by Wylde, Tara
Now the cops’ll have to do something .
Chapter Twenty
E lina
Worst headache ever. And why... Why’s it so dark? Shouldn’t it be—what time is it ?
I sit up, but ....
What the fuck ?
My head smacks into something cold and unyielding. When I go to rub it, there’s something digging into my wrists. Something—a rope. I’m...tied up. And moving .
Oh—oh; it’s a dream .
I close my eyes, relieved. Drift for a while .
Hard to get back to sleep, with the pillow all flattened out, and so hard. And the quilt must’ve slid off. I grope after it, but ....
A rope? Wait—that’s real ?
A sudden earthquake rattles my teeth and bounces my head off the carpet. I blink, but it’s no use. Can’t see a thing. What... What was I doing ?
Breakfast—I was about to make —
No. Did that. Dropped Joey off at preschool. And then...what ?
I kick out experimentally. I’m tied at the ankles as well. Fuck—fuck. That wasn’t an earthquake, either. I’m in the trunk of a car, on a bumpy road. I was at Walmart, picking up training wheels, and then I was.... Did I get on the bus ?
Doesn’t matter. It’s not like I can go back and not do whatever I was doing when this happened .
I call out experimentally. “Hey!” No one’s going to hear that over the sound of the engine. The carpet, the small space, they’re deadening my voice. Still, I can’t just do nothing. I try again, louder. “ Hey ! ”
If anyone can hear me, there’s no sign of it. I’ll have to get the trunk open. Or kick out a taillight. Something other drivers would notice. Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of glow in the dark release lever, so your kids won’t get trapped playing hide and seek? Can’t see it—can’t see a fucking thing, and of course. Of course. I’m facing the wrong way .
Deep breaths .
Rolling onto my back is easy enough. Helpful...not so much. The release lever’s there, all right: glowing merrily on the floor by my head, cut off from whatever it’s supposed to be attached to .
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me .”
Speaking aloud helps a little. It’s reassuring to hear my voice come out more pissed than scared. I hold onto that thin comfort as I start groping around with my bound hands. Maybe there’s still something I can use: a crowbar, a box cutter, a goddamn air horn. Anything that can get me loose or make some noise .
My fingertips brush against something soft and bulky, cheap vinyl fabric stretched tight. A bag, I think. I scrabble some more and find a zipper, with a familiar Koosh key fob clipped to it. My gym bag. So, someone snatched me and my sweaty workout clothes ?
Doesn’t make sense. The bag’s way too full, anyway. They must’ve...what? Broken in to grab whatever they missed the first time, caught me at home, and decided to steal me too ?
No.
Something else occurs to me, something disturbing: I haven’t heard the whoosh of another vehicle passing by in... Actually, I’m not sure I’ve heard one at all. And we haven’t stopped at a single light. We must be on the highway, but... Why’s the highway so bumpy? Where the hell are we ?
My stomach dips as we do a sudden swerve. Gravel rattles on the hubcap. So, we’re...where? On a dirt road... Where would you even find a dirt road around here? Jersey? Further afield ?
Getting the trunk open suddenly seems like a better way to freeze to death than attract attention. I focus on the bag instead. Maybe there’s something warm in there. A coat, a blanket, a —
The car jerks to a stop. Guess this is the moment of truth. Should’ve tried harder to untie myself—and what the hell do I do now? Pretend to be unconscious? Try to kick out? No time to think: I hear a door slam, and footsteps in the dirt. Just...just... I need a minute. I need —
Don’t panic .
There’s a dull thud, and the trunk swings open .
“Hey, Ellie .”
I can’t see his face, with the bright afternoon light glaring in mine, but there’s no need. Only one person ever called me Ellie. My headache pounds and throbs behind my eyes .
“Joe, what the fuck ? ”
“Welcome home, sweetheart .”
“This is not — “
“Hey, hey—you haven’t even seen it yet.” He looms over me. I shrink away, terrified he’s going to kiss me, or worse. “Oh, relax. I’m not going to rape you. Just gonna untie your feet, so you can walk up your new driveway like a lady. Or would you prefer I carry you over the threshold ?”
