Cuts Like Glass

by Dana Feldman

  “I hide out in plain sight. Come and see for yourself. You’re right. Anyone can walk up to my front door, but let them try and get in. Come on. You’ll see.”

  I follow him up a narrow pathway, up three stairs and through a small wooden gate to his front door. It’s an older, single-story, olive-green bungalow a stones throw from the boardwalk.

  I notice the rod iron bars on all the windows and watch as he unlocks the three deadbolts on his front door. The place itself, as well as the small yard that surrounds it, is immaculate. This particular area of Venice isn’t the cleanest but his little corner of it sure is.

  People are everywhere and there’s a party going on nearby. I can hear young partiers and loud music wafting through the air. I look behind us and see dozens of people walking around. Some are sightseeing, this is a popular tourist attraction, and others are running or rollerblading.

  Just as he opens the front door a large golden retriever jumps up, tail wagging rapidly, to greet him.

  “This is Hank,” he says, as his face is licked for a greeting. “No jumping on our guest,” he commands the dog that now sits gingerly before me, waiting for a head rub. I happily oblige.

  “Hi, Hank!” I say. “I love retrievers. I’ve always wanted one.”

  “Well, he sort of found me about a year ago. He was skin and bones digging through the trash. I was out back grilling up some steaks the first time he came by. He never left after that,” he laughs.

  I look at the now robust, extremely healthy dog. “I can see why.”

  I hear a low beeping noise. As it gets louder, Bob quickly disables the alarm with just the touch of his hand.

  “Only my fingerprints can turn it off,” he tells me.

  “And what about Hank? Does he ever set it off?”

  “No. You have to be over five feet to set off the motion detectors. Before he came to mooch off me any movement would’ve set the alarm off. But when you fall in love, you have to make concessions,” he adds, petting Hank.

  As we enter I scan the room. This place is unbelievably stunning. It’s like he gutted a nice but average bungalow and turned it into a fabulous New York style loft. The floor is industrial cement throughout and the high ceilings are covered with wood beams.

  The furniture is minimalistic yet cozy. Warm area rugs separate the open concept living room area from the bedroom area towards the back. The color scheme is earth tones of brown, gray and olive green with splashes of blue.

  An open galley kitchen takes up one whole wall with an island counter dividing it from the two large sofas, coffee table and large flat screen television that make up his main living area.

  I can see that one of the sofas belongs to Hank. It’s covered with a thick blue and gray wool blanket and several chew toys are strewn on top. I sit on the other sofa and Hank hops up on his.

  I sip my coffee and continue to look around amazed at what he’s done with the place. He picks up a remote control and the large television comes to life.

  “How big is this thing?”

  “Eighty inches. Probably too big for the space but you know us men and our electronics.”

  I look at the screen, and it looks more like a computer than a television. He explains that his television is actually used as both. He asks for my phone, and I hand it over.

  He has a cord that he plugs into my phone on one end and he walks up to the large monitor and plugs the other end into the side of his television. The screen lights up with all my text messages.

  My eyes almost bolt out of my skull and my mouth is agape as I watch him scroll through my contacts, emails, texts, and even listen to, not only my voicemail messages, but my phone calls, as well.

  “Yep,” he says after a few minutes. “Someone has definitely hacked into your phone.”

  “How do you know? I mean you just plugged it into your television, isn’t that how you’re able to see all of my information?”

  “This is a very advanced program, and what I’m actually looking at is a clone of your device. I would only be able to do this if a clone existed, and the only way it exists is if someone else already created it.”

  “So it’s true then. Oh my God. I don’t, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  I put my coffee down on the table. My hands are shaking. I’m shaking. The gravity of the situation is too much for me to handle. I’m not safe in my own home. Again. I thought that I’d never have to live this way again.

  Hank comes up, his wet nose nuzzling my hands. I begin to gently pet him just as my tears begin a rapid roll down my cheeks.

  Bob comes up with a box of tissues and hands me one.

  “I’m going to help you, Ella. Don’t you worry.”

  “How?” I ask, my voice breaking. “How can you help me?”

  “Well, for one, I’m going to do what’s called a scrub on your phone. This will deactivate and block the cloning program. It’ll take about fifteen minutes.”

  I don’t say anything. I just continue to pet Hank’s head until he turns over on his back and then I give him belly rubs. This is calming me.

  “I really want a dog,” I say, looking into his almond-shaped chocolate brown eyes.

  “And two,” he says, “I’m going to give you a gun.”

  “I don’t like guns,” I explain.

  “I’ll teach you to use the one I give you. You’ll be comfortable once I’m through with you. It’s simple once you get the feel of it down. You have some time this afternoon?”

  I nod my head. As long as I’m home by six Peter won’t be suspicious. I cannot believe that I’ve turned into this woman again. And even though the thought of having a gun frightens me, the thought of being in another abusive relationship frightens me tenfold.

  “I had a gun once,” I say. I watch as he runs a program on my phone. He’s pressing all sorts of buttons, doing whatever it is that he’s doing, and I keep talking. I’m nervous and, when I get this way, I either ramble or say nothing.

