by David Archer
I chuckled. “My own favorite is saying we were in bed and woke up at the same time and ran my face into his head. They usually fall for that one, because we both laugh about it.”
“But you and I both know the bruises are because he hits you. How bad is it, Emily? Do you ever get scared?”
I bit my lip. “No, not really,” I said. “Darrell has a quick temper, but it’s over really fast. Most of the time he just yells at me, but every now and then—well, he sorta lashes out and I don’t always duck fast enough, but then he feels awful and it’s me who has to help him pull it back together. Honest, I’m not really afraid; I just—I just get tired of it, sometimes.”
She nodded understandingly. “I know what you mean,” she said. “Have you ever talked to anyone? About what’s going on, I mean, or about getting out of it?”
I hesitated. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I’m talking to someone now, one of the places for abused women. I’m hoping they can give me some kind of help on getting him to realize what he’s doing, so maybe he can get help and stop, you know?” This was a very common request from my clients, and one that every abused woman probably thinks about sometimes. I was pretty sure she’d understand, and she did.
“I can understand that,” she said, “but one of the things I figured out was that it never changes, Emily. Oh, he’ll stop for a few days after something happens, maybe, but it will all begin again sooner or later. It’s something in the way men think, I guess, or maybe it’s the way they were raised. I know Gary can’t help it, and it’s like you said, he’s always sorry, but he still does it again. I just finally got to the point of saying I’d rather live with it than leave him. I just want to be sure you aren’t in any danger.”
I smiled. “I’m not,” I said. “He doesn’t even hit with his fist, it’s more like a slap.” I shrugged. “I’m not saying he can’t slap pretty hard, though. Sometimes I get a black eye or a fat lip, but it’s never been worse than that.”
“There’s this woman down at St. Mary’s,” she said, and a part of me almost started to panic. “Her name is Cassie, and she says that any man who will hit a woman is capable of doing a lot more. I’m not saying she’s always right, but she’s been through things you and I could never even imagine.” She grinned. “Your voice reminds me of her, but trust me, that’s where the similarity ends. You don’t look anything like her, even before her—accident.”
I had to force myself to speak. “Accident?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Well, it wasn’t an accident. Her ex actually set her on fire, and she looks awful! Her whole face is burned to the point I’m amazed she even survived it. She’s nice, but—well, it’s really hard to look at her, I can tell you that.”
For a couple of seconds, I toyed with the idea of pulling off the mask, but I was sure it would cause the poor woman some terrible trauma if I did. It would probably look like I was ripping off my own face, and then to see the real me underneath? Shock and awe, no doubt.
But it got me that, in her memory, my entire face seemed to have been burned off. That’s what I meant when I said no one who had ever seen me without the mask would know if they saw me in it. The scarring is what people see, and it’s how they identify me.
I assured her again that I was in no real danger, and she seemed satisfied that I should know better than anyone else. We talked for a few more minutes, and then she said she needed to get home before Gary got back. I walked her to the door and said goodbye, then hurried into the bedroom and laughed my ass off!
TWENTY-ONE
Dex came in about an hour and a half later, and he got a chuckle out of the story, as well. When I told him that Donna actually said I was nice, but hard to look at, he took me in his arms and pulled me close.
“I don’t have any trouble looking at you,” he said. “In fact, I pretty much enjoy it most of the time.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Only most of the time?” I asked. “What about the rest of the time?”
He shrugged. “The rest of the time, you’re not with me. I can’t look at you if you’re not there.”
I gave him a playful smack on the shoulder, but that only got me another hug and a kiss. When he let me go a moment later, he got serious.
“Critter seems to be adapting,” he said. “When I got to the house today, she was sprawled on my recliner, but she jumped down and followed me into the kitchen. When I picked up a can of cat food, she started doing that thing she does on your legs.”
“Why, that unfaithful little snot,” I said. “She doesn’t get to keep you, you know. Not yet, anyway.”
This time it was Dex’s eyebrows that shot upward. “Not yet?”
I shrugged. “Well—I mean, if we’re going to go this far, then I guess sooner or later we’re going to start thinking about moving in together, right?” Too late, it dawned on me that that might not be what he had in mind. I watched his face for a reaction, but all I got was a grin.
“Yeah, probably,” he said. “I’m just not sure I’m ready for that. I mean, would we be talking about your house or mine?”
“Well, mine, probably,” I said. “I’m buying mine, you’re just renting.”
“Okay, so we’re talking about your place,” he said. “What about all those things I do that drive you crazy?”
“What things? When have I ever said anything about you driving me crazy?”
“Oh, lots of times,” he said. “I mean, there’s the time you said I was a slob because there was a pizza box on the counter.”
“You are a slob, and the pizza box was a week old and still had pizza in it. The mold on the pizza could probably have cured a plague somewhere.”
“Or the time you threatened to throw out my underwear, because it was laying on the floor.”
“I threatened to throw them out because there was a big hole in them, not because they were on the floor. If I did that, you wouldn’t have any left. They’re always on the floor.”
“Nuh-uh, not always. Just until I get around to doing laundry.”
“How often do you do laundry?”
