She walked through the master bedroom, thinking Nell had surprisingly good taste when given a palate that did not include orange and blue. A huge sleigh bed with a homemade quilt was angled out from the corner, giving a great view of the sunny backyard. An antique rocker was in the corner, and a large chest of drawers had a television on top.
Like the bedroom, the bathroom was neat and tidy. The towels matched the quilt on the bed, and the throw rugs on the floor complimented everything. Sara put the Coke bottle on the edge of the tub as she used the toilet, covering a large yawn with the back of her hand. She was trying to peel off a piece of toilet tissue from the roll when she heard someone in the house. Like some sort of barn animal, Sara had left the bathroom door open, and she rushed to wipe and pull up her pants just as a loud crash came from the front room. Without thinking, she opened her mouth to ask if anyone needed help, but stopped when she heard a suspicious-sounding noise.
Carefully, she walked into the bedroom as another loud crash echoed through the house. Whoever it was had made it to the kitchen. Doors slammed closed one after the other as someone searched the cabinets, just as Sara had done in Jessie’s kitchen the day before.
She glanced around, realizing she was trapped in the back of the house. The bathroom led to the bedroom, and other than the window, the only way out was through the hall. Footsteps padded down the hallway as she considered this, and Sara ran back to the bathroom and jumped into the tub, hiding behind the curtain just as the intruder walked into the bedroom.
Whoever was here was looking for something—that much was obvious. The closet door was opened and stuff was shoved off the shelves and onto the floor. Sara felt a bead of sweat roll down her back as the intruder entered the bathroom.
She could see the shadow of a large man standing by the toilet, a few inches from where she hid. The light cast him in shadow, and even though Sara knew he could not see her, she felt exposed, as if any minute she would be found. The man reached down and took something off the edge of the tub. The Coke bottle. He would see that there was condensation, feel the refrigerated drink inside.
He said, “Who’s there?”
Sara put her hand to the back of the shower, feeling the cool tiles. Her mind flashed back to that bathroom in Atlanta, where her attacker had left her handcuffed to the stall. She could not forget the sensation of the cold tiles pressing into her bare knees. She had stared at those tiles for what seemed like hours as she waited to be found. Her mouth had been taped shut to keep her from screaming, and there was nothing she could do but watch her life bleed out onto the floor.
The curtain screeched back on the rod, and she jumped, pressing her back to the wall.
Robert stood there with the Coke in his hand. He was obviously angry to see her. “What are you doing here?”
Sara put her hand to her chest, relief washing over her like a flood. She lost it quickly, though, as she realized that she was not the one who did not belong in the house. Why was Robert here? What was he looking for?
She tried, “I was…”
Robert looked around, as if an excuse were hidden somewhere in the bathroom. “Get out of there, Sara.”
She wanted to do as he said, but her feet would not move.
“What do you want?” he asked her. When she did not answer, he put the bottle down on the counter and started rooting through the bathroom cabinet.
“Nell should be back soon,” Sara told him as he threw towels and boxes onto the floor.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Possum took them all to see the dollar movie and out to eat.”
Sara finally managed to move. Robert would not hurt her; he was Jeffrey’s friend. She lifted her foot over the edge of the tub, saying, “Jeffrey should—”
“He won’t be back for a while,” Robert said, then, “Don’t go anywhere, Sara.”
Still, she kept moving, heading toward the door. “I’m just—”
“Don’t move!” he ordered, the sound of his voice echoing off the walls. There was a wild look to his eyes, and she slowly realized how desperate he was.
She fought back the panic welling inside of her. “I have to go.”
He stood, blocking her way. “Go where?”
“Jeffrey’s waiting on me.”
“Where?”
“At the station.”
He stared a hole right through her. “You’re lying, Sara. Why are you lying to me?” When she did not answer immediately, he yelled, “Why are you here, goddammit? You’re not supposed to—”
“I-I…” she stammered, looking for the right words. She had never felt scared of Robert before, but like a lead weight, it fell on her that he was wanted for murder. Looking at him now, she wondered if Jeffrey was wrong. Maybe if he was backed into a corner, Robert was capable of killing.
“Come with me,” he said, grabbing her by the arm, not giving her a choice. He threw Sara toward the rocking chair, ordering, “Sit down.”
Sara tried to refuse, but her knees gave out and she sank into the rocker.
Robert went to the large chest of drawers under the window, close enough to stop her if she tried to move. The television had tinfoil-wrapped clothes hangers bent awkwardly to form antennae. Robert opened the top drawer and the tinfoil made a dry, scritchy noise.
“What are you looking for?” she asked. “Money? Do you need money? I can give you—”
He was on her in a flash, his hands grasping the arms of the rocker, his face less than an inch from hers. “I don’t want your fucking money! Do you think money’s gonna solve this? Is that what you think?”
“I—”
“Dammit!” He pushed away from her, the chair rocking violently. In a flash, his calm returned, and he went back to the chest of drawers. Sara watched as he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small black box that she instantly recognized as a gun safe.