  “My friend, Chris, gave me a gun at one point. I was terrified of it, just holding it made me sick. So he agreed to unload it, and I watched as he did. It was a small Colt Automatic Pistol. He wanted to show me how to use it, but I’ve always been terrified of guns. But with my husband I was forced to have one. I finally agreed, and he showed me how to fire that particular handgun. I was pretty good. As things got worse, I was forced to load it. And I always had it on me. I was never comfortable though.”

  “Well, I have a Smith & Wesson handgun that I think you’ll find fairly easy to use. Just take it for a few weeks, and if you don’t want to keep it, that’s fine. But, Ella, I’ve worked with a lot of women in your position, and as much as you don’t want to think about it, you have to protect yourself or you’ll just end up as another statistic.”

  I don’t argue. I instead wait for him to fix my phone. And then I agree to follow him to a shooting range near the airport.

  “I have to be home by six,” I tell him. He understands. I also need to stop at the boat shop on my way home and give Chris his phone back. And I need to learn to act like a happy, unsuspecting girlfriend to Peter.

  I can do this, I repeat to myself over and over. I have to remind myself that I’ve already been through this before. And I survived.

  Bob hands me the gun that he’s been telling me about. I hold it in my hands and feel the weight of it. It feels heavy, intrusive, overbearing. He assures me that I’ll get used to it.

  “You just do what you have to do, Ella,” he tells me as we leave his house. I watch as he locks the three deadbolts on our way out.

  Hank gives a few barks through the door, which Bob tells me he does every time he leaves him.

  “I feel like I need to pay you something for your time today,” I say just as we get to our cars to head to the firing range.

  “Nah, this one’s on the house,” he says.

  “Really? Why?” I ask.

  “Let’s just say that you remind me of someone who was once very dear
to me.”

  I ask him who he’s referring to, and he tells me his daughter. Her name was Ashley, and she didn’t like guns either, refused to carry one. She was only twenty-eight when her boyfriend killed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE PERFECT BOYFRIEND

  It’s a quarter to six. I’m finally on my way home. I’ve finished my lesson with Bob and have just left Chris. Peter had already left work for the day, and I expect that he’s already getting the grill going, waiting for me to come home where he can have an eye on me.

  The ringing of my cell phone startles me. It’s Dr. Bryer. I realize at once why he’s calling. I forgot my session with him today. He’s already displeased that I’ve put off upping to three sessions a week and have stayed at two.

  “I’m so sorry,” I answer. “I just realized that I forgot our session today.”

  Truth be told, I’ve become increasingly uncomfortable with his questions and have dreaded seeing him though I do force myself to attend bi-weekly.

  “Yes, and I was trying to reach you earlier but your phone kept going straight to voicemail. Did you have your phone turned off?”

  “Yes, I’m so sorry. My phone wasn’t working, and I took it into the shop and completely lost track of my day. I’m so sorry. I’ll, of course, pay you for the session, for your time.”

  “That’s not the point really,” he says.

  “I know. Do you have time tomorrow?”

  He puts me on hold briefly while he checks his calendar. Evelyn insists that I stick with the therapy. She believes that it will help me, and with the threat of a pending trial looming overhead, she insists that it will also help my case.

  Now that she believes me that Gabe is still alive, our urgency to find him has become paramount. I have to keep up appearances and not let on that Gabe is still out there, watching, waiting. In playing my part in this, the therapy is a must, even if only for show.

  “Yes, I do. How’s three o’clock for you?”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Dr. Bryer.”

  “Of course. Ella, you’ve never forgotten or cancelled a session before. Is this because of what we discussed the last time?”

  To evade suspicion that I was doing anything other than fixing my phone today, I decide to allude to the fact that he’s onto something. I need to thwart away any thoughts as to what I might have been up to today so I put on my acting cap.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything but yes, Dr. Bryer. I was very upset after our last session. It just brought up a lot of feelings. I don’t like to think about certain times in my life as you know.”

  “Well, I’ll keep my end of the deal up, ok? We don’t have to discuss any of that again. I think that you’ve really come a long way, and I’d hate to see you stop now.”

  “Thank you,” I say before we get off the phone. I have a sickening feeling in my gut as I drive the remaining short distance home.

  With Chris and Evelyn, and even Bob, I really do feel as if they’re each genuinely trying to help me. I can just sense it. It’s an intuition with each of them. They want to help me because they care about me.

  With Dr. Bryer there’s this steady discomfort that I just can’t shake. I attribute this to therapy. I’ve never been a fan.

  I’m suddenly reminding myself not to trust anyone. I’ve always been far better off living my life this way. Lonely? Yes. Safe? Definitely.

  I pull into the parking garage underneath my building and pull into my spot. I look at the bicycle that once belonged to my husband that now symbolizes that Peter is home. I don’t feel the joy in seeing it here as I have lately.

  It now symbolizes something foreboding. And odd. He certainly has the money to get himself a car. Why doesn’t he? Why is he so happy to live here with me in my place and not get his own?

  I wonder if it’s because he knows he’s only here temporarily. Why set roots when you’re not planning to stay?

