The Rebound Effect

by Linda Griffin

  Frank came back and calmly closed it again. He was carrying two lengths of rope and a knife. Her nerves went taut all over at the sight of the blade. He dropped the rope on the bed, put the knife on the nightstand out of her reach, and went back to close the door. As he did, the brightest flash of lightning she had ever seen lit up the window, immediately followed by an enormous crash of thunder. It shook the whole house. She jumped, and so did Frank, and then he laughed. “That was close,” he commented. “Wild night.”

  “I don’t want to do this,” she said urgently. “I really am claustrophobic.”

  “It’s all in your mind. The claustrophobia isn’t real, not in your case; it’s fear of claustrophobia.” She couldn’t deny it; she had used the phrase herself. He tied her free wrist to the top crossbar, undid the handcuff, and replaced it with rope. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to do it!”

  “If you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again, but you have to try it this time.” His tone was like a parent’s, coaxing a reluctant child, like her trying to get Aiden to eat a new vegetable.

  “Please, Frank. I don’t like this. Please untie me. I’m starting to feel—”

  Under her own words and the patter of rain on the awnings, she heard a sound from outside the room, not near the door, but at a distance: a childish treble with the slight harshness common to deafness—Aiden calling, “Mama!” He had probably been awakened by the spectacular lightning and the concussion of the thunder, but she hoped he was only crying out in his sleep.

  Frank didn’t seem to hear it. “Feeling is what it’s all about,” he said. “Stop thinking and just feel. What’s your philosophy? Beauty abounds? Look for the beauty in this experience. It comes with giving up control.”

  “I don’t want to give up control. If you untie me now, I won’t tell anybody.”

  “I know you won’t,” he said warmly. “When you wouldn’t talk about having sex with Devlin, I knew you could keep a secret.” He took hold of her left leg, and she tried to kick him, but he overpowered her and bound both ankles to the footboard. He went to the nightstand and held up the knife. The blade wasn’t very long, but had a nasty serrated edge. “The minute we’re finished, I’ll cut you loose. You’re not trapped, so there’s no need to be claustrophobic.”

  “I feel trapped.”

  “Makes your heart race a little? That’s adrenaline.”

  “Is the door locked?” she asked, willing Aiden to stay in bed, out of harm’s way. If he opened the door he would be terrified to see her like this, maybe run out in the rain—and what would Frank do?

  He held up a finger, as if grateful for the reminder, and went to lock the bedroom door. “I love you,” he said.

  “This isn’t the best way to show it,” she said.

  “I swear to God I will not hurt you.”

  “It already hurts,” she protested. “The rope is rubbing my wrists. Having my arms up like this is uncomfortable, and the claustrophobia is real; it’s no joke.”

  “You’ll forget about it in a minute,” he said. “Pretend you’re in Italy. Remember telling me you would let me tie you up if I took you to Italy?”

  “Remember me breaking up with you?” she asked.

  “I remember you saying something of the kind, but it didn’t sound like you. Somebody put those words in your mouth—the bartender, or Devlin.” She was a little claustrophobic now, jumpy, panicky, trembling, starting to sweat. “I want you to trust me.”

  “Trust you? Oh, please. Like you trusted me when you put the app on my phone?”

  “I guess we’ll both have to work on trust issues,” he said. He held the knife up again, and she couldn’t help a sudden intake of breath.

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said. She could barely get enough breath to get the words out.

  “That’s the last thing I want to do. It’s kind of exciting, though, isn’t it? Knife at your throat, knowing if I did mean you harm, you would be helpless to resist?” He grabbed the neck of her T-shirt and used the knife to slice through the cloth. It cut easily enough, but the blade snagged in the cotton fabric. “Sorry,” he said. “This isn’t the best knife for the purpose. I brought it for the rope. It’s a pretty shirt, too. I sort of hoped you’d cooperate and we could get you undressed first.” She didn’t point out that he could have just pulled the T-shirt up. She could see that he was beyond logic now.