Ugh. “Just untie me .”
He cocks his head, making a show of thinking it over. “You know, I don’t think I will. I actually kind of like the threshold idea. Never did get to do that .”
And whose fault was that? “Come on. This is stupid. I can tell we’re way out in Buttfuck, New Jersey. What am I going to do, run ?”
“Nope. ‘Cause I’m not giving you the chance.” He hoists me over his shoulder, bumping my head one more time on the way out of the trunk. “I’ll let you go later. Once you’ve seen what I’ve done for you .”
I desperately, vehemently don’t want to see. I jerk my legs blindly, hoping to kick him in the nuts, but I can’t get any kind of momentum going .
“Ssh. You’ll love this, I promise. It’s what we always talked about.” He pats my ass in a way that’s probably meant to be reassuring, but just makes my skin crawl. And... What we always talked about? I rack my brains. We always talked about money—how much he had, to begin with; then, when it all fell apart, how little I made. What did he do, rob a bank ?
I’m starting to get dizzy from hanging upside-down when he comes to a stop. A key rattles in a lock, followed by a rusty creak, and the smell of old mildew hits me in the face. I’m a hundred percent positive we never talked about this .
He bangs my thigh on the doorframe, getting me inside. The ache’s just starting to subside when he tosses me on a lumpy couch—definitely the source of the mildew smell. Or one of the sources. This place is disgusting .
“So? What do you think ?”
I shouldn’t antagonize him. But I’m cold and I’m angry, and I think I’ve got a concussion. I can’t help myself. “It’s...a haunted house ?”
“In the country! It’s a house in the country! Just like we always wanted !”
I never, ever wanted a house in the country. I... This is.... “If you’d ever listened to me, even once, you’d know I hate the country. Bugs, dirt roads, nothing for miles around—what would possibly make you think — ?”
He slaps me. My ears ring, but it’s the shock that shuts me up, more than the pain. He’s never hit me before. He’s thrown things at me, assaulted my furniture, literally pissed in my cereal, but —
“You! ” Suddenly, it all makes sense. The break-in, my pissed-on clothes, Joey’s missing presents—“It was you !”
“What was me ?”
“You know what! The breakin, the...the... You took Joey’s Christmas presents! You stole from a four-year-old!” I’m fuming. We’re in uncharted territory, here, territory where he hits me, territory where he might actually kill me, but my outrage is boiling over. “What the fuck, Joe?—just what the fuck ? ”
He kneels in front of me. To my horror, he takes my hands in his and starts rubbing them in a sick parody of comfort. “Ssh—calm down, Ellie. I didn’t steal anything, just relocated it. And when we’re all back together, as a family — “
“No!” I jerk my hands free. He snatches them back, far less gently this time .
“Just hear me out. This place is a fixer-upper, but with a woman’s touch, a few bottles of bleach — “
“The dead rat—that was you too ?”
He squeezes my hands so tight I feel my bones grind together. “So you understand, this can go one of two ways. There’s the way where you reach down into that cold, withered heart of yours and remember what we had, or there’s the hard way .”
“It was yo
u, wasn’t it ?”
He scoffs. “What do you think? The strawberry milk—that was me, too. And I left your stove on. Just a little reminder I know exactly how to make you crazy .”
“You’ve...been in my apartment .”
“Jerked off in your bed .”
All those times I thought I smelled his cologne on the sheets, blamed my imagination.... I want to throw up. “What do you want ?”
“The future you promised me .”
This is bad. This is...really bad. My anger’s down to a dull simmer, stifled by the gooseflesh creeping over my skin. Even my scalp’s crawling. For the first time, it occurs to me I could die right here. There’s moss growing on the arm of the couch—fucking moss. If he kills me here, it’ll grow over me too. I’ll waste away to green-carpeted bones, and no one will ever find me .
Joey could grow up thinking I abandoned him .
I bite back every venomous insult trembling on my lips. I have to choose my words carefully. “The future I...the... Tell me about it again ?”
