‘Thank you. Thank you for all of your support. I do feel bad. I’m sure you’re a busy man, and to be bothering you with this. Maybe I’m crazy. It’s been a tough few weeks. Maybe I’m just overly sensitive, you know?’ I offer, tears welling.
Sheriff Barkley reaches across, patting my hand. ‘Don’t feel bad. It’s my job to help take care of those worries, even if I’m not really wanting to find the missing. Listen, I know things have been rough. I know Richard has made things really hard for you. But I’ll find the man and bring him home. I will. Don’t you worry about it. Men like Richard never get far before they come back. Now, I’m going to go later today and check in with his brother. See if maybe he has any information. I’ll get a hold of you as soon as I hear anything. I’ll keep you posted. And if we don’t hear anything in a day or two, I might swing by the house, see if there’s anything we’re overlooking. See if maybe there’s any more cause for concern or clues Richard left about where he was headed. If you happen to come across anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?’
I take a breath in and out. I hadn’t expected this. Cody will not like this. And if Sheriff Barkley shows up at the house, this could get a whole lot more complicated. He’ll definitely be searching the garage and everything else. I think about the wad of cash and Cody’s erratic behavior.
I can’t leave just yet then. This seals it. I need to keep a handle on the sheriff, on the situation, before I abandon it all. I need to buy myself a safety net of time.
I need to finish arranging things here before I even think of starting over. I’ve been patient. I’ve endured Richard’s abuse. And like Sheriff Barkley said, Richard will show up eventually. But there’s no reason to believe it will be today or tomorrow. And even if he does, well, maybe things are different. Maybe I’m different. Maybe even if he did show up, I’d still keep hope alive. I’d still find the courage, the strength, to escape this torturous life, to clean it all up and head off into the sunset.
Besides, Sheriff Barkley still doesn’t seem too worried. Richard’s fine. That’s what he believes, and that’s what I need to believe too. It’s all fine. I can’t let on how worried I am. Maybe it’s a good thing that the town is so small and that Richard’s made such a bad name for himself.
‘Thank you, Sheriff. Thanks so much.’
‘Oh, and Mrs. Connor?’ he asks as I stand from the chair.
‘You can call me Crystal, please,’ I say, smiling sweetly as I clutch the chair for support.
‘Crystal. You don’t have to drive the whole way out here for information you know. I’d be happy to come to you.’
‘That’s so sweet, Sheriff Barkley. But it really wasn’t any trouble. It does me some good to get out of the house, all things considered. Keeps me busy. I’m keeping the house going so that when Richard comes home, it’s all ready for him, you know?’
‘Well, you take care. And let me know if you need anything, all right? It’ll all be okay. He’ll be back before you know it. Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can.’
I smile and nod, heading out the door and to the truck.
‘Bye, now,’ Pam shouts, her gum cracking again. I jump at the sound, and then put a hand to my chest.
I breathe out. Everything’s okay for now. They haven’t found anything of concern. But then again, it’s not okay. Not at all. Because as I get into the truck, ready to drive home, itching to get back to home base, I shudder. My knuckles grip the wheel, and the cold sweat is back, dampening my forehead and the small of my back. I shake my head as I drive down the road, toward the unknown.
After all, like Sheriff Barkley said. There’s really nothing to worry about. Richard should be back in a few days. Everyone’s expecting as much. I should enjoy the peace and quiet for now. But how can I do that when I know he could show up at any moment? How can I relax knowing then when he gets to the house, when that vehicle pulls up, all is going to change, and getting out of this mess will be so much harder? How can I breathe knowing that my life will be over, and that Sheriff Barkley will no longer believe I’m a good woman looking out for her husband—because there just might not be a Crystal Connor left standing?
I better be ready. I need to be ready. I’ve been slacking. Things aren’t perfect. They need to be perfect. I need to clean. I’m out of bleach, though. Richard always prefers bleach. He says it smells like clean. He says the chlorine smell is a powerful reminder that the house is sanitary. Richard’s all about being sanitary.
