Let Me Go

by L. L. Akers

  “What, Mom?” Emma asked while pulling the door open to let her mom in.

  “Guess who I found out Mark ran off with?” Mom asked, excited to share some gossip. She waited, getting no response from Emma, who wasn’t interested in hearing about Mark today or any other day, so she continued. “Sarah! You remember that ugly redhead from the bar? Her husband’s in prison for a long time, so she took off. I think she divorced him. They have three girls. Mark took them all and hauled ass to Missouri, from what I hear. He even got a job working for a mortician.”

  Emma stared back at her mother, trying to run the words back through her brain—something about Mark and three girls... she needed to back up and think about what Mom just said. It clicked together: before he was gone, she’d lain awake so many nights, praying for her freedom from that psychopath, but it never occurred that once she was free, he too would be free to hurt another girl—or three—for God’s sake. She felt her breakfast threatening to reemerge.

  She half-ran, half-dragged herself to the bathroom, hitting the cold vinyl floor with her knees as her breakfast of Dr. Pepper and bacon came right back up.

  “Emma, we’ve got to get you to a doctor. All that throwing up you do all the time, and as thin as you’ve gotten... you must have an ulcer,” Mom said, doing the back float in her river as she made her way out the door.

  “Wow, Emma, this is some serious stuff. You got to talk to someone else about this, someone who knows what to do to help you,” Daniel said, looking shell-shocked from the stories Emma had finally confided to him in her drunken stupor.

  “Daniel, I told you! You can help me... Please help me,” Emma slurred. “We have to stop him from hurting those girls. It might already be too late.”

  “Emma, you need to go to bed. There’s nothing we can do tonight. Tomorrow I’ll talk to your mom about what you’ve been telling me and we’ll figure out something.” Daniel answered her patiently, wanting to go to bed himself but still up babysitting Emma while she was drunk.

  “NO! You cannot talk to my mom about it. Or anyone else. You swore it to me, Daniel! My mom would never believe me anyway. I have to do this myself. I... have... to...” She trailed off as she finally passed out.

  Emma spent every day of the next few months at the library, first learning how to use the internet and email and then searching the web tirelessly for Mark. She thought about going to the police, but she knew they would ask questions, which would lead to more... humiliating and horrible things she would be forced to tell them eventually. She still wasn’t ready to put her life on display for everyone. She couldn’t face the questions. Why did she let him? Why didn’t she tell her mother? Why didn’t she tell her Dad? No one could understand this monster’s manipulative and evil madness, not unless they’d been through it themselves. She had to try to stop him without anyone’s help; that would keep her secrets safe.

  Finally, she found him.

  He wasn’t working for a mortician; he was managing a funeral home. And he was in a podunk town, but not Missouri. She finally found him in Texas. He was serious when he made a move. That was a long way off. He was probably running with his forked tail between his legs, scared now that Mom was really over him, I might finally do the big reveal—or maybe he was afraid of the jailbird ex-husband. I’ll have to pull his release date the next time I’m in here, Emma thought. That could be helpful. But how’d he pull off a funeral home gig? He was a snappy dresser and an intelligent speaker, could even pass for a friggin’ doctor in the right clothes, and God knows he’s a helluva liar, but where did he get the experience for a job like that? Doesn’t seem like something you could just wing...

  Emma took down the phone number and headed home, where she opened a bottle of vodka to help with her thoughts.

  She was well past thinking straight when Daniel came home from work. He walked in and looked at Emma, disheartened by what he saw.

  “Emma, this has to stop. You can’t keep drinking like this,” Daniel said disappointedly but with concern. “After the things you told me, I know this is your way to deal with it, but this liquor’s gonna to kill you. You ain’t as big as a minute and you drink like a man!”

  “I f-f-found him, Daniel. I gots the number... It’s... right... here,” Emma answered, barely understandable. “I’m go-going to c-c-call him right nu-nu-now...”

  “No, Emma, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t care! It’s the ru-ru-ri-right thing to do for those g-g-girls,” she slurred and began to dial the phone.

