Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
After that, it was pandemonium.
Somewhere, Alix screamed, loud and shrill and piercing, and Michael lunged from the stage.
Reuben stood up to meet him, and I didn’t dare look back, his keys burning a hole in my pocket.
This was my chance to escape.
What if I couldn’t find the car?
My legs felt heavy but my heart was thrumming like a hummingbird’s.
But once I got to the parking lot, I was able to press the door lock, frantically over and over, and then I easily located it.
I could do this
My hands were trembling, and I forced myself to take a deep breath as I pulled out of the parking lot.
Since it was Reuben’s car I didn’t want to be reckless with it, but when I heard the frantic squeal of Michael’s Ferrari behind me, I gunned it, pressing down on the gas.
What if I forgot where Reuben lived?
What if Michael caught up to me?
He wouldn’t be expecting me to speed. He wouldn’t be expecting me to do anything but be the quiet, shy wife he had married.
I forced myself to concentrate, watching the headlights behind me as I covered the ground to our subdivision.
2 miles.
1 mile.
When I pulled up to the last intersection, Michael flicked his lights impatiently behind me, and I could see the outline of his face in my rearview mirror.
His jaw was set with grim, dark anger, and I looked quickly around and took Reuben’s car right over the curb.
Then I stomped on the gas pedal, slammed it down to the floor, and tore off down the road until I pulled up in front of Reuben’s house.
I smelled burned rubber as I jerked on the emergency brake, broke from the car, and sprinted into the house.
What if I forgot the code to the front door?
I punched it in hastily, my breath loud in the quiet street.
Shit. That wasn’t it.
What number was wrong?
I tried it again.
Shit shit shit.
The deafening squeal of Michael’s engine sent a cold sweat coursing down my back.
To come so close and fail!
His door slammed open, scraped against the curb, and somewhere I heard a window shatter.
What was it what was it what was it
And then suddenly I was in, slamming the door behind me and pulling the deadbolt.
Safe.
Would he just turn around and leave? Admit defeat?
For a few minutes, wild unruly hope sprung in my chest.
Then I heard the low scrape of something on the window, and I saw his shadow.
Slow, careful.
Testing each lock. Searching for a weak point, an opening.
When the first set of windows were secure, he moved on to the next.
Then the side door, the knob turning with a slow, methodical twist.
Each new sound sent a fresh wave of panic along my skin, his strong long fingers testing each entrance for weakness.
I was so frozen with fear that I couldn’t move.
But if I didn’t do anything, he’d find a way in. I knew he would. Michael was smart.
And ruthless.
I looked around desperately. Was there a phone? Any way to call for help? Then I saw the security system control panel. Stretching on my tiptoes, I pressed the button to set the alarm off.
Then I waited, the noise blaring in my ears.
“THE SECURITY COMPANY HAS BEEN NOTIFIED. A REPRESENTATIVE FROM THE TEAM IS ON THEIR WAY,” it blasted out, over and over.
And then finally, there was silence.
Dr. Ben-David came in a few minutes later, punching in the keycode and finding me on the other side of the door.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” he laughed. “Michael got one good punch in before the Mayor pulled him off. He was very pissed. How the hell does he manage to be in an open relationship if that’s how he handles one kiss?”
I felt a little pang of worry
“Be—careful,” I said. “We—aren’t really in an open relationship. That was a lie. Michael is—dangerous.”
Reuben stilled.
“What do you mean dangerous?”
It sounded ridiculous. Of course it sounded ridiculous. The famous surgeon, Dr. Michael Carrington, behave in the utterly unhinged and maniacal way he had?
“He—does not accept this divorce. He will—probably try to come talk me out of it. I’d appreciate if you would just—not let him in.”
“Of course not. Whatever you need, Lavender.”
And for five days I heard nothing.
The terror of not knowing what my husband was doing was petrifying. Had he given up? Would he let me go?
Reuben was gentle and patient, did not push for anything.
Alix came by the house several times, wailing and crying outside, begging for Reuben to forgive her.
But now that Reuben knew the truth, he sent her away each and every time.
If only Michael were that easy to stop!
I barely left the house, too afraid I would see my husband around every corner, but one evening six days in, I woke up from a nap and walked down in my soft yoga pants to the study.
Reuben looked up with a smile.
“A surprise for you,” he said. “I’ve got a private chef and catering company in to do dinner.”
“Lovely,” I said. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”
I wondered what it was, because something smelled good.
Tiptoeing lightly down the hallway, I gently opened the door to the kitchen where the catering staff were all bustling around with masks and aprons on.
Then my eyes caught the fingers deftly cutting through the bloody raw steak, the sharp, rough motions sending blood spurting over his strong pale fingers.
No
I froze, but he heard even the little rustling noise I made, my hands clutching the door frame as his eyes dragged up my body to meet my horrified gaze.
The rest of his face was hidden behind the mask, but what I saw in his eyes chilled me to the bone.
I screamed, so loud the sound rang in my own ears, forcing my limbs to move as I scampered down the hall.
“What’s wrong?”
I lost my head and ran outside, when I should have gone to my room and locked the door.
It was dark, the chill night air whirling around my thin leggings, and I headed into Reuben’s garden.
“Lavender!” a hard, insistent voice growled, and I was dragged back against the hedge so hard and fast it knocked the breath out of me.
“I can find you,” Michael hissed in my ear as other hands gripped him, dragged him away. “No matter where you go.”
“I’m so sorry,” Reuben said, rushing up to put strong arms around me.
I closed my eyes tightly. There was a massive struggle and scuffling sound in the background as the other workers forced Michael off the property.
“What can I do?” Reuben asked. “Do you want me to call the police? I—it was very difficult to get him off you.”
His eyes looked troubled, scanning me anxiously, almost as if he wondered what about me had made Dr. Carrington go insane.
But I was too frightened to call the police. Too frightened of what else it might make Michael do.
And I was uneasy when I went back into the house.
What had he been doing here?
What was his end game?
I tiptoed carefully around the kitchen, almost afraid to touch the handle of the knife he’d been holding.
But nothing seemed amiss.
Until the next day, when Reuben collapsed into my door with a gray, ashen face.
And then I knew something was seriously wrong.
I raced for the home phone and dialed 911.
What had Michael done to him?
For I had no doubt it was my husband’s doing.
The ambulance was here in a commendably short time, the EMTs strapping Reuben into a stretcher and loading him into the back of the ambulance.
I could only hold his hand and anxiously hope whatever Michael had done wouldn’t kill him.
“Coming along?” one of the EMTs asked, and I nodded, following them into the back of the ambulance.
Even though it was only a few minutes away, it seemed to take forever to get to the hospital.
And when we arrived, there wasn’t anyone at the intake desk.
How strange.
They rushed him back, and no one told me to stay there, so I followed.
“What’s wrong with him? Is he going to be OK?” I cried.
They were racing down the hall, and I was forced to sprint to keep up with the team.
“He’s going to need surgery,” one of the EMTs shot back. “In here, please.”