She nodded, then sighed rather sadly, her body collapsing into the seat of the car, like she would stay there all night.
Dammit! Why didn’t she get out of the car? Why did she wait? What was keeping her from breaking loose from her abductor?
He felt as if all his careful planning was about to fall apart, that any minute the sound of sirens would bring a column of police cars to the bus terminal… but then… the girl reached out and touched his shoulder, a gentle touch that was gone almost as soon as it began. In the rearview mirror, he saw her eyes close, and how she took a deep breath, her other hand poised on door handle.
“You’re right. You’re very right. Better I not see your face.”
As she spoke, she abruptly jerked up on the handle, grabbed the suitcase from the floor and exited the car. She didn’t look back—that was a stroke of luck. She walked head down, disappearing inside the bus terminal. Zack would be somewhere inside waiting for her to appear. But long before he spotted her, Emerson hastily pulled away from the curb and the pale grey Buick slipped into traffic on its way to the agreed upon destination.
Chapter Twelve
Sadie
So, she knew his name?
Daphne
She must have.
Sadie
And the others?
Daphne
We’ll never know how much she knew. But it would seem after this much time has passed—it’s been over thirty years—that she won’t be surfacing with her story.
Sadie
Unless this interview—the true story—jogs her memory enough to make her talk.
Daphne
It could. But she didn’t say squat when Pygmalion Whore was published. At least, Emerson didn’t hear a word. I think by then, she had too much invested in her life to make that kind of stunning disclosure. The way the media pounces on that kind of thing, would you want the publicity? There’d be no point in it for her.
Unless, perhaps, she is finally so haunted by the memory—a posttraumatic stress sort of thing—that she needs to excise the demons. I really don’t see her that way, but I could be wrong.
Sadie
How would you know?
Daphne
She has a career as an actress. She’s not in the spotlight much, but she’s been successful enough that I doubt she’d risk the public scrutiny. I keep tabs on her from time to time. And what I see in her is a lovely woman, with vitality, spirit, and a peaceful sense of herself. It might be just a facade, but I don’t think so.
No, I believe that what Emerson hoped for took place. He instigated her career for a purpose, and it worked to our advantage. But I think in a broader sense, she came to terms with her captivity, and not in a negative way. Brutal as it was, it did go straight to her sexual core and allowed her an awakening that suited her character, and would never have happened otherwise. At any rate, this is what I believe.
Sadie
But you didn’t feel this way to begin with…
Daphne
Oh, no! I wanted to, of course. I wanted to believe that day in basement she made peace with me. But I was scared for years that we’d suddenly find ourselves in jail. There were milestones where I expected it…like when the book was released. But time went by and the world moved on and so did she.
Sadie
And the others in the Writers’ Club. Do they no longer see her as a threat?
Daphne
I’m not sure. But they know about this interview, I wouldn’t have done it without their permission. Of course, you didn’t think I was actually using their real names, did you?
Sadie
By evidence of her expression, she hadn’t realized it until now.
Daphne
I told them I’d be telling the whole story as I saw it, using fictitious names, and with that, they were perfectly content to let me speak my mind.
Sadie
What can you tell me of them now?
Daphne
Let’s see…Penelope lives abroad. For her Veronica X was one of many extraordinary things that have happened in her eventful life—there’s a book right there, if you need new material. I don’t see her but once in a blue moon, and that’s just as well. She’s not changed much in her ability to annoy people. And she still smokes like a fiend.
Kathy Ann, on the other hand, has been writing romance novels for some time under several pennames. And Zack… well Zack initially followed Veronica. At first just to see if she planned to go to the police. When it was clear that she wasn’t running off in tears to blab her story, his impetus to check up on her became less necessary. She seemed from the outset to settle herself and move on with her life. She looked up the agent on the business card Emerson gave her and put him to work—it obviously paid off.
But Zack, even when he didn’t need to follow her anymore, he did stay close. He wanted her badly. He told me a few years ago that he once got close enough to begin a real relationship. He spoke with her several times; there were even some casual dates, but he never could quite make the leap. Every time he started to make a move, he lost his nerve and backed away. The truth about who he was would always prevent him from having her as he wanted. He’s traveled the world as a correspondent, written for many major newspapers and magazines. He’s had a life many men would love. But he’s never had a decent relationship with a woman. I think Veronica X played a part in that… and still does. A few years ago, I talked to him, urged him to move on. He always says the same thing… ‘my life began and ended there and I can’t help that.’
Sadie
Sounds like a modern tragedy.
Daphne
Oh, no! Don’t go down that road. We were not then, nor are we now, heroic enough in our character to make a tragedy of this. I think it’s more like we put into motion with Veronica X events that would reverberate through the rest of our lives. We can’t get away from her. She’s there, like a parent, a child, a close friend, someone we deal with—privately.
Sadie
We know what happened to Emerson, but what about Bo?
Daphne
She smiles warmly. Bo, my dear, gentle friend… He died while on assignment in Vietnam. I have no doubt that his involvement with the seduction of Veronica X was responsible for his death. Her face pales and she take a deep breath. But I’d rather not talk about that.
