The Choice She Made

by Marissa Farrar

  Had he been surprised to see me opening the door? Had he called to the house today expecting to find me dead?

  I wished I’d paid more attention to the expression on his face when I’d opened the door. Had he been shocked? Reared back a little? Anything? I tried to look back in my mind’s eye to rerun the deputy’s expression, but I’d been so concerned about everything else, I hadn’t focused on it.

  We remained silent while the coffee brewed. I poured the hot drink and carried his cup over to him.

  “Everything all right, Viola?” he asked, leaning in slightly to look into my face.

  I wanted to scream at him to stop calling me that. He knew it wasn’t my real name. Even if he couldn’t use my old name, I wished he’d stop saying the fake one so often.

  Instead, I forced a bright smile. “Yes, I’ve just been struggling to sleep lately. You know, so much going on in my head. Can’t seem to get it to switch off at night, especially ’cause I’m getting to bed late anyway because of the bar job.”

  “And how’s that going? Anyone asking any unusual questions?”

  I frowned. “No. Like what?”

  “Just things you might not be able to answer.”

  “Like my nine times table?” I sniped, sarcastic.

  His eyebrows lifted. “You know what I mean.”

  “No. No one has been asking me for anything other than another drink.”

  I turned away and took a sip of the coffee I’d poured for myself. Considering my late finish at work, and only getting a couple of hours sleep before everything had gone nuts, I needed the caffeine.

  “Any news yet on when I’m going to be called to testify?” I asked.

  “Won’t be long now, I swear. Couple of weeks at the most, might even be less.”

  “And how’s it all going?”

  His lips pressed together into a thin line. “You know I can’t discuss it with you, Viola.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  I wanted him to go away, and not only because of the hit man and dead bodies I had hidden down in the cellar. Seeing the deputy brought back memories of home and of the day we’d had to leave to join Witness Protection.

  Ironically, I’d been made to do what I had in order to prove my loyalty, but the result had been the exact opposite. Doing what I had had pushed me over the edge. I was determined to make sure that man could never hurt anyone again, and the only way I’d been able to do so was by going to the cops and telling them everything, and promising I would testify against him.

  My sister had already hated me, understandably, but I thought the day we’d been taken into Witness Protection cemented her feelings for me. She hadn’t seen it coming. A knock came at the door, and I opened it to find a U.S. Marshal standing on the doorstep. He showed me a badge and said his name was Terrance and that we needed to go and pack some stuff in a bag right away. His arrival caught Nickie in the middle of getting ready for a date. She had exams to study for, had her friends, had the guy she’d been crushing on for the past month finally asking her out, and now she was being made to give up her whole life and just leave.

  I’d been better prepared, of course. I’d known it was coming. I couldn’t warn her in case she said something to the wrong person, and then we’d both have been whacked. Even as we grabbed our belongings, I’d been waiting for a car to drive past and start shooting. Nicole had been crying and saying she didn’t want to leave, and I’d grabbed her and said if she wanted to live, she needed to go with me now. It wasn’t as though she could have stayed anyway—she was seventeen and would have no one to take care of her. She’d told me she hated me then, that I ruined everything, and I’d destroyed her life. I couldn’t argue with her; I probably had.

  All around us, the rest of the street had just carried on like normal. Kids were playing on the sidewalk, someone else was walking their dog. As I ran out of our house and down the steps onto the street, the lady from next door lifted her hand and waved at me, as though it was the most normal thing in the world for us to be running out of the house with bags and two strange men accompanying us. The whole thing felt so surreal.

  We’d piled into a van with two U.S. Marshals, and then I noticed a second vehicle behind us with another two Marshals inside. But it wasn’t until we started to pull out of the neighborhood where I’d lived my whole life that things really started to sink in. We could never go back. We’d never be able to see any of our old friends, or walk the streets we had when we were kids.

  That night, we were taken to a motel. Nicole cried the whole time. I had a gun, one I’d managed to slip into my bag before we’d left. I didn’t sleep either that night. I just sat awake, my fingers around the gun, though one of the Marshals found it eventually and took it away I didn’t know if someone might have followed us at that point, and we’d be tracked down. A Marshal had been left to watch over us, and I could hear him on the phone to someone, complaining how he was on his own, and saying what did they expect him to do if shit blew up. I tried not to be frightened, but when a big guy like that was scared, I had to admit it worried me.

  The next morning, we were taken to the clearinghouse, where we were given our new identities. Two weeks later, we were brought to our new home.

  I was worried about finally getting the call that I would have to fly back to New York to testify. It made me nervous to think I would be leaving Nickie here by herself, though Deputy Kier said they would be keeping an eye on her and she’d be fine. Mostly, I was nervous about having to sit opposite him in court and spill everything I knew—all the money-laundering, and murders, and robberies. He would go down for a very long time, and I was happy to see that, but that didn’t take the nerves away.

  “Everything okay, Viola?” Deputy Kier asked, using that damn name again.

  I plastered a smile across my face once more. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “As long as you’re not having second thoughts,” he said and took another sip of his coffee.

