Secret Society

by Stuart R. West

  Leaning over, Leon whispered into his ear, “Travis, listen to me. There is nothing going on between Rachel and me. But I do know you’ve been hurting her. I’m warning you to stop. Now.” He gave Travis’s finger an extra turn, one last painful ballroom lesson.

  Travis wriggled beneath him. Leon wouldn’t let up. He wanted to do much more damage. He took in a shuddering, calming breath and pushed himself off Travis. Travis jumped up and swiveled, his cheeks a sunburned red. “I’ll sue you, you son of a bitch! For assault…libel—” He straightened his disheveled vest and tie, attempting to regain a bit of dignity. “You picked the wrong person to fuck with! Do you have any idea who I am? And my relationship with Rachel is none of your goddamn business.”

  “It is when she makes it my business.” Leon couldn’t holster his smile, so he pulled the trigger. Petty, but satisfying, nonetheless.

  Travis nodded, his square chin bobbing up and down. “This isn’t over. Not by a mile, it’s not over!” He bumped into Leon. “Rachel? Rachel! Goddamn it, Rachel!”

  Leon stepped in front of him. “It looks like she doesn’t want to talk to you. I think you’d better leave before we call security.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without Rachel,” he said, his voice lowered and now uncertain. The threat of security obviously scared him more than an angry girlfriend.

  “Matt?” Leon called out. “Phone security!”

  “You got it,” Matt replied.

  Travis stuck his finger out again then reclaimed it. “Fuck you!” Once Travis barreled out the door, Leon released a sigh of relief. He also realized he’d just opened the door onto an entire new set of problems.

  * * *

  Leon steered clear of Rachel the rest of the day, although he couldn’t help stealing a few glances her way. Like him, she kept her head down, burrowing into her work.

  While unlocking his car, footfalls echoed across the lot behind him. “Owen?” Struggling on her high heels, Rachel raced toward him with small, clacking steps. She leaned against Leon’s car, winded. “Owen, I just wanted to… Well, let me thank you for what you did by buying you a drink.”

  “Rachel, it’s not necessary. Really. Besides, I don’t drink.”

  She raised her fingertips to her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you an—”

  “No, I’m not an alcoholic. I just never acquired the taste, or the habit, for alcohol.” The right thing to do, of course, would be to get in the car and leave. He knew it, the only possible solution. He felt more helpless than a trapped animal, chewing off a limb to escape not even an option.

  A sudden gust of wind blew past them, plastering Rachel’s skirt around her legs. She brushed her skirt down, crossed her arms, and shuddered.

  Leon said, “It looks like you could use a drink, though. I can watch you drink.”

  “No, no, it’s okay.” Her half-smile cocked up, sending a chill of a different kind through Leon. “How about a cup of coffee? You drink coffee, right?”

  “Yes, I drink coffee.” Before he considered the repercussions, Leon grabbed her gently by the elbow and ushered her toward the passenger side. “Hop in. I’ll drive.”

  Awkward silence and heavy thoughts filled the short drive. She toyed with her hair, a finger curling around a lock. Leon turned on the satellite radio, switching the dial to a retro blues station.

  “Oh, you like the blues?” The late afternoon sunshine lit up Rachel’s green eyes, her mouth set in an inviting smile.

  “Yes. Blues, jazz…classical.”

  “I’m into the blues, too.” Her smile vanished as she slumped back in her seat. “Travis won’t let me listen to the blues. Only country.”

  “The bane of musical culture, country.”

  Rachel giggled. “You got that right.”

  At the coffee shop, the server seated them in a small booth.

  Rachel looked at the menu half-heartedly before slapping it onto the tabletop. “I’m so sorry about today, Owen. So embarrassing.”

  “It’s okay. We all have our crosses to bear.”

  “Yes, although Travis shouldn’t be your cross to bear.”

  Leon folded the menu and set it on the table. “Rachel, maybe he shouldn’t be your cross to bear, either.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “What’s not to know? I mean, really, is this relationship good for you? Is it what you want? I don’t know him, but he seems, well…maybe he’s not good for you.”

