Since that night, everything had changed. She lost her patience easily, flinched when anyone touched her and worse yet, snapped at the people who questioned the sudden changes in her behavior. She hated herself and what she had become; sullen and withdrawn one minute, filled with anger and raging the next. And every night she searched her house from top to bottom, checking under the beds, in the closets, making sure all the doors and windows were locked, knowing full well that the ritual was crazy and useless; the monster she was trying to keep away was already in her home – sleeping beside her on most nights.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been happy or had flashed a genuine smile; her teeth yellowed by that desire for comfort. The comfort that she couldn't get from family and friends because she was too ashamed to speak out – the inner need that caused her to hide food under her bed and binge on the nights he passed out drunk on the couch and she was left alone – the good nights. The self loathing that saw her running to the bathroom so many times to purge that food that she didn't even have to put her finger down her throat any longer. And after her dentist had become suspicious, she had learned all the secrets, both to keep her disorder hidden and spare her teeth.
Vomit in the toilet, flush it twice; get rid of that telltale film that a solitary flush leaves behind. Rinse with baking soda and water to neutralize the acid and don't forget the Visine for those bloodshot eyes. Never look anything less than perfect and people wouldn't suspect a thing.
In fact, people envied her. She was the girl who ate whatever she wanted and never gained weight. "What's your secret?" they would ask. "Quick metabolism, exercise and genetics, I guess," was her answer.
She was a lucky girl, so lucky. She had it all; big house, two new cars, a two carat diamond on her finger, a handsome, charismatic husband who doted on her constantly…in public.
Little did they know he was drinking it all away and when they were behind closed doors the doting stopped.
"A pretty face, that's all you've got…stupid…brainless…worthless…shut up!" Horrible words; she heard them everyday and they destroyed her self-worth, leaving her despondent and lost. Things fell apart. A war began, intimacy was unheard of and sex became meaningless. It was routine, something done to end or avoid an argument and it had already been well established that 'no' was not an option.
This was her prison; isolated from her friends who wondered what her problem was, filled with shame because she was so 'troubled' as her husband put it.
"Why do you make me do these things, Renee?" he would ask in his guild ridden moments, so eager to place blame.
How to stare people in the eye and tell them what was happening? How to bear those looks of pity always given to the victim? She didn't want to be seen that way; broken and weak. No, she was strong.
Three years went by, three years and the doctors had pills to solve each and every one of her problems: Zoloft, Lexapro, Celexa, she tried them all with varying results. Through it all none of them ever bothered to ask that one simple question; why? Why was she bulimic? Why was she depressed? Why did she have panic attacks and OCD?
As time went on she couldn't even remember; reality as she knew it was skewed. She lived in a world where things just happened. She had no control, she could only react and she told herself that this was her punishment; her penance for… something.
Then one Friday night as she tore through the kitchen, trying to get dinner on the table while simultaneously putting the groceries away and tidying up, she detected the smell of chicken burning.
"Damn it," she cried as she reached into the oven so hastily she didn't realize she had forgotten to grab a pot holder until her fingers touched the 350 degree pan and the sound of a much louder, more intense, 'damn it!' filled her home.
She jerked her hand away, immediately placing a scalded finger in her mouth, trying to cool the burn and she burst into tears because after three years of this, every sharp noise, every painful stimulus was the straw that broke the camels back.
As she sunk to the floor she uttered the two words she knew best, 'I'm sorry,' and she wondered what she could have possibly done to deserve this life.
Whatever it was, she swore she was sorry.
Crouched beside her oven with its door wide open and the burning dinner still inside, Renee had an epiphany. She was guilty of two things and two things alone; denial, because she had tried to convince herself that he could call her names and make her do things against her will under the guise of marital rights – and hesitation for not having drawn these conclusions years ago.
Rising to her feet, she reached for her pot holder and pulled the chicken from the stove and placed it on the wooden cutting board before she crossed the room and picked up the phone. Her husband would be home in less than an hour. There was not much time.
Why, why hadn't she done this sooner, she lamented, but in her heart, she knew. Because she had to be sure; she had to know that he couldn't be helped, that things would never get better, only then could she walk away from their union without guilt.
"If you're afraid of divorce just remember, he failed at marriage, not you," Elizabeth had once said in an unexpected moment of wisdom.
And that's who Renee called that night. Making that fateful call had set into motion a series of events that Elizabeth wouldn't let her back away from even if she wanted to and for that, Renee would always be grateful.
That night, her husband had come home to a burnt dinner and no wife. That night, her life began to change for the better.