  He pulled the shirt open and eased his fingers under her bra, caressing and squeezing. When she had thought he would never touch her again, she had made herself forget what his hands could do to her. She remembered now, but instead of arousing her, they made her feel cold and sick. His face was familiar, his hands warm, but he was a stranger now, a predator invading her space. What did he like about this? The snug fabric pressing his fingers into her flesh? The trapped warmth of her breasts? Whatever it was, he took his time. Her arms started to ache.

  Teresa took a deep breath and willed herself to relax. She didn’t have many options. She couldn’t talk him out of it. Her first priority was Aiden. The best way to make him safe was to keep Frank from even thinking about him. Second priority: staying alive. If she let him do what he wanted to do, maybe she could get him to leave afterward. Even if he meant to stay here all night, he would leave before it was time for Aiden to get up.

  She would get it over with, and then she would have him arrested. She would get a restraining order. Maybe she would offer to return the favor and tie him to the bed before she called 911. No doubt he would hire a high-priced lawyer, and it would be his word against hers, but she was going to survive this. Whatever happened, she would survive. Nobody ever died from claustrophobia…did they?

  Frank checked the ropes around her wrists and then unbuckled his belt and slid it free from the loops. She expected him to lay it aside, and when he instead stretched it between his hands she thought he was going to hit her and flinched. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said again.

  “Not for the world,” he said. “You’re safe with me. Now, this part might be a bit scary at first, but it will give you the best experience.” He put the belt around her neck and threaded the end through the buckle. Teresa’s anxiety level took a quantum leap. Her heart thudded in her chest.

  Her mouth was so dry she could barely form words. “No,” was all she could say at first. He tugged experimentally on the loose end of the belt, and Teresa saw stars. The life that flashed before her eyes was not hers but Aiden’s. If she died, Gene would have to take him, and they would both hate it. He’d prefer to live with Alix and Sasha, but he wouldn’t be allowed to. “Is this what happened to Edris?” she managed to whisper.

  “You’ve been doing your homework,” he said. “No, I told you it was an accident. I wasn’t even home. If I had been, it wouldn’t have ended that way.” He sighed. “Nikki was a great girl, lots of fun, but she wasn’t very bright. You are the love of my life.”

  “If you love me—” She was too breathless to finish the sentence. He won’t kill me. I have to believe he won’t kill me. The belt wasn’t tight at all now, but she could feel the leather and the metal buckle against her skin. “Frank…” She slowed her breathing. Be still. Don’t fight.

  He leaned close and kissed her. “What?”

  “I don’t want to do it.” She tried to speak calmly, but it came out close to a whimper.

  “Yes, you do.” He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes and then stood up and unzipped his pants. The doorknob rattled, and they both looked in that direction. He took a step toward the door.

  Teresa was terrified. They had been in the bedroom long enough that she had hoped Aiden would have gone back to sleep by now. “He got up to go to the bathroom,” she said desperately. “He’ll go right back to bed.” Frank glanced back at her, hesitating. “He can’t hear us,” she reminded him. They waited and heard only silence on the other side of the door and the wind and rain outside the window.

&nbs
p; “Right,” he said. He moved back to her and patted her leg in reassurance.

  “Don’t do it,” she said. She thought she might black out even before he could tighten the belt around her neck.

  Frank leaned over her, about to straddle her, speaking softly. “Come on, you know you want this.” He put one knee on the bed and took hold of the waistband of her jeans. She jerked against the ropes, but even if she hadn’t been securely tied, she couldn’t have overcome his greater physical strength. She closed her eyes.

  With a splintering crash the door flew open. Deputy Hal Knight and his part-time assistant deputy Liz Bergen stood in the hallway, both in rain-streaked, unbuttoned trench coats. They hadn’t drawn their weapons, but Hal’s hand was on the butt of his. They took in the scene at a glance. Teresa was afraid Frank would grab for the knife, but he took a step back and raised his hands. “Well, this is embarrassing,” he said. “To what do we owe this interruption?”

  Liz came quickly into the room, threw the bedspread over Teresa, and slipped the handcuffs off her belt. “Move away from the bed, McAllister,” she said. “You’re under arrest.”

