by Abbi Cook
I wait to hear the sound of the front door, but then it dawns on me. My prepaid phone is in my purse on the table in the hallway. I frantically try to remember if I closed my purse when I got home and then I hear it.
The sound of the kitchen door closing.
He can't find out about my secret phone! Jumping out of bed, I rush out to the hallway and grab my purse. I hadn't closed it, and the phone is sitting right on top of my wallet. Adam would have been able to see it just by glancing at the table as he walked by!
Hurrying back into the bedroom, I search for a place to hide it. Where does he never go? I consider my closet, but some of his dress shirts are in there because his closet is so small. What if tomorrow he decides he needs one of them? Swiveling my head left and right, I frantically try to think of somewhere he won't look.
The laundry room. He never steps foot in there.
I run around the bed to grab my sister’s diary and then race through the master bath to the laundry. Above the washing machine is a cabinet where I keep the detergent and dryer sheets, along with some old linens I replaced with newer ones last year. I check to make sure the ringer is turned off, along with any sounds and vibrations, and then I hide the phone and the diary under the sheets, making sure to completely cover them just in case my husband decides to visit the laundry room for the first time since we moved into this house.
Just as I hurry back out to the bedroom, I hear him yell my name. "Natalie? Where are you? Are you upstairs?"
My stomach clenches, and I feel like I'm going to vomit at just hearing his voice. I don't answer at first, my attention focused on the sight of me standing in front of my vanity and the mirror showing the marks on my neck now turning a deep purple.
How can I say I know the man I married anymore?
"Natalie?" he yells again. This time my name is tinged with irritation.
"I'm up here," I say in my normal voice. I don't care if he hears me. I don't want to see him.
I hear his foot hit the third stair that always creaks and stop breathing for a moment. Then, seconds later, he opens the bedroom door. He looks surprised to find me there. He's probably confused as to why I haven't yelled down to him that I was up here.
Because I don't want to see you. That's why.
"I was calling your name. Didn't you hear me?" he asks as he walks in and loosens his tie.
"No," I lie. "I was in the bathroom."
We stand there staring at one another in silence for a long moment before he asks, "How was your day?"
Adam never asks me how my day was. He's usually too preoccupied with what he's dealt with all day to care what I've been up to. So why does he suddenly care today, and why is he asking in a way that sounds like he's trying to be nice?
Because he thinks I spent my day with another man?
"It was fine."
I offer nothing more than that briefest of answers. My day has been filled with a number of things, but none of them are anything I can tell him.
He waits for me to continue and then says with a smile, "I thought it would be nice if we went out for dinner. I made reservations at Lawler's."
So now he wants to go out to dinner? Has he forgotten that just one day ago he stood in our kitchen with his hand wrapped around my throat? Or is he hoping dinner out at a nice restaurant will make me forget?
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Adam."
For a moment, I see shock on his face. I've never said no to him. Not for a single thing he ever wanted. I never had any reason to.
Until now.
His expression softens just enough that anyone who didn't know he hired men to kill me and what happened yesterday would think he cares about me. "Natalie, I think it would do us a world of good to get out of this house and enjoy a night out."
He says that in a way that lets me know he fully intends on us going out tonight. Well, if that's the way it has to be, perhaps I should remind him why I might not want to sit across from him at a candlelit dinner like some couple in love.
Touching my neck with my fingertips, I force myself to smile. "I only have the blue scarf over on my vanity, and I have nothing appropriate to wear with it to Lawler's."
And with that, I make my point without ever mentioning the fact that if he takes me out, someone might see the evidence of the kind of man he's become. For a few seconds, he stands there stunned by my subtle but sharp reminder of what he did last night. I don't avert my gaze, staring at him with brazen confidence I shouldn't have. I suspect he thought he'd come home to find me completely happy with his attempt to brush everything under the rug.
I'm surprised when he walks toward me and stops to take my hands in his. "I'm trying to apologize for what happened, Natalie. Give me a chance to at least do that."
My mother's words echo in my head. Give him a chance. They both seem to think he deserves this wonderful chance to make things up to me. What if I don't think he does?
Lowering my head, I quietly explain, "I don't have anything to wear, Adam. I need to wear the scarf or someone will see."
"You have that nice black dress you love. Black goes with blue, doesn't it?"
I look up at him, disappointed to see by the serious look on his face that he didn't hear the irony in what he just said. I used to think my husband was the smartest man I'd ever met. Now I see that was definitely an exaggeration borne out of love.
My mistake.
"I guess."
"Good. We have reservations for six, so get dressed and we'll enjoy a night out. You like that, don't you?"
His smile is forced, but not like he wants to frown as much as he seems to be worried I might still say no. I can tell because while his mouth is telling me he's happy, his eyes are telling me something very different. He thinks I might not forgive him, and he's scared. He should be.
I am.
I don't answer his question because I don't know what to say. While I certainly do like Lawler's, I don't relish the idea of spending the next few hours pretending to be happily married to him.
