Chapter Four #2
“We will from now on.”
“Good, good, that’s good. December second—Sagittarius.”
Now Doug turned to his wife, gave her a smacking kiss. “You would.”
“I would. An optimist, a bright-sider with an adventurous spirit. Oh boy! December second,” Jen repeated. “You’re a couple months along.”
“Seven weeks, so we’re keeping it to family.” April reached out to Zoey. “I took a test right before the wedding, but we didn’t want to step on your and Boone’s big day. And I wanted to get the you’re-absolutely-pregnant from the doctor.”
“Then we decided we’d hold on to it until you got back. Full family announcement.”
“I’m making a human.” Laughing, April hugged herself. “Of all the things I love making, this is the biggest and the best.”
“It’s perfect.” Jen let out a long sigh. “It’s just absolutely perfect.”
While Arden celebrated in the kitchen, Dustin rearranged his shrine. He didn’t think of it as a shrine, but simply his tableau.
He’d bought a display stand for the locket, and often opened it to study and smile at the baby picture, the lock of hair.
When they had a child, he’d buy Arden another to put their baby’s photo, a lock of her hair in. Like a family tradition.
He’d set out her hairbrush, her lotion because she’d want those when she came to live with him. A woman was meant to live in the man’s home, under his roof, under his protection.
He’d stocked his kitchen with what he’d found in hers.
He had a copy of the local article about her, a recording of the podcast, copies of the web page from the bookstores’ announcements of her signings, and of course her own web page.
He’d set out her pens. Obviously, she’d want those, too, but he’d taken one for himself, enjoyed holding it.
He’d used it, carefully copied her handwriting to add his name and a sentiment onto the book he’d had her sign but not personalize.
Now it read:
To Dustin,
The only man I’ve ever loved or ever will love.
Yours always and forever, Arden
He had her candle, and had set out two others with a small vase—hers—of fresh flowers. He had photos he’d taken of her at signings, or walking home from the bookstore.
But his favorite was the one of her he’d taken from her apartment. He’d spent a lot of time working on that, using Photoshop to replace the other one—the cousin—with his own image.
Maybe it didn’t look quite right, but it would do for now.
Wouldn’t she be surprised when she saw how he’d taken so much time and trouble to arrange things for her?
He’d even cleaned his apartment—women’s work, but he didn’t want to bring her home to anything less than perfect.
There were times he thought of her, of what they had together, and couldn’t bear it. He could light her candle, spray one of the perfume samples he’d found in a drawer, and imagine her with him when he took his release.
A man had needs, and a woman was made to meet them.
He understood the flirtation, and a woman’s tendency to pretend, and he’d been patient. For weeks!
Looking at his tableau, seeing her smiling out at him from the photos, he knew it was time to step up his game.
So he showered, groomed, splashed on some Eternity aftershave because that’s what he and Arden would have together.
Eternity. And it would begin tonight.
When Arden got back, still glowing from what she rated the happiest family dinner in the history of family dinners, so did Monica and John.
“Hi, neighbor.”
She grinned at Monica. “Hi, neighbors. Been out on the town?”
“So to speak. My husband took me to dinner.”
“Somebody really, really, really wanted chicken parm.”
With a laugh, Monica rubbed her belly. “Somebody really did. Is that a lei you’re wearing? Oh wait, your cousin—Zoey—they’re back from honeymooning in Hawaii?”
“Just. We all had dinner.”
“That’s not only beautiful, but it smells amazing. You should look up how to preserve it.”
“Already on the list. Tonight, it goes in the fridge because I’m freaking tired. It’s going to be pj’s and fall-asleep-over-a-book time for me really soon.”
“I hear that.”
“No word from the cops?” John asked her.
“No. I’ve firmly decided it was teenage assholes playing some stupid game. See you later.”
And she’d sleep tonight, she told herself as she went upstairs, because nothing else made sense. Anyway, she had sturdy locks now, she thought as she unlocked them.
Then locked them again behind her.
After some last sniffs of her lei, she laid it in the fridge—which reminded her she needed to do her weekly grocery shopping before her afternoon shift at the bookstore.
Gym, groceries, she thought as she took off her earrings on the way to the bedroom. Squeeze in some writing time, go to work. Home, dinner, pj’s, more writing time.
