Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel)

by Meany, John

“What about this place?” Troy asked, pointing to a little restaurant called The Fisherman’s Wharf. On the plate-glass window, there was a picture of a scallop boat hauling its net up from an angry sea.

  “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” Ashley said, nodding. “I could go for seafood.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t need a reservation.”

  They did not.

  “We’re going to require a high-chair,” Troy told the host.

  “Certainly sir. I’ll have the waiter bring one over right away.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once they were kindly seated, they sipped ice water and studied the menu. From her high chair, Kimberly looked on with bemused interest. The restaurant was faintly lighted, quiet and air-conditioned. Elevator music served to relax the setting.

  Flipping through the menu’s extensive pages, Ashley uttered, “Man, they have a lot of food here.”

  “That they do.”

  “What are you going to order?”

  “It’s a difficult choice,” said Troy. “I think I’m gonna get the mussels marinara. I haven’t had that in a while.”

  “I want shrimp scampi.” For Kimberly Ashley had a jar of Beech Nut.

  ***

  When the waiter showed up with their meal, with steam emanating from the pates, Troy declared excitedly, “Whoa! Those mussels marinara smell great!”

  “My shrimp smells good too,” Ashley chimed in. “And check this out, twelve pieces. You can’t beat that. Most of the seafood places back home, only give you six.”

  By this time, they had already eaten their soup, salads, and complimentary buttered rolls.

  Halfway through dinner, Ashley started to talk about the rape. Except this time, she did not hold back. Aside from the attack itself, she communicated to Troy that the ghosts of Craig Elliot and Buck Kennedy wanted her to kill herself.

  He stared at her in shock. “Ghosts? And they tried to make you what?”

  “Play Russian roulette.”

  To Troy, what she had just said sounded insane. “I didn’t even know you owned a firearm, Ashley. What kind of gun do you have?”

  “A .22 caliber revolver.” She gazed at her plate, used her spoon to splash more hot butter onto her shrimp. “Or I used to have one. I don‘t anymore.”

  “But Ashley how could Craig Elliot and Buck Kennedy tell you to do anything, they’re dead?”

  “Yes. They might be physically dead,” she acknowledged, jiggling the ice in her glass. “However, in my world, they’re still very much alive.”

  Distractedly, Troy tapped his fork against the side of his plate. He had no idea how to approach the topic.

  “Now when you say they tried to coax you into playing Russian roulette, are you saying you could actually hear their voices, the way you can hear mine right now?”

  “Yes. Sometimes I can even see them.”

  Mystified, he scratched his chin. “Were you drinking when this happened? Because sometimes booze can play weird tricks on the mind. Especially if you’re . . . well . . . depressed.”

  Ashley threw her hands over her face. “Stop it!” she cried. “You don’t have to make me feel like I‘m crazy.”

  “Forgive me,” he apologized. “The last thing I wanted to do is make you upset. So what stopped you?”

  “What, from pulling the trigger?”

  “Uh huh. Was it because of the baby? Your mom? There must have been something that made you put the gun down.”

  “Well sure,” she struggled to find the right words, “I’d like to say I didn’t pull the trigger because of Kimberly or my mother. However, if I said that, I’d be lying.”

  “Then if thinking of them didn’t stop you, what did?”

  “I was afraid. Religion teaches us that suicide is a sin. That if we kill ourselves, we won’t be allowed to be with God.” She popped a piece of shrimp into her mouth. “I know this is hard to understand. But all I want is to be able to wake up in the morning and not be afraid. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be scared all the time?”

  “No. Can‘t say that I do,” Troy admitted, shaking his head. “Though, like I told you, Ashley, I‘ll help you get back on your feet. No matter how long it takes. I‘m here for you. I give you my word.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Suddenly Troy’s cell phone rang.

  “Would you excuse me for a moment?” He dug the mobile device from his shirt pocket.

