My chest pinches painfully.
I swallow down.
“Where have you been?” My quiet voice sounds loud in the silence of his kitchen.
He turns his face back to the sink and turns the faucet off. He reaches for a towel and dries his hands.
Then, he turns to face me.
I immediately spot the blood, and all thoughts of him and another woman vanish.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, moving toward him. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
He frowns. Then, he glances down at his white T-shirt. At the marks of blood on it.
His eyes lift back to mine, and I don’t like what I see in them.
All those things I just added up, I got wrong. Very wrong.
Add in the blood, and you’ve got a whole different scenario.
A violent scenario.
Sense and experience have me moving back a step.
His frown deepens at that.
“Nothing happened. I’m fine.” He reaches back and pulls the T-shirt over his head. He bundles it up into a ball and throws it in the trash can.
He moves toward me. Instinctively, I step aside, giving him a wide berth.
“Don’t do that,” he says low, stopping before me.
“Do what?” My voice is a whisper.
“Act like you’re afraid of me.”
“Maybe I am right now.”
Dark eyes burn into mine. “You know I’d never hurt you.”
“Do I?”
His lips tighten, forming lines around his mouth. “I thought you did. Clearly, I was wrong.”
“What am I supposed to think? You acted weird at the store. Dropped me home and then disappeared off in your truck without a word. Then, showed back up after midnight, washing what I can only assume was blood off your hands, getting that from the fact that it was all over your shirt.”
“You should think that, in all the time you’ve known me, I’ve never once hurt you.”
“Only my feelings, right, River? Not physically, so that makes it okay.”
He sighs. “You know I was sorry for that.”
“Yeah, I know. And I know that your actions stemmed from what’d happened in your past. But I don’t know everything about your past. So, therefore, I don’t know what else you’re capable of.”
I would never have thought this of him before now. But, after this, I’m thinking it.
“That’s low, Red.”
I lift my chin. “No. It’s the truth. You want me to trust that you would never physically hurt me? Then, tell me where you went tonight. Where did the blood come from? Or who did it come from?”
His eyes darken to black, brows lowering. “Why did you move here, Carrie? Who’s the father of your baby?”
My mouth slams shut. I wrap my arms over my chest, trying to ward off the chill I feel inside.
“Just what I thought.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know shit about you, Carrie. And I don’t ask shit about you. So, don’t fucking come in here, into my house, demanding to know where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing when you’re not willing to give up anything on yourself. We don’t talk about the big stuff. That’s how this thing works between you and me.” He gestures a finger between us.
I take another step back, ready to turn and walk out of here.
Then, I change my mind.
And move forward a step.
“You’re right. I’m asking you to tell me things about yourself that you’ve probably never told anyone. And, all the while, you don’t know a single thing about me. Not one thing. And it’s stupid. Because we should know each other. I want to know you because I care about you, River. So, here it is. This is me, laid bare.” I spread my hands out.
“I was married for seven years. I’m still married. And my husband—the police detective—” I see River’s eyes flash with an emotion that I know links back to his stepdad. “Yep, that’s right; I’m married to a cop. Who I can never divorce because I can’t risk him finding out where I am; if he does, he will kill me. Without a doubt. Because behind the good cop facade he wears for the rest of the world is a sick, violent sadist, who, for almost every day of the seven years I was with him, beat and raped me to the point of unconsciousness.” I swallow against the memories prickling at my skin.
“And, when I found out I was pregnant, I ran. I stole his dirty cop money. Got a new identity. Changed the color of my hair. Climbed onto that bus that brought me here and became Carrie Ford. So, that’s why I won’t be around violence, River. Because I lived it. And I risked my life to escape it. Because I will give my child a better life than the life I had, no matter the cost to me. I won’t be around violence again in any way, shape, or form. I will not have my child’s life tainted by it.
“So, you see, this is why I’m asking you where you were tonight and where the blood came from. And I will ask again one last time …” I pull in a fortifying breath. “Where were you tonight, River?”
I wait.
Heart in my throat. Chest pounding. Blood roaring in my ears.
But his answer never comes.
So, I do the only thing I can.
I walk out of there, and I don’t look back.
Carrie
I don’t sit around, feeling sorry for myself. That’s not who I am anymore.
When I left my miserable life behind, I made the conscious decision not to be unhappy ever again. I had already spent enough years of my life being sad.
So, I chose to be optimistic. To be happy.
I wouldn’t ever be truly sad ever again. Not even when the bad memories creep into my dreams at night and turn them into nightmares would I feel sorrow. I just shut them into a box and lock it up tight.
Because those memories are not my life anymore.
I’m no longer Annie.
I’m Carrie.
And Carrie is happy. She is strong and brave. She is everything I ever wanted to be.
But, right now, I don’t feel any of those things.
And I’m most definitely not happy.
I told River everything. I trusted him with my deepest, darkest secrets, and he said nothing.
