by Tina Ness
Over the course of two days, we go from place to place, shooting all my previous work. Max has as much if not more ambition than I do. Max is wonderful to work with, and I insist he let me help. I’m extremely thankful to be kept busy. He has me moving lights, grabbing light meter readings, and positioning every room element in line with every image as he looks through his wide-angle lens. I enjoy this part immensely and am grateful for our easy banter.
I’m running on very little sleep, but caffeine and straight-up hard-core determination can make you go for days—heck, maybe weeks. I will soon find out at the rate I’m going.
Chapter 11
Friday, June 4
Over dinner at my sister’s house, I receive a pep talk from Rose and Derek, who tell me incessantly how they are madly in love with their living room design. I decide that these next two weeks will be my last at Beacon Pointe.
I come home to an envelope taped to my door with the words Please Read in a black cursive handwriting that is clean and precise. I pull it down off the door and stare at it for a moment. I run through a list of possible messengers, but I cannot recall anyone having penmanship this nice. Perhaps a potential client? My landlord? Could it be … him?
I stare at the letter for some time before I head inside and place the letter, my purse, and my keys on the antique half-moon side table in the foyer. I walk away from the letter, feeling a sense of dread flow through me. I’ve done pretty well with averting my attention from Marshall, and I don’t know if I’m ready to revisit my heartbreak just yet. Perhaps I will read it later tonight, but for now, I just need to unwind.
I put the leftovers my sister gave me into the fridge. She insisted that they wouldn’t eat them, but I know it’s just her way of taking care of me. It was hard to argue since she had made one of my favorite fish taco recipes. Rose is a natural nurturer, born to be a mom and a teacher. I can hardly manage taking care of myself most days
A text from Krystal wakes me from my reverie.
We are still on for the music festival tonight, I hope. Dirty Red Doghouse is playing and would hate to go to it without you!
I pound the words onto my phone, feeling a rush of regret for agreeing to go.
I told you I would.
I had hoped to simply crash and burn while watching some gory action-filled thriller with no prospect of a love scene. My lack of sleep is finally catching up to me. But hey, I have successfully kept him off my mind. Well, at least a little anyway. It takes every bit of my willpower to walk out that door without opening the letter, but I just need more time.
The parking grounds, side streets, and lots are packed full, but I stubbornly drive around looking for a parking space that is closer to the entrance. It’s not that I’m too lazy to walk; it’s just that it’s late and dark, and I don’t feel like walking a half mile by myself.
After about five minutes of driving around, I spot two older women heading to their car parked underneath an old weeping willow tree next to the fence. It’s a tight spot, but I manage to work my way in as soon as they back out. After pulling out my phone and texting Krystal that I’m here, I step out of the car.
Dirty Red Doghouse is loud, and once I’ve downed a cold beer, I find a place to stand and watch the band without being bumped into. I lean back against the fence where Krystal’s clan is stationed. I do my best to ignore the wild conversation about the two guys Tracy (the one I call Drunk Blond Girl) took home last night and try my best to get lost in the music. The thought of sex, however, only brings me back to Marshall, sex, and what could possibly be in that letter.
Krystal yells, shaking me out of my near coma. “Lizzie, they’re doing our favorite dance song.” She grabs my arm, and we make our way to the middle of the crowd where people are dancing.
I don’t fight her, knowing I could use a good dance-your-ass-off kind of moment. We find our way to the very middle, and it doesn’t take long for the music to pull me into its trance. I feel the rhythm throughout my body, and it wills me to move. We smile at each other as we start jumping and hollering, which leads us into hard-hitting shoulder pulses. We work our hips like we’re teenagers. I don’t care how it looks; it just feels so good. I get lost in the music, arms up above my head, eyes closed.
