43. Annabelle
Annabelle
K evin sits on the sofa, baseball on, but he’s no longer watching it.
“There, all done.” I try to be upbeat, even though I just added yet another lock to the door, taking the tally to three.
There’s no way that Sawyer won’t notice when he comes home, but while I put up a strong front for him when he left, I’d be lying if I say that I’m not completely scared out of my mind.
With Noah already asleep in my bed, I walk around the house, checking if the baseball bat is beside the front door and there’s a knife now under my mattress.
As I do, I grab the small pocketknife usually reserved for trimming the lavender and put it down my bra.
Call me crazy, but I want to be prepared, because even though Sawyer didn’t say anything, I know exactly what’s going on.
He's trying to draw them out. Whomever is behind this only comes when Sawyer isn’t here, and there’s no way Sawyer would leave me for work, not now.
Also, I saw it in his eyes, the extreme hesitation he had, the poor excuse of a business client, the way he didn’t pack anything like he normally does.
I may not have gone to college, but I know things.
I know he loves me and my sons, and I know this is the only way we are ever going to get them.
I roll my shoulders, my stomach feeling raw. I’ve got it. I can do this.
“Can’t we call Sawyer? Or Sutton? Or Tanner?” Kevin asks, the panic in his voice evident. I should’ve sent him to have a sleepover. But Sawyer didn't tell me he was leaving until the last minute, and it was too late to organize anything.
“We’ll be fine, honey. No one’s getting in here with all these locks. But if you would feel better, you can have a sleepover with Sutton tomorrow night, if Sawyer isn’t back.” I walk over to sit with him, brushing his hair back off his face.
“I’m not leaving you, Ma,” he says firmly.
“I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m sure Sutton has some of that candy you boys like so much.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Kevin says again, with so much determination it breaks my heart.
“We’ll be okay. We always are,” I tell him softly.
While I was scared before, now that we know these things happen once Sawyer leaves, the fear has escalated. We’re expecting it. But this is my home, and I’m not leaving it.
Walking toward the front window, I peel back the curtain an inch and look out.
I can’t see any cars. I can’t see anything.
It’s as black as it usually is, but I know Sawyer wouldn’t have just left me here.
There’s someone watching, maybe the sheriff, maybe Tanner.
I don’t know who, but I know someone is out there, and that eases my worries slightly.
I let the curtain drop and look over my home.
With Sawyer gone, I decide to focus on the soaps and plan to make a big batch that will get our stocks replenished.
It’s much needed, as I've ignored the soapmaking this past week, so my usual production schedule has been interrupted. I know I won’t sleep anyway, so I might as well make use of the time.
“You should go to bed, Kev. I’m staying up for a while, making some soaps. I’ll come get you if I need you,” I tell my son, and he frowns.
“Better one of us gets some sleep. You get up early, and then I can sleep for a few hours before morning?” I offer, knowing I won’t wake him, but this is how I can get him to go rest.
“Fine,” he grumbles, turning off the TV, giving me a hug, and heading to his room. He leaves his door ajar, and I hear him get into bed as I grab my ingredients and start preparing my things, sinking my thoughts into the rose oil goat milk soap that I’m about to make.
I rub my eyes. They’re sore and dry after getting lost in my soapmaking for the past hour. I have all my molds full, and I’m clearing up the last bowl when I hear a noise. I pause immediately, the sound so faint, I’m not sure if it’s the wind or something else.
As I place the bowl down softly, I hear it again. It’s coming from outside, and I look out the kitchen window, not able to see a thing, the blackness surrounding the house so thick that I feel like I’m on an island.
I creep out of the kitchen and down the hall to check on the boys. Noah’s snoring in my bed, and Kevin’s sound asleep, and I feel more settled that they are safe.
Stepping back out to the living room, I’m convinced I’m hearing things when I hear it again. Louder this time, and I still. Fear wraps its familiar fist around my throat, and I swallow roughly, trying to create moisture in my dry mouth.
But when I hear the noise again, the sound of the shed door banging in the breeze, fear gives way to anger.
Anger at how someone who’s faceless is making me scared in my own home.
Someone who’s trying to ruin my livelihood when I worked so hard for it.
Someone who wants to see me suffer when I’ve suffered enough.
