You'll Be Sorry

by Emmy Ellis

  Mark’s sharp intake of breath startled her, and she swung in his direction, ready to bolt.

  He’s not Dan. A punch doesn’t come from every man who makes that noise.

  “Hey.” He held a hand out. “You okay?”

  She swallowed. “Um, yes. It’s just…that noise you made…he…”

  He lowered his hand. “Shit. Sorry. Habit of mine when I’m pissed off.”

  She smiled, wrung her hands.

  He pushed off the doorframe. “Do you, um, do you want some food?”

  “No, no. I don’t want to be any trouble.” Her stomach rumbled.

  “It’s no trouble, and you’ve got to eat.” He jerked his head. “Come on. I’ll show you the kitchen. Omelette?”

  Kerry nodded and followed him down the hall to a stainless-steel kitchen.

  She sat on a stool beside a tall table that looked as though it belonged in a cocktail lounge. He pulled a frying pan from a cupboard, and her mind zipped back to that morning. Had it really only been two hours ago she’d cooked Dan’s breakfast? Mark whipped eggs in a bowl, and she realised she now sat watching him like Dan watched her. She shuddered and stood, walked over to the window to stare out at the street below. Deserted. Nothing to see but the empty pavement.

  Eggs meeting the frying pan drew her away. She moved to where Mark stood and leant against the worktop.

  “Thank you for,” she shrugged, “for this. I’ll be gone as soon as I work out what to do. I don’t want to give you any hassle.”

  He flipped the omelette over. “It isn’t a problem. If it was, I wouldn’t have asked you here.”

  She’d work something out, repay him after she’d moved on. Shoving away thoughts of how she’d manage it, she sat. Mark brought their food over, and, after she nodded her thanks, they ate in silence.

  She sighed once she’d finished. “I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do.”

  “Talking will help. We’ll figure it out together. In a way, it’s good I work with the bastard. Is he likely to go mental when you don’t go home? Stupid question. How mental will he be when you don’t go home?”

  She didn’t have to think about it. “Livid. He’ll try and find me. Told me once he’d find me anywhere, that no one would believe me if I told them anything. For years I believed everything he said, but lately…I don’t know, enough was enough. I can’t say I enjoyed him hitting me, but I coped with it when I still loved him, but after a time he creeped me out when…when he touched me. You know…”

  He nodded.

  “And once that happened, I knew the end had come. He’d scared me so much, at first I didn’t think I could get away. Mind conditioning is worse than physical abuse for me. Making someone believe things, do things, bending them to your will…it’s…” She stared at her empty plate. “It’s evil.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I used to be so strong. And he changed me, made me into a different person. I jumped at the slightest thing, and the shit he did to me…” A shudder went up her spine. “I’m sitting here praying that’s all over, that I won’t ever have to go through that again, but a part of me still thinks he’ll drag me back.” Tears stung. “And then it’ll be so much worse than it was before.”

  Mark nodded again.

  “He nearly killed me yesterday.” She stared at the wall. Dan’s face loomed in her mind’s eye, his ruddy cheeks, spit on his lower lip, his hands tight around her throat. “Strangled me. At one time, I’d have welcomed it. You know, him killing me.” She laughed gently. “But I struggled, wanted to live. Wanted to get away. I deserve better than him.”

  “You do. Every woman in that situation does.”

  “Did your mother get away?”

  His eyes darkened. “No. My dad murdered her.”

  “What? I’m so sorry.”

  Her stomach cramped, and she opened her mouth to say more, to give as many apologies as she could in one breath, but his smile stopped her.

  “Listen, my mother wasn’t anything like you. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t see him for what he was, even after he half killed her every time he laid into her. Loved him to distraction. Thought more of him than her child. Admitted as much to me, too. Never stepped in when he turned his fists on me either. I hung around even when I was old enough to leave, still didn’t get my arse out of there. Lived in the same house until recently. Right up until…well, until he… So now do you understand why it isn’t a problem you being here? Why I’m not doing anything dodgy for Stone?”