  I shook my head. “Never. I want to see that son-of-a-bitch locked up for the rest of his life.”

  Chapter Twelve

  X

  I SAT STILL, my ears straining, listening for any signs of a struggle coming from upstairs.

  If she died while I was still alive down here, there was a chance no one would even think to look for me—though if they did, they’d most likely shoot me. But the thought of dying a slow and excruciatingly painful death while strapped to this fucking chair wasn’t something I planned on doing. I’d prefer to be shot.

  I could hear the thud of footsteps above, the low drone of muffled words spoken, though I couldn’t make out what was being said. A friend stopping by for coffee, perhaps? No, that didn’t sit right. She didn’t give the impression of a woman who would bother with the social niceties needed to make friends. The conversation seemed amiable enough, though, so I didn’t think Vee was in any immediate danger.

  I needed to get free from this damn chair.

  She’d left the light on this time when she’d exited, though I’d heard her lock the door.

  I glanced around, trying to see something that would help me get loose. My ankles were strapped to the chair legs, but the chair wasn’t attached to the floor, and I had some movement in my arms, though my wrists were also taped together, and secured to my thighs with another length of tape. I thought that with a little wriggling, I could at least get my hands free from my thighs. I could have tried to stand and use the rear legs of the chair to attack Vee, but she had a gun and would have shot me before I’d even gotten close. No, I needed to get my hands free and the rest would be easier.

  An old dresser was pushed up against the wall on the right hand side, a clutter of various items scattered over the surface. There must be something there I could use.

  First of all, I needed to at least partially free my hands. I pulled my joined hands up as much as I could, trying to stretch the circle of tape wrapped around the backs of my thighs and then up over the top
of my wrists. I yanked it up and down, back and forth, trying to create some give in the tape. It was frustratingly slow, especially as I knew Vee’s visitor might leave at any moment, but the more I worked on it, the more I could feel the tape start to loosen.

  Finally, I created enough space and tugged my hands from the binding. My wrists were still bound together with more tape, but at least I could reach out and grab something. I tried to twist my hands to one side of my body, to see if I could reach the phone in my back pocket, but I wasn’t flexible enough. It didn’t matter. There wouldn’t be any coverage down here anyway, and it wasn’t as though I’d ever call her father’s men for help.

  Gritting my teeth against the intense pain, I managed to partially stand from the chair. My ass lifted off the seat, but my ankles were still taped. Without the use of my hands to be able to hold the seat higher and lift the back legs of the chair off the floor, I would have to drag the whole thing along behind me as I shuffled forward. Considering the injury in my thigh, and the pain it was causing me, I knew this wasn’t going to be a fun process. But the dresser was a matter of a few feet away, and I’d been through plenty of more painful and traumatic situations in my life.

  Favoring the uninjured leg, I started my awkward shuffled toward the unit. The chair legs scraped, too loudly, against the concrete floor, little scuff, scuff, scuffs, which sounded with each movement I made. Would she hear them and come racing down here, risk whoever she was with finding out about me? I didn’t think she’d take the chance, but who the hell knew with her? My jaw clenched against the pain in my thigh, my eyes watering. My breath came in heavy pants, as though I was at the end of running a marathon rather than attempting to move a matter of feet. The chair I was strapped to was made of old solid wood, and was heavy and awkward.

  I managed to shuffle about a foot, and then collapsed back in the seat, trying to catch my breath and rebuild my strength. I was at the peak of physical fitness normally, aware that being fit in my job could literally mean the difference between life and death, but the two stab wounds and loss of blood had sapped my strength.

  I composed myself for a moment, aware of time spilling past, and then with a growl of determination and a fresh spurt of pain from my leg, I forced myself to my feet again.

  Slow movements, an inch at a time, letting out a grunt of determination with each little bit of progress made until I was finally close enough to the unit to be able to reach out and touch the surface. My forearm throbbed with the movement, but the wound where I’d been stabbed hadn’t started bleeding again. My fingers on that hand didn’t feel as strong as the other hand, but I had movement. She hadn’t severed any ligaments when she’d stabbed me.

  Using my joined hands like a brush, I swept aside the debris, searching for something that would help me. I moved old tea-light candles, a stack of receipts, another roll of tape, until I finally found a penknife. A surge of satisfaction rose inside me. I’d cut myself loose before she made it back here, and then we’d see which of us was in control.

  I picked up the knife with my good hand and managed to use my thumb to flick up the blade. With the heels of my palms pressed together, it wouldn’t be easy to flip the knife around and cut the tape between my wrists, but that was what I needed to do. I knew there was a good chance I’d cut my skin while I attempted it, but I figured it was a risk I was prepared to take. I fiddled it between my fingers, using the other hand to hold it still while I edged it around to face the other way. Deep concentration while part of me listened out for her return. Would she shoot me if she saw me trying to escape? I thought she probably would.

  From somewhere upstairs, a door slammed shut, breaking my concentration. I fumbled the blade, and it hopped from finger to finger, then to my dismay, it slipped from my grasp and tumbled to the floor.

  “Fuck!” I hissed.

  It was still within reach.

