A thought seeped into her mind, one she never believed she would ever consider. One way out that Michael possessed no power to stop. Even death must be preferable to the hell she lived in. Every day, she coached patients through this same despair, but Max Bannon had it right, everything seemed so much different when you were the one in the shit storm, and not some hypothetical exercise, or observing someone else’s life.
As she walked, the idea frightened her less and less. Like opening a door and feeling sunshine when all she had ever known was the cold, the fear disappeared in that instant. A power to control her own fate gained a foothold. No longer to be at the mercy of another, but take matters into her own hands.
With her mind focused on such dire thoughts, she stumbled off the paved path and right into one of the hospital’s groundskeepers.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, barely glancing at the man.
* * *
Gabriel’s hands stung, his temples throbbed, his stomach tensed. He steadied himself and watched the woman walk away. He looked upward and smiled, another chosen led to him.
After signaling Paul that he was taking his break, he followed the woman into the hospital, staying well back. A needless ploy, she paid no attention as she hurried down the hall and took the elevator to the fifth floor. Gabriel noted it and proceeded to the stairs. Once on the fifth floor, he strolled along the corridor, glancing nonchalantly into each office.
In the third office on the right, he saw her put on a white coat and take up a clipboard. He read the plaque beside the entrance:
Patient Counseling Services
Dr. Rebecca Drenning
The blessing eased, but would remain, quiet and waiting. Gabriel returned to his duties, letting his mind meditate on the tenets of his worship. The sculpted marble faces and majestic physiques of the gods stood before him, expectant of his offering.
The doctor’s pain beckoned him, crying out to him for release. Only a little longer must she suffer. Soon, the good doctor would receive his blessing and find all her cares relieved.
CHAPTER
16
Unable to reschedule that day’s appointments, Becca slogged through her sessions. She counseled her patients on autopilot and registered little of what they said. Her mind, lost in a fog of dark thoughts, could not focus. That evening, she struggled to sleep, but found herself staring into the black above her, the same bleak shade swirling within her.
The next day, Rachel worked her magic and cleared Becca’s afternoon. She had to admit, in her present state of mind, she couldn’t give her patients the attention they deserved, and worse, felt in no mood to listen to their problems. Not that her sense of sympathy lessened with her own concerns, but all the misery and hopelessness—so many looking to her for answers—all compounded her powerlessness, her growing despair.
Becca did not want to return yet again to an empty, silent house filled with the echoes of anger and pain, so instead, she decided to visit her mother. She hadn’t seen her mother since her birthday, and they had not spoken in over a month.
They were not estranged, just busy. Mary Tolbert, attorney extraordinaire, kept a more hectic agenda than even Becca’s. Plus, with her court schedule, even sneaking in a brief phone conversation proved challenging. Becca hoped, with a little luck, she might snatch a few minutes with dear ol’ mom.
Why this sudden need to see her? Perhaps not so peculiar, she thought. After all, children always ran to mother when hurt or frightened. Becca felt both. A thought of Michael pressed ice into her heart. Maybe she needed to say goodbye before…
She stepped up to the reception desk at Morry, Tolbert & Stalk. “Hi Sarah, is my mother in the office today?”
“Dr. Drenning,” said the woman with a bright smile. Sarah had sat at that desk for twenty years, greeting clients and answering phones. She predated most of the attorneys at the firm.
“Thought I’d surprise her. If she’s here.”
“She’ll love that. You’re in luck, Mary’s in today. I think a hearing got canceled last minute. Let me ring her.” Sarah punched in the number. “Mary, you have a guest. You’re daughter’s here.”
Sarah yanked the phone away from her ear. Becca heard an exclamation from the other end. “I think she’s a wee bit excited to see you. You can go on back, same office as always.” Sarah grinned.
Becca headed down the hall, nodding to secretaries and attorneys. She knew most of them and stopped here and there to inquire after families. The attorneys, in expensive suits and dresses, all appeared so confident. She envied them. Still, she more than most knew the outward masks hid dark places and secret fears. Becca wondered what worries and horrors she might uncover with any one of them on her sofa, under her scrutiny.
