I wrap the covers around me and hobble to check the peephole. Big Rosie glares back at me. I crack the door open. “Hi. Uh, sorry. I’m sick.”
“Where’s John?”
Shame-filled and guilt-laden, I stare blankly right through her burning gaze. “Oh, uh, in the bathroom.” I know she’s aware of his car parked in the lot.
She scrutinizes my body and steps back. “You okay?”
“Mmmm. Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little sick. I’ll be better tomorrow.” I hide my eyes from the glaring morning light. I want to somehow give her a secret signal to ask her to watch out for me, to check on me tomorrow for my safety. I want John to hear me say it too, so he will think twice about hurting me. I am afraid for my life now…again. I fear that if anything happens to me, he can easily blame it on one of the hit men. He can get away with murdering me, maybe, as I start to think he is getting away with the murders on Wonderland.
“We need more money. We can’t get out of here unless we get more money!” Like a caged animal, he paces the room wildly. Like a broken record, John says what I know he will: “You gotta go to work. We need more money fast. I think somebody recognized me the other day. We need to get out of here.”
“I do work, John!” His next words ring in my ears before he even speaks them, and my lip curls.
“You know what I mean,” he snarls back, leaping on top of me. His weight presses heavily above me, his backhand smacking across my head. “Not this piddley shit…cleaning rooms…babysitting!” He pauses. “The beach! You need to be making fast money on the beach! Do you want them to catch up to us and kill us? They’re looking for you too! What? Do you think they forgot about you? You’re on at least eight hit lists, baby, just like me. And that kind of shit don’t go away…unless you go away! Get it?” His face hovers over mine, red, puffy, and cigarette stale.
“Stop it! No! I can’t, John!” I’m hysterical, trying to squirm free.
“You’ll do it. You know why? ‘Cause if you don’t, they’ll get you! The shit’s coming down, and if we don’t get out now…that’ll be the end of me…and you!” He pushes up off of me and wipes the sweat from his face with his sleeve. “Now get up!” He yanks me to my feet, raising his hand in a threat to backhand me again.
“No. Please.” I cower and cover my head.
John picks out a pair of cutoff shorts and a bathing suit top for me to wear. He combs my hair and wipes my face with a washcloth from the stack in the bathroom. “Here. Put these on.” He hands me a pair of dark sunglasses to hide my red, swollen eyes, takes me by the hand, and escorts me to the beach.
Thinking we are coming down to eat, Italian Joe smiles but looks confused when we walk past him without acknowledging the crowd.
We continue down to the breaking waves of the ocean. The beach is full of afternoon sunbathers. John nods and smiles at several single men, trying to catch his attention. Reaching a large hotel north of us, he lays down a towel and spreads warm suntan oil over my back. Another dark-haired man lays his towel a few feet away, and John addresses him. “Hey there. Sure is a hot one.”
The man blushes. “Yeah. Sure is.”
John leans into my ear. “See there. There’s a guy who looks like he’ll pay. He sees you’re with me, so you’re safe. Take him across the street, where the motel has the X-rated movie sign—you know, near the rock shop—and meet me back here in exactly twenty minutes. Now go!”
John jumps up from the sand and, before he walks away, gives me a shove toward the leering man who has been eyeing me.
A fearful gulp of air sticks in my throat. I touch the garnet necklace at my neck, thinking sadly, This really doesn’t mean a thing, does it? As the man approaches nervously and smiles, I tremble, my eyes welling up behind the dark lenses. I pull my lips back in a grimace, imitating a smile.
He pays no attention to my expression, nodding to something over my shoulder. I turn to look. John is nodding back to the man, wearing a crooked grin.
The bathtub water is as hot as I remember it, and I remember all
John’s baths before now. Numb, and without a fight, I let John scrub me down while he begs for my forgiveness, tears streaking his face. Then he does it all over again.
My world is rubble at my feet; there is no meaning to anything anymore. I know his perverted ritual is set in motion, and it just doesn’t matter. John has reverted to the person he promised he would never be again. I am trapped in his hell, unable even to die. Back in this pitiful place, there is nothing left…of my heart, my hopes, my reason for being. Every shred is gone…and I just want to crawl under something and disappear forever.
