Revenge

by Anne L. Parks

  I quickly check the rear-view mirror, and watch the gate close behind me. No sign of John. I swing into the garage bay without hitting anything, shut off the engine, and sit.

  What just happened? Was that real?

  I gulp air into my lungs and try to control my breathing. My head is pounding. I can't move, and there is zero ability to comprehend the events which just took place.

  I'm living my nightmare. I yank on the door handle, manage to pull myself out of the car, and into the house. Alex and Jake are in the kitchen, both laughing, with smiles on their faces – until they see me.

  "Jesus, Kylie, what the hell happened to you?" Alex is beside me in an instant, his arm around my waist, and guides me to a barstool to sit down.

  My body is trembling, and my eyes must be huge because Alex's are widening as he stares back at me.

  "John."

  He frowns. "What about John?"

  "He followed me—tried to run me off the road."

  Jake places a bottle of water on the counter in front of me. His smile is gone, a grimace in its place. "You saw John? Here?"

  "He was trying to kill us both." I can hear the hysteria in my voice, and it makes me physically ill. I hate that John can still frighten me this way – can still threaten my life anytime he wants, in any way he wants.

  "Wait, Kylie, slow down. Tell me what happened." Alex's voice is calm, in control, but commanding.

  "He got in front of me, and I tried to pass him, he ran me off the road. Then he took off—got really far ahead of me – then turned around and came straight for me. I barely avoided hitting him head on." My hands are shaking, I place the water bottle on the counter, but can't get the cap on.

  "How do you know it was him?" Jake asks.

  "I know his car. His license plates—he has vanity plates with his initials." I glance at Alex. Deep worry creases his forehead, his neck muscles are corded, and he's grinding his teeth.

  "I was almost to the gate–but he was coming straight at me."

  Thomas comes through the door from the garage, whistling, and swinging his keychain around his finger.

  I jerk my eyes to his. "Did you see him?" I ask, but it comes out as more of a high-pitched squeal, "the black BMW—before you turned down the driveway?"

  His eyebrows knit together, eyes narrow just slightly, and he wags his head back and forth. "No."

  I jump out of my chair. "You had to—he had to pass you. There's nowhere else he could've gone."

  "I haven't seen another vehicle since I left town." He looks at Jake. "What's going on?" he whispers.

  "Kylie says she was run off the road on her way home," Jake explains.

  "You had to see where I hit the gravel at least." I look at Alex, desperate for him to believe me. "The Porsche slid when I hit the loose dirt."

  Thomas's eyes are wide, and he's looking at me as if I'm swan-diving into insanity without a parachute.

  I glance around at all three men. "How is this possible?" I grasp Alex's arm. "I didn't imagine this. I know I didn't. It was John—he came after me—he was going to kill me."

  Alex wraps his arms around me, presses his lips to my forehead, and whispers to me, "It's okay, baby, you're under a lot of stress."

  Under a lot of stress? I shove him away.

  "Don't patronize me. You can choose not to believe me, but I know what I saw."

  I storm out of the kitchen, down the hall, and through the bedroom. Slamming the bathroom door, I lock it behind me. I turn the shower on, undress while the water heats up, and step under the cascading heat flowing from the overhead waterfall shower head.

  The doorknob twists a few times. Knocking follows, and Alex calls my name. I ignore him, flip on the in-shower sound system, and scroll through the playlist until I find what I'm looking for. Classical music fills the shower, and I turn the volume up so it's the only sound I can hear. I drop my head back and close my eyes. The long slow wail of the violins work with the water to wash away the tension seizing my body. I turn off my brain, allow the soulful melody to consume me. Nothing is real outside this space – only I exist here—time has no bearing on me. I float with the music, drift into the dark recesses of my mind, a small part of me wishing I could stay here forever.

  Safe. Protected. Passive.

  Alone.

