by Polly Iyer
His voice rose again, as if he lacked control over it, and she wondered if that signaled a needed dose of medication or medication wearing off. “I told you I’d take you home tomorrow, and I will. Trust me.”
Do I have a choice? Have I ever had a choice? She lowered her head between her knees, hoping to ward off the dizziness that left her weak.
Stewart knelt in front of her. “Do you want a glass of water?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He left the room and returned with a glass of cold water. She sipped slowly. When she felt better, he walked her around the small bedroom. The aroma of freshly washed laundry wafted in the air. Folded towels sat on the bathroom vanity, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste and shampoo. He put her hand on a nightgown and robe that lay folded on the quilted bed cover, and she felt the soft, silky, lace-trimmed fabric. Slippers sat by the side of the bed.
She couldn’t stay there, waiting for what, she didn’t know. What did Stewart really have planned for her? Maybe even he didn’t know. Would he come into her bed in the early morning hours, and if she fell asleep, would she ever wake up? She had to get out of there. But how?
Chapter Eighteen
A Matter of No Choice
To most people, night was a silent, shadowy netherworld where all nature’s creatures slept soundlessly. Not to Abby. She lay awake listening to the sounds through the open window. The flutter of a bird’s wing, the track of a nocturnal animal, or even an insect’s path crinkling on beds of dried leaves were as distinguishable to her as if she could see them in action. She heard Stewart’s soft snore through the open door over Daisy’s familiar snuffles.
Could she believe anything Stewart said? Would he take her home, or would he wake a different Stewart once the medication wore off? Was he even taking medication? All those unanswered questions forced her decision to escape. Was she foolish to try? Probably, she admitted, but felt she had no choice. She flipped the crystal on her watch. Four thirty. Still dark. Still the middle of the night for everyone else.
Was it a full moon? Were there lights on the road that would render her an easy target should Stewart wake and search for her? Would she even get out the door? She contemplated climbing out the window, but six stairs leading up to the front door meant a jump she’d rather not navigate. Not with Daisy. No, she’d go out the way she came in.
Tossing back the blanket, she crawled out of bed, thankful he hadn’t watched whether she changed into the nightgown. He’d been tired. She heard it in his voice, sensed it in words that faded into incoherence. He touched her face before saying good night, promising again to take her home in the morning. She wondered if he’d remember those words come daylight. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be there to find out.
She felt her way to Daisy, tense that waking her might elicit a low growl. Neither man nor dog liked to be awakened in the middle of the night. But Daisy woke with a few gentle pats on her back. Abby let her stretch and shake, then picked up the harness she’d left nearby and fitted it on her. She reached for her shoulder bag and crossed it over her head so it would stay put.
Because Stewart left the bedroom door ajar, Abby avoided the usual clicking sound of opening it. She stopped and listened. In her mind, she reconstructed the main room and placement of the outside door. Rustic cabins had all kinds of creaks and squeaks, so she calculated every step, every move. No sound except Stewart’s rhythmic snore. She hoped he had drugged himself into oblivion.
Abby clung to the wall where the floor beneath would less likely creak. Daisy’s claws clattered on the wood floor, but Abby couldn’t carry a sixty-pound animal. Although it sounded like kettle drums to her, she hoped Stewart slept deeply enough not to hear the noise. A déjà vu flashback to the terrifying night in her yard churned a moment of panic.
Don’t think about that, Abby. Keep moving. Freedom is on the other side of the door.
Her purse brushed against a table and bumped a lamp. She hit the shade in her attempt to stabilize it, but not before the lamp base rolled around a few times.
Damn.
She listened. Nothing. Her heart felt like it would jump right out of her chest, and the drumbeat noise pounding in her ears seemed loud enough to wake the dead. Her hand, slick with sweat, lost its grip on Daisy’s halter. She wiped her palm down her slacks, then took hold again. Inching along the expanse of wall, she followed it around the corner, skirting the furniture. She found the edge of the doorframe and felt the hinges, then patted her way across the recessed panel to the knob, exactly where she pictured it. A few inches up she found the latch and slowly turned it counterclockwise. Click. She held her breath.
