Chapter 7
Tuesday night, Tori checked her watch. Ten minutes until her podcast interview with Megan Russell, the woman from the battered women’s shelter, who had yet to arrive.
They were back to prerecording, so if worse came to worse, she could scramble for another interview.
Her phone rang, and Tori hoped an emergency hadn’t come up and her guest had to bail.
She checked the ID. It was even worse. The call was from her sister.
Tori thought about letting it go to voicemail, but then she would have to deal with the call after the podcast. Might as well get it over with. She motioned to Amy that she was stepping into her small office and closed the door behind her before she answered. “Hello?”
“Oh, good,” Erin said. “I caught you. I was afraid I’d get your voicemail—that you never respond to.”
Tori ignored the dig. “I can’t talk long.” She checked her watch. “I have a podcast starting in less than ten minutes.”
“This won’t take a minute. Just reminding you I’m having a party for Dad’s birthday next Saturday, and I wanted to make sure you—”
“I’m not coming.”
“What do you mean, you’re not coming? You have plenty of time to arrange your schedule. Besides, it’s his sixtieth birthday.”
A birthday Mom will never see, thanks to him. Tori paced the small room. She should have stepped into the hallway that led to her apartment for more room. “I’m sorry, Erin, but I just can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Her sister’s voice rose an octave on the last word. Silence stretched between them. “Come on, Tori, it’s time you forgave him.”
“It’s not that easy. I’ve tried, believe me.” She didn’t understand how Erin could forgive him so easily.
The office door opened, and her producer cleared her throat. “Our guest has arrived . . .”
Worry bled through Amy’s voice, and Tori nodded before turning her attention back to the call. “Look, I have to go—”
“Come home, Tori.” When she didn’t answer right away, Erin said, “At least think about it. Please.”
Tori didn’t have time for this. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Gotta go.”
With a sigh she ended the call and took a second to bury her past and focus on tonight’s podcast. When she stepped back into the studio, she looked for Amy. Her friend was always the calm one, so Tori was anxious to discover why she’d sounded so concerned, but Amy was on her phone.
She scanned the room for her guest, Megan Russell, and instantly understood Amy’s concern. The middle-aged woman had the look of someone who’d just seen police lights flashing in her rear mirror.
Tori hurried over to her. “Megan, I’m sorry I had to step into my office before you arrived. Are you okay?”
“I-I don’t know if I can do this.”
Tori’s heart sank. Megan had been so excited about the podcast, but Tori had seen last-minute jitters before. “Is it nerves or something else?” She squeezed Megan’s hand. “Because if it’s nerves, it won’t be nearly as bad as a root canal.”
A startled chuckle escaped the woman’s lips. “I am nervous. My tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth.”
“Don’t worry. The podcast will be prerecorded, so I can fix any blunders.”
“Good to know.” Megan sighed. “It hasn’t been the best day of my life.”
“What happened?”
“The divorce was final today, and Cal was furious at the courthouse—I don’t know what he would’ve done if my lawyer and the bailiff hadn’t been there.”
“I’m so sorry.” Tori gave her a hug. “You want to reschedule? It’s not like we have to do it today.”
“No.” Megan lifted her chin. “I want to do this now. If I can help even one woman . . .”
Tori nodded her understanding. “You don’t think he followed you here, do you?”
“I took an Uber and watched behind us, and I didn’t see anyone tailing me.”
“Okay.” Tori gave Megan a reassuring smile. “Let’s do it, then, and when we finish, Amy and I will take you home.”
“Thanks, that would be great.”
Tori turned to Amy. “Give us five minutes to get settled in, then we’ll start recording.”
Amy nodded, and Tori turned back to Megan. “Your nerves will quiet down as soon as we start talking, and if either of us messes up, Amy and I will fix it.” She pulled out the chair on the guest side of the table. “This is where you’ll sit.”
Megan hesitated. “I know it’s not live, but I’m still nervous.”
“Sit down and take a slow, deep breath—that’ll help.”
Megan did as Tori suggested, her chest rising as she sucked in air and released it. Better, but still nervous. That should change once they got into the interview. Tori handed her a headset and showed her how to put it on, then sat on the other side of the table.
“Speak into the mic, but don’t get too close,” Tori said and slipped on her headset.
Megan nodded, and Tori glanced over the podcast script in front of her one last time. It was a simple outline of questions that kept her from waffling and repeating herself. It also kept her ums and uhs to a minimum. But it didn’t keep her sister’s request from intruding into her thoughts.
“Come home.” Erin didn’t know what she was asking. It’d been seven years since she’d been home to “visit.”
She’d been in and out of her hometown several times since her mother’s funeral while investigating Huey Prescott’s case, but her time with Erin had been brief, usually at the local coffee shop or in Memphis.
Her brother, Zack, was always too busy to meet with them, but Tori made it a point to spend time with his son, Drew. And her dad hadn’t been invited.
There was no way in God’s green earth that she was making the trip to Logan Point for her dad’s birthday party. Period.
“Five, four, three, two, one . . .” Amy flipped the switch, and Tori’s mic was hot. Everything but the show faded from her mind.
“Welcome to Dark Deeds Unraveled. I’m your host, Victoria Mitchell, and tonight we’ll be talking with a survivor of domestic abuse. I won’t mention her name because she is still in danger from her abuser. How’s it going?”
“It’s g-going.” Megan frowned.
You’re fine, Tori mouthed.