  “I don’t think so,” Frank said. “And it’s Officer McAllister to you. This is totally consensual. We’ve been involved for a while now. We’re engaged.” He zipped his pants and made a move toward his shoes, but Liz made a preemptory gesture to stop him.

  Hal Knight cleared his throat. “She asked you to use a knife?”

  “It was a rape fantasy,” Frank said and added, spreading his hands, “Hey, don’t judge.”

  Knight looked at Teresa, and she shook her head. She was too overwhelmed to speak and didn’t think she needed to. Frank was a police officer, but this was Cougar, and he was new in town. She knew who would be believed. Liz gestured for Frank to turn around and cuffed his hands behind him. He didn’t resist. “This is a bogus arrest, and you know it,” he said. “Teresa, tell them.” He sounded so plausible she almost believed him herself, but a minute ago she had been really scared.

  All she could say was, “Will somebody please untie me?” Hal came to the bed and used the tip of his utility knife to tease out the knots on her wrists and slip the ropes off. The serrated blade might have been faster, but it was evidence now. As soon as her hands were free, he took the belt off her neck before he started on her ankles. She tried to hold still, but she was shaking with relief.

  “Teresa,” Frank said. “Don’t hang me out to dry. Tell them.” She shook her head. “This isn’t like you,” he said. Liz picked up his shoes and took his arm. “We’ll talk later,” he said to Teresa as she led him out.

  “Where is Aiden?” she asked anxiously, trying to hold her T-shirt together as Hal helped her off the bed.

  “Locked in the bathroom,” he said. “Brett Devlin is with him.” It must have been one of the deputies, then, not Aiden, who rattled the doorknob, but what was Brett doing here? It didn’t make any sense, but the whole night had been surreal.

  She could only focus on one thing. “I need to see him.”

  “As soon as McAllister is out of the way.”

  “Thank you,” she remembered to say. She rubbed her right wrist and showed him the red marks on both of them.

  He looked into her eyes, assessing her. “Do you want to press charges?” he asked.

  “I guess I have to, don’t I? To protect the next woman?”

  “Leave the ropes tied on the bed, and don’t throw away your shirt.” he said. “We’ll come back tomorrow with a camera and evidence bags, and take a detailed statement. We don’t need to do it tonight. I assume you’d prefer to wait until your son is in school. We’ll fix the damage to the door, too.” She didn’t think the PCPD would have—another advantage of living in a small town. “You probably won’t want to sleep in here tonight anyway,” Hal said. “We can take you to a hotel or a friend’s house if you’d like.”

  “I want to stay here,” she said. “I’ll sleep with Aiden.” As if she would sleep! “I need to see him,” she said again. She couldn’t wait any longer and rushed into the hall.

  Hal came out right behind her, rapped on the bathroom door, and called, “The coast is clear,” and Brett opened it, a hand on her son’s shoulder.

  “Mama!” Aiden cried and flung himself at her. She held him close and looked up at Brett. He was wearing a comfortable jacket with elbow patches, one she had seen him wear many times. He took it off and held it out to her. She let go of Aiden and put it on gratefully. It was slightly damp but warm, and it smelled like Brett in some indefinable way. It felt familiar and safe, but there were too many people in the small space of the hall, and she was starting to feel crowded.

  “I need to sit down,” she said. She took Aiden’s hand, and the men followed them into the living room. Liz and Frank were gone. She couldn’t see anything through the curtains, but flashes of light from the police car filled the window. She sat on the couch, pulled the boy onto her lap, and gave him a fierce hug.

  “How did you know?” she asked Hal. He nodded toward Aiden.

  “He called 911?” She had taught him how, but was amazed to think he had.

  “No,” Brett said. “He texted me. I called 911, and I got here the same time they did.” She didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he had arrived first.

  “You texted Brett?” she asked Aiden. She hadn’t known he knew the number—maybe Brett had programmed it in when he checked for an app.

  Brett held out his phone for her to see. The text read, “Bad man n my house. Mama scaired.”