  Nodding, she held her hand out. He took it, and she squeezed his, no words appropriate or necessary. They sat like that for hours. Silent. Right up until Kerry’s stomach grumbled for lunch.

  * * * *

  Dan called into the office. A pile of paperwork awaited him regarding Ginger Fatty’s murder. He sat at his desk and glanced through them. The usual crap. No suspects. No evidence. No witnesses. He pushed them aside and hefted his feet onto his desk.

  Kerry filled his mind. She should be on her way home by now. He pulled the tracker from his pocket and switched it on. The car remained in the parking space. What the fuck was she doing? Jaw clenched, he stomped from his office and out of the building. Lit a cigarette. Took the smoke into his lungs and exhaled with force. Bloody bitch, waltzing around without a care in the world. Who the fuck did she think she was? Last night’s lesson obviously hadn’t worked.

  He sucked on his cigarette. Maybe she’d been abducted. He laughed. Or maybe some do-gooder had taken her to the hospital, what with her face being a mess.

  Not worried about the latter—she’d keep her mouth shut—he wrestled with his instinct to return to the shopping centre. He could skip out of the office for another hour or two. Take the rest of the day off if he liked. It wasn’t like more dead bodies had sprung up overnight for him to deal with. He laughed again. If he hadn’t let go of Kerry’s throat, she’d be dead on a slab, and he’d be playing the grieving husband, lamenting the fact that burglars, shit, those bloody burglars had choked her to death.

  His laughter intensified.

  “You all right, Dan?” Ted asked, approaching him on his way into the station.

  Dan straightened and took another drag. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Like to share the joke? I could do with a laugh.” Ted smiled.

  “Nah. You wouldn’t get it, trust me.”

  Ted frowned, took a step back, and tried to smile. He didn’t manage it. “You sure you’re all right?”

  Dan dredged up a smile. “Yep, couldn’t be better.”

  Ted walked into the station. Dan grimaced. If he wasn’t careful, people would suspect something was wrong or think he wasn’t the strong, capable man they thought him to be.

  Fucking bitch has a lot to answer for.

  He weighed his options. He could check the tracker throughout the day and stir up his anger if her car remained static each time he looked. He could ignore the tracker, do his job, and return home at the usual time. If she wasn’t there, he’d access the tracker, see where she was. Or, he could go and search for her again. Visit that jumpy, pissy-knickers cow at the china shop. Demand answers. He’d swear she knew who he’d spoken of when he’d described Kerry. Or maybe the silly bitch had remembered her from the first time she’d bought the cup set. Who knew?

  Another cigarette to his lips, he clicked his lighter and brought the flame up. Inhaled the smoke, closed his eyes, lighter going back into his pocket. The sun shone on his face, warmed his skin, and for a brief moment he remembered their honeymoon, the heat, the sex. His cock twitched, and he opened his eyes to stop the images. When did she stop fucking him like she had at the beginning? After the first punch? The second?

  Pissed off, he stalked around the side of the building and got in his car, his destination the shopping centre.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kerry and Mark spent the afternoon sharing horror stories. Unburdening the weight after so many years left her tired but lighter of spirit. It had been hard to relive the p
ast, but she’d done it, scooped up her strength reserves and told all. Mark hugged her when she sobbed, gave her space when anger overtook her. Anger at being so gullible, so insipid, so…unlike who she was ‘Before Dan’.

  Mark’s childhood shocked her. He’d suffered in much the same way she had as an adult, his father controlling his mind, his cruelty wicked. She imagined him as a boy, confused, sorry for things he didn’t understand he was sorry for, unable to communicate with other adults for fear his father would find out if he told anyone what he endured nearly every day. She tried to understand his mother, and in part, she did, but surely once a child came along the goal posts moved? Surely the need to protect your child overrode any feelings you had for a man? Didn’t it? Or did the fear of him hurting your children if you didn’t obey him keep you rooted in place?

  Mark had shaken his head at one point and repeated again that Dan had been talking to Sara’s body, that he was a mental bastard.

