.
They made their way through the Friday rush hour snarl, Kristy half listening to Lance as he chatted about his day. Forty-five minutes later, Lance exited the highway, picking up speed as he navigated the dark back roads, the white lines on the pavement illuminated only by their headlights, the forest a dark blur on either side. Kristy played the evening’s events over and over in her head. They were ten minutes from the campground when the rain began to fall, fat drops blurring the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up.
No. No. No. Kristy had prayed that it wouldn’t rain. Even though she’d taken the weather into account, packing duplicates of the same blouse and pants she wore to work in her tote bag, as well as a hairbrush and another pair of boots, she knew this would make everything more difficult. She wasn’t sure what caught Lance’s attention. Perhaps an exhalation of air, a sigh, or maybe it was Lance’s innate understanding of Kristy’s moods.
“Not too late to turn back,” he said.
Kristy shook her head. “Not when we’ve come so close,” she said, more for her benefit than Lance’s.
They arrived at the campsite in Little Creek Lake Wilderness. Long, thin pine trees trembled in the angry rain. This was Lance’s spot. She’d driven out here once at his request and spent the day hanging with Ryan and Lance, drinking beers and listening to Lance brag about his hunting prowess.
In March and April, the dogwood flowers bloomed, and the light petals floated around the forest like pale fairies. Along the creek to the west, deer fed in the clearings near the old oaks where Lance would park the camper. He relished the isolation. No horses were allowed—hikers and hunters only—but even they rarely ventured into this part of the woods. But tonight, Lance seemed pleased to have an audience.
“Gonna make big money these next few weeks. Some major players are interested in this new commercial property I just got a bite on,” he said. Kristy wondered if this was one of Roy’s clients—someone Lance poached? What kind of man cheated his friends? What kind of man befriended single mothers, then terrorized them? What kind of man are you? she wanted to ask Lance.
Her nerves were failing her. She kept telling herself that she had to do this. She had to. Kristy turned to look out the window, closing her eyes, trying to gather her courage. Remember what he did to you. Remember what he said, she repeated over and over again to herself. But she was frozen. No matter how much she hated Lance, how much she despised him for everything he’d done to her, the voice inside her head was screaming out, I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t! I can’t. The words were echoing in her head, rattling around. All her planning and preparations were meaningless. Kristy was not a murderer. But she wasn’t going to be his prisoner. Not anymore.
“Lance, we have to talk.”
Her words came out much sharper than intended. Lance’s entire body tensed. His gaze sharpened, eyes narrowed. A torrent of heavy rain pounded the windshield, the space in the pickup shrinking in an instant.
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing, Kristy?” he said. “Talking.”
Don’t let him intimidate you, she told herself. Don’t let him take control.
“I know about Hannah Mendoza. I want a divorce. It’s over.”
Lance closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“You must be a special kind of stupid. Bringing me out here, telling me something like that. You stupid, stupid bitch.” Before Kristy could fully process Lance’s words, he reached out and shoved her head into the passenger’s window. His entire palm covered her face, pressing it harder and harder into the pane of glass.
Kristy fumbled, reaching into the pocket of her rain slicker, searching for the stun gun. She could still fight him off if she could just reach it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hoping to buy more time, her hands trembling as she blindly fumbled for the ON switch. Feeling the slight vibration, signaling that it was on, Kristy jabbed Lance in the hip bone, sending fifteen million volts of electricity pulsing through her husband. It seemed impossible that the body could withstand that many volts but this taser was designed to bring down adult men, and it kept its promise. He released her, his entire body spasming.
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