Stewart’s bed squeaked and he groaned. Abby still hadn’t breathed. He shifted position. She heard his footsteps and froze in place. Had he heard the click of the lock and woken from a sound sleep? She thought of crouching in case she stood in his line of sight. A sofa sat between her and his bedroom, but a move to hide behind it might attract his attention. She faced the door, statue still, and listened. The footsteps weren’t coming toward her. They moved to her right, inside his room. After a few steps, they stopped. There must be a connecting bathroom because she heard him pee and flush the toilet, then tap water. Footsteps shuffled back to the bed.
Springs creaked.
Blankets rustled.
Quiet.
She stood riveted to the spot, taking slow, deep breaths, afraid even that would alert him now that he’d awakened. After what seemed an eternity, Abby heard the steady rhythm of his breathing and a soft whistling snore.
She waited until her hands stopped shaking, then pulled on the door.
Clang.
Stewart had fastened the damn safety chain. The jangle sounded like a metallic explosion. Between the pounding of her heart and the racket she made, she didn’t understand why Stewart hadn’t leapt at her throat. She listened. His breathing pattern remained slow and steady.
Though she felt safe for the moment, sweat tickled the sides of her face, and she wiped the droplets away with her free hand. She slid the chain from its track and guided it to a stop. Moving to the right, Daisy alongside, she tugged the door open. It creaked. Is there anything in this place that doesn’t creak? She slid through the opening.
After closing the door silently behind her, she groped for the railing and descended the six steps. Stewart had driven up the gravel driveway and pulled to the left of the stairs, Abby’s right. She wondered if he left her phone on the front seat of the car.
“Taxi, Daisy,” she said, hoping her dog would follow her daily direction and go to the car. She did. Abby leaned down. “Good girl,” she whispered, and rubbed her dog’s neck. “Good girl.” She reached for the door but didn’t know if it was the front or back door until she moved her foot forward and found the tire. Front door, lift-style handle. She pulled it up and opened it, felt the front passenger seat. The phone lay where Stewart left it, nestled in the tattered cloth.
Not now, she decided, thinking about the chimes that signaled the phone’s power. She slipped it into her jacket pocket. First, get out of the yard. She didn’t want to chance the noise of closing the car door and wondered whether the roof light worked. She reached inside and felt the heat on the ceiling of the car, found the switch, and shut it off. At least she thought she did. The heat went off with the switch. She closed the door enough to catch, then took hold of Daisy’s halter. Between the leaves crunching underfoot and the sound of the gravel, she didn’t give herself much of a chance, but she’d made it this far. She’d forge ahead.
Skimming the car, she let Daisy lead her down the driveway as quickly as she dared. God, how she wanted to run. She averaged a seven-minute mile on the track, but that was with a guide. Out here, alone, she had no idea where she was or where she was going. But she was going, and nothing could stop her now.
Nothing except Stewart.
The gravel stopped. She reached the road. They had come from the left. Even though she gauged the highway to be about two miles fr
om the cabin, the twists and turns went straight up. Too difficult to try. Her best shot would be down, to her right, to she didn’t know where.
She stopped to let Daisy do her business, then switched the halter to her left hand. Edging sideways to the right, her foot hit a hard vertical surface, and she felt the jagged rock mountainside with her hand.
Moving back to the road, she said, “Forward, Daisy.” And Daisy took off. Down, down, down. Curves and more curves. After about five minutes, the dead sound on her right gave way to a break in the mountainside, maybe a driveway. She stopped, turned on the phone, and speed-dialed number six, Pete’s number. She listened. Nothing but the static of mountain reception. Biting back the disappointment, she decided to keep moving.