Sadie She smiles uncomfortably, but as if she understands. In Bo’s story, she is positive there is another book!
So that leaves you? What happened to Daphne after Veronica X. You seemed to have bonded with her differently than the others did. I know that your marriage to Emerson Gray didn’t last much after that season, and you’re married again. But I know nothing else.
***
Emerson drove a yellow VW Beetle convertible to the door of the stone cottage. The tiny house sat in the open near the shores of Lake Michigan, in the middle of sand, shore grasses and scrub trees. Nearby were pine forests, the beachfront and a few other stone edifices—some still as sound as the cottage; some were in ruins. The most remarkable of those still standing was a stone chapel with a vaulted roofline and what was left of a stone spire. The first time Emerson laid eyes on the curious compound, he knew he had to bring Daphne here. She’d love it.
“So this is the place,” Daphne said, as she climbed from the car and gazed toward the cottage and the other scattered structures, her eyes visored with her hand. “You’re right, it’s beautiful.”
“And you’ll write here,” her husband said with some certainty, almost as if it were an order, not an observation.
“Yes, I probably will,” she cautiously ventured. “Just as I would have written in the apartment in Boston and the row house in Philadelphia and that cute little house in New Haven.”
“But this is better. There’s a freer air here, Daph. We need that.”
“Maybe.” She did look as though she belonged here. Her blond hair billowed in the breeze, while her white sundress caught the wind and fluttered enough to
make her hold it down. She seemed as youthful and beautiful as when he met her, as much like an ethereal spirit as she was a flesh and blood woman.
She turned to him. “But you’re going to leave me,” she said with some despair.
She knew this without him saying so. He’d behaved this way for the last year and a half, running, not from a ghost who didn’t care about following him, but from his own inner stirrings—and from those who might have loved him. The last time he let his anxious disquiet speak, he’d perpetrated a heinous crime against an innocent virgin. But that risky business resolved nothing inside his psyche, except that he knew after it was over that he would not saddle anyone else with his dangerous schemes again. He couldn’t even talk to Zack anymore; with him, his fear was the worst. Zack just might be the one foolish enough to listen to him again. Of course, the others had split, all but Daphne. And Daphne was his wife. He had to make her safe, which was another of his schemes.
But it was a good scheme this time. One that would take care of her forever. He saw it happening clearly the day he drove by the stone cottage and noticed the ‘For Rent’ sign in front. He’d stopped the car, surveyed the unique landscape and sought out the man who owned the place. Once his eyes rested on the owner, McGill, everything came clear as glass inside his mind. He rented the cottage for the summer, for Daphne.
“I have work, darling. You have work. And it can’t be in the same place, at least not right now. We both know that.” He moved close, stared her in the eyes and put his hands on her shoulders so she’d be sure to focus on his every word.
“I am not so sure of that, Emerson,” she said. Her gaze wavered.
“I am. Trust me. Look at me, please,” he gave her a gentle shake. “This is a really good place for you to pound away at the typewriter and get that novel finished. I’m counting on you. You’ll do it, I know you will.”
He stared at her long enough to believe his message was sinking in.
“Tell me you’ll do your best to make this work.”
“Of course, I will. That’s what I do—follow your every order.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
Having her promise in place, Emerson let her go and moved quickly, as he always did, depositing suitcases and boxes in the cottage kitchen, while Daphne aimlessly followed him into the building. She gazed around surveying the small homey kitchen—a table, range, refrigerator and the heating stove by the far wall. A pile of freshly chopped wood was stored in the corner.
“There’s a sitting room, a bedroom and bath. Go look,” Emerson nodded toward the far door.
Daphne took a quick tour of her new surroundings, finding it perfectly adequate for her essential needs as well as her romantic spirit. She didn’t write romance books, as Kathy Ann would likely do, but she could see the ancient stones, the simple design and the unique location already magically calling up the muse that sometimes had trouble surfacing amidst her worries.
Emerson watched her closely, seeing the uneasy look on her face change enough to give him hope. It would take a day or two for her to settle but she would. He’d thought about staying to see her start writing again—he worried over her writer’s block—but he knew she’d get out of it soon with the fresh lake air to breathe, and the wonderful winds… the sunsets, even the stone efficiently surrounding her, keeping her safe.
“You look like you belong here, Daphne,” he said, smiling.
She raised her eyebrows, glanced around the kitchen again, then laid a hand on a box of her favorite books. “We’re not going to stay together, are we?” she finally said, with little emotion.
The question was one he didn’t expect. He waited a moment to answer, and was surprised himself by what he finally thought to say, “You think we really should?”
Her face immediately twisted into a wounded grimace. “What does that mean? I still love you, Emerson. Even after everything. But I’m not sure you return that love anymore.”
“I fuck you, don’t I?” he shot right back, obviously annoyed.
This statement floored her. She slapped her hand to her forehead, demonstratively. “Oh, Emerson! You ass, you bastardly ass!”
