Perception: A Bittersweet Romance Suspense Novel

by Kendra Leigh

  “Looked after me?” His perception of our life together is so deluded I want to scream in his face how crazy he is. “You terrorized me, Nick. All my adult life, do you not see that? Everything that’s happening to you now, you’ve brought on yourself. I’ve not taken anything from you. I’ve just taken back my life. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to get out of my house.”

  “Your house?”

  “Yes, Nick, mine.”

  “Did you really think I was going to let you have this place too?”

  “You don’t have a choice. You signed the papers.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” he mocks in a high-pitched voice. “Um, yes I do!” He holds out his arm and for the first time I notice what he’s carrying. A gasoline can.

  Fear seizes me in its grip as it dawns on me what he plans to do. I need to get out.

  “I came to torch the place, Sav. You being in it while it burns … well, that’s just a fucking bonus.”

  I make a run for it, head down and pushing him in the side as I try to squeeze past him through the doorway. He stumbles, but as he does, he makes a grab for my hair and begins to tug me around the room with him, laughing as he waves the gasoline can around, the fuel splashing everywhere. My instinct is just to try and stay upright as I’m pulled, to hold on to the fist that grips my hair to lessen the pain. To survive. But then suddenly, my training kicks in. Surviving isn’t enough, not when you’re up against the Devil. I have to fight.

  I gain my footing, and transferring all the weight into my left foot, I raise my right and kick back with my heel as hard as I can, making contact with his knee. He buckles as he lets out a wail of pain, automatically releasing his grip on my hair, and without hesitation, I run.

  “You fucking bitch!”

  The curse rings through the darkening hallways of the house as I dart down the corridor to the stairs. Despite my stalling him, I feel him gaining on me, his hands flailing in front as he grabs for me. I’m not going to make it. Instead, I turn on him, my arms coming up to defend myself from the onslaught of punches. He lands one on my cheek, and I stumble back toward the banister at the top of the stairs, my hands reaching back to grip the handrail. He comes at me like a charging bull. Using the handrail for leverage, I kick out with both feet and send him flying against the wall at the top of the stairs. The blow winds him, and he falls to his knees, but he’s blocking my advance to the stairs. In seconds he’s up, standing tall and menacing, he knows I’ve nowhere to go. I have no choice. Using every bit of force, I deliver a perfect roundhouse kick. Hopping to my left foot, I swing my right leg around in a semi-circular motion, striking him dead center in the chest with the front of my foot. The impact sends him hurtling down the stairs, landing in a tangled heap at the bottom. Breathless from the exertion, I stare down at him. He’s still. Not even a whimper. There are two more gasoline cans just inside the front door—he wasn’t lying when he said he planned to torch the place.

  Cautiously, I move downwards, one step at a time. It’s almost dark outside now, so the only light is from the street lamps and the moonlight coming in through the windows. I can see the shape of him lying still on the floor, my eyes scanning for any sign of movement as I skirt around him to the door, reaching for the handle. It’s locked. How can it be locked? I think back frantically. I took the deadbolt off and opened the door then put the keys in the other side ready to lock up behind me, but then I saw the weather and dashed upstairs for a jacket. He must have taken the keys from the outside and locked it as he entered. I’m going to have to search him. Moving tentatively, I bend down and reach for his pockets, patting them gently. The back pockets of his jeans are empty. He’s lying facedown, so I can’t get to his front pockets—not unless I turn him. Hands on his hip, I roll him over with one hard push. The keys are protruding from his jeans pocket. My eyes flick to his face to check he’s still out of it. At first I think I’m seeing things, but then the whites of his eyes, stark in the dimly lit hall, stare back at me with unmistakable menace.

  “Boo!” His voice explodes in my ears, fear coursing through my veins.

