by Rowan Hanlon
Clara remembered the day of her abduction very well. She’d been out riding all morning and, after she’d wiped down Jasper, and had given him all the love she could, she got into her black Porsche 911 and headed over to the grocery store. It was a beautiful summer day and very, very hot. But that was summer in the South. Hot and humid. And beautiful. She never minded it; instead she always dreaded the idea that, while it was hot and nice out now, winter would soon rear its ugly head and make things cold and miserable again.
But cold weather was the last thing on her mind as she pulled into the parking lot of her favorite grocery store. She got out, went inside, grabbed a buggy and proceeded to shop, throwing things in without a second thought—bananas, carrots, tomatoes, then bread and some snack cakes, over to the soup isle to pick her husband’s favorite chicken noodle, then onto the cleaning aisle to find some laundry detergent. As she picked up a bottle, she glanced to her right and saw a familiar face, which was always happening whenever she was out. It was Rowdy McCloud, a huge country singer. Her husband had played on several of her hits. She still looked good for her forty-plus years. The two women locked eyes and Rowdy smiled widely, her famous grin coming out strong and friendly.
“Hey, girl!” she squealed and maneuvered her buggy over to her. She leaned over and gave her shoulders a quick hug with one arm.
Clara smiled at her. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” she said in a very droll tone. “My housekeeper has been out all week and I get to do all the fun stuff.”
“Oh,” Clara said and nodded.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m having a cookout next week. I haven’t even started on the invites. But I’ll shoot you a text about it.”
“Okay,” Clara replied.
“Here, let me make sure I have your number,” Rowdy said and pulled out her phone from her purse. “I got a new phone and my daughters had to program it for me. Of course, they had to tease me relentlessly about it, since I am so technology challenged—their words, not mine. But then I said to them, ‘Hey, I’ve played sold out shows all over the world. So, what if I can’t program my own phone?’” She laughed at her own joke, then groaned, “Teenagers! Ugh!” She laughed again.
Clara laughed with her and nodded. “Do you have my number?”
Rowdy shook her head, then handed her the phone. “No, I don’t think so. Just put it in for me.”
Clara took the phone, then glanced to the side, seeing a man who was dressed all in black and wearing a hoodie. In this heat? she thought to herself, then turned her attention back to the phone and put her contact information in. Once she was done, she handed it back to Rowdy.
“Thanks for that,” Rowdy said and began talking a mile a minute, “So, how are things? How’s it going? How is that husband of yours? Tell him I am getting ready to start laying down a few tracks here soon. Just still in the writing phrase but I’m looking for, probably, a late September start date.”
“I’ll tell him,” Clara said. “Oh, we’re fine. You know, just doing the married thing.”
“Yeah, I tried that twice,” she said. “Well, three times but I don’t count the last since it lasted less than a year. That’s what I always tell myself—if it don’t last at least a year, it don’t count.”
Clara laughed then glanced to the side where she’d seen the man. He was gone. For some reason, she shuddered, but then she focused back on the conversation. “I know what you mean,” she said. “Before I met Ray, I had a few bad ones, too. Like, bad. I’m so glad I decided to move back home.”
“It suits you,” she replied, nodding. “When are you two going to have a young’un?”
“Well, you know how it is,” she said and sighed with a little frustration. “He’s promised me soon, so fingers crossed.” She crossed her fingers. Rowdy crossed hers, too.
“Yeah,” Rowdy said. “I had my two kids during my first marriage. And when I got married for the second time, he said, ‘Let’s have a baby!’ And I was like, ‘Let’s not!’” She laughed, then abruptly stopped. “I hear he’s very happy with his second wife and baby.”
Clara laughed. She really liked Rowdy. She was one of the funniest people she knew. “Good to know,” she said.
“Oh, shit, look at the time,” Rowdy said, glancing at her watch. “Sorry to run, but my girls are at the pool and wanted me to pick them up right at twelve so we can get some lunch.” She paused, staring at Clara. “You want to join us? I know they’d love to see you. We’re going for barbeque.”
“Oh, I can’t,” Clara said. “I have to get milk and then I have to get home and… Laundry.”
“Get a housekeeper, girl,” she said. “That man of yours can afford it.”
“I know it sounds weird, but I actually like cleaning my own house,” Clara said.
“Bless your heart,” Rowdy said, shaking her head.
“I dunno,” Clara said. “I just do.”
“Well, have fun,” Rowdy said and patted her arm. “See ya!”
“Bye!” Clara called and watched her leave. She turned back to her task and got everything she needed in less than ten minutes. Then it was onto the checkout, then she packed the groceries into her trunk and headed home.
As she drove, she smiled with satisfaction. She really, really liked her life. She loved her husband and her house and their lifestyle. She was very lucky, always had been. She was born a natural beauty with blonde hair, blue eyes and legs for days. She was a former beauty queen and swimsuit model. She’d traveled all over the world until she met the love of her life in a bar in Nashville, her hometown. She’d just come home for a few days and her best friend from high school had suggested they go down to Musician’s Row and hear some new singers. They went into a bar and a band was playing. And there he was, sitting down on stage playing the sweetest slide guitar she’d ever heard. He’d actually just been filling in for someone and had done the show as a favor to a friend. When she and her friend sat down near the stage, he looked up and noticed her. She smiled a little and blushed, then looked away. When she looked back, he was still staring but not skipping a beat as he played. He was that good and had that unwavering musician’s confidence.