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When Renee first opened her eyes, she thought she was underwater or lost in a dream. Half the room was shrouded in darkness, the other half well lit, but the presentation as a whole undulated just like the ocean which, if she concentrated hard enough, she could hear outside their room. Strange that she thought of it as 'their' room; hers and Jackson's, she couldn't understand why. Then she began to blink rapidly and the tears that had been accumulating for however long she'd been out spilt down the side of her face. With the haziness washed away, it was back to a harsh reality.
Her head ached, her back ached, but the pain deep down inside was indescribable, like a piece of her had been ripped away. Elizabeth, her sister, her best friend, was gone; she was only twenty-six years old.
But as hard as it was to believe, it was not the loss of her sister that had roused her from her sleep. After Jackson had knocked her unconscious, she had wanted to remain in that comforting darkness forever, free from the torment and pain. Something had forced her out, something that hit her on a subconscious level; threatening words, blows struck in anger and the sound of a grown man crying.
She found herself in bed, tucked in as it were, with a gag crammed in her mouth and her arms tied behind her back. Someone had covered her with blankets, one of which hung over her face, partially obscuring her vision. As a result, she could hear Jackson talking but was unable to see him and she could neither see nor hear Elliot.
Agonizing as it was with her splitting headache; Renee lifted her head and glanced around the room only to spot Jackson in the corner with his back to her, chatting away on his cell phone. His tone of voice sounded nothing less than distraught and when he turned to the side, she caught a glimpse of his cracked and bloodied knuckles before she quickly rested her head back down and pretended to be unconscious.
And Elliot was gone. Had Jackson actually…..
"I sent him for a walk, told him to stay out of my sight" Jackson said and Renee jumped, thinking if only for a second that Jackson had gained the ability to read minds before she reasoned he had to be talking to the mystery caller, not her. "I hate to bother you, but I'm in a jam."
He's in a jam? She whimpered at the thought, couldn't help it and she poked her head out from underneath the covers knowing that she had given herself away. Jackson looked at her and his brow furrowed – a hint of concern, guilt perhaps? No, not from him and to think, for a fleeting moment, she had thought they shared similar backgrounds, that they had something in common. And she remembered all too clearly the last time she was in this room, right beforeElliot had broken the news; her body trembling, her lips open in anticipation.
Renee issued another anguished groan and her head lulled from side to side. She deserved a painful death, deserved every bit of suffering the two brothers could dish out. She felt like a fool, a misguided, empty-headed fool.
"I'll be working by myself for a while, regardless. Really, I don't have to go that far."
Kill a woman without authorization, get a temporary suspension; gosh, that was rough but knowing Elliot, he was probably strolling down the beach in tears like a little boy who had just turned around in a department store only to find that his mommy wasn't standing behind him.
Jackson stood over her, looking visibly upset as he spoke to the unnamed caller. He reached out to touch her and she didn't just shy away, she recoiled, kicking her way across the bed because her benevolent capture had not seen fit to tie her ankles. He didn't pursue her, too occupied with his conversation to put forth the effort and Renee looked him over, more closely this time. He had a cut on his lip, his shirt was ruffled, possibly torn and she saw a scratch on his neck. It looked as though Elliot had been inspired by her words, her devious reassurances that he was both intelligent and worthy, and had actually fought back this time.
"I was trying to avoid that," Jackson said, grabbing hold of her ankle and halting her backward motion. "It makes things more difficult."
And that was probably him trying to explain his so-called deal; money in exchange for silence. Bribery was much more pleasant than killing, but the powers that be no doubt wanted her dead and yet, even though he regarded her murder as nothing more than 'difficult', she was not afraid of this man. Tied up, left defenseless just like Elizabeth – for all she knew he would hang up that phone, wrap his arms around her neck, and in five minutes time she'd be just another body lying in a hotel bathroom. But she didn't feel fear; she felt anger; that stubbornness and the overwhelming need to survive. Wondering why she hadn't tried earlier, she tested the piece of fabric that fastened her wrists together and found that the bonds were not as tight as she had expected. Renee wondered which one of them made this lackadaisical effort. It had been done in confusion; an afterthought or so it would seem.
"There were two," he began and Renee wasn't sure, but she thought she heard the person on the other end of the line yell 'damn it'. Whatever it had been, it was loud and Jackson was forced to pull the phone away from his ear.
