by R. R. Banks
I hear the door at the end of the hallway open, and my mind flashes back to my encounter with Trevor at the hotel so long ago. Before I can wrestle my bag back into the elevator with me to allow the doors to close, footsteps come toward me, and I hear a voice.
"Abigail? Abigail, what are you doing?"
I look out and see Evan walking toward me. He's carrying a final remnant from my apartment, a large framed painting I've had for as long as I can remember. I don't know where I got it. It was one of the belongings Trevor made me take out of the first apartment we had together. I listened to him when he told me it was because we didn't have enough space, and he wanted to make sure our home was as comfortable and appealing as possible. It took years before I realized what he was actually doing. It should have been enough to hear a man like Trevor use a description like comforting and appealing to describe the tiny, cramped apartment he chose for us. Instead, I let myself believe he was doing everything he could to give me a fairytale life. Looking back on it now, I know that was the furthest thing from his mind. He wasn't just trying to sift through our shared belongings to find the ones perfect for creating a home for us. Instead, it was just the beginning of him taking away the pieces of my own life, so I would have no choice but to lose myself in him.
Most of what he decided didn't have a place in our apartment ended up getting thrown away or sold at one the roadside flea markets Trevor briefly believed would be his key to success. This painting, though, was one of the things I couldn't bring myself to let go. Even now, I’m not sure what it is about this painting that makes me so attached to it. It isn't anything particularly stunning or deeply meaningful. There's just something about it that made me want to hold on to it, so I handed it over to Evan. He kept it with him, moving it from place to place until it finally took up one corner of a storage closet in the house where he currently lives. I had all but forgotten about it before I discovered it during my first few weeks after leaving Trevor. Seeing it again had been an incredibly emotional moment, but it only further cemented my resolve to reclaim my life. When I moved out of his house and into my Primrose apartment, I brought that painting with me. Now it’s coming into this new apartment with me, even though I am confident there will not be a single wall big enough to hold this particular piece of art.
"I didn't realize it was you," I whisper. "You just startled me."
I press my hand to my chest to quiet the pounding of my heart and take a few deep breaths before reaching down for my bag and walking out of the elevator.
"I told you to come with me rather than coming here by yourself," he says.
"I didn't come by myself. I had a driver, and that was bad enough."
"What do you mean? I thought you would like having a driver whisk you around."
He smiles at me, but the expression feels uncomfortable and forced.
"You thought I'd like it? You thought I'd like having to have someone babysit me and shuffle me around? It's bad enough that I had to leave everything that meant so much to me, and that I had worked so hard to get. I can't have someone with me every second, too."
Even as I say it, I don't know how much I truly believe it. Even when I was sitting in the car with the driver Xavier had pick me up, I felt exposed and vulnerable. The drive across town from the Primrose building to the new apartment building seemed to stretch on for hours. Each block seemed longer than the next, and every time the car stopped at a crosswalk, I felt my body sliding down the seat as I tried to hide from anyone who might glance through the window and see me. I don't want to feel that way. I don't want to spend every moment of my life wanting someone by my side for protection. I know the driver's eyes were on me from the time I stepped out of the car until I was safe and secure inside the building, but I walked in alone. That semblance of independence was something I needed. As much as I still doubted it, I had to feel like I could still stand on my own and hadn't tumbled into someone else's control.
"You have to be careful," Evan says. "Now isn't the time for you to try to prove something. I know you don't want to go back into hiding, but that's why you're here. Xavier will make sure you're safe while you take care of Anna and figure everything out. You can trust him. I promise."
Evan walks down the hallway, and I follow him, thinking about what he just said. I know my brother wouldn't even consider asking someone to help me if he didn't think I would be safe with them, but I can't bring myself to feel totally at ease around Xavier. The first time I saw him, I was immediately drawn to his strong, handsome face and massive, chiseled body, but that flicker of attraction is unwelcome. His presence intimidates me and seems to build a wall between us. His intensity and confidence remind me too strongly of Trevor. Power and forcefulness frighten me because I instantly equate them with Trevor and his oppression. Xavier, though, possesses a steady confidence and strength Trevor never did. Xavier is like a stone pillar, powerful and impenetrable, unshaken by anything around him. Trevor never had that stability. No matter how strong he tried to make himself seem or how much force he exerted, Trevor came across as shaky and unbalanced like he could tip off the edge of reason at any moment.
I don't know if Xavier's quiet, reserved strength is more reassuring or frightening. He's unreadable, cool and unwavering in his resolve. Yet, there's something about Xavier that tells me he's different than the other men I know. Trevor is mean for the sake of it. He wants to intimidate me and control each moment of my life just for the fun of keeping me on edge. Xavier naturally exudes strength in his demeanor and actions. It comes naturally to him.