She entered her mother’s office, which never failed to impress. A large oak desk sat before a wall-length floor-to-ceiling window, a myriad of skyscrapers glinting beyond in the afternoon sun. Numerous awards and plaques of appreciation adorned the walls. Photos of her mother with Ronald Reagan, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, Bush one and two, were proudly displayed. Not one to hide her accomplishments, Becca’s mother.
Mary rotated in her plush leather chair and practically leapt over her desk when she noticed Becca standing in the doorway. She hugged her tightly and stepped back, appraising her, a hand on each shoulder.
“You look tired, angel. Aren’t you sleeping? Can’t one of those doctors prescribe something?”
“It’s been a tough week mom.”
“Well, lie down on my couch and tell Dr. Mom all about it.”
“Hey, I thought I was the psychologist.”
“Tsk, not today you’re not.”
Becca sighed, no use beating around the bush. This was why she had come after all. Still, she was unsure of how much to tell her mother. If she told her about the beatings and the rape attempt, Mary would be on the phone to the Chief of Police, hell, maybe the Mayor, before Becca could stop her.
“You know things haven’t been good between me and Michael for a while now, but recently they have gotten worse. I can’t take much more.”
Becca shook her head and began to cry.
Mary moved close, putting an arm around her daughter. “Listen to me right now. You stop crying, not another tear.” Mary took Becca by the hand and guided her to the sofa. “I know a thing or two about bad marriages. The trick is to get out while the getting’s good. Don’t stay until things are so bad one of you do or say something you can’t take back.”
Becca averted her face, hoping Mary did not see her guilty expression. “I know. I’m just scared. I don’t think I’m strong enough.”
“Nonsense,” Mary said, “I doubt you remember this, but when you were about six you decided you deserved a puppy. Your father adamantly opposed the idea, but you persisted. He thought himself clever, your father. He knew someone with a German Shepard that had recently had a litter of puppies. The momma dog acted mean on her good days, but with puppies to protect, she became Satan incarnate.”
“I remember. The momma dog’s name…Precious.” Becca smiled at the memory.
“Oh, the irony.” Mary shook her head. “Anyway, your father’s devious plan was to show you how dangerous dogs could be, and how hard they were to deal with. He felt certain you would run screaming and that would be the end of any talk of puppies. Oh boy, he couldn’t have been more wrong.
“You walked into the pen, your father and the dog’s owner standing close enough to snatch you out of harm’s way, and approached dear old momma. She lunged, the chain restraining her snapped like a cracked whip. You didn’t flinch. With one eye on a chubby, white furball—a female pup you had already set your heart on—you turned to momma dog, one hand on your hip, pointed right at her and said, ‘You stop that right now Precious. I’m taking that puppy home. I promise to take good care of her and love her with all my heart. I know you don’t want to lose your baby, but you can visit anytime you want, and we’ll come to visit you. Now you settle down.’ You sound
ed like a little adult. Your father said he could barely keep from busting out laughing.
“The owner’s jaw hit the ground when Precious stopped barking and sat back on her haunches. You reached out before he could get to you, and by the time he placed a hand on your shoulder to jerk you away, you were scratching Precious behind the ears. She licked your hand and then promptly laid down in the shade.”
“She could have taken my hand off.” Becca laughed while looking at her hand, surprised it was still there.
“Could have, but your desire proved stronger than your fear. That stubborn, willful child is now a beautiful young woman. The same streak still runs through you, I see it. That fearless little girl will jump out if you look for her. She isn’t hiding, and she isn’t gone. She wants you to find her. Remember who you are, who you want to be.”
A crushing weight lifted. Becca stared at her hand a moment more, and made a fist, unable to help but smile. “Okay, maybe you are the psychologist here after all. I actually do feel better. Thank you Mom, I knew I came here for a good reason.”
