A Tortured Soul

by L. A. Detwiler

  ‘Well, thank you. If you hear anything or see him, just let Sheriff Barkley know. He’s on the case now.’

  ‘Yeah, we saw him yesterday. He came by and asked a lot of questions. Never did trust him,’ the first man I talked to offers. ‘You need someone to walk you out? Never know who might be lurking around these parts.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m fine,’ I reply, meaning it. I turn on my heel and head out the door into the sunshine, taking a deep breath.

  No one knows where Richard is. No one has any clue what’s happened to him. But they suspect it has something to do with Richard’s shady dealings, whatever that means. Richard, Richard. What were you up to before you left? Drugs? Something shadier? I think of the wad of cash in the floorboards, my salvation money. I definitely need to be careful. Sheriff Barkley’s bound to dig up some dark truths any moment now, and I need to be ready to keep my hands clean, just like the bartender advised. I look up at the bright sky, thinking about it all, and wondering where to head to next.

  Ultimately, I decide I’ve done enough investigating for one day and made enough public appearances. Right now, I need to get home. I need to be there just in case. I have some cleaning up to do. And I also need to do some searching—if Sheriff Barkley’s going to dredge up some shady secret about Richard, I need to know what I’m going to be dealing with. I need to see if I can uncover some truths. Then again, how am I going to make that happen? It’s not like Richard’s talking. It’s not like Richard’s doing anything to help at all.

  I might just have to get creative and find my own ways to make the missing reveal the truth.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I pluck the tiny purple flower from the grass, twirling it between my thumbs as I plop down. I’ve wandered out into the warm sunshine, the tall grasses enveloping me. I always loved these purple flowers as a child. Of course, they’re technically a weed. Mama always made sure to point that out when I picked them for her.

  I wonder what Mama is up to now. I wonder what she’d think of me if she were here. I wonder if she’d still be quick to judge—the flower, of course. Sometimes I miss her, just a little bit. Sometimes, I wish she’d been able to see Gideon. I wish things were different. So different.

  I spin the purple flower between my fingers. So delicate. So tiny. So insignificant in the scheme of things. I sit now, hugging my knees to my chest, staring at the sky, wishing I could make everything behind me disappear—the house, the garage, the threat of Richard. I wish I could just be absorbed by the ground, right here, swallowed whole. I wish I could pick my own gravesite, overgrown or not. But there’s still so much work to be done. I can’t give in yet. I can’t finish up. I have to accomplish my goals. I have so much to do before he gets here. I owe it to myself, to Gideon. I need to finish what I started.

  A few weeks ago, I had no idea what was coming my way. I had no idea that I’d deal with the greatest sorrow of my life—and follow it up with a newfound freedom, a change that was unexpected. How long will it last? This is the biggest question now. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face the ending, after all. I don’t know much of anything anymore. I pick at the flower, plucking each petal off from the tiny flower.

  He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.

  The old game comes flooding back from my childhood, the old wishes and hopes for my life. I’d sit in the grass, praying to God for a man to save me. I wanted nothing more than that Prince Charming of my fairy tales to come riding in and rescue me from everything in my life.

  I had no idea that my Prince Charming would turn out to be even darker, even scarier than the villains of the fairy tales. For at least the villains had a cause, a purpose, and a predictable nature. There’s no foreseeing what the man I’m married to is capable of, and that still terrifies me. Even when he’s not in that house bossing me around, the cold, hard truth is this: I can’t underestimate him. I can’t get complacent. I have to be cautious, even now. Danger is always, always lurking. He still has the power to destroy me. Always. It’s a fact I’ll have to live with forever, no matter how many miles I manage to put between us. I shudder at the thought, glancing over my shoulder to examine the house. The porch is still empty, and the driveway only houses the red truck. I’m safe for now. I’m okay.

  Gideon’s okay.

  I wonder what he would have looked like when he got older. Would he have my plain-Jane qualities, my soft jawline and mushy face? Would he have inherited my dull, dirty blonde hair? More importantly, would he have housed his father’s sinister, manipulative eyes? Would he have housed even more qualities of his father’s?

