Chapter Three #2
Rory ended the call and did as he instructed. She provided her name and address and answered the necessary questions. Almost immediately she was told officers were en route. The dispatcher asked that she remain on the line until the officers arrived.
Rory squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the shouting and banging now happening at her front door. They had apparently run out of ammo for their paint guns.
“Come on out, bitch!” one of them shouted.
“Here comes the bride,” the other singsonged, “all covered in blood!”
“How did it feel?” the first demanded.
More banging on the door had her certain it would fly open at any second.
“How did it feel,” he repeated, “to kill your own husband…to have his blood all over you?”
The dispatcher was talking again, but Rory couldn’t listen. The blood roaring in her ears and the sounds outside blocked out everything else. Were those men the same ones who had come by before? Cade and Ronnie? The ones who had thrown the rock?
They had to be drunk or high. Surely they didn’t expect to get away with what they were doing.
Of course they believed they would get away with harassing her. She was the Murder Bride. She should still be in prison. The police would hate her even more for making them look bad.
A different kind of thud echoed next.
“What the hell?” a voice—one of the two paintball gun guys—demanded.
More sounds she couldn’t quite distinguish…hollow and quieter but still thud-like noises.
She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare say a word. The voice on the phone was asking her if she was all right, but she couldn’t answer.
A knock on her door followed by, “Rory, it’s Chance. You okay in there?”
She scrambled into a standing position, her legs nearly asleep from squatting so long. “I’m okay.”
Evidently the dispatcher thought Rory was talking to her. She said, “The police should be arriving now.”
“My friend is here now too,” Rory said. “He’s on the porch. I’m opening the door.”
The dispatcher was telling Rory not to open the door just yet, but it was too late, she already had.
Chance was there. On the porch, lying motionless, were the two men.
Blue lights flashed on the street. A patrol car roared up behind Chance’s car.
Rory’s knees went weak. She leaned against the nearest wall.
“They’re here,” she said to the dispatcher. “I’m on the front porch with my friend. The two men who were harassing me are down.”
Rory didn’t wait for her response. She ended the call.
“Put your hands up where they can see them,” Chance said to her, his voice quiet.
Almost immediately one of the officers shouted those same instructions as he approached, weapon drawn.
She and Chance waited, hands up, until the two uniformed officers climbed the steps and visually assessed the situation.
“Ms. Harris?” The one who had shouted the order looked her up and down once more.
“Yes. I’m the one who called.” She gestured to the guys face down on the porch. “Those are the men who were shooting paintballs at my house and shouting for me to come out.”
The second officer had walked around the end of the house.
The one on the porch steps motioned to Chance with his flashlight. “Who’s this?”
“Chance Rader,” he said. “I’m a private investigator working for Ms. Harris.
I’m staying at the motel down the street.
She called and told me what was happening.
I told her I was coming right over, but I suggested that she call you as well.
When I arrived, the men were beating on the door and shouting profanities.
I disabled them, and then we waited for you to arrive. ”
“Are you armed, Mr. Rader?” the officer asked.
“I am not.”
The officer shifted his attention to Rory. “Are you armed, ma’am?”
“No, and there are no weapons in my house.”
Discounting the kitchen knives that had belonged to her aunt. Rory felt sick at the idea that the police would likely use that against her somehow if they searched the house.
The officer handed something to Chance. “Make yourself useful, Mr. Rader, and secure those two.”
“My pleasure.”
“Ma’am, why don’t you turn on some lights?”
Rory nodded and reached inside to flip the switch. Chance was crouched next to the first of the two men. He secured his hands behind his back. The second man started to rouse. He kicked at Chance.
The officer crouched down at his head. “Well, well, if it’s not Riley O’Brien. Looks like you got yourself into a little trouble tonight.”
O’Brien shouted obscenities at the officer.
Chance stepped back from the other man he had secured. That one too had roused and was attempting to get onto his knees.
The officer instructed him to stay down, and the man started shouting that he hadn’t done anything. The second officer reappeared.
“Let’s load ’em up,” the officer who sounded in charge said.
Rory and Chance waited on the porch while the two men who had caused the disturbance were loaded into the back seat of the cruiser.
One officer stayed in the patrol car while the other, the one who’d done all the talking, returned to the porch.
As he approached, he scanned his flashlight over her house.
Varying sizes of red splats dotted the faded and chipped white paint.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a new design theme.”
Rory felt sick. “A broken window too.”
“Let’s go inside,” the office suggested, “and I’ll take your statement. Then I’ll get these two back to the station and processed.”
Rory went inside first, then Chance. They settled on the sofa, and the officer took the chair.
As Rory recounted the details of what happened starting with her broken window, she noticed that his name was Proctor.
