“I’ve learned plenty of patience and how to keep my eye on the end-goal. I can wait, so long as I can actively keep working towards it. Plus, I want to make sure that idiot is locked up good and tight before I turn my back on him completely.”
“But,” Mom groped for words, “you had plans before all this went down. What about that life, why are you giving up on it?”
I was done with the toast and tossed the butter knife into the sink. “Those plans were made by a girl. A girl who had no comprehension about how quickly life as you know it can change forever. These plans, they’re being made by a woman who has had plenty of time and opportunity to think about things and figure out exactly what she wants to do with her life.
“And my experiences have changed me. I’m still more or less who I’ve always been, but some things have been brought to the forefront and others seem not so important anymore. I’ve always loved to travel and talk about the places I’ve gone to. That hasn’t changed, it’s just magnified now.”
“Sweetie,” Dad said as he shook his head, “are you sure you aren’t just letting the fear get to you? Mike told me that you told the cop you would worry about this guy coming back for you, if he wasn’t caught. Are you just planning to live on the road so that he can’t find you once he’s done serving time and gets released?”
He’d hit on something, and we both knew it. “This isn’t about him. But I won’t lie to you and tell you that it hasn’t occurred to me that his having difficulty in trying to track me down wouldn’t be an added benefit. But I also know that my living in an RV of some sort won’t be able to stop him from getting to me.”
“Why not?” Mom asked.
I turned my head to look her in the eye. “All he’d have to do to get to me is come after one of you. He’s crazy, not stupid. He’ll get it into his head that I didn’t buy into anything he tried to convince me of, and he’ll know exactly where my loyalties lie.”
Mom’s eyes shifted to Dad’s.
“We’re just going to have to hope he gets a long sentence, a good psychiatrist, and a sense of conscience. We’ll worry about crossing that bridge when we come to it.” Dad shifted his eyes from Mom to me, and then back again. “And by the time he’s released, you’re both going to know how to shoot a gun.”
“And know how to do Karate,” I added.
“Amen,” Dad agreed with a firm nod. “But I do ask that you find time to do one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Go and talk your plans over with a therapist. Just to make sure you really are basing your decisions on good reason.”
I scrunched my face at him. I had been hoping to avoid dealing with a therapist, but I knew it would help my parents to know I handling everything well. “Yeah, okay. But it’s gotta be a woman whose dealt with this kind of thing before.”
There was a pounding at the door, “Come out and listen to this!”
We all filed outside to hear the news report on the radio. It was about my escape, and how Asshole had been caught trying to kidnap the toddler. It talked about all the different states involved and the quagmire of a mess he’d created for the legal system.
But then I heard something that had me shaking.
Rage, hot and seething, flowed side by side with blinding, smug satisfaction. Jared had come outside, hair still dripping from his shower, and came to stand behind me with his hands placed on my shoulders.
The newscaster explained that once Sebastian McNeil’s mug shots appeared on nationwide television, two other women had come forward, two women who he had kidnapped before me. The first he had let go, just before he took off for parts unknown, about six years ago. The second had escaped four years ago, and he’d disappeared again before police could catch up to him. The reporter went on to say that the second woman had led the police to the grave of a third woman that he’d buried in the basement that she’d been kept in. She’d said that there was a horrible smell that constantly seemed to emanate from the one corner. The body had been recovered, days after the second victim’s escape, and identified as yet another missing person.
It seemed he’d been running from the cops for years. And he’d told both the women the same thing that he’d tried to tell me, he just wanted to rescue them and, in return, expected them to be so grateful that each would be his wife. Neither of his victims had been the object of abuse before he’d gotten his hands on them. Police were unsure if there had been any additional victims, or not. And now there were seven states involved, pulling old files and enumerating their lists of charges.
The reporter ended the story by saying that the two women who had come forward were awaiting their chance to thank me for the opportunity to stand up and speak out. The woman who had escaped was willing to publicly apologize to me, because she had run with no thought for the next victim, her only desire being to get away.
The rage that came from the knowledge that the last woman had escaped, without setting some sort of trap for him, had begun to subside. After all, how could I fault her for something that I had tried to do? How many times, especially in those first months, had I wanted to escape with complete disregard for what may happen to anybody else? When I tried to run that first time, I hadn’t given a damn about who he might try and replace me with. I’d tried to tell myself that I had no way of knowing if he would go after someone else. But I obviously couldn’t tell myself that anymore, now could I? Besides, forgiveness came easier now that I was no longer locked away.
And the satisfaction over having been the one lucky enough to set the trap was quickly replaced with an overwhelming and humbling relief. Relief that came from the testimonies of the other two women, this man would be locked up for a very, very long time. There was also relief from the fact that as long as he was locked up, he couldn’t prey on his next victim, wherever she might be.
Somewhere, right now, was a young woman enjoying her life and trying to make the best out of what her life has to offer. A boyfriend, her coming senior year, maybe she’s already dreaming of prom dresses, maybe thinking about what colleges to apply to, looking forward to graduation… All these things that, for her, would never happen, not if I hadn’t waited and fell into the perfect timing for him to be caught. And how many more women might have followed after her?
I didn’t consider myself a heroine. I had just blatantly refused to let him get away with kidnapping me. Merely escaping would have been enough for me at one point, but then the bastard had shot me. That was my turning point, believe it or not. That had been the last straw of the long list of things that I was willing to turn my back on and run from.