I feel someone come in close behind me and snap my eyes open to see Krystal and Greg bumping and grinding in their usual flirty way. The dance floor is packed, and the person behind me is so close I can’t even turn. A hard chest pressing against my back is clearly a male, but he is keeping his hands off. Hell, it’s harmless. The song ends, and warm breath hits the back of my neck, making me shiver, and not in a good way. I push myself forward, away from him, not concerned that I’m pushing the girl dancing almost directly in front of me. “Hey,” the girl yells, but I ignore her and turn to see who it is behind me. All I see is a crowd of heads. No one behind me is looking my way, and no one is close enough to have been inches from my neck, leaving me with an uneasy pit in my gut. All I want to do is get out of this sea of people.
I push my way through and can feel Krystal staring at me as I leave the dance floor. I walk to the outskirts of the crowd before I turn around, and that’s when I spot him. He’s with Aubrey. Her arms are wrapped around his arm, and she’s leaning her head on his shoulder. My heart begins to race, and I suddenly feel a bit dizzy. I stumble back but manage to keep myself upright.
“What the hell, Liz?” Krystal looks annoyed. “Dancing and having a good time is exactly what you need to get over—” She scrunches up her face, realizing she shouldn’t bring up his name.
“You mean the cheating bastard right over there.” I look over at him and point. I quickly lower my finger when I see that he is looking right at me.
“Sorry, Krystal. I need to get out of here. I can’t look at him right now. Plus I’m so tired I can’t even see straight.” I notice him approaching us. Krystal glares at him. I give her a quick hug and turn toward the exit.
“Beth!” I hear him yell, but I keep a steady pace.
I wring my hands and bite my tongue as I head to my car. I’m in a hurry to go in case he follows me. I can’t do this right now. I fish my keys out of my pocket.
“Hey there, Firecracker,” I hear from behind me, causing my hair to stand up as if from an electrical shock.
I know that voice. I quickly slip my key into the lock as a hard hand grabs my shoulder. I gasp and drop my keys.
“I was looking forward to the day I would run into you again. I’m just disappointed that your sister isn’t with you, so I could double my pleasure.”
I’m sweating profusely, and my chest is heavy. I can hardly breathe. I bend down to get my keys. My head jerks back as he grabs ahold of my hair and lifts me to stand. I need to scream. Why am I not screaming? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“You stupid cunt, you made me look like an idiot,” he spits. “I was only trying to have some fun and you—” He swings me around to look at him, still with a death grip on my hair. His cold eyes look me over, and his sick little smile makes my skin crawl. “Remember me? You’re not so tough without your big, giant purse to protect you, huh?”
He pushes me up against my car, taking the keys from my hand. I manage to get out “Help me,” but with the loud music, I hardly believe anyone will hear me. I can hardly hear myself.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says as he reaches for the unlock button.
I manage to get out “Somebody help,” but then he slams my head against the car, causing a stinging, throbbing pain in my temple.
“I told you to shut up, Bitch. Next time will be much worse.” He opens up my back door and pushes me in. Is he taking me somewhere? How does he expect to keep me in the backseat of the car?
“You made everybody laugh at me, and you need to pay for what you did, just like that girl from high school had to pay.”
I try and sit myself up, and as I do, another blow to the head hurls me back against the passenger door. He enters the backse
at, leaning over me and pulling a knife from his hip, poking it under my chin. I feel warm liquid run down my neck, and I’m not sure if it’s blood or sweat.
“I’ve always wanted to bang a redhead, and now that I’ve seen those hips move, it would be a sin not to find out what it’s like,” he says while his beady little eyes look me over.
Oh, God, he was the one dancing behind me. Bile rises into my throat, and I’m sure I will vomit all over him.
His hand travels over my stomach, then to the top of my pants. Fuck. He’s working on getting my pants down. The button on my capris gives way, and now he moves his hand down.
I can’t let this happen. I have to do something.
One arm, my right, my stronger arm is pinned under me, so I have to make something happen with my left. I ball up a fist and hit him in the throat, causing him to sit back and gasp for air. I struggle to free up my right arm, but his knee has it pinned tightly underneath me. I give him another left-handed punch, this time to the groin. I know I need to knock the knife out of his hands or get away, or this will be my last day on earth.
