Her: Doctor, in my world, he was God.
Morning had come. And so had more wind, a steady barrage of it now. Grace crept out of her office. After Johanna had returned to her bungalow, Grace hadn’t slept; she had just sat on the heather-purple couch, staring at the locked door she had dragged a filing cabinet in front of until the light started to change and then it was morning.
Outside, she leaned into the wind and walked toward the main villa. All she had was the small duffel bag she had packed the day before. And the letter from Garrett’s son, tucked up small inside her pocket, her secret talisman. She let herself into the villa through a side door she had to battle to open. All was quiet inside the building. It was early; none of the guests had begun to arrive from their bungalows yet.
She stopped and listened, just to be sure. Then she headed down a dim hallway, and into the boardroom with the safe hidden in a closet. This safe was where Ruth locked the smaller contraband items she took from the guests’ bags. The narcotics, to be specific—and there was always a surprising amount of them. Grace punched in the safe’s combination and felt relief that it had not been changed. This sort of thing needed to be locked away from Miles, not her, not Ruth. He had never been told the combination, although he had begged and raged numerous times. It was the one area in which she had never seen Ruth relent. It was the one reason she knew Ruth was not as weak as Miles made her seem.
She slid her hand inside the dark space—she hadn’t turned the lights on in the boardroom—and felt half a dozen smooth pill canisters there. She pulled out two, but then put them back because there weren’t what she wanted. Xanax, Ativan, nothing that was strong enough. But the next one was: Shell Williams’s sleeping pill prescription. Zopiclone 7.5 mg. She opened the canister and tapped out five of them and put them in her right pocket. She replaced the lid and put it back in the safe. But she hesitated. She plunged her hand into the safe once more. Now in her hand was the canister that bore the name Cleo Von Hahn.
She put the pill bottle down on the boardroom table in front of her and stared at it in the dim light. Nothing special. Just plastic, just a pile of chemicals inside. But a gift, a strange gift, given in love. She couldn’t picture Cleo, she hadn’t wanted to, but now she tried. Slim, tattoos like Johanna, but more of them. Strange and alluring pictures on her muscled back and arms. Dark hair and high cheekbones. Eyes that gleamed with mischief, glittered with despair. Grace opened her eyes again. And, without really knowing why, she opened the canister and shook out five of those pills, too. This hadn’t been part of the plan, but she still slid them into her other pocket.
Then she put everything back in the safe and locked it again. A sound in a hallway, footsteps growing louder. She pressed herself against a wall in the corner of the room and waited until the footsteps faded away.
The atmosphere in the basement was oddly festive. There were a few couples sitting in foursomes in the main room, on blankets laid out like they were at a picnic; some of them had food on the blankets, plates of fruit, crackers and cheese. “There’s plenty to go around,” Ruth had told everyone, on one of her rounds. “And we should eat what could spoil when the fridges lose their power.”
One woman popped a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne and laughed. Shell could smell cooking from somewhere down the hall. But she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding, the need to hide away from everyone. And even though she felt closer to Colin than she had in so long, she couldn’t shake the creeping sense of guilt, the shame she was sure she was now going to have to live with. She kept hearing Ruth’s words: You wanted it. There were moments she felt even the storm was her fault. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of all this anguish, guilt and worry. And she didn’t quite know how to talk to her husband about it. They had torn down the barriers between them, yes—but some burdens were just too hard to share, even with the person you loved most.
She said to Colin, “Maybe we could find somewhere more private to wait out the storm? There are a bunch of boardrooms and smaller rooms down that way.” She indicated the hallway where the anger management group had taken place.
“Sure.” He started to gather up their blankets and pillows. He paused and looked down at her. “You’re okay?”
“Really, I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ll meet you in there. Try the second door down the left hallway. I just want to get us some water.”
She headed toward the room with the makeshift sign that said Canteen. There was a woman in there, one of the only two staff members left, making sandwiches and doling out the water, the stores of which seemed alarmingly low to Shell.
After Shell had what she needed, she turned down a hall and froze, realizing two things far too late: one, that she had taken a wrong turn and two, that Miles was walking toward her. It was reflexive; her heart started to pound. She wanted to run. She couldn’t move. She had never known fear in her life, not really. Not until she met Miles Markell.
But, she understood as she cowered, something else was overtaking her. She wanted to stand her ground and say something to him that would make him see how wrong he had been about her. She wanted to spit words at him the way he had spit at her.
He was drawing closer. His face came into focus. When he spotted her he stared, with cool, expressionless eyes and said, “Good morning.” Then he just kept walking. If he’d been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it. An established gentleman, nothing to be afraid of. But she knew what he was capable of.
Did anyone else?
He was gone, but she still couldn’t move.
She had no words for what he had done to her, how he had made her feel. She wanted to hurt him. Pull off his glasses and grind them under her heel. Scratch at his eyes. Leave marks on his face.
She was shaking now. Colin’s sandwich had fallen to the floor. She bent to pick it up and when she rose, she saw another figure walking down the hall. Grace.
