Chapter Six #2
Continue research or read or watch TV. Add in a morning shower or evening bath as mood directed.
She considered it a good agenda, and felt it would carry her through until she could get back to her normal life.
She got up on what she considered Day One and followed the agenda smoothly.
Until she sat down at her desk to write.
The door was locked, she knew the door was locked. Still, she couldn’t concentrate until she got up, checked. She sat again, tried to put herself into her work. And constantly found her gaze drifting to the open office door.
On a frustrated breath, she rose, closed the door, locked it.
Minutes later, with her mind scattered on what-ifs—someone broke in the front, lay in wait? Or broke through the office door?
It wouldn’t happen, of course it wouldn’t happen, but what if? She shouldn’t have been attacked in her own home, but she had been. It could happen again.
She couldn’t calm herself, couldn’t find her way back into the story she wanted to tell. Giving in, she got up again, went out to check the front door lock again. And this time hooked a chair under the knob.
She carried the second chair into the office. Locked the door behind her, hooked the chair under the knob.
She stood, waiting to see if she’d feel closed in, claustrophobic. Instead, she felt relief.
“Whatever it takes then,” she murmured.
Over the next days, she followed the agenda, which now included the locks and the chairs. The bruises began to fade, but since she wasn’t ready to face the stares or second looks, she had groceries delivered.
From her windows, she watched spring hit its mid-season stride with leafy green trees, barrels of flowers shining in the sunlight. People walked in light jackets or shirtsleeves. Cars drove with windows open to the air.
She’d just broken for lunch when the knock on the door froze her blood, stole her breath.
“Hey, it’s Zoey! Open up!”
She pressed the heel of her hand against the pain in her chest. Breathed slowly in and out as she removed the chair, set it back at the table.
Then pushed a smile on her face as she unlocked the door.
“Hi! This is a surprise. You got the day off work?”
“Arden, it’s Saturday.”
Arden managed a half laugh as she closed, and locked, the door behind Zoey. “I lost track.”
“I’m here to get you back on it. It’s not only Saturday, but it’s gorgeous out. Let’s go grab some lunch, then you can help me find something amazing for Mom for Mother’s Day. I want to give it to her—whatever it is—before I leave for Oregon.”
Arden’s hand went instinctively to her face. “Oh, well, I’m…”
“Looking a lot better—sounding better, too. When’s the last time you’ve been out of this apartment?”
“Ah…”
“Exactly. Go put on some makeup, change out of those sweats. I say we have a glass of wine with lunch—my treat.” Because she knew her cousin, Zoey added a hug. “I’ve only got nine days left before we go. Spend some of it with me.”
“I’m not being vain—much. I just want to avoid the looks that say: What happened to you?”
“Screw them. And it’s better. I wouldn’t tell you that unless true.”
Nine days, Arden thought, then she wouldn’t be able to have an impromptu lunch with her best friend, or prowl the shops with her looking for a gift.
“Screw them. But I’m covering up whatever I can.”
Maybe it wasn’t as bad, Arden thought as she dealt with the sickly yellow, the fading mauve. For the most part, she’d avoided looking at her own face because it brought back that night too clearly.
Makeup helped. Maybe she’d add that to her daily routine.
“So, looking and sounding better,” Zoey said as Arden changed into jeans. “How about feeling?”
“Better. I think I’ll get the all clear at my follow-up, but right now I’m taking advantage of enforced captivity. I’m getting a lot done on the book.”
“I’m going to ask, then we’ll put it away. Have you heard anything about what’s going on with Dubecki?”
“Not since they denied him bail.”
Arden put on sunglasses. “Are you sure I look reasonably okay?”
“You look more than reasonably okay. Let’s eat, drink, and shop.”
Whatever jitters she felt she locked down just as she locked the door to her apartment. And told herself to enjoy the fresh air, the steady march of spring after the long winter.
Her heartbeat skidded the minute she stepped outside the building so she felt almost dizzy. The world, this outside world, seemed too bright, too hard, too full.
Then Zoey had her hand, tugged her along.
“It’s a lot.” Zoey tightened her grip, all reassurance. “But we’re not going to let it be too much.”