She jumped out of the chair, but stopped when he turned on her, the same angry expression on his face. She pressed into the wall, trying to edge her way to the door as he dialed the combination on the safe. She should move faster. Why wasn’t she running? Why couldn’t she move?
He seemed calmer now that he had found what he was looking for. “Where’re you going?”
“Why do you need a gun?”
“I’m leaving town,” he said, using his thumb to dial in the combination. The safe popped open, and he took out the gun. “Six–thirteen, the final score for the last game we played against Comer.”
“I should—”
He pointed the gun at her. “Don’t go, Sara.”
Again, her mind flashed back to the terror she had endured in the bathroom at Grady Hospital, bleeding from everywhere, unable to move her arms or legs, unable to get help. She would not—could not—be trapped like that again. There would be no surviving after that.
He ordered, “Sit down,” indicating the chair.
She wanted to be calm, but her heart would not obey. “I won’t tell anyone,” she told him, realizing that she was begging.
“I can’t trust you to do that,” he said, using the gun to wave her back to the chair. “Come over here and sit down.” He waited for her to comply. When she didn’t, he added, “I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
She stared at the gun, willing her words to be true. “It’s not loaded.”
He pulled back the slide with a sharp, metallic click. “It is now.”
She stayed where she was. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” he told her, then, “Tie you up.”
Sara’s heart jumped into her throat. She could not be tied up. She would go crazy if she was confined like that. She tried to take a breath, but realized that was the problem. She was breathing too much, too hard.
“I need a head start,” he told her, though she had not asked. He pointed the gun at her again. “Get away from the door, Sara. I will shoot you.”
“Why?” she asked, praying that logic would kick in, but also w
ondering if this was the last thing Luke Swan saw before his head was blown apart.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, as if that would reassure her despite the fact that he was pointing a gun at her chest. “But you’d tell Jeffrey and he’d find me.”
Sara felt her hands start to tremble. She would hyperventilate soon if she did not get her breathing under control. “I don’t know where Jeffrey is.”
“He’ll be back here soon enough,” Robert told her, going through the closet again, still keeping the gun trained on her. He kicked out a small toolbox. “He can’t leave you alone. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Sara gauged the distance to the hallway. Robert was still an athlete. He could make a dash as quickly as she could. A bullet would be even faster, but she had to take the chance. She took a small, almost imperceptible step, closing her distance to the door.
Robert snapped open the toolbox with one hand. He kept his eyes on Sara even as he pulled out a roll of silver duct tape.
Her mouth opened, but she could not take a breath. Her attacker had used the same kind of tape to keep Sara quiet while he raped her. She had been unable to scream as he assaulted her.
“I wish there was something else I could use,” Robert said. “This is going to hurt when it comes off.”
“Please,” she said, her voice shaking. “Lock me in the closet.”
“You’ll still yell.”
“I won’t,” she promised him, her legs shaking so badly she thought her knees might give out. “I swear I won’t yell,” she repeated, tears streaming down her face at the thought of the tape touching her skin. Somehow, she managed to take another step toward the door. She held out her hands to him, saying, “I promise I’ll be quiet. I won’t say a word.”
The fact that she was on the verge of being out of control seemed to make him even more calm, and he spoke to her in what sounded like a reasonable voice. “I can’t trust you to do that.”
She barked a sob. “Oh, please, Robert. Please don’t do this. Please…”
“Don’t—”
Sara bolted toward the door, heading into the hallway. Robert went from a crouch to a dead run, and she felt his fingertips brush against her arm as she passed by. Sara dared not look over her shoulder as she rounded into the living room. She was almost to the front door when hands clamped around her waist, slamming her into the coffee table as Robert tackled her from behind. Possum’s Auburn memorabilia fell to the ground and shattered, the thick glass top of the table cracking it neatly in two underneath their combined weight. The wind was knocked out of Sara, and she felt her lungs lurch in her chest.
“Goddammit,” Robert said, jerking her up by the waist. Sara’s arms flew up, and her feet scattered glass all over the room as he dragged her back toward the bedroom.
“Please—” she begged, digging her fingernails into the back of his hand. She clawed for anything to stop him, hanging onto the wall, knocking down pictures and plants. She grabbed onto the doorjamb as he tried to force her into the bedroom and she felt her fingernails tear as he finally managed to shove her inside.
“Jesus,” Robert yelled, dropping Sara onto the floor as she raked a chunk of skin off his arm. She scrambled to get up, screaming in her head but unable to make any noises come out of her mouth. Her hands were bleeding, but she would fight him more if she had to.
“Stop it!” he warned, kicking her feet out from under her. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the door and he picked her up by the middle again.
Sara finally managed to yell, “Let me go!” just as Robert threw her back on the floor. Her head banged against the wood and she felt her stomach roll, her eyelids flutter.
“Sara,” he said, helping her sit up. He cradled her head in his lap, saying, “Stop this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Robert, please…” she begged, fighting not to be sick. She tried to get up but there was no strength left in her body. All of her muscles felt useless and she could not make her eyes focus on anything.
