by Ray Backley
But now there was no denying the truth. Now she was kicking herself for pretending her fears were unrealistic. Now those fears were right in front of her face and telling her she shouldn’t have been so dumb, that it was always going to happen at some stage.
“Well, okay,” she conceded. “I knew he was going to be released someday. But a warning would have been good.”
“I’m sorry, Catherine. It’s not our policy to tell you unless you need to know.”
“But . . .” Cath paused while the implications of that statement sunk in. “‘Need to know’? What do you mean by that? He won’t be able to find me, right?”
She waited for a reply, the beads of sweat on her forehead mocking her.
Stupid, stupid Cath.
“That’s the problem. We think your new identity has been compromised.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” Cath said, knowing exactly what it meant, but disbelieving what that troll in the dark corner of her mind was telling her, because what this woman was saying surely couldn’t be true; it had to be a clerical error or a scam or a joke or even just a big fat lie.
Jones gave a sigh. “We have it on good authority that he knows about your new details.”
“But . . . surely that’s impossible. How could that have happened?”
“We don’t know how it, uh . . . look, that’s not important right now. But our informer told us everything about you: name, address, family details. It’s no hoax.”
“Oh, shit. Oh, Jesus. So . . . what’s going to happen?”
“You have to leave the house. You and your family can’t stay there anymore. A car is on its way to pick you up. It should be there just after 11 p.m.”
“But . . . but I can’t do this. I can’t just leave.”
“It’s standard procedure. We can—”
“No, no. You don’t understand. I’ve made a life for myself here. I can’t just drop everything. How do I explain this to my husband?”
“Listen to me, Catherine. You and your family are in severe danger. You remember what he said in court, don’t you?”
Her mind was now screaming: that case was twelve years ago, twelve whole years, the best years of her life. And she was only twenty-eight; she wanted more of those good years, Dan and her children deserved more good years.
“We have to stop talking. You have an hour to gather together some essentials. We’ll take you to some temporary safe accommodation. The plan is that we send someone over to pick up everything else at a later date.”
“And that’s it?”
“I’m afraid so. Please don’t waste any more time. Listen to me, Catherine, the next hour will fly by. I can promise you that. Don’t waste time. To help you, I’m going to hang up now. But be ready at eleven. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but . . .” Cath’s mouth stayed open, steadying itself to ask a million questions, but the line went dead. Yes, there were a million practical questions to ask – about Dan, the children, the house, her job, his job, their friends. But above all of those was one big wretched issue she wanted to know all about: who was responsible?
Who had told that son of a bitch who she now was and where she now lived? Who had leaked that information?
She dropped her phone onto the patio; the corner splintered, a crack went up to the opposite corner, splitting the screen in two. As she picked it up and stuffed it into her pocket, she felt queasy and stumbled off the patio and onto the lawn. She headed for the flower borders but didn’t make it, sinking to her knees and bringing up dinner onto the grass.
Tears followed. Lots of tears.
Her life was ruined.
Chapter 3
Cath’s mind was spinning with fear and bitterness, she could sense her emotions spiraling out of control.
Her life really was ruined. No melodrama. No understatement. Ruined.
Was her existence really so fragile that it had taken a mere two-minute phone call to destroy everything she held dear in life? Clearly, the answer was a big nasty yes. And now was the time to be brutally honest with herself: she had always known this day might come. There had been a time when that twenty-year stretch seemed forever. But the sun had whipped around the earth so many times since then, inexorably chipping away at those years. Yes, her whole life was fragile, and always would be. And was a life so fragile worth anything? In fact, was anything she held dear worth anything anymore?
It was too much. It seemed as if the world wanted her gone.
Perhaps the world should get its way.
Her thoughts were immediately drawn to those sleeping pills. She’d only tried them once, and even one pill had zonked her out so quickly it had frightened her. But she’d kept them; they were her insurance, her security blanket. And she knew that fifteen out of a foil sheet of sixteen pills remained. Good. She’d been desperate many times in her life, but had always held onto the thought that life held at least some bright promises of better times to come. Now all that had gone. Her mind zipped this way and that, desperately seeking options, but she could find no brightness, no other way out. Except those pills.
She spat out the remnants of half-digested pizza, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, and got to her feet. She wobbled and had to crouch down and settle herself for a few minutes, each of those minutes galvanizing the plan in her mind. She simply had to do this – both to rid her head of this wretched feeling that wouldn’t go away, and to protect Dan and little Phoebe and little Benjie.
There was no other way.
She took some more gasps of air, stood up, and approached the kitchen door. A dark haze was now guiding her, her only focus the path to her destiny. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair, but perhaps it was God’s plan that it should happen at some stage.
Tunnel vision.