  * * *

  * * *

  Just after midnight, I slide out from under Alex's arm as he sleeps beside me. Tightening the tie on my robe, I pad softly down the hallway and into the living room. I pour a healthy amount of gin in a glass with just a splash of tonic.

  Too many things are running through my mind. The ever-present threat from John. Alex's lack of faith in me. My own fears I might actually be losing my mind.

  I pick my cell phone up where I left it on the kitchen counter, disengage the lock on the sliding door, and step out to the patio. The gas fireplace comes to life as soon as I flip the switch and provides light and warmth to the outdoor area. I slide onto the couch, wrap up in a blanket, and attempt to settle the anxious feeling which is my constant companion lately.

  The flames are mesmerizing, the way they dance around in a chaotic choreography. I'd give anything to be able to turn off my brain, and just exist.

  Why do I feel so disconnected from my life lately? I'm home, Alex and I are in love, things are almost back to normal – except nothing feels normal to me. I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched by eyes I don't see. Hunted by a man I know is under lock and key. Stalked by someone, but unable to prove it.

  Sometimes I wonder if it's all really worth it. Perhaps I should've let John finish the job that day, when he savagely beat me, and promised to end it all. Maybe all our lives would be better. John wouldn't be able to hurt me again. Alex's life wouldn't have been turned upside down by his need to protect me, or my need to be protected.

  And I would never have known that I could love so deeply and have someone love me that deep in return. The pain I could have avoided, desperate to have that love for the rest of my life. Until John is out of my life – until he's dead – loving Alex for the rest of my life, until we grow old, is all just a tease. It's a dream never to become a reality.

  I glance at the new screensaver on my phone, the picture of Alex and me, smiling and happy. Carefree. I wish we could always be like this.

  An email notification pops up, and I open my inbox. There's an unread email from Defenders for Truth, an organization I've never heard of. I receive emails from many criminal defense related groups. It's not unusual for organizations to reach out to criminal defense attorneys, seeking support of one kind or another. I click on the message, aware it's a waste of time, and will more than likely end up in my trash.

  Kylie,

  Are you tired of looking over your shoulder to see who is behind you?

  It's me. I will always be there.

  You are mine.

  * * *

  I stare at the words.

  You are mine.

  I suck in a breath, and close my eyes. It's from John – it has to be. My stomach twists into a knot, the faint taste of bile in my throat. I clutch my abdomen, as if that's going to give me any relief from the pain. My heart rate is off the chart. I glance around the patio, but it's too dark to make anything out. I'm scared to death to move, but desperate to get inside the house.

  What if someone's out there? Watching me? Waiting to grab me and take me from here? No one knows I'm out here, everyone in the house is asleep.

  I stare into the darkness beyond the fireplace. In the distance, waves crash against the rocks along the beach, the smell of brine on the breeze. The sound of cicadas singing in the trees—a sound that usually provides me with comfort but is overwhelmingly loud in my head. A chill ravages my body, shivers freeze my extremities. The warmth of the fire is gone, unable to compete with the cold dread enveloping me.

  The bushes rustle in the dark. A branch cracks under the weight of someone's step. I hold my breath, twist my fingers into the blanket, my han
ds ball into fists. Pressure builds in my chest, and a desperate croak escapes my throat. My body is rigid, cold, as if I'm turning to stone. The world is spinning, everything seems to be in motion around me, my mind bounces between what I should be doing, what I am doing, and what the consequences will be for every action and inaction.

  My eyes are trained to the spot of the noises. My breath surges in and out of my chest. A raccoon emerges from the darkness, pauses when he sees me, and we stare at each other for a minute before it finally summons the courage to dart back into the security of the dark night.

  All the air trapped in my lungs comes out in one long whoosh. Calm settles over me, and I silently chuckle. "A raccoon is braver than I am." I close out of the email and click the phone off.

  Hands grasp my shoulders. I try to break free, but I'm held firmly in place. Hot breath is next to my ear.

  "Easy, baby, it's just me." Alex's soft voice fills my ear.