  Teresa started to cry. She wasn’t sure why. She should have laughed, thinking how embarrassed they would all have been if it had been consensual. “You’re my hero!” she said tearfully. “But how did you know? Sweetie, how did you know the bad man was in the house?” She was shaking and trying not to. She didn’t want to scare him. How could she explain that the bad man was his SWAT hero?

  “Door closed,” he signed. Hal was a relative stranger to him; he wouldn’t use his voice in front of him. “Bad man coat.” He pointed to the overcoat on the back of the easy chair, still wet from the rain, a coat he had never seen Frank wear. “Light off.” He pointed to the TV, where Marisa Tomei’s face was frozen on the screen, and to the bowl of ice cream on the coffee table, melted now to slush. “Ice cream.”

  For Hal’s benefit she said, “My bedroom door was closed, and you saw the coat and that I left the TV on and didn’t finish my ice cream?”

  “A real little detective,” Hal said admiringly.

  “I heard you call me after the lightning,” Teresa said to Aiden. “Did it scare you?”

  “No. I wake up. I look for you in kitchen.”

  “How did you know I was scared?”

  He shrugged. He pointed again to the ice cream. “Can I have?”

  Teresa laughed and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Yes, you can have as much ice cream as you want. You were so brave. I’m so proud of you!” She kissed his forehead.

  Liz Bergen had returned and was waiting to talk to her. Brett picked up the melted ice cream and held his hand out to Aiden. “I’ll get you your own bowl,” he said and took him into the kitchen.

  “Are you okay?” Liz asked. “We can take you to the hospital to be checked out.”

  “I’d rather stay here,” she said. “I’m fine, just a little shaky.”

  “Will we need to do a rape kit?”

  “No. You got here just in time.”

  “Attempted rape and false imprisonment, then,” Liz said.

  Hal Knight nodded. “Don’t touch anything in the bedroom,” he said. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Are you okay here now?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll give you my phone, too—the one he gave me. He put something on it.”

  Both officers were ready to leave. She got up, still a little uncertain on her feet but calmer now. “Thank you both so much,” she said. “If Frank—Mr. McAllister—makes bail, will you let me know?”

  Liz said, “Yes,
of course.” She took Frank’s overcoat and left.

  Hal patted her arm. “It’s been quite a week,” he said. “A body in the dump, and now this. I must confess, when I saw he had something around your neck…”

  An unnatural calm came over Teresa. “Hal? Elle Goodman and the girl from Yaholo—do you think they were killed by the same man?”

  “Could be,” he said. “We don’t have all the facts yet.”

  “They were strangled? Do you know what with?”

  “Not for sure. The investigations are still ongoing. We might never know about the Yaholo victim. She might have been manually strangled, like Linedecker’s victims, but Miss Goodman had ligature marks.” He was in a familiar, chatty mood now, standing casually with his uniform hat in his hands.

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “Nope. Certainly not Linedecker—best alibi in the world. I knew the Yaholo girl wasn’t his, even before we were sure her death was too recent. His were both blonde waitresses. Plus Linedecker buried his victims fully clothed, and the gal from Yaholo was practically naked.”

  “The newspaper report said Elle was partially clad too. Do you know what they were wearing?”

  He didn’t seem to think the question was odd. “The fabric was too deteriorated to be sure on the first one, but she was nude from the waist down. Miss Goodman was wearing only a brassiere.”

  Leave your bra on…I just like it that way.

  She met Hal’s eyes. “Make sure Mr. McAllister has an alibi for Halloween,” she said.

  He gave her a speculative look, but he said only, “I guess we’re through here for tonight,” put on his hat, and left.

  Brett was standing in the kitchen doorway. She didn’t know how long he had been there. He came toward her hesitantly, and then she was in his arms. She fit so perfectly there, her head nestled against his shoulder. She had forgotten how good they were together. She had always felt safe with his arms around her. “I’ve missed this,” he said against her hair. They had been friends for so long, and she had always loved him. He didn’t ask about what had happened. He just held her.