She could see the kitchen door, she could see herself reaching for the handle, the door opening, the door to the living room ahead of her. She stepped toward it, almost floating, and then saw her hand resting on that handle. And then she let go of the handle, letting her arm fall to her side, leaden.
If she went inside like this, Dan would stop her. He would ask and ask and ask until she gave in and told him what was going on. And he would stop her doing what she had to do. She couldn’t have that. One way or another he would find out soon enough what was happening, that the last nine years they’d shared – including their eight-year marriage – had been a total lie. But she simply didn’t want to be on the surface of the earth when that happened. If she wasn’t dead already, it would kill her to see his face when he discovered the truth.
She took deep breaths and the haze started to clear. A few splashes of cold water across her eyes and cheeks revitalized her just enough, a wipe with a towel cleared up most of the mascara streaks. She checked her face in the mirrored side of the toaster. It was good. Perhaps now she would get past him.
She went into the living room, hiding her face as best she could by pretending to scratch her forehead. Dan stopped flicking through his cell phone and looked up. She glanced over and noticed his face suddenly catch a hint of concern.
“What’s up?” he said, standing. “What’s happened?”
“I’m okay. I just need some space.”
“But—”
“Just stay where you are,” she said. If she failed now, he would guess what she was about to do. She told herself to be strong. To be firm. To be normal. She’d needed to put him in his place only once or twice in their time together, which was a pretty good batting average for any couple, let alone one with such a big secret. “I’m going to check on the children,” she said. “Then we need to talk.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
The question made her eyes threaten more tears.
“You don’t look well, Cath. Is it bad news?”
“I . . .” she stuttered, unable to get another word out.
“And your sleeve.” He pointed at the red stain on her sleeve, left there from when she’d wiped her mout
h, and she cursed herself for wearing a white shirt.
He stepped closer and peered at her. “Are you crying? What the hell’s going on?”
At that moment she so wanted to tell him that she loved him and would love him forever, but if she started talking to him like that, her resolve would crumble and she would collapse and have to tell him what she was about to do, and he would stop her and insist on knowing what it was all about. She didn’t want that at any cost. Not today. She nodded, slowly regaining at least some composure. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ll check on the children and be back in ten minutes.”
He hesitated, then said, “Well, if you’re sure,” and watched her leave the room.
At the foot of the stairs Cath could sense the haze returning, as if guiding her. Tunnel vision again. One choice. One route. One conclusion.
After reaching the top of the stairs, she passed the bathroom door and headed for the children’s room. Phoebe – daddy’s little sweetie, as Dan always called her – was just getting used to school, and Benjamin – little Benjie – had just started preschool. She crept into the room and knelt down beside Phoebe. She stroked her flyaway hair and brushed a forefinger against her milky cheek.
“Remember I’ll always love you,” she whispered.
Phoebe stirred, turned, and chewed on nothing for a moment. Cath lifted her hand up to her mouth to stifle the tearful gulps of sorrow. No, there was no point waking these two up. Not that they would wake easily. Both were heavy sleepers. Such good, good children. Cath drew a hand across her face, wiping the mess from under her eyes and nose, then shuffled across to her little golden boy.
“Hello Benjie,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Promise me you’ll grow up to be a good man, just like your daddy.” Benjie was motionless apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“I’m doing this for both of you,” she said, her voice now a choir of croaks. “I’ll miss you both more than you’ll ever know.” She took a final look at their pure forms, then backed out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She turned to face the bathroom door, tensing her muscles as if about to enter battle.
In the bathroom she looked up at the cupboard. And it was up very high. She and Dan had discussed the positioning of it when they’d moved in. They were having a family, there was no doubt about that, so it had to be up high for safety. “How high?” Dan had asked. “As high as you can put it,” she’d replied. Perhaps those words had been a mistake in a house with such high ceilings. Even at five foot eight she’d spent the intervening years reaching up on tip-toes whenever she wanted a headache pill or some of that liquid painkiller for the kids.
The thought of what she was about to do made her weep.
Now all those memories counted for nothing. The last twelve years of her life had been one big fat delusion on her part.
How the hell did she ever think things were going to work out well?
Then she told herself to be strong.
Two seconds later, the foil sheet of pills was in her hand. Destiny was in her hand.
She filled the cup with cold water and took a sip. She pressed a pill out of the sheet and stared at it. “I can do this,” she whispered. Then there were four pills in the palm of her hand. Then nine. Then fifteen.
Fifteen pills, but only one way out of this. Only one solution. If she wasn’t around, they would be safe. Dan, Phoebe, Benjie. There would be no point in that bastard harming any of them if she were gone.
And there was no other way.
Another sip of water. That would lubricate her throat a little. Those pills could be sticky. They could hurt on the way down. And she’d already suffered enough.
If there were some other way out of this unholy mess, she would take it.
