He Found Me

by Whitney Barbetti

  © 2014 by Whitney Barbetti

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: Najla Qamber, Najla Qamber Designs, www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Acknowledgments

  October 20, 2003

  My hands were red and raw from washing the dishes twice. It was always twice. Twice bought me time and ensured there wouldn’t be anything left behind. An errant fleck of food, a spot that hadn’t been rinsed – these were things he’d notice.

  From the living room came the sounds of some crime drama; the gunshots and screams interrupting the quiet of the kitchen. I didn’t mind washing the dishes, because it was a way for me to keep distance from him, from the Monster. “Kitchen is a woman’s domain,” he would say, while looking me up and down with his beady black eyes, a cruel smile stretching his lips. His only occasional venture into the kitchen was for his usual bottle of cherry vodka, shoved in the back of the freezer behind the chicken I’d bought months ago and had yet to thaw and cook.

  My stomach clenched just thinking about the chicken, the chicken that hid his habit. I didn’t want to see the vodka; I’d smelled it on his breath time and time again, late at night, in the one place that should have been safe. Sleep was not safe for me anymore; there were far worse nightmares in the land of the living. My life was a series of real-life nightmares. But tonight, I’d leave everything. Leave Cora Mitchell behind in search of freedom.

  The sound of feet hitting the wood floor in the living room made my muscles seize in awareness, stomach turn over in revulsion. Not again, I thought. A moment later I felt his shadow fall over my right shoulder. His heavy footsteps rocked the peeling linoleum beneath my feet as he approached. I smelled his cologne when he leaned over my shoulder. “Make sure you don’t dawdle,” he whispered, his breath hot on my ear. He stayed there for a moment, grubby hands caging me to the counter from behind. I felt a trickle of sweat slide down my spine and tried to act like I wasn’t wasting time, monotonously scrubbing the spatula in my hand. I felt him hum, the vibration right by my ear and I swallowed the bile that rose up into my mouth. The humming. He knew that I knew what the humming signified. I gritted my teeth together.

  “I’m almost done.” I didn’t bother turning my head and meeting his eyes. A challenge like that would only encourage him, and I had plans that didn’t include engaging him in his favorite activity. He was a creature of habit: dinner, then television, then the bottle of vodka, then me. Tonight would be different.

  He slid two fingers down my back, over my tee shirt, pausing just before he reached the top of my jeans. He enjoyed this game, teasing me with the threatening promise of later. He thought he held all the power in this exchange, but I was going to prove him wrong.

  He kept his fingers at the top of my jeans for a moment and sighed in my ear before backing away. I heard the sound of the freezer door opening and felt the cool blast at my back. It helped to calm me, and I reminded myself that soon, this would all be over. I heard the crunch of the frozen vegetables as he reached for his vodka, and then the clank as he set it on the counter next to the clean dishes.

  Anticipating his next move, I wiped my hands on the towel wedged into the cabinet door and reached next to me to grab the shot glass I’d placed next to the sink in preparation. I don’t know why he didn’t bother ever drinking straight from the bottle. It wasn’t as if it made him more civilized. It was just an illusion, one of many in my life. And soon, I’d perform my own.

  I grabbed his bottle and poured the shot, hoping for a steady hand. I didn’t want to tip him off to my intentions. I slowly set the glass and bottle back down and moved my hands back into the soapy water.

  Thankfully, he didn’t suspect anything and grabbed both before walking back across the linoleum, returning to the living room. And, just as I hoped, he nearly tumbled over the full trash bag laying in his way. “You could break someone’s neck, leaving this right here. Take it out,” he bellowed, tossing back the shot. “Now.”

  Breaking his neck would have been too easy.

  As he returned to the living room, I wiped my hands on the dishtowel and took a moment to steady them. This was the moment. The silent goodbye I’d been waiting for since the lawyer recited my late mother’s words in a room of strangers. I took a calming breath in through my nose and willed myself to act casually.

  I bent down and picked up the garbage bag, carrying it the short distance to the door. I paused a moment to look into the living room, taking comfort in that he would be asleep in no less than ten minutes. The sleeping pills I’d crushed and mixed into his mashed potatoes and gravy were a high enough dosage to take him out without the added effect of the evening cold medicine I’d poured into his quad-sized shot glass along with the cherry vodka. I would need the head start.

  I opened the door and walked onto the landing of his apartment’s four-plex before softly shutting the door behind me. I stood there for a moment and took in a deep breath of the evening air. October was normally a chilly time of year for Michigan, but tonight was actually a relatively warm night and quiet too.