She kept on working at her binds; picking at the large knot, conveniently located between her thumbs with her fingernails and feeling it loosen at a horrifically sluggish pace. More yelling emanated from the cell phone and Jackson ran a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes trained on her the entire time; a constant reminder for her to be subtle in her efforts. He wore that same irritated expression but it had intensified, peppered with just a hint of frustration and several times he had to cup the receiver in his hands, muttering a few curse words before he returned to the conversation. Renee knew what it meant. He wanted to explode but couldn't, that told her he was speaking to a person who outranked him and that alone gave her some degree of satisfaction. Listening to Jackson kowtow to his boss and admit that he didn't have things under control was like a gift from God.
"That won't work. How am I supposed to do that without being seen?" he asked in annoyance and she guessed he was probably referring to her or more appropriately, the disposal of her corpse. "And supposing everything did work out, there's still that other problem we talked about."
First she was difficult, now she was a problem; at least she was moving up in the world. Still, he was going to kill her and she wondered why he hadn't done so already; some semblance of pity, the irresistible urge to flirt just a little longer, or that need to win one last argument, this time emphasizing his point by putting a bullet through her head or wrapping a cord around her neck? Would 'take that, Renee!' or "so there," be the last words she would hear? It seemed unjust.
"No," he said flatly, telling the caller there was no room for debate. "No, I won't do that. It's a waste of good talent. Trust me; what I'm doing is enough."
Now that little display of inflexibility had to be in regard to Elliot. Did they want him dead as well? She told herself not to be shocked. When she thought about it, Elliot had made at least two major mistakes in the few hours she had known him, not including her sisters' death, which Renee thought of as much more than a simple blunder. Over the course of his career he had probably logged an impressive number of errors and given the high stakes nature of their jobs, the higher ups wouldn't want him around. What did surprise her was the fact that there were some things that even Jackson would not do. She guessed that when it came to family, he would defy logic and forgive anything – if Elliot just so happened to be a skilled marksman who earned his keep from time to time that probably made it even easier to give him a pass.
"That's how I'd prefer to handle it. It's not far from here to Stratham; forty minutes at the most. When I'm ready to make the jump, I'll fly out of Pease; shouldn't take me more than two or three days to make all the necessary arrangements."
She didn't know what that was in reference to but it caused her to shudder nonetheless.It feels like someone just walked over my grave. The one sided conversation was starting to get to her, she decided and she wished that her arms were free; she wanted to hug herself, roll up into a little ball and pray. Soon, she told herself. Just keep working at it.
"Lisa Reisert," he said suddenly and for some reason that caught her attention, made her stop what she was doing even as her persistent efforts were beginning to pay off. The knot had turned into a loop, something she could work her finger under; it wouldn't be long now. She didn't know why she'd halted her efforts. It could be nothing; he could be talking about a co-worker, girlfriend, anyone at all, but there was something about the way he had said the name; possessive, predatory. "Miami…good, I could use some time at home. Fax me the information and we can talk again on Sunday."
His next victim, Renee pitied the poor, unsuspecting girl. She would be taken in by his undeniable charm and then he would tear her apart, use her, ruin her. Assuming she lived to ponder her ordeal, she would be left with those same feelings of guilt and shame Renee currently possessed. She would hate him when it was over, like all his victims did, but let her deny it all she wanted, a tiny part of her would be enthralled and months, even years down the line, she would think about him, wonder what he was doing and if he would come back.
"Okay, done deal," he said and hung up the phone, burying his face in his hands.
She stared at the ceiling again wondering what to do and how to process all that had happened. When she turned in his direction, he was staring at her, appearing lost in some kind of trance.
Renee glared back at him, wondering what in the hell he had to be so upset about. Was he sorry about what he had done and what he would do? Had the little demon formed a conscience?
"What?" she spat through the gag, wanting answers from this wretched little thing sitting across from her.
He seemed surprised by her anger, more than likely expecting her to fall apart like all his other sufferers. He kept looking back and forth between her and the bathroom door and it was almost comical – he seemed more uncertain and unable to accept Elizabeth's death than she. Was it so hard to believe that something hadn't gone according to his plan?
"If I take the gag off, will you promise not to scream?" he asked, chomping at the bit to get her take on recent developments. She wondered if that natural curiosity would ever get the better of him.
Renee looked at him in confusion; shocked that he would even make such an offer and she shook her head to indicate that yes, she would remain silent. Jackson approached hesitantly and loosened whatever it was that had been holding her gag in place. It fell to the floor without a sound and she followed it with her eyes – saw the item that had kept her silent all this time. The urge to scream faded. Renee wanted to throw up.
God damn them.
