Frayed Rope (17 page)

I’ve spent the last year avoiding people as much as possible. Low and behold the first few people I actually begin to have a conversation with turn out to be some of the kindest people I’ve ever met.

My eyes start to burn. I’m so tired I could cry at this woman's kindness but I just stay silent and watch instead. I feel a warm hand on mine and I look up into Adele’s piercing eyes.

“Always gonna be some bad sugar. Can’t nobody stop that. I see you got some bad hangin’ ‘round and I’ll be the first one to tell ya. Ain’t nobody in my sixty four years gonna get me down and they won’t get you neither. You eat yourself a good meal; you get yourself some nice sleep. And when you feel better, you find yourself a nice man. You do it in that order hunny. Never the man before the better ‘cause he ain’t gonna do it for ya. You hear me baby?”

I take in everything she said with a deep breath. I’ve never been transparent but this woman on a side road off the highway could be a fortune teller. She knows her shit. And I don't doubt for one fucking minute she knows what she's talking about. I look at her with misty eyes and a full heart.

“I hear you Adele. And I promise I won’t forget.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Do you know how long I’ve watched you Jayne?” He asks as he slowly runs his knife down my bare back. Not piercing the skin but enough to get his point across. I hang as still as a dead man and listen.

“Years and years, Jayne. I watched, and I waited.”

The knife drags back up my spine. His voice is eerily calm. We both know this was planned. This room was ready for me when I got here.

“Ya, I gathered that from the pretty collage of photos you have of me over there. Did you ever think I might want to be asked before I have my picture taken?”

I can’t help my smart mouth. I can barely see out of my eyes anymore, but I don't give a fuck. I don't want to look at his face. I’ll never forget it so I don't need to see it anymore.

The knife slashes up one side and down the other on my back.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! YOU FUCK!”

“That’s right, SCREAM! Nobody will hear you. It’s just you and me down here Jayne. Scream in pain until you learn your lesson and tell me you’re sorry. Are you going to listen to me Jayne? Are you going to apologize?”

I dig deep with everything in me. I feel it all, I smell it all, I breathe it all in.

That will to survive, or the will to kill this man before I bleed out and die.

He wants me to scream?

I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I take one last deep breath, and let out every feeling I’ve ever had.

Love.

Hate.

Pain.

Loss.

It’s expelled from me in a whoosh of air until the numbness settles in. I take another deep breath and ask myself what I feel now.

Nothing.

Empty.

I open my eyes and stare the sick fuck in the face.

“I won’t apologize. Not when I don’t know what it’s for. So no, you sick son of a bitch. I will not tell you ‘I’m sorry’.”

* * *

I take one last look around the cabin to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Three days of sleeping and I still feel like a bag of shit. The bags are still heavy under my eyes and I haven’t bothered to do my hair or any makeup in that time. No point really.

The nightmares have been endless, even while I’m awake—the most predominant one being when I first woke up in the basement. Face beaten and hung from the ceiling, it’s on a constant loop that won’t shut off. I need to get out of here.

Time to leave this fucking place, time to hit the road.

First stop, North Carolina.

Second, unknown.

* * *

I walk into the little home I’ve been able to call mine, even if for a short little while. The first thing I notice is that the empty bottles from mine and Ryder’s dinner the other night are missing.

The towels that were still on the kitchen floor are gone, and I’m sure if I check under the sink the water line will be fixed. I want to let it warm my heart he did those things for me, but I need to keep the numbness for now so I’ll be able move forward. When I get settled somewhere again, I’ll process it all.

I head toward my bedroom to begin packing. I could sleep more but I’d rather just be ready to move. I’ll pack up and then search the internet for my next temporary abode. Hopefully it’ll be somewhere like here, by the water, with the silence. It calms me more than anything has in a long time. I’m going to need that in the next place I rest my head. I dump my bag on the end of the bed and spot a note on the pillow.

Ryder.

I leap for the note and take in his slanted scrawl on the front of the note.

‘Elle’

Fuck, my curiosity takes over and I open the white page. As much as I would love to have a bottle of wine to go with this, or maybe whiskey, I can’t move my feet from where they’re rooted to the floor. I tear it open and begin to read.

Elle,

I didn’t get enough time with you, beautiful.

You’re a runner. I sensed it when we met.

I’m asking you not to run from me, please.

I wish I could have waited longer than two days to see if you came back, but I have to personally finish up this job in Chicago.

Please wait for me.

Elle, what happened in your past is exactly that—it’s the past. I don’t think of you any differently and I don’t want you to treat this differently because of what I saw. To be honest babe, it only makes me want to be near you more now that I have an overwhelming need to hold and protect you.

I’m not sure how you feel about me, but I would really like to see where this goes between us. I don’t ask for much Elle, but I’m asking for you to please be here when I get back in a few weeks. If you’re not ready to talk when I get back, I’ll wait. As long as it takes, I’ll wait until you’re ready.

But I need to be near you beautiful, and I need to know that you’re okay.