“It’s easier to stay inside. Don’t let me.”
“Let’s just walk, then we’ll have big, crazy salads and a glass of wine. A totally girl lunch.”
“Good. That sounds good.”
At first the restaurant seemed too loud, too crowded, but she focused on Zoey, on the moment, and found her balance.
“We’ll come back for the baby, then for Christmas.”
“Back-to-back events.”
“I might be able to work remote for a couple weeks—Boone can. If we figure that out, we’ll just stay. Meanwhile, you’ll come this summer, won’t you?”
“That’s a plan. No regrets, right?”
“No. Nerves, but no regrets. That trip we took out there to finalize all this, to find the house? We both fell in love with the area. It really was like, oh, here it is. Our spot in the world. But we’ll come back here and all of you will come out there.”
“We’ll text, we’ll FaceTime. And I definitely want a video tour of the house when you’ve set it all up.”
“Guaranteed. Now, we’ve completed the eating and drinking portion of the afternoon. Let’s shop.”
Arden knew Zoey’s shopping style. Window-shop, browse. See everything, twice, narrow the choices, consider again, second-guess, waffle, look one more time.
So it surprised her when Zoey zoomed in within twenty minutes.
“That’s it!” Zoey pointed to a necklace in a jewelry display case.
“Really? You’re sure?”
“I was.” Zoey’s bright look dimmed. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s gorgeous, and very Jennifer Rogan. It’s just that you never decide on first look.”
“I wanted something special, and sentimental, and meaningful all at once. See the three hearts? That’s me, Travis, you. We’re her heart, and we’re interlocked—even when we’re not together, we are.”
“Oh, well. Bull’s-eye. She’ll love it. I was thinking of giving her that gorgeous hummingbird feeder, but how about those earrings? Little double hearts—four hearts, so that adds Uncle Doug in. It’s not so matchy as a set, but, well, sets a theme.”
The bright look returned, and bumped up to incandescent.
“I call brilliant. And that bracelet, all those little hearts? I’m going to take a picture, text Travis. It adds Boone and April, and he can say future grandkids.
“Naturally, I get credit for inspiring the brilliance.”
“Naturally.”
Zoey smiled at the clerk. “Can we see these three pieces? Oh, and that pendant—the moon and stars. Mother-in-law. She’s always saying her kids are her moon and stars. I’m going to send a picture to Boone, but he’ll go for it.”
Arden just stared. “Who are you?”
“I know! I may never repeat this decisiveness again, but I’m taking it now.” Zoey slid an arm around Arden’s waist, tipped her head toward Arden’s shoulder. “You brought me luck. Now you can help me find the perfect bag for my first day on my new job.”
Since the decisiveness didn’t extend to bags, Arden got home tired, but upbeat. She’d been out for hours, and really hadn’t felt self-conscious. At least not as much as she’d assumed she would.
She’d add to her daily agenda, she thought as she tucked the earrings away for Mother’s Day. A daily walk outside. No more apartment laps.
And she’d stop in the bookstore, make some plans with friends for drinks or dinner, or both.
She celebrated the process with a pizza delivery, and later with a bowl of popcorn and streaming a couple of movies.
She made it until nearly four a.m. before she gave up and put the chair under the door.
If she had to force herself to go for the morning walk outside, she pushed through it. At first her heart beat too fast, so she kept her pace slow until she felt steady.
She promised herself it would get easier, and she’d start to enjoy it rather than tough it out. And so what if she needed to add a chair under the door to perfectly good locks?
It made her feel safe.
By Monday, she believed she’d turned a corner. She’d walked outside twice, had stopped into a local café that morning for a latte and a muffin despite the healing bruises.
Now she’d work, and when she broke off in the afternoon, she’d drop in at the bookstore. She could see about getting back on the schedule after her doctor cleared her.
And this time when she sat down to work, she didn’t feel the need to lock the office door, add the chair. In fact, she opened her office window enough to let in the spring air and the sounds of the neighborhood.
Definite progress.
“Give me a couple more weeks, maybe I’ll throw a party.”