Nothing.
So, yeah, my heart hurts.
And, since I walked out of his house over an hour ago, I’ve done nothing but lie on my sofa—on my side, of course, because, if I lay on my back, I’d probably never get up again—and eat chocolate-covered pretzels while listening to sad music. Even Buddy couldn’t take my self-pity party and trotted off into my bedroom.
Lord Huron’s “The Night We Met” just finished up, and Kesha’s “Praying” has started up when I hear the rap on the door.
It’s a quiet knock but loud enough for me to hear.
I know it’s River. Because no one else would be knocking on my door after one in the morning.
But I’m not answering the door. And I’m definitely not letting him in.
I put another chocolate pretzel in my mouth and chew slowly.
“Red, it’s me.” His deep voice comes through the door.
“I know. That’s why I’m not answering the door,” I call back.
“Carrie … I just … I need to talk to you. You’re safe with me. I promise. I would never hurt you. But, if you don’t feel safe with me, which I totally understand, then text Sadie and tell her that I’m here.”
I push myself to sit upright. It takes some effort. Then, I stand and walk over to the door. “And why would I do that?” I ask.
“So, if I did anything to you, the cops would know that it was me who hurt you.”
“I’d rather not take the risk. Thanks.”
“Please, Carrie.” I hear his head thump against the door. “I just … fuck, I just need to see you. What you told me—”
“Forget what I said.”
“I can’t. I can’t get the images out of my head. Of him hurting you.” He sounds like he’s in physical pain. “I just need to know you’re okay.”
I wrap my arms around myself
. “I’m fine.”
I take another step to the door until I’m up close to it. I can hear him breathing on the other side.
“I’m not,” he says quietly.
I don’t know if he means for me to hear him or not. But it’s those words that have me reaching for the door and unlocking it.
I pull the door open a bit and look at him through the crack.
He looks terrible.
I can smell cigar smoke on him. It weakens my resolve a little bit more.
“Hey,” he says softly.
I catch the smell of alcohol on his breath.
And I don’t like it one bit.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“What? Shit. Yes, but I’m not drunk. I had one whiskey. I always have one with my cigar before bed. You know that.”
That’s true. I do know that.
“Okay,” I say. “So, why aren’t you in bed now?”
“Red …” His dark brows draw together. “There was no way I was sleeping tonight. And, by the looks of it, you either.”
I shake my head.
“You should rest though. For Olive’s sake.”
“She’s not sleeping right now, so …” I shrug my shoulders.
“She’s on the move?” he asks, staring down at my bump.
“Yep,” I answer quietly.
He lifts his eyes back to mine. There’s a pleading look to them. “Can I come in? There are things I need to say to you … things I need to tell you, and I don’t want to say them out here. But I will if that’s what you want. If that’s what will make you feel more comfortable.”
I think for a few seconds. Then, I step back. Widening the door, I let him in.
“Thank you,” he says quietly as I close the door behind him.
I walk over to the sofa and lower myself to sit down. He comes and sits down beside me, angling his body toward mine, so I do the same.
There’s a moment of silence where he’s just staring at my face, his eyes roaming like he’s looking for something.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask self-consciously.
“You’re beautiful, Carrie. I’ve never told you that before, and I should have because it’s the truth. I thought it the moment I saw you. And every single time after that, even when I was being an ass to you.”
My lips part in surprise. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you want us to be truthful with each other. And that’s the truth. I think you’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re good and pure and honest. And I wanted to start with that because the rest of the things I have to tell you are not good or pure or honest. They’re dark and black and fucked up.”
“Okay.” I swallow, preparing myself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.
“Okay,” he echoes, shifting in his seat. “I’m not sure exactly where to start.”
“The beginning is usually a good place.”
He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “No. I’ll start at the end and work my way back to the beginning.”
His fingers are flexing in and out in agitation.
“River … you don’t have to do this if it’s too much.”
His eyes come to mine. They’re filled with determination.
“You stood there, in my kitchen, and told me things that I can only imagine were incredibly painful for you to say. You’re brave, Red. And you make me want to be brave, too.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “No one outside of my mama and Gran has cared about me in the way you do. I want to be worthy of that.”
“You are,” I tell him. Reaching out, I take hold of his hand and squeeze it.
He stares down at our hands. “No, I’m not. But I want to be.” He lifts his eyes to mine. The emotion in them is almost overwhelming. “I … I care about you, too, you know.”
I swallow down my feelings that are threatening to turn to tears. Damn pregnancy hormones.
Afraid to speak, I just nod.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and presses the sweetest of kisses to it. Then, he lays my hand back in my lap, letting go.
He takes a deep breath and starts to talk, “At the store earlier, I saw a man who I know is a convicted sex offender.”
I stiffen at his words.
“He went to prison for two years for the molestation of two young boys at the school where he was a teacher.”
The molestation of two young boys.