If you won’t see me, call me.

Please, Elle.

Ryder

His number is scrawled on the bottom of the page, not that I plan on using it but I don't plan to get rid of it.

This letter confirms more than the beauty on the outside of this man. For the first time in a long while I feel a familiar ache in my chest. My head says run but my heart wants to stay, even just for a little while.

I curl up on my bed with the letter clenched in my hand. I stare across the room into my closet at the safe that’s bolted to the floor. The box from my old life resides there. I haven’t opened it since I picked it up in Denver. Originally that was the plan; lay it all out and process it all. Put the pieces together to try and prove my case wrong. I know the case was still open when I left, but that was almost a year ago now.

My claim that there were two people torturing me was unheard of to Detective Braumer's ears. The old fuck was so close to retirement I’m sure he just wanted to close the case and get his fat ass out the door.

“There was only the DNA of two people at the residence of Mr. Andrew Roberts, Ms. O’Connor. His and yours. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this. Mr. Roberts had no known living relatives and was the only person listed to that address. Without further evidence, aside from your claim there’s nothing more I can do.”

It took all I had in me not to pummel the bastard. My shoulders were still messed up from hanging in the basement and I had one hundred and sixty two stitches in my back that prevented me from doing so.

While lying on my bed I come to the conclusion that I need to call Detective Miller. He was a good cop, he went behind Braumer’s back a lot to help me out. Sadly in the end, most of it was still out of his hands.

Calling home is dangerous; I haven’t had contact with anyone since I left Canada and popped back up with a new name. I decide I’ll drive out of town, somewhere much further away from here and make the call. I can’t risk him finding my location or tracking my call in any way. I’ll see if anything new has opened up with my case before I dig back into the box and try to figure it out for myself.

On that last thought, I fall asleep.

* * *

Carte Blanche.

That's what I think to myself as I sit here on my back deck drinking my morning brew.

A lot of people would be thrilled with a carte blanche. Ask them what they would do if they had money in the bank; a car full of gas and no responsibilities. No family. 

What would they do?

Where would they go?

Of course we’ll leave out the fact they have to change their name and assume the possibility that someone out there wants them dead. But aside from those little tidbits, most people would be thrilled.

Start over. New people. New place. New identity to make as you wish.

I’m not thrilled right now.

I take in the beauty this little abode gives me. Not on the outside, but the
peace
it gives me. I run over a million scenarios in my head if I were to go, or stay. Ryder will most definitely have questions, and as much as I don't want to put him up on this pedestal of hope for me to stay, I can’t help but remember how he makes me feel when I’m around him.

It’s not that ridiculous high school crush. It’s not the butterflies you get when you lose your virginity to your high school sweetheart. It’s not that ridiculous notion in the movies when they try to make you believe in love at first sight. It’s none of those things.

It’s serene? Is that the right word for it? I don’t know. Maybe it’s not able to be explained. It’s a feeling on a deep level that both calms and excites me. It’s that comfortable silence when he could sense I did not want to talk and it’s the energy that hums through my body when he touches me.

I have no doubt in my mind every word in his letter was true. I’m positive if there were ever to be a man able to protect me, Ryder would fit the bill. But then I have to think about his lifestyle, his trysts with the Gingers. I don’t judge him for that. I too have had my share of sluts only for a certain benefit. They were of the male variety of course. But what if deep down that's his norm. One nighters, or friends with benefits to keep it regular before he ships off to god knows where for however long for work.

I once asked myself why he never had a family and five kids. Maybe that's why. Maybe he doesn't want something full-time and he likes to keep things light and open. If that's the case, then sticking around here for a man would make me just as clueless and dumb as Ginger.

What if ‘seeing where this goes’ turns into a disaster and by that point he’s already figured me out? He’s a man of the law so to speak. Military background and his security work for influential people? How will that work for me?

If shit with my case doesn’t get sorted out and he finds out my real name, there's nothing stopping him from shipping me back to Canada. Deep down I don't think he would do that, but I have to remember that anything is possible.

Time to make a phone call.

* * *

I drive for three hours until I hit a little rundown town that only has cell phone service in the center of it. The town consists of one gas station, a small market and a beer store.

All the essentials.

I pull into the side lot of the gas station; it’s not the kind that has cameras watching the pumps. In fact I’m surprised I still have cell service. I’d be floored if they get internet in this town.

I pull my phone out of my bag and dial one of the few phone numbers I have memorized into my prepaid. The area code will be from Denver and if they track it the signal will come up to this little shanty town. It will look like I move around a lot and I plan to dump the phone when I’m done anyway. I’ll pick up a new burner later.

“Miller,” he snaps into the phone on the fifth ring. I was almost ready to hang up, nerves getting the best of me.

“Am I still wanted for more questioning, or have you found the second attacker and proved my ordeal self-defense?”

I cut to the chase. No small talk, no beating around the bush. I need answers. He’s silent. Shocked to hear from me I’m sure.