She’d gone to middle school with a boy with the last name Proctor.
The officer actually looked a bit like that kid.
She wondered if it was the same guy. He’d moved to a different town before high school.
If it was him, he was likely wondering how one of his former classmates had become a convicted murderer.
When the interview was finished, Officer Proctor stood.
“We’ll have a tow truck come for the vehicle.
” He tucked his pen into his pocket and did the same with his notepad.
“O’Brien still lives with his parents. I’m sure they’ll see to it that the damages are taken care of to prevent any criminal charges. ”
And that was the way of it in small towns. Guys like the two who had vandalized her home and terrorized her somehow never faced the consequences of their actions. But to argue the idea would be pointless. She had enough trouble as it was.
“Thank you.” She rose to her feet. “I appreciate you coming out.”
He gave her a nod and headed for the door. She followed. He paused before going out and looked back at her. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
She mustered up her best effort at a smile. “You remind me of someone I went to school with. Seventh grade, I think.”
“That’s me.” He glanced at Chance, then set his attention on her once more.
“I just moved back last year. Sorry to hear about your trouble. But just so you know, there are a lot of folks in this town who believe you don’t deserve to be out of prison.
Watch your back.” Again he hesitated. “But that doesn’t mean everyone feels that way. ”
He left. Rory watched from the door as the patrol car drove away. She wanted to feel marginally better in light of his comment, but as sure as she did, something else would happen. Instead, she let it go and locked the door.
“This has been a tough day,” Chance said, reading her mind.
She nodded, tears burning her eyes. She refused to cry.
Damn it. But now that the disturbance was over, at least this time, she felt weak with the weight of the coming retrial.
Devastated at the inevitability of how this was obviously going to continue.
How had she ever believed for a second that she could come back here and prove her innocence, much less have a life?
“There are people who will initially try to make you regret standing up for yourself,” the man watching her so closely said gently.
“In any case like this, it’s always the same.
People do stupid things. Sometimes because they firmly believe they’re right, other times just to be a part of something.
But in my experience, as the details start to emerge, these things generally come to a quick end.
” He shrugged, offered her a smile. “It’s a small town.
You’re the latest big news. Give it time to settle. ”
She drew in a big breath. “I wish I wasn’t…news, I mean.”
“I wish you weren’t either.” He hitched his head toward the hall. “How about we get that window situation taken care of and call it a night. I’d prefer to stay on your sofa, just in case, if that’s okay with you.”
His suggestion had relief washing over her. “That is very okay with me.”
She hadn’t expected to be afraid…to need someone to babysit her.
But maybe she had been a fool to believe she could be here—in this town where it all happened—and no one would make a big deal out of her challenge to the court’s past decision.
Unquestionably she had expected the Harris family to snub her.
To talk about her when interviewed by the media, on social media and in plain old local gossip.
To try and make her look even worse. But she really hadn’t expected this sort of behavior out of people not related to her dead husband.
Pete would never have wanted his friends to do these things.
She kept telling herself this, but Pete wasn’t here.
Someone had murdered him, and for all she knew, it could have been friends of his.
Someone jealous of who he was and what he had accomplished—of his family’s money.
Her attorney had brought up the idea to her during the trial.
At the time she had been so devastated she really hadn’t been able to think straight, much less form a coherent scenario about murder.
But she’d had plenty of time to think in prison. She’d also seen and heard enough horror to understand that people—most people—were capable of very bad things when pushed into a corner or prompted in just the right way.
Together she and Chance boarded up the broken window. She would get it repaired eventually. Right now, she had far more pressing issues. He took the tools back to the shed and secured the doors while she rounded up a quilt and pillow for him.
When he returned to the house, she noticed for the first time that he only wore a tee and jeans. He’d hurried to come to her rescue. She was grateful.
“Thank you. For whatever you did out there.” She laughed, the sound bubbling up from her throat unexpectedly. “You were like some sort of ninja. Those guys didn’t stand a chance.”
He chuckled. “Nothing new or original—certainly nothing ninja-like. The two were making so much noise I had the element of surprise.” A shrug lifted his broad shoulders. “The fact that they were both inebriated made it considerably easier.”
She passed him the pillow and quilt. It wasn’t until her arms were empty that she realized she had gone through this whole ordeal in her aunt’s vintage nightgown that sported a Smoke More Weed logo.
Rory crossed her arms over her chest and the faded letters. “Well, thank you again. I really appreciate…” How did she even describe this?
“You don’t need to thank me, Rory. I’m here to help.”
She nodded, felt that choking sensation again. She was so tired of the emotions and the urge to cry. “Good night then.”
“Good night.”
Rory headed to her room. She couldn’t wait to climb into bed and turn off her brain.
If only the dreams didn’t come.
But they would. They always did.