by Lauren Rico
He’s glaring at me, but I keep my face looking hopeful and innocent, so he won’t suspect I’m stretching.
“Please?” I throw in for good measure.
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. If this goes well, I’ll get you to the bathroom. If it doesn’t go well, then it won’t matter because you’ll be dead anyway.”
My earnest face slips and I gulp so hard I’m sure he’s heard it. One more surreptitious glance at the clock. Okay, it’s now or never.
“It’ll go well, Jeremy,” I assure him. “I’m ready. I can do this.”
He nods, dials and activates the speaker function on his phone. I hear the phone in our apartment ring once. Twice.
“Julia?” comes Matthew’s breathless voice through the ether.
“Guess again, Matty!” Jeremy jeers.
“You son of a bitch!” he hisses back at him. “What the hell have you done? Where is she?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to not find out until it’s too late,” is his mocking retort.
“I want to talk to her,” Matthew demands.
“You and I have few things to discuss first.”
“No,” Matthew says. “Not until I know she’s alright. Otherwise you can hang up right now.”
Well that was a bold move, but it works. Jeremy puts the phone close to my mouth and nods his chin at me as an indication to speak.
“Matthew?” I whisper hesitantly.
“Julia, Honey, are you okay? If that bastard’s hurt you …”
“I’m okay, Matthew. How’s the baby? How’s David?” I interrupt him, keeping eye contact with Jeremy.
“He’s fine, Julia, don’t worry about him.”
I’m getting the sign to wrap it up from Jeremy and I nod my understanding.
“Listen to me, Matthew, do whatever Jeremy tells you to do and, for God’s sake, do not call the police, okay?”
“Okay,” he sniffs.
“Ah! Nicely done you two,” Jeremy praises us, taking the phone away.
“What are you going to do now?” I hear my husband ask.
Jeremy screws up his face in mock consideration. “Hmmm … let’s see … So many options …”
“Cut the shit, you motherfucker!” Matthew spits.
Jeremy becomes serious again.
“You know, Matthew, I’m not really sure how all this is going to end. But I can tell you what’s going to happen in the next twenty-four hours. Your blushing bride and I are going to get reacquainted. Intimately reacquainted,” he leers.
I can just imagine Matthew trying to sound calm as Jeremy baits him. He’s probably going to punch a hole in the wall as soon as he gets off the phone.
“Jeremy, you may hate me. But please don’t take it out on Julia. It’s me you want to hurt, not her. There was a time when you cared for her …”
“Oh, please. She’s just a stupid slut like the rest of them,” says Jeremy, unmoved by the plea. “Besides, don’t you see it, Matthew? Sure, I could beat the shit out of you or torture you or some sadistic shit like that, but what fun would that be? No, my friend, I want you to suffer. I want you to think about all of the unspeakable things I’m going to do to Julia. All of the violent, disgusting ways I’m going to fuck her. And fuck her and fuck her. Then, I’m going to beat the shit out of her. After that, I’ll fuck her some more.”
“Please don’t kill her,” comes Matthew’s breathy reply.
Jeremy ignores him and prattles on, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice. “And as the hours go by, you’ll be imaging the worst. Only, for Julia, it won’t be in her imagination, will it? No, it will be her reality. She’ll suffer. And you will be helpless. You’ll be responsible for her suffering, Matthew. You did this to her, just as surely as if you were raping her and beating her yourself. I want you to think about that, Matthew.”
I feel my mouth go dry and slack at the same time. Oh, my God. The man standing in front of me is totally certifiable. I have the sudden, undeniable realization that there will be no reasoning with him. I’m going to have to think of something, and fast.
“I’m going to hang up now. I’m sure you’ll want to call the police but we both know what a bad idea that would be, right? We both know she’ll be dead at the first sign of a cop car. Do I make myself clear?”
“You do.” Matthew’s voice has become small and shaky.
“Oh, Matthew, I almost forgot! Congratulations on the baby!”
Jeremy hangs up the phone before Matthew can reply. But Jeremy does not hang up the phone before the blaring foghorn of the Pt. Jefferson Ferry filters into the kitchen, right on time.
Matthew 37
It’s there, in an instant: the image of our kitchen, the view of the back yard and harbor. David, yelling “Boat!” She did this. She planned this. She must have. I turn to Brett, phone still in my hand.
“I know where she is,” I exclaim excitedly.
“What? How could you possibly?”
He heard the entire conversation on the speakerphone and didn’t catch what was so glaringly, or, in this case, blaringly obvious to me.
“The fog horn. Right before he hung up? That was the Pt. Jefferson Ferry. We’ve been complaining about it for weeks now. You can hear it every night at the same time. The sound comes right up into our kitchen.”
Brett is shaking his head, as if trying to shake out the cobwebs.
“Wait, wait, wait … are you saying that you think Jeremy took Julia … home? To your home? On Long Island?”
“Exactly! She was stalling for time so I’d be on long enough to hear the horn!” I practically burst. “That’s my brilliant girl! Always thinking. She’s going to come out on the other side of this. Jeremy, on the other hand, won’t be so lucky. Not when I’m through with him.