My nerves spike as we reach the door to the apartment, and Evan reaches for the doorknob. The door opens, and I feel like I can't move from where I'm standing. Nothing could have prepared me for the apartment waiting for me beyond the open door. Decorated in a soft spectrum of white, peach, and light blue, the apartment is the luxurious embodiment of calm. The door opens onto a curved white marble platform that acts as the entryway to the rest of the apartment. An expansive living room flows out from the base of the platform, plush white furniture creating a cozy sitting area around a large stone fireplace. Huge windows fill the room with sunlight, showing off the view of the city. At the far end of the living room, two columns mark the entrance to a hallway that leads further into the apartment.
"Let me show you around."
Xavier's voice makes me jump, and I drop my bag. Stepping up onto the platform, he reaches down and picks it up.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"You're safe here," Xavier says. "No one gets in the building without my personal authorization. While you're here, you never have to be afraid."
Xavier carries my bag with him as he gives me a tour of my new apartment. He points out each of the rooms, including a kitchen that’s roughly half the size of my last apartment, until we finally reach a door at the end of the hallway. He opens it, revealing an opulent bedroom flooded with light from a small balcony. A door stands open on one side, showing off the sprawling attached bath.
"This is beautiful," I manage to say. "Did your wife decorate it?"
As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. I can see Xavier's shoulder's tense and his back seems to get broader. His jaw twitches and he sets my bag down on the bed.
"I'm not married," he says sharply, without looking at me.
"I'm sorry," I start. "It's just so lovely, I –"
"Everything should be here now," he says. "My apartment is up one floor. I'll leave a note with the access codes. Be there at 7:30."
Without another word, Xavier whisks out of the room, leaving me alone. I hear him exchange a few muffled words with Evan before the door closes. My knees seem to give out from under me, and I sink to the white carpet. When my brother steps into the room, he rushes to me, a worried look on his face.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"How did I get here, Evan?" I ask. "How did all this happen?"
He wraps his arm around m
y shoulders.
"It doesn't matter," he says. "Right now, all you need to think about is what's ahead of you. I know it doesn't feel like it yet, but this is going to be a good thing. You're starting a new life, and soon you'll be able to put everything with Trevor behind you. I just know it."
He hugs me, but I don't feel like he's completely convinced himself. He's on edge, too. I can feel it. But he's doing everything he can to believe in Xavier, his closest friend. Even if it feels like a last resort, Evan trusts Xavier enough to leave my safety up to him.
As Evan gets up to leave, I smile at him with as much confidence as I can muster. He's walking away, but I know he's facing his own part of this. Trevor knows where he is and that he was helping me. Until the police find Trevor and ensure he’s locked away, there's no telling what he might do to us. I'm not afraid for Evan, however. He responded to what we faced when we were younger in a drastically different way than I did. Rather than running away and hiding, he trained and became stronger. Every day he woke up, determined to never feel that way ever again.
When he walks out of the apartment, I close the door behind him and lock it. It feels strange to only have one lock to turn. Trevor insisted the front door of the house had several locks lining the door, ensuring it took several steps to open the door. He said it would keep us safe. I knew it was to keep me in place longer any time I wanted to leave. This was the main reason I started using the back door when leaving and entering the house. Trevor never added the extra locks to that door. I don't know why, but I never questioned it. It didn't matter to me why he didn't add the locks. It only mattered that I could get through the door easily and whenever I wanted to.
I check the apartment door to make sure it’s secure. It doesn't budge beneath my hand, but I still feel like I have to test it again. I release the lock and open the door. Stepping slightly outside of the apartment, I look both ways down the hallway. It is still as calm and quiet as it was when I exited the elevator. I stare through the glass panel in the door to the stairwell for several seconds, making sure I don't see anyone on the steps beyond. I remember what Xavier said about the access code to his apartment, and I shut and lock the door again before looking for the note from him. I find it sitting in the middle of the table positioned in front of the couch in the living room. It's written in tight, neat handwriting on the back of a thick cream-colored business card. Flipping the card over, I see it only has Xavier's name and an extension number. This tells me he hands out these cards only to people who already know enough about him to be able to call his office and reach out to him.
I unlock the door again and start down the hallway toward the stairwell. Reminding myself that both Xavier and Evan reassured me the building is completely secure, I step into the stairwell. I'm instantly aware of very faint music playing in the background. It's barely perceptible, just loud enough to fill the silence so it isn't so ominous. I let my eyes follow the carpeted stairs that lead up to the next floor. Even the black and tan pattern of the carpet seems elegant and indulgent. Hesitating for a few seconds, I finally step onto the first stair and begin to make my way up. There are only a few steps before the staircase makes a sharp turn before continuing to a large door. This door is thick and the color of dark, deeply stained wood. There is no glass panel in it, completely concealing whatever is behind the door from view.
I notice a keypad beside the door, and I look back at the card in my hand. Using the code written beside 'stairs,’ I tap the numbers into the pad and hear an immediate click as the magnetic lock in the doorframe releases. I don't open the door. Instead, I turn and run back down the stairs and through the glass panel door into my own hallway. I wonder if Xavier somehow heard the magnetic lock opening or has an alert system within his apartment that lets him know when that door is opened. If he did, he definitely knows I was just there. I wondered if he would accept me telling him I was just testing the code to see how it worked. I then wondered if that was actually the reason I climbed those stairs to the door in the first place.