  A worm of unease wiggled in her gut. Had Dan killed…? No, surely he wouldn’t go that far. She shoved the idea from her mind and stared at the rose canvas. Counted the thorns. It had too many. She lost track and ended up starting again several times. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she allowed them to close. How nice to just lie there. No immediate worries. Experiencing peace. A measure of contentment.

  She smiled and drifted off.

  * * * *

  This time, Dan went inside every shop, his task frustrating. Crowds packed them, and every woman with hair the same as Kerry’s received a shitload of scrutiny. Not one female had sunglasses or a swollen jaw. Three hours later, hot, hungry, and fuming, he returned to the china shop.

  The young redhead looked up. Her face turned the same colour as her hair, and she stammered, “Oh God. I—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Dan clenched his fists. “You’ll be seeing a lot of me if my wife doesn’t return home tonight, so get used to it. I’ll come every day to check if she’s been here. She’ll be buying one of those cups.” He pointed at the middle shelf to his right. “And if she does, I want you to get hold of me.” He reached inside his jacket and produced a business card. “Like I said before, she’s slim, has brown eyes, long brown hair—usually held back in a clip or whatever—and the name on the credit card will be Kerry Stone. Got it?”

  She nodded frantically.

  “Just to be sure, I’ll write her description on the back of this card, right?” He placed it on the counter. “Pen?”

  The woman almost threw one at him. He jotted down the information and slid the card towards her—and returned her gesture, throwing the pen at her face. It bounced off her forehead and clattered to the floor. She raised her hand, rubbed her brow, tears pooling.

  “Don’t turn on the waterworks with me. It doesn’t wash. Now keep your eye out for her.” He paused. “Anyone else work here?”

  She shook her head. “N-no.”

  “Good. Means I only have to hold you responsible for not spotting my missus and calling me. D’you understand what I’m saying?”

  Her sob pleased him, and she lowered her hand to cover her mouth.

  “Right. Pray you never see me again. Pray my wife comes home later.” He turned to leave. “Oh, and one more thing. Make sure you have the shop keys handy.”

  She frowned, cocked her head. “W-why?”

  “Because when she does come in then leaves, you’re going to lock up and follow her. I want to know where she goes, who she’s with, if anyone, and what she’s wearing. Got it?”

  Her wide eyes confirmed she’d got it all right, and Dan swung the door open and stepped out onto the street. He walked to Kerry’s car. Bending down, he peered through the driver’s-side window and took his notebook and pencil from his inside pocket. Laughed that he’d asked the china shop bitch for a pen when he didn’t need one—God, I love fucking with people—and scribbled down the mileage. If Kerry had no intention of returning to the car, he’d know when he came back and checked again.

  Can’t rely on gadgets. Tracker might fuck up on me.

  The day shot to pieces, he got in his car, called in at the office, then headed home. He needed to see whether she’d taken anything. One step ahead, that was Dan Stone. With the CD player blaring a symphony, he sped along the roads, thinking of what he’d done and what he needed to do.

  She’ll have a lot to answer for if she’s not back in time for dinner.

  Once parked in his garage, he entered the house and sniffed. It didn’t smell of bleach, only the air fresheners Kerry had placed strategically around the house. Freesia Breeze, Fresh Breeze, something poncy like that. He opened the basement door and stepped down, flicked the light on at the bottom.

  Bloodstained concrete.

  Bitch!

  Anger increasing, he rushed up the stairs, through the kitchen—the tile is still cracked!—the living room, and up into the bedroom. He flung open her wardrobe doors and stared at every item of clothing, mentally ticking them off. He left the room for the landing, dumped the wash bin contents on the floor, and searched through them. Back downstairs, he burst into the utility room. Washing machine and tumble dryer found empty, he turned his attention to the wash basket. Only his clothes lay folded inside.

  He knew exactly what was missing of hers. Two T-shirts. Two pairs of jeans. Red bra and knickers. White bra and knickers. She must be wearing one set and took the other for a change.

  Face hot, he hurried into the hallway and snatched the shoe cupboard open.

  One pair of boots. Missing.

