16. Facing the Demon
Chapter 16
Facing the Demon
Hannah
C lang . Another plate crashes to the floor, shattering into pieces that scatter across the floor like the shards of my nerves. The broken ceramic dish mock me as my hands tremble. Third plate today. Frank’s going to dock my pay—or worse, fire me—if I keep this up.
“Let me help with that,” Ashley says, already reaching for the broom. I’m grateful for her help, but her kindness only makes me feel worse. I’m being outperformed by a seventeen-year-old. I should be able to do this.
I clutch the counter’s edge, trying to steady myself. The pre-lunch rush left a wake of mistakes—spilled milkshakes, wrong orders, and now broken dishes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I’m apologizing to Ashley or myself.
The door chimes as another customer walks in. I straighten my apron and force a smile, but my hands won’t stop shaking. Thankfully, it’s a simple order. Just a cup of coffee, but my anxiety threatens to screw that up as well. The coffee pot nearly slips from my grip as I pour a fresh cup.
“You okay over there, Hannah?” Frank calls from the grill, concern etched in his weathered features.
“Fine.” I manage, though my voice wavers. “Just being clumsy.”
But I’m not fine. Not even close. Charlie’s voice still echoes in my head from his call this morning, dripping with that false sweetness that always preceded his worst moments. “Looking forward to seeing my boy tonight, Hannah. You better not try anything stupid.”
My stomach churns at the memory. The court-mandated visitation looms ahead like a storm cloud, threatening to destroy the fragile peace I’ve built. Charlie never cared about Cam before—barely acknowledged his existence except to remind me that he’d hurt Cam if I didn’t get my shit together. But now he’s weaponizing these visits, using them to maintain his grip on my life even after I’ve escaped.
I look up just in time to see Garret’s truck pull up to the curb across the street. The engine cuts off and he steps out, carrying a brown paper bag that must be lunch. The salon door flies open and Charlotte bursts out, her face lit up with pure joy.
My chest tightens as they meet in a passionate embrace. His large hands cup her face so tenderly as he kisses her, like she’s the most precious thing in his world. She melts against him, completely lost in the moment. They break apart laughing, sharing some private joke that makes Charlotte throw her head back.
Hand in hand, they walk to the wooden picnic table beneath the sprawling oak tree. Charlotte perches on the table while Garret unpacks their lunch. Even from here, I can see how his eyes never leave her face, drinking in her every expression like a man dying of thirst.
Longing spreads through my chest. I want that—that easy affection, that certainty of being cherished. Liam used to look at me that way, before everything fell apart. He’s starting to look at me that way again, but fear still claws at my chest—fear that it’s all temporary and this won’t last.
My fingers brush against the fading scar on my chin, hidden beneath a layer of makeup. Charlie’s last gift before he went to jail. One of many scars that will stick with me for the rest of my life, ensuring that I’ll never be able to forget what he did to me. Will I ever feel safe enough to love like that again? To be loved like that?
“Order up!” Frank’s voice startles me from my thoughts. One order of a cheeseburger and fries and a second with a footlong with chili and onion rings sits in the window, steam rising invitingly. I grab them, willing my hands to stay steady as I deliver them to the elderly couple waiting in the lobby.
The bell above the door chimes and my shoulders tense automatically. If I keep doing this every time someone comes into the restaurant, I’m going to pull a muscle.
But it’s just Lisa and her daughter Emma—regular customers who always brighten my day with their warmth. Emma bounces on her toes, pigtails swinging as she waves enthusiastically.
“Hannah Banana!” she calls out, her gap-toothed smile infectious. Despite everything, I feel my lips curving upward.
“Hey there, sunshine.” I ruffle her hair as she leans against the counter. “The usual today?”
Lisa nods, pulling her wallet out of her purse. “One chocolate and vanilla swirl soft serve cones and a coffee, black.”
“Coming right up.” I head to the coffee pot first, Emma’s giggles following me like a ray of light cutting through the darkness. For a moment, I let myself remember when Cam was that age—before Charlie’s abuse intensified, when hope still colored my world in bright hues instead of bruise-purple and shadow-black.
The reflection in the window catches my eye as I pour Lisa’s coffee. The woman staring back looks haunted, dark circles under her eyes betraying nights spent lying awake, jumping at every creak and rustle. I hardly recognize myself sometimes, wondering what happened to the girl who used to laugh so freely, who believed in love and happy endings.
But I can’t dwell on that now. I have to be strong—for Cam, for myself, for the life we’re trying to build. The courthouse agreed to host the visitation, thank god. Charlie fought hard to have it at his house— our old house—but even his expensive lawyers couldn’t override the judge’s concern about my safety.
Small miracles.
You can do this , I tell myself, straightening my spine as I deliver Emma’s ice cream cone and Lisa’s coffee. He can’t hurt you there. He won’t try anything with witnesses around.