They spent a few minutes discussing the prevalence of domestic violence, then Tori segued into Megan’s life. “I understand you’re living at a safe house. Tell me about that.”
“Well, we . . .” She swallowed hard and leaned in closer to the mic. “Right now, there are ten other women and their children, but I understand the organization has received a grant to build a larger place.”
“That’s awesome.” Tori gave her a you’re-doing-great nod. “Tell our listeners a little about living at the safe house.”
“First, besides a safe place to live, they offered me hope and encouragement. A lot of women second-guess their decision, and I was no different.” She paused for a moment. “Did you know that abuse survivors return to their abusive partners on average of seven times before they leave for good?”
Tori cocked her head. “Why do you think that is?”
“It’s complicated.” Confidence built in her voice.
“The world can be a scary place, and for me, sometimes it seemed easier to go back to what I knew. Especially when I remembered the good times with my ex. The counselors at the safe house told me that what I was feeling was normal and that it takes time to adjust. This is where the organization that’s helping me excels.
They’re so good at reinforcing my sense of self-worth and confidence that my ex destroyed.
“Once I was settled, they provided me with job training. Some abused women don’t work outside of the home and some have had to relocate and might need to learn new skills. Two of our current residents have returned to college to get teaching certificates.”
“That’s amazing,” Tori said. “I realize volunteers have to pass a background check, but if someone listening wanted to help, what can they do?”
“Right now, we could use someone to teach computer skills . . . and if anyone would like to volunteer to teach a craft like art or ceramics, or knitting and crocheting, that would be wonderful too.” Megan was warming up.
“When new women arrive at the home, most of the time they don’t believe they can do anything right—I didn’t.
There’s an artist who comes twice a week to teach painting.
I discovered I have a talent for it, and when I saw I could create something beautiful, my self-confidence grew. ”
“Okay, listeners, here’s an opportunity to help someone.
I’ll put a link to the organization in the chat if you want to volunteer,” Tori said.
“And now we have to take a break, but don’t go away.
When we come back, we’ll discuss how to recognize if you’re in an abusive relationship, because sometimes women don’t see themselves in this situation until it’s too late. ”
Tori signaled for Amy to stop the recording, then turned back to Megan. “You’re doing great. I’ll give you a few minutes to catch your breath. When we start back, we’ll talk about your story, and how to recognize an abusive relationship, and any advice you might have for our listeners.”
“If I can help just one woman get to a safe place, telling my story is worth it.”
“Good. Take this time to drink some water and relax.”
Tori glanced at Amy as she turned toward the door and frowned. “Everything okay?” Tori asked.
“I thought I heard something outside.” Amy cocked her head, listening. “I don’t hear it now, but I’ll check it out, unless you want to get started again?”
“I’m ready,” Megan said.
Tori nodded for Amy to hit the record button.
“Welcome back to our program with a survivor of domestic violence who hopes to help other women in such situations. I want to discuss with our guest how someone can get out of an abusive relationship.” She smiled at Megan. “What’s your first suggestion?”
“The main thing is to have a safety plan in place before you leave,” Megan said. “But first, I want to address women who are in a relationship with an abuser and who are hoping the abuser will change. That’s what happened to me.
“Every time my husband hit me, the next day he always apologized and acted sorry . . . and every time I thought he would change. Over time I started to see the pattern—it always started off with him getting more and more tense until I did something wrong. It was never anything major—things like not enough salt in the beans or the coffee was too weak. That’s when he would explode and hit me.
Afterwards he was always contrite and so sweet—treated me like a queen—it was like our honeymoon until the next cycle started and—”
Three shrill beeps blasted Tori’s ears followed by three more. She jerked her head toward the only entrance. Smoke curled from under the door.
Megan’s eyes widened. “He . . . he found me!”
Was it possible? Tori locked gazes with Amy.
“I’ll call 911,” her friend said, keeping her voice calm. “We need to get out of here.”
Tori agreed. But how? They were on the first floor of her garage apartment, and there was only one door out of the studio. It led into the hallway where the smoke was coming from—the flames could be out of control already. “The window.”
She stood and motioned for Megan to follow, but she didn’t move. Tori grabbed her hands and pulled her up. “Let’s go!”
Megan shook her head as smoke filled the room. “It won’t do any good,” she wailed. “Cal will be waiting for us to come through your front door. I know him—he’ll kill us.”
“We’re not going out the door,” Amy said. She ran to the window and unlocked the bottom and raised it. “Come on. Now!”
Megan’s feet seemed to be rooted to the floor. Tori pulled her toward the window. “I’ll go first, just in case he’s out there,” she said. “Once I give the signal, Megan goes next.”
She climbed out the window and scanned the back parking lot. “No one is out here. Come on!”
Once they were out of the building, the wails of emergency vehicles reached her ears.
Two hours later, a chill raced over Tori as she stared at the charred boards of her garage apartment. At least the damage was limited to those outside boards. The studio itself and her upstairs apartment only received smoke damage.
A neighbor’s security video had shown someone in a ski mask dousing the side of the house with liquid from a gas can.
Even though the intruder was about the same height and build as Megan’s ex, there was no way to be sure, or to even know if the fire was aimed at Megan.
An officer had taken her back to the safe house.
“I hope whoever it was doesn’t come back,” Amy said beside her as she crossed her arms. “That caller was right Saturday night—you need to watch your back until the police find whoever did this.”