So much for fairy tale princesses.
*****
Somewhere in the Sandbox
It’s been six months since I’ve been back stateside. Six months since my entire life blew up. At the time, I was on the edge, ready to walk out in the middle of enemy fire. I wanted pain, needed it and frankly, I didn’t care if death came along with it. I requested an immediate redeployment after the shit hit the fan. I was ready to meet the darkness at the end of an enemy weapon.
Now, six months later, things are better. I am in control of myself again, and I have my brothers to thank for that. One in particular, who pulled me back from the brink, showed me life was worth living. And he did it in a way I never saw coming. He made me care again, for him, for my brothers, and most of all for myself. It was a big change for me, learning to care for people who didn’t suck the life from you, people who weren’t always needing or wanting more than you were able to give them. Not everyone in my life had been this way; just one, and she nearly broke me.
My sister was happy to hear about my recovery and that I had a family to lean on when I needed them. She was still upset though. I didn’t see her before making a mad dash back to the desert. She understood though. She had even prepared for it. In her most recent letter she told me she had seen it coming years ago and was more than happy to see ‘the backstabbing bitch’ out of my life. I’m sure she danced all the way to the post office when she sent me the papers finalizing my divorce. She also sent the biggest care package I ever received, filled with baked goods, candy, and anything else she could shove into the box to celebrate with.
“Hudson,” a voice calls from outside the bunkroom. It was Dizzy, our squad tracker and in-house comedian. “You in there?”
“What’s going on Diz?” I call back, folding my sister’s letter and tucking it under my pillow. While things have been getting better for me as a SEAL, I can’t say the same for home life. Things are going from bad to worse for my younger brother. He’s been into more trouble, which is what else my sister’s letter was filled with. Neither of us could pinpoint what exactly had caused this drastic change in his character. He’d always been a good kid, willing to lend a helping hand and going out of his way for others. Now, my sister was lucky if she saw him in passing. Since their last argument, he’d taken to avoiding her. Something is going on, something bad. I have a sinking feeling it has to do with me and what happened the last time I was home.
“You got any more of those cookies your sister sent?” he opens the door, leaning against the frame. A blast of heat hits me in the face and quickly fills the bunkroom.
“Sorry, man. Tango got the last of them a few minutes ago,” I shake my head and smile. My sister would love hearing how much her baking skills are appreciated here.
“Damn, I was hoping to take a few with me on patrol,” he steps into the room, letting the door close behind him. I see his eyes stop at my pillow and notice the letter sticking out from underneath it. “Everything all right at home?”
My team knows a little of what is happening. They offered help, but there isn’t much anyone can do about it. My brother needs a Hudson-sized boot up his ass.
“Same shit, different day,” I reply, keeping it as vague as possible.
“Only a couple of months left, brother,” he turns his head to the side, his eyes somber and understanding. It is rare to see Dizzy like this because he is always busy making fun of himself, putting himself at the center of every joke. Something dark stirs beneath his comedic demeanor today.
“I just hope they can hang on for that long,” I sigh, knowing he’s right. We don’t count the days like our families do stateside; there is too much danger around. Instead, we focus on our missions, taking it one day at a time.
“So, file for an emergency leave,” he shrugs.
“I don’t know, man,” I rub my hand over my buzzed head and down my face. “I’m not sure if I can go back.”
“I understand,” his voice drops, and I know he is thinking about his own home life. Dizzy’s mother recently lost her battle with cancer, and he hadn’t been able attend the funeral. We were away on mission at the time. They sent him home to grieve, but he wasn’t gone long, and when he came back he was different.
“Are a couple of months going to be long enough for you?” I ask, noting the tension in his body as he thinks about what awaits him.
“Have to be,” he replies, his focus on the dirt-covered floor. “Got to face it sometime.”
I shrug, wishing neither one of us had to face it. Whatever it is; and as much as I’ve accomplished here, I’m not sure if I am ready for it back home.
“You sure your sister can handle it?” He watches me carefully.
I’m not sure. This time, her letter is more desperate than the last and it has me on edge. My brother started running with a crew who’ve been known to cause a lot of havoc in town. A group I know well. No matter how much my sister tries to get him to see reason, he’s unresponsive to her pleas, and things are getting rough.
“Yeah, she can handle it,” I answer, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. It is a dick move, no doubt, but I can’t go back. I’m not ready. Not yet.
Chapter 1
Alice
I’ve been on the run for months, five to be exact. I thought I’d been careful not to leave a trail, but he found me. Again. The pounding started fifteen minutes ago, jolting me out of a dead sleep. A luxury I hadn’t experienced in some time. It’s him. Erik. My husband. And a very bad man, an evil man, a man I’ve barely escaped not once but twice.
The first time took six years and was a complete accident. He’d forgotten to lock me in my prison, the small coat closet under the stairs of his lavish Miami home. I waited like an obedient dog for him to return and lock the door, but he didn’t. I finally summoned enough courage to flee hours later.
It took him a month to find me. I had taken refuge in a safe house for abused women located in Arizona. I was prepared for him though. He taught me to always expect the unexpected, especially when he was involved. My planning had paid off and I was able to escape a second time.