“Mom will always have a Band-Aid ready for your boo boos.” Mary stood, her arms crossed, and looking rather pleased with herself. “I’m always here for you, whatever you decide. If you want to leave him, and I think you should, you have a place with me.”
“It’s complicated, Mom, but thank you. I know now I can handle it and find a way out of this mess.”
“That’s my girl,” said Mary, hugging Becca tightly. “We’ve been missing each other like ships in the night for far too long. Next week, Thursday, we’re going for dinner. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Becca headed home feeling more at ease. She guessed all mothers possessed an uncanny ability to calm their children, and children never grew too old to need their mother’s soothing voice and wise counsel. A soft lullaby after a nightmare, Mary had sung just the song Becca needed to hear. Surely, Michael was no more dangerous than an ill-tempered German Shepherd to a little girl. She’d stood up to the monster once; she’d do it again.
Once home, she took a beer from the fridge, sat on the sofa, and propped her feet up. It relieved her to know she would not need to work at avoiding Michael tonight.
Becca knew neither her mother nor Rachel fully understood why she could not just up and leave Michael. They had not been there the night he chased her down. Nor were they with her daily to appreciate the level of control he wielded over her. It shamed her, but it was true.
She had no idea how she planned to deal with him. The head-on approach would be suicide, possibly literally, and after her visit with Mary, Becca now firmly rejected suicide as an option.
Now, the thought of killing herself seemed like a mental exercise. She didn’t think she’d have gone through with it, but in that moment, it had seemed…reasonable. A healthy mind snapped back from the precipice. She flicked her fingernail at the bottle, staring at the suds, thinking of patients who couldn’t.
It frightened her to think on how far she had fallen. She needed to find a way of escaping Michael and gaining her freedom.
The first step, she knew. Maintain resolve. Michael would return home and things would revert to their version of normal. She needed to remember last night, not the horror and fear, but the fact it happened. Like hanging her little black dress up when she worked out, the size four she was determined to remain able to wear, she needed motivation to stay focused, stay the course. Becca could not allow herself to fall back into acceptance.
Recent events had left her exhausted, she did not realize how much until she stood. Turning in early seemed like a great idea. Her mother guessed correctly, Becca slept only in fits and turns lately, and not a wink the last few nights.
Becca went to the bathroom and washed her makeup off. After placing a Fiona Apple CD into the stereo, she set it on repeat and slipped into her PJs. The bed greeted her with sweet, soft comfort. She fell asleep before her head sank fully into the pillow.
* * *
Gabriel placed his tools into the tote bag—bolt gun and cutters, hoist and gambrel, knife, plastic ties, wrap, duct tape, white sheet. He took his Bible from the shelf and sat on the bed. Jeremiah 29:11: For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, sayeth the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.
Take me as your instrument. Use my hand to deliver your peace to the sufferer and spare her the true death, so she may find rebirth in your glory…Amen.
He grabbed his bag, walked out the door, and made his way to the store. In the alley sat Henry’s pick-up, which he rarely drove, an ancient Mazda B2000 older than Gabriel.
Every time he used it, he heard Henry’s voice in the back of his mind. “Use it whenever you want, but I warn ya, don’t go too far. Damned thing’s as likely to break down as get you home.”
Gabriel did not like borrowing the truck due to its condition, and because he had previously only driven the tractor around the farm, and Mr. Hayes’s truck once or twice. On his previous missions, the bus had sufficed, but in this case, necessity demanded his own transportation. He took it slow and drove to the hospital.
He remembered where Dr. Drenning parked her car, and after punch out, he sat in the truck and waited, an eye on her Volvo. Once she left the parking lot, he followed. The doctor possessed a lead foot, and keeping pace in the sluggish Mazda proved a chore. He was certain he had lost her more than once, but soon sighted her again, darting in and out of the rush hour traffic.
Dr. Drenning’s home was in one of the more affluent subdivisions of the city where the rust bucket he drove would certainly be noticed, so he circled the neighborhood at a distance, getting a feel for the area’s layout. After pinpointing the doctor’s house, he pulled to a stop and examined the street map he had taken from Henry’s.