Two hours of faking it later, Adam pays the bill and we leave the restaurant. The food was incredible, like always. The service was impeccable. And I can't help but think that somewhere between the fear I have of my husband and the anger I have about what he did to me exists the reality of my life.
The man I married feels like a stranger now. Neither the rage-filled man who choked me nor the sweet-talking romantic man who spent the entire time at the restaurant trying to talk to me is the person I married.
I don't know either of those men, and I don't want to know the angry one. The sappy one isn't bad, but he's not my husband. He's just a guiltier version of someone I thought I knew.
We drive home in silence because neither of us seems to have anything to say. I imagine Adam has things he wants to tell me, but I've given him no indication I'm receptive to hearing any of them. I just want to be silent and pretend this isn't my life.
By the time we get back to the house, I sense a change in him. He doesn't seem so eager to please me anymore. I assume that's because I rebuffed him every time he tried in the past two hours. All the better. Pretending must be exhausting for him. I know it is for me.
He parks the car in the garage and says nothing before getting out. I don't follow him immediately, preferring to stay away from him as much as possible. It feels like we're strangers now, and I refuse to take the blame for that like I've taken the blame for him not having a child.
When I finally do get out of the car, I find the house dark. A tiny part of me wonders how a man who loved me so much he wanted to marry me can now be so callous and thoughtless that he doesn't even bother to leave a single light on for me. Then again, he did try to choke the life out of me just twenty-four hours ago, so his lack of thoughtful gestures shouldn't be a surprise.
I don't know how to process how I feel about Adam, my marriage, or my life now. I've been brought up to see marrying a good man as the prize, but now all I seem to have gotten was a life
in which very little belongs to me.
What I said to Claire yesterday comes back to me, and I chuckle standing there in my dark kitchen. All I own is my body and my crazy mind. It's true. I own nothing else. None of what surrounds me in that house would come with me if I left. It's all his. I truly only possess myself.
The problem is that's never meant much. I was supposed to grow up, marry a good man, have children, and live happily ever after. I thought I mastered the first two, but these past few weeks have shown me Adam’s not that man.
Not that marrying him was much of an achievement. I did little other than say yes to him when he asked me to marry him. Much older than me, he offered everything I'd been taught was needed to have a good life. So I said yes and prepared to have a child and the happiness that's supposed to come from being married with children.
Of course, that didn't happen. Now I’m thankful it didn’t. No child needs to grow up with a violent father and a mother who has hallucinations. Those words repeat in my mind, but for the first time, I chastise myself for thinking that. Those two character traits aren't equal. Even more, in time, I might unlock the secret of why I'm having these waking dreams, and then I wouldn't be someone's mother who has hallucinations.
But Adam will always be violent. The marks on my neck will turn that putrid shade of yellowish-green that my bruises always change to after the dark purple and then they'll go away, but I'll never forget how I stood there against the refrigerator gasping for air as his fingers squeezed against my windpipe. I'll never forget the look of pure rage in his eyes as he watched me struggle to breathe, in complete control of my life and choosing to make me think he would end it at any second.
I close my eyes as tears well in them, but I will them away. Tears won't help me. I'm not sure what will, but tears definitely won't.
When I open my eyes, I look into the living room almost expecting to see some scene my mind has conjured up, but there's nothing but darkness. I realize I'm not afraid of my hallucinations or waking dreams or whatever they should be called anymore. In fact, I'm a little disappointed one didn't happen at this moment.
I don't want to go upstairs to bed and lie next to Adam, but then I think about my phone and the diary. He can't find them. I must make sure of that. So I slowly walk up the stairs, hitting the third one and hearing the satisfying creak it makes before I walk the rest of the way to our bedroom.
As if the universe knows how much I don't want to face him, I find my husband sound asleep. For the first time tonight, I let myself relax and a smile lifts the corners of my mouth a tiny bit. I awoke this morning with the thought of what he could have done to me in my sleep, but I'm ending this day with something more than fear.
Somewhere inside me, I feel strength. I must have that to make it to tomorrow so I can go to my session with Dr. Trevino. No matter if Adam called him or not, I need to talk to him about what happened at my mother's today.
I just hope he's willing to listen now.
Chapter Forty-One
Alexei
Natalie’s call replays in my mind, making getting anything done next to impossible. Of course, I knew something was wrong. Samson follows her whenever she leaves the house so I can have eyes on her at all times. I don’t trust that husband of hers not to try to kill her again, whether it’s with some fucking bargain-basement guy or his own two goddamned hands.
The thought of him strangling her makes rage bubble up inside me, and I stand up from behind my desk before I clear every fucking thing but my laptop off the top of it. Adam Anchoff doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. His wife may be too sweet to do anything to him, but I’m not.
And his time is coming.
More than once, I’ve scolded myself for not getting rid of him already, but I can’t put Natalie in the middle of this job. As the wife, she’ll be the first person the cops investigate, so I have to make sure she’s nowhere close when I do it. I want them to see her as what she’ll need to pretend to be.