Still, dread sits heavy in my chest like a stone. Charlie doesn’t need fists to hurt me anymore. He has other weapons now—words that cut deeper than knives, threats wrapped in smiles, the power to rip my son away if I don’t play by his rules.
But I have weapons too. Liam’s auto shop is just down the road from my house, his presence a silent guardian even when he’s not beside me. One call and he’d come running—I know this as surely as I know my own name. The thought steadies me, even as guilt twists in my gut for relying on him so much.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of ice cream cones, sundaes, and forced smiles. Every tick of the clock brings me closer to facing Charlie, to watching him interact with our son while pretending he hasn’t spent years terrorizing me. The anxiety builds like a wave, threatening to drown me.
When my shift ends, I quickly cash out my drawer, gather my tips, and head to the break room. I freshen up in the tiny employee bathroom, studying my reflection as I fiddle with the buttons on my blouse. They’re fine, but my nerves are shot and messed up buttons used to get me slapped. My bruises are all gone and my scars have started to fade, but sometimes I still see them when I look in the mirror—ghostly reminders of the life I left behind.
You’re stronger now . I remind myself, smoothing my hair with trembling fingers. He can’t control you anymore.
But as I step out into the afternoon sun, my heart pounds against my ribs like a caged bird seeking escape. This evening’s meeting at the courthouse looms over me, further feeding my anxiety.
Tonight, I’ll have to face my demon again or risk being held in contempt.
I just pray I’m strong enough to survive it.
I take a step toward my car and freeze in place, barely breathing, as I stare into the wide, dark eyes of a deer. Its delicate body tenses, nostrils flaring as it catches my scent. We’re only about ten feet apart in the gravel parking lot, both of us caught off-guard by this unexpected encounter.
Time seems suspended as we regard each other. The doe’s ears twitch nervously, alert to every sound—the distant rumble of a truck on Main Street, the slamming of Frank’s back door as Ashley takes out the trash. I recognize the animal’s wariness, how its muscles bunch, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
“I know how you feel,” I whisper, not moving an inch.
Those liquid brown eyes reflect a familiar emotion—one I’ve seen in my own mirror too many times. That constant vigilance, always scanning for danger, always prepared for fight or flight. The deer shifts its weight slightly, one hoof lifting and lowering in indecision.
My chest tightens with unexpected kinship. This wild creature and I share the same instincts—to stay alive, to protect ourselves from those who would harm us. The deer’s fear is pure, unfiltered by social expectations or complicated emotions. Mine is tangled with shame, with love, with twelve years of surviving Charlie’s violence.
The doe’s tail flicks nervously. A car door slams somewhere in the distance, and we both flinch at the sharp sound. Our eyes lock again, and for a moment, I swear there’s understanding passing between us—two beings balanced on the knife-edge of flight.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, though I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to reassure.
The crunch of gravel behind me shatters the moment. The deer’s head jerks up, white tail flashing as it bounds across the parking lot and disappears into the scrubby woods beyond.
“Lucky it ran off,” a gravelly voice announces. “Coulda attacked ya.”
I turn to find Gerald Mayer swaying slightly beside me, the unmistakable smell of whiskey clinging to him like cologne. His weathered face is creased with suspicion as he squints in the direction the deer fled.
“I don’t think it was going to hurt me, Jerry,” I say gently.
He snorts, adjusting the frayed baseball cap that hasn’t left his head in at least a decade. “Don’t be fooled. They’re plotting. Got a vendetta against us humans.”
I can’t help but smile. Everyone in Beaver knows Gerald’s story—how years ago he collided with a buck while riding his bicycle down Divide Hill. Drunk no less. The deer died instantly, but Gerald swears its family has been stalking him ever since, waiting for revenge.
“Believe me,” he says, jabbing a finger toward the trees. “I’ve seen what they’re capable of. Mean eyes. Always watching.”
I nod politely, though I can’t help but think as I watch him pedal away on his rusted bike that I understand the deer better than the people in this town. That doe wasn’t planning an attack—she was scanning for escape routes, calculating risks, her entire body tuned to survival.
Just like me.
I know exactly what it feels like to be hunted, to live with your nerves constantly frayed, to startle at sudden movements. The deer and I are kindred spirits, both of us familiar with predators, both of us experts at staying alive.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I turn onto my road, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. The drive home from Frank’s feels endless today, my mind racing with dread about being forced to see Charlie tonight. Even though it’s supervised, even though it’s at the courthouse where he can’t hurt me, anxiety claws at my throat.
You can do this. You’re stronger now.
The mantra repeats in my head as I round the final corner, but the words die on my lips as my house comes into view. My blood turns to ice.
I see the car first. Way too fancy for this area. Then my eyes catch on him.
Charlie leans casually against my front porch, arms crossed over his chest, looking for all the world like he belongs there. Like he owns this place. Still owns me.
No. No, no, no.
He’s not supposed to be here. The restraining order explicitly forbids him from coming within five hundred feet of my home or place of employment. We’re meant to meet at the courthouse in a few hours, with supervision, with safety measures in place.