Which brings me here, five months later.
It took him much longer this time, but I had expected it no less. The only problem was the restful sleep I had fallen into. I am not normally a hard sleeper, but I was exhausted last night. I slipped up. I felt safe, and instead of being on my guard and hitting the road immediately, I allowed myself a moment of comfort.
It was something I’d never allow to happen again. If I managed to escape a third time, but I knew, short of a miracle, the chances were slim.
If I get out of this motel room, I’m never sleeping again!
There is a shift in the mood outside my door. The motel manager, Roland, has approached. I cringe. This is it. Erik is going to talk the man into opening the door, and I will be trapped. My stomach drops. My breath becomes short and rushed. I am starting to panic.
Please God, just make him stop. Make him go away. Don’t let him in this room. Please, if you’re listening, I beg for your mercy.
I hear the jangle of keys and my blood runs cold. Roland is going to let him in. I try to burrow deeper into the closet of my room, but the wall blocks me from fleeing.
Shit!
Another person approaches, causing a crackle of electricity in the air. My hearing focuses as I push aside my growing panic. Erik’s yelling at whomever interrupted him. This person is pissing him off.
The sound of his voice filters into the dark, musty motel room I called home for the last seven days. Its deep rumble vibrates every cell in my body and lulls me into a temporary relaxed state. My breathing begins to slow and my ears strain to hear him more clearly. His baritone warmth resonates deep within my body, creating a round of uncontrollable shivers. It’s him, the mysterious man from next door.
Though I’ve seen him enter and exit his room at all times of the day and night, I’ve never seen him in great length or detail. He leaves a
lone and returns alone. He’s quiet, although I could hear his snores through the thin wall adjoining our rooms and the occasional baritone timbre of soft speaking. He keeps to himself. I have the sense he prefers his lonely life, which is fine by me.
This obviously isn’t the first time I heard his voice, but it is the first time it moves me this way. It frightens me, but strangely excites me too. People in general frighten me. I don’t trust anyone anymore, especially men. But his voice calls to me. I never thought it possible after everything I’ve been through. I fight the urge to throw open my door and jump into the safety of his arms. I wish I knew his name.
The volley of Erik’s voice pulls me out of my trance and back into the moment. His voice fills my body with fear and despair.
I have to get out. Now. Before he gets in.
I rack my brain, trying to remember my plans. Whenever I decide to stay longer than a day or two, I make emergency exit plans. These plans are what kept me alive five months ago and allowed me to get away safely.
Erik is getting angrier by the moment. His voice grows louder and more uncontrolled. I feel sorry for my neighbor and the motel manager. Neither understands what is about to happen or the wrath they will soon face if they don't get out of his way.
“Move the key away from the lock,” the warm voice says, his concern clear and precise. My eyes widen in fear, my breath hitches, and my heart pounds in my chest. I feel sick and struggle to keep what little food I’ve eaten down.
“What the hell,” Erik shouts, morphing into the monster I know well. I cringe. Yes, that was the anger I never wanted to be at the end of again. “Open the fucking door.”
“Can I see some identification?” My neighbor’s voice moves closer to my door. I hear his boots scrape on the concrete walkway, stopping just short of it.
“Who the fuck are you?” I picture Erik’s red face and piercing blue eyes with each word. A face I once called beautiful, eyes I was once so easily lost in. Now, it’s a face I hardly recognize unless it’s spewing hateful and vile things at me.
“I’m a patron of this establishment trying to work on my beauty sleep, but you’re making it nearly impossible to do.” My neighbor’s voice is calm, almost amused. “Do you have any I.D.?”
“Unless you’re the cops, I don’t have to show you shit.”
“I’m not the cops, but I can kick your ass from here to next Sunday if you don’t cooperate.” I smirk, wishing I could see someone teach Erik a lesson. That’d be the day.
“Fuck you.” I imagine Erik stepping into the man, his face blotchy and red, ready to take up his challenge. Erik doesn’t like to be challenged, but he isn’t above putting a man in his place for such disrespect. I picture him flexing his large biceps to prove prowess. Erik is always ready for a fight, even when there isn’t a threat. He is a ‘natural born fighter,’ at least that’s what he calls himself. “Are you going to let me in or not?”
“Or not,” my neighbor responds. I know the question wasn’t meant for him, but he answers it anyway. I hear a lighter shoe scrap uncomfortably against the concrete, Roland the motel manager. I briefly wonder why he’s not trying to appease Erik.
“Fuck off,” Erik says. “Open the fucking door.”
“Roland, please go to the office and call the police. Our friend here needs to be removed from the property.” My neighbor’s voice is firm and unyielding. I can sense that he, too, is prepared for a fight. I cringe. Erik is trained in three different fighting techniques; he won’t stand a chance.
“He says this is his room...” Roland’s voice cracks in, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Erik cuts him off.
“It is my room. Now open the fucking door before I call the police and tell them about the scam you’re running here.”