The devastated wife. At least for a short time while they look for his killer. Not that they’ll ever find me. They don’t call me one of the best for nothing.
Then he’ll be gone, and she’ll be mine. Completely.
I get lost in thought about what that will be like until my phone pulls me from my daydreams. Looking down at the screen, I see it’s Samson and quickly check the time.
6:12.
“What’s going on?” I ask, every cell in my body on red alert.
Anchoff is likely already home from work, unless he’s decided to stop off at the side chick’s apartment after a day at the office. If Samson’s calling, something’s wrong.
All of this runs through my head to a singular thought that pervades my mind every second of the day. Natalie better be okay.
“He left with her about twenty minutes ago. They looked like they were going out to dinner or something like that.”
My hands curl into fists at the mere thought of her behaving like she’s his wife in public. God damnit! Why the fuck can’t she just leave him? Does she want to wait until he finds someone else to fucking kill her?
“So?” I snap at Samson, effectively shooting the messenger because I’m jealous. “I don’t recall telling you to call me when nothing fucking happens. Did I?”
For a moment, he’s silent and I wince at how I sounded right there. I can’t let my feelings for Natalie cloud my relationship with Samson. I need him to keep her safe, and even more than that, he’s the one soul I trust in the world with my work.
“Something’s happening, boss. A couple minutes after they left, a van pulled up to the house. A guy’s been in there for about ten minutes. I think he’s installing a security system.”
I stop pacing and glance at the picture of Natalie up on my laptop. “What kind of security system? Is he looking to see who’s coming on the property?”
“Not sure, Alexei. He walked into the house when he got here and hasn’t come out again.”
“Then why do you think he’s there about a security system?” I ask, unsure Samson isn’t just bored after watching the house for hours since she returned from her mother’s.
“Because the van says Eagle Eye Security Systems on the side,” he answers flatly.
Well, thanks for burying the lead.
“If he’s only working inside, he’s installing security in there, which means cameras, at the very least,” I say with disgust.
Anchoff is planning to watch her every move. He’s sure she’s seeing someone else, and even though he paid to have me kill her, he wants to make sure she’s not stepping out in the last days of her life.
Dick.
“I’m betting he’s going for audio too,” Samson says with more than a hint of admiration in his voice. “I know I would if I was wiring up my own place.”
“And since the house is in his name, all he needed to do was give them permission to install the devices. He doesn’t need to get her permission,” I mumble to myself.
Desperate men do desperate things. He paid two hundred thousand dollars to be rid of her, and now he’s likely paid a pretty penny to wire up the house to spy on her every minute of the day.
Love certainly is fucking grand for this guy.
“You want me to impede his efforts any?” Samson asks and then punctuates his question with a chuckle.
“Itching to do something more than just watch tonight?” I say, matching his laugh with my own. “Don’t do anything. Let him finish the job he’s been paid to do tonight. The next time the house is empty, go in and have a good time fucking up the system any way you want. Sound good?”
“Sounds like my tomorrow might be far more exciting than the last week. How fucked up do I get to be?”
“Don’t trash the place, for Christ’s sake. She has to live there. Just make sure nothing works the way it’s supposed to. I don’t want him to be able to watch her every move or listen to anything she says when she’s alone there. This guy’s a real piece of work. He hires me to
get rid of her, and then the second he gets a whiff of another man around her, he’s got some guy setting up command base central to make sure he can spy on her day and night.”
“Sounds like he can’t make up his fucking mind to me.”
And right there is the simple truth. Anchoff doesn’t love her, but he doesn’t want anyone else to either. Too bad for him I’ve decided something else is going to happen.
“Keep an eye on things and let me know if there’s any issue when they get home.”
“Got it, boss.”
I toss my phone onto the desk and return to pacing. I hate her sitting in some restaurant with him playing the pretty perfect wife for him and the rest of the world. She hates it too, so why the hell does she do it?
Running my hand through my hair, I take a deep breath and calm down. She feels like she needs to do this, for what reason I don’t understand. But what I have to do is clear.
Adam Anchoff has to fucking go.
Chapter Forty-Two
Natalie
For the second day in a row, I awake alone in bed and the first thought to enter my brain is that I slept next to someone who could very well kill me in my sleep. As my chest tightens from that lovely idea, I remember that this day does bring with it some salvation. My appointment with Dr. Trevino is only hours away.
I take my time showering and dressing, and I check to make sure my phone and my sister's diary are still safely hidden away before I make my way down to the kitchen. Not that I can eat. Between the feeling of dread I have being in the same house with Adam and the nervous anticipation about my therapist appointment, my stomach feels like it's twisted like a pretzel.
As I turn into the kitchen, I smell the faint scent of cooked bacon. I immediately look to my right and see Adam sitting in the dining room eating breakfast. Among the multitude of ideas that run through my head is the fact that we only eat in that room for special occasions like holidays. Why is he sitting in there, and an even better question is why is he still here at nearly nine in the morning?