“Oh, every now and then. At least once a month.”
“And how often do you change your underwear?”
“What? Every day, usually.”
“I rest my case.”
He grinned at me. “See what I mean? I’d drive you crazy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it, but I want you to know what you’d be getting yourself into.”
I let out a sigh and raised my arms to go around his neck, resting my hands on his shoulders. “I run a load of laundry every day,” I said. “That wouldn’t change if we were living together, so your underwear would not be laying on the bedroom floor. I also clean the house every day, at least perfunctorily. That means there wouldn’t be any pizza boxes growing penicillin. You can call me old-fashioned if you want, but my mother taught me that keeping the house clean and the laundry done is woman’s work. Your job will be to take care of the yard and fix up anything that gets broken. So yes, I can deal with the things you think drive me crazy.”
He had his hands around my waist, keeping me facing him. “Oh, really? It sounds like you’re thinking about making this happen fairly soon.”
“I’ll confess the thought has crossed my mind,” I said. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it off and on for the last few weeks.”
He cocked his head to one side and looked down his nose at me. “Is that so? And why are we just talking about it now?”
“Maybe,” I said, struggling, “because I finally broke down and admitted to myself just how much you mean to me. Dex, some part of me, the part that speaks with Abby’s voice, has known for a while that I’m in love with you, okay? The problem is that I’ve been avoiding even letting myself know that, up until now. Part of that has been because I have trouble believing that anyone could actually love me, even though I know that’s ridiculous. I’m pretty sure it’s not the way I look that you have feelings for, and while I happen to think you
are quite a handsome gentleman, it’s not your looks that I love, either. It’s like you said to me; it’s the person on the inside that I care about.”
He nodded slowly, but the expression on his face said he wasn’t convinced. “What happened to this morning? You said you wanted to leave things the way they are for now.”
I shrugged. I honestly couldn’t put into words why I was willing to consider moving in together, because I hadn’t really thought it through. “I think,” I began, but then I started again. “I think it’s got to do with Critter. It just suddenly hit me that if she and I both love you, then why shouldn’t we be together? I realize that may not make a lot of sense, but I haven’t really had time to figure out what it is that I’m feeling.” I shrugged again. “Maybe it’s just that it felt right, once I let the thought into my head.”
Dex nodded again, but his next words didn’t agree with it. “First, we get through this,” he said. “We do whatever we have to do to catch Stan the Strangler and put him and his buddy away. Then, as soon as that’s done, you and I are going to revisit this conversation. Deal?”
I leaned forward and kissed him quickly. “Deal. Now, let’s make burgers.”
And that’s what we did. Working together, we managed to make two cheeseburgers for each of us in about thirty minutes, and then we carried them and bottles of root beer into the living room to watch television.
The rest of Saturday passed without incident, though we did take the time to have one little, loud argument for the benefit of neighbors. “Darrell” yelled at “Emily” about how dusty the living room was, and she yelled back that she just hadn’t had time, what with all the shopping and everything that she had to do that day. I personally suspect that at least a few of the neighbors got a kick out of hearing it, because I caught a few of them smirking at me the next day.
The next day, of course, was Sunday, and “Darrell” had the day off. We had talked about having him claim he was called into work, but decided that it might look too coincidental. Instead, we left the apartment around ten in the morning and got into his Malibu. As we drove off down 16th Street and into the city, I kept a close eye out for any following vehicles.
I didn’t see any, but I wasn’t willing to assume that there weren’t any. I explained to Dex how I had obviously been followed from the house the day before, but hadn’t noticed a tail until I was on the way back, and he agreed that we shouldn’t take any chances. We stopped at a couple of garage sales that were running despite the cold weather, then went to a restaurant for a light lunch. We sat near the windows, and I did my best to continue to look subdued and unhappy, but I can tell you that it wasn’t easy.
After lunch, we went to the mall and did a lot of what my mother used to call window shopping. We looked at a lot of things that the people we were supposed to be probably couldn’t afford or wouldn’t buy, browsed through Victoria’s Secret and looked at all of the sexy items that would be wasted on my body, though Dex did whisper about maybe trying a couple of them, someday.
By that time, it was almost 2 o’clock. Dex grabbed my arm and pretended to drag me into the movie theater to watch the latest science fiction blockbuster. I complained about it all the way through the ticket line and into the theater itself, but I’m actually a bit of a space cadet. I love Star Trek, Star Wars, all that kind of stuff.
We had to stay in character, though, so “Darrell” made “Emily” get up twice and go out to the concession stand, once for a second root beer, and once for a large buttered popcorn. The people sitting closest to us gave him a few dirty looks, especially when he told me I had to ask permission before reaching into the bucket.
I almost blew it, then. Asking permission had been one of the things my late former fiancé, Mike, had enjoyed making me do. For a short time, when I reluctantly agreed to give it a try, I had to ask permission before doing anything at all, including going to the bathroom. The first time he refused permission to the point that I almost peed my pants, that game was over! Hearing Dex tell me gruffly to ask before I reached for more popcorn caused that memory to flare up, and I caught myself just before telling him exactly what he could do with that popcorn.