  I made my way down the stairwell as softly as possible, to avoid alerting any neighbors to my presence. Once I was on the sidewalk, I wrapped my hand more tightly around the bag and walked purposefully to the dumpster that was situated between two apartment buildings. I looked to my right and left and breathed a sigh of relief for the dark windows that faced the dumpster. I ducked behind the dumpster and ripped open the garbage bag, digging out my tennis shoes that were hidden under the cardboard. I threw off my flip flops and flung them into the dumpster. After sliding on the tennis shoes, I grabbed the black windbreaker I’d also stuffed under the cardboard and then took out the small backpack I’d hidden in there. I pulled the backpack over my shoulders, trying to be as quiet as possible, and then slid my arms into the sleeves of the windbreaker, concealing the backpack.

  Zipping up the windbreaker, I looked around once again, to make sure I wasn’t seen. My hands were still shaking so I rubbed them against my jeans for a minute before glancing at my soon-to-be former apartment. I’d planned this for months, and knew exactly what my next steps would be. But I was still human, and as far as I knew humans were capable of fear. Fear trickled slowly into my veins, weighing down the confidence I felt at my impending escape.

  Despite the fear, I had no apprehension. I pulled my hair into a bun before I set off on a run through the weeds and into the trees behind the apartments. The garbage men would be emptying the dumpster at seven the fo
llowing morning, taking my ripped-open garbage bag along with them. I knew the sleeping pills would keep the Monster asleep at least until then. I’d tested the pills out several times months in advance. I’d done it initially to keep him from visiting my bedroom, before I’d fully developed my plan. I was nothing if not thorough.

  Ten minutes into jogging, I chanced a glance behind me. Even though I felt sure that he would be too incapacitated to follow me by now, I couldn’t help the shiver of lingering fear. Then, reminding myself that I would soon be finally free of him, the adrenaline kicked in and I ran another two miles before reaching my destination.

  My destination was a former schoolhouse. It sat off a sleepy road and was surrounded by dead trees, with branches from those trees littering the ground around its three-story structure. It was dilapidated and ugly, with brick falling off the sides of the building, exposing the white plaster beneath. Broken windows and a boarded up door were what greeted me as I slowed to a quick walk, making sure to walk around where the piles of leaves sat, neglected. This school was a historical landmark – which is why it wasn’t torn down yet – and the nearby neighbors did their best to keep it from looking completely decrepit from the outside by raking the lawn in the fall. This worked in my favor, as I knew stepping on dead leaves might sound my presence.

  I’d staked the area out in the summer, made note of the neighbors, their habits, and if they had dogs. Thankfully, most of the neighborhood was home to the elderly and their tiny, ankle-biter dogs, the kind that barked at the wind, or a bug, and therefore posed no threat of alerting their owners to my presence. I listened for any noise, just in case, but I knew this run-down building was perfect for the next step in my plan.

  When I reached the side of the building, I looked around just in case and flexed my hands, still tingling from the adrenaline. I tried to keep focused on my task at hand, knowing full well I was not safe yet. I stood on my tiptoes and peeked in a few windows, making sure no vagrants had taken up residence inside, before continuing along to the back door of the building.

  The back door was not boarded up, but it did have some pretty heavy duty locks. Luckily, that had not deterred a former squatter, who’d likely broken the bottom window pane and later mediocrely patched with some cardboard. I pulled off my windbreaker and then the backpack before putting the windbreaker back on. I reached into the backpack and pulled out the pocket knife I’d stashed inside, using it to cut open the cardboard. Once through the puny barrier, I carefully reached in and unlocked the deadbolts and the lock on the door knob before quietly easing the door open.

  The smell of must greeted me instantly. I snuck inside and used the bottom of my shirt to preemptively wipe away my fingerprints before closing the door, using my hand inside the windbreaker to close it. I traded the knife for a flashlight before putting the backpack back on.

  While I had prepared my escape down to the last detail, I had forgotten that it would be dark when I returned to this school. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to recall how to get to the basement, where I had stashed my goods. I felt around for the wall, my fingers gaining purchase on the peeling wallpaper and followed it until I felt the door that I knew went to the basement of the building. My flashlight would be too risky on the main floor, but once I took the first few steps into the basement, I snapped on the small light. I couldn’t remember there being basement windows from the outside of the building, so I kept the light muffled behind my hand while I made my descent.

  I removed the flashlight from being muffled by my hand only momentarily to push away the cobwebs that hung down as I walked to the back of the basement. My yard sale bike sat behind some old filing cabinets, hidden. I wheeled it out and walked it to the stairs. I returned to the back of the basement and dug underneath one of the heavy metal desks for the larger backpack I’d hidden. Strapping it to the shelf on the back of the bike’s seat, I picked the bike up and let it rest on one shoulder as I carried it back up the stairs, slowly. When I reached the landing, the eerie quiet of the building initially alarmed me, because it was a huge contrast to the blood pounding in my ears. I paused for a moment to calm my reappearing nerves. My flashlight was tucked away in my smaller backpack, so I waited until my eyes readjusted to the darkness. I could see the light coming through the door I’d first entered, so I cautiously made my way that direction, taking care to pick up my feet with each step so I wouldn’t trip.