  I picture Gideon with sandy blond hair, dashing through the surf as the waves crash inward. I’ve only ever seen the beach on television, the little that I’ve watched. The women lounging, reading magazines and eating chips while the kids play in the surf. I picture Gideon building a sandcastle, his laughter mixing with the gulls’ cries while I lie on the blanket, watching him. Smiling, happy. A normal family filled with love and sunshine moments.

  But then the imagined moment turns ominous, Gideon stomping on the sandcastle. His boyish laughter turns darker, louder, more familiar. Suddenly, his adorable smile is the vicious sneer of his father, of Richard, and his eyes are burning with a rage I know too well.

  I startle, shaking my head, sobs choking me. Ice runs through my veins at the thought. I don’t know which is worse—losing Gideon or thinking that he could have lived to become another Richard. I don’t know indeed.

  He loves me not. Or he loves me? Which one is it? I forget which one I was on. I stare at the delicate flower, the last petal sitting, waiting to be plucked. I toss the stem, my vision blurred from the water draining from my eyes. I guess we’ll never know which one it is, although I have my suspicions. In a harsh world, I guess it’s sometimes impossible to tell the difference anyway. What’s the use?

  I run my sleeve across my eyes, swiping away the tears that fall for a future that will never be anyway. I wipe my palms on the grass, biting my lip as I stare out into the vast horizon. There’s no breeze to lift my hair, no movement of air to soften the sweltering temperature. I let the sun’s rays burn into my skin, searing right into me. I like the feel of it. It reminds me that I’m still here, that I’m still alive. It reminds me that I’m still human.

  I lean back, stretching my neck to the sky like a cat, my legs flat in the tall grasses. I stay like this for a moment, soaking in the sun, swaying a bit to a soundless tune playing in my head. I wish I could sit here forever, all of the complications a thing of the past. I wish I could just bask in the sunlight, in the nothingness of the day. I wish I could just be Crystal, staring into the vast unknown with optimism instead of fear. But we don’t choose the hands we’re dealt. We don’t get to pick what scorches us or how long we can stay put. Some things are out of our hands. Even Richard lost control now and again, although he wouldn’t admit it. Control is relative. Power is relative. We’re all at someone or something’s mercy.

  I open my eyes, taking a deep breath. There’s work to be done. I can’t afford to luxuriate like some rich housewife any longer. I promptly drag myself up from the ground, wipe off the grass from the back of my legs, and bite my lip to stop it from quivering. I know what I have to do now. It can’t be put off any longer. There’s work, hard work to be done. I’ve been dreading this one for days. But as I saunter toward the house, my mission in mind, something even more terrifying than fear creeps in.

  My lips widen into a grin as my heart feels at ease. I guess one really can get used to just about anything, after all. And I guess you never know what you might actually enjoy until you try it.

  He loves me not. That was the last petal. I’m suddenly sure of it.

  I SHOULD BE TIRED AFTER the day’s ventures, but I’m not. I’m energized, in truth, as I hop out of the shower, the steam filling the bathroom. I towel dry my hair, peering into the fogged over mirror. I swipe at it with my still-wet fingertips, smearing and smudging it. U
sually, I wouldn’t do this. What can I say? Without Richard hovering over me, I guess I can afford to take some risks. I look at the woman in the mirror. I hardly recognizing her. The faint hint of a smile that’s on her face, the big eyes, the confidence in her stance. It’s fabulously foreign, but fabulous all the same. I lean on the sink, thinking about all that’s transpired. I can’t believe what I’ve done. Yet, I also can. Is it ridiculous that when I say goodbye to this place soon, I’ll actually miss this? I’ll miss that feeling, that almost arousal-like joy I got from the job well done.

  I head to the bedroom to pick out an outfit. What does one wear on a day like this? I browse the dresser, my limited options making me feel sad. I look at the dowdy housedresses that Richard prefers, the plain, simple clothes. I should really be wearing my normal garb in case he shows up. It wouldn’t do to call attention to myself, after all. Not after what I’ve done, especially after what I’ve just done today.