“You remember.” He’s caressing my hands again. My stomach’s one giant knot. “Back when we first met, when we used to lie under that skylight in my old place, talking deep into the night ?”
I remember his old place. He lived on the fifth floor of a twenty-story highrise. The closest thing he had to a skylight was the steady red glow of the smoke detector. I remind myself, smile and nod. Like a good little bobblehead .
“Yeah. You remember. We’d drink cheap wine, plan out the house and the kids, the garden leading down to the stream...tire swing hung from a willow tree .”
“Tire swing, yeah....” I feel dazed, almost drugged. My eyelids are drooping. I bite my cheek to stay alert .
“Junior’s gonna love it. We’ll put in a pool when he’s bigger. Teach him to swim with those orange water wings .”
A deep chill settles into my gut. I did buy orange water wings, so Joey can start swimming lessons next summer. But I’ve been keeping them at Mama’s, so he won’t find them early and ruin the surprise. So... How the fuck are they part of this conversation? “I... What else ?”
“You’ll never have to work again. I got a job over in Vineland, so you can stay home with the kids .”
“The kids ?”
“Yeah. Junior needs some brothers and sisters.” He plants a soft, almost reverent kiss on my forehead. I barely resist the urge to squirm out of my skin. “We’ll raise our own little army .”
Army? What are we, a doomsday cult ?
“You don’t need some... You don’t need that hedge fund douchebag to make you happy.” Joe bares his teeth. He’s almost snarling. “Yeah—I know what you’ve been up to behind my back. I know you took him to our place. I know you fucked him in our bed .”
My head’s spinning—our place? Our bed? Where...what—I don’t think I’ve taken Nick to a single place I set foot in with Joe. And how could I still have the same bed? I was the one who moved out, taking only what I could carry .
I manage to choke out a “sorry.” It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, like I’m betraying everything I’ve fought so hard to build .
“It’s not even so much that you did it,” he says. “It’s how you went out of your way to rub it in my face. I wasn’t celibate, either, the entire time we’ve been apart, but you never had to know about that, did you ?”
What, when you dated that girl who worked across the street from me, and picked her up after every shift? Honking your ass off the whole time ?
“You were... You were very discreet .”
“You, though—you went out with him in the middle of the day. Let him hold my son’s hand when you crossed the street. You had... You had tawdry little assignations in roach motels .”
I did not !
“The thing is, with men like that—you’re disposable to them. Just another commodity. Look at the way he threw away the mother of his own child. I’d never do that to you.” He brushes his thumb over my cheek. I jerk my head back without thinking .
“She works overseas! They were never a couple! He didn’t—ah !”
Joe’s hand tightens on my jaw, till I’m afraid he’s going to break it. “That’s what he tells you. You think someone like that’s going to give you the truth? He’s a professional liar. I’m telling you, men like him, they can afford... They buy themselves this perfect cover—perfect house, perfect clothes, perfect car — “
I think of Nick’s actual car: kind of old, kind of boring, full of junk and debris. He even had Katie’s old car seat in the trunk, and the girl’s nine years old. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I fight it back hard: now is not the time .
“—but it’s all just a honeytrap, so they can suck you in with the glitz and glamor, and shit you out when they’re done. Use you up, ruin you, leave you destroyed for any other man. ‘Cause no reality, no matter how beautiful it is, is ever going to measure up to that level of illusion .”
I nod along. It’s hard to fight the sense of unreality settling over me, when every word out of his mouth is more ridiculous than the last .
“But I think I caught you in time. A few weeks of fresh country air, you and Junior playing in a real back yard, living like nature intended... I think you can still be deprogrammed .”
Something finally breaks through the fog. “Wait... Wait—you want to bring Joey here ?”
“Tomorrow morning. My ex is gonna pick him up from preschool. He’ll be here in time for lunch .”
I barely register Joe’s fingers combing through my hair. This... This can’t happen. Can’t be allowed to happen. I can’t allow it to happen. If I’m going to end up a moss-covered skeleton, it won’t be with a smaller skeleton cradled in my arms .