“Not anymore,” I grit out, my shoulders tight, my teeth clenched.
I spot the old baseball bat near the door and grab it before unlocking all three locks.
Opening the door tentatively, I look out.
My eyes adjust to the darkness, my heart thumping in my ears, but if someone’s out there, this ends tonight.
I step out onto the porch and hear another thump and what sounds like people talking. Men’s voices carry to me in the wind, and I look toward the shed, the door now open, even though I know I locked it earlier. Something I checked three times over before I locked us all in the house.
Fear completely leaves me now, although my body still shakes with nerves. I lift the bat over my shoulder, ready to swing, and step quietly toward the shed.
The gravel crunches underfoot, but I’m so focused on getting to the shed door, I pay it little attention. I should have paid more, though, because I also don’t hear the footsteps that come from behind until it’s too late.
“Hey, honey, I'm home…” the familiar voice singsongs like a death rattle, skirting up my spine before I feel a sharp thud to my head, the pain instant before I fall to the ground.
I scream, dropping the bat, my hands clutching my head, feeling blood on my hands instantly. The hit was so fierce, it shakes my brain.
“Look at you, thinking you’re fucking captain courageous with your little bat,” he mocks me, and I look up slowly, my vision a little blurry, but even in the dark of night, that voice is one I’ll never forget.
Any bravado I had earlier completely dissipates as I stare up at my late husband. Memories take over, and I feel like that lost young woman I was when he was here.
“How? What? Why?” The words tumble out. I’m shocked to my core.
“Oh what, where, how, why? God, you’re still a nagging fucking bore,” he spits out as I hear footsteps nearby. My eyes flick in that direction, spotting his father Stanley, and my breath catches.
“But you’re dead!” I shout at Steve, head pounding. I’m having a nightmare. This can’t be happening.
“Clearly, he’s not,” his father huffs, looking at me like I’m worthless.
“I don’t understand!”
“I was so sick of your nagging, your fucking farm this and farm that. You had no more money for me. You stupid women can’t run farms. Look what you've done; you’ve turned it into a fucking florist!
You’re an embarrassment.” He swings his arms around, a large piece of timber in one hand, one end coated in my blood.
At least now I know why my head hurts so much.
“But the car caught on fire…?” I question. None of this makes sense.
“I bet you were really happy about that too, weren’t ya,” he seethes, and I don’t bother answering him, because we both know what my answer will be. “I didn't want you or the debt of this fucking farm. So we faked it.” He’s so nonchalant, I’m starting to understand he’s completely deranged.
My anger returns with a vengeance. “You’re the one who put us in debt. Your gambling, you wasting money on liquor!” I scream, smacking my hand on the ground.
“Yeah, well, I took out a life insurance on myself.” He has a smart-ass smirk on his face, making my stomach churn.
“What?” How did he manage that when he’s one of the dumbest people I know?
“Got a pretty penny too. Three hundred thousand…”
My breath gets caught in my chest.
“Had a pretty good lifestyle, haven't I, Dad? Living in Vegas for a while, road tripping to the coast and back.” He grins at his father, who just huffs a laugh and nods. I look at his dad again, remembering the clothes he was wearing the other night at the bar, the nice appearance now making more sense. He’s got money now. From his son faking his own death.
While I’ve been counting every penny for years, looking after the kids, working late on the soaps, this asshole has been living on hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“So if you're so rich, what are you doing back here, then?” I bite out.
“Well, money only goes so far… Besides, I heard pretty quickly about your new rich boyfriend. And well… you know I’ve never liked sharing…
You’re mine, Annabelle. Always was, always will be.
” He looks me over, and I think I vomit a little in my mouth.
“You don’t belong to anyone else but me, you hear that? ”
It’s always like this with him. He may not want me, but he sure as hell doesn’t want anyone else to.
It all starts to make sense now. What Kevin was saying.
Every time Sawyer was here, something would happen.
My eyes flick to Stanley. He was obviously Steve’s eyes and ears for years.
Only now that Sawyer has turned up in my life has Steven bothered to come back.
Not to see his sons, not to spend time with them or get to know them.
No, he’s back because he wants to own me.
Too bad I’m not for fucking sale.
“You’re dead!”
“Yeah, on paper I am, but in life, you’re still mine, and no other man is going to be sleeping with my wife and fathering my kids,” he shouts back at me, and my insides coil.
