Chapter 6
My bones ached by the time we reached the Perry Lake Motel. If I had been able to just sink into Frank then maybe I could have saved my back a world of hurt, but snuggling up to Charles Manson was not exactly easy. It was all I could do not to run away screaming once my feet touched the ground.
I needed answers and this time he wasn't getting out of it.
Frank climbed off the bike and ran a hand through his hair, talking with a few of the guys. I loved to run my hands through his thick brown curls. He'd even started growing it out for me when I’d told him how much I loved it—just a small victory he'd allowed me. I mourned him in that moment. Mourned the loss of what used to be and what could have been if he hadn’t turned out to be a raging psycho.
I stopped staring at his hair and took in the bigger picture in front of me. The three of them were just standing there, acting so normal. Just chit-chatting like he wasn't covered in another man's blood. Like they were just discussing the weather. Move along. Nothing to see here, folks. Nothing's out of the ordinary. Nothing at all.
He finally moved from the men and made his way over. Frank was all confidence and swagger, from his five o'clock shadow right down to his worn leather boots. In the past, that alone could make me swoon like some idiot, but tonight was different. Tonight, my hands trembled with fear as he walked up to me, grabbing a clean corner of his shirt and pulling it up to wipe the red from his face and lips.
"We need to talk," I managed to chirp past the lump in my throat. He just gave me a sideways grin as he pushed past me.
"No, we don't," he said.
"Frank, you... You killed him," I said. I glanced around and dropped my voice to a low whisper. "You didn't just beat the shit out of some guy at a bar. You crushed his skull in. He's dead."
The grin disappeared. He sucked in his bottom lip as he looked around and shoved the key into the lock, pushing the door open. I barely had time to brace myself before he grabbed my shoulders and shoved me into the room, slamming the door behind him.
"You just don't get it," he said, his words slow and careful. "Yeah. I fuckin' killed that son of a bitch. So what? No one’s gonna miss a piece of shit like him, Harls."
I steadied on my feet and turned around to face him. The whole throwing me around like a ragdoll thing was getting fucking old and fast. I forced my breathing to settle, to calm myself back down as I watched him toss his blood-stained jacket across the bed. The sight of all that blood smeared on the bed I’d been sleeping in made my stomach clench.
"Who the fuck are you that you get to make that decision?" I snapped. I was done. Completely and utterly finished with this shit. "I'm leaving. I am not a part of this. I won't be dragged into whatever hell your life is."
He blinked slowly at me, disbelief painting his features. Moments ticked by and we both just stood there staring at each other in silence. He actually looked surprised that I might leave him. That I couldn't—and wouldn’t— just put all of this past me and forget about it.
Frank finally walked into the bathroom, and I allowed myself the brief, and possibly foolish, hope that he was thinking things over. Maybe he would even do the right thing and call the cops. Yeah, even I knew that was pretty damn naive.
"You know, Harls," he said from the bathroom, "you never understood me. We've been together two years now and you... You just don't get it. You don't get what I do for us. For the pack."
When he walked out of the bathroom he swung his arms upward, grasping the top of the door frame. It drew my eyes and showed off the muscles straining and tensing below his skin. On the surface, it was a very natural and automatic pose, but Frank never did anything without purpose. He knew exactly what he was doing.
There was no denying he had an appeal that was all raw masculinity and seductive danger. My eyes couldn't keep from following the line of his body, from the small glimpse of his rock hard stomach peeking out from his lifted shirt, up to the bulging muscles of his arms as they stretched overhead.
The sight distracted me until he opened his mouth again and added, "I'm not a bad guy, babe."
That made me squirm in my skin. Sure, he wasn't a bad guy. The men we called friends, some of the toughest sons of bitches I knew, were terrified of pissing him off and he had just beaten a man to death with his bare hands. Oh, and he seemed to be leaving a string of corpses behind him these days. He was just a misunderstood guy; a real boy scout.