  “Sure,” Ashley said respectfully. “I’ll tell you what.” She stood up. “I’ll give you some privacy. I have to use the ladies room anyway. Keep and eye on Kimberly.”

  “Thanks. I will. This shouldn’t take long.” He watched her pick up her pocketbook from the chair beside her, and then walk away. Into the phone, Troy said, “Hello?”

  Damn! It was Sarah, complaining, as usual, about her demanding job.

  “Troy,” she declared heatedly, “you won’t believe this, those dumb bitches did it to me again.”

  “Now what happened?”

  “Try what didn’t happen. My bimbo sales clerks were flirting with our clients’ boyfriends again. And not in an innocent playful way either. No! They were doing it to the point where it was more like hitting on these men. Stupid sluts! No matter how many times I tell them not to do that, they never seem to listen. Sometimes I think Rose Ann and Lindsay are purposely trying to piss me off. I‘ve had it up to here with those little cunts. They think they’re hot shit. So today, I threatened to fire them! ”

  Hoping to ward off a potential migraine, Troy rubbed his temple. “And why are you telling me this?”

  “Because those immature slackers made it so that we lost business today. One lady, who was going to buy a bunch of expensive items, left all her crap on the counter, then marched out in a huff. And it was all because Lindsay was outside the dressing room revealing, to the lady’s boyfriend, all kinds of personal details.”

  Troy put the phone down on the table, next to his empty plate, yet he could still hear Sarah fuming. After a minute, he placed the mobile device back up his ear, and asked, “And what do you want me to do about it?”

  “I don’t want you to do anything. By the way, Troy, where are you?”

  “I’m-” he stuttered. “At home.”

  “How the heck could you be at home? I’m calling from your apartment. ”

  “You are?” He was both stunned and infuriated. “How’d you get in?”

  “You left the door unlocked, fool. How else would I get in? It’s not as if I have a key.”

  Before he had a chance to delve into the issue further, Troy saw Ashley returning to the table. As she approached, she said something to the waiter. Immediately, Troy ended the call, and then clicked his cell off.

  “Who was that?” Ashley asked, sitting back down.

  “My landlord,” he lied, shoving the phone back into his shirt pocket.

  “You‘re landlord? That seems odd. What did he want?”

  “Nothing really. Just wanted to know if the air conditioner in my apartment was working.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with it?”

  “Ah. I don’t know. Last week, the cool air just stopped coming out of the vents. It’s okay now. He said he fixed it. Which is a relief because it‘s not easy sleeping at night when you’re drenched in sweat.”

  Suddenly the waiter arrived with their desserts. Troy and Ashley had each requested a slice of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

  “Yummy!” Ashley said, picking up her spoon. “That looks scrumptious.”

  “I agree.” Troy slid his small dish closer to where he sat. “But after I eat this, I don’t think I’ll have to eat anything for the rest of the night. This was quite a meal. I really enjoyed it. In fact, I really enjoyed this entire day.”

  “So did I,” Ashley said, gazing longingly into his eyes. “I haven’t had an outing like this since my husband was alive. You know, Troy, you remind me of him. Aside from the fact that
you’re just as good-looking as Peter was, you also have his smile and charm.”

  Troy blushed. “Thank you. And you’re an incredibly lovely woman, Ashley. Whatever guy ends up with you will be a lucky man.”

  PART SIX

  TIME BRINGS CHANGE

  CHAPTER 41

  Over the course of the next couple of months, the casual friendship between Ashley and Troy had developed into a full-blown love affair. It seemed not a day went by when the two weren’t spotted together.

  Sometimes they could be seen walking blissfully through town, pushing the baby in her stroller. On other occasions, they might be sighted at a restaurant, movie theater, art gallery, or museum.

  When they did not feel like venturing out into public, they would either stay at Troy’s apartment or hang out at Ashley’s studio.

  There was more favorable news.