  I opened the door slowly, peeked out, and then proceeded to carry the bike out on my shoulder, closing the door softly behind me. As soon as I was on the back lawn, I moved swiftly to the tree cover. The nice thing about this town was all the forest land. It made discreet travel possible for me.

  The forest floor was relatively flat, which made bike travel easy. The grass was dead and most of the trees did not shed leaves. I spent the first half hour on my bike, making sure to stay as far away from sidewalks and streets as possible. As soon as I ran out of tree cover, I knew I was nearing my next destination.

  I could see the faint neon lights of the truck stop ahead and stopped, pulling my hair out of its bun and converting it into a low ponytail. I stuffed the ponytail under my windbreaker and pulled a baseball cap out of the small backpack I’d been carrying. I pulled out the dollar store reading glasses and slid those on as well. I zipped the windbreaker up and adjusted my baggy jeans. I hoped I looked inconspicuous as I set my bike on the ground before strolling up to the payphone on the side of the building, making sure to not look anyone in the eye. It was already 10 PM, but since this truck stop was just off the interstate, I knew it would still be consistently busy. I kept my face down as I’d been instructed, out of the camera lens’ views. Luckily, I already knew most of those cameras were aimed at the gas pumps, but I didn’t want to risk a single detail.

  Picking up the phone and dropping in some change, I dialed the number I’d memorized weeks earlier.

  It rang once before the voice I was waiting for sounded on the other line. “Ready?”

  I released a breath. “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Without responding, I calmly hung up the phone and walked around the back of the building, to the field that was safely out of view of the gas station’s employees and security cameras. I shivered, the sweat from my bike ride cooling off under the windbreaker. I kept a steady eye at my surroundings while I waited for my ride.

  While I would’ve liked to say I could have done this on my own, there was just no way. I was barely seventeen years old, with all my blood family long dead or gone. I’d spent the last four years with a Monster, and I needed an escape. I know what you’re thinking: “Why didn’t you call Child Protective Services?” I did. I was a walking, talking cliché. And after the last time I’d confided in an adult I thought I could trust, the abuse I’d suffered as punishment made me realize there needed to be another way out. A way out that didn’t include me baring my soul to someone again, to testifying against the Monster.

  I was fortunate to have Six in my life. A long-time friend of my mother’s, he was at her funeral and he’d slipped me his contact information after the will was read. I don’t know how he knew I’d need him someday, but I did.

  When my aunt passed away, it was just the Monster and me left. He sold his house and downsized to the small apartment. It was around that time he started realizing a cure to his loneliness was me.

  Six set up a PO Box for us to communicate through, and when he learned what little I would share of the abuse, he helped me hatch the plan for my freedom. On nights I knew the Monster was working late, Six would pick me up from school and we’d plot my steps carefully.

  Where the Monster was family in marriage only, Six was family in my heart. He was twice my age, but unlike the Monster in every way. I’d grown up with Six a constant presence in my mother’s home for Sunday dinners. He was the only person I trusted in the entire world. He was what I guess a big brother would be, if I had one.

  I saw the sports car z
ip into the gas station and then around the building. The headlights of the silver car flashed at me three times before switching to the parking lights on its approach. Ten feet from where I stood, the car stopped its hum and the driver’s door opened. As soon as I saw his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight, I ran to him and he opened his arms, catching me.

  Finally, finally, I allowed myself to cry. Relief, exhaustion, and elation. The flood of emotions were stronger than anything I’d felt.

  Until he found me, seven years later.

  June 18, 2010

  I drummed my fingers on the metal desk. A fleck of red polish popped off my nail and slid across the shiny desk top. “Crap,” I muttered to myself. I leaned down to inspect my now imperfect fingernail. I wasn’t one to care usually, but I had just finished removing the glitter remnants my nails had stubbornly held for over a month before applying the blood red color. My favorite color.

  A shadow fell over me, a dark figure reflected on the desk top. I shivered involuntarily. It’d been almost seven years, and I still hated shadows. As if reading my mind, the shadow moved to stand to the side of my desk.

  “Annie, if you need something to do, just ask.”

  The smile formed on my lips before I turned to look up at my friend and, at the moment, my boss. “Rosa, I’ve just been too busy twiddling my thumbs to do actual work. And besides, you know I hate that nickname. It’s just as many syllables as Andra. An. Dra,” I enunciated.

  Rosa laughed. Her laugh was rich and poignant, sparking the air between us. “I know better than to think you spend your day twiddling thumbs in here. Do you have the report you were working on for me? An. Nie?” Teasing me with a wink, she walked around to face my monitors.

  I pulled up the report on one of my two monitors and swiftly stood to allow Rosa to sit at my desk. “Have at it!” I motioned with my hand.

  “You could at least pretend to be flustered when I ask you for something important.” Rosa said without looking at me, sliding her plum colored reading glasses onto her nose.