  Daniel snatched the phone out of her hand before she could complete the call.

  “Look, if you still want to call him in the morning, I’ll let you,” he said. “But first you need some food, water, and sleep. Let me take care of you, Emma.

  “One of my buddies on the crew knows about a girl who went through the same shit you did. The girl was all kinds of messed up for a long time. She went to a counselor about it and they worked through the whole thing with this program, brought in the mom that was living in the home during that time and everything. It all worked out for her. She’s doing great and she and her mom are still close.”

  “No, Daniel... I c-c-can’t tell my mom what he did to me. I just c-can’t. What if she doesn’t believe m-m-me again?”

  “She will, Emma! Why wouldn’t she?”

  Even in Emma’s drunken stupor, she could still feel the burn of shame and guilt. She was old enough and smart enough to know it wasn’t her fault. When he did it, she was a child and he was a big, scary adult keeping her when Mama was at work, doing things to a child that wasn’t right, and then acting like nothing was going on when Mama got home. But that didn’t erase her shame and guilt. Nothing would.

  She gave up.

  “Okay, Daniel, tomorrow morning, then,” she slurred and then dropped her face on the arm of the couch, immediately knocked out.

  “Filmore Funeral Home, may I help you?” the receptionist answered.

  “Yes, may I speak to Mark Nathens, please?”

  “May I tell Mr. Nathens who is calling?”

  “Just tell him it’s an old friend from the South.”

  Music filled the line as Emma’s stomach starting feeling like it had a set of swooping barn birds entertaining themselves in there. She started to shake and perspire, the sweat running off her temples down the sides of her cheeks.

  “Hello? This is Mr. Nathens. May I help you?” Mark said.

  Emma sucked in a deep breath, and then blew it out with no regard for it blowing directly into the phone, and she was ready.

  “Mark, I found you,” she said confidently.

  “Emma? How nice to hear from you, honey. I didn’t know you were looking for me!” Mark answered as if he were her favorite old uncle, making Emma cringe in disgust.

  “Well, actually, I wouldn’t have looked for you—probably wouldn’t even walk across the street to piss on you if you were on fire—but I was concerned about your new girls that you got when you dragged Sarah with you,” Emma said, her voice full of accusation.

  “Sure... sure. I’ll go over those numbers with you. Let me shut my door,” Mark said hurriedly and put down the phone. It was only a few seconds until he picked it back up and said, “Listen here, you little bitch. If you ever call here again, or in any way contact me or Sarah or say a word about those kids, I’ll tell your mother—everything—the way I always explained to you I would,” he threatened.

  “Fine. I can deal with that,” Emma answered back evenly. “She won’t believe your version. It wasn’t my fault; I was a child. You were the monster.”

  “Really? You think she’ll see it that way, Emma? You think your daddy will see it that way? His scared little girl running off to his protective arms every weekend, not ever telling him a thing, and then agreeably coming back into mine afterward? Won’t he wonder about that, Emma? You think after what you’ve become they don’t see you? Look at their faces. You’re nothing to them now but a troublemaker, a wild
child... Why would they believe you?” he taunted.

  Emma felt herself breaking down. Mark always knew how to do this—twist the truth with his manipulative games, confuse Emma each time she threatened to tell with the way others would perceive it. She felt herself begin to shake. He was getting to her—again. She couldn’t let him. She had to stand up to him.

  “They don’t feel that way about me, Mark. That’s more of your mind games!” Emma shouted into the phone. “My family loves me. I trusted your authority. You were the grown-up. But they’ll believe me, not you! Everyone will see past your mask when I’m done!”

  “Sure they will, Emma. And they’ll love you so much more after you tell your story and then have to go to court and tell the whole world every detail of everything. They’ll still love you, won’t they? Poor little dirty, used-up Emma. Too weak to defend herself against such a big, bad monster...” he mocked.