I decide to swing by the market. I hate that I’m not going straight home. I really should be there in case he shows up. I need to be ready just in case. But I also need the bleach. I can’t clean the house properly without it, and it’s so important to keep it all just right. Richard wouldn’t like it if I wasn’t cleaning properly. I need to get the job done. I need to play that familiar role, the dutiful wife. I need to play it better than I ever had in case he realizes what I’ve done. Because what I’ve done, well, it’s unforgivable. It’s destruction in the purest sense.
In the parking lot of the market, I sit for a moment, my head on the steering wheel. I murmur the familiar prayer, begging for forgiveness. Why did I do it? How can my soul ever be all right?
I sit with my tortured soul for a little while, the silence of the truck’s cab enveloping me in a glassy horror of my mind’s own doing. I squeeze my eyes shut, the tears falling. There’s no turning back. There’s no undoing it all. I have to be strong and hope that I’ll be ready when he comes—or long gone. One or the other. I tell myself I can do this. And until he shows up, I’m just going to have to keep going. I’m going to have to make the most of this time, just like Sheriff Barkley said. I’m going to have to try to find some peace for my weary soul, some solace of a simple kind, or at least some apathy. I’m going to have to sort through it all, make my peace, and then carry out my plan to freedom. I can’t break now. I can’t.
Crystal Connor is weak but she’s also unbreakable when she needs to be. I think Richard needs to know that. I think he will know that before it’s all said and done. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I chant my mantra in my head, sauntering into the mart to fill my cart with bleach, some of Richard’s favorite foods, and a few boxes of hair dye just in case I get the chance to be the new woman Richard will never, ever get to meet.
Chapter Twelve
I scrubbed the dishes, my hands stinging from the hot water and soap. Staring out the window into the abysmally gray day, I’d let my mind wander, thinking about how differently life turned out than I hoped.
Empty. That’s the word I’d use to describe it. I stared into the empty yard, cleaning the dish, my mind and heart and soul equivocally empty. I felt beyond lost and alone. Shattered. I thought the agony was never going to stop.
It had been two years since I said goodbye to that sweet baby girl, and I thought with time, it would eventually be okay. I imagined that Richard and I would march into a future not as bright but still glistening with possibility. We’d find a new way to function, a new dream of forever. I thought he’d find a way to love me despite my shortcomings. I believed I could find a way to bring that love to his heart, to connect with him, to turn his callous heart warm again. I could fix him. I could help him. He needed me.
I’d learned over the years we’d been married that Richard didn’t have the best upbringing. Mine was certainly no picnic, but Richard, well, I’d argue his was even worse. The constant drunken rages from his father, the abuse at his mother’s hands. The fake illnesses and the doctors and the plain lack of love. Starvation, neglect, and terror were hallmarks of his childhood.
True, my life had been no breeze. But at least my family got one thing right. At least they gave me a sense of faith, a religion to cling to in the moments of darkness. Richard had been given only superficial, false gods to cling to—his pride, his masculinity, and the idea that he needed to protect them both at all costs.
Those hopes for Richard to become something more should’ve been dashe
d. Still, somewhere deep inside, I’d clung to the theory that Richard just needed to be shown love to know love. I’d seen glimmers of who he could be—I just needed to help him polish those traits.
I’d seen the way he helped the old lady from the market jumpstart her car on a cold day the previous winter. I’d seen a tenderness in the way he smoothed a strand back from my face, the way his kisses could sometimes be charming and the thing of dreams. With every dozen dark moments, there came a sliver of hope, just enough to reel me into Richard’s grasp and make me believe I could help him be the man I wanted to love me. I felt like maybe it was my purpose to bring Richard to a better version of himself, to help him see a different life than the one his family had shown him.
Nevertheless every time I got close to thinking I was making progress, we’d take at least ten steps back. There would be the sweet kiss followed by the whacks across the face for a simple mistake—a wrong type of salad dressing at the store, an overcooked piece of meat, a misplaced glass. Anything could send his fists flying at me. It seemed like everything did.