That was the pivotal moment when I had stopped letting my fear rule my thoughts and I had let my anger take control. And why? Because in that moment, the hell he had put me through had just gotten personal in my eyes. It had no longer felt like he was just after any girl, he was after me. And he’d do anything he had to, to keep me. Calm, controlled anger had allowed me to decide how and when to give in to his demands, and how to earn little freedoms. It had allowed me to manipulate my manipulator.
I was done now. I had accomplished what I had set out to do. Oh, sure, I knew there were still hearings and trials ahead of me. And I absolutely planned to follow through on what I had started because Asshole had stolen a chunk of my life, and now I wanted a chunk of his.
I knew this shit wasn’t over until a judge’s gavel fell on the sentencing, but the day to day exhausting mission of waiting for my opportunity was complete. I had no problem letting lawyers and police officers take up the frontlines of the fight, while I stood on the sidelines and waited to be signaled for, when needed.
Now was the time to start putting one foot in front of the other, and move forward with my life. I had goals and plans and people who loved me. I was free to pursue my future and chase a few dreams.
What a totally awesome feeling.
Epilogue
He sat behind the defendant’s table in the court room. His eyes remained on
me the entire time I gave my testimony. I could see the wheels turning in his mind as the lawyers went through each and every question they had on their many, many lists.
It was killing him to sit there in silence, I knew. Things were not playing out like I’m sure he had thought they would. I knew that he was fighting the urge to take some sort of control in how things were being handled in here.
I’ll admit that I had been toying with him. The questions had been embarrassingly specific, they’d wanted to expose every sordid detail of every little thing that he had done to me whether it be physical or mental. But, in anticipation of any discomfort on my part, the judge had cleared the courtroom of the public and all non-essential personnel. Less than ten people were in the courtroom now. Knowing that my testimony would only serve to extend the sentence we all knew was coming to him, every answer I gave was done so with confidence. I wasn’t enjoying myself, but my manner told him that I knew exactly what I was doing and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.
It was during the cross-examination that his lawyer managed to ask the one question that brought a smug look to McNeil’s face. “Miss Parker, if you were so distressed about the living arrangements between yourself and Mr. McNeil, why did you stop resisting and become so compliant to his wishes, convincing him that they had also become yours?”
The two lawyers, assigned by the DA’s office, had meticulously covered this from every conceivable angle before the cross-examination. But being this was the one and only angle that McNeil could play, it was bound to be brought up again. I saw the quick smile on the lawyer’s lips as my glance swept over to the plaintiff’s table. “Sir, even a dog will stop biting his abusers, if it means there’s a chance he won’t get kicked that night.”
“You expressed contentment to Mr. McNeil, on numerous occasions.”
I shot the lawyer a look of condescension. “An abused dog will come when he is told to come. He will sit when he is told to sit. That doesn’t mean that he likes doing it.”
“An abused dog doesn’t sit there and lie to your face,” the lawyer insisted.
“An abused dog is obedient whether he wants to be or not, he does what he knows the owner wants him to do. I simply told Mr. McNeil what I knew he wanted to hear, so that he wouldn’t lock me in the basement again.”
McNeil started stewing again as the questioning continued. Any positive his lawyer tried to spin, I unspun - even if it meant that I had to compare myself to a dog, yet again, to make my point. The DA’s office had prepared me well. I knew McNeil would blow his cool if I pushed hard enough. It wouldn’t be explosive with so many witnesses, with him running on the defense, but it was coming.
At the end of the cross-examination, McNeil huffed a frustrated breath and opened and closed his mouth like he was wavering in momentary indecision. I fought a smile as I watched his control unravel.
His lawyer shook his head, but McNeil ignored him. “Amelia,” he said.
I ignored it. I continued to look at him, but I wouldn’t acknowledge that he had spoken.
McNeil wouldn’t back down. He simply smiled and called his name for me again, “Amelia.”
I wanted to glance at the lawyers, or to hear the judge shut him up. I didn’t want to respond to that name, mainly because he was using the name to get to me. But I needed to deal with whatever he was going to say head on, to let him know he no longer held the upper hand.
“Mia.”
Oh, hell, no. I needed to let him know that no matter what he did, I wasn’t the one that would be cracking. “The name is Erica. What do you want, Asshole?”
He smiled, he thought he was about to gain a few points. “Asshole? Come now, if you’re going to insult me at least do so with some intelligence.”
“What. Do. You. Want?”
Up went that imperial eyebrow. “I treated you well enough during our last months together. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me one good thing that came of our time spent together.”
I changed nothing in my expression. I spoke slowly and with perfect diction. Not to give into him, but to drive my determination home. “You improved upon my vocabulary, you insignificant, psychological, piece of ingenuity.”
That gave him a slight pause, as he continued to stare at me, before he clamped his lips together and shifted his eyes away.
This had been a true test for me, to come here and rehash everything for the court. I had wondered how well I would hold up, having to see him again. What I ended up discovering on that stand was simple, he had no control or hold over me anymore. And even better, I could see that he knew it. Never had he ever shifted his eyes away from me before.
And suddenly the man who at times had seemed ten feet tall and bulletproof, no longer looked that way to me. He was just a man, a man with no way out.
Other Titles by O. L. Gregory
Daughter of the Bering Sea
Gift of the Bering Sea
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Lulling the Kidnapper Page 21
