I have no idea how I got it, only that I can’t see out of it.
“You obviously have an appetite, so eat,” he says, as I lean back in my chair, leaving the food in front of me untouched. “I like the extra weight on you. Surprising, because you always had such a perfect little figure. Didn’t think it could be improved. I was wrong. But this short hair – really a disservice. Luckily, hair grows back.”
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me. I’m curious.”
“The maid,” he divulges.
“The maid? She didn’t know where I was. Nobody did.”
“You should know by now Taz that I am very thorough in everything I do. I had her recount practically every day of her employment. And then, we got to the day that a package was delivered; a package that went to you. She recalled that it came from a law firm. The first string was pulled; the rest unraveled. It wasn’t hard to track down the company that delivered it, where it was from ...”
“And the rest was elementary, as they say.”
“You have always been a very bright woman.” He forks another helping of poached eggs into his mouth. “Now my turn to ask you a question. Why did you run? You had everything a woman could want?”
“Except love. Except loyalty. Except trust.” He actually has the temerity to let a shadow of guilt pass over his face. “Do you think I didn’t know about the litter gutter rat you visit every Wednesday,” I hiss, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “Why did you stray, when you had everything a man could want?” I throw at him.
He wipes his mouth with his white linen napkin, and puts it slowly down on his plate.
My eyes bulge. I’d gone too far.
He leans across the table, takes one of my hands in his, and brushes the palm. “You have a relatively long life line. Let’s see if that old wives tale holds true,” he says, smiling.
A shiver works its way down my spine.
“You know, my mother gave me a piece of advice a long time ago. She said, ‘don’t be ruled by the power of the pussy.’ And your pussy, my dear, has definite powers. I’d been under its spell for too long. So I had to find other ways to balance that.”
“And cheating on me was it?”
“Certain kinds of women are good for certain things. And certain kinds are good for others. If it’s any consolation, you have always held the top spot, my love. You always will.”
“So that’s why you ... you changed? The first few years of our marriage; it’s like you were a different man.”
“And you loved that man, right?”
“Yes, I did. I really did. I don’t understand why you changed.”
“Do you know that your father told me to ask you to marry me?”
“I never knew that. I knew he approved of you. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Your father didn’t approve of me, Taz. He chose me. For you. You didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
“He wouldn’t have forced me to marry you if I didn’t love you. My father loved me. He wouldn’t have done that.”
“Your father chose me for you, like he chose your mother for himself. She was as bought and paid for as you were. The only reason you didn’t see it is because you never defied him. You might have as you got older. But you were little more than a sheltered child when we married.”
“And there was the fact that I loved you. I did love you, Preacher.”
“I’m happy to know that. And you will love me again.”
“What do you mean my father chose my mother for himself?”
“Your father bought your mother from her father. She was in love with another man, but her father would have none of it. He chose your father for her because he came with everything a father would want for his daughter: breeding, respect in the community, education—”
“And money,” I say, so much clicking in my brain it felt like ping pong balls zinging through my head. It explained so much about my mother’s life: the compulsive shopping, how protective she was of me, her nervous habits, even her drinking, which I now recall was getting worse as she got older.
“My father told you all of this?”
“Of course. Women aren’t the only ones who talk about personal issues.”
“Did he love my mother?” Something in me had to know.
“I don’t think your father grew up with love as an aspiration. Marriage was just a means to an end for a man like him.”
“And you,” I state.
“And me, to a degree,” he admits. “Your father loved power, as do I. It’s why we got along so well. It’s why he chose me for you. One thing I will say is, he was very proud of your mother; how she represented him, how she kept a home, how she raised a perfect daughter. He was very, very proud of her.”
“Not quite the same thing as love,” I say, realizing that this is the first time in years that we’ve had any kind of conversation of any substance.
“No, not quite. But passable.”
“Obviously, my mother didn’t think so. So much so that she hid a whole part of herself from him.”
“Like you did from me?” Preacher says, his cobalt-black eyes narrowing. “Planned your escape; and even managed to find yourself a lover. But you’re still my wife. ... Do you know what it does to a man to see his wife acting like a common whore? Letting a man grope her among some hammers and nails in public.”
“So you were there that day?!” I say.
“Yes, I was there. I was also there as the two of you rocked on that rickety old porch like an old married couple. Very smart move to get a dog, by the way.”
“Yip,” I say, thinking about him for the first time; feeling guilty that I hadn’t thought of him before now.
“Yip. Strange name for a dog.”
“It was my great-grandfather’s nickname,” I explain absently.
“You didn’t—” I start to ask, knowing that there was no way he could have gotten into the house unless he harmed Yip.
“I did. Collateral damage, I’m afraid. Too bad. Beautiful animal.”
“You didn’t have to kill him.”
“But I did darling, just like I will kill you if you betray me again.”
The cold definitiveness of the statement made me shiver. “Why Preacher? It didn’t have to come to this. It doesn’t have to be like this. Just let me go,” I plead, not knowing where the plea came from. I know it’s useless. I know it might even cost me my life, but I had to try.