Still, I wasn’t a quitting woman. I’d said my vows. I’d sworn to God that for better or worse I’d love him. And so I would. But lately, I was beginning to wonder if this marriage had been part of God’s plan at all. I’d wondered if, like Mama said, I’d been a disgrace to everyone, that my one sin would lead to a lifetime of penance. Because Richard certainly made me repent, like it or not.
I kept scrubbing the dishes, staring into the void and wondering if that was it. Would that really be all my life entailed? Guilt lurked in the corners of my thoughts. How could I be so selfish? Richard did provide so much for me. Many people weren’t as lucky as me. I had a roof over my head, food to eat, and a warm place to sleep. I had a man who provided the basics for me. I didn’t have to lift a finger outside of the home. I had a man who was tough and stoic, who could fix just about anything
Except for his own warped mind. Except for his own power-hungry nature. He couldn’t fix those things. And maybe I couldn’t either. I sighed. When did life get so messy? When would I ever get a break?
The screen door screeched open. I turned to see Richard staggering through the door. My heart palpitated as I let the dish I’d been aimlessly scrubbing plunge underneath the water. I stared at it for a moment under the suds, wishing it could be so easy for me to disappear. Richard’s unsteady gait told me all I needed to know. I shuddered, realizing it would be the kind of day I dreaded, the ones that were wicked enough to cast a lengthy shadow over me for days and days to come.
‘I can get dinner started,’ I meekly offered, rushing to the refrigerator. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe he’d be distracted.
He stumbled toward me, and I froze in place. God, please tell me he wasn’t in the bourbon. Because I knew what kind of days bourbon days turn into. I steadied my breathing, telling myself it would be fine. He wandered up behind me, wrapping his hands around my waist. I dried my hands on my apron and swallowed as his hot breath harangued my shoulder. I inhaled slowly. Bourbon. The spicy hotness of the liquor on Richard’s breath told me all I needed to know. I tried to assuage my wild fears, my leaking eyes.
‘Shut up about dinner. There’s plenty of time for that. I have some needs that need met.’ He spun me in his arms, pinning me against the counter. His movements were jerky but purposeful.
Tears welled as I looked into the familiar haze of his eyes. It was more than just alcohol peeking out from his pupils. In his gaze, I saw the recognizable sadism lurking within them, a redness of intention that alarmed me. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, thinking about what had happened last time he’d drank bourbon. I’d tried so hard to shove the thought aside. We were married. He was my husband. There was nothing wrong with being forced to please your man. It was all fine.
But I knew that it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine at all.
‘Richard, I’m not feeling well. Please, let me make you dinner,’ I whispered.
‘Shut the fuck up, you slut. You’re mine. I can do with you as I please.’ He grabbed the nape of my neck, pinching hard. I squealed in fear, which I knew was a mistake. My fear only enlivened him even more. With his other hand, Richard grabbed at my shirt and shredded it off, the tear making me jump. It sent me back to those days in the hallway, Daddy’s gruff hands ripping at my shirt in the same way.
‘Richard, please,’ I said, still hoping I could get out of this. I knew what was coming all too well.
‘Get on your knees. Now,’ he demanded, shoving me to the floor. I landed on my knees hard, and I whimpered as he unzipped his pants and let himself out in the middle of the kitchen.
I knew what I needed to do. I knew what I should want to do. He was my husband. There was nothing wrong with intimacy. I tried to balance perfectly still, knowing that to struggle would be to encourage him more. Tears welled as my body tensed.
Richard touched himself and walked behind me. I stayed on my knees, shaking. With a swift kick in the middle of my back, Richard threw me to the floor, my hands splaying out from under me. My chin cracked off the linoleum. I whimpered, and Richard let out a chuckle. He liked it when I whimpered. He liked the feeling it gave him.