  I leaned down for the knife, reaching for it. With my ankles strapped to the chair legs, I couldn’t quite reach from where it had skittered across the floor, so I stretched a little farther.

  I felt it go before it did, the chair tilting in the direction I’d been reaching, my body creating an angle. I should have just shuffled it a bit further to one side, instead of overreaching myself, but it was too late now. I tried to straighten, but the legs slipped out from under me and I unbalanced and gravity took hold. My face slammed into the floor, my teeth cracking together, an impossibly loud sound in my head. A split second later, the chair crashed down on top of me, the wooden backrest connecting with my upper spine. I gave a grunt of pain. The back of the chair was wedged up against my back, my hands beneath my body.

  Damn it. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.

  I was trapped.

  Chapter Thirteen

  V

  EVERY MUSCLE IN my body tensed at the muffled crash, my gaze darting in the direction of the cellar’s locked door. What the hell was X doing down there? Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

  The deputy looked to me with a slight frown, as he settled back in his seat after having used the bathroom. I’d kept an eye on him to make sure that was exactly where he’d been, worried he was using it as an excuse to poke around my house, but he’d gone straight there and back again, slamming the bathroom door behind him when he did. He’d heard the noise from the cellar, too, but didn’t know quite as obviously as I did about what the cause had been.

  I forced an exasperated shake of my head, my nostrils flaring. “Damn raccoons keep getting in the trash.”

  “Isn’t it a bit early in the day for raccoons?”

  “Yeah, but they start it, and then the local stray cats and dogs get in. Should call animal control, really.”

  “I think you have bigger problems to worry about,” he said.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I was relieved he seemed to accept my excuse, but I needed him out of the house. I had to find out what X had done to cause the crash. “Anyway, if there’s nothing else, Deputy,” I gave a big yawn, that started off fake and then morphed into the real thing, “I really need to get some sleep before my shift tonight.”

  He realized he’d been excused and got back to his feet. “Yes, right. Well, if you need anything, Viola, or if you see anything or anyone suspicious, you know where to get hold of me.”

  “Yes, of course, thank you.”

  He was one of the last people I would ever call if I was in trouble, but he didn’t need to know that. In fact, I didn’t have anyone I would ever call. No one I truly trusted—not even my own sister. If she had a way of getting rid of me, I honestly thought she would take it at the first opportunity. The only reason she hadn’t up and left me and gone back to New York already was because the U.S. Marshal had told her they would be unable to protect her and that someone would be likely to shoot her if she did. It was fear for her own life that kept her with me, not any kind of love or loyalty.

  The deputy took a final gulp of his coffee, while I stood by, anxiously willing him to leave with every fiber of my being. I had to clench my fists to stop myself from grabbing him and attempting to physically throw him out myself, and I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from screaming, ‘get the fuck out!’ at him. At any moment, I expected another crash to sound from the other side of the cellar door, this one closer and far more aggressive. If X had gotten free, he’d be pretty pissed, and he had no idea an armed cop was on the other side of the door.

  It occurred to me that I should want the deputy to stay instead of leave. That, assuming he was innocent, he would be there to protect me, but I didn’t feel that way at all. If the cop shot X, I would never get any more information about the reason two different sets of men had been sent into my house when I was in Witness Protection, to kill me and do God only knew what to my sister. If I lacked knowledge, I lacked the power to protect us. I’d been hiding here for months, waiting for the day to arrive when I could finally put this mess behind me, when I could look my father in the eye and tell him how much
I hated him for what he’d done, and how he’d go down for a long, long time. But now I thought the authorities were unable to protect me or Nickie. They clearly hadn’t been able to keep our location a secret, and if they moved us again, what was there to prevent the same thing from happening? Only the next time we might not get so lucky and I wouldn’t wake up in time to stop us being killed. The next time we might both end up dead.

  No, I was starting to realize I couldn’t rely on anyone else. I never had been able to, and it seemed nothing had changed. I needed to be the one to keep Nickie and me safe, and if it meant finding out who had sent both sets of men to kill us, then I would, and I would take matters into my own hands.

  There weren’t many benefits to being a young woman, but one of them was we were always underestimated. If I’d been born with a dick, I’d probably have already been killed.

  Deputy Kier gave me a quizzical look over his shoulder as he left via my front door. I hoped I hadn’t acted too nuts and made him suspicious. But if he’d expected to find me dead, he’d already be wary about what had happened.

  I was relieved to shut the door on him, but I didn’t have time to take a breath. I waited until his vehicle had started up and driven away, before hurrying back to the cellar door.

  Before opening it, I reached up onto the shelves and took down one of the guns I had put there. I had a sickening feeling I would need to use it.

  My heart pounded as I went back to the cellar door and placed the key in the lock. I turned it slowly, keeping the muzzle of the weapon pointed at the door. If he’d gotten free, I imagined he would wait until the moment the door was unlocked and barge through, catching me by surprise and knocking me backward.

  But as I turned the lock, cautious, my mouth running dry and my heart palpitating, nothing happened. This did nothing to ease my anxiety, and instead conjured up all the other possibilities that might be waiting for me.