“But why …?”
“Think about it, Brett, it’s actually fucking brilliant! The house is isolated, it’s quiet … and it’s the last place we’d ever think to look for her!”
Suddenly the color seems to drain from his face.
“What? What is it?” I ask, almost afraid to hear what he’s thinking.
“Yeah, and it’s the first place we sent my mother and David,” he replies in a horrified whisper.
Oh, Christ, he’s right. I look at my watch.
“You’ve got to call her,” I insist. “Tell her to get off at the next stop and catch a train back to the city …”
But Brett is shaking his head at me.
“No, man, I can’t. She doesn’t have a cell phone,” he groans miserably.
“What? Who the hell on this planet doesn’t have a cell phone?” I bark.
He shrugs. “Trudy.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Think. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Where?”
“We’ve got to try and beat them out there.”
“Matthew …are you sure you don’t want to involve the police?”
I shake my head adamantly and he holds up his palms in surrender.
“Your call. I’m just thinking they can get there before any of us can …”
I’m about to tell him to drop it, but he’s just given me an idea.
“They’re not the only ones who can get there before we can.”
****
“Holy fucking shit!” Tony yells from his end of the line. I’m gesturing for Brett to head toward the Long Island Expressway. “Fucking cocksucker! I’ll kill him! I’ll fucking kill him if he hurts a hair on Julia’s head!”
I think that may be the first time I’ve ever heard Tony use Julia’s name. He’s called her ‘Red’ since we were kids. I find it more than a little unsettling.
“Tony, where are you? Can you get to her? We’re just getting on the expressway …”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll drop everything. You didn’t call the police did you?”
“No,” I assure him.
“Good. No telling what that fucker’ll do if he feels backed into a corner. He’d kill her right in front
of them just to stick it to you …” he stops, abruptly, realizing I might not want to hear this. “It’ll be okay, Matt. I’m at my place in Lido Beach.”
“Dammit,” I murmur. “You’re not much closer than we are …”
“No. Don’t worry about that. I know all the shortcuts. I’ll be out the door in less than five minutes and I’ll check in with you from the road.”
“Alright,” I say, the relief evident in my voice.
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“No matter what, you wait for me to get there. You hear me? No matter what, you do not go into that house without me.”
“Why? That’s crazy. If I get there first …”
“If you get there first, he’ll kill her just so you can watch her die, Matthew.”
Once he says it, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s the truth.
Julia 38
Jeremy is true to his word. When the phone call is done, he pulls a pocketknife out of his pants, squats down, and cuts the ties on my ankles. He looks up at me. “I’m going to cut your hands loose, but don’t do anything that you’ll regret, Jules. Because, believe me, you’ll regret it.”
I nod my understanding and he stands up, walks around behind me and liberates my sore and swollen wrists. I rub them, and my arms from shoulders to fingertips. He’s watching, waiting for me to finish.
“Are you hungry?” I ask him.
“No knives, no boiling water, no stove.”
“Okay. How about sandwiches? I have ham and cheese. There’s some leftover potato salad in there, too. If you’d prefer, I can sit here while you pull it out. I don’t need to go into the kitchen,” I volunteer helpfully.
He nods and I direct him to all the ingredients. Once he’s laid them out on the counter, I start to assemble his sandwich just the way I know he likes it. Heavy on the cheese, light on the mayo. I spoon a heap of the chilled salad onto the plate and push it towards him.
“There’s beer in the refrigerator,” I remind him. He nods and pulls one out for himself. “May I have a bottle of water while you’re in there?” He grabs that as well, without comment.
“Thank you,” I say as he sets it down in front of me and twists the cap off his Michelob.
He takes a long swig from the bottle and a big bite from the sandwich, grunting his approval of both.
“When was the last time you ate?” I prod, concentrating on my own sandwich.
“Breakfast,” he mumbles through a mouthful of potato salad.
“You must be starving,” I observe, looking up at him. “Do you want another one? There’s plenty here.”
He’s looking at me suspiciously.
“Jeremy, I’m not an idiot either, okay? You don’t think I know it’s in my best interest to keep you in a good mood? Jesus! It’s just a fucking sandwich,” I huff with some irritation of my own.
“Yes, I’d like another fucking sandwich, please,” he parrots me with an amused smile.
Amused is good. I’ll take amused at the moment.
I nod, take a bite out of my own sandwich, and start making his second. The kitchen is quiet, save for the whir of the appliances and the occasional gust of wind through the trees in the backyard. If Jeremy was concerned about the sound of the foghorn earlier, he hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe that’s because he hasn’t made the connection. It hasn’t occurred to him that Matthew will recognize the sound and know exactly where I am. That’s what I’m counting on. Even so, it’ll take time for Matthew to get here.
As I chew my sandwich, I’m making a mental inventory of the living room, dining room, music room and den. All of them are on this floor and all of them can be reached from one of two directions, giving me some options. But is there anything in any of those rooms that I can use as a weapon? There’s a letter opener on my desk; a pair of scissors, too. In the den is a trophy with a heavy marble base. Matthew’s office, the living room …
“May I use the bathroom, please?” I ask in my most non-threatening voice. “There’s a powder room in the hallway. I don’t need to go upstairs or anything.”