  But I don’t know. There’s something sad about putting on that wardrobe again. I don’t want to. I just don’t think I even can. I’m not that woman anymore, I realize with a startle. Have I really broken that mold? Time will tell. Regardless, Richard’s not here to tell me I have to be that woman, that I have to wear that outfit. Maybe Sheriff Barkley’s right without even realizing it. Maybe I should enjoy the freedom a bit. After all, it’s been a hard day. I’ve done my duties, all of them. I pause for a moment, feeling like I’m on the precipice of either disaster or triumph. What to do? What to do indeed.

  He loves me. He loves me not. Don’t even think about it. Just Breathe. He loves me.

  My head starts spinning, and I lean on the dresser, steadying myself. It’s going to be okay. He’s not going to show up today. He would’ve already if he was going to. Besides, I’m not a prisoner, not anymore. I can go run errands, after all. And that’s when the resolve kicks in. I need to take care of this errand. I have to. I toss on some jeans and a T-shirt, scrunch my hair, and head to the kitchen. I grab the keys, hop in the truck, and am off again for the second time in one day.

  A woman could get used to this freedom.

  ‘CRYSTAL CONNOR? IS that you?’ a voice beckons from the other side of the clothing rack. I pause, my hands holding out a flowered dress I’ve been debating on buying. My heartbeat quickens. A face peeks out from around the rack, and I see the familiar brunette who lives by Sharon. Shit. This isn’t what I needed.

  ‘Hi,’ I offer, my tone non-committal, returning my attention to my shopping. It’s been so long since I’ve bought a new dress. I don’t think I’ve bought one since I married Richard. But today, well, I just want to get something new. Even if it’s impractical—once he shows up, I’ll never be able to wear something like this. It’s a waste of money, and I need to save my resources if I’m really going to start over. But today, I just don’t care. I need this. I’m desperate for a moment of normalcy. I need something new to walk into the new life that’s hovering out in front of me.

  Kara Johnson walks closer and grabs my hand in hers. I can’t help but notice how wrinkled her skin is, far too wrinkled for her age. She must share in Sharon’s pack-a-day habit.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Sharon told me all about what’s happened to you.’

  I withdraw my hand from hers, yanking back my wrist like a serpent’s just twisted around me. I stare into her eyes boldly, glowering as something in me snaps. How dare this woman presume to know my struggles?

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ she adds, seeming to sense my discomfort.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I note, staring into her blue irises.

  ‘It’s just, well, I’m sure it can’t be easy, with Richard gone and all.’

  And maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear the women smirks. I swear that her eyelids flutter just a bit. What is this? Does she know something? I’m so uncomfortable. And something else. Something unfamiliar.

  I’m angry. Rage-filled. Possessed by a disturbing sense of hatred that is sudden and biting. My fingers snap at her wrist, clutching onto it, and she gasps. Another woman across the store eyes us with wariness, but I ignore her.

  ‘What do you know about Richard?’ I demand, and my fingers tighten around the bones. I tell myself to get ahold of this flareup of anger, that I can’t draw attention. But that’s the thing. I can’t stop it, even if I want to. Once more I am powerless—but this time, I am powerless against the toxic anger boiling inside of me, to a primal urge I didn’t think existed.

  ‘Nothing, nothing. I just heard that you were at the station, filed a report is all. I don’t know anything about it other than that.’ There’s a terror in her eyes, and I’m surprised. Is she afraid of me? It’s almost laughable. I’ve never incited this kind of reaction in anyone. But seeing the nosy woman squirm at my command, it’s—I don’t know. It’s something. Emboldened, I press on.

  ‘Does anyone in this town mind their own business? Huh?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Crystal. I was just worried is all.’

  ‘Well worry a little less about me and more about you. I’m fine. Really.’

  I fling her wrist out of my hand, and she immediately backs up, studying me. I stare at her, shock painted onto her face. For a moment, I panic. What have I done? This can’t be good. If she goes to Sheriff Barkley and tells him . . .

