by LK Shaw
“Sometimes the memories are too much, and I have to mentally separate myself from them. Which means that my brain shuts down. It's how I cope." It was weird that all this information was coming out of my mouth. I'd always been a private person, even growing up. Although growing up it hadn't been privacy so much as that no one gave a shit about me to care what I had to say.
“Thank you for telling me. Communication is going to be important between us. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. I understand what you went through is difficult, but I promise you can trust me.”
His words were nice and everything. He could tell me in a hundred different ways how trustworthy he was, but in reality, trust was going to be hard to come by. It wasn't that I didn't believe what he said, but I didn't know anything about him. I'd do my best to trust him, but I'd been let down so many times before that it was hard to do. I could only nod in response.
“May I sit?" He gestured to the chair next to me. Again, I only nodded. He moved away from the fireplace with a fluidity that was poetry in motion and settled in the chair. His long legs quickly swallowed up the distance, and before I was ready, he was seated too close to me, even though several feet separated us. His nearness was almost overwhelming in a way that made the hairs on my arms tingle. It wasn't unpleasant necessarily, but it also wasn't entirely comfortable. It was a little confusing, in fact.
“The first thing I need you to do to prepare for this trial is to see someone about the last few months. I need you to be able to work through the bad shit and not have to worry that you’re going to retreat into yourself while you’re on the stand.”
“No." My refusal was immediate. A shrink would want details of what happened to me while I was help captive. He or she would want to “help” me recover from my alleged trauma. No thank you. I didn't need some shrink poking around inside my head. I could handle it myself.
“This isn't up for negotiation. You survived the shit you just went through. That means you're a strong woman. I also know you're feeling powerless, terrified, and out of control right now. While I haven't worked with women in your particular situation, I have worked with abused women before. They've all told me the same thing. They want to be able to regain control of their life. This is one way for you to do that. Dr. Parrish is a great psychiatrist. She's helped other women, and I know she can help you as well.”
In that moment, I hated him. I didn't care how many women she talked to or allegedly helped. Neither of them knew what he’d done to me. How he’d destroyed me. Conquered me. Broken me. Neither knew what is was like to lie on the floor on the opposite side of the bed from the door so no one saw you sleeping when they walked in the room. He didn't understand the effort it took to quiet my mind lest the memories take over. But, by the stubborn look on his face I knew he wasn’t going to budge on this. Regardless, just because he forced me to see this woman, didn’t mean I had to talk to her.
“Fine, whatever.”
Donovan studied me a minute longer, his blue eyes reminding me of cloudless, summer sky. He must have decided to not push the issue more than he already had.
“I know the questions I’m going to ask you will be difficult, and for that, I'm sorry. It’s important, though, that over the next few days you tell me everything you can about Underwood's business. We have a lot of information on him, but you were closest to him. You know his secrets. Anything you can think of will be helpful in putting him away, especially after what he did to you.” His words were business-like, but his tone was imploring.
Donovan
Phebe was uncomfortable with me sitting this close to her, even though several feet still separated us, but there was nothing I could do about it. My intentions weren’t to harm her, but if I was going to put her ex away and get information that would help the Feds track down their Russian, then we would be in close quarters for weeks leading up to the trial. I would do my best to put her at ease.
There were things she’d said that had me questioning the info I had on file. Like, if she gave all of her money from Underwood away to charity, where was the money in her bank account coming from? I knew I needed to start with the easy stuff first. I needed to gain her trust. There wasn’t any reason to jump right into the bad shit right away.
“Tell me about your role at the shelter. What did you do there?”
I could tell she didn’t want to talk about herself. Everything about her position spoke of her unease. Her fidgeting, clenched fists, shallow breathing. Reluctantly, she began to speak.
“I taught photography.”
Her answer surprised me. I’m not sure what I expected her to say, but that certainly wasn’t it.
“You seem shocked that I actually have a skill.” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me. It gave me a small glimpse into her personality.
“Yes, I’m a little shocked. Not about you actually having a viable skill, but what it is. Are you any good?”
Now it was her turn to be a little stunned. “Do you know, no one has ever asked me that question before.”
“No one? Even the shelter didn’t ask you? I mean, if you’re teaching these women a skill they can use to better themselves, wouldn’t they want someone who is actually good?”
What happened next had my jaw dropping. Right before my eyes, Phebe changed. Her eyes sparkled and a tinkling laughter burst from her lips. For once, she actually appeared relaxed. “You’re kidding right? I was free labor. They could have cared less if I was good or not. Don’t get me wrong, the women there do the best they can, but they run on a minuscule budget as a non-profit. They take what they can get and they’re happy for it.”
“So, are you?” I asked again, truly curious to hear her answer.
Phebe visibly straightened, a proud tilt to her head as she stared right at me. It was the first time since she’d entered the room that she truly looked right at me and not around or through me. I couldn’t help but notice, despite the emanating sadness, her inherent beauty. “I’m damn good.”