Big Rosie’s phone call snaps me out of my stupor the next morning. I roll over to answer the persistent ringing and let her know I’m still feeling ill. I can’t face anyone! They’ll know! I am humiliated, ashamed, and certain that if Rosie—or anyone—looks at me she will know all my ugly secrets.
Rosie sounds understanding. John, she says, stopped by the front desk this morning to say hello on his way to work. “He apologized for the inconvenience yesterday,” she says, a questioning lilt to her voice.
God, he’s covering his tracks with everyone, I think. Thank God he’s not here. I thank her and hang up. Curtains drawn, I crawl under the bedsheets and spend the day hidden in the darkness.
John gets home early in the afternoon, and I panic when I hear the key turn in the lock. Burrowing deeper under the covers, I wish myself invisible, not wanting to see or speak to him. He bangs randomly around the room, opening a can of beans to cook on the hot plate, trying to wake me and get my attention as I will myself to sink deeper into the mattress and oblivion.
“Get up!” he finally shouts, ripping the covers off. He has been watching the clock, his temper steadily building. Thor is spooked and jumps down to hide under the bed.
“What? Stop it, John! I don’t feel good!” I cry. I know it’s a lame attempt to deflect his instructions, but I don’t want this kind of life. I have to try to resist.
“Bullshit! Now get up. There’s still enough light out for the beach. Let’s move!” He is taking complete control, strutting about the room slamming things around, rummaging for my clothes, and talking as if I am a child he’s waking up for school. His old, ugly self flames brilliantly in orange-red rage, and I think I’m going to pass out.
“No.”
John’s head snaps to attention and his eyes bore into mine. “What did you say?” he asks menacingly.
Eyeing the unchained door, I brace myself. “No, John. I’m not going anywhere!” My voice is more defiant than my nerve, but I can feel a charge of rebellion.
WHOOSH! He lunges for my throat.
I run for the door. It swings open wide, hitting John in the face, and gives me a fractured moment to make it to the stairs. He is running after me full force, and I scream at the top of my lungs, sprinting toward Italian Joe’s for safety. “Help! Help!” He’s seconds behind. “No! John! Stop!” I yell, hoping someone will intervene. I make it to the fence by the pool, crashing through the metal gate. Then, in direct view of the dinnertime crowd, John, relentless, catches up to me. In his outstretched hand, he manages to grab my hair and yank me down onto the cement by the deep end of the pool, brutally pounding on my body and face with his fists.
The looks on the faces of the dinnertime crowd at Joe’s is shock and horror—disbelief—but no one moves a muscle.
John’s strength fades as his adrenaline pours out into his raging fists, and his anger subsides. As if he realizes everyone is watching, he pulls me up and drags me behind him back up the stairs to our room. He locks the door securely behind him, peeks out from behind the curtains, and falls to his knees. “Baby, oh baby, I’m so sorry!” he heaves, sweaty grime caked in the creases of his brow. “Please, please forgive me.” He reaches for my arm, pleading.
Cringing at his pitiful attempt to touch me, I can’t look at him. My face and cheek are swollen. A goose egg swells on my forehead, and my lip is bruised and n
umb.
Desperately, he pulls me into his lap. Clumps of my hair sticks to his arm, and I let him rest his head on my chest and sob.
He has that scared look again. Like a lost little boy, I think. I give in and rest my arms around his sobbing frame, a broken man, until we fall asleep in each other’s arms…for the last time.
The alarm goes off at six in the morning. John is up to make coffee. Letting me sleep, he tiptoes into the bathroom to get ready for work. Stretching in a half sleep, I feel my head throb and remember the night before. I watch him as he dresses and finishes his morning coffee. He crosses over to the bed and sits on the bed next to me.