He gets up and comes around to my side of the table. I eye his every move. The not knowing what’s coming next. That is always the scariest part. But I don’t have to wait long.
One of his hands snake to my neck. It starts to squeeze. His eyes never leave mine. They’re cold. Dead. Deadly. I struggle to breathe. He squeezes harder, then lets go.
I cough, wheezing in air.
Before I can breathe freely again, he repeats the process, a glint in his eye this time; a hint of a crooked smile to go with it.
I claw at his hand. Uselessly. Futilely. For dear life.
He releases me. The beginning of a laugh escapes as I bend over, grabbing my throat, struggling to breathe.
He yanks a handful of my hair, pulls my head back, and grabs my neck in a claw-like grip again. It’s a game to him. A sick, twisted game that he’s enjoying. His laughter punctuates the breaks when he lets me go and I struggle to breathe.
It’s the first time I realize that he is insane; really, clinically insane. And I feel equally crazy for realizing it is the first time I assign that adjective to him.
“You are mine, Taz. Even if your father had never selected me to be your husband, I knew the day I saw you walking down the hallway to his office that you would be mine. And if you ever leave me again, I’ll kill you. This is my solemn promise. ... Til death do us part, remember sweetheart? And now, as you’re all nice and clean, I think it’s time I made you mine properly again. Get up,” he command
s.
“No. Preacher no,” I gasp. “Please, not like this.”
“Yes, Taz. Like this. Exactly like this. You love it, remember?”
Only this time, I won’t. I can honestly say that if he takes me, it will be against my will. I don’t want it. I don’t want him. I literally feel nauseous at the thought of him touching me. There will be nothing to feel shame over. Nothing to forgive myself for this time. The spell of Preacher has been broken.
Only, it is too late for me to bask in it.
He pushes me in the center of my back, and I fall face forward on the bed.
Tears are useless.
I will not cry.
Chapter 19
Ford
“This is where they are,” the sheriff says.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes, Fred’s been sheriff up there for thirty-some odd years. Knows everybody for a hundred miles around. Says he makes it his business to know who’s in his town, even the highfalutin’ folks in that upscale lodge that fly in to hunt and fish. Apparently, this guy sticks out like the proverbial sore thumb. Not because of anything he does, but what he doesn’t do. No hunting rifles, no fishing gear. Just some fancy luggage. And he stays to himself. But the clincher was when he ordered breakfast for two this morning.”
I sag at that last part. It means she’s still alive. Hang in there Taz. I’m coming for you baby.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the sheriff counters.
“The hell I’m not!”
“If I have to lock you up until this is over, you’re not going Ford. You’re not law enforcement, and it’s not even my jurisdiction. If you get in trouble up there, I can’t save your ass like last time. ... This is official law enforcement business. And really, outside of harming the dog, we don’t even know if a crime has been committed. She’s his wife. For all we know, she’s with him willingly.”
“Is that the assumption law enforcement is working under; that she’s with him willingly? I can tell you she’s not. She ran away from him and sought refuge here. Her dog was left in a pool of blood on her kitchen floor. Bullets from Bud- ... her shotgun -were left on her bed. Her purse wasn’t taken. Her clothes. She left her house unlocked—”
“You don’t have to go on and on, Ford. I believe you. But outside of the dog, really, ya know nothing. Everybody in Chalice Bay leaves their house unlocked. And unused shotgun shells left about ... Hell, you know that’s about as common as breathing ‘round these parts. If it wasn’t for the dog, I wouldn’t have been able to convince Fred to move a muscle. So they’ve agreed to do a welfare check based on that. That’s all we can do, and hope to hell she gives us a reason to do something more when the law lays eyes on her.”
I run a hand through my hair, which had been combed to within an inch of perfection some twelve hours ago. Now it is an unruly mop around my head, like it usually is.
“You look like hell. Go home and get some sleep. When word comes in, I’ll call ya,” the sheriff says.
“I couldn’t sleep if you paid me to right now. I want to be up there when the police go in.”
“Well, ya can’t. It’s an hour away, so accept it and stay out of the way ‘til we get word back.”
“Sheriff, it’s Fred from Holcombe County,” a dispatcher cuts in.
“I know they ain’t going nowhere, Fred, but dang it, can you just get somebody up there to lay eyes on’er. The damn dog was gutted. That’s gotta be some kind of sign that she didn’t leave on her own.”
I am glued to the Sheriff’s conversation.
“Alright, if that’s the way it has to be. But make it soon, alright?”
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“It’s gonna be about an hour before he can get someone to go up to that fancy lodge. He wants to send a team of at least two, in case the man is as dangerous as you say. They’re kinda stretched thin with the end of deer season, and the poachers that usually brings out. But he’s having two of his boys swing by together as soon as they can get back in town.”
