“Just makingaffairplural. Affairzzz.”
“Jesus, Cora. You don’t think this is a little much? Now you have Lucas arrested? Who’s pissed athim? Well, it didn’t work ’cause he got out already. Tell me, who will you and your crazy little witches’ circle get arrested next? Whose lives will you totally fuck over for your perverse pleasure next?” He’s screaming now. I screech the car to a halt before we reach Jerry’s house.
“What?” I match his volume.
“What, what?”
“You said they let Lucas out. What are you talking about? He was arrested last night. On major charges.”
“Yeah. And he was arraigned and posted bail this morning. Like, two-million-dollar bail from what I hear, so good job there, witch-hunt sisters. Another man down.” He tries to go on, but I lean over him and open his passenger door and push him out. Once he lands on the pavement, he slams the door and raises his arms.
“My stuff!” he hollers as I screech away. But there’s no time.
I call Paige. No answer. I call Nicola. No answer. Oh, my God. He’s out. What if he knows where she is? I call the police and just hope I beat them there.
35
NICOLA
It seems like weeks since I’ve felt the sun on my face. Even though the morning is cold and drizzly, I sit in Paige’s back garden under a covered awning and watch Avery as she sits on a blanket and bounces, smiling at me and looking around, mesmerized by the bird and squirrel sounds. Grant left for the restaurant early, but this morning I was able to meet him finally, properly, and he and Paige seemed...cozy. Paige is showering before we take a trip to town to buy some clothes and get lunch. Lunch out. It seems like such a simple thing, but I literally have no recollection of the last time I experienced that. I feel elated. I know it’s not over, but I am a little more than cautiously optimistic.
And then, just as Avery looks up at me, flexing her little hands inside the knitted mittens I’ve dressed her in, I feel a sharp explosion of pain on the side of my head, and the world goes black. Only for a moment, though, because then I see him. Through the blur and colors behind my eyes, I see him standing over me. I scream for Avery, but he leaves her outside as he drags me in by one arm, my body limp against the ground as he pulls me over the threshold and into the adjacent kitchen. The metal runner cuts my side as he pulls me through. God, he wants to bring me somewhere where nobody will hear what he’s about to do.
I open my mouth to scream again, but he quickly covers it. He has duct tape. I see the kitchen drawer ajar. Is he prepared for this? Did he grab it out of desperation or is this rage-induced and he has no real plan? I don’t know which is worse.
My pulse hammers against my skull, and I try to hold my arms behind my back, keeping them from him so he can’t bind them. I lie on the cold tile just inside the sliding glass doors. I can hear Avery screaming, crying, and my heart breaks.
“You really thought you’d get away with all this?” he says, hovering over me, a smirk on his face. All I can hear is my baby, and I heave my hips up and kick my right leg as high as I can, landing on his jaw. It knocks him back; he falls to his knees, and I’m able to scramble up. I run to the opposite side of the kitchen island and rip the tape off my mouth. It’s not far, but I can’t leave her alone. I hear her cry again, and I scream, “What do you want from me?”
“I gave you everything! Look at that house. Look at all I gave you. You were never grateful. You only complained,” he says. Tears roll down my face, and I shakily pick up a carving knife from the counter. I can barely hold it steady, and he laughs. He walks slowly to me, thinking I won’t use it.
“I saw you. Looking down at me, thinking you won,” he says, laughing. He saw me in the window. This is my fault. I wasn’t careful enough.
I hold the knife out with my shaky right hand as he creeps closer, smiling at me. I back up, but then he lunges so quickly I don’t see it coming, and he takes hold of the handle. He holds it to my neck. I look out the glass doors at my baby. Her face is red and swollen, and she’s crying so hard she’s shaking. The dull blade presses into my flesh, and I can feel it break the skin.
“What do you want? Tell me, and I’ll do it,” I say in a hoarse whisper.
“Tell them you lied,” he says. I realize he doesn’t know about Avery yet. I haven’t given up that big piece of the puzzle to prove his motive quite yet, so in his mind, it’s just the abuse, and a hit-and-run he knows he didn’t do. Does he think this will go away if I agree? If I say it’s not true?
“Okay,” I agree in a whimper.
“It was all part of your fantasy, fetish shit. We scream. We play kidnapper and victim. Whatever the fuck you gotta say. I told you, goddamn it, so many times, that no matter what you did, it would always end up like this. You got me good, Georgia, you sure did, but this will still end the way it’s supposed to.”
“Okay,” I say again, choking back my screams for Avery. “Just tell me what to do.”
“We’re going home.” He lets the knife fall loose in his hand and faces me. “You’ll call the police and tell them you lied. That you—” and then I grab the knife while his guard is down, and even though it’s not very big, I push it as hard as I can in the first place I can. I don’t aim, I just close my eyes and hope he doesn’t get hold of the knife before I can somehow hurt him first. It plunges into his left shoulder. He grabs at the knife with his right hand, trying to pull it out, howling in pain.
“You fucking bitch!” he screams. I don’t know whether it’s safer to go and grab Avery or leave her as far away from this as possible even though she’s terrified. I decide I need to get her. What if he does know the truth about her? What if he would hurt her to spite me either way? I can’t risk it. I can better protect her if she’s close.
While he’s doubled over on the ground, trying to pull the knife out of his flesh, I run and pull Avery into my arms. I think the best thing to do is to try to run toward Cora’s house—at least be out in the street where someone can see us. But before I make it out of the yard, there is a hard yank in the back of my head. He has me by the hair. It’s twisted into his fist, and he controls my every movement with his tight grip on the back of my scalp.
“You will never outsmart me. You were a fucking waitress when you met me, so don’t think for one minute you are capable of winning this,” he hisses in my ear as he pushes me back inside, out of sight. I hear a noise upstairs. Paige! But he hears it, too. He looks up. He looks surprised. He’s so careful. He knows Grant doesn’t live here. Maybe he waited until he saw a car pull out of the drive this morning, assumed it was hers, was sure I was alone, and now he doesn’t know. He looks to me and then up again.
“What is that?” he spits, holding my hair so tight I can feel parts ripping out.
“The dog,” I say, hoping the tone in my voice sounds convincing and not hopeful that there is help coming.
“We’re going. Now,” he says. His shoulder is dripping blood on the ivory-tiled floor, and he holds the knife, sticky with blood, shakily in his hand. If he gets me in that house, I know it’s over. No one can save me. I’ll never get out. I know that with everything I have in me.