“Tomorrow, uh....” I glance around. The wallpaper’s falling away in grubby folds. There’s a hole near an electrical outlet that looks like it was made by mice. The carpet’s one giant stain. “Shouldn’t we fix the place up first ?”
Joe scowls .
I press on quickly. “Not—not all the way, I mean. Just...a coat of paint, some Febreze, maybe rip up the carpet? Bet there’s a great hardwood floor underneath .”
“You’re just sta — “
“I’m not stalling.” It’s my turn to cut him off. This is too important. “It’s just, there’s mold in here. Kids are sensitive. They can die from that. Plus, the heat’s going to be on, at least for the next few days. People—Vanya’ll be around. Probably the cops too. If you—if they notice anything weird, they could freak out. Move away. We’d never see Joey again. Don’t... Don’t mess this up for us. Please . ”
For a long moment, neither of us says a word. Then he sweeps me into a crushing hug. “You said us! ” He’s absolutely gushing. “You’re upset; you weren’t even choosing your words, and you still said us. You said it automatically.” He pulls back so he can look me in the eye. “You have no idea... You can’t know what that means to me .”
I hold my breath. He hasn’t actually agreed yet .
“I’ll drive into town later, see if there’s a hardware store. We can take the weekend, get the place ready .”
Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.... Time—this buys me time .
“This’ll give us some time to reconnect as well .”
And that’s...not so great. I reflexively press my knees together. “Could you untie me, at least? Before you go ?”
Joe gives me a long, considering look. “When I get home .”
I want to rebel against the notion of this place being home, but I can’t risk him changing his mind. “How long will you be?” I ask instead .
“No time at all.” He plants a loud, smacking kiss on top of my head. “Just sit tight .”
“Maybe pick up some Christmas decorations while you’re out? And something to eat?” I’m not in the mood for decorating or eating, but the longer he’s gone, the more time I’ll have to mount my escape .
“Still such a princess.” He pushes my hair back from my face. “Anything e
lse I can get Your Majesty? Flowers? Chocolates? Gold-plated toilet seat ?”
“Some flowers might be nice. Strong-smelling ones, like gardenias .”
“Can’t believe you said that with a straight face.” A sappy, fond note’s crept into his voice. It’s making me sick. Or maybe that’s... Whatever he did to knock me out. I can’t feel any obvious sore spots on my face or head, so...chloroform, maybe? A roofie? Did I eat or drink anything weird ?
“Hurry back,” I say, more to get him to leave than anything else .
He finally does, but not before checking and retying my restraints. Freeing myself won’t be easy, but I cannot fuck this up. Don’t know when I’ll get another chance. The second I hear the key turn in the lock, I’m on my knees, shuffling my way to the kitchen. I’ll get my hands on something sharp, and be as good as free .
Joe doesn’t get to win this one .
Chapter Twenty-One
N ick
Fucking cops—unbelievable !
I showed them everything I had—Bentivoglio on Lina’s phone, the location from her GPS, but all I got was the runaround. “All that proves is she’s with her boyfriend.” “Women often go back to abusive partners. I’d say it’s...at least fifty percent of the time. Maybe more like eighty.” “How’d you get this, anyway? You some kind of hacker, looking through people’s phones ?”
Going over their heads wasn’t nearly as effective as it is on TV. Some bored-sounding chief called me back around noon, promising he’d get the local police to swing by the address I’d found. Or see if he could get them to. So... Someone’ll maybe put in a minimal effort. Not quite the result I’d anticipated .
So, fine. Fine. I’ll go myself. If you want something done right ....
Can I do this right, though? I’m the first to admit I’m a city slicker, dyed in the wool. Aside from my yearly camping trips with Katie, the closest I get to nature is vacuuming up the occasional spider .
Screw it. They’re in Jersey, not the Appalachian Mountains. Kind of a rural part of Jersey, but, hell, they’ve got cell service. What’s the worst that could happen within range of a cell tower ?