“Good morning, Dawn,” John whispers, stroking my hair and face. He waits for a long time, just staring. In my waking thoughts, I remember all the times he lovingly woke me in the past, brushing my hair from my face, telling me I was beautiful. “Sleep in. Okay, baby?” I give a small nod, feeling the pain in my face. He gazes a bit longer and then, kneeling down, breathes an “I love you, Dawn.” He kisses the bruises on my forehead and lips.
He starts to open the door, then stops. Shoulders slumped and head hanging low, he turns to give me one last look. “See you tonight, sweetheart,” he mumbles unconvincingly. Then, looking as if he has lost his best friend, he sadly leaves.
Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang! The door shakes at its hinges from the vibration.
“Yeah? Who is it?” I call, alarmed by the intensity of the knocking. I step up to look through the peephole. Big Rosie, Tom, Italian Joe, and Louise press up against the door. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” I shyly poke my head out, hiding the “bad” side of my face with the door.
“Are you okay?” Big Rosie barrels into the room.
“Yeah, uh, I’m okay, I guess.” I look away, embarrassed that they witnessed John’s rage on me last night.
“Pack your things!” she orders.
“What? I, I can’t. What about John?”
“What about John?” Rosie snaps. “That asshole! We saw what he did yesterday. He don’t deserve you! Now let’s go. You’re coming with us.”
I am stunned at the hurried rush of my friends gathering to rescue me. Overcome, I weep.
Big Rosie sees me crumble and reaches over to hold me as I cry in her thick, freckled arms. “Where, where will I go?”
Rosie rocks me protectively. “Louise’s divorce is final, sweetie, and she just got her house back. She needs someone to watch Heather while she’s at work. You’ve already been babysitting, so it’s perfect, Dawn. You’re gonna be okay.”
“He won’t find you at my houth, thweetie,” Louise lisps, “and no one’ths gonna tell him either.”
Tom and Italian Joe stand guard outside while the ladies help me pack. Holding a shaking Thor in my arms, I take one last look around the room. “Just a minute. I need to get one more thing.” Lifting the mattress, I pull out the .38 pistol and spare bullets, the one John had stolen in Alabama. “I’ll take this, just in case.” I shudder as everyone looks on. I am afraid…but it’s different this time. This time I am not worried about John; I am afraid for myself.
What have you done? my mind asks him. I gave you my love and my loyalty and you…you gave me…this. I steal a fleeting glance at the room I have called home—my last home with John—and without a tear, I turn and flee.
Louise and Heather are singing in the front seat of her brown-paneled station wagon. They are happy. At least Louise is. She has been going through a rough divorce and finally pulled through victorious for her and Heather, according to her. Everything is working out perfectly in her eyes. Her house, my needing a safe place to stay—things couldn’t be better.
But I am depressed and still not fully comprehending that I am getting away from John. Why am I acting like this? I wonder. Why do I still care about someone who hurt me so much? I know it’s because I never wanted to give up on love; I keep hoping there is still some good inside of him. In truth, I’m clinging to just a memory of something good. It has always hurt too badly to give up on what could have been.
“Hey, come on. Cheer up!” Louise sings.
I force a smile and tap my foot to the beat of an ABBA song, drifting in and out of thoughts of my last moments with John.
At Louise’s place, a house sunk deep in the suburbs of North Miami, I feel safe right away. He’ll have a hard time finding me here, I think because I know he will look for me. I know he is scared I will get him caught by either the police or…Eddie.
It is Thanksgiving week; since Louise is working, we won’t celebrate with a turkey, but it is a celebration anyway. I will get to call my family.
Mom sounds shocked when she hears my voice.
“Some people helped me get away from John, Mom. He hit me again and, well, I’m in a safe place now, and I’m working. I’ll try to make enough to get back…if that’s okay.”
“Yah. Okay. You sure? Yah, da police vas here looking for you. They told us people were out to kill you, Dawn. They said the whole family vas in danger. Stay away from him, Dawn. He’s bad news.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I have help this time, Mom.”
“Vell.” She sighs. “Vaht number can I call you back, den? So I can call you.”
I don’t blame her for not acting overjoyed. My God, my family thinks they could be killed too!