“See? That’s what I am, Daphne? I can’t help myself.”
“Yes, a bastard is what you are now, because you won’t stop long enough to be anything else.” She sighed, wearily; being angry wasn’t worth the trouble.
“I’m not yet ready to settle down, Daph. I’m sorry. I can’t. I worry. I worry a lot…” It was the most that he would ever admit.
“Then go, Emerson. Leave me be, and if you want to be married, just come back. I’ll be here.”
“But Daphne, understand, you don’t have to wait for me. I’m not asking you to.” He was almost pleading with her.
“I’ll do what I need to do, Emerson. And I’ll be here.” She gazed around a bit smugly now. “I think I like this place. You chose well.” There was no logical explanation for why she wanted to wait for him, but she couldn’t imagine herself doing anything else.
Emerson could think of nothing else to say. Instead, he impulsively grabbed her arm, leaned in and kissed her cheek and then her mouth. His smile was terse, troubled, just as it had been for weeks. A moment later, he was out the door and headed to his car.
Daphne moved from the table to the sink, and looked out the window, where white curtains trimmed with red embroidery, not new but freshly cleaned, swayed in the gentle breeze. She watched as Emerson climbed into the yellow beetle and drove off down the road, kicking up dust, his blonde hair blowing. It was significantly longer than it had been even six months ago. He was a little more in step with the times when it came to his physical appearance, but inside his turbulent soul, he remained the same agitated being, driven by forces that Daphne would never quite understand.
***
Her feet wet and covered with sand, she moved up the beach path to the stone house, spotting a man hovering around her cottage. Daphne’s heart leapt anxiously but she kept on moving. The man was wearing faded jeans, and a denim work shirt tucked in at the waist. The sleeves were rolled to the elbows. He was tall and lean, with powerful shoulders and bare, tanned arms that hinted at the muscled workingman beneath his clothes. It had been some months since she’d felt the familiar pulse of her nether regions calling up the sexual desire she’d so flagrantly abused the previous summer. But her body stirred now, seeing the big man move in an easy gait. His firm ass drew her focused attention and produced such carnal images in her mind that she had to forcibly stop her imagination from taking flight. She hadn’t seen Emerson in weeks; she was horny, yes. But she was still a married woman and she had no idea who this man was.
“Sir?” she halting spoke once she approached. He was digging with a shovel at the base of house, in a flower garden that was overgrown with weeds. She was almost afraid to speak. He hadn’t heard her, so she spoke a little louder, “Sir?”
Hearing her this time, the man stood up straight and turned around. A pair of keen brown eyes gazed down at her. He had a mustache, a full beard and longish hair that skimmed his shoulders. She met his eyes with a feeling of awe and stepped back.
“I’m Daphne,” she said. “May I help you?”
“McGill,” he nodded. “And I know who you are. I’m looking after you for your husband.”
“You are?” This seemed strange. Although she knew that the man McGill was her landlord, she’d been at the cottage for three weeks and hadn’t yet laid eyes on him until now. “Yes, Emerson Gray asked me to keep you out of trouble.”
“He did now, huh?” This amused her. But thoughts of Emerson quickly disappeared with her attention riveted on her landlord. He made her jittery inside, weak…as if a gust of wind had just passed through her body. His feet, and not just his feet, his whole substance, his physical and emotional energies were set firmly in the dark earth he stood on, as though he sprung from it like a tree, wholly made. He was in his thirties, maybe older; but because his face was untroubled, he seemed
ageless. He was handsome, but not exactly handsome… not like Emerson and Zack were handsome, but handsome in a mature and knowing way. She stared at his large, gritty hands, wondering if they were rough to touch. His hands and powerful forearms held her focus, until she again had to forcefully bring her attention back to the moment.
“You deny you need to be looked after?” he asked. She thought she saw some amusement in his eyes, certainly there was a gentle smirk on his lips.
“No, I don’t deny that at all. But I suppose it should be my husband taking care of me.”
He nodded, agreeing. “Not a settled man, I’m afraid,” he said of Emerson.
“It’s been a rough year.”
“Well, you’re here and whether you see me about or not, I have my eye and hand on everything that happens on my property. You’re safe here.”
“Thank you.”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. The moment was marked for Daphne by a reawakened longing that was both terrible and thrilling. How sad for her, she thought, that the first man she lays her eyes on after her husband leaves turns her body into mush.
“I really should go,” she finally said, “it was nice meeting you.”
He didn’t try to stop her, but watched her thoughtfully until she disappeared around the side of the cottage.
McGill and Daphne ran into each other infrequently over the next several weeks—and never because she chose to. She liked to walk the beach and through the ruins, but always looked for her landlord before she stepped out of the cottage. If she saw him about his property, her shyness, and that rumbling force he seemed to generate in her, kept her inside until he finally disappeared from sight. She ventured out cautiously, hoping to avoid him. Sometimes she was successful, on other occasions, and more frequently as the days passed, she stumbled upon him and could not politely avoid speaking.
The Abduction of Veronica X Page 14