But there really was no alternative.
Her mind ran through the last nine years. Meeting Dan, marrying him, then moving into forty-one Lancaster Drive, Pasadena. Altering the place to suit their own tastes. Well, to suit Cath’s taste, because Dan didn’t have any, as he would always point out with a shrug and a laugh. The image in her mind made her cry even more.
She stared at the pills, saw them winking back at her. She thought of Dan, of Phoebe, of Benjie.
She told herself to be strong, that if there were some other way out of this mess, she would take it like a shot.
Chapter 4
It was now well after eleven o’clock that night, and the black car with heavily-tinted windows sped away through the night streets of Pasadena with Cath in the back, clutching her weekend bag. The bag was on the small side; the contents were definitely not much to show for the life she’d worked so hard to create for herself. But in the end, she’d left herself only a few minutes to pack and so had grabbed a few essentials.
“You sure you’re not hungry?” Sergeant Jones asked from the seat next to her.
“You’ve asked me that already.”
It had been a dumb question the first time. This time, Cath felt like hurling out a few abusive words at the woman. Her stomach was empty, but she felt sick. She felt sick in so many ways. She knew she’d taken herself to the edge of her own emotional limits, had tried to draw back and think rationally, but had panicked and done something that would have been unimaginable just a couple of hours ago. In time, her actions would prove to be either the smartest move of her life, or the worst thing anyone could do to another human being, let alone family.
“Where are Dan and the children?” Sergeant Jones asked.
“They went away.”
“Dan’s relatives?”
“I’d rather not say. But they’re safe.”
“And does Dan know the truth?”
Another dumb question. As if she had had the time and the self-control to sit him down and calmly take him through the whole damn story.
Then again, if she told Sergeant Jones what she actually had just done, she would be in even more trouble.
So she simply nodded, and continued gazing out of the window at the softly lit streets she might never see again. Yes, it looked like this would now become another town she would have to avoid for the rest of her life, would have to forget she had ever inhabited the streets of, would have to tell everyone she’d never even visited and didn’t want to.
“I’m sorry, Catherine. I know you’re angry. It’s understandable.”
Now she turned, and noticed just a little recoil, some fear on the woman’s face. “Nothing’s understandable, okay? Nothing is understandable. One of your guys screwed up. That’s the only explanation. And it’s cost me everything, so don’t apologize and expect me to say it’s okay. You got that?”
“I’m just trying to explain that I understand how you—”
“Well, don’t. Just don’t. There is no ‘understanding’ here. You can’t understand how I feel. Nobody can.”
“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”
“I don’t care where we’re going.”
And that was true. At that moment her mind was full of where she’d been for the past seven years.
With Dan.
At Forty-one Lancaster Drive.
And squeezed into those memories were thoughts of what she’d just done. Had it been the right thing? No, of course not. She’d been stupid, selfish, thoughtless, and horrible. What the hell had she been thinking of? The smartest move of her life? God, no. How could she ever have thought that? She had done something to her loved ones that no person should ever be proud of. And when the truth came out, she would be a laughing stock or much worse. More importantly, Dan would never forgive her.
Her stomach felt light at the thought, as if life’s elevator had gone into freefall. Yes, she’d just made a terrible mistake.
She turned to Sergeant Jones. “Stop the car.”
She got a “What?” and a frown by way of reply.
“We need to go back.”
“We can’t do that, Catherine. I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to do that.”
Cath l
eaned forward and grabbed the driver’s shoulder. But it was like trying to shake a felled tree: no give, no compromise whatsoever. The man glanced at her, but didn’t even slow down.
“Tell him to stop,” Cath said to Sergeant Jones. “I left something back at the house.”
“Relax. We can fetch it later.”
“I need to go back now. And don’t tell me to relax.”
This time, Sergeant Jones didn’t reply, she even shifted herself a little further away. The answer was clear. Cath closed her eyes and went through the events of the past hour in her mind.
There had been the phone call from Jones, the feeling of total helplessness in the back garden, her holding the pills in her hand in the bathroom, ready to take them in order to block out what was happening to her. It was then, while picturing Dan and rewinding through all their times together, that she remembered what he’d always told her, that she was a fighter, that she was a strong woman. He wasn’t right, of course; she often talked the talk, but when things got heavy she was more likely to simply collapse and give up.
But perhaps – just perhaps – this could be an opportunity to prove him right.
She stared at her face in the bathroom mirror, asking herself what would make Dan proud of her, what would make her proud of herself. If she took the pills that lay in her hand she would avoid facing up to the problem forever, but what would Dan tell Phoebe and Benjie? Would they be proud of her?
If any of Dan’s words of encouragement ever meant anything to her, now was the time to believe in him – to believe in herself. And if there was ever a time to walk the walk, it was now.