  I leap back away from him, scrambling to get to my feet as he lunges for me. His movements are slow and pained; he’s injured from the fall—that much is clear. In the darkness, I make for the sitting room and take cover behind the sofa. I can hear him grunting from the effort of moving, cuss words hissing from under his breath as his low-pitched malevolent laugh begins to ripple through the silence.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  I hear the splash of fuel as it hits the floor, the air acrid with the stench of fumes. I’m trapped. The only keys to the house are in Nick’s pocket; I gave the realtor the other set. Remembering my cell phone in my back pocket, I reach for it. Without thinking, I swipe the screen. My recent calls list comes to life before my eyes, the brightness illuminating my hiding place. As my finger grazes over the last call, I am dragged to my feet by the hood of my jacket. He lands a blow to my stomach, and I double over but stay on my feet, the phone still clasped in my hand. Blindly, I stumble back through the hallway to the kitchen, heading for the drawer with the knives, but he’s gaining on me. From the back, he grips me and hurls me facedown onto the table, my forehead smashing into the wood. I feel the sole of his shoe drive into the back of my thigh and agony tears through my body. For seconds I can’t hear or see anything, the pain has disabled me, but then the light in the kitchen snaps on. Nick continues to sprinkle the gasoline around the room, and through my skewed vision he turns to face me. Putting down the cans, he plucks a lighter from his pocket and flicks the lid, his thumb teasing the spark wheel.

  “Almost time to light the fire, Savannah.” He reaches out, his hand stroking over my head and down my back to my buttocks. “Be a shame to waste this last moment, though, don’t you think? While you’re all sprawled out and ready for me like this.”

  I turn my head away from him as I hear a familiar jangling, the chilling sound of Nick unbuckling his belt. Behind me, I feel him close in against my thighs, his hands fumbling to pull down my jeans. It’s only then I notice the cell phone in my hand, the screen lit up with Jackson’s horror stricken face.

  No!

  He can’t see me. Not like this. With all my might, I throw the phone hard against the wall, watching as it splinters into dozens of tiny pieces.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Jackson

  I CAN’T BREATHE. I CAN’T fucking breathe. It’s like a tidal wave of terror is crashing over me, sucking me under into a dark, desperate abyss. The hallway of the house is on fire, but it’s spreading rapidly. Soon it will be an inferno, and all I can do is watch while the officers attempt to break the front window.

  “Do something!” I scream at the police officers as they try to hold me back. “Fucking do something or let me go so I can.”

  “We are, Mr. Dean. It’s the only way in. The firefighters are on their way. As soon as they have it under control, we can gain entry.”

  All I can see is her face—my Sparrow—that animal pinning her down on the table. Anger explodes in my mind, hopelessness tearing me apart from the inside … It’s the only way in. The officer’s words unravel in my mind.

  “No, it’s not. It’s not the only way in.” Just as the fire trucks turn the corner, I shrug free from the officer’s grip and break into a run, following the path I took the day I stole around back of the house, through the yards of the neighboring houses.

  “Savannah! Savannah!” I scream as we approach the house. The flames in back, though not as fierce, are spreading through into the kitchen, but the whole place is engulfed in smoke. “Savannah!”

  A small voice reaches my ears. “I’m here. Jackson, I’m here.”

  Through the darkness and the smoke, I see her, her tiny frame pushing through the opening of the tiny basement window. I rush forward, my arms gripping hers as I start to pull her through the impossibly narrow gap. Suddenly, I feel resistance, as if something is hol
ding her back, and over her shoulder I see him, his hand gripping her foot in an attempt to pull her back inside. In that second, my eyes meet hers. “You can do it, Savannah.”

  Her expression is fierce as she forces her free foot back, kicking it straight into Nick’s face. He disappears into the smoke. Without pause I yank her free, pulling her into my arms. Police officers and firefighters urge us back away from the house.

  “Is there anyone else in there?” A fire officer shouts.

  We stare at each other, there in the ferocity of the night, the light from the blaze illuminating our faces as we silently deliberate Nick’s fate.

  “Miss?” the officer asks again.

  I nod gently at Savannah.

  “The basement. He’s in the basement.”