  By the beginning of September, Ashley had sold a bunch of her oil paintings. Some had been auctioned at galleries, while other pieces, in collaboration with her mother, had been sold on EBay.

  Overjoyed, Ashley told Troy ‘you had to love the modern world’. What advantages today’s artists had over their creative predecessors. A few clicks of an internet mouse and you could sell your art to people living anywhere in the world. It was incredible. Her most profitable sale had been to someone from Seattle who had paid a thousand dollars for a sunrise setting that had only taken Ashley a few days to complete.

  She had also done a cubist-style painting for her new man, of New York City, featuring the Statue of Liberty, with an impressive backdrop of red and white roses.

  Troy had loved his large unique painting so much, when Ashley stopped over to give it to him, he had kissed her firmly on the lips and had declared, “Wow! This is utterly brilliant. I do believe, Ashley Ferguson, with each passing day, I’m falling more and more in love with you.” At times he could speak quite lyrically for someone who, unlike Ashley, didn’t read or write poetry.

  “And me with you,” she told him. “I only hope I can be half the woman Naomi was.”

  He had put his finger up to her mouth. “Ssh! There’s no need to make comparisons anymore. If it’s all the same with you, I’d like to leave Naomi in the past where she belongs.”

  “I like that idea.” Ashley smiled, felt relieved. “So where are you going to hang the painting?”

  “Here in the living room,” he said, pointing. “Above the TV. I want to put it somewhere where everyone can see it.”

  “Come here,” Ashley whispered, grinning mischievously.

  “Why?” In Troy‘s hand he had a hammer and nails.

  “Before you hang it, I want you to give me another kiss. And this time with a little more oomph!”

  “Okay.” He took her in his arms. “You talked me into it.”

  With life improving, Ashley had also been thinking about acquiring her own place. Nothing fancy, just a decent-sized apartment or a small house to rent. For the past week she’d been searching the classifieds each morning during breakfast, hoping to find something within her price range.

  She never did find her gun, which for a while still had Ashley beating herself up. Nevertheless, she did finally report that it was missing to the police, to clear her name in the event the firearm was ever used for a crime. Ashley had nightmares that a kid might find the revolver on the street and think it was a toy. Hence, her decision to stop at headquarters.

  Had she considered buying another gun? No. With Troy in her life, Ashley wasn’t as paranoid as she had been before they had reunited. It was amazing how healing happiness could be. Not to mention how exciting.

  CHAPTER 42

  But all that newfound hope was about to be tested.

  At ten o’clock on a dreary, overcast Monday morning, Ashley was working at the bakery. Now October, the air outside had become chilly. The leaves were beginning to change color, and some had fallen from the trees and were scraping coarsely down the streets and sidewalks.

  Today, Ashley‘s boss Stella had come in to help out. With her white uniform and hat, she had the look of a traditional, middle-aged nurse.

  “So how was your weekend?” Stella said to Ashley, who was in the process of getting a customer a dozen chocolate éclairs.

  “My weekend,” Ashley stepped over to the cash register. “Fine.”

  “What’d you do? Anything interesting?”

  “Yeah. I did. Actually, me and Troy took Kimberly to Philadelphia.”

  “Ah,” said Stella, remembering when she had lived in Philly as a child. “The city of brotherly love. What’d you go there for, the cheese steaks?”

  “No,” Ashley giggled. “To buy art supplies. There’s this tiny shop in the downtown district that has canvases, paint, and brushes for really cheap. Since I’ve been having so much success selling my paintings, I’m determined to keep plucking away. If I‘m going to achieve big-time success, I have to be at my easel at least five days a week.”

  “Well,” said Stella, “at the rate you’re going, you won’t need this job anymore. A thousand dollars for one painting and seven-hundred and fifty for another. Not to mentions your other sales. You must be the luckiest starving artist on this side of the Mississippi.”

  Ashley smiled. She too had been surprised by how fast her artwork had sold.