  "Alex," I say, and breathe a sigh of relief.

  He comes around ad sits next to me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I woke up and you weren't in bed. What are you doing out here?" He places his hand on my thigh.

  "I couldn't sleep, too much going on in my head."

  "Am I part of the reason you can't sleep?" He brushes the hair from my forehead, and gazes at me.

  The truth is, I'm not sure I'd feel any different if the roles were reversed. Alex is right, I've been under a lot of stress. I know what I saw, but I understand what it looks like from the other side. I'm not sure where John ended up, or how Thomas didn't see him, but I can't condemn them for questioning my version of events.

  "That's part of it, maybe, there's just a lot on my plate. The trial." I let my fingers drift over Alex's hand, making loops and circles on his skin. I can't tell him exactly how I feel – that I'm petrified I'm going to mess this up, and James will be set free. While I may be faltering in other areas – Alex still believes I'm strong, confident, and unbeatable in the courtroom. "I'm used to being nervous before trial, but this one has more personal, far-reaching implications if we don't get the outcome we want.

  "Are you concerned about my testimony?"

  I look in his eyes, worry floods them, and I notice the creases at the corners are deeper. There's no way Alex can go into court anxious and uncertain while on the witness stand. It's up to me to put his mind at ease. "Well, you are a loose cannon, and there's no telling what you'll say when you get there." I chuckle, and grin at him.

  He moves his hand to my inner thigh and teases me. "There is something you can do to prevent that, you know." He lifts an eyebrow, a mischievous smile across his face. "You could prep me for my testimony, counselor."

  I crawl onto his lap and straddle him. My robe falls off my shoulder and exposes my bare skin. "Excellent idea." I bite his lower lip and suck it into my mouth until he shifts his hips under me, and groans. "Please state your name for the court."

  His lips press against my neck, and kisses across my clavicle. "Alex Stone," he says, his voice deep and sexy.

  I run my hands up his arms, across his shoulders, and lace my fingers behind his neck. "Isn't it true, that you have a reputation for loving and leaving women? Breaking hearts worldwide?"

  "That's all in the past. I’m strictly a one woman man," he says between kisses and nips along my shoulder, and on the sensitive underside of my arm. "And there is no way in hell I will ever leave her."

  "Language, Mr. Stone."

  He cups my breast.

  "My apologies to the court."

  "Is it also true you provide the most mind-blowing orgasms recorded in the history of sexual intercourse?"

  His hands travel down my body and squeezes my ass. "If your passionate screams are any indication of that, Ms. Tate, then yes, I am aware."

  "Perhaps," I whisper in his ear, "you should give a demonstration of your talents in that area." I drag the tip of my tongue along the edge of his earlobe, bite it, and stuck it in my mouth.

  "I'll give you anything you want."

  22

  By Monday afternoon, I have successfully avoided checking my email. I'm still unsettled, and tired of jumping at every loud noise from the street below. I also haven't told Alex about the email—we had such a wonderful weekend together, and I wasn't about to ruin it by telling him. I'll have to do it at some point—but that point is going to have to be after the trial is over. All of my energy and attention has to be focused on making sure James is sent back to prison.

  Boxes are piled next to the stairs leading from my office to the parking lot. Thank goodness Reyes decided to come in today so he can help me get them down to the SUV. I left the Porsche at home and brought an SUV from Alex's fleet which will accommodate everything I'm going to need to take to the courthouse.

  Reyes loads the last box and closes the back hatch. "I think that's everything. If not, I can bring whatever's missing to the courthouse in the morning."

  I open the driver's side door and toss my briefcase across to the passenger seat. "Thanks." I'm about to get in but stop and turn back to look at him. "By the way, did you ever find out anything about those flowers delivered to my apartment?"

  He looks down, his foot kicks at a small rock, and sends it skittering across the pavement. Finally, he looks up, but avoids my eyes. "Yeah, I found the delivery company, and talked to them. I was told that a woman dropped off the box with instructions to contact the property management company to let them into the apartment."