  * * *

  “You can see her now,” the nurse says as she directs me to a side room. “She’s inhaled a bit of smoke, but she seems fine. Just a few cuts and bruises. The police will be in to see her shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  The nurse closes the door behind her. Savannah is propped up against some pillows on a bed, her eyes closed. She looks exhausted. Once again, her face is bruised, a small cut above her eye, but it’s nothing compared to last time.

  “Something tells me you put up a fight,” I say quietly.

  Savannah’s eyes open as she turns to me, her lips curling into a smile. “Jia will be so proud of me.”

  I can’t help but smile at her cheerfulness. “I’m proud of you.”

  “You should be. I kicked his ass.” She chuckles and I join in—until a vision swims into focus before my eyes and I feel my heart tear wide open.

  “Did he …?”

  She shakes her head emphatically. “No. I promise you. He didn’t get the chance.”

  Relief courses through me as I finally release the breath I’ve been holding since her face lit up the screen in my car. I’d finished work and as I’d only spoken to Savannah half an hour before, I called Eric and told him I would pick her up. I set off and was partway to the house when my cell rang with a video call from her. At first, I couldn’t see anything, just darkness and noise, then suddenly there was light and her petrified face came into view. She was face down on the table. I could hear that bastard in the background. Right up until the screen froze and the line went dead.

  I heard every word he said.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Savannah

  THE DETECTIVE STANDS IN THE doorway, his hands on his hips. “I’ve just got a couple more questions, Ms. Marshall, if you’re up to it.”

  Jackson scowls at him. “The asshole just tried to kill her. She’s supposed to be resting.”

  I lay my hand on his to reassure him I’m okay. “How can I help you, Detective?”

  I’ve already given him an account of everything that happened, how Nick got in and doused the house in fuel and about the fight that took place upstairs. I explained about the attempted rape and how I managed to fight him off. How I’d made it to the basement doorway, hoping to lock myself in, but that Nick was behind me in seconds and we were tumbling down the stairs. He might as well burn with me, is what I told the Detective Nick had said. He’d rather die than do life for my murder. And so he’d flicked the spark wheel and thrown his lighter as far into the belly of the house as he could. The instant eruption of flames had made him lose his footing and he slipped backward down the steps. The fall had broken his leg. The detective has spoken to my doctors, and he’s seen evidence of my injuries—plus the photographs of the attack on me from a couple of months ago. I’m told it’s enough to send him to prison for a long time.

  “He said you struck the match. You started the fire,” the detective says.

  Jackson is on his feet instantly. “The fuck? I suppose she punched herself in the face too, huh? Got that shoe imprint bruised into her skin because she stamped on her own leg? Jesus Christ! Unless you’ve got some reasonable questions, I suggest you get the fuck out of here.”

  The detective raises his hands apologetically and backs through the door, disappearing down the hallway.

  “Can you believe that son-of-a-bitch?” Jackson says, exasperated.

  “He’s just doing his job. He had to ask the question.”

  “No, he really didn’t.”

  “Actually, he did,” I say contritely.

  “What do you mean?”

  I look around for my clothes and spot them in a heap on a chair in the corner of the room. Glancing at the door to check if we’re alone, I motion to my clothes. “Pass me my hoodie, would you?”

  Jackson looks confused but he grabs the sweatshirt and hands it to me. I reach into the pocket, my fingers folding around a slim piece of card. The matchbook Annie gave me the day we met in the park. I hold them out to Jackson.

  “Might be best if we get rid of these.”

  Jackson examines the item. “They’re from the diner Annie works at. How have you got these?”

  “Annie gave them to me, so I’d know where to find her if I wanted to talk. I didn’t think I’d ever have to actually use them.”

  He looks at me dubiously before flicking open the book. One match has been torn from the set. “You set the fire?”

  I nod.

  Horrified, he looks from me to the matches shaking his head. “Why? Why would you put yourself in danger like that? Jesus, Savannah, did you … did you intend to kill yourself in that fire?”