Securing the lock on my apartment door once more, I place the card on the side table and return to the bedroom. The bag Xavier left is still sitting on the bed, and nearly everything else I own is in boxes and bags tucked against the side wall. Seeing them piled in the expansive, pristine bedroom makes all of my belongings look shabby, but at least they're here, safe and sound. I reach into the bag on the bed and pull out my journal. I haven't had the chance to add today's events to the pages yet. Although I don't really want to think about what happened anymore, I know I can't stop now. I can't just be a passive observer, waiting for the police to finish this for me. I have done everything I can up until this point, and I have to continue on this path. I have to tell myself that one day I will have the opportunity to look him in the eye and tell my story to the court, and maybe everything I've put into this journal, as embarrassing and painful as it is, will help tell my story in a way people can understand.
I fight the shaking in my hand as I pick up my pen and start to write out what has happened over the last day. The last entry in my journal mentions the cards I received at Evan's house, but only as something strange that randomly happened. Rereading those words, I can see the denial I was living in. I didn't want to believe the cards were from Trevor, or that he had finally been able to find me at Evan's house. I had already been through enough, and I was determined to convince my brain that leaving the city meant leaving all of that behind. Now as I add in another entry and complete the story of the Valentine cards, I wonder if that denial is what put me in this position to begin with. Maybe there is something I could have done that would have prevented all of this in the first place. Maybe I should have stayed at Evan's house. Maybe I should have stayed at my Primrose apartment and kept my job. Either way, I could have stood my ground and forced Trevor to come to me. Maybe then I could have stopped him.
Deep down, I know I couldn't have. Not alone. As soon as the hopeful thought flows through my mind, I brush it away. I'm brave now, sitting here in the cool, clean comfort of my new, untouched apartment. I can pretend I would have been able to stay there and wait for Trevor to come to me, face him down and give the police enough time to arrest him. For a moment, I imagine myself powerful enough to look Trevor in the eye and end this nightmare, but a second later, all I can do is hide.
Chapter Eight
Xavier
Monday morning…
The clock has just changed to 7:30 when I hear a faint knock on my apartment door. If I wasn't in the living room, I wouldn't have heard it. I know it must be Abigail, and I open the door to find her standing several feet back, her eyes nervously flickering up and down the long, silent hallway. This door is the only one other than the door to the stairwell, so I'm not sure what she's looking for. When she notices I've opened the door, she offers a hint of a smile, but it doesn't extend to her eyes. The sense of protectiveness comes roaring back, and I find myself wanting to do something, anything, to strengthen her sense of security. I want to guard her against anything she's afraid of and stop the fear reflected in her eyes, and the uncertainty in all her movements. There's so much more to Abigail than her trauma. I've seen it. I've seen glimmers of the person she is capable of being, and I find myself wanting to see more. I want to give her life back to her. Despite that, there's a distance between us. I can sense how intimidated she is by me, and I know there's no point in trying to change the way she feels. I can give her a place to live that will keep her secluded and out of reach. And I can give her a job that will provide for her and help get her back on her feet for whenever she's ready to leave and build a life somewhere new. But I'm not the person to find her again. I'm not the man she needs to move past whatever she's going through and draw her spirit and sensuality out again.
I don't have it in me.
"Thanks for being on time," I say, stepping back from the door so that Abigail will come into my apartment.
I see her scan her surroundings, and the shock at what she’
s seeing is evident on her face. I remind myself she's only been in the city for a few months, and virtually all that time was spent huddled in her little apartment with the other teachers. I doubt she had the opportunity to venture into this section of town. Most likely, she's never seen anything like this. She's literally stepping into a completely different world than what she’s used to.
"Anna is in the dining room eating breakfast," I say.
"I'm sorry," she blurts out suddenly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No," I say. "I told you to be here this early for a reason. Most of the time you won't be needed until the early afternoon once her lessons are over. Today I wanted you here early, so I could introduce you to her before I leave for work. Once her tutors arrive, you can either stay and observe her lessons or go back to your apartment. I'll let them know to call you when they're finished."
Abigail nods sharply but doesn't say anything. I start toward the dining room, and she falls into step behind me. I step out of the way when we get to the dining room, and I see her eyes fall on Anna. My daughter is sitting at the table in her usual chair, her feet swinging beneath her as she eats the pancakes Ruth made for her. I think sometimes she secretly dreams of eating bowls full of the sugary, multi-colored cereal she sees on commercials, but Ruth insists on starting every morning with a balanced, hot breakfast. It's the same as when I was a child. Not a single morning was passed in front of cartoons with a bowl of something vaguely fruit flavored or cinnamon crusted balanced in my lap while I sucked up the milk left behind. It bothered me so much that one of the first mornings I lived on my own, I filled a mixing bowl with children’s cereal and ate it on the couch while watching TV. I figure Anna can do the same when she gets to that age. Or when Ruth retires. But until then, she'll have to settle for healthy breakfasts. I'll tell her it builds character.