  One jacket.

  One large bag.

  He slammed the door and made his way into the living room, his steps unsteady. Dan rifled through the cabinet.

  Passport gone.

  Fists balled, he lifted his face to the ceiling.

  And screamed.

  * * * *

  Mark ordered pizza, the delivery due in twenty minutes. Could she eat that?

  Dan didn’t like junk food.

  Red wine poured, she sat beside Mark on one of the sofas. The easy silence between them highlighted the atmosphere at home—no, not home, at Dan’s house. Silence there held a sharp edge, one that cut and slashed until she almost threw up with the worry of what she’d done wrong. Here, it calmed her, spoke of thoughts being contemplated and the knowledge that words weren’t necessary.

  She glanced at the clock. Dan would be home, pacing, fists and teeth clenched, wondering where she was. Thinking up ways to punish her when she returned. Annoyed his dinner wasn’t cooked. Livid her clothes were missing. She had no doubt he would have checked her wardrobe by now. She imagined his face, his emotions, and the volume of his anger. A coil of anxiety unwound—how long will it take for that to stop?—at the idea of him finding the car, knowing she’d been in Gradley. She hoped he’d suspect she’d gone elsewhere, as far away from him as possible. Surely he wouldn’t believe she was still local?

  “What are you thinking?” Mark asked.

  “About him. What he’s doing now.” She sipped her wine.

  “Ah. And what d’you reckon he’s doing?”

  “He’ll have realised I’m not coming back by now. He’ll be angry. Possibly go into the office to put a call out on the car.” She sighed. “He’ll check the bus station, train station here, and anything else he thinks will give him information. The credit card company. You know, the usual.”

  Mark stroked his chin. “Christ. Tough call having a nasty copper as a husband. Access to the databases.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll stay here, stay inside for a good while, won’t you? Until it dies down?”

  She leant her head on the sofa back. “That’ll be forever then. It won’t die down. Not while he’s alive.” She frowned. “And I’m not saying that because he loves me so much he’ll do whatever it takes to find me. No, he’ll keep searching because I bested him. Didn’t do as I was told. Dan thinks he owns me.”

  “I noticed. I hadn’t worked at the station long before certain traits
showed. He’s…how can I put it? He’s a very thorough individual. Damn good at his job, can’t fault him there, but…shit, there’s just something about him that doesn’t sit right with me. He has this freaky look every so often.”

  Kerry shuddered. “I know it.”

  “I could get him in the shit for last night. Locking you up down in that basement.”

  She shook her head. “He’ll clean it. Take the cuffs off the chair just in case I report him, though he’ll think I won’t. And he’s right.”

  The door buzzer sounded, and Kerry jumped.

  Mark touched her knee and stood. “Don’t panic. That’ll be dinner.”

  He chained the door and opened it a crack, peeking out into the corridor. He unlatched the chain and swung the door wide. A redheaded young woman stood holding two pizza boxes. Kerry’s stomach churned.

  Isn’t that the one from The China Cabin? Oh God.

  Redhead smiled at Mark, and he handed over the cash. She balanced the boxes on one arm and with her free hand shoved the notes in her pocket.

  “Keep the change,” Mark said and moved to take the boxes.

  Redhead glanced around him. Her eyes widened at the sight of Kerry, and she dropped the pizzas, hands to her mouth. A strangled cry seeped through her fingers, and she backed up to the corridor wall.

  “Hey!” Mark stepped towards her, hands out.

  She shrank into herself, shoulders hunched, elbows digging into her sides.

  “Hey!” he said again. “What’s wrong?”

  “You…he…she…” She pointed at Kerry.

  Kerry’s stomach rolled over again, and she pressed herself into the sofa.

  Oh shit. Shit! Dan…

  Kerry found her voice. “Did…did a man come to your shop today, asking about me?”

  Redhead nodded, fingers pressed so hard to her lips the ends turned white. “He…he…” She relaxed her hands. “He told me if I saw you… Oh God. I only do this bloody pizza job for extra cash, and now…” She clutched her hair.