Ten Years Later
Moving just as fast asshe could, Valerie Flynn raced into the walk-in closet and pulled the suitcase off the top shelf. Opening it right there on the floor, she grabbed clothes and tossed them into it without bothering to fold a single thing. A few skirts, some blouses, a couple pair of pants. Check. Now, shoes.
She wore a navy skirt with matching heels and a white silk blouse. Her outfit would go with most of what she’d thrown into the suitcase and make a few more outfits.
She looked at her shoe rack, at the dozens of pairs there. The idea of leaving them hurt some feminine part of her. No choice, though. If she wanted to get out, she had mere minutes left to do it. Grabbing a pair of black flats and a pair of tan heels, she tossed them on top of the clothes. She’d already gotten cash out of the bank. She could buy a toothbrush and new underwear when she got to Atlanta. As she snapped the suitcase shut, she heard the front door slam.
Feeling her stomach turn to water, she quietly turned off the closet light and pulled the door closed. Maybe he’d leave. She fisted her hand and held it to her mouth, realizing how cold her fingers felt. Eyes closed, holding her breath, wishing the floor would dissolve under her feet and envelope her, she waited, listening to him tear through the apartment looking for her. She tried very hard not to make a single sound.
“I know you’re here!” he bellowed, storming into the bedroom.
She gave a startled cry when he kicked the closet door open. Holding her hands up in front of her face, she tried to evade his grasp, but he managed to grab hold of her hair and pull her out of the closet. She moved her feet as fast as she could to keep up with him, trying to alleviate the pull on her scalp. Reflexive tears streamed down her face and she started talking.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said over and over again.
He stopped in front of the full-length mirror next to the closet. “Look!” he screamed in her ear.
She hated when he did this. But, years of conditioning had her opening her eyes. She saw her lip curl up in disgust as she stared at herself. Mascara had mixed with tears and ran in black streaks down her brown face. Her shirt had shifted and she could see bruising on her shoulder from two nights ago, the dark purpling barely showing against her chocolate skin.
Tyrone’s eyes had a frenzied look to them, and she could smell cheap blended whiskey on his breath. Her stomach turned at the smell. He was well beyond reasoning right now. If she just endured it, it would eventually end. He would eventually sleep it off. Then she’d leave, for good, with or without the suitcase.
“You see this?” he said, no longer screaming. He grabbed her chin from behind and squeezed hard enough to make her whimper. “This is mine. You think I’ll let you just leave?”
Without warning, he let go of her chin and smashed her forehead against the mirror. She felt the glass cut into her skin and screamed more in fear than pain.
“The only way you’ll leave me is in a coffin,” he declared, spinning her around to face him. As soon as he let go, she stepped backward, holding her hands up in front of her. She could feel the blood dripping down her face. “Do you understand me?” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, emphasizing each word.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered over and over again. “I’m sorry. Yes. Please, just don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” Hurling an obscenity at her, he reached back and punched her with his closed fist. She felt her knees buckle at the pain that exploded in her cheek. Stunned, she fell, clutching out to try to stop her fall. She couldn’t end up on the floor. He’d start kicking her if she fell. She had to stay on her feet.
Somehow, she managed to grab the edge of the dresser and pull herself up. Before she could step away, he had her by the neck. “I don’t think you’re really sorry,” he said.
As soon as she realized he had started to drag her to the glass doors, she started fighting him, screaming, clawing, scratching, kicking. But he was bigger, stronger, angry, and drunk. He threw the door open so hard she heard the glass shatter. With a roar, he pushed her up against the balcony and screamed at her. “You want it over? Then I’ll end it!”
Crying, clawing at the hands around her neck, she kicked out and managed to jam the heel of her shoe into the flesh of his thigh. He roared in pain and grabbed her shin.
She could feel the metal railing of the balcony digging into her shoulder blades seconds before he flipped her over it. Suddenly, Valerie felt nothing, nothing at all. She didn’t even feel the air rushing past her the entire way to the ground.
Then she felt everything for exactly as long as it took for her vision to flash red like lightning at sunset. She felt glass shattering all around her, and saw it fly up into her flesh like a thousand razor blades and all around her like a million glittering diamonds the instant before she felt unforgiving cement welcome her to the ground. She felt more pain than she had ever felt before in her life for less than one heartbeat before the world completely vanished in that bright red flash.
Bradford “Brad” Dixon closed hiseyes and took a deep breath as the commercial jet completed its descent. It bumped up, then settled back down on the runway, the wheels chirping loudly as the rubber met the asphalt. Realizing that he gripped the arms of the seat so tightly in his hands that his fingertips had turned bone white, he intentionally relaxed his hands and let out the breath he had held, slowly trying to force his body to relax again. After hours and hours of flight, they had survived and landed back home in Atlanta. As much as he enjoyed the work on the mission field where he spent the last ten days building a medical clinic in rural Alaska, the flight home always made him think he’d never go again. Maybe next time he would donate his vacation for a mission in Georgia. Surely, Atlanta could use a new medical clinic, or perhaps housing for the homeless.
He glanced over at the next row of seats. Ken and Jon sat side-by-side. Ken looked a little pale. Brad knew he feared flying on a level that even he couldn’t fully appreciate. The fact that he still got on a plane once a year to serve on the mission field impressed Brad. Especially when he was involved in a local charity that built houses in Atlanta. He could easily consider his job done from that alone.
Jon flipped the page in the book he read, as if completely unaware of the fact that the steel tube they found themselves in just plummeted thousands of feet to the ground. Jon’s steadfast faith and level business head had always impressed Brad. He strove to be like his older by seven minutes brother. It appeared that everything came easily to him and nothing ever seemed to bother him. Brad felt like he personally worried about everything to the Nth degree. He would love to have some of Jon’s confidence and assurance in God’s plans and his part in them.
The obnoxious loudspeaker welcoming him to Atlanta interrupted his thoughts and he shut his eyes and grit his teeth. Even his headphones couldn’t cancel out the noise as superfluous offers for airline credit cards and memberships to exclusive clubs assaulted him.
Finally, the plane came to a complete stop. He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed himself carefully to his feet. At six-five, he had to duck beneath the overhead bins. His brothers stood with him, and he watched the two of them also stand in slightly bent-down positions.
“It would be nice to occasionally go someplace that didn’t require any flights on airplanes,” his brother Ken mused.
Jon laughed as he slipped his backpack strap over his shoulder. “I thought the exact same thing. And, judging by the way Brad almost ripped the arms off his seat when we landed, I think he was, too.”
“You know what I really think would be nice? I think it would be nice to occasionally have my own thoughts,” Brad remarked to his identical brothers.
They all had close-cropped brown hair, strong features, and gray eyes. All of them worked with their hands and regularly played sports, giving them long and lean muscle tone and well-developed chests. They had gone on this trip for their annual birthday celebration mission trip, this year celebrating twenty-five years. “Though I confess it’s a little nice that at least someone understands me.” He said that in a mocking tone, putting his hand to his heart.