  Rachel studied the watercolor prints hanging on the walls, avoiding eye contact. “Owen, it was good. At the start, I mean. And then…”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to burden you with my problems.” Too late, thought Leon. “I just need to talk to him. Work some things out.”

  “I dunno… He seems sort of violent. Threatening.”

  Rachel’s lower lip quivered, a sign of fear Leon had seen before in abuse victims. “He’s not all bad.” Denial. Another symptom shared by abused people. “Maybe, I’m to blame…maybe…” Guilt, possibly the most damaging effect of all.

  Leon’s hand took on a life of its own and crawled toward hers. Their fingers entwined. She flinched briefly before relaxing in his grip. “Never blame yourself, Rachel. Never. What he does to you is not your fault.”

  Her lips spread, but only a quiet sob emerged. “Sorry, sorry…” She pulled her hand away and dabbed at her eyes. “Look at me. So pathetic. How did I ever get here? I ask myself that a lot these days.”

  “It’s not uncommon. I ask that myself every day when I see Capshaw.” To Leon’s amazement, she laughed. “Rachel, I know what Travis has done. What he’s done to you. Those aren’t burn marks on your arms.” She shut her eyes, attempting to blockade a new flow of tears. “Looks to me like he grabbed you…hurt you. He hurt you, Rachel.”

  Rachel shook her head back and forth before settling into a hesitant nod. “Oh, God, Owen, what am I going to do?”

  Again, Leon grasped one of her hands. He brought it down to the tabletop and enclosed both of his hands over hers. Just a small sign of comfort. If he could have, Leon would have sheltered her completely. “There’s really only one thing for you to do. And you know it. You need to leave him.”

  “I know, but how? He’s not going to like it. You saw how he can be.”

  “There’s always a way.” Leon looked about the shop, buying time, trying to resist his impulses. A precarious limb poked at his mind. He had to leap onto it. “I’ll help you any way I can.” She rearranged her fingers, slid them alternately between his, forming a bridge bonded on strength. “You need to cut all ties with him immediately. If he continues bothering you—threatening you—and won’t take no for an answer, it’s time for a restraining order. There are options for you.”

  Just when he thought he reached her, doubt wormed its eroding way back. She slumped back, her green eyes vacantly gazing at the tabletop. “I don’t know. He’s not going to like this.”

  “Who cares what he likes? This is about you. And you only.”

  “I guess I need to talk to him tonight. Tell him how it’s going to be. Tell him he’s got one more chance.” Leon wanted to tell her she’d be wasting her time. Abusers never learn or change.

  Leon released his hands from hers and dropped them into his lap. “I think it’s a mistake.”

  “You’re disappointed in me.”

  “This isn’t about what I think, and it’s especially not about what Travis thinks. It’s about your safety, your peace of mind. Abusers don’t change. It’s impossible for them. They’re…monsters.”

  Rachel looked stunned, slapped with harsh reality. “Owen, you talk like you have first-hand knowledge of abuse.”

  Leon had no intention of delving into his past. But it’d be a cop-out if he denied it, particularly with everything Rachel was going through. “I’ve had experience…yes.”

  “Were you abused?” She tugged her hair behind her ear as if to hear him better.

  “I’m really not comfortable talk
ing about it. This is about you now.” Rachel frowned, her frustration evident. Leon added, “Maybe someday I’ll tell you about my…experience. Just not today, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Rachel, I’m going to ask you one more time. Please don’t meet with Travis again.”

  “I’ve got to. I have to do this. Besides, I’m worried about you.”

  “Me? Why are you worried about me?”

  “You don’t know how he is. Well, maybe you do. He threatened you. Travis always makes good on his threats.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, I heard you did today. But I’ve told Travis about you, Owen.” Leon flinched, couldn’t help it. Being the talk of the town was not something high on his priority list. “I told him you’re a good friend. And I think I made the mistake of telling him…” Rachel stopped, appearing embarrassed.

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him I wished he could be more like you.”