  I take a deep breath, pushing all these thoughts out of my head as I exhale. I put on my brightest smile and open the front door.

  When I walk in I see him out on the patio, a beer in one hand, dishtowel over his shoulder, flipping burgers on the BBQ. He looks like the perfect boyfriend. Appearances, as I’ve learned, can be quite deceiving.

  But in doing my part, I walk in with a wide grin across my face and walk out to the patio to join him. I walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around him just the way I do every day when I get home.

  I’m finally learning to remain just one step ahead of the enemy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  DESPERATE PEOPLE

  I am at first surprised when Peter tells me that he’s already spoken with Evelyn, and that she’s coming over tonight for our faux dinner.

  He’d whispered it in my ear when he turned around to face me and give me a kiss. We have been very careful in the apartment since our meeting with Evelyn the other day.

  Every single word and action has been a show for our audience of one, possibly two.

  I’m quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “Be right there,” I yell through the front door as the doorbell rings.

  “Hello,” Evelyn says, very business-like as I open it. Dressed in her usual work attire, a pantsuit and heels, I step back allowing her to come in.

  “You’re just in time for dinner,” Peter chimes in through the open sliding glass door from the patio.

  “Yes, Detective Milner, you have to stay and eat,” I add, as we all put on quite the performance for Gabe and whoever he’s working with.

  “I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to come over and speak with you. I received your message, Ella, and was hoping that we might be able to speak in person.”

  “It’s no intrusion, really, please stay.”

  She agrees according to plan and the stage is set. Peter and I sip Coronas and she remains in character, refusing to drink since she’s on the clock.

  “So, about your message,” she begins. “You’d mentioned that you believe that your husband is still alive.”

  “Yes,” I say. Peter comes in with burgers and all the fixings. He sets everything down on the counter that separates the living room area from the kitchen.

  “I hope everyone’s hungry,” he says. We all nod our heads. “May I get you a water or a soft drink, Detective?”

  “I’ll take a sparkling water if you have one,” she replies. He goes to get it for her.

  “Detective Milner was just asking about Gabe,” I say to Peter as he comes over with her drink. He sits down on the sofa beside me. Evelyn sits across the coffee table from us in one of two large love seats.

  “Yes, it’s quite disturbing really,” he says to her, handing her the glass bottle.

  “I have to be honest with you, Ella. We had this conversation before, months ago, and as I told you then, you’ve been through a trauma and sometimes the mind can play tricks on us.”

  “That’s not what’s happening,” I say quickly. “I know that Gabe is alive, and that he’s trying to frame me for his murder. I know that I’ve said this to you before and that you haven’t believed me, but this time is different. This time I have proof.”

  “What kind of proof?” she asks right on cue. We’d rehearsed this earlier, and so far we’re all right on script.

  “Well, I’ve hired someone to do a little digging and he’s been following Gabe. He’s been taking photographs of him.”

  “He’s altered his appearance, and I swear I wouldn’t have known it was him,” Peter interjects. “But Ella swears it has to be, she can tell by the eyes.”

  “And where are these photos?” Evelyn asks, taking notes down. She has a doubtful look on her face, one that conveys pity for me. She’s playing this up well. If Gabe is watching he believes this for certain.

  “They’re somewhere very safe, on a flash drive. I can get everything to you tomorrow,” I add, going off script. I hadn’t planned to do this, but I’m losing patience, and I very much wa
nt to get this over with as soon as possible. I want my life back.

  Both of them look at me for a split second with stunned expressions.

  “Tomorrow?” she asks, catching herself from telling me off for going against the plan. I was supposed to say that I could get these to her within a few days. We hadn’t wanted to force his hand too quickly.

  I’m hoping that they can both forgive me for this. I’ve essentially made myself a walking target and the plan is now on overdrive.

  “Yes, tomorrow. I can have the photos to you then.”

  Peter gets up to prepare the salad and add the finishing touches to our food. The look in Evelyn’s eyes is one of pure disbelief. We all know what I’ve just done. I admit that it wasn’t wise, but I want to get this done as soon as possible and not drag things out.

  As we sit down at the table to eat, we each keep up the pretense throughout the duration of the meal. After we’re through, Evelyn asks me to walk out with her to her car. She wants to speak with me without the possibility of Gabe listening in. I know that I’m in trouble with her.

  “Of course,” I say. “Peter, I’ll be right back up. I’m just going to walk Detective Milner out.”

  My heart is beating rapidly as we walk down the hallway towards the elevator. I can hear her breathing. She’s furious with me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as we get into the elevator.

  “You don’t understand what you’ve done,” she says after a beat. She’s trying to calm herself down.

  “I do, actually.”

  “You’ve forced his hand. He’ll try to kill you tonight. Why in the hell would you do this? If you wanted to kill yourself, I’m sure that you could’ve thought of a much less painful way to do it.”

  “I’m not suicidal,” I explain. “Why drag this out? If I said that I’d get you the proof in three days, there’s no guaranteeing that he’d have waited. We’d just all be sitting on pins and needles longer! This way we know he’ll act within the next few hours. He has to! Don’t you see? This was a much better way to do it!”