Maybe it was still a little shy of eight, but she ordered herself to stay out of her office. If she told herself to take just an hour, she wouldn’t. She’d get caught up, then it would be after midnight.
Taking the night off, she thought as she changed into her usual sleepwear of cotton pants and a roomy T-shirt. Reading someone else’s book, and the way she felt, she’d likely be out for the count before ten.
As she started toward the bathroom to take off her makeup, someone knocked on her door.
“Really? Tonight?”
Maybe her across-the-hall neighbor had returned from his most recent trip and needed or wanted something. Whatever, she hoped it proved quick and easy.
She glanced through the peep, saw Dustin Dubecki—with a big smile and a bouquet of flowers.
And just laid her forehead on the door.
Why?
Then she took a breath. Gone too far, way too far. Time to set some serious boundaries.
She opened the door. “Dustin—”
“I had to run out for a couple of things, saw these, and thought of you.” He pushed the flowers into her hand. “They’re almost as pretty as you are.”
“Thanks, really, but—”
“What a great place!” He just slithered right by her. “It’s really calm. I bet you need that for writing. Calm and quiet, yeah? You’ll really like my cabin in the mountains. Calm and quiet. No distractions.”
“I’m fine right here. Dustin, I’ve had a long day, and I’m not—”
“You work too hard.” He laid a hand on her cheek, and his eyes flickered when she stepped back out of reach. “You need somebody to look out for you. Take some of the load off. You shouldn’t have to work at the bookstore.”
“I can look out for myself, and I like working at the bookstore. Now, I need you to listen, I need you to hear me. You can’t—”
“Women working outside the home causes so many problems. I mean writing, you’re right there, and can still do all the things you’re supposed to. Like keeping a calm, clean place like this, making good meals.”
Temper—she’d been told she had a slow burn that ended with a hot and deadly flash—simmered so simple irritation threatened to boil up to mad.
Boundaries, she thought again. And if she hurt his feelings, he’d have to deal with it.
“First, my work, my life are no business of yours.”
“Now, Arden.” He smiled, indulgently. “Of course they are. You don’t have to worry.”
“They’re not.” At her limit, she snapped it. “And I don’t appreciate you coming to my home, uninvited, and telling me what I need or how I should live my life. Second, you’ve crossed a line coming here at all. You need to go.”
His face turned to stone. His eyes burned in it. “You need to calm down.”
“Do I?”
“You do. Calm down and show some respect. Bitchy’s not a good look, and I don’t like bitchy women. I’ve been patient, Arden, but it’s time to stop playing games. I brought you flowers. You need to put them in water, in a nice vase. And you haven’t even offered me a drink. That’s rude.”
Had she thought something was a little off with him? More than a little, she decided. And she wanted him gone.
“That’s rude? Are you just clueless? The only game I’ve played is being polite and professional with you, and that’s done. Take these ridiculous flowers, your lack of all boundaries, and get the hell out.”
She shoved the flowers at him, started to turn to fling open the door.
The backhand shot across her face, drove her back. Her head hit the door with a crack as her feet left the floor. Stars exploded.
“You need to learn a lesson, that’s what you need. Need to learn your place. With me! That’s what I want, that’s what’s meant.”
Dazed, limbs rubbery, she tried to get her legs back under her, tried to scream.
Then he squeezed a hand around her throat, cutting off air as his other slapped her, back and forth, back and forth, until she tasted blood.
She struggled, flailed, but her lungs felt scorched; her vision grayed. Red streaks shot through the gray as she felt herself going, going …
Then she could breathe again. With a sound like a thin whistle, she sucked in air. It hurt, God, it hurt, but greedy, she struggled for more.
As her desperate lungs filled, she realized he’d pulled off her shirt, and his hands gripped her breasts. He squeezed, squeezed so her gasp of shock raked claws down her throat.
“Take what I want, bitch. You want it, too.”
She tried to shove at his hands, and one pushed under her pants, the other clamped over her throat again.
His fingers jammed into her as she fought to breathe again.
No air, all pain, all fear.
Dying. Everything started sliding away because she was dying.
His mouth clamped brutally over hers, and his tongue rammed inside.
She bit it, and raked her nails down his cheek.
He yowled, jerked back, and weeping, she tried to push him away.
