FLIGHT FROM OBSESSION - CHAPTER TEN

The stranger in a rental car slowly circled Abby’s block on the bluff while thick, heavy fog rolled in obscuring and discouraging neighborhood activity.  The driver pulled up in front of her house and under cover of the fog he walked back to check her garage and found it empty. He pulled into the empty garage and while the dog next door barked unheeded, he found an unlocked window.  Now he sat in her dark house; waiting, drinking and chain smoking.  His mind unraveling exponentially as his personal demons and the alcohol weakened his already tenuous grip on reality.  Smiling in anticipation of her return, he fondled the hard metal gun in his pocket; “Until death do us part,” he thought to himself.  Opening another bottle of liquor he gleefully envisioned the shock and horror in her eyes.  He had been looking forward to this for years and now the bitch was his.
Running late Abby hurried through the dark kitchen to the living room and then stopped and stood stone still, bile rising in her throat. 

The fog pressed in from every side sealing the house away from the rest of the world.  Once again she was alone with him, at his mercy.  The anticipation was intolerable.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

Mark flicked the lamp on then rose from her arm chair, pointing a gun at her. He stood before her, shirt rumpled, needing a shave, tailored suit hanging from his frame.

“Sit,” he hissed.

The effort of moving into to the room was palpable.  She felt as if she were walking against a heavy current through deep, cold water.

What was he doing here?  What did he want from her?

He pushed her down on the sofa, ripped the purse from her arm and then tore through the contents shredding everything that identified her and pocketing the cash.

“You left me with nothing, bitch.”

“None of it was yours, Mark.”

He loomed over her.  “I married you,” he spat.  “I lived in your house, I sat in your father’s chair.  It was all mine.”

“You killed my father,” she accused, vision blurring with tears.

He backed up, “No,” he denied, shaking his head.  “They’re not being fair, it wasn’t my fault.” 

He prowled aimlessly around the room.  “It was all your fathers fault.  He was going to tell you, the college, everyone. It would have ruined everything.”

Mark needed a haircut and he smelled of whiskey.  He was a relic of the once impeccable young professor she had married, but his sick mind still had to rationalize his actions, to allay his guilt. 

His focus returned to her, “It was your fault.  You weren’t supposed to leave. They never would have suspected if you had stayed where you belonged.”

 Ringing shattered the air.  He froze, eyes darting to locate the phone.  The machine picked up. “Abby, are you there, Abby?” the voice asked then disconnected.

Tessie, Abby thought, I’m late for our visit.

He aimed the gun at her head, “You always had lots of friends didn’t you? But you didn’t need them anymore, you had me. You couldn’t learn to be loyal to your husband, could you?”

He was taking up right where they left off like a stuck record.  Had he been dwelling on that all of these years?  Was he obsessed?  She shuddered in fear, not knowing what he would do to her.

“You’re so virtuous, just like your father.  A couple of saints,” he said with a sneer.  “You were even a virgin.”  He looked at her questioningly, “How many men have there been since, Abby?  How many times have you despoiled our marriage, dishonored your husband?”

“Mark, you’re the one who broke our marriage vows, not me.”

“You married me.  I owned you,” he said, his voice harsh.

“We’re divorced, Mark,” she stated, refusing to answer his sick accusations.

The sneer left his face, “Until death do us part,” he said with righteous satisfaction.

The phone shattered the silence again interrupting his thought process. 

He menaced with the gun, “Go upstairs, Abby, to the attic.”

Marked pressed the gun against her back as she climbed the stairs.  She could see that he’d been into her files, ripping, crumpling, and strewing papers everywhere. He shoved her into the antique chair and taped her wrists to the arms and her ankles to the legs of the old, desk chair. 

“You think you were smart getting published in those little journals.”  He grinned at her, kicking at the papers on the floor. He liked having her tied, she sensed, under his control.

“That’s how I found you,” he said, “Because of those articles and from the school.” There was triumph in his voice, “It was a stupid move Abby.  You always were stupid.”

“Mark, the police know you’ve been calling the school.  I told them it was you.  They know that you’re trying to find me.  They know, Mark.”

“No!  They don’t know that I’m here,” he said, “I ran away.  They’ll never find me.”

He ran away?  The police must know he did it and they’re probably looking for him now.

“Mark, dad found out you were plagiarizing his work and forging his signature, didn’t he?  He confronted you and you killed him.  That’s what happened isn’t it?”

“No,” he denied.  “It was an accident.  You have to believe me.  That’s what they’re saying – murder.  You’ll tell them that I wouldn’t murder anyone, they’ll believe you,” he implored her.