“I know this because I make it my job to know. I’m part of an organization who bait-trap and expose pedophiles. We also keep track of recently released sex offenders, too. That’s where I … focus my efforts.”
“And by focus your efforts, you mean …”
He glances at me. “I do what’s necessary to make sure they don’t hurt another child.”
I take in a sharp breath. “And to what extent do you go to ensure that?”
“Are you asking if I killed him?”
I pull my lower lip into my mouth, not sure if I want to know the answer to this question. But I nod despite myself.
“The answer is no. But, after I dropped you home, I went to his house. I waited for him. And … I hurt him. I’d warned him. Told him what would come if he was seen in the vicinity of children. He hadn’t listened. So, I followed through. But, if it came to it … between a child being hurt and killing one of those sick fuckers, I wouldn’t hesitate, Carrie.”
I think of the child I’m carrying inside me and know that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect her. But would I go to that extent for other people’s children like he is?
And I honestly don’t know the answer to that question.
“So, you’re a vigilante, who is part of a group working to protect children from pedophiles.” I need to say it out loud, so it’s clear in my head.
“I don’t think of myself as a vigilante. I’m more like … the antitoxin before the disease.”
“But you can’t possibly stop every bad thing that happens,” I say softly.
“No, I can’t. But I can stop more than if I sat back and did nothing. And, if I can save just one kid from enduring the horrors of that kind of abuse, then it’s worth it.”
“Don’t you worry about getting in trouble with the … law?”
He laughs. It’s a hollow sound. I can understand why.
“No. What’s the worst thing they can do to me?”
“Put you in prison,” I whisper.
“Trust me, Red; that wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me.”
I worry my lip with my teeth.
“You’re wondering why I do this,” he says in a low voice. “Why I would want to help stop other people’s children from being hurt.”
“Yes,” I say quietly.
The silence is long. My heart thuds hard with every second I wait.
His voice is agonizingly, painfully low when he says, “Because I was one of those kids, Carrie. I was hurt by someone who was supposed to care for me.”
God, no.
My throat thickens with tears. I swallow roughly.
I knew something bad had happened to him. The thought that it had been this passed through my mind … but to hear him say it …
It’s hard to hear. It hurts me more than I ever thought possible.
The tears fill my eyes. I’m afraid to look at him because, if I do, I know they’ll flow freely.
“W-was it … your stepdad?” My voice trembles.
“Yes.” His voice is like ice.
I take a controlled breath to steady my voice. “Is that why your mom killed him? Did she find out that he was hurting you, and she shot him?” I know that I would do the same if it were my child.
He lets out a ragged breath, and I finally lift my eyes to his. The tears I was holding back overflow and run down my face.
He slowly shakes his head. “No, Carrie. That’s why I killed him.”
Carrie
“What?” I shift back in my
seat.
He killed his stepdad.
I don’t know what he sees on my face, but whatever it is, it makes his pale.
“Shit. Carrie, I’m not going to hurt you.” He holds his hands up, like he’s surrendering.
“What?” I stutter, realization quickly dawning on me. “Oh God, no. I know you won’t hurt me.”
If he was going to hurt me, then he would have by now. And a man who hunts down sex offenders to protect children is not a man I need to be afraid of.
I move closer to him to reassure him that my reaction was not one out of fear.
“I’m not scared of you. I’m just …” Stunned. Lost for words. “I don’t know what I am. Shocked, I guess. It’s a lot of information to take in, in one go.” I’m blinking furiously, trying to clear my mind and gather my thoughts. “But you were just a child when he … when you …”
He exhales a breath and nods, eyes fixed on the wall ahead. “I was eight when I killed him. It … the abuse had been going on for a long time prior to that. Things were … getting worse. I couldn’t tell my mom what was happening because he said he would kill her if I did, and then I’d be left with him. Just me and him.”
Tears refill my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. I brush them away with my wrist.
“He was a police officer. People in this town respected him. I knew that, if I did say something … no one would believe me. I was … trapped.
“It was a Sunday. It was always a fucking Sunday. She was at her book club. I was alone at home with him. He called me into the kitchen. I knew what was going to happen. What always happened when she wasn’t there.” He rubs his hands over his face, pushing his fingers up and through his hair.
“He left his gun out on the kitchen counter. He never did that. And I honestly don’t know what made me pick up the gun that day. But I did. I pointed it at him. He laughed in my face. Then, he got mad. He came at me, and then I shot him. And I kept pulling the trigger until the gun was empty. I don’t know how much time passed … it seemed like none at all, and then Mama was home, and she saw what I’d done. She made me tell her what had happened. So, I did. I told her the ugly truth. She cried. Then, she picked up the phone and called the police. While we waited for them to come, she told me to agree with everything that she said. That it was her who had killed him. They’d fought. He’d attacked her, and she’d grabbed his gun and shot him in self-defense. I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want her to go to prison.”
River Wild Page 17