  Unable to believe where his thought process is going with this, I shake my head adamantly. “God no. No. Not myself.” He looks shocked now. I let out a sigh. “I don’t know exactly what I intended. Not at first, anyway. I just wanted him to feel it. I wanted to see it in his eyes.”

  “What?”

  “Fear.”

  He nods as if he understands. “Tell me what happened in there, Savannah.”

  I look off into the middle distance, the horror of the past couple of hours sliding into focus.

  I heard the sound of his belt buckle and my insides roiled with familiar dread. I could feel the weight of him pushing up against me, my jeans scraping painfully past my hips. The image of the man I love, his face fraught with fear for my safety, shattering into fragments because it’s all I could do to protect him from what was about to happen, and suddenly all I could think was I’ll die first. I will die before I allow this man to rape me ever again. Mustering all my energy, I twisted my body and at the same time drove my elbow into the side of Nick’s head. As he reared back with the force, I kicked out and he stumbled back, creating enough distance between us for me to make it to the basement door. Just as he caught up with me, I grabbed the handle and yanked it open, smashing the door into his face. He went down, crumpling at my feet. But he needed to stay down; he was only dazed and within seconds, he could be back on his feet. Using all my effort, I dragged him into the doorway, jamming his leg in the opening before slamming the door hard. I heard a crack as he screamed out in agony, and as it rang through the quiet of the house, I lifted my foot and kicked him into the basement stairwell. Like the snake that he is, he slithered rather than fell down the steps, his hands grappling for each step to ease his descent into the dark. Tentatively, I reached out, flicking the light on, and the basement lit up. His evil eyes stared defiantly up at me from the bottom of the steps where he lay. Blood was smeared across his cheek from where the collision with the door broke his nose, his leg lay at a weird angle, and I could see from the effort on his sweat-soaked face that he was struggling to fight against the pain. Even so, his arrogance won through and he began to laugh.

  “Well, who knew? My little wife’s not so much of a push over after all. Where have you been hiding her all these years, Sav? This feisty side of you? You should have shown her more often. You know how it turns me on when you fight back.”

  “I’m not your little anything. I never have been.” I limped slowly down the steps toward him.

  “Oh, come on. You’ve always been my little puppet.” He spat the word an
d started to laugh again. “And you’ve loved every minute of it. Women like you just need keeping in line, and that’s what I did. When I said clean, you cleaned. And when I said get on your back and get fucked … you did!” He was laughing hysterically. So hard that he didn’t even notice when I made it down the last few steps and raised my foot above his groin.

  “Look who’s on his back now, Nick.” I drove my foot down hard, grinding it into his disgusting genitals like I was stamping out a cigarette butt. “I’d say you look pretty fucked from where I’m standing too.”

  His cries rang out through the basement, eyes bulging from his head in agony as they filled with tears, hands blindly thrashing at my foot. “Pleeeease, Savannah … no.”

  “Look at you, you pathetic fuck. For all my blood, sweat, and tears, I finally get to see yours.” I bent and smeared the grotesque mixture around his contorted face. “Jesus, you’re ugly.” I dig deep for all the hateful things he’s ever said to me to throw back at him. “For years you’ve been telling me how revolting I am to look at, and all the time it was you. You’re a vile, repugnant, ugly little man. You disgust me! You’ve always disgusted me.” Standing upright, I rammed my foot into his ribs. He screamed out again, snot and tears dribbling down his face. “Give me the keys.”

  “Fuck you,” he hissed.

  I lay my foot on his injured leg, pressing down with all my weight.

  “Arrrragghhh. I should have fucking killed you, you bitch.”

  “Yes. Maybe you should have. Maybe that was your mistake, Nick, because now the tables have turned. Now I’m in charge. You … are at my mercy.”

  His face rippled into a sneer again, but before he managed to turn it into a laugh, I leaned my weight on to his leg, rocking back and forth. Sweat poured profusely from his pores, the whites of his eyes shot through with blood, a scream hissing through clenched teeth. “You’re fucking twisted, you sick bitch.”