Robert rested her head back onto the floor and dragged the rocking chair from the other side of the room. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, gently picking her up off the floor. Her arms and legs flapped like a rag doll’s as he placed her in the chair. She tasted vomit in the back of her throat, and without warning, the room began to pitch again.
“Don’t pass out,” he told her, though she wondered how he could stop her. Sara had never passed out in her life, but her head was reeling so much that she thought she might be concussed.
She took deep breaths even though her ribs ached from the effort. Robert stared at her, watching her every move. After what seemed like several minutes, Sara’s vision cleared, and her stomach stopped feeling so tight.
“Just got the wind knocked out of you,” Robert said, obviously relieved. Still, he kept his hand on her chest for a minute, making sure she could sit up on her own. He kept a careful eye on her as he stretched out a strip of tape. He pulled down her sock, then wrapped the tape around her ankle and the leg of the chair.
Sara watched, incapable of doing anything to stop him.
“I can’t go to prison,” he said. “I thought I could, but I just can’t. I can’t have another night like last night.”
He taped her other leg to the chair, which began to rock. Sara felt her stomach turn, but he stopped the rocking, then sat back on his heels, looking at her. “I want you to tell Possum I’ll send him money when I get settled. He’s worked his ass off to get that store, and I’m not going to have him lose it because I jumped bail.”
Sara strained her legs against the tape, feeling her circulation being cut off. “Robert, please don’t do this.”
He fed out another strip of tape. “Put your hand on the arm of the chair.”
Sara did not move, and he lifted her arm by the wrist and put it on the chair for her.
“I can’t do this,” she said, feeling like the life was seeping out of her. “I can’t do it.”
He stared at her with curiosity, as if she was overreacting. He offered, “I won’t tape your mouth if you promise not to yell for help.”
She broke into tears again, so grateful for this small concession that she would have done anything for him.
“Please don’t cry,” he said, taking out his handkerchief to wipe her tears. She thought of Jeffrey and his handkerchief, and how gentle he was with her. Sara started to cry even harder.
“Jesus,” he whispered, as if Sara was punishing him. “It won’t be long,” he said. “Don’t be like this, Sara. I won’t hurt you.” He looked startled for a moment, saying, “You cut your eye.”
She blinked, just now noticing the blood clouding her vision.
“Damn, I’m so sorry,” he said, wiping the blood. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean for anybody to get hurt.”
She swallowed, feeling some of her strength come back. Maybe she could reason with him. Maybe she could talk him into stopping now. She would promise not to yell, not to call anyone, if he would just leave her arm free.
Robert folded the handkerchief into a neat square. She tried to think of a way to get to him, to make him see that she was not a threat. “I’ll tell Possum about the money,” she said. “Who else? Who else do you want me to talk to? What about Jessie?”
He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and picked up the tape. “I tried to write a letter, but I’ve never been much good at that kind of thing.”
“She’ll want to know,” Sara insisted. “Tell me, and I’ll tell her.”
“Jessie doesn’t care about me.”
“She does,” Sara pressed. “I know she does.”
He exhaled slowly, using his teeth to cut off a strip of tape.
Sara bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
“I tried to make things work,” he told her, taking her wrist. Sara tried to jerk away, but he forced her hand down to the arm of the chair.
She stared at his fingers as he tape
d her arm, feeling such deep despair that it almost took her breath away.
He sat back on his heels again. “That’s not so bad.” He reached out his hand to touch her mouth. “You bit your lip,” he told her. Sara jerked away without thinking, and a look of hurt flashed in his eyes, as if he had not been the one responsible for all of this.
“I’m not what you think,” he said. “I really did love her.”
“Please let me go,” she begged.
He rubbed his hands on his thighs. The gun was on the floor beside him, but Sara was hardly in a position to reach down and grab it. He had taped her tightly to the chair.
He repeated, almost to himself, “I really did love her.”
Sara stared at the gun as if she could will it into her hand. She tried to fight the tremor in her voice when she said, “You say that like you don’t anymore.”
“I don’t know what went wrong.” He gave a weak smile. “What tells you in your heart that you love Jeffrey?”
“I don’t know,” Sara answered, unable to take her eyes off the gun. Finally, she forced herself to look at him, saying, “Robert, please. Don’t leave me like this. I can’t do it. I can’t take it.”
“You’ll be okay.”
“Not like this,” she said. “Please. I’m begging you.”
“Tell me what it is that makes you love Jeffrey,” Robert asked, as if striking some sort of bargain. “What is it that makes you know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on,” he said, and she realized that he was trying to help her calm down so that it would be easier for him to do what he needed to do.
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “Robert—”
“Has to be something,” he said, giving her a forced smile, as if they were a couple of good people brought together under bad circumstances. “Don’t tell me it’s his sense of humor and great personality.”
Sara racked her brain for something to tell him. There had to be a right answer, an answer that would make him free her from the chair and let her go, but she could think of nothing to say.
“You don’t know?”
Indelible Page 32