He pushed his body through the door and let go of the frame, letting his arms slap lazily against his sides. A smug grin tugged at the corners of his mouth again as he prowled towards me, and I began to feel less awed by his dangerous masculinity and more fearful of it.
"Doesn't matter what I think, but what you should do is go to the cops. If you're really not a bad guy then do the right thing. It was self-defense. If we tell the cops that they ambushed us then maybe they won't charge you with anything."
"You really think they're going to believe we weren't there doing something illegal? We just happened to be in a shit-hole outside town and these guys jumped us for no good reason?" he asked.
"Well... maybe," I offered, unable to even convince myself.
He laughed at that, one of those rich, throaty laughs that came from being truly amused. Apparently, I was a real knee-slapper tonight.
"God, you're so naive sometimes. It's cute. No. No one is going to the police, Harley. I did what I had to do. We'll put it behind us, and we'll move on like we always do. No need to sit and stew on it."
"We can't just sit on this," I said. I was tired of being cute and amusing. I wanted to be heard. I wanted him to hear me. "Maybe if we—"
Before I could finish the thought, Frank lunged at me, forcing me back against the door. He had me cornered like a spider with a fly stuck to its web. I had nowhere to go except to press back against the door as hard as I could. Wood splintered beside my head as he punched a fist through the door, locking both arms on either side of me so I couldn't move. I couldn't run away, even if my feet and brain weren’t both frozen in terror.
His face, still marred with droplets of dried blood, was so close that we were touching noses, his brown eyes locking onto my blue ones. There were no more playful grins or flippant remarks. It was all raw, explosive rage and a tiny thread of control holding all that anger off of me.
"This is the last time anything is said on the matter. No one is going to the cops. I did the world a favor. I did you a favor by scraping that piece of shit off this earth. You should be kissing my boots with gratitude for that." His face softened ever so slightly after he said that, but the dangerous gleam remained in his eyes, a wicked grin returning to his face. "In fact," he whispered. He took a couple of step back. "Why don’t you go ahead and do just that?"
"What?" The word came out as nothing more than a tremble.
"Kiss... my God. Damn. Boots. Show me that you still love me, that you... appreciate what I did for everyone by getting rid of that son of a bitch."
There were no words. Nothing would leave my throat. It all lodged under the huge lump that was steadily growing there. I almost asked if he was serious, but found it pointless. Of course he was serious. He was always serious.
I could feel the sting of tears burning the backs of my eyes. I watched him waiting—ever so patiently and expectantly—for me to obey him. To demean myself to him. Had I ever truly meant anything to him? If I had, how could he make me do this? How could he want me to do something so disgusting?
I'll admit there had been times I had to make a choice: poke and prod and question him to the point where he might come unglued on me, or keep the peace and walk away unharmed. I wasn’t proud that I allowed fear to win over reason at times. In hindsight, I was even more ashamed that I hadn't sat back and wondered why I was with a man that made me make such a choice. A man that made me worry, at any point, that he'd somehow hurt me.
In that moment, I realized it had been a long time since love held together our broken relationship. Fra
nk was the first man I ever loved, and I had been his for the last two years. I was just a girl when I first laid eyes on him. He was all I knew. While that might never change, there was also one bigger truth to come to terms with. With the love fading away, the only reasons I had been staying by his side and putting up with his shit was because I was afraid of being alone.
I wanted to belong. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to matter. I needed to be needed by someone. Frank didn't need me. He wanted to use me, to possess and control me, but he didn't need me. Not in the way I had needed him. With this epiphany stoking my confidence, I squared my shoulders, stood tall and unmoved, and said something to him I had never before dared to say.
"No," I said, stunned by how little emotion was in the word.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
He took another step towards me, backing me back against the door again. Only, this time, my hand reached for the doorknob. His eyes darkened, anger beating off him in hot waves.
"No. I'm not going to be your bitch anymore. I'm done."
