by Heather Lin
But her father turned her around and shoved her into the bedroom. She kept her balance until he grabbed her shirt and threw her to the ground. She landed hard. Next to the bed.
“Well, I was trying to be nice about this.”
Monroe kept her mouth shut. The gun was mere inches from her fingertips, but so was her father. She needed to move back just a bit more, without arousing suspicion. So she kept her eyes on her father’s, trying to anticipate his next move while silently pleading with him to stop. He knelt down in front of her, the tip of his knife tilted toward her chest, almost touching her. She drew back, but her fingers still wouldn’t land on her only hope of defense.
“This healed up nicely.” He gestured to the scar half-visible beneath her collarbone.
“Not really,” she answered.
Without warning, so quickly she almost didn’t realize it had happened, he slashed the scar open again. Monroe flinched and shrank away—against the bed frame.
“Didn’t really toughen the skin up much,” her father said casually.
Pain slowly registered in her brain. This would be neither quick nor painless. He wanted to torture her, as if the last ten years hadn’t been torture enough. Her fingertips touched the butt of the gun. This was going to end badly—very badly—for one of them. She had to grab the gun, point it, and shoot before he could maneuver the knife. Could she do it? She had to try. Someone pounded on the door below, distracting him for the split second it took Monroe to draw the double-barrel shotgun and point it at her father’s chest.
She hesitated. She wasn’t a killer. She didn’t want it to come to this.
Her fresh wound burned, her right hand ached, and her body trembled. But she did everything in her power to keep the gun steady and the fear out of her eyes. Her father rocked back on his heels and looked at her. His expression was bizarre, as if to say “How could you? How could you take this one thing away from me?” He really was fucked up in the head, but it wasn’t the kind of fucked up any doctor could cure.
“Do you even know how to use that thing?” he asked.
“I spent ten years on a farm. What do you think?”
A terrifying expression of acceptance settled on his face. “Do it then.”
“Give me a reason.”
He raised the knife, and she pulled the trigger. She watched the whole thing without blinking. As if in slow motion, she saw the shock register on his face, heard frantic pounding on the front door, watched her father fall, and stood over him, bruised and bloody, to watch the life leave his eyes.
*
Alton heard the gunshot, and his stomach dropped. He’d seen a man approach the row of houses as he was leaving and assumed he was a resident. But that man must have been Monroe’s father because now she wasn’t opening—or couldn’t open—the damn door. Alton had left her alone and vulnerable just so he could sneak a smoke and grab some food. She could be dead right now.
Fear and desperation made him try to kick down the solid front door. When that didn’t work, he grabbed a rock, ready to smash in the living room window.
But the door opened.
“Jesus Christ, Monroe,” he breathed, letting the object fall to the ground and embracing her. “What the hell happened?”
“Exactly what you think,” she said.
His eyes followed her trail of bloody footprints up the stairs. “Is he…dead?”
She nodded against his chest. He could feel hot tears through his t-shirt. “It’s okay. It was self-defense.”
Monroe shook her head.
“No,” she managed. “I’m not upset. That’s the problem. I’m happy. I’m really, really happy.”
She burst into sobs again. He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Monroe. He killed your family. He tried to kill you twice. He had every chance to leave you the hell alone, and he didn’t. You are well within your right to kill him and be happy he’s gone.”
She nodded but was crying too hard to speak. He looked her over. Her clothes were spattered with blood and one spot was growing just below her clavicle. He pulled her collar aside and found the gash. It wasn’t deep, but it was familiar. Had that son of a bitch actually tried to reopen her old wounds? As if reopening the mental ones wasn’t bad enough? Alton glanced down her shirt, checked her hand. It was the only fresh cut he saw.
“Monroe,” he murmured.
She looked up at him, eyes red and puffy, cheeks streaked with tears. But she’d quieted. He’d always known she was strong. Now he was beginning to see just how deep that strength ran. He’d thought he had problems. He’d thought he had trouble staying sane. His ability to get through each day was nothing compared to hers.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
“Not much,” she hiccupped.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Okay.”
Monroe pulled away and walked to a kitchen chair. She sat down and put her head in her hands. Alton closed the door behind them and stood in the foyer to call 9-1-1. The phone rang.
She could have died.
He had to turn away to keep his emotions in check. The pain he felt at the very idea of losing her was intense. And he’d wasted three months on other, less-deserving women because he couldn’t see a good thing when it was looking right at him, because he hadn’t believed her, because he hadn’t fought for her—for them—because he was in denial and hell bent on being miserable.
He loved her. He’d loved her since the night she left Rodney behind to reach down and pull him out of the black pit he’d dug himself into. She was a beacon of light in the storm, and her father had almost snuffed her out.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“Home invasion.”
For once, Alton wasn’t thinking about how this could affect him. He wasn’t thinking about his image or how it would look for Alton Daniels to be at a murder scene, surrounded by cops, with the same girl from that infamous photo. He wasn’t thinking about how the media would twist it. For once in his life, he didn’t care.