Maybe she would. Something fun and simple. Food, drink, music, friends. She missed people, conversations, and feeling wholly like herself.
Make it a week, and she could have a going-away party for Zoey and Boone.
Plan it later tonight, she told herself. Work now.
Less than an hour later, the knock jerked her out of the story and closed her throat.
“Stop, God, just stop. He’s locked up.”
She went to the door, looked through the peep before she removed the chair—she hadn’t quite turned that corner yet.
And saw Detectives Brill and Venmar.
Quietly, she removed the chair, set it back at the table. Her hands trembled, but she opened the door.
“They—they let him go. He made bail after all?”
“No,” Brill said quickly. “Can we come in?”
“Yes, yes. Come in, sit down. Sorry, when I saw you, it was the first thing I thought. Ah, do you want coffee?”
“We’re fine,” Venmar told her. “Why don’t we all sit down?”
“Why do I feel you’re not bringing good news?”
“It may not be all we want,” Brill began, “but Dustin Dubecki will do time. He’s been examined by two psychiatrists, and while there’s not full agreement, there is considerable overlap. With these evaluations, the prosecutor and the defense attorney have agreed to a guilty plea.”
“Oh.” Relief simply poured over her. “That means no trial? I won’t have to testify? He’ll still go to prison?”
“The plea is based on irresistible impulse.”
Arden blinked at Venmar. “I’m sorry?”
“Basically, his mental disorder made it impossible for him to resist what he did even though he knew it was wrong.”
“How can … He found it impossible not to attack me, to sexually assault me, to strangle me and try to rape me?”
Before Venmar could speak, Brill held up a hand. “I’ll tell you straight out, it sucks. Dubecki’s family has a lot of money, a lot of influence, and the lawyers pulled out all the stops.”
“On the other hand,” Venmar began, and Brill nodded.
“There is another hand. No trial, no putting you through that. He’s admitted, on record, what he did to you. He’ll be transferred to a psychiatric facility, full security.”
To hold herself in place, Arden gripped her hands together. “For how long?”
“The judge ruled a flat five years. That means he can’t and won’t be released before five years.”
“Five years,” Arden murmured. “Then they just let him go?”
“He’ll receive treatment throughout his sentence,” Venmar said. “And as part of the deal, will need to be evaluated annually, and be determined mentally stable, and no longer a danger to society, before his release.”
Venmar leaned toward Arden. “He’s a sick son of a bitch, Arden, but sick’s part of it. The law, the courts, have to factor that in.”
When anger bubbled up, she didn’t bother to subdue it.
“Basically, it’s I beat her, choked her, rammed my fingers in her, but I just couldn’t help it?
If John hadn’t come, I guess he would’ve raped and killed me because he just couldn’t help it.
And his family’s money and influence help him land in some—some rehab center. ”
“It’s not a rehab center where he can come and go, where he can choose to leave. And,” Brill added, “it probably doesn’t help that I’m pissed, too.”
She looked at Brill, saw the frustration eking through. “Maybe it helps a little.”
“It won’t be a day at the beach,” Venmar assured her. “Money and influence or not, he didn’t draw the cushy card. He’s locked up, regulated, monitored.” He spread his hands. “This being his first offense counted.”
“The first you know of.”
Eyes on Arden’s, Venmar nodded. “Yeah.”
“He didn’t believe it was wrong,” Brill said flatly. “And that sticks in my gut. He believes he was justified in what he did to you. He’s just saying what the lawyer told him to say to make the deal. We know it, but … we couldn’t make it stick. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Okay. It’s better to know. I appreciate you coming to tell me.”
“We’ll keep tabs on him.” Venmar rose. “We can do that much, and if you want to know anything, if you have questions, you can contact us.”
“Five years. At least five.”
“Yes.”
“I need to know when—if—he gets out. I need to know.”
“You will.” Brill moved to her. “Arden, we won’t stop keeping those tabs in five years.”
She let them out, closed and locked the door, then replaced the chair.
Because her legs felt weak, she sat again. She stared at the locked door, imagined him behind one.
And all she could think was every day that passed brought her closer to the end of that five years.