His hand shot out at me and made me flinch so hard that I missed the knob completely. I'd expected his fist to crush into my face, but instead his fingers dug into the back of my skull, wrapping in my hair. As if I were nothing, he shoved me towards the middle of the room. I managed to not fall flat on my face but a sharp pain was shooting up my forearms from catching myself. I started to get to my feet and was met with another shove.
"Don't you fuckin' move," he bellowed as he rounded on me, taking my hair again and making me look at him. "You ungrateful bitch. I kept you safe. I took you away from your meaningless existence and brought you in at the expense of my own blood. I let you in and let you see the parts of us we've killed better men over. Do you really think after all the time and effort I put into you, after the blood spilt for you, that you'd just be able to get up and walk away from me? I told you before, Harls, there's no turning back now. You belong to me. Everything you are... is mine."
His face contorted into something monstrous, something edging on insanity. Even with the multitude of horrors I'd witnessed in just a few hours, this was the most frightening. A man I once loved, that I let close to me, was a dangerous stranger. His smile made my stomach tight. There was too much satisfaction in it for what was happening.
"Now," he said softer, taking my silence as acceptance, "do as I say."
He shoved my head down until it hovered just over the top of his boot. The smell of worn, dirty leather turned my stomach. I was not going to do this. Let him beat me to death like D’Angelo. I didn't have much going for me in my life, but I was going to hold on to my dignity as long as I could. I dug my nails into the tightly looped carpet fibers, fighting against this disgusting display of abasement.
I could feel his eyes bear down on me like a bitter cold wind. My face remained down, facing the floor in probably the only smart thing I had done all night. It kept Frank from seeing the disgust I felt towards him. His impatience weighed down on me, but I held strong. I would not do this. I would not debase myself. I did, however, allow my stupidity to take charge, and I spit on the toe of his boot.
A sudden flash of hot, white light burst behind my eyelids. An explosion of pain erupted in my cheek. I flew to the side, landing across the floor in a heap, my hands flying to my face as I slid across the carpet. When I dared to open my eyes again, everything was an unfocused blur of color.
"Hard headed to the core. Go get cleaned up. When you're ready to play nice, come to bed," he said in a hollow tone, all signs of mirth and sick amusement gone from his voice.
I managed to find my way to the bathroom by the time my vision started to return. My face was screaming in pain, and it felt like all the meat in my cheek would just burst through the tender skin at any moment. I locked the door behind me and gripped the edge of the sink to force myself to stay upright. It wouldn't do any good to faint now. I would get little sympathy.
I was stupid to not have seen that coming. I had to have been lying to myself to believe it would have ended any other way. Sometimes, I was my own worst enemy.
Get cleaned up, he had said. As if soap and water would wash away all the pain and abuse. I leaned over and ran a hot bath, ready to melt into the steaming water and hide from the ruin I’d made of my life for about twenty minutes.
As the tub filled, I glanced at the cracked mirror hanging over the sink. My cheek had already swelled twice its normal size. By tomorrow it would be worse. I couldn't take refuge in the hope that our friends would see it and help me. I'd seen it way too much with the other women to believe that they would cross Frank.
Most of the girls would feel sorry for me, but no one would speak a word about it. It would be a week or two of staying in while everyone else went out and had a few beers or got some food. Just long enough so that Frank's trophy girlfriend could heal and look presentable to flaunt around again.
Frank might have been a jealous and possessive son of a bitch, but he was also proud. His pride usually took precedence over all else. If he could show something off, he did. I was no different. I was just a coveted toy to show off to the other kids.
I pressed my tongue gingerly over the inside of my cheek and winced at the sharp sting. The meat on the inside was split almost wide enough for me to stick the tip of my tongue into it. My tongue moved away with a metallic taste. I leaned over and spit into the basin of the sink and watched the white porcelain ruin with bright red droplets. What started as a slight tinge of blood now my filled my mouth, like I had been sucking on a mouthful of pennies.