I frantically work at freeing my right arm before he recovers from the hit. I feel a hard slam on my right side. I’m dizzy. I can’t see. I’m starting to black out. I feel a tugging on my clothes followed by cool air touching my skin. In a mumble of sounds, I can hear Krystal yelling, “Get off of her!”
Am I screaming? What’s happening to me?
Another crack to my skull. The screams fade.
Chapter 12
The room is dark, except for the faint light that’s coming from my left. I can’t bring myself to look over at the source. My head feels too heavy to move. I sense I’m not alone, but I’m too tired to do anything. I want to ask who’s there, but I’m so thirsty I can’t even swallow. As I lie still, I become increasingly aware of my body. every inch of me weak and aching. Where am I? A wave of air brushes against my cheek. Someone is here. Sharp pain sears my shoulder as I try to move. I give in to the heaviness of my eyelids.
***
The woods are dark, but the light of the moon somehow leads my way. I’m running fast, chest heaving. I look down at my hands; they’re covered in blood. Is it my blood? I keep running, glancing over my body. Where is it coming from? I look back and don’t see anyone there, but I know I need to keep running. I have to get away. I just know I have to keep running. I jump over a downed tree covering the path, and the pain is so much that I stumble forward. My arms are too heavy to lift from my sides and soften my fall. My chest slams hard against the dirt floor of the woods, taking my breath away. I scramble to get back up and keep moving, running to the brightness up ahead.
I reach a narrow river, jagged with ripples of light from the moon above. The water is traveling fast, but I have to get away. I can’t turn back now. I frantically make my way into the ice-cold water. My legs are hard to move since the water is rushing so fast, but I keep on struggling through the moving water until I can no longer touch. I’m drifting downstream now at a rapid pace, but I fight hard to get to the other side. I go down, swallowing water multiple times before I bob back up, coughing and gasping for air.
Just ahead, I spot a branch sticking out over the water. I fight to grab ahold, and as I do, it starts to move. I grab it tighter, fighting to stay above water. I look up, and it’s him, the beady-eyed psychopath who attacked me, cut me, beat me. I need to get away from him. I scream again and again, but my screams are lost. He’s looking down at me, laughing. He just keeps laughing. He won’t stop laughing …
“Elizabeth, wake up.” I feel a hand on mine, and I shake it to try and get away.
I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is my mother.
Tears fill her eyes. “You’re awake. My Elizabeth is awake.” She leans over and kisses my forehead.
“Mom.” My voice is harsh and scratchy.
“Yes, honey, I’m here.”
“I was running through the woods”—I shake my head in confusion—“swimming in an ice-cold river and—”
“Sweetheart, it was only a dream. You’re okay, and you’re safe now.”
Overcome by the uncertainty of what happened to me, I look to my mom in horror.
Seeing my concern, my mother eases my worry, like only a mother can. “I know what you’re thinking”—she strokes my hair—“and you don’t need to worry. Cuts and bruises are the extent of it. That foul demon was put in his place before he was able to do what he had intended. Thank God Krystal showed up when she did. And some guys came to help when they heard you scream. Sounds like those guys beat him up pretty good.”
“I’m so thirsty,” I mumble.
“Let me get you some water.”
I blink away the cloudiness in my eyes, then let them wander around the bright hospital room. I spot my pink duffel bag on the window bench and wonder who packed it, but I don’t ask, because my eyes immediately focus on the table next to my bed. There sits the largest and most beautiful arrangement of flowers I have ever seen. There must be at least fifty peonies in coral, pink, and white. It’s my favorite flower. It must have cost a small fortune. Gavin used to buy them for me when he felt he really screwed up. They were not cheap, so he would only spring for four or five. Gavin wouldn’t have done anything like this. Who else knows that it’s my favorite flower? Marshall had been at the front desk one day when I’d had flowers delivered, but really, what guy pays that much attention? Plus, as soon as I saw him, I disappeared into the office like I usually do when he comes in. He probably didn’t even know they were mine. I wish so much I had read that letter on my door and not chosen to be so afraid of what I might learn.
I stare in awe until my mom reaches the bed with some water.