Pain radiating from my chin, Richard mounted me, shoving himself deep inside of me until my body ached, until I cried out in pain. Thrust, thrust, thrust, each one accompanied by mind-bending pain. Each thrust making me pray for it to be over, making me squeal animalistically in agony until my cheeks flamed red. Over and over inside of me as he crushed me onto the floor. When I stayed silent, holding the shrieks in, he grabbed my hair with a hand, bashing my skull onto the floor until I whimpered again. I screamed in pain as he grunted in pleasure. The whole time, I stared through tears and through my aching mind, studying the floor.
It’s so dirty. I should’ve cleaned it better. Why didn’t I do better?
When he came, he dismounted, kicked me in the ribs, and zipped up. He strutted to the fridge and reached for a beer before heading outside. I jumped when he slammed the screen door. Tears pooled on the floor. At least he was gone. Still, I didn’t dare move, knowing the pain would intensify if I did. I lay for a long while, my cheek on the floor, the stench of Richard and rape oozing through the kitchen.
Mama wouldn’t like that I used that word, I thought. Women are meant to please their husbands. Rape doesn’t exist between husbands and wives, she would say.
But maybe she would change her mind if she knew Richard. I pushed myself off the floor, gasping in pain as my whole body ached. I headed for the bleach and the bucket to clean my own blood off the once clean floor.
Chapter Thirteen
Tires on the gravel road send a jolt to my heart. My breathing intensifies as I turn from Henry’s bowl, the food plopped into the dirty container. I spin to face the truth at the road. My hands shake as I wait to see what vehicle will be coming around the slight bend in the road. Under the cover of trees, the engine revs.
Is it time for the reckoning? Is it him? I cross myself, feeling blasphemous as I do. I consider dropping to my knees, begging for God’s mercy. But I can’t. I can’t let him see me like that. I have to hang onto some sense of pride, even if it means hanging on until the very end. I will not make myself a martyr, not yet.
A tan truck gasses it up the road, screeching to a stop behind the red truck. I squint, trying to figure out who it is. I haven’t seen the truck before, but then again, Richard’s garage is always full of vehicles I don’t recognize. I take a breath, realizing this isn’t the worst-case scenario. It’s probably just a customer I’ll have to get rid of.
But then a bald-headed man emerges, biceps rippling. And in his hands is something that sends a shiver right through me again. Henry emits a growl as the muscular man stomps toward me, the crowbar swung over his shoulder like a baseball bat. I steady myself for the fight that’s surely coming, wondering what the hell Richard’s done now.
Chapter Fourteen
My fingers grip the handle on the knife that’s
in my pocket, tracing the dried specks of blood on it. I never used to carry a knife, but things have clearly changed. I squeeze the knife, Richard’s prize possession, wondering if it’ll be time to put it to use again. I steady my breathing, my eyes lasering in on their target.
Just breathe, I remind myself. I’m capable of this. I’m capable of so much more than I ever thought.
‘Little lady, where’s your man?’ the gritty voice barks as he marches toward me. Henry yanks on his rope, and I consider letting him loose. I think about scaring him away, letting the huge dog do his guarding job. I think about ending this right now. But curiosity gets the best of me. I need to know what he’s here for. I need to know what Richard’s done. I need to figure out what scheme he has going and if it will hinder or help me in the long run. I need to know what I’ll be running from, what secrets I need to keep at the women’s shelter in South Carolina, the one I settled on to get me started when I’m finally done here.
‘Not home,’ I reply confidently, my palms sweating as I grip the knife tighter. His hands are loose around the crowbar, his grin defiant. There’s a scar above his eyebrow. I’ve never seen him before.
‘Is that so?’ he asks, swagger in his walk as he finally comes to a halt in front of me. There are a few feet between us, but I start calculating how quickly I could close the gap if I needed to.
‘Yeah, that’s so. Who are you?’
He smirks, shaking his head. ‘None of your fucking business. Let’s just agree I’m about to be your louse of a husband’s worst nightmare. The fucker has it coming after what he’s done.’
A Tortured Soul Page 11