With one last good spit, I looked back up into the mirror. I had one of those moments where the face looking back doesn’t make sense anymore. My eyes stared back at me, lifeless. There used to be light in those eyes. I’d found my fire after I took up with Frank. The cynical and pissy girl my family’s treatment had turned me into had finally melted away with my newfound freedom. I’d learned to enjoy life, to live it up with friends. Two years later, and Frank had managed to snuff the fire right out of me and leave me hollow.
Dull, gun metal blue stared back at me with a defeated, nearly deadened, sadness. They'd never been much to write home about but with the right makeup the color would pop and let more of the blue shine through. Lately, even the most expert make up couldn't hide the exhaustion around my eyes. Or maybe it was all in my head. I felt so tired and run down that I thought I was beginning to show on the outside just how exhausted this life was making me. The youthful innocence had slowly drained into something older and harder.
I knew Frank would be more than happy to drag my name through the mud with his if I really pushed him, so I didn't push. I didn't want to go out that way. The more I thought about it, turning him into the police would only bring me down with him. He'd do or say whatever he could to make sure I suffered just as much as he did.
And the wolves. I couldn't even begin to understand what had happened earlier. I mean, we've all seen the movies. Heard the stories. But never would I have believed they were fucking real. I mean, two years is a long time to not notice something as weird as my friends going all furry once a month.
The more I thought about it, the more it sounded like a bad acid trip than anything that could be remotely possible. Maybe he had dosed me somehow. I knew the kind of shit Frank had his hands in, so the idea of him slipping me something wasn’t too farfetched. And I had woken up in the shack. Maybe everything that happened up to the point where I regained consciousness was some bad dream.
The water was nearly to the edges of the tub before I remembered it was running. I moved to turn the water off, but stopped when my fingers brushed against something cold and metal. Glancing down at the sink, I saw the keys to Frank's bike resting under my hand. I stared at them for a moment, the beginnings of an idea forming in my head. Truth was there was only one way out of this situation without being swallowed up in it myself.
I looked around the small bathroom, first at the door between me and Frank, then to the tub, and
finally a small window above it. My heart was racing as I mapped it all out in my head. I would have to leave the water running or he would probably hear me open the window. As it was already threatening to spill over the sides, I didn't have much time before it would flood over. The last thing I wanted was for him to check on me and find me hanging halfway through the window making a grand escape.
My heart raced in my chest, my heartbeat echoing thickly in my ears. I propped a foot on the slick porcelain, using the wall and sink to steady me. After wobbling a bit, I steadied and swung my other foot across the water to the edge of the tub against the wall. The keys jangled in my hand as I moved and I sucked a breath in through my teeth. If Frank saw me now, it would be all over. I wasn't sure I would survive the beating he would give me if he thought I was running off to turn him in. Betrayal was not easily forgiven by Mr. Essex.
I waited a breath or two, listening for any sign of movement in the other room. When I heard nothing, I tucked the keys into my pocket and worked on opening the window. I jostled it until it finally freed from the years of built up rust.
It wasn't easy, but I managed to push up and squeeze through the narrow opening and shimmy down to the dumpster outside, and waited to see if any of his friends were walking around outside the rooms. Finding myself alone, I hopped off the dumpster and made a break for Frank's bike, jumping onto the seat and sliding the key into the ignition.
I said a small, silent prayer to coax myself into finishing what I was starting. If I stayed, eventually I would be dead. I knew this. If I went to the police, I would go to jail. Or Frank would find me and kill me. Again, dead.
This was it. Either get out now or prepare my own funeral. With a last glance over my shoulders, I let out a soft sigh.
"Thanks for the ride, baby," I whispered.
I started the engine. I had a split second before he would come running outside and find me. There was no way I was giving him the chance. With as much gas as I could give the bike, I peeled out of the parking lot and shot gravel in every direction, speeding off into the night and towards the freedom ahead.
Deny the Moon Page 12