This time, Shell was ready. She rushed toward her. “How could you do this?” she hissed when Grace was close enough to hear. “How could you keep the fact that a hurricane was coming from all of us? We’re in danger now! We should have been evacuated! This is insane, and I think you know it.”
Grace looked startled. She opened her mouth and closed it several times, as if trying out and discarding different combinations of things to say.
“I’m sorry,” Grace finally said. “I really am. You’re right. Proper steps weren’t taken. I truly believe we’ll all be safe here, but still. You shouldn’t have to go through this, none of you.” Now she stepped closer to Shell and looked into Shell’s eyes. “You shouldn’t have had to go through any of it, Shell. Maybe, someday, I can find a way to make all this up to you. I hope so.”
Just then, the wind shrieked outside, so loud they could hear it through the walls. Grace’s eyes grew wider. She shrank away from the sound, and Shell saw how afraid she was. Grace lowered her head. Her voice was a whisper, and Shell had to lean in to hear her. “You need to be very careful,” she said. “You need to stay close to your husband tonight until the storm is over. Promise me?”
All Shell could do was nod.
Day Seven
Afternoon
Him: They were probably quite frightened, those people.
Her: They were. I know they were.
Him: And you?
Her: Of course I was. But I tried to have faith that it would all be okay. And truly, I was finally happy again. We had a plan. We were going to run away together. That was what I thought.
Him: But really...
Her: [Rustling. A sigh.] Really, he had his own plan. You read about it all, in the media. That group he had started. All that mess. When what I wanted was so simple. I had been funneling money out of accounts for months, the way he had asked me to. We both had access to those accounts. It would have been so easy for us to just walk away. Except he was using the money for something else, wasn’t he? He
was literally hemorrhaging money into the most horrible of causes. [Pause.] Now that was an interesting word choice, wasn’t it?
Him: You shouldn’t relive this. This is all in the past. It just upsets you. We need to start moving forward.
Her: It’s not in the past for me. I relive it every single day. Where I went wrong, what I could have done differently. All I wanted was for us to wait until the storm was over and then just...drive away. But he had made it so complicated, and I didn’t even know. Those women he was gathering up—oh, it was horrible, wasn’t it? He banned the internet, at the resort—but oh, how he loved it. Oh, how it tempted him. It was his apple in the garden, and once he had his first taste, he could never stop eating.
Him: Perhaps a glass of water. You’re growing agitated.
Her: No. I’m fine. I don’t want anything. Please, let me continue. It was easy enough for him to gather followers, but those women he chose—women in prison? Addicts? Alcoholics? And they were so willing to give him everything. I suppose he didn’t see anything wrong with it. He would have fought all those charges, if he had lived. I know him. He thought he was going to be their messiah. But they weren’t worthy of him. [Another sigh.] It was such a mess in the end, wasn’t it? If he had asked me to be the leader, I would have made everything so different. But he never had any faith in me, none at all. He wanted her.
Him: Situations like this don’t tend to end well. Narcissists—
Her: He wasn’t a narcissist!
Him: You really don’t think so? You’re so well educated, you were an assistant psychologist, and you didn’t recognize narcissistic personality disorder?
Her: I loved him.
Him: Ah. Yes. We’re back to that. Love is blind. The best therapists, they know that. And so do you.
Miles walked into the meeting room. He had found her. Grace had known he would and she had wanted him to but still, she had to hold her trembling hands in her lap under the table. Two cups of coffee sat in front of her, still steaming. One of them, the one on the left, was for him—and only for him. Inside it, she had dissolved some of the sleeping pills she had taken from the safe, crushing and stirring until they were gone. She waited until she was sure her hands wouldn’t betray her and then put her hand around the cup.
He stood in the doorframe. “Grace. Good morning, darling.” He was speaking in his stage voice. A couple passed and she could hear their murmured greetings. Then he stepped inside, and she braced herself. He was holding a small bag. “I was worried about you last night. When you didn’t come home. I’m not used to it. I gathered up a few things for you. Things I know you’ll need.” He put the bag down in front of her. She saw her ointment on top of a few folded items of clothing. “You’ll go crazy without that ointment. Won’t you?”
“Thank you,” she managed. “Thank you so much.” This was the type of kindness others would find touching, but it only alarmed her. She inclined her head toward the coffee machine in the corner of the room. “I just finished making us coffees. I was going to go find you. Because who knows how long we’ll have electricity to do things like make coffee, right?” She tried to smile. “And I know how you feel about your morning Americano.”
Miles didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. His expression remained still, unreadable. Grace picked up her own cup and took a sip. When she replaced the cup on the saucer, there was a loud rattle. Her hand was still shaking. Damn it. She hadn’t been able to hide it. She had been thinking of how still he was but how quickly he moved, sometimes. The way he would lunge when she least expected it. One minute, she’d be drinking a coffee; the next, screaming in pain.
“I’ve been up for hours,” he said. “I’ve already had two cups. But thank you.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’m always certain, Grace.”
When he left the room, Grace closed her eyes and allowed her body to slump for a moment, defeated. She resisted the urge to throw the cup across the room. But, no. This wasn’t her only chance. She still had pills in her pocket. She would just have to try again.
