Finding Abigail (17 page)

Defeated

I rushed home, packed two suitcases, my
laptop, and the pile of money I had stashed for rainy days, and ran down to the
parking garage. I needed some time away. I could go stay at a hotel somewhere
or rent a place for a few weeks and give him some time to cool off, time to get
over me. We had made a mistake, and I had to believe that in time, he would see
that.

The sky was
dark, filled with gray clouds as I pulled the car out of the underground
parking lot. I sat idly for a few seconds contemplating where to go. I hadn’t
thought this through; I just knew I couldn’t be at the apartment when he got
home. There was no time to plan. Where could I go? New York popped in my head.
It was so big, it’d be easy to get lost in the crowds. Or I could go to Canada. The border was only an hour away. I had never been there, and now was the perfect
chance. But I had left my passport up in the apartment and I couldn’t go back
for it. I didn’t have the time. So that left New York.

Now that I had a
destination, I tuned right onto Seaman and started to drive. I had just passed Watertown when I called my mom to tell her I was going away for a few weeks. I regretted it
when she started to question me. Finally I just made up a lie about going to New York for work, and hung up. I didn’t call anyone else. If someone was looking for me,
she could tell them I was away.

As I drove, I
thought about Nick, trying to see why he would have acted so violently. Had I
provoked him in any way? He said he wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t run away
from him. Maybe that was true. I probably should have stayed and talked to him,
calmly. But I was so shocked after he slapped me, I wasn’t thinking straight.
So much had changed in the last twenty-for hours. Yesterday I had woken up in
his arms, happy and content. How could things have gone so wrong? I just didn’t
understand. I was confused about my feelings for him. He had hit me, and turned
into a different person, but how could I forget how much I loved him just one
day ago? My emotions were in turmoil. It was good I was going a way for a
while. It would give me time to think.

Just as I passed
Syracuse, lights flickered in my rearview mirror. As I looked up, my stomach
dropped to the floor of the car. There was a police cruiser coming up behind me
at top speed. It was Nick, I knew it. But how could he have found me? Would my
mother have told him? Not likely. She didn’t like him. The car got closer, but
I didn’t pull over. I was too afraid. I kept driving, hoping it was a different
cop and that they would pass me.

Headlights
flashed behind me making me look through my mirror again, and now I could no
longer deny who it was. There was no mistaking the cold dark brown eyes that
glared at me. Fear ripped through my chest, stabbing me like a knife. Maybe I
could talk to him, reason with him. He’s always been so sweet. Maybe it really
had just been a bad day? My hands shook as I turned the steering wheel off to
the side of the road.

I watched him
get out of the cruiser and moved toward me. When I rolled the window down, he
bent his head into the car. “Where are you going, Abby?” His voice was clipped,
holding in his anger.

I thought of
lying, telling him I was just going shopping in Syracuse, but if he looked in
the trunk, he’d know the truth. “I need to go to New York for work for a few
weeks. I was going to call you when I got there.”

He narrowed his
rage-filled eyes. “Really, then why didn’t you mention it when you saw me at
the station after your talk with the captain?” I could feel anger coming off
him in waves.

“Fine, I needed
to get away to think things over. I was going to come back. I swear.”

“I don’t believe
you.” He leaned in and grabbed my left hand, squeezing so hard he cracked my
knuckles. “You were running because you were afraid of me. Abby, I wouldn’t
hurt you if you hadn’t gone to the station. Why do you keep provoking me? I
love you, why are you trying to fight me?”

“I...I’m sorry.”
I swallowed the lump of fear that burned my throat. “How did you find me?”

His eyes flicked
to my cell in the center console so quickly I almost missed it. But I had seen
it, and I knew he had tracked me by my phone. “I have my ways. I’m a cop. You
will never be able to go anywhere without me finding you.”

I was at a loss
for words. This was a new side of him. I didn’t want to provoke him, so I
closed my mouth and didn’t say anything.

He leaned in
through the window and yanked the keys out of the ignition. “Come on, get in my
car. I’ll have yours towed to the apartment.” He opened my door and glared at
me, the vein in his neck throbbing. He was beyond pissed. I knew if I tried to
run, he would catch me. I grabbed my purse and the bag next to me. He opened
the trunk and pulled out the rest of my belongings, stashing them in the trunk
of his cruiser. Then he put me in the front seat of his car.

Once he slid
into the driver seat, he started it without a word. The silence in the small
space was palpable. With each passing mile my fear deepened. I needed to calm
him down somehow. I didn’t know what to say though. I had never been in this
situation before. It wasn’t until we passed Watertown that I built up the
courage to speak. “Nick, I’m sorry, okay. I know I shouldn’t have left, or gone
to the station, but I only did it because I was so shocked about last night.”
The throbbing in his neck remained. His jaw was locked; his eyes never left the
road ahead.

Knowing that at
least for now I was stuck with him, I needed to get through this. I had
obviously screwed up by leaving without a plan. It didn’t occur to me that he
could trace my cell—and my car, he’d have no problem finding that. He knew my
plate numbers. What was I thinking, earlier? He was a cop. The only way I could
get away from him was if I was careful. I knew that now. But in the meantime I
had to get through this day.

I reached over
and placed my hand on his knee. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have left. You
must have been worried.” The words felt like glue in my mouth, I didn’t mean
them and I was afraid that he would sense that.

Finally he
turned to face me, his eyes softening to a cool breeze. “I was. I care for you,
Abby, and I hate when we fight.” He didn’t say another word, but for some
reason, I had hope. I knew in his own way he did love me. I just had to bide my
time until I could get away for good.

He parked in the
underground lot and led me to the elevators, gripping my arm as though he
thought I’d run. Where would I go? He just proved that wouldn’t work.