The house abutted a wooded area, which according to the map stretched some distance to the east and ran parallel to Hillcrest Road. Gabriel proceeded down Hillcrest to an abandoned lot, formerly serving the now defunct Sam’s Salvage, and left the truck. A trek through the woods brought him right to Emerald Lane.
He walked along the wood line, staying out of sight. Dressed in jeans and button-down shirt, he did not stick out as a criminal type, but the community was small. Very likely all the neighbors knew each other and might take note of a stranger.
Gabriel felt confident the gods would shield him from any seeking to disrupt their plan, but even so, no harm in being cautious. He made certain of his position behind Dr. Drenning’s house and reentered the woods. Now, he needed only to await the cover of darkness.
When night fell, it brought with it a multitude of stars, all shining bright like candles lit especially for Gabriel’s ritual. Standing at the edge of the forest, he watched the lights go out one by one. He waited another hour and crept to the back door.
Using his small crowbar, he pried the door open with minimal noise. He paused and listened. No sound stirred to indicate movement within the house, or that anyone heard his entrance.
With the curtains drawn, he needed his flashlight to navigate the darkness. He moved up the stairs and into the bedroom. Gabriel hovered at the bedside, gazing down on her sleeping form. He removed two coins and the small silver cross he had fashioned from his bag and placed the items on the nightstand in preparation for later.
The blessing had been a faint itch at the back of his skull since encountering the doctor. Once he looked into her eyes and prepared to bestow it upon her, the blessing would come again with full intensity. He braced himself for the touch of the gods. With the bolt gun raised, he leaned forward, bringing the tip toward her forehead.
A cell phone vibrated atop the bedside table, pumping out rock music. Gabriel nearly dropped the gun and jumped out of his skin. The woman stirred. Groggy, she groaned and rubbed her eyes.
Gabriel stumbled backwards, alarm stuttering his steps. The blaring phone covered the noise of his clumsy retreat. He bumped against closet doors, reached behind his back, and opened them wit
hout taking his eyes off the doctor. He wedged himself inside an instant before she sat up and grabbed the phone.
“Hello,” she said in a sluggish voice. “Mom? No, it’s okay, I turned in early.” The doctor raked fingers through her hair and listened to a warbled voice on the other end. “You were right; I was really worn out.…Yeah, I’m feeling much better. Everything is going to be fine. I really believe that now.…” She paused for a moment, listening. “I know you are, I promise to call if need anything…Thanks mom, I love you.”
Listening to her, hearing the optimism in her voice, Gabriel felt the sting seep from his hands as if drawn from heated water. The tightness in his stomach and head faded.
The blessing had…disappeared. He sensed nothing.
Shocked by the blessing's sudden absence, Gabriel fell to his knees. Panic engulfed him, tightening his throat. His body shuddered, his elbows knocked against the wall behind him. What was happening? How could he have been mistaken?
A small lamp atop the nightstand clicked on, sending light through the slatted door. Gabriel held his breath. The woman’s head swung in his direction. Not fear, but puzzlement pinched her features. She crept toward his position, her shadow dancing through the glowing slats. The doors rattled and pulled ajar. A crease of light widened inches from his face. Gabriel crawled back into the closet and stood.
She flung the doors apart. Her mouth gaped. No question she saw his shadowy outline trembling in the darkness. Gabriel aimed the flashlight’s beam into her eyes, disorienting her. He lunged forward, tackling her to the carpet and slamming the butt of the flashlight into the side of her head. She fell to the floor and lay still. Reacting on impulse, he lifted her into his arms and laid her unconscious body on the bed.
Gabriel fought to control his confusion. Hunched forward, hands on knees, he tried to catch his breath and calm the anxiety. The door seemed to have relocated; he could not find the exit. Frantic, his thoughts spun in a kaleidoscope of fractured images—wings flapped, stone eyes stared. Sights and sounds filled his mind in a maddening progression.
A Coin for Charon: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller (Detective Marlowe Gentry Series Book 1) Page 17