Insect sounds broke the night’s silence. And something else. Water? Yes, moving water on her left. A river or stream. No chance of a house on that side. Not that she’d know unless someone made noise. And even if she heard a car, it might be Stewart searching for her. How would she know, and where would she hide?
She flipped her watch. Six o’clock. An hour and a half since she crept out of bed. Almost dawn. Pretty soon she’d be in full light. A blind woman walking on a winding mountain road led by a guide dog. Now there’s a sight.
Panic set in. Abby hadn’t thought this far ahead. What now? Were there houses nearby? Rescuers within a few feet? She tried her phone again but now heard only the beep of a dying battery. How long could she walk, and where would she end up? Someone would have to drive by sooner or later. The road had to go somewhere.
She walked for another hour, keeping close to the right side of the road and wishing she were wearing her running shoes instead of the low-heeled pumps she’d worn to work. The combination of no sleep, miles of walking, and stomach-churning fear took its toll.
Then, as if out of a dream, she heard voices off to her left, the sound of rushing water closer. She listened for an oncoming car, heard nothing, and turned Daisy to cross the street. Could anyone see her? No one called out.
“Hey,” she yelled. “Hello.”
“Hi there,” a man’s voice answered.
Then Abby cried out the three words she hated most. “I need help.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Sweet Taste of Chocolate
Abby’s phone stored enough juice for one of the guys at the raft rental dock to get Pete’s number and call him on his own cell. The Saluda police arrived within half an hour; Luke and Pete showed up at eight.
Luke gathered her into his arms and held her so tight she lost her breath. She felt safe wrapped in his strength while she breathed in his scent, so distinctive, so Luke. And for the first time since getting through her darkest days, she put her pride away and fell apart. Not a one-minute crying jag but a serious world-class breakdown. And she didn’t care who heard. She’d always leaned toward stoicism; this was different. She didn’t know why. She wasn’t afraid any more. She wanted to ask him where he’d been before Stewart came and took her away. But the comfort he offered was enough for now.
“Did he hurt you?” Luke asked.
She shook her head and spoke between sniffles. “I was afraid he might. His behavior was erratic.”
While Luke consoled her, Pete followed Abby’s directions to the cabin. When he returned, he said Stewart’s car was gone and there was nothing in the cabin except some food in the fridge, a woman’s bedclothes at the bottom of a mussed bed, and a bottle of pills. Pete took the pills.
Daisy jumped in the back seat next to Abby and Luke for the ride back to Hub City.
“Anything you can tell us, Abby?” Pete asked.
“The car has a low carriage, front bucket seats with tattered seat covers, four doors, child locks, and I think it’s got a bad muffler. Sorry, don’t know the color.”
“Most sighted people wouldn’t get that far,” Pete said.
“He said he was released from a hospital.”
“He escaped,” Luke said. “Walked out weeks ago wearing a doctor’s coat and carrying enough medication for a month or two. Who knows if he’s taking it?”
She clutched Luke’s arm. “Has he hurt anyone?”
“Not that we know.”
She told Luke what Stewart said about the intruder the night Daisy was hurt.
“Do you believe him?”
Do I? Do I believe him? “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Everyone’s lied. Lucy lied—for eight years. Talk about being kept in the dark. Why?”
Luke hesitated. “You’ll have to talk to her about that. I don’t want to get between you and your mother. She thought the lie protected you. I don’t know if she was right or wrong.”
“I’d better call to let her know I’m all right.”
“What’s the number?” Pete asked.
Abby reeled off the number and heard the tones as Pete punched them in. Luke leaned forward, got the phone, and put it in Abby’s hand. She told Lucy she was okay but she cut her off when she tried to explain about Stewart. “Not now,” Abby said. Then she told Luke and Pete some of what she and Stewart talked about, withholding the brew of emotions that obscured all common sense.