  ***

  There was one person, however, who didn’t give a damn about Ashley’s extraordinary Picasso-like paintings.

  With wicked intentions, this person, at noon, when there was no one in the bakery (not even Stella, who had gone home for the day) stormed through the entrance, causing the bell over the door to jingle hectically. The ‘open Monday thru Saturday’ sign fell to the floor, and rather than pick it up, this individual rudely kicked the sign aside.

  Startled by the customer’s abrupt entrance, Ashley immediately turned from the counter where she’d been preoccupied sketching a picture on the back of a napkin. The person who had walked in was a twenty-something female in an elegant black dress.

  As she advanced toward the counter, the customer’s high-heels resonated against the linoleum floor, Click-clack. Click-clack.

  “Hello there,” Ashley greeted her kindly. Friendly service was one of the keys Stella attributed to her staying in business for so long.

  “Oh. Hey,” the woman said, retrieving something from her purse. “Are you still open?”

  “Yes. Until four.”

  “Smells divine in here. What is that, cinnamon?”

  “Apple pie,” Ashley clarified, indicating the top of the counter where the fresh pastries were stacked. “Would you like a sample? I could cut you a small piece.”

  “No thanks,” the customer answered, still rummaging through her handbag. “I was never big on apple pie.”

  “How about lemon meringue?”

  “Nah. I think I’ll pass on that too.”

  Ashley cleared her throat. “Were you looking for anything unparticular?”

  “Missy,” the woman snapped, practically growling, “when I find what I want, I’ll let you know. Okay? Give me a moment to think.”

  Not sure what to do, Ashley went back to her sketch.

  “How lame is this?” the fancily attired patron continued to gripe. “I’ve seen a better selection in a soup kitchen. How could you people not have Italian bread?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ashley tried to sympathize. “We sold out.”

  “Don’t you have anymore in the back?”

  “I’m afraid not. Just what you see here.”

  The customer sighed. “What kind of bakery doesn’t have Italian bread?”

  “Ma‘m, we carry it. We just don’t have anymore at this particular moment. If you’d like to come back tomorrow, I’m sure we could accommodate you.”

  “Tomorrow? I’m not coming back tomorrow. You must be tripping.”

  Perturbed, Ashley shook her head.

  The pestering customer bent down to inspect the swe
et snacks. She had short dark hair, an appealing face, and wore big silver hoop earrings. “Since you don’t have what I want, give me a loaf of this French bread here.” With her finger, the woman pointed.

  “This loaf here?” Ashley asked. In total, there were four.

  “No. The one on the left. That’s it . . . Is that crunchy?

  “Absolutely. All the bread we carry is crunchy. You’ll like this. Our French bread has a nice buttery taste.”

  As the woman opened her wallet, she mysteriously uttered, “If you didn’t have this whole Marilyn Monroe thing going, he wouldn’t be attracted to you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh. Don’t act so naïve. The only reason why Troy wants to be with you is because you have this vulnerable Marilyn Monroe persona, the hot blonde, damsel in distress.”

  “Excuse me!” Ashley interrupted, totally confused. “Would you mind telling me who you are, and what you’re talking about?”

  The woman stamped her foot. “You want to know who I am?”

  “Yes. For starters. Then you can tell me how you know my boyfriend Troy?”

  CHAPTER 43

  Sarah Kline was a scorned woman and all she wanted right now was revenge.

  Sweet revenge!

  Three weeks before, Troy Young, the man Sarah had been dating for a little more than six months, had sent her an email stating that he wanted to break up with her.

  Troy had not given Sarah a detailed reason as to why he did not want to see her anymore, except to say that between them, he did not think it was working out.

  But Sarah knew better.

  That overly sensitive buffoon had fallen for Ashley Ferguson. This was exactly what she had feared might happen.

  What made Sarah more livid was not so much that Troy had acquired feelings for someone else. After all, that sort of thing sometimes happened.