She had a bottle of water in a bag at her feet. She took it out and set it on the table. Then she reached into her pocket. Footsteps in the hallway. She had to hurry. She unscrewed the cap and crushed three more pills over the mouth of the bottle. She closed the lid and shook the bottle. She was putting it back down on the table when Ruth came into the room.
I’m always certain, Miles had said to her. She didn’t want him to be the only one anymore.
“Ruth, hi. I’m glad you’re here. This is one of the last bottles of alkaline water we have,” she said, holding it up. “You know how Miles loves this water. You should take it to him. Give it to him to drink. He’ll be so happy. It will help him relax.” Not a lie, not exactly, but Grace still felt a brief moment of guilt as she saw the gratitude on Ruth’s face. A way to make Miles happy—it was all Ruth ever wanted.
“Thank you,” Ruth said, taking the bottle from her and holding it tight.
Ben was hardly speaking to Johanna—which seemed ridiculous to her, given the circumstances. She thought of the letter that had been slid under their bungalow door the night before, pushed by an unseen hand. Remember: a crisis can be a great opportunity to show love and care to your partner. Let’s all use this opportunity to show our strength, and fight for what we love and want the most.
Ben was not what she loved and wanted most, and she knew this. Perhaps he was starting to understand it, too.
“Where the hell were you?” he had said the night before, sitting upright when she had finally returned to their bungalow, after leaving Grace’s office. She had marveled for a moment that he had still fallen asleep, not knowing where she was.
“Grace was upset.” Johanna had struggled to keep her voice calm. “This is a crazy situation. A major storm blowing in that no one knew about? I think we all should be taking this as seriously as she is. It’s shaken her.”
“Sure, we’re all scared. That’s no excuse to take off like you did. You can’t just disappear. I was so worried. I looked all over for you!”
I know, she could have said. And we hid from you; we hid from Miles. “I’m sorry,” she had said instead, and there had been nothing else after that. Just resentful silence lasting through the night and into the morning.
Now, they were off in a corner of the common area. Johanna was fidgeting, biting her nails.
“You okay?” Ben asked, but he barely looked at her. He was reading a book, his back against a wall.
“Not really,” she said.
“Miles assured us that we’re all going to be safe here. This villa has weathered many hurricanes over the years. I’m not nervous at all. I believe in what Miles says.”
“Jesus, Ben!” She couldn’t help herself, especially knowing what she knew about Miles. “How much of the purple Kool-Aid have you had to drink?”
“How much have you?” Ben snapped back, dropping his book to his knees. “Taking off like that, Johanna? You and Grace running off together like...”
“Are we still on that?” But she knew it wasn’t fair. Ben hadn’t done anything wrong. “She was upset,” Johanna said, lowering her voice. “I told you. She needed to talk to someone. She’s my—”
“She’s your therapist,” Ben interrupted, while Johanna wondered what word she had been intending to use, and how Ben had known she’d been about to say something else, something she shouldn’t. “And you’re not being appropriate.”
Johanna looked at him for a long moment. There had been a point when she had considered asking Ben for help, even though Grace had implored her not to talk to anyone but her. And she still wondered. It was Ben. He was a good person. He would want to help, no matter what—wouldn’t he?
The wind howled again. “Ben,” Johanna began.
“It’s okay,” he said, mistaking the look on her face for fear of the storm, o
r maybe remorse about their fight. “It’s going to be okay—really.” Then he bent his head and started to read again.
The burden stayed with her as day began to turn to night; the only way she could tell in the windowless room was because her watch told her so. The secret felt heavier with each second that passed. It would have been so easy, to just blurt it out to Ben. Miles has been abusing Grace. He wants to kill her. He’s a monster. He needs to be stopped. She gave him sleeping pills so he won’t be able to hurt her the way he wants to. And as soon as the storm is over, we’re taking off, and I don’t know what our plan is, but I know we have to get away from here. I know that as long as we’re together, all will be well. I’m afraid of what will happen if we’re not.
He wouldn’t understand. How could he? She felt like she was on a precipice wondering what it might be like to jump, to fall, to ruin everything. Maybe she would fly, that was the thing. Maybe, this time.
She didn’t even look up when Grace passed by every little while. This was a very difficult thing to resist, but Johanna did. The secret felt lighter when she smelled Grace’s shampoo as she passed, heard the rustle of her clothes. Then hours passed, and no Grace. Johanna started to worry.
Eventually, Ben said, “You know what, I think I’m going to be able to fall asleep.” And he promptly did so. This had always made Johanna crazy, the ease with which he moved from being awake to asleep, no transitioning. It always took Johanna time—and she knew that on a night like this, no sleep would come. How was he so peaceful, how was he so unaware, not just of what was going on outside, but of what was going on inside of her, inside of their relationship?
You never tell him anything. How’s he supposed to know? You never say anything, and you do everything he asks. And tomorrow, you’re just going to get up and walk away and he’s never going to know why. Do you think that’s right?
The Last Resort Page 22