“I’ve been here several days and haven’t once seen you enter or exit this room. Whoever is staying here is either not home or too damn afraid to answer the door with you out here causing a scene. Who could blame them really, the terror you’re raining down out here. Why don’t you leave and find someone else to harass.” I hear the drag of Roland’s feet moving away to do as he was told. I’m sure he isn’t looking forward to the mess he’d have to clean up later if the two men came to blows outside my door. Calling the police, though, also has its downside, but is the better of the two choices.
“Oh, she’s in there all right, and I know she’s afraid. She better be. When I get this door open,” Erik pauses a moment for a dramatic effect. Taking a deep breath, his voice growls from the depths of his dark soul. “It’s open season, bitch.”
I gasp silently, knowing full well what he means. The air crackles in the closet around me, the tension radiating into the room now. He knows I’m here. Which means he’s been watching me. For how long I don’t know, but it seems odd for him to wait before striking. I curse again.
Why did I allow myself to feel safe?
My heart picks up a notch as a new thought dawns on me. Erik’s composed mask is beginning to slip, and that is something he never allows to happen. Maybe the chase is finally beginning to wear on him. It could be a good thing, but I doubt he’d give up and walk away. No, I decide then, it is a bad thing. A really bad thing.
“You need to leave right now.” My neighbor’s voice is menacing. Yes, he understands what Erik is about. “I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you, sir, there is no she in there.”
“Bullshit, she walked in less than an hour ago, after her shift at the diner down the street, cleaning tables.” There is venom in his words, their poison confirming my fears. I’m right. He has been watching. I shiver.
Fuck! How did I miss the signs?
A set of shuffling footsteps approaches outside, Roland returning.
“The police are on their way,” his voice is low and unsteady. He’s nervous and rightly so.
“Looks like your time is up.” The calm is creeping back into my neighbor’s voice. A moment of silence passes, but the tension doesn’t lessen.
“Fuck this,” Erik spits. “I’ll be back and no one is going to fucking stop me from getting into that room. Do you hear me, Ali? No one will stop me. You. Are. Mine.”
I shiver in fear. His words are ones I know well. They’re words he uses constantly to justify the abuse he puts me through. I hate those words.
My hearing strains with each step he takes, carrying him farther away from me. My heartbeat slows a bit, but I know I don’t have long before he comes back. I have to prepare.
“Hudson, should I cancel the call to the police?” I hear Roland ask, but never hear an answer. His hobbled stride moves away from my room as well.
Hudson. My neighbor. My hero.
I never hear him walk away. In fact, I don't realize he departed from his spot at my door until I hear the click of his door closing. It is an unsettling sound, one I feel deep inside my chest. I take a deep, ragged breath and push the feelings aside.
I’m not about to allow another complication in my life. I can’t afford it.
Even if his name is music to my ears.
*****
Hudson
I’m not sure why I made it my mission to protect a complete stranger, but there was something about the man outside, screaming like a banshee, I instantly didn’t like. Usually, my gut instincts are spot-on about people, and over the years I’ve learned to trust it. He was on my radar from the moment he began pounding on the door.
I knew she was home, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him. Something told me to deny it. He is no good for her.
She arrived less than an hour ago and was alone, has been since she checked in a day after me. I knew he was lying the moment the words left Roland’s mouth, not that he gave the old man a chance to finish explaining it to me.
She is a pretty girl from what I could see, but not the kind of pretty that stops you in your tracks. Her long, blond hair looks unnatural against her skin coloring, which means she’s bleached it. Her clothes are at least three sizes to
o big and threadbare. She is definitely on the thin side, but it is difficult to tell, because she hides under many layers of clothing, despite the California heat.
I knew she was running from someone or something the moment I laid eyes on her. It isn’t just her appearance; she tries to blend into the streets around her, but her quirky behaviors and demeanor are telling signs something isn’t right. She looks over her shoulder when she arrives back from wherever it is she goes. She is cautious, but not cautious enough. I’ve seen the black sedan leaving and arriving two days ago. She hadn’t.
I don’t know why she is running. Frankly, I’m not one to care, but after his fully loaded threat towards her, there is no way I’d leave her unprotected now. Whoever they are to each other doesn’t matter to me, because I am sure now he is the reason she is running.
I peer out my window, scanning the parking lot. I chose this room specifically because I can see everything from its window. It isn’t difficult to get the keys from the attendant; dead presidents spoke in volumes. In my line of work you expect the unexpected and plan for it.
That’s how I know about her stalker.
At first I thought my cover had been blown. Something I can’t afford to happen this late in the game. This assignment is risky and these fools are ruthless. They’ll shoot a man, no questions asked, if they think he isn’t who he says she is. Not to mention the man-hours alone spent working my way up their ranks. I had to make sure he wasn’t there for me.
I tailed him for half a day. It didn’t take long to discover he wasn’t there for me, to my relief. He was there for her and followed her like a starving dog. Something was disturbingly off about it. I kept watching and waited for him to make a move.
He waited longer than I anticipated before confronting her. I didn’t think it would be so public either. Something must have triggered him, because he lost his cool entirely too fast. I doubt it was something she’d done. She is a creature of habit; her routine is the same every day. It had to be an outside source.
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