She notices I’m staring at them. “I came in this afternoon, and those were here. Nobody seems to know where they came from.”
I sip my water and turn my attention back to the flowers.
“Let me go get a nurse and find your father. He went to get a snack. You know how uneasy he is in hospitals. He can’t sit still for too long.”
I nod as she exits the room.
I gaze at the flowers in stunned silence. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. A lump builds in my throat, and my lips are quivering with emotion. No one besides my parents and Rose has ever cared about me enough to do such a thing. I can’t help it; a sob escapes my throat. My hands begin to tremble with a mix of joy and appreciation, rapidly followed by painful confusion and sorrow for what I have just been through. I was attacked and beaten, nearly violated by a man who is clearly a very disturbed psychopath. The pain in my heart is too much to bear. I hug my pillow as the tears flow in a steady stream that leaves me feeling tired and broken.
***
Sunday, June 6
The police come and question me. My father had asked if it were possible to give me more time to recover before they came at me with so many questions. They declined to wait, said that they needed to act quickly so they could get right down to their investigation. I fill them in on what he told me about the girl from high school having to pay and that I am pretty sure he was watching me from a beat-up red pickup truck at Home Décor that day with Rose.
Nurse after nurse comes in to see me over the next few hours, checking my vitals, asking over and over on a scale from one to ten how much pain I am in, bringing me crappy hospital food, and helping me to the bathroom, which I decline every time, but they insist.
I have several visitors that afternoon: Rose and Derek, Aunt Margaret, several of my cousins, and Krystal. Even my boss, Kiki, stops in for a short visit. I don’t ask about Marshall, but the thought of his smile, the dimple on his chin, and his soothing voice brings me a sense of comfort. It’s so weird, but I almost feel like he has been here. My head injury must be worse than I think.
***
Tuesday, June 8
I’m assured that my attacker is behind bars, and after two nights in my childhood bedroom, I’m excited to be back in my townh
ouse and feel some sense of normalcy. It feels good to be home. I ask Krystal if she will stay at my place with me the first night. I don’t know how I feel about being alone. It’s been four days since the attack.
I have some stitches on my chin and lip, a bruised cheek bone, and a concussion. I had also dislocated my shoulder while trying to get away. My mom and Rose both offered to stay with me too, and I’m grateful for the offer, but after several days of them fussing over me, it will be a nice change to have Krystal here.
Rose brings me home since my car is still evidence, and who knows when I will be getting that back. Besides, I’m still on pain meds and am told I can’t drive until I’ve switched to just ibuprofen, and I’m not quite ready to give up the good stuff just yet. Maybe tomorrow. I send my reluctant twin home so I can have time to read the letter that has been heavy on my mind since the second I saw those flowers.
I lock the door when Rose leaves, grab the letter, double-check that I locked the door, then head to my room. Rose had put away everything from my duffel bag, made my bed (which I’m sure I hadn’t done four nights ago), and set out yoga pants and my favorite Zac Brown Band T-shirt on the bed for tonight. I smile at her motherly gestures and ease myself on top of my sheets and cover myself up with a blanket from the end of the bed.
I run my fingers over the words Please Read before I carefully break the letter’s seal.
Dear Beth,
I feel terrible about the fact that I have upset you. I know I have acted a bit strange at times and haven’t given you a full explanation of my behavior. I wish you would have given me a chance to explain it to you that night on the balcony. I’m still not sure why you left, but I hope you will tell me, talk to me, ask me any questions, and trust that I would never do anything to hurt you.
I would rather talk to you face-to-face, but you have left me no choice. God, this feels so weird to write on paper, but here it is.
I lost my wife, Sarah, my best friend, over three years ago. She was in a horrific accident. She had fallen off a ladder in our shed, and her spine was impaled by a hook that was attached to the shed wall. They thought they could fix her. For eight months, she fought for her life, getting better after each surgery. That was until the last one, the one that they had predicted would be the last one she would ever need. It was her last, but it took her life when she developed a blood clot. One day she was improving, and the next she was gone. After I lost her, I honestly believed I would never be with anyone else again.