As soon as he
shut the door behind us, he tossed my bags onto the floor. And in a move so
fast I didn’t see it coming, he had me up against the wall with his hand around
my neck, choking me. I couldn’t breathe, his grip was so tight. I thought this
was the end. All I could focus on was the smell of his strong cologne and his
beady eyes. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “If you ever pull something
like you did today again, I will kill you. Remember, I’m a cop; I know how to
kill discreetly. Do you understand me?” he asked, looking me in the eyes.

I nodded,
unable to speak.

“Good.” He
released me from his grip. I fell to the floor, leaning on my hands and knees
coughing and wheezing, trying to get my breath back. I looked up at him to see
him smiling down at me. “Now that we understand each other, let’s order some
pizza.” His voice sounded cheerful as he clapped his hands together.

During dinner,
I was the typical doting spouse. I served him, I smiled. I listened to him
complain about work, I even kept my mouth closed when he grumbled about the
problems I had caused at the station. I frowned, told him again how sorry I
was, and rubbed his arm. When a smart comment came to my mind, it was replaced
by an image of his hands around my neck and his threat that he would kill me.
For that reason alone, I bit my lip and apologized, knowing that from this day
on I was going to plan, and I’d be smart this time. No matter how long it took.

That night in
bed, I woke to the sound of deep raspy sobbing, and a shaking body pressed
against me.

I blinked my
eyes opened. It was still dark, and I was in bed. Nick was the one leaning over
me. “I’m so sorry. I love you, I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll try harder, I
promise. I don’t know why I do it. You’re everything to me.” His voice was so
sincere, the pain audible. He rubbed the back of my head lovingly as he sobbed
into my shoulder, his tears making my cheeks damp. He leaned up and pulled at
my tank top, and started to kiss the bruising around my neck and shoulder. His
lips brushed the tender skin, his cool breath washing over my heated irritated
flesh.

Did he really
feel sorry for what he did? Did he really love me as he said? The pain was so
real in his eyes and voice that maybe he really would never do it again. He did
genuinely sound like he regretted it. “Please say you forgive me, and we’ll
start again. I can’t lose you. When you left today, I was so angry, but what
was worse was that my heart broke at the thought of not having you in my life.”
His soft kisses moved up my neck, to my chin, and then my lips.

Could I trust
what he said? Should I give him a chance? The pain he felt was real, I knew
that. I almost felt sorry for him. “Please,” he begged against my lips, “I need
you.” His voice was edged with sorrow. My heart ached at the sound of it.
Before I knew what was happening, I kissed him back, grief and sadness turning
to need. Need for the love we shared, need to erase the last few days. He
kissed me hungrily, and in that kiss I felt his sorrow and pain, and all I
wanted was to make it better. We made love, and afterwards I lay wrapped in his
arms. “I love you, Abby. Please don’t leave me again,” he whispered as he fell
asleep.

The next morning
he was happy and loving as he said goodbye to me at the door. I had hope that
he just had a bad couple of days. Maybe it wouldn’t have gone as far as it did
if I hadn’t run after he slapped me, or if I hadn’t went to the station. I
wasn’t ready to give up my plan to leave, not yet. But maybe I could give him
another chance. It’s not like I could run tomorrow. I had to plan it, make sure
he wouldn’t find me again. And he seemed so sorry and so happy that I was here.
What if it really was just a one-time thing?  Maybe I could put the idea on
hold, give him one more shot. If he did it again, then I would continue my
plan.

It lasted a
week. One night as I was dishing out Chinese food onto plates, he came in the
door and slammed it. And when he saw what I was doing he yelled at me for not
making him a home-cooked meal. I stared at him in shock. He knew I didn’t cook,
and had told me that he found that cute. I froze with a big spoon in my hand,
not knowing what to do. He stomped toward me, his eyes cold, jaw locked. The
furious glare he gave me was the only hint I needed to know that he was never
going to change.

His hand shot
out before I realized he’d moved, slapping me on the back of the head. Pain
shot through my skull, but I didn’t react to it. I bit my tongue, holding back
the curse and reminding myself not to make it worse. “What’s wrong?” I asked,
feigning concern for him after he slapped me.

“Nothing, just
get me a beer.”

It got worse. By
the time I went to bed, my upper arms were bruised again, and I was pretty sure
my wrist was sprained, making it impossible to write.

When Nick left
for work the next day, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my face. I
looked defeated, trapped, with nowhere to go. The expression reminded me of
something. I had seen the look on someone else before, but who? As I gazed at
my eyes that appeared colorless, I realized what I had been missing. Now it all
made sense.

A few hours
later there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see Heather waiting in the
hallway looking uncomfortable. Her brown hair was down, cascading over her
shoulders and back, but it looked messy, like all she had time for this morning
was a quick brush-through. She was wearing an oversize coat and dark blue
jeans. Her skin was as pale as it always was. “Okay, I’m here. What do you
want?” She took a step inside, but stood as close to the exit as possible.

Closing the
door, I took her fluffy blue coat, hanging it up on the coat rack, and gestured
to the dining room table. “Come in and sit down. Would you like a glass of
wine?”

She hesitated,
giving me a cautious glance, but took the seat I was pulling out for her.
“Sure, I’ll have one.” She glanced around the apartment, knotting her fingers
together anxiously as I poured two glasses of wine.

Her posture was
guarded when I returned with the drinks and sat down next to her. I could smell
her perfume. She took a sip and glared at me, waiting for me to say what I had
called her over for. I tasted the wine as well, savoring the bubbles on my
tongue, searching for courage, and then finally set my glass down. “When did
Rob start hurting you?”

I was expecting
her to be shocked—she wasn’t. Her eyes were blank as she gulped her drink. When
she swallowed, she asked, “How soon was it for you? As soon as he got the ring
on your finger, or when he moved in?”