Mom calls me every evening, and it feels good to hear her voice. I don’t give her my address yet, just in case, but I look forward to her calls. When the phone rings, I race Heather to answer it. A week has passed since I left the Fountainhead and John…and I am feeling good again. I am in touch with my family and getting on my feet. The phone rings early that evening and, as usual, I am eager to talk to Mom. “Hello.” I am out of breath from dancing with Heather.
“Dawn?”
It’s John. My heart freezes. “Yeah?” I keep my anger down.
“Listen. Please, Dawn, don’t hang up. I promised Rosie I wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. She didn’t want to give me your number, but I, well, kinda promised I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah?” I know he wants more than just to talk, and I feel my heart rate rise.
“Baby. How have you been?”
“Fine, John.” I am determined not to fall for any of his sob story ploys. Not this time. I brace myself.
“Good. Good.” A long silence passes. He is crying. It’s unmistakable. The low hiss of emotional pain releases into the air. He clears his throat and continues. “Baby? Dawn? I know you don’t want to hear this, but…I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I know I fucked up. I know this time it’s for good. I know that. I don’t deserve you, baby. I fucked up.” His crying is loud now, and he makes no effort to hide it.
“Yeah,” I acknowledge, feeling the tug at my sympathy. Don’t, Dawn. Don’t give in. He’s full of shit! I reinforce my willpower with memories of his lies and abuse.
“I just want to ask you one thing.”
“I can’t, John. I just can’t—”
“No. No. Baby, wait, listen. Just one last favor, and I promise you…I’ll never ask you for anything ever again!”
I don’t answer.
“Dawn? Are you there?”
“Yeah.” I brace myself.
John breaks down sobbing again. “Baby…one favor please. I just need to see you, your face…one last time. I won’t talk to you…touch you…I just…need to see my beautiful Dawn…one last time. Please…Dawn?”
I picture it…in my mind, to kindle that one last romantic moment with him and then be strong enough to walk away. To get close enough to him again to be in his view. I miss him…too much…and with that knowledge, I know it is impossible. A last meeting with John should never happen, and I need to be strong…stronger than surviving the beatings…the prostitution…the arrests…strong from my heart, to turn my back on this terrible love that owns me. I know that it has to be really over…for good this time. We are never to go back to the beginning, the good times—an
ything.
The phone line is as still as death. I take a deep breath and brace myself. “No, John.”
“What?” He sounds truly surprised, not expecting defiance from me, the one person who has always been his personal puppet.
“I said no, John.” The words feel like perfect freedom—a crack in the agonizingly heavy chains that, for years, have burdened my heart and crippled my life. I say nothing more, expecting him to fly into a rage.
“Well, can you think about it?” There’s an edge to his voice that I don’t like as he swallows his pride.
My heart beats like thunder. I hold the receiver away from my ear. I have never meant anything as much as this, as I do right now—and gently, like a soft kiss good-bye, I hang up.
True freedom—I feel true inner freedom. There is nothing I want from John anymore. I am sure of this. All I want is to get away and wipe his name completely from mine. It is almost December, and I look back on my years with him with shame and terrible regret. I have nothing good to salvage—not even any fantasy—and I want to forget him. All of him.
Everything seems to happen quickly from this moment. Mom calls at her regular time, but I am a bit more hesitant to answer the phone.
If John managed to get my number from Rosie, he might find out my whereabouts as well. I want to get away—far away—somehow.
A few worrisome days pass. Then a welcome call comes from my brother with news to cheer me up. “Hey. How’s it going?” His voice is warm and friendly.
“Hey. Good. Well, better. I got away from John. Did Mom tell you?” I am excited. It’s so good to speak to him again…without John.
“Yeah. I heard. Cool.”
“So what are you up to, man? How’s Oregon?”
“I’m not in Oregon.”
“You’re not? Where are you?”
“Florida,” he says flatly, then adds, “Carol City.”
“You are? What are you doing down here?” I can’t believe my luck, and my eyes well up a bit. The thought of my brother being so close has me hopping, excited.
The Road Through Wonderland: Surviving John Holmes Page 43