“They’re looking for you, Mark.  This is the first place that they’ll look.  You have to get away,” she said.

“You’re trying to trick me,” he said and covered her mouth with a piece of tape.  He wasn’t thinking logically.  He was unfocused and might do anything. For some reason he felt safe as long as she was tied up.  He didn’t care what she said, didn’t even hear her half of the time.

The phone downstairs rang again and the machine started recording.

Startled, Mark turned and ran downstairs.  She heard the crash as he ripped the phone out and threw it against the wall.  Then she smelled the cigarette smoke again.  That’s what tipped her off in the first place.  That acrid smell.

The right arm of the chair creaked when she moved.  She began to move her arm back and forth in a see saw motion.  The arm she was tied to was weak.  She remembered regluing it a month ago and she kept tugging and trying to loosen it.  If she could get one arm free she could get into the center drawer for the scissors and cut the tape. 

She heard noise from the kitchen. It sounded like the liquor cabinet.  Mark hadn’t been a drinker before; how would it affect his emotions and perceptions? 

She kept working the weak arm and prayed that Tess wouldn’t come over.  He would hurt her with that gun.  He had threatened her friends in the Midwest, that last day when they came and rescued her and made him produce her.  The police had taken him away and then turned him loose saying that it was a domestic situation inflamed by a divorce.  She had gotten a restraining order but that didn’t help either.

Finally, tired of imposing on her friends she had closed the house and listed it with a realtor.  She arrived in Trinity Cove with what she had been able to stuff into her camper and now she owned a home and was part of the community but it wasn’t enough.  He wasn’t ever going to allow her to have a life of her own.

Abby didn’t think she had it in her to leave and start over again.  There just wasn’t enough strength left in her.  She’d read about women who spent their whole lives on the run and she knew she just couldn’t do it.  Despair filled her mind and cancelled her future.  She would never marry and have babies. 

Tears streaked her face as she continued to try to loosen arm more.  She couldn’t tell how much time had passed but she thought she could hear and feel the arm move a little more. 

-----

Worrying, Tessie called Tom to see if Abby was home or gone and he said that she was supposed to be over to sign some papers and the camper was in the driveway but she wasn’t answering her phone. 

“Yes, I know, I tried her a couple of times but she didn’t pick up,” Tess said, “Tom I’m coming over, something is wrong.”
“Drive carefully in this fog, Tess,” Tom said.

Tom walked over and knocked on Abby’s door for a minute then gave up and walked back home.  When Tess arrived they decided to call Blackie and see if Abby was with him. 

“Blackie, is Abby with you?” Tom asked.

“No,” he said, “I tried to reach her earlier and something was wrong with her phone,” Blackie said.

“Abby was supposed to come by here and sign some papers and then go to the Inn to see Tessie.  Her camper is in the driveway but she doesn’t answer her phone or door,” Tom said.

“I’m coming right over, this isn’t like her,” Blackie said.

“Good,” Tom said, “Tess is here too.”

------

Back in the attic Abby thought she heard knocking on her back door. If that was Tom then she had been tied up here for over an hour.  Would Mark answer it?  Silence.

The arm splintered and her right hand was free thought still taped to the arm of the chair.  Silently she slid the desk drawer open, dreading the sound of footsteps on the stairs.  She slipped the scissors out and hid them against her body, waiting, listening.  What was he doing?

There was more knocking on the backdoor and then pounding.  Hurriedly she cut the tape to free herself and listened to the knocking below. 

Abby hurried to the little attic window and opened it under the cover of the knocking.  Slipping her heels off she climbed up on a cabinet and slipped through the window onto the damp, slippery roof.  Mark wouldn’t fit through the window, she thought. Tendrils of fear racked her body as the cold, damp fog made her shiver and slip on the damp roof. 

She felt him coming.  She slipped again and struggled around the peak to be out of his sight from the window.  She heard him coming up the stairs and then heard his breathing at the window then the horrible sounds of his vicious rage and destruction in the attic below. She had made it out just in time. 

She heard her backdoor slam open and then the sound of her camper starting.  “Hey,” she yelled, but the camper was backing down the driveway and careening off into the fog.

Was that Blackie’s voice calling her?  There were more voices?

“I’m up here,” she called.

“Where?” Blackie called.

“I’m on the roof and I’m slipping.”

Tess called the fire department, “Hold on Abby, the fire department is on the way.”

And then, “Hang in there,” from Tom.

“Hold on Little Flower,” from Blackie.

She wasn’t alone; her friends were here.  She cried softly in the night.  She would have to leave again.  A great sadness enveloped her and she felt the urge to let go and slide into oblivion.