“Who taught you?”
“I taught myself.” Her pride intensified at the announcement.
“Wow, impressive. What kind of camera do you use?”
Phebe’s shoulders slumped and she sagged back into the couch. The sparkle left the chocolate brown depths of her eyes, only to be replaced by a sadness so deep, it was almost tangible. I could have kicked myself for upsetting her, even unintentionally.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s gone.”
Immediately, I could tell she shut down and wasn’t going to talk any more about it. Damn it.
“How long were you a volunteer at the shelter?”
She sighed deeply, clearly not excited about the continued barrage of questions. But, she kept answering them because I knew she wanted to put away Underwood.
He was the perfect example of why you never fell in love.
Love betrayed you.
It weakened you.
“I was there for three years.”
“What made you start volunteering?”
Phebe turned and stared in silence at the fireplace. Interesting. She’d answered all my questions, no matter how reluctantly, up until now. For some reason this one question was harder to answer than the rest. I figured she needed to collect her thoughts, so I’d be patient and not push her.
She spoke so softly, I had to lean forward to hear her. She was so focused on the memory, she didn’t even flinch at my movement.
“Kieran was out of the house one day when the doorbell rang. He’d made me promise a thousand times that I would never open the door when he wasn’t home. He was always paranoid that the cops would try to send in someone undercover. In the five years I’d been living with Kieran, only twice before had someone come to the door when he wasn’t there. I don’t know why this one time I ignored his edict, but something compelled me to answer the knock.
“On the other side of the door was a young boy, twelve or thirteen I’d guess. His clothing was ragged and he looked, and smel
led, like he hadn’t bathed in several days. He asked if Kieran was home. The look of heartbreak on his face when I told him no shattered me. What could this child want so badly from Kieran that he was in tears when he wasn’t able to see him? So I invited him inside. He devoured the snack I gave him as if he hadn't eaten in days and didn’t know when his next meal was going to come.”
Finally, Phebe turned back to face me, and startled slightly. She’d been so wrapped up in her retelling, I think she forgot I was sitting so close. She shifted a little farther away from me, and I leaned back in my chair, giving her the space she was craving. She cleared her throat and continued her tale.
“His name was Max, and his mother was one of Kieran’s customers. She was going through a rough patch and needed more drugs, but she didn’t have the money to buy any more. She’d taken to prostituting herself to earn money for her next score. Max had come to ask Kieran for a job in exchange for the drugs for his mom. He said she’d tried rehab three times and each time she relapsed within six months. She couldn’t keep a job because of her addiction. He said he’d rather work for the drugs than have his mom sell her body.”
Her voice broke at the end.
Holy shit.
In all my years as a prosecuting attorney, I’d heard some bad shit, but I think this right here took the cake.
“So, that’s when you decided you wanted to help people like Max’s mother?”
Phebe hastily wiped away her tears and straightened her shoulders.
“Yes. I wasn’t exactly sure how I could help, but in a city as big as Pinegrove, I knew there had to be some place that catered to helping women get back on their feet. I asked around and was given The Haven’s name. It took a few days for me to get cleared as a volunteer. By the time I’d actually started, it was too late to help Max’s mother. Kieran had blown Max off when he came back later than day. Max was devastated when Kieran had actually laughed at him. He said no self respecting dealer would hire a twelve year old kid. Because, you know being a drug dealer is such a respectable job anyway. Max shuffled off and I didn’t see him again for two weeks. This time he came by to tell me his mom was dead. I figured she’d overdosed, but no. She’d been murdered by one of her “clients” who’d gotten a little too rough with her. Beat her to death, in fact. I tried to get him to stay for a bit, but he took off. I never saw him again.”
This woman was full of surprises. I admired her, but I also questioned why she stayed with a man she knew was no good. A man she clearly didn’t approve of. I needed more answers.
“Why did you stay with him all those years? You had a talent you could cultivate. Why not use your talents to leave?”
Phebe abruptly rose from the couch, her posture stiff and unyielding. “I’m done talking.”
She ran out of the room, her demons clearly chasing her. It took everything I had not to follow her, but I needed to give her space. I wouldn’t get the answers I needed by pushing her before she was ready.
I’d learned to be patient with my subs.
I could be patient with Phebe.
In the meantime, I’d continue working on building my case against Underwood.
This fucker was going down.
Phebe
Ghosts haunted me as I slammed the door shut behind me. There wasn’t a lock on it, so instead, I shoved the chair under the door handle. Rationally, I knew it was overkill and that Donovan wasn’t going to burst in here and demand answers to his questions. However, my mind wasn’t rational right now. It was overwhelmed with the memories volleying within. I dropped onto the edge of the bed and rolled over, hugging my knees to my chest as the memories came rushing back.
Memories of a naive eighteen-year-old wanting to find someone who loved her so badly that she fell for the first man to show her any attention. It didn’t matter that he was ten years older than her. It didn’t matter that he was a struggling artist barely making enough money to get by. He paid attention to her and she thought that it was love.