“We’ll see.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? You’re not even going to let me pee? Stand in there with me if you want. I’m sure you made use of the facilities while I was out cold.”
“Jesus, just shut the fuck up already!” he grumbles between bites of sandwich.
I continue to glare at him until he rolls his eyes.
“Fine, go. You have one minute. If you lock yourself in, you’re going to be so sorry,” he warns. “And don’t even think about the front door …”
I cut him off before he can continue his laundry lists of threats.
“I won’t. I’ll keep the bathroom door open, if it’ll make you feel better. And, I know – you’re faster than me. You’re stronger. I get it. I was a fool, certainly. But I’m not stupid.”
“You’ve just wasted fifteen seconds of your minute with that little speech,” he informs me, making a point of looking at his watch.
I nod and turn to leave the kitchen slowly, carefully. I go into the bathroom and turn on the faucet so the sound of the water will buy me a little time. I reach behind the mirror and feel for the small key taped to its back. Then, once I’ve stuck my head out into the hallway to be sure I’m still on my own, I move quickly and silently to the room directly across from me, Matthew’s office. I steal over to the closet, noiselessly sliding the door open on its track.
Inside, I stand on my tiptoes and grab the lockbox from the high shelf where it sits. I bring it quickly back to the desk and, with shaking hands, I unlock it, thanking God that I knew where everything was. But, as it turns out, my thanks are a bit premature. The box is empty.
Empty?
Please, Jesus, don’t tell me the one time he finally decides to listen to me and get rid of the damn knife is the one time I need it!
“Looking for that big bad knife you had in there?”
I jump at the sound of Jeremy’s voice. He’s leaning in the doorway watching me.
“Hey, great hiding place for the key, too. Behind the mirror in the bathroom. I never would have thought to look there. Oh, yeah, except, I did,” he sneers and steps over the threshold and into the office with me before he continues.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t have been through every square inch of this place before I brought you here? Not to mention your apartment. I had a lot of fun poking around your lingerie drawer by the way. Oh! And I like the little pink lacy number you’ve acquired since we were dating. I’ll bet Matty Boy got lucky when you found it in bottom of your suitcase!”
Oh. My. God.
How could I not have seen it? Of course! It was him all along! He got into the house right before David was born, too. But after that, Matthew installed alarms and cameras and reinforced doors. He thought we would be safer here than anyplace else. Apparently he thought wrong. We both did.
“And, you can forget about the knives in the kitchen and that God awful marble statue in the living room, too. I managed to disengage your alarm system and the home phone line, so you can forget about whatever other little tricks you think you have up your sleeve,” he says, watching me watching him.
I come around to the front of the desk. We’re about twenty feet apart in this large room, but he’s blocking the only way out. I don’t have to look around me to know that there’s nowhere left to go. He comes closer, but I stand my ground. This is my home.
“I’ll be paying David a visit soon, you know,” he informs me.
I don’t respond, just glare at him.
“Oh, he’s going to get to know me real well, Jules.”
I take a deep breath and try to stop my body from convulsing with the trembling that is taking hold of it. I muster every bit of power I have and channel it into my tone as I address him.
“Jeremy Corrigan, I want you to hear me when I tell you that you will never touch my child. Because, if you do, I will kill you with my own bare hands.
And, if you happen to get the better of me, if you get your way and I’m dead, then you had better start praying for salvation, Jeremy, because I will be there. Every bad thing that happens to you, that will be me. I will make your life a living hell from beyond the grave. I didn’t believe in things like that until I had David. Now I know. Not even death will sever the relationship I have with my son,” I hiss at him from across the room.
He gives me a condescending smile. “Don’t you mean our son, Julia?” he croons, crossing over the threshold and moving slowly toward me.
I shake my head stubbornly. “No. He is not our son, Jeremy. He’s mine. Mine and Matthew’s,” I insist, taking an involuntary step backwards to maintain the distance between us.
“Saying it doesn’t make it true.”
Again, that galling smile. What I wouldn’t give to smack it off of his smug face. I feel my fingers twitching with the possibility of it as he pushes me further into the corner.
“You seem to be running out of floor,” he observes.
I recognize the line from the first time we made love in my apartment.
“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom then?” he suggests.
“No,” I snap.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” He clearly thinks he’s misheard me.
“No.”
“No?”
I glare at him now.
“You heard me. I said ‘No.’ No, I do not want to have sex with you. I do not give my consent. I want you to be crystal clear on this point, Jeremy. If you touch me, it will be by force. It’ll be rape.”
“Seriously?” he marvels with an incredulous smile. “Have you met me, Jules?” he laughs. “I mean, what the hell makes you think I care whether or not you consent?”
My expression doesn’t change. My eyes never leave his.
“We both know you’re better than that, Jeremy. Rape is a little … common for you, isn’t it?”
The question is a crapshoot. I’m hoping, once again, to appeal to his ego.
“And what makes you so sure that you know me so well, Jules? Hmm?”