After the show, she and her friend hung around and she wasn’t the least bit surprised when he walked right up to her and said, “I see you’ve been making eyes at me all night. Care to tell me what that’s all about?”
Clara liked his attitude, and the way he flirted. And she couldn’t stop looking at him. He was so cute! He was tall and he was thin and his hair was light brown and he had really gorgeous blue eyes. “I think it’s the other way around,” she told him. “You make a girl very uncomfortable.”
“Well, damn, I’m sorry,” he said in his very thick Southern accent. “I guess I should buy you a drink to make up.”
“I guess you should,” she said and grinned at him.
And that was that. They were married a year later.
Clara smiled at the memory as she pulled into her driveway and then into the garage. She pressed the button so the door would close, then got out and gathered an armful of groceries, noticing that she would have at least another two trips. She groaned to herself then went inside the house, stopping short when she saw her husband at the island in the kitchen eating a sandwich.
“You scared the crap out of me, Ray!” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you home this early.”
“Didn’t you see my truck in the garage?” he asked, shaking his head.
Clara thought about it. She hadn’t. “I guess I didn’t notice, I don’t know,” she said. “It’s been a long day.” She paused, staring at him. “Why are you home so early?”
“New artist,” he said dryly. “She was throwing a hissy fit and we broke it up. I have to get back later today once she’s simmered down. Her manager said he’d call when she’s ready.”
“Who’s her manager?” she asked and flung the grocery bags onto the island.
<
br /> “Carl Fitzgibbons,” he said.
“Oh, right, good old Carl,” she said. “Your friend from school?”
“That would be him,” he said, eying her. “I know he helped you plan my surprise birthday party last year.”
“He didn’t,” she said and smiled slyly.
“And I hated both of you for it,” he said. “I hate surprises. And parties. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“For someone who hates parties and surprises, you sure did have a good time,” she told him. “I’ve never seen you drunker.”
“That’s because someone brought some moonshine,” he said. “And the real stuff, from a still.”
She laughed. Someone had. It was good stuff, but potent.
“Don’t do that to me again,” he said, then paused and then sniffed a little.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I guess you were riding today, huh?” he asked and grinned.
“You’re saying I stink?” she asked and crossed her arms in a huff.
“Like a damned horse,” he told her, then laughed at her expression of anger.
“You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, Ray,” she told him and shook her head.
He shrugged. “I didn’t say you ain’t pretty,” he said. “I just said you stink like a horse.”
“Is it that bad?” she asked and sniffed herself. It was. She smelled just like Jasper. “Oh, hell, and I went to the store. Everyone must have thought I didn’t know how to take a bath.”
He laughed. “Come home first next time!”
“I was in a hurry! I’ve been in a hurry all day! I guess that’s why I didn’t notice your truck,” she said and eyed him. “Damn it, we could have gone out to lunch together.”
“I can still eat,” he said and showed her his half-finished sandwich.
She eyed the sandwich, then him, particularly his thin physique. The man was a string bean, that was true and he could put more food away than her horse. And she had to watch everything she put in her mouth to stay thin. It was little unfair, she thought, when you got right down to it. “Cool,” she said. “Oh, I saw Rowdy at the grocery store. She’s having a cookout and wants us to come.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
She nodded, then thought of something. “Oh, my God! I bet she thought I stunk, too!” she said and laughed. “I guess I shouldn’t do that again.”
“You really shouldn’t,” he said and laughed, too. “Don’t put too much into it, though. I’ve worked with plenty of singers who smell like they slept in an alley. Rowdy don’t care about stuff like that.”
“You’re probably right,” she said and nodded a little.
Just then, she heard a noise. Ray heard it too. They stared at one another for a long second, then, just as Ray was about to say something, a man dressed in all black came up behind him and hit him over the head with a baseball bat. Clara watched Ray fall, disbelieving what was happening, then stared at the man. It was the man from the grocery store, the one in the hoodie. Her mouth fell and without thought, she took off running. He was right behind her. She raced down the hall, towards the office. But then she felt this white-hot heat cross the back of her head as the bat came down on it and came down hard. She was unconscious when she hit the floor.
* * * * *
Clara was held captive for almost a year. And she knew exactly how long she was kept. She never lost track of time. She remembered the day he’d taken her and from there, she just said the next logical date: “July 2nd, July 3rd” and then onto “August 17th, August 18th” and so on and so forth. She kept her mind active by remembering, every single day, who she was and where she came from.