My hands shake as I pull into the driveway, mind racing. At last Cam isn’t home from school yet. He’ll be spared this interaction even if I’m not.
Charlie’s lips curve into that familiar predatory smile as I kill the engine—the same smile that used to precede the worst beatings.
“Hannah.” His voice drips with false sweetness, poison wrapped in silk. “Thought we could have a chat before tonight.”
I remain in the car, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and take a deep breath. I debate on driving away rather than getting out. But I’m tired of running, tired of being scared. If I want to make a life for myself here, I can’t run anymore. I have to face him.
I can do this. He does not control me.
I step out of the car, but keep my distance, and try to keep my voice steady. “You’re not supposed to be here.” The words come out weak, trembling. I hate how small I sound. “We’re meeting at the courthouse.”
He shrugs one shoulder, the gesture deceptively casual. “What’s the harm in talking things over first? Just you and me, like old times.”
Old times? Ha! When he’d corner me in our bedroom, or the kitchen, or anywhere I couldn’t escape. When his “talks” left bruises that took weeks to fade.
“Nothing to talk about.” I force steel into my voice even as fear coils in my gut. “You need to leave. Now.”
His expression darkens, that familiar storm gathering in his eyes. “Actually, we have plenty to discuss.” He pushes off the porch and starts toward me. “Like how you’re trying to keep my son from me.”
Panic surges through my veins. I clutch my purse to my chest and scramble around to the back of the car, keeping the vehicle between us as he approaches. “ Your son? Since when do you care about Cam? You barely acknowledged his existence for twelve years!”
“He has my name.” Charlie circles the car slowly, predatory.
I move in the opposite direction, maintaining distance. “Your name doesn’t mean shit.”
His jaw clenches, eyes flashing dangerously. “Careful, Hannah. You’re already on thin ice.”
The threat in his voice makes my skin crawl. I fumble in my purse, fingers closing around my phone. The familiar ridges of the case ground me slightly.
“If you want to discuss custody arrangements, we can do it through our lawyers.” My voice only shakes a little. Progress. “But right now you need to leave before I call the police.”
He laughs, the sound sending chills down my spine. “The police? In this county?” His lips curl into a sneer. “My family owns half the force. Who do you think they’ll believe? The respected politician’s son or the lying whore who cheated on her husband?”
The words hit just as hard as his fists, old wounds reopening. But beneath the fear, anger starts to simmer. How dare he come here? How dare he threaten me in my own home?
“Leave,” I say again, stronger this time. “Or I start screaming. Someone is always at the Mutter homestead, and we both know they’re not on your family’s payroll.”
His expression shifts, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Now Hannah, is that any way to talk to your husband?”
“Ex-husband,” I correct, though my voice wavers. “We’re divorced, remember?”
“Temporary setback.” He takes another step forward, forcing me to retreat. “I’m willing to be generous here. Joint custody, liberal visitation. Hell, I’ll even increase the child support.” His smile turns cruel. “Unless you’d rather I petition for full custody. I have excellent lawyers, and your... history... doesn’t look good to family court judges. We both know I have the power to overturn the previous verdict and take everything away from you.”
My blood runs cold. “You wouldn’t,” I say even though I know he would. For him, this is about winning. Charlie hates to lose.
“Try me.” He’s still circling, herding me away from the relative safety of my car. “Face it, Hannah. You need me. You’ve always needed me. Look at this dump you’re living in now. Is this really the life you want for our son?”
“He’s not your son!” The words burst out before I can stop them.
Charlie moves so fast I barely have time to react. He lunges for me, fingers grasping for me. I stumble backward, heart thundering in my chest as I break into a run.
“Get back here!” He snarls, all pretense of civility gone.
I sprint toward the road, phone clutched in my trembling hand. My fingers shake as I try to pull up my contacts. Liam. I need to reach Liam.
The sound of Charlie’s footsteps behind me sends terror shooting through my veins. I manage to send a quick text to Liam—one word, “help”—before Charlie’s hand closes around my arm.
“Let go!” I wrench away, nearly losing my balance.
He grabs for me again but I dodge, circling back toward my car. My fingers fumble with my phone, muscle memory taking over as I dial 911.
The operator’s voice crackles through the speaker, tiny but clear. “911, what’s your emergency?”
Charlie’s head snaps up. “Who did you call?” When I don’t answer, his face contorts with rage. “Who the fuck did you call?”
Everything happens in slow motion. I see the change come over him—that terrifying transformation I witnessed so many times during our marriage. His features twist into something inhuman, eyes dark with murderous intent.
“You stupid bitch.”
He vaults over the hood of my car with shocking speed. I try to run but my legs feel like lead. His hand fists in my hair, yanking me backward. Pain explodes across my scalp as I crash to the ground.
The last thing I see is Charlie looming over me, fist raised, that familiar cruel smile twisting his lips. “Time to teach you a lesson about respect.”
Then his knuckles connect with my cheekbone and everything goes dark.