The police cars arrived first flinging their doors open and taking cover.  The three friends stood in the glare of the headlights focused in the sights of the police guns. 

Tom raised his arms and walked slowly toward the police, “I’m Thomas Wyatt Yancy,   I’m the attorney who called you.  The intruder’s gone.  The victim is stuck on the roof and she’s slipping.

Three policemen walked toward him, “Do you mind, Sir” at Tom’s nod the officer patted him down and took his I.D.

“Looks O.K. Sir,” the officer called to the sergeant.

Tom motioned the other two forward so everyone could see them.  He touched Tess’ shoulder, “This is Tess Danelli, owner of the Seagull Inn.”  He went to Blackie, “This is Dr. Blackie Jordan, Redwood Coast Hospital.”

The police began to come out holstering their weapons.  One officer began to mark off the area with crime tape. 

Meanwhile the Detective walked up to Tom and extended his hand, “Detective Kelly, can you fill me in Yancy?”

“The intruder was Mark Turner, wanted in Morgan County, Ohio for jumping bail on a murder or manslaughter charge.  He escaped in Ms. Cavanaugh’s red Volkswagen camper, late sixties.” Tom led the detective toward his house to maintain some privacy. 

The Fire truck arrived and Tess walked over to talk to the driver. “Will you be able to get her down, officer?”

“No problem pretty lady, we have a cherry picker that will go up with an officer and he’ll open the door and help her aboard and then we’ll set her down right at her front door.  Pretty as you please,” he said.

She thanked the officer and walked back to where Blackie was standing.  She put her hand on his arm, “It’s going to be O.K. The firemen have an elevator thing.  They can pick her up from anywhere and put her down anywhere with a handsome escort included.”

He smiled at her sheepishly, “They just keep telling me to get out of the way.”

“It’s you attitude, doctor.”

“Yeah, right,” he said worried about Abby.

The truck operated right from the street and had Abby down in minutes but the paramedics had her on the front lawn until Blackie could take it no longer.  He strode right into the middle of things flashing his I.D., announcing that Abby was his patient.

“How is she doing, medic?” he asked.

“Getting her warmed up and giving her an I.V. with mild sedation,” the medic reported. 

Blackie knelt down and then positioned himself so he could put her head in his lap.

“Says she’d like a brandy, Sir,” the medic smiled.

Blackie motioned Tess over and asked, “Would you make sure that Tom has a bed made up for her in a warm room with an electric blanket, if possible?”

“You’ve got it pal,” she patted Abby on the arm and then walked back to Tom’s house.

Tom and the detective were sitting at the kitchen table like old pals when Tess walked in.  The detective rose and nodded to Tess and then shook Tom’s hand. 

“I’ll call you the minute we have anything on the fugitive,” he said before he left.

“Thanks, detective.  Let us know when we can back into her house,” Tom asked.

“We’ll do,” he said.

Tess relayed Blackie’s message to Tom.

“Aunt Bessie took care of all of that when I moved in but I’ll go check and make sure,” he said, “And put the blanket on warm.”

When he came back down Tess was rummaging in the cupboards.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“Something to soup up the coffee,” she said sheepishly.

He grinned and ducked into the dining room and came back with two bottles.

“As soon as Blackie comes in I’ll make breakfast,” she said, “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

“We don’t know if Turner is coming back.  The police are watching the house and are on the lookout for Mark but I think somebody should be awake here in this house with Abby,” Tom answered.

“I know it’s gotten late but I’m going to call Danni and ask her to open for me tomorrow.”

“Is she up to that, already?” Tom asked.

“She’s a marvel, Tom, I can’t tell you what a load she takes off of my shoulders.”

“She’s so damn cute and petite.  I confess she brings out the sexist in me because I find it hard to think of her in terms of a profession or career.  Anyway, that just between us,” Tom winked.  

Blackie came in carrying Abby and they settled her in Tom's extra bedroom and then they all sat in the kitchen drinking coffee discussing the nightmarish afternoon and evening.  Tess got up and fixed breakfast and they worked out a temporary schedule to make sure someone was awake for Abby.

Abby woke hours later.  The paramedics had taken care of her and given her something.  She remembered that Blackie had carried her here to Tom’s house and put her in bed with an electric blanket.  They left the bathroom light on so she could see the room.  Tessie was here too.  She could hear the low rumble of voices outside and someone downstairs.  They told her that Mark had taken her camper. She was warm now and she could remember everything but she couldn’t feel.  She couldn’t feel anything.  What was wrong with her?

Abby heard someone on the stairs, the door opened slightly but she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

 (C) 2013 Karen MacEanruig