  “Shut UP! Shut UP!” Emma screamed. “I don’t care what happens. I’ll tell the whole world, but I won’t let you damage those girls, or any other kids, like you did me, you freak!”

  “Okay, okay Emma. Calm down. Listen, there’s no reason to scream. Let’s back up a few steps. Listen. Betcha wondering how I got this job, huh?”

  Emma paused. He had her off track again. She didn’t answer. She was winded, trying to quietly suck in enough air to fill her lungs and calm herself so he couldn’t hear her fear. Though, the breathing did nothing to slow her wildly beating heart.

  “Well, let me tell you about it, Emma. See... I don’t think I ever mentioned to you and your mom that my father owned a funeral service. I grew up helping there after school and in the summers. Always hated it. But I learned a lot with ol’ Dad. And it turns out they have a shortage of people around these parts with that type of experience. I fit the bill nicely, and I’m paid well. So well, actually, that I bought a coffin—a beautiful mahogany coffin. It was just sitting in the basement, gathering cobwebs and dust bunnies, wasn’t even showing on the books anymore. But I—being an honest, upstanding community man—gave them a fair price. It seems someone had ordered it years ago and didn’t need it after all. Lucky them.”

  He paused. The line went quiet for a moment while Emma’s mind raced as to where he was going with this.

  “Now, the inside hasn’t been done up yet, so no comfy pads or silk lining—just a basic box—but let me put it this way... It would do in a pinch. I have at my fingertips the ability to transport my mahogany box there, and I have all around me, in the wide-open plains of Texas, plenty of places to bring it back and plant it,” he threatened.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Emma said slowly, her hands beginning to shake. “I’m not... anymore.”

  “But are you afraid of the dark, Emma?”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Gabby, you earned it. Just accept the promotion and move into Danny’s office,” Mr. Arnaud said, exasperated with dealing with Gabby’s stubborn personality.

  “Mr. Arnaud,” Gabby answered, “I’ve been handling his work out here for three months. I can keep on doing it from here. But I will take the raise that comes with it,” she said and laughed, though actually quite serious about that.

  “But why wouldn’t you take his office?”

  “Because of the ladies in the bullpen! They haven’t liked me since I started here, and that will make them like me even less. I’ve already heard them refer to me as ‘the chosen one’ several times when they thought I was out of earshot. I don’t want to add more fuel to the fire by taking a new title and an office.”

  “Gabriella... you’ve been good for these ladies. See the difference in the way they look, the way they dress and fix their hair? I told you when you started you would set the bar, and you see... They are reaching for it. This is good. Don’t let their pungent attitudes keep you down. You have to keep raising that bar.”

  “Mr. Arnaud, it’s Gabby... Seriously, no one calls me by my full name, except sometimes my dad. If you’re that insistent, I’ll take the office and title. But how about that raise? Will my salary be refigured based on my accepting Danny’s responsibilities in addition to the work I was hired for?”

  “Okay... Gabby, yes. The pay will be an annual increase of six thousand dollars. I’m sorry we cannot pay you what Danny was paid, but he held a bachelor’s degree.”

  “Annual? Does that mean I have to wait until next year to get it?” Gabby asked.

  Mr. Arnaud chuckled. “No. It means I averaged your normal paycheck times fifty-two weeks to see your average annual salary with overtime. On top of that figure, I added the total of six thousand dollars and then divided it by twelve months for your new monthly gross pay. You will not get a weekly check again. You will be salary and paid by the month. You’ll see a substantial monthly increase on your paycheck, starting with this one, Gabby,” he said, handing over her payroll check.

  “Thank you!” Gabby said, wanting to rip it open right then to see her new bring-home pay but maintaining her professionalism, discreetly placing it in her purse.

  “Don’t thank me. You earned it. I’ve never seen someone learn accounting so fast.”

  “Well, it helped that Danny told me he was planning to leave and that you usually didn’t move too fast in replacing people, so I was able to go to night school and take those two accounting courses,” Gabby admitted. “And I had two good tutors.”