  Dread settled in his stomach like an anchor. Yet he also felt a tinge of warmth, a pinch of excitement. “Nice to hear.”

  “It’s true. You’re sweet. Sometimes…I wish I would’ve met you before Travis.” She shrunk into the booth, so small, so fragile. When she glanced up, her eyes contained a glimmer of mischief. Much better than tears. “Sorry.”

  “No apologies needed.” He cleared his throat and said, “Sometimes, I feel the same way.”

  * * *

  Pulling next to Rachel’s car, Leon cut the engine. “Rachel, be careful if you talk to Travis tonight, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “And if you need my help, don’t be afraid to call. Here, let me give you my number.”

  When Leon reached for a pen in the visor, she laughed. “I have your number, Owen.”

  “Ah…”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I’m the company receptionist, not a stalker. I have access to such things, you know.”

  “Of course.”

  The seat squeaked when she leaned across and draped her arms around him. Cheek to cheek, he swam in her fresh scent—berries and a hint of the exotic, something indefinable. He broke their embrace. Her eyes flit back and forth between his, curiosity—perhaps desire—keeping them in motion. Leon kept his hands locked on the steering wheel. “You’d better go, Rachel.”

  She cocked her head, giving him a curious look. “Good night. Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome. And good luck.” He watched her leave. Only then did he release his iron hold on the wheel, unaware just how tense he’d been.

  Leon exhaled. A patch of condensation formed on his windshield, and then vanished.

  Jesus Christ. This has to end now.

  A whirlpool of emotions—new to him—threatened to pull him under. He couldn’t deny the feelings he had for Rachel were real—longing, sexual desire, anticipation of the unknown—all of them terrifying.

  Then there was Travis—an abuser. Leon knew what he’d like to do about him. However, if he accepted Travis as a project, it would break one of his rules. Like it or not, he was now involved with Rachel, Travis’s victim. And Leon, too, felt like a victim of sorts.

  Heavy panting gave way to hyperventilation. He tapped open the glove box and pulled out a paper bag. Beneath his breath, it expanded and contracted like a pumping heart. Yet this anxiety attack seemed markedly different than the others. He felt excited. Alive.

  Chapter Seven

  Usually nothing cleared Leon’s mind more than a rigorous workout. Every time he tried to eradicate Rachel from his thoughts, her image came back, a slowly developing photograph. Not since college had he had a relationship, and even then, he never experienced emotional commitment; just going through the motions. He needed to see Rachel again. Soon.

  He stepped off the treadmill, draping a towel around his neck. A less than satisfying workout, yet his muscles ached as if he’d run a marathon, stretched to the point of snapping.

  When all else fails, focus on a different problem. Using his laptop, he hacked into the Denver, Colorado criminal database and ran Cody Spangler’s name. Nothing. Surprising.

  Next, Leon searched the last decade of The Denver Post archives. Coming up empty-handed, he delved five years further back.

  Bingo. Buried amongst drunken driving incidents in the arrest logs, he found a small blurb mentioning Cody. The details were vague, purposely so, he imagined, but there’d been a domestic disturbance at the household of Gretchen Spangler, a single mother of an eleven-year-old boy, Cody. A follow-up story claimed she lost custody of her son who was sent into a foster home, the grounds being abuse.

  Crap. Cody, of all people, was an abuse victim. To adhere to his rules, Leon couldn’t touch him. He’d have to neutralize him some other way. Perhaps he could use his new-found information as leverage, level out the playing field, forcing Cody to leave him alone and destroy his photographic evidence.

  Gambling Gretchen Spangler still had a landline—something older generations are loath to leave behind—Leon hunted through the Denver white pages. No exact hits, but five “G. Spanglers” listed.

  On his fourth phone call, Leon struck gold.

  “Hello,” croaked a lifetime smoker’s voice.

  “Hello, ma’am, is this Gretchen Spangler?”

  “Yes…who the hell is this?” Nice woman, Leon thought.