Afterward, I felt silly. Dex was about as far from Mike as it would be possible for him to be, and I felt like a heel for even thinking about giving him grief. Besides, I knew this was all part of the act he was only putting on because I asked him to. There was no reason for me to have gotten upset, but it told me that I should probably tell him quite a bit more about that part of my life. I’d hate to have a problem happen because he did something that reminded me of Mike and didn’t understand why I snapped at him.
Hey, he might think I’m some kind of superwoman, but I’m still human. Well, mostly, unless you count this mask.
When the movie ended, we went back out and browsed around the mall some more, buying a couple of little things to commemorate our first full day together as an official couple. I bought him a beautifully engraved glass beer mug, and he got me a pretty necklace with a single word hanging from a narrow chain. It said “HIS,” and despite the fact that it could be taken as being extremely possessive, I actually got a bit of a thrill when he put it on me.
While we had a light lunch a little early, both of us were ready for dinner by six, when the sun was truly going down. We drove out of the mall parking lot to Pizza Hut, bought a large super supreme, and took it back to the apartment. There was no sign of the van or any other follower, so I could drop my demure, poor-little-girl act once we got inside the apartment again. I went to the refrigerator and got out a couple of bottles of beer, and we took the pizza straight toward the TV.
I can remember being a teenager and watching my parents, wondering how the two of them could just sit and watch television for hours. There were many evenings when neither of them said much of anything, but whenever they looked at each other, they would smile. I chalked it up to just being old and married for a long time, but that night I began to think differently.
We sat there through several episodes of Criminal Minds, which is one of my favorite old shows, and we never spoke a word. Anytime I glanced over at him, though, it was a safe bet that he’d be looking back at me, and both of us would be smiling. We didn’t have to talk, we didn’t have to do anything; we were too busy just being together, and it dawned on me that this is what I had seen my parents doing for years. Why isn’t that something that parents explain to their children?
Finally, we decided it was time for bed, and I was extremely surprised when Dex grabbed me as soon as we lay down. Neither of us wore anything to bed, but it was like he suddenly had a need to explore every square inch of me. Let me tell you, Dex is quite an accomplished lover, but that night he took me to places I had never even dreamed of before. I’m a little too shy to go into any kind of detail, so if you’re waiting for the exciting parts, too bad. That’s as good as it gets, I’m afraid.
I can tell you I didn’t have any trouble getting to sleep that night. Not only was I physically exhausted, but I was as happy, satisfied, and content as I’ve ever been in my life. Holy moly, was I ever!
Morning comes, though, whether you want it to or not. I woke to a delicious aroma, got up and put on the cheap robe I had bought at a thrift store, then made my way to the kitchen. Dex had found the waffle iron and the mix, and was trying to get the waffles he had just made out of the iron.
“Having a problem?” I asked. He was trying to use a spatula to pry the waffle up out of the grid of squares, and he wasn’t having any luck. I reached over and plucked a fork out of the dish strainer, stuck it into a corner and rolled it up as I slid the plate underneath it. “There’s a trick to it,” I said.
“I like the one at the Days Inn better,” he said. “You just flip it over, and the waffle comes out with no problem.”
“Yeah, well, this one was made before Teflon. Did you at least put butter on it?”
“If I hadn’t,” he said, “you probably never would have gotten that thing ou
t of there. And by the way, that’s big enough for both of us.”
“They get yourself a plate and come to the table.” He was right, the big square waffle was actually divided into four sections, and each of them was bigger than those toaster waffles. I set it on the table and cut it apart, then forked two of them over onto his plate. Butter and syrup got passed back-and-forth, and then Dex poured the coffee while I started eating.
“Yeah,” I said after a few minutes. “I could get used to this.”
“Me, too,” he said. “Lucky for you, I like making breakfast. That doesn’t mean I want to do it all the time, though.”
“No problem,” I said. “If you had waited just a little while, I was actually going to use that thing to surprise you with waffles this morning. You need to learn some patience.”
“My stomach doesn’t know what that is, not at breakfast time. When it’s time to eat, my stomach doesn’t like waiting any longer than it absolutely has to.”
We sat there and enjoyed the morning, but soon it was time for him to go. We were both hopeful that this would be the day when Stan the Strangler and his accomplice would end up in jail, and the missing women would be coming home safely. In order for that to happen, though, I had to play out my part. And that meant Dex had to play his.
Just as they had done before, Dex, Niles, Knowles, and Alicia would take up positions somewhere around this part of the city. It was necessary for them to stay completely out of sight, and to simply wait to see if Stan would make his move to grab me. Based on everything we knew about him and his MO, we thought it was highly likely that he would attempt to take me if he caught me out somewhere without many witnesses. I planned to make sure he got the opportunity, assuming he followed me the way he had done on Saturday.
Dex left, heading off to “work,” and I busied myself for a few minutes cleaning up after breakfast. That meant taking that old waffle iron apart so that the griddles could go into the sink, but they cleaned up fairly easily. Within fifteen minutes, they and the rest of the dishes we had used were clean and stacked neatly in the dish drainer.