“You think you can play me like this, fucking whore? Look what you’re making me do.”
His fist slammed into her face, into her belly, stealing the air she’d just found again.
Help! She tried to shout it, but could only wheeze. God. Somebody help me.
He dragged her by the hair, knocking over a table so the lamp on it shattered.
“Learn a lesson. In bed. You want it rough, you’ll get it rough. You got that nice bed, all those pillows. We’ll do this right, and you’ll learn.” Using her hair, he rapped her head twice on the floor as he dragged her.
The scream sounded piercing in her head, but only came out as a croak as the room spun and swam.
“Calm and quiet, soft and soft. I left the candle on the nightstand so we could light it when we made love here. I love you, and you love me. Always and forever. It’s time to show it. Show love and fucking respect for the man who’s going to provide for you.”
She heard, far away, banging and shouting. The burning in her scalp eased even as her head hit the floor again.
“This is your fault.” He dragged her up to her knees, pushed his face into hers. “You ruined it. But I’ll fix it.” He pressed his mouth to hers again. “That’s what real men do.”
When he let her go, she tried to crawl.
“Arden, Arden, it’s John. Oh God. Here, here, I’ve got you.”
She could barely see him, but lifted a hand as he gathered her up in his lap on the floor. “Cops are coming, and an ambulance. Monica’s getting her medical bag.”
“He—he—”
“He’s gone. I should’ve stopped him, but I saw you on the floor. You’re going to be okay. Monica—”
“That’s right, you’re going to be okay.” Monica whipped the throw off the sofa, laid it over Arden. “He’s gone. We’re here. I know it hurts. Can you tell me if he hurt you anywhere but your face, your throat?”
“Don’t know.” Arden blinked against the light Monica shined in her eyes.
“John, go down so you can show the police and the ambulance where to come. I’m right here, Arden. I’m going to look, okay? Help’s coming, but I’m going to look. I want you to try to stay awake, okay? Who was he?”
“Dustin. Ah … Can’t ’member. Dustin something. Can’t see right. Blurry, and … Cold. It’s cold.”
“You’re in shock, and you’ve got a concussion.” And bruising on her breasts, her inner thighs. “Arden, can you tell me if he raped you?”
“Tried. Don’t think … His hand, his fingers.” The tears hurt, but she couldn’t stop them. “On me, in me. Dubecki,” she said as the tears flowed. “Dustin Dubecki.”
“Okay. They’re coming. Hear the sirens? What’s your name?”
She swallowed on her raw throat. “Arden Bowie.”
“That’s right, that’s good. Stay awake now. They’re coming, and they’ll take you to the hospital. They’ll take care of you. John and I will be there. We’ll be there. We’ll call your family.”
“Learn a lesson.”
“What?”
“He said, learn a lesson. Knew the bedroom. Broke in before. Knew.”
“All right. Don’t worry.” With some effort, Monica pushed herself up when the paramedics rushed in.
“I’m a PA. She’s in shock, concussed, suffered head and face injuries. She’s been choked. I don’t know if she lost consciousness. But she’s responsive and lucid. She’ll need a rape kit. Her name’s Arden, Arden Bowie.”
As they got to work, Monica rattled off the statistics she knew—age, height, approximate weight—while John spoke to the responding officers.
“We heard thumping, like someone falling, and banging around. I came up—she had a break-in about a week and a half ago, so I came up. I could hear—I’m not sure what—but I pounded on the door, called her.
He came running out, plowed right into me, and kept going.
I’d have gone after him, but I saw her on the floor. ”
“Can you describe him?”
“White guy, light brown or dark blond hair. Mid-twenties, I think. I’m not—”
“Dustin Dubecki.” Monica stepped up. “She told me his name, and was able to tell me he was the one who broke in last week. John, I’m going with her.
I’m a physician assistant,” she told the officers.
“I’m going to stay with her. She’s been beaten, choked, sexually assaulted.
She can’t tell me for certain if she was raped. ”
Arden heard them talking, vague sounds, drifting words. Everything hurt, but even that floated under a cloud. Then she was lifted, rolled, and the room swam again so she feared she’d be sick.
Someone took her hand. “Arden, I’m right here. It’s Monica, and I’m right here with you. You’re safe now.”
Safe. She clung to the word, clung to the hand, and closed her eyes.