I don’t like the way things sound at all. But I know I won’t get anywhere pressing things further. As the sheriff has so accurately pointed out, it isn’t even his jurisdiction. So, there is only one thing I can think to do.
“I think I will go home and at least shower and get some fresh coffee in me,” I say.
“Good, cuz you look like hell. And when you do see her again, you might frighten the heck out of her looking the way you do. Get a razor to that bristle on your chin too.”
“Will do sheriff. And you will call as soon as you hear anything?”
“You have my word,” the sheriff says.
Chapter 20
Preacher
“I never get tired of looking at you,” I confess, peeling the terry cloth of the robe from one of her shoulders.
Taz bites her bottom lip and squeezes her eyes shut, as he pulls the robe from her. She holds it tighter.
“Trust me, dear Taz, you don’t want to resist me. I’ve waited so long. I told myself that I’d be patient with you. Forgive you for running. Give you time to love me again. But seeing another man’s hands on you ... I almost came into that hardware store and blew his fucking brains out.”
“What stopped you?”
“The fact that I wouldn’t get to experience this again,” I answer. “If I’d have killed him that day, I would have had to kill you too. And in spite of what you may think, I have never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you did, over and over and over again,” Taz says, deciding that she’d rather die than have him exert his diabolical control over her again. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t put up a fight. “Things will never be the same between us Preacher. You have to know that,” she says, trying to reason with him. “Besides, you can have any woman you want.”
“But I only want you, Taz. I have only ever desired you.”
“That’s not true,” Taz points out. “You’ve been seeing that girl in the projects for three years. Obviously there’s something there, or you would have sought out others.”
“Oh but I did. I do, all the time,” I admit. “It backfires though. It only makes me realize what a jewel you are. How lucky I am to have you. We will resume our old life, and it will be better than ever. You’ll see, Taz. I’ll make you see.”
“No, I won’t,” Taz screams, sitting up. “Nothing will ever be the same. I don’t want it to. I don’t want this. I don’t want you! And nothing you do, nothing, will change that,” she declares.
Preacher recoils as if he’s been bitten by a poisonous serpent.
Taz grabs the opportunity to sit all the way up, pulling at the robe and refastening it around herself. “Just let me go—”
One hand snakes out and grips her throat. She feels the fingers digging into her larynx. Her nails claw trails of blood-red flesh into the hand on her throat.
His eyes never leave hers. His hand never wavers in their death grip on her as he squeezes.
Taz’s arms go limp at her sides. She will die free; free in the knowledge that she’d chosen death, instead of a life of more pain, fear and degradation. Because that’s what it would be from here on out. She could never give herself to him again; could never bask in the pleasure of his taking of her as she once had. His total domination had seared her soul, turning it to dust and causing a death; a death that lead to a rebirth, like a Phoenix. And this Phoenix chose love, acceptance and respect.
A slow smile spreads across her lips, even as she gasps for her last few breaths of air. Floating between life and death, she accepts her fate; makes peace with it. There is a beauty in giving into one’s fate, she thinks. Even a fate as brutal as this.
The heavy wood door splinters from its hinges.
Blackness falls over Taz’s serene face.
Chapter 21
Taz
“You’re killing him! Let him go! You’re killing him! Tase him. Tase him now!” Fred,
the sheriff commands.
“But that’s Ford Burns. He’s—” the young officer counters.
A coughing sound comes from the center of the bed. All eyes immediately turn to it.
Ford releases Preacher, and rushes to my side.
I look up at him. “What—how did you get here?” I ask, shocked that he is here as I hold my burning, sore throat.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ford answers, noting the purplish-bluish blob that is her right eye, and a matching ring of a bruise forming around her neck. She has never looked more beautiful to him.
“I thought you were—”
“I thought I was too,” I say, cutting him off and trying to swallow as I take in the chaos around us.
“Get your fucking hands off my wife!” Preacher chokes out.
I instinctively recoil into Ford.
Ford lunges, and so did the four officers who had previously failed to pull him off Preacher.
“No you don’t!” Harold, the sheriff from Chalice Bay, orders. “I knew in my gut you were headed up here, and my gut was right. I told you to go home, but you had to—”
“I want him charged with attempted murder. Now!” Preacher bellows. “And then I want all of you keystone cops out of me and my wife’s room.”
“Ma’am,” Fred, the Holcombe County sheriff, says, turning to me. “We came here to do a welfare check. If you say everything’s ok, we’ll be on our way.”
Six pairs of eyes turn to me, and I am suddenly, keenly aware that I am only wearing a terry cloth robe with nothing underneath. As if he senses my discomfort, Ford plants himself protectively in front of me.
“He—he kidnapped me. ... And killed my dog,” I say, tearing up. I’d somehow survived, but Yip is dead. It’s not fair.
“Do you want to press charges ma’am?” Sheriff Harold asks.
I feel a pair of indigo-black eyes sear me. Dare me.
“Yes. Yes, I do,” I state as clearly as I can given the condition of my throat.
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