  “Mrs. Spangler, this is Arnold Jamison with Denver, Colorado Child Welfare Services. We’ve found new evidence suggesting you were unfairly accused of child abuse.”

  “I didn’t abuse nobody or nothin’!”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s why we’re looking into the matter.”

  “You tell that little shit-heel of a kid he’s a goddamn liar and he ain’t no son of mine!” At first, Leon thought she was dying; she wheezed and hacked non-stop, forcing him to hold the phone away. Finally she regained her lungs.

  “We’re talking about Cody Spangler, correct, ma’am?”

  “Who the hell else ya think it’d be?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” A sudden welling of empathy struck Leon. Cody didn’t deserve any empathy, but no kid should suffer an abusive parent. None. “Ma’am, for the record, could you recount your version of the events?”

  A long, ripe pause. “I’m not going over this again. As you said, I was wrongly accused.” Leon didn’t buy it for a minute. “Who’d you say this was again?”

  Leon repeated his alias. “Ma’am, this shouldn’t take long. If you could please explain to me what happened for the record.”

  “Goddamn it! I went over this time and again. I ain’t doing it no more. Leave me in peace before I sue your ass.” She hung up. No matter, Leon had enough to work with. Or at least enough for a bluff. He wrote down Gretchen Spangler’s address and phone number.

  Narrowing it down by region, Leon cracked into several of the larger phone service carrier databases until he found Cody’s cell phone number.

  On the sixth ring, Cody picked up. “Who’s this?” His voice sounded hesitant, not his usual cock-sure demeanor.

  “Hello, Cody, it’s Owen Gribble.”

  A clatter filled Leon’s ears as if Cody’d dropped the phone. “You’ve gotta’ be kidding me. You’ve got some balls, old man.”

  “I think you’d better stop calling me ‘old man’.”

  “Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it? If you don’t want me going viral with the photo of you and the bum, you’d better leave town. Now!”

  “What does the photo prove? I was just doing my civic duty, feeding a homeless man.”

  “I don’t think so, old man. I think you were gonna’ do him, dump the body!”

  Leon paused, considered it. Just a bluff, same as Leon’s game. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Cody. You can’t prove anything.”

  “Yeah? We’ll see.”

  “Cody, listen to me and keep quiet for one minute.” Leon waited a beat until certain he commanded Cody’s full attention. “I know about you and your mother.”<
br />
  “What…are you talking about?”

  “A Mrs. Gretchen Spangler…2019 West Parkview Lane, Apartment 3B, Denver, Colorado. I had a nice chat with her.”

  “You…leave that bitch out of this.”

  “I know she abused you. And they took you away when you were eleven-years-old. You were sent to a foster home—”

  Cody released an anguished howl. “I’m gonna kill you, old man!”

  “Settle down. You’re not going to do any such thing.”

  “I’ll rip you apart!” Cody screamed a string of threats, most of them unintelligible.

  “Listen to me, Cody. Unless you leave me in peace—and destroy your photograph—I might have another conversation with your mother. Maybe let her know what you’ve been up to. Maybe even talk to the police.”

  Cody’s labored breathing settled into the calm a child experiences after a crying jag. Finally, with a voice cold and smooth as ice, he said, “I’ve been going easy on you, old man. Wyngarden said I should. But now? Now you’ve pushed me too far. I’m gonna rip your heart out of your chest.”

  Leon swallowed, dry and nasty tasting. He believed Cody capable of such a thing. His tone resonated with self-righteous determination, the twisted voice of a sociopath. Still, Leon forged on. “Cody, I’m telling you for your own good. Leave me alone. Or I’ll do what I said I would.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch. You leave that bitch alone. You don’t even get to talk about her. I’m comin’ for you, old man. I’m comin’ like fuckin’ Christmas. I’m gonna kill you! I’m—”

  “You’ve been warned.”

  The second Leon hung up he knew he made a terrible mistake.

  * * *

  Cody rammed the barbell into the television. Glass scattered across the room. Wisps of smoke curled out of the black hole. Cody didn’t care. Nothing mattered. He dropped to his knees, battering his fists on the floor.