All that mattered was being there for the woman he loved.
*
“You say Mr. List forced his way in?”
A police officer took Monroe’s statement while an EMT patched her up. She didn’t need a hospital. She just needed gauze and sleep and for tonight to be in the past. Alton sat next to her, hands folded on the table, hunched forward, anxious and protective. But she was okay, just exhausted and conflicted, still feeling guilty for not feeling guilty.
“Yes. He had a knife so I did what he said.”
“And you believe he came here specifically to harm you?”
“He said he did. He was angry I lived through the first attack. His marriage had failed and so had his murders. In his own fucked up way, he was trying to make it right.”
“Did he say anything else? Anything about how he found your new apartment?”
Monroe glanced at Alton. He’d never forgive himself if he knew the truth. And it didn’t really matter now.
“No.”
“You shot him in self-defense?”
“Yes. He held a knife to my throat and did this.” She gestured to her new wound. “When I got the gun and aimed it at him, he came at me again.”
“You have a permit for the gun?”
“I do.”
Monroe got up and rummaged through a drawer for the piece of paper while the officer turned to Alton. “And where were you?”
Monroe glanced at him. Alton grimaced. Neither of them could have known this would happen, but she knew he felt guilty.
“At the store down the road. Getting coffee.”
Monroe handed the officer her permit. He looked it over, made a note, then flipped his notebook closed.
“It seems pretty cut and dry to me. He attacked you before, there was a warrant out for his arrest, and he invaded your home. But don’t go too far until we look over all the evidence and make the official report.”
“Thank you.
”
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
Monroe glanced at Alton and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll find a motel or something.”
“Okay. Here’s my card. Call us if you think of anything else. Otherwise, we’ll be in touch.”
Monroe nodded, and the officer let himself out. The crime scene unit was still upstairs, collecting evidence. They’d already snapped pictures of Monroe and taken her clothes. She had jeans and a t-shirt in the dryer downstairs, and that was what she wore now.
“You’re coming back to Applewild,” Alton said, once they were as alone as they could get.
“No. It’s too awkward.”
“I was the jackass who made you feel unwelcome. Madison would be happy to have you.”
“Call Mrs. Avery and put it on speaker. If she has any reservations, I’m going to a motel.”
Alton dialed a number and pressed the speaker button.
“Hello?” It was clear they’d woken her up.
“Hey, Mads, something happened.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, Monroe’s dad found her new place, and…it’s all taken care of now, but we can’t be here for the next few days.
“So you’ll both come here,” she said matter-of-factly.
“If that’s okay,” Monroe added.
“Of course it’s okay. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Then we’ll see you soon.”
Alton ended the call and turned to Monroe. “Go pack the rest of what’s in the dryer. We’ll get you a toothbrush.”
“Ms. Hutter has extras.”
“Even better.”
She grabbed a plastic bag and shoved what she could into it. She couldn’t wait to get out of there, go back to Applewild, and have a hot shower. She hadn’t been allowed anything more than a wet paper towel to wash off the bloodstains. Werther would be safe at the boarding stable until she could make it back to see him in a day or two.
“Ready?” Alton asked.
Monroe nodded, and he led her outside. A cop stationed outside the front door checked her bag, wrote down Applewild’s address, and let them go. The sun was rising. Monroe was relieved to see the familiar farm truck parked nearby. It was over. She could finally begin putting this behind her. Alton opened the passenger side door for her and helped her up. She was still shaky, exhausted, and so grateful to have him there. But before he could close the door, the urgent click of heels on the pavement caught her attention.
“Monroe! Monroe,” Dee Franklin said breathlessly. “I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m Dee Franklin with the Chronicle. I was hoping you could give a statement.”
Alton frowned and glanced at Monroe. She could tell he was ready to step in and tell this interfering reporter to back off if she needed him to. But she didn’t. She had a statement. It was short and sweet.
“I told you so,” she said.
The reporter blinked as Monroe closed her door, then held the recording device out to Alton. He was already moving to the driver’s side.
“Mr. Daniels? Anything to add?”
He shook his head and got in. He started the truck, and they left Dee Franklin standing by the curb, trying to wring a story out of what little they’d given her.
Monroe rested her head against the window and looked out at the passing buildings and trees. She felt Alton’s hand on her knee, and she grasped it tightly. Soon the trees gave way to the small town where Monroe had spent ten years of her life, then to the familiar white fence of Applewild Acres and the wrought iron gate. Alton pressed the code and drove through.
She sat up and ran a hand through her hair, trying to perk up a bit for when they got to the house. Her blond locks felt a bit grimy, and she knew it held traces of her father’s blood. Her eyes pricked, but she refused to let tears form. Alton looked at her as he parked the truck and gave her hand a squeeze.