She would whisper to herself everyday whenever she got the chance, whenever he was away from her, “My name is Clara Maye Simmons. I am married. I am thirty-three years old. I live in Nashville, Tennessee. My husband’s name…” At this, she would oftentimes squeeze her eyes shut as hot tears formed in them and spilled down her cheeks. She would then repeat, “My husband’s name is Ray Everly Simmons. He was named for an uncle who died in Vietnam. My mother’s name is Beverly Sue Daniels. My father’s name is Alden James Daniels. They have been married forty-one years. They waited a long time to have me, then my sister, then my brother. My sister’s name is Olivia Christine Daniels. She is not married. My brother’s name is Alden James Daniels, Jr. He is married to Marissa Daniels and they have twin girls, Emma and Rose. They have been married ten years. The twins are nine years old. They had a birthday party last year at my house because we have a pool and they love to swim. I bought them both Hello Kitty stuff. There were about forty or so people at the party. The cake was strawberry and pink. Ray cooked hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill and my dad helped him. My sister and mother got into a fight. They didn’t talk for a month afterwards, then they made up. The fight was over my sister’s ex-boyfriend, who my mother believed was an asshole to her. My sister had mentioned getting back together with him and my mother blew a gasket and made a scene. I made both of them go into the house and then the party resumed. The girls loved their gifts and their cake. They looked very sweet and beautiful and made me want a baby. I discussed it with Ray after the party was over and he promised that after this year, we would have a baby. He promised me a baby. He promised. I was very happy he was on board with it. He did warn me that he would still have to work like he did but told me that once I was pregnant, he would rearrange his schedule so he could take some time off once the baby came. He was very nervous when we had that conversation. He comes from a divorced home and is always worried we might divorce, too. I always have to reassure him on this.”
She would then take a breath and continue, “I have a horse, Jasper, and he is kept at Walden Stables, eight miles from my house. My house is on Maple Street and is about twenty minutes from downtown Nashville. I have a car, a black sports car, a Porsche. I love it. Ray told me I would have to trade it in for an SUV or something when I had a baby. I know he is right. He has a black pickup that gets terrible gas mileage. Ray is six years older than me. He is six years older than me.”
She did this every day, coming up with other things from her life, like how she won her first beauty contest, how she got her first modeling gig, how she met her husband, how they found their house. She would sit huddled in a corner of the barn where he held her and she would whisper all day long to herself. But she never once said a word to her captor. Not one word. And the only time she looked him in the eye was when he forced her to.
She just shut down. It’s like she couldn’t process any of this on any level. And this really, really got to him. It’s like he not only wanted her to participate, he expected them to have a running dialogue as the events took place. But she couldn’t; then again, what human could? She couldn’t force herself to. She didn’t know if this was her survival instinct—instead of fight or flight, it was to freeze—or that what he was doing to her made her mind shut down and give up. She was like a rabbit that’s been cornered by a beagle. Sometimes, they just flop over and give up. And that’s essentially what she did. She’d never really thought of anything like this happening to her and she could not deal with it.
“Why are you such a stupid bitch?” he’d hiss. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
She would never answer. No matter what he did to her, and he did many, many terrible things, she never once acknowledged him. She became mute until she was alone. And then she drew on facts about her life to keep herself going. She’d had a really good life and she knew it. And she knew if she focused on that, she would survive.
However, she could tell his patience was wearing thin. She feared that if she didn’t give him anything, he would kill her. But for the life of her, she just couldn’t talk to him. She couldn’t say a word. Whenever he was near, she would freeze up and curl into a ball, almost into a fetal position and he would have to drag her away from her corner and straightened her out to start his to
rture. As soon as she could get back into that position, she would. She would curl up in the middle of the barn. She would shut down, shut him out.
“I should just kill you,” he said. “Just like I did your husband. That fucker is dead, I can tell you that.”
She didn’t hear him. She refused to believe anything that came out of his foul mouth. He was trash to her. Just trash. That’s all he was, that’s all he would ever be. Yes, he had her and he had captured her, but she didn’t give in. She couldn’t. But she was scared to death of him. She was so scared of him, she lost her voice whenever he was near.
Although she did worry that he’d killed Ray, she refused to believe it, even for one second. Ray was alive and she would get out of there and see him again. She thought about that day often, the day it happened. She could still see the look in his eyes just before he was struck across the head. She just wished she could have done something then instead of running. But something had told her to run, run and get away, get into the office, close the door, call the cops, jump out the window if she had to. Anything to get away from this horrible human being.
However, Clara hadn’t been able to do any of that. He was quicker than she was and he’d caught her by surprise. She hadn’t expected to see him in her kitchen that day and she hadn’t expected that he’d take her to this place.
She was in an old barn. It was drafty and once fall, then winter, set in, she nearly froze to death. He had her in a pen, much like an animal, chained to a board. Once it got really cold, he threw a bale of hay into the pen and then an old wool blanket, which stunk like animal feces. The hay and the blanket barely helped. She shivered and froze and never got warm. Whenever he came for her, which was often at first, then lessened as time passed, she would go to another place in her mind and disassociate from what was happening. She withdrew into her mind and did not focus at all on the things he was doing to her. And she didn’t know how to escape.