“You were never a father and sure as hell were never a lover,” I spit at him, and he takes a step toward me. I flinch a little, but his slap never comes. He looks at me like he’s just thought of something.
“You were always worthless and still are… Maybe I need to take some sort of payment from him to ensure I stay away from you, then…” Ah, his real intentions. Blackmail.
“Payment?” I question. "What, now that I’ve finally found happiness, now that I’m finally making things work, you want to come back here and take it all again?” I huff out a sarcastic laugh, which just pisses him off even more.
“You always got everything. Me, nothing but stress, bills…”
The audacity of this asshole.
“Bills you created yourself, putting bets on horse racing and giving your money away to slot machines over in Williamstown.”
I don’t see his fist as it flies from his side and straight into my jaw. I fall backward, my head hitting the gravel. My head now thumps even harder, and I wiggle my jaw, wondering if he broke it.
“You always acted better than me.” Stepping back, he looks around before bringing his attention back to me.
“That's because I am,” I say to him as I sit forward, readying to stand. If this son of a bitch is going to kill me, he’s going to do it when I’m standing on my own two feet, on the land my parents and grandparents owned.
“No, you're not. You’re fucking stupid.”
As I stand up, my head feels like a bowling ball, making my top half almost too heavy for my legs to hold up. My feet stagger a little, knees wobbling.
“Why?” I ask, trying to give myself time for my vision to clear.
“Because, when I hit you, you should've stayed down, you fucking bitch.” His fist comes back around, landing on my cheek with such force, it lifts me from my feet, but not before I reach out, scraping my nails across his cheek, clawing at him with every bit of strength I have left.
I lie on the gravel, his father watching like he’s bored already. But I see his eyes flicking around. Watching. Waiting.
“We need to go, son…” his father says, but my husband is too far gone. He wants power over me, and I’m not letting him have it.
“Go? Oh, so soon… we were just getting started…” I moan as I grip my head, not showing any weakness. I think of my two boys inside, praying they’re still asleep, praying they don’t find me here in the morning.
“Shut the fuck up!” Steve yells as his foot lands in my side, the impact making me vomit.
I curl onto my side, heaving and trying to breathe through the pain.
Opening my eyes, I spot the baseball bat on the ground near the shed, so I moan some more, rolling over to it and grabbing it underneath my body.
“Steve, we need to go,” his father says, looking antsy.
“You can’t leave!” I say in a high-pitched voice before I sit up with all my might and heave the bat into the side of Steve's knee.
He screams, cursing as he falls, and I roll away before trying to stand again. He jumps up, limping slightly, pure venom in his eyes. I’ve never fought back. This is a new side of me he hasn’t seen. We stand, facing each other, both seething for different reasons.
A light in the house comes on, taking my attention, and I run, trying to bolt past him to get inside, wanting to protect my babies. But then I feel his hand wrap around my ankle, and he pulls me back, my body falling face-first to the ground before he drags me back to him.
Groaning, I kick him with my other leg, trying to hurt his already injured knee, and he lets me go momentarily. Breathless, I jump up and dash. I’m halfway to the house when someone grabs me from behind.
“Not so fast,” his father hisses in my ear, his breath stinking of old liquor.
“Let me go!” I scream, wriggling in his tight hold. He’s bigger and much stronger than me, but I then remember the small pocketknife I slipped into my bra strap, and I lift my hand, just able to reach it. Pulling it out, I flick it open in one motion and slice it across his arms.
He screams, releasing me immediately, just as I see lights, a lot of lights, reds and blues, coming up the driveway.
“Fucking bitch!” Steve yells, and instead of running away, he runs toward me.
He never liked losing, and I’m not a quitter either, but I still run toward my kids, my hair flying, blood dripping down my face and getting into my eyes.
The harsh pull of my hair brings me back to him with a pained gasp.
“Steve! We need to go!” his father yells at him, and I wriggle free.
“Not yet!” He’s not finished with me, and I take a few steps away from him as cars pull up and shouting starts.
There’s pure evil as he looks at me. “If I go, you’re coming with me.”
I take in a deep breath and brace for impact as he runs straight into me, his chest hitting mine, but I still have my blade in my hand, and it goes directly into his gut.