  What? What am I so afraid of? Who can blame me after all I’ve been through? It’s about time Crystal Connor shows this town she’s not some mouse to stomp on. She’s something else entirely.

  Kara slinks away, back into some rack across the store. I notice she eyes me apprehensively as I scamper about the store, looking for a dress. Things aren’t as exciting now, the interruption ruining my good mood. I try to shove the thoughts aside. I can’t let that woman ruin a good thing, not now.

  I finally settle on a bright blue dress with a white collar. It’s expensive, but it’s okay. I’ve swiped a few twenties from Richard’s secret money. It’s not like anyone’s counted it, and I deserve this. Richard owes me this much. Even if Sheriff Barkley finds out about the rest, he won’t notice this money gone missing. At least I hope not. It’s a chance worth taking.

  I don’t know why I’m so adamant about this dress. Who is there to see it? If Richard were home, it’s not like he’d appreciate it. And I’m pretty sure a nice dress will be the least of my concerns when I hit the road, when I leave this mess behind. Still, I walk to the counter to pay for the item. The teenager working at the register talks with a monotone voice, but I don’t care. I smile at the rush of making the purchase. Oh, this is grand. Grand indeed. I walk out of the store, smiling at Kara just for fun on the way out.

  Who am I?

  Crystal Connor, that’s who. It’s about time this town starts to get to know her before it’s too late. I walk to the car, the bag in my hand, and start up the truck. I consider going for a cup of coffee, but no, I better not push it. If he shows up, I should probably be there. After all, he needs to get to know Crystal Connor, too. No sense in hiding it from him, I think.

  Life is still complicated, and there’s an enduring, icy terror that threatens to usurp me periodically. But today went so unexpectedly well. It showed me that perhaps this could all be okay after all. Maybe there still is something to salvage of my life, something to strive for. Maybe I don’t have to be the Crystal Connor Richard molded me into. I just need to keep at it and believe. I pull into the driveway, and I notice Henry is barking up a storm. And I also notice there’s another vehicle, a black Camaro, parked in front of Richard’s garage. My heart pangs. Now what?

  I exit the truck and see her standing there, leaning on the back of the truck. And even though her arms are crossed, I notice one significant detail.

  There’s a pistol in her hand. Apparently, she’s figured out a little bit of who Crystal Connor is as well. This can’t be good at all, I realize as I slam the truck door, leaving the brand-new dress on the passenger seat where it belongs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I walk up to Kimb
erly, my sister-in-law, with growing trepidation. I don’t avert my eyes, keeping them on her, and especially on the pistol. What does she know?

  She stands up straight, pushing off from the car. The pistol is steadied and pointing straight at me.

  ‘Kimberly?’ I ask meekly, not sure what else to say.

  Her face is a straight line, her dark purple lipstick accenting the gruff facial expression.

  ‘Where the hell is he? Have you seen him?’ she asks, stomping closer, the gun trained on me.

  ‘Who? Richard?’ Why does she care about Richard? What’s in this for her? Has Cody sent her? I start to unravel inside, feeling like I’m going to heave up my intestines. My knees are wobbly, but I tell myself to be strong. This was always coming. I just didn’t think in this way.

  ‘No, you bitch. Cody. What happened to him? What do you know?’ Her voice echoes off the garage now, and I jump.

  I put my hands out in front of me. ‘Kimberly, I don’t know anything. What are you talking about?’

  ‘The son-of-a-bitch didn’t come home. He’s been gone for two days, Crystal. Two days. Now don’t go telling me Richard didn’t have something to do with this. Good for nothing asshole. Where is he? Where is he hiding?’

  Confusion racks my brain. Cody’s gone too? Did Sheriff Barkley get a chance to talk to him? Could this be related to Richard? I don’t understand. I’m losing control here. I’ve already lost control, in truth. I’ve got a gun pointed at me.

  ‘Kimberly, listen. I don’t know. I’ve been to the station to report Richard missing because I don’t know where he is, either. I really don’t know what’s going on.’