Pete cleared Abby’s house when they arrived, said he’d get back in touch later, and drove off. Luke had parked at Abby’s the night before and slept in his car, waiting in case she showed up. With a man sleeping in a car in front of her house and two men bringing her home in the early morning, the neighbors were probably ready to dish her up over coffee as daily gossip. Well, too bad. She never cared much what people thought, and she wouldn’t start now.
* * * * *
Luke led Abby into the house and made her sit down while he filled Daisy’s water bowl. Then he sat by her side and took her in his arms. She fit into him perfectly. He wanted to hold her forever, right there in that spot. He thought about her escape and the guts it took to pull it off. He doubted he possessed that kind of courage—not many people did. He pulled off the band that held her ponytail and ran his fingers through her loose hair. “There, that’s better.”
She eked out a weak smile.
When he had arrived at the raft rental dock, Abby was shivering. The two guys who ran the place had given her coffee inside their warm shack. She’d skirted around the story of what a blind woman was doing walking with her dog at sunrise, and they didn’t ask any questions. Luke suspected they weren’t thrilled about cops in their midst and figured they probably had a stash of pot on the premises. He thanked them for their help and read their relieved expressions when all the cops got in their cars to leave.
Luke sensed Abby held back things. Maybe words she’d shared with Stewart, maybe feelings. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—prod her to tell him, even though he ached to know. Maybe she’d confide in him later. She’d learned some hard facts the last two days that shed a new light on past events: her ex-husband’s resurrection and her mother’s deception, plus whatever she chose not to divulge. She needed time to get it straight in her mind.
“I behaved badly the other night,” he said, bringing up the wedge he’d driven between them. “I wouldn’t blame you if you threw me out. I hope you don’t, because it had nothing to do with you. I want you to know that.” He touched her cheek. “It’s that your barrage of questions brought up things I’d rather not talk about. Maybe later, but not now.”
Her lips didn’t move, and a long moment of insecurity stabbed Luke’s insides. Did he use the wrong tone, clip his words? He wasn’t sure by her reaction. Her words were easier to read than her emotions.
“Bottom line, Abby, you scare the bejesus out of me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone or opened up like I have with you. I sat in front of the computer the next day at work and wondered if I was man enough to be with someone who knew me so well.”
“Are you?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. What I do know is that when I thought your life was in danger, I realized that my life without you in it would leave an emptiness I couldn’t fill.”
* * * * *
Those were strong words. Words Abby wanted to hear. Still, she hated that another person’s decision had an impact on her future. She’d worked so hard the last eight years to make her own way, without depending on anyone to shape her life. “Before you say anything else, I don’t want you to confuse your emotional feelings with some macho need to protect me.”
“Be quiet, Abby. This is hard enough for me. And please, don’t be noble. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think we have something special developing. I’ve never been friends with a woman I’ve made love to, and I’ve never fallen in love with a friend; in fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever really fallen in love, deeply, and without expecting more in return than I was willing to give.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Let me finish, please. So many elements enter into our situation. I’ve been a mess the last year, alternating between proving I’m still the same man as before I lost my hearing and facing the reality that I’m not. My marriage ended, my job and future still hangs in the air. I’d lost confidence, and it’s taking time to get it back. I think I’m on the right track. I do know I want to keep seeing you, to make love to you, and to share what I’m capable of sharing. That part scares me. It’s not anything I’m used to.”
He was speaking her thoughts because it had always been her way too. He took his time, taking deep breaths, as if he needed extra oxygen to build his courage. She waited.
“You have to understand, my marriage ended less than a year ago. I figured that was it with serious relationships. I sucked at them. Then I met you and everything changed. That said, no matter how much I want to, I’m not in the position to make promises.”
Abby smiled. “I don’t want promises, Luke. I never have. They’re only good for the moment they’re spoken because lives change, forcing people to change. We’ve both made commitments in the past and neither worked out, for different reasons to be sure. I don’t think we’re in a position to make them again.” That was a long speech. Had he understood? She asked him.