  "Who let them into my apartment?" I could feel heat move from my chest, up my neck, and flood my cheeks.

  "The building manager. They said you called in and requested it." Reyes narrows his eyes and scrutinizes my words and actions.

  "I requested it? So, anyone can call in saying they're me, and they'll let any Tom, Dick, or Harry in?" My composure is hanging on by a very thin thread. "Were the people at the delivery company at least able to give you a description of the person who dropped off the box?"

  Reyes takes a deep breath, pulls his hand down over his face, and exhales. "Tall, auburn hair, dressed in a suit,” he pauses, his gaze drilling into me. “Paid cash."

  "That's disturbing. That description could be me."

  Reyes says nothing. Just continues to stare at me, but I can feel the unspoken response—yes, it could be.

  I sigh, my shoulders slump a bit, and I shake my head. "I can't deal with this right now. I have to keep my head on straight and prep for court tomorrow. I'll dive into this mess later." I slide behind the wheel, start the engine, and roll down the window. "At least I'm no longer living in that apartment."

  A pained look crosses over Reyes's face. "Yeah, I wouldn't worry about it right now, you've got a lot going on."

  I silently admonish myself for sucker punching him like that. I can't help he has a crush on me—do you still call it that when you're in your thirties—but I also don't want to needlessly hurt his feelings. "Thanks for checking it out for me, though. I'll see you in the morning."

  He waves at me as I pull onto the road. The drive home is on auto-pilot as the scenario Reyes laid out runs through my mind. Who is doing this and why? Is there someone out there impersonating me?

  Or is there a darker, more sinister explanation?

  23

  I run through my notes a couple more times as the SUV rolls towards town. Alex sits beside me, stares out the window, and strums his fingers on his knee. I place my hand over his, gently squeeze it in the hopes of alleviating some of his stress. That's impossible, of course, he'll be testifying in open court about the death of his mother at the hands of his father. He buried this event deep in his psyche, and never intended to speak of it again until he broke down and told me one night, months ago.

  He glances down at my hand on his, then into my eyes. I swear, whenever his blue eyes gaze at me, I melt. He still has the ability to make me feel like a girl chasing after the most popular, handsome boy in school. I smile, and he offers a small one back, but there's no joy i
n it.

  "I want to go over a couple of things with you before we get to the courthouse, and things get hectic," I say, my voice calm but not overly serious. I want to put him at ease, not add to his anxiety. "I'm going to start with basic questions—name, business—they're going to seem innocuous, but they serve a couple of important purposes. One is so I can lay the proper foundation for your testimony, a sort of introduction of you to the jury. The second allows you to answer easy questions and gives you time to get nerves under control. When you're answering questions, direct them to the jury, not me or Hamilton. The jurors are the ones who will be deliberating, and we need to respect their role in the process. Plus, studies show that jurors are more apt to believe a witness who addresses them during testimony."

  "Okay," he says, "anything else?"

  "When Hamilton questions you on cross examination, don't elaborate on your answers. He's going to shut you down if you try, anyway, but I don't want you to worry about the narrative he's trying to put in front of the jury. Any answer you give that needs further explanation, or clarification, I'll correct on rebuttal."

  "And?" His eyebrows lift, and he cocks his head slightly to the side. "Come on, Kylie, I can see it in your eyes. There's something else, but you're trying to be diplomatic about your delivery. What is it?"

  "You think you know me so well," I joke. I inhale, and look him straight in the eye, all kidding aside. "He's going to do his best to get you worked up. He'll pull out all the stops to piss you off. You have to remain calm, and not play into his hands."

  "Why is it so important to make me mad?" he asks.

  "To see if you'll lose your temper on the stand. It's the only way he has a snowball's chance in hell of placing the blame on you."

  "How does that prove anything?"

  "It doesn't…it provides reasonable doubt, and that's all he needs to get the jury to swing his way."