  In just a few short weeks after Gabby’s started, she had mastered the computer programs used in the office and also managed to organize Mr. Hinson so her own work was normally completed within a few hours each morning. Danny soon confided in her that he was sending out resumes, hoping to become a controller himself, and started teaching her the basics of journal entries, account reconciliations, and general ledger while he was still there.

  After Danny had secured a position and worked his notice, Mr. Arnaud had taken up where Danny had left off to show Gabby the more complex tasks of the job, and she’d been running with it independently for over a month, finally closing last month’s books almost to perfection, earning her the title of Assistant to Controller, not to be confused with an assistant controller, which she was not degreed for, as Danny was.

  “I believe it was mutually beneficial, to you and the company. We have saved money by combining the jobs and not having to pay you as much as we did Danny. I am happy with the arrangement... and you?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, of course. Thank you again, so much!” Gabby exclaimed while she began to pack up her bag to leave. She was anxious to get home to tell Jake about her new title and pay. “I’ll move my stuff into my office tomorrow.”

  “I think we need to spend some more time talking about how to handle that, Gabby. Would you like to meet me at The Pub next door? We can have a drink and unwind while we discuss how to best handle your new position with the staff. I, unfortunately, will not be in tomorrow and will also be gone all next week. I’m on vacation at my cabin in Georgia,” Mr. Arnaud said.

  “Umm, well, Jake will be waiting for me. Since I finished the night classes, he’s been looking forward to me getting home at a decent hour and having dinner together again,” Gabby answered hesitantly.

  “Gabby, in this position, there will be many nights we have to work late—many nights. That is the nature of real accounting and middle management. In addition, I want to teach you how to process and approve payroll so I have a backup. Danny has always been my backup in case I need to be gone. I don’t trust anyone else on staff with that sort of information, other than Mr. Hinson, who you know doesn’t get involved in the day-to-day running of the company.

  “Danny was always my soundboard for all things pertaining to staff: payroll, evaluations, raises, reprimands. He was able to always keep things very confidential, and we usually had these conversations offsite, after work. This comes with the job, Gabby. It’s not always eight to five. It’s a salaried position, not hourly. Do you think Jake will be understanding about that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in concern.
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  “Oh, yeah. Sure. That’s not a problem. I’ll meet you there. Save us a table. I’ll just call Jake from the car to let him know I’ll be late,” Gabby answered, smiling on the outside while cringing on the inside. Jake will not understand, Gabby thought. He’s never worked in an office, or “had drinks to unwind and discuss personnel situations” with his boss—especially a female boss—but he’ll just have to try. Gabby was moving up fast and she had to keep up with the big dogs or get off the porch.

  “I’d like you to come in at seven tomorrow, have your things moved to your office, and be working when the staff comes in at eight. I will send an email to Mr. Hinson when I get home later this evening, wording an announcement to be sent from him to the staff, acknowledging the load you’ve been carrying, hence the promotion. I doubt you’ll hear any backlash in my absence if it comes directly from him,” Mr. Arnaud finally explained after more than an hour of small talk while they “unwound” with some drinks.

  “That sounds like a good plan, Mr. Arnaud,” Gabby agreed, trying to remember as much as she could before the words floated away. She rarely ever drank alcohol, usually just an occasional wine cooler, and since she wasn’t yet twenty-one, she wasn’t expecting to drink tonight anyway. She’d planned to order a sweet tea while Mr. Arnaud had his drink. When she walked in, there had already been a vodka tonic sitting on the table for her. She’d thanked Mr. Arnaud and started sipping, not wanting to make a big embarrassing deal of it.

  Mr. Arnaud was drinking scotch on the rocks, and with a nod of his head, the bartender kept bringing fresh drinks. She was almost finished with her third one, with nothing on her stomach since lunch, and she was feeling very tipsy... actually, closer to sloshed.

  “Mr. Arnaud, I’m sorry to have to party this poop... I mean poop this party... I mean be a party pooper.” Gabby finally managed to get it out, and then started laughing hysterically, altogether too long and too loud.