It wasn’t love though.
In the beginning it was just an unhealthy dependency.
Then, it turned into a healthy dose of fear.
Fear for my life.
Fear for others’ lives.
For the first two years of our relationship, I worked as a server, and Kieran was struggling to find clubs looking for a DJ. That’s when he turned to dealing. At first it was pot, but it quickly escalated when he discovered how much money he could make with coke, then ecstasy, then heroin. For Kieran, pot truly was the stereotypical gateway drug.
Then, something happened that I thought would turn Kieran around and help make a clean break from the drugs. I got pregnant. But rather than it helping like I hoped, it only made things worse.
He wanted his baby to have only the best of everything, things he never had growing up, and his money could do that. I tried leaving. Once. He began beating me before I could even defend myself. He only pulled back when I screamed at him to not hurt the baby.
He stood there, a look of shock on his face, telling me how sorry he was. Then it was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. He went from apologetic to menacing, threatening to kill me if I ever tried to leave him again. Baby or no baby.. The threat shook me to the core. It was at that moment I realized this wasn’t the Kieran I’d fallen in love with. This was a monster. So, I stayed. But then, the unthinkable happened. My baby was stillborn.
I squeezed my eyes tight to quell the flow of tears as I remembered it as though it had happened only yesterday. My head hurt from the effort and my throat closed on a sob. God, my baby. Her cap of blonde hair had been so soft. She’d had ten perfectly tiny fingers and toes. Her eyelashes had been so long I’d envied their length. Her cupid’s bow shaped lips would have been the envy of everyone. She’d been so perfect in every way. I could almost swear I still smelled her baby smell in the air around me.
My mouth opened and closed on a gasp as I tried to breathe. I grabbed a pillow and buried my face into it as I screamed out my anguish. My tears soaked the fabric, but I couldn’t stop the flow of wetness streaking down my cheeks. My chest ached with the agony and renewed grief. I broke down and cried for everything that I’d lost.
My innocence.
My self-worth.
My baby.
My future.
My everything.
Time ticked by as I grieved, but eventually my tears subsided and I took a deep, shuddering breath. My nose was stuffed and my head ached, so I continued to lie there a little longer. Shadows had shifted across the room and I realized how late it was. My stomach let out a little growl letting its hunger known. I dragged myself out of the bed and went to the en suite bathroom to freshen up a little. I ignored my reflection and headed out to the kitchen. After flipping on the light, I saw something on the counter. It was a business card. I picked it up and read the name: Donovan Jeffries, Assistant District Attorney. Below his name was an address and phone number. I flipped it over and handwritten on the back was a cell phone number and a small note.
Call me when you’re ready
I set it back on the counter and made myself a sandwich. I grabbed my food and the card and headed into the living room where I settled on the couch. I placed the card on the coffee table and stared at it while I ate my dinner. I thought about my visit with Donovan. I remembered the tug I’d felt when our eyes connected earlier. It was a draw I couldn’t interpret. Before I thought too long about what I was doing, I picked up the house phone, the card, and dialed the number on the back.
“Hello?”
“I’m ready.” It didn’t even occur to me to tell him who was calling.
“Are you sure? This is going to be tough.”
As if I needed the warning. “I know, but I need to do this.”
“You won’t hold anything back? I have to know you’re going to be completely honest with me. It’s going to be vital to winning this case.”
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow so we can get started. Say 10:00 a.m.?”
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes as I sealed my fate. “See you then.”
I hung up the landline and continued sitting there, staring into nothingness. My gut already ached with dread. I had to do this though. For Max. For me. For Avery.
He’d left them unlocked.
The thought raced through my head on repeat.
He’d left them unlocked.
This was my chance. But what if it’s a trap? What were the chances he’d leave the cell and the room unlocked. What if it was a trick, only to have the rug pulled out from under me? But what if it wasn’t? What if this was my chance to get away? Knowing it was now or never, I slowly crept to the door of my cell and gently pulled, praying the rusted hinges didn’t creak. I let out a sigh of relief when all remained quiet.
Keeping my eye on the next door in front of me, praying it stayed closed, I crossed the room. I stood on my tiptoes and peeked out the tiny window. No one. Only a long hallway that disappeared into the darkness. I closed my eyes, said another short prayer, and turned the knob. When no alarms sounded and no yells of warning went off, I breathed a sigh of relief and didn’t hesitate any longer. I took off at full clip. I’d done it. I’d escaped!
I ran into the unknown, looking for freedom.
But every hall turned into a dead end.
I backtracked and continued through the labyrinth of corridors when suddenly an evil laugh echoed off the walls. The darkness mocked me, and I tripped over something on the ground, falling onto all fours. Pain burst through my knees and palms as I picked myself up off the floor and took off running again, desperate to escape my captors, but no matter how far or fast I ran, freedom eluded me.