“We’ll go straight up. You’ll barely have to say hello.”
She nodded, unbuckled her seatbelt, and got out. He took her bag and knocked. Madison answered. She’d been waiting for them. She was still in her dressing gown.
“Monroe!” She hugged her. “I am so sorry for everything. We’re glad to have you back.”
Monroe hugged her back and managed a tired smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Avery.”
“None of that. It’s Madison.”
Alton gave Madison a hug and then placed his hand on Monroe’s lower back, guiding her to the stairs. Ms. Hutter stood outside her office and reached out to squeeze Monroe’s hand.
“Welcome back.”
Monroe nodded and let Alton usher her upstairs. Elsa wouldn’t be in yet. She guessed Madison’s husband and son were still asleep. Alton took her into her old room and closed and locked the door behind them.
She headed straight for the bathroom. She had to wash away the last few, horrible hours of her life. Alton’s soap and shampoo were already on the shower shelves, and she used them. She cleaned her father’s blood and her own blood off her body, being careful not to get the latest addition to her collection of scars soaked. Then she dried off and pulled on underwear and a flannel shirt.
It seemed strange to go to bed at this time, but she was so emotionally and physically exhausted she fell asleep as soon as she lay down on the comfortable mattress, enveloped in a goose-down comforter and Alton’s strong, loving arms.
XVIII
Alton slept until noon. Monroe was still out cold, looking peaceful, soft snores telling him that, for once, she was completely relaxed. He sat up, stretched, took a quick shower, and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. He paused by the bed, watching Monroe. Even though he was only going downstairs, he had trouble leaving her here, alone again.
The idea of leaving her for three months to go to New Zealand seemed insane. He felt guilty for accusing her of espionage, wasting the time they could have spent together moping in L.A., and now for leaving her to the whims of her father.
He’d left her every time she needed him most.
She was clearly capable of handling herself. Her ability to do the hard thing and pull the trigger proved that. But he wanted to be there for her. He wanted her to be able to rely on him. He wanted to protect her. And he couldn’t bear the thought of something else happening to her while they were seven thousand miles apart.
There was no way he could say goodbye to her again. Not for that long. With her father out of the picture, she had to say yes to coming with him.
Alton slipped out of the room and headed downstairs. He was hungry and craving a cigarette. He found Elsa washing dishes in the kitchen.
“I saved lunch for you and Monroe, Mr. Daniels,” she said.
“Great. Thank you.”
Elsa pulled stuffed peppers and garlic bread out of the oven, making Alton’s mouth water.
“Are you having it on the veranda?” she asked as she prepared a plate for him.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Mrs. Avery and her family are there right now, so you might have better luck out front for a smoke.”
“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be right back.”
Alton did as she suggested and sat on the front stoop, just hoping to sneak in a few puffs before he joined the party. He hadn’t lit up in about six hours, and with all the stress of the early morning he needed one. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and spun it in his fingers, mulling over his motivation. He’d gone without one for six hours. He’d survived an incredibly stressful situation without one. It was only now, in the aftermath, he was finally getting to relax with one. Did he really need it?
Alton lit the cigarette and took a slow drag.
Yes, he needed it. Because this was his last one. Monroe couldn’t be around him when he smoked, and he knew it affected his health. It wasn’t worth losing precious moments with her, whether it was to leave her side for a few minutes to light up or because he’d cut his life short and have to leave her side forever.
Find
ing true love really put things in perspective.
When the cigarette burned downed to the filter, he rolled it between his fingers, pocketed it, and went back in the kitchen.
Elsa handed him a plate of food and glass of water as he passed through. Madison and Will were in the rocking chairs on the veranda, deep in conversation while Xan played with his new toy at their feet.
“Alton!” Madison’s eyes lit up when she saw him approach.
Will smiled a greeting. “Heard you had one hell of a night. Want a beer?”
Will’s answer to everything. Alton loved that about him. “No, thanks.”
“Come over and have a seat.” Madison gestured to two chairs and small table across from them. “We were just talking about the bug.”
Alton sat down and put his drink on the table. “Do you know who did it?”
“We might,” Will answered.
“Ms. Hutter said the articles began surfacing shortly after Jamal left,” Madison said. “He had access to the barn and could have planted it before he decided to quit.”
“Sounds plausible. What’s the next step?”
“We’re calling the police. Today. It’s a total invasion of privacy.”
“I only wish there were some way to have the damn magazine that published the articles held responsible, too,” Will muttered.
“Isn’t there?”
Alton stood and turned when he heard Monroe’s voice. She’d thrown on shorts and held a cup of coffee in her hand. She still looked tired, but the spark was slowly returning to her eyes.
“Probably not.” Madison shook her head. “It’s a professional publication. They would never have said ‘Put a bug on their property and report back to us.’ They would have made sure the idea was implied, nothing in writing, so they could get off scot-free and Jamal would be held fully responsible.”
