“No, Prez, I’ll stay here alone. It’s no big deal. Between the case and the animals, I’ll have plenty to do to keep busy. Heck, I won’t even miss you guys,” I try to make light of the situation, but staying behind to solve murders because it reminds me of my dead sister is anything but light.
“Fine, but my orders stay the same,” Fate looks at me like he might change his mind but doesn’t. “Church dismissed, you lot better be packed and ready to roll out before the sun comes up tomorrow. I don’t want to be stopping anywhere unless we have to.”
One by one, everyone files out of Church, until the only ones left are me and Fate. He sits there, waiting for me to say something. And I almost do.
But there’s nothing for me to say. So I get up and head out.
I keep anxiously checking my mirrors for his car to make sure he isn’t behind me while speeding down the highway. I’m sure that he knows I’m gone by now. He likely knew the second I left, with all his sneaking around and ways he’s tried to catch me before. He doesn’t just leave open opportunities for me to escape. When I got far enough away, I stopped to check out the car for bugs and trackers, but mostly to make sure he wasn’t waiting to pop out of the back seat or trunk to kill me for leaving. My mind is playing tricks on me, showing me pictures of him strangling me from the backseat. Even though I checked, I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure that’s not going to happen.
I’ve seen what he can do to others, and it’s ugly. Beyond ugly. I need to escape him. I have no idea how I worked up the nerve to go, but I did. Now I’m flying down the highway trying to reach the outskirts of Portland from the other side of the state. I don’t even dare to turn on the radio. The music might lull me into relaxing a fraction and I can’t let my guard down, not even a little bit.
Once I get to my cousin’s cabin, I can try to lay low for a few days. I know he will chase me, so I won’t stay long. Just long enough to make a plan and get the hell out of this horrible place. I actually love Oregon, but this state has become my hell because of that man. Or really wherever he goes is my hell. He could end up chasing me across the whole United States and it would all feel the same way.
That’s why I’m leaving the country as fast as I can.
I still replay over in my mind the night I met him, just like I have a thousand times before. I still wonder how I didn’t sense it or see it in him before it was too late. He had this charming smile and through all our conversations, he seemed so in touch with my feelings that I couldn’t resist giving him my number. We talked for hours on end, telling each other everything—or so I thought. It was easy to agree to the second and third date. The second date felt like I was walking on clouds. This handsome man was so wrapped up in me, I could almost see a normal future together. It’s like I could just about get a glimpse of what a normal family would be like with him. He was handsome and kind and had great dimples. Every time he smiled at me it sent waves of butterflies in my stomach.
His rapt attention was a new thing for me. At the dates, I saw it as flirting, getting to know me, but now I see it was just obsessing over his latest victim. His eyes didn’t stray, even to a pretty waitress working our table, which had happened on a few recent dates. It was a breath of fresh air not to experience it with him, especially since he was so attractive. I expected it, and when it didn’t happen, it boosted my confidence. It was as if no one else was around as he talked to me, but he did get jealous if he caught anyone looking my way. It had me feeling special, too special. Instead of seeing the red flags for the truth, I just thought he liked me a lot. I guess what they say about hindsight being twenty-twenty is true.
The third date. That’s where it all started to change rapidly. He didn’t take me out to eat, or even out at all. He took me. He took me away and locked me up until he believed I was so sick with Stockholm syndrome that I wouldn’t try to get away from him, so scared of him that I would stay forever. I’m not even sure how long he kept me hidden. Could’ve been months, maybe even years. The time passing all ran together in a blur of horror. We traveled all over, never staying anywhere too long. He would buy or squat in old, abandoned houses sometimes, mostly ones with basements. Creepy, dark basements with massive freezers. He would keep me hidden, especially when traveling in case someone reported me missing, but eventually I was allowed to come out, which told me no one ever did.
I never was close to my family. Part of me wanted to be because they were my parents, but really, I knew that as their demons overcame their ability to do what was right for their child. They battled them hard, but it wasn’t enough. They were always broke, and having me around meant another mouth to feed was a hindrance to them. The moment I could work and fend for myself, I got the hell out of there, never wanting to look back. We would see my mom’s sister every once in a while, and she would bring my cousin with her. Both of us were close in age. We look almost exactly alike and people would think we were sisters a lot of the time. We’d hang out while the parents drank until morning, then slept it off most of the next day.
With our bellies growling and tired of being around drunks, we would walk around town, getting back to the house before anyone noticed, getting some kind of food along the way. We would talk about our hopes and dreams, pretending we didn’t live like we did for the little time that we got a sense of freedom. She wanted to grow up to help kids like us, while I just wanted to be anything that got me out of my house. That was my wild crazy dream, as far as my imagination could stretch: just getting away from here and never having to go to sleep feeling how empty my stomach and heart was.
While my mom would just ignore me or let my dad rip me a new asshole every time he was in the mood, telling me what a waste of space I am; her mom didn’t just use ugly words. When no one else was around, my aunt would physically take it out on her. I remember one time she came over and her eye was so swollen, she couldn’t even blink. She wore a long-sleeve shirt to hid the welts on her arms and back. We didn’t get to leave the house. They made sure no one saw her in that condition. I tried to help her, but she only wanted to sleep. With me watching her back, her mom wouldn’t come in and do it again.
It’s sick to think about, but I would make a stash of school food when I could, away from the house, so my parents wouldn’t go into a rage about it. I didn’t want to take it home and have to share it because they got food stamps but sold it for money for alcohol, since neither of them were functioning by the time I was old enough to realize that not everyone lived like this. I’d be lucky to get a ramen packet and cup of milk a day, while I watched my parents easily go without when they drank all their calories, eyes glazing over and lips spilling out ugly words.
Over time, I realized my mom was close to dying, because she was just a skeleton of a woman, possibly using much more than alcohol to fight her demons, while my dad just stayed in his recliner, his belly becoming massive as his legs swelled. He said one day out of anger at my mom that he was dying of liver failure because he was married to her and had to raise the neighbor’s kid. I didn’t know if I could believe him when he would rant like that over the littlest things.
Neither one ever took responsibility for how they behaved or treated me, even when the school would call to ask about why I was in the same clothes or to tell them they caught me taking extra food at lunch. At least I was the only child. No one else had to have a life like this, growing up feeling worthless. Hiding out in my closet of a room, with no toys, no clothes and nowhere to go.