They had recycled; they had used the same tie that had once held her sister's arms at bay to keep her quiet. A quick upward glance revealed Jackson standing above her and when their eyes met, he shrugged his shoulders.
"What?" he asked in response to her horrified expression, oblivious, and she spat the wadded up ball of fabric from her mouth directly toward him.
"You," she shrieked, but his hand covered her mouth and he used his body to pin her to the bed before she could finish the last part of her decry, "bastard!"
Driven by rage, she tugged her left arm free, ignoring the pain as the fabric grated against her flesh. Her mouth covered and her right arm still trapped between the mattress and his body, Renee punched, clawed and scratched at him with her newly freed arm. Jackson did an amazing job of dodging her blows given his own compromised position. He was more agile than she had given him credit for, but it was only a matter of time before she managed to hurt him. At last, her fist became entangled in his hair. He knew what was coming and tried to pull away, hissing at her not to do it but in spite of the warning, she tugged with all her strength, coming away with a good size chunk of his brown locks and a little bit of blood.
Renee saw his hand go up, had enough time to anticipate his strike but couldn't cry out. He never took that other hand away from her mouth, not until his fist made contact with her nose and she started to bleed. Was it broken, she wondered. It certainly hurt enough, although it was hard to judge, her perception a bit foggy after her previous blow to the head. Everything ached, ached to the point that all she could do was cry. Only then did he pull his hand away before shifting his weight fully onto her and pinning her arms above her head.
Jackson looked down at her with a seething, strangely triumphant expression, his forehead and upper lip dotted with perspiration. He took in the sight of her right wrist; the tie still looped around it like a bracelet and seemed impressed with her cunning. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then, riding the wave of sexual energy that all too often accompanied violence, he pressed his lips to hers in a smothering kiss. She recoiled from him as much as she possibly could; drawing her chin to her chest, she tried to turn her head, breaking away and almost crying 'no' before he muffled her again. The fighting got her nowhere and she simply accepted that all she could do for now was lay rigid and wait for him to stop – one more contemptible submission in a series of defeats. The time passed quickly enough, he broke the kiss; coming up for air and panting heavily, lips still close, waiting for her to give back.
"Renee," he whispered. It sounded like a farewell.
How to stop him, how to survive this? It was difficult, given the circumstances, to figure out a way in which she could show him that her feelings of rage and hatred had not turned to lust; something seen far too often in the worst kinds of film and print. Her rage hadn't died. It was very much alive, with a little disgust tacked on for good measure – truly shocked that he would pick this time to make a passionate gesture. The only way to convey her feelings, she decided, was to trust her instincts, just as he'd told her. Trust her instincts and tell him the truth, "No," she whimpered, turning her head away as his attentions fell on her neck. "I don't want to do this. You killed my sister," and she allowed herself to weep softly.
There, she had said it, made it clear that this was not consensual. His intense feelings, wherever they came from, were one sided. Let him take her now if he wanted. She wouldn't resist. Let him do that if it made him feel strong, she never for a moment thought he'd go through with it; not this one.
"You hate me now, you're afraid," he mused sounding disappointed though it was hardly a stunning revelation. "But I'm not responsible for Elizabeth's death, you know that. I spent too much time trying to make sure that didn't happen. I'm not even the one who knocked you unconscious."
He sat up, still straddling her and using the sheet, which lay twisted in a ball beside her after their struggle, began to wipe the blood away, inspecting the wound he had inflicted.
"Doesn't look broken," he said reassuringly.
Said the text book definition of an abuser, she thought as he watched her with curiosity because she had not moved an inch. She remained as he'd posed her; lying on her back with her arms stretched above her head.
"Why did you hit him?" she asked, staring at the ceiling rather than at him.
"Too many misunderstandings on his part," Jackson answered and she scoffed at that remark.
"You were willing to commit double murder to protect him from sexual abuse and then you turn around and beat the shit out of him every time he makes a mistake; you don't find that hypocritical?"
"Are you wishing I hadn't?"
"Are you looking for a 'thank-you'?" she retorted.
"I'm not looking for anything from you, Renee," he answered and rolled off of her, leaving her alone on the bed. "Well, I guess that's not entirely true. I want you to come outside with me and I want you to be quiet."
"Why the hell should I do that?" she asked, feeling the urge to scream right then and there. Though she would more than welcome a trip outside and a chance to slip away from him during the night, running into the ocean and swimming home if need be. She found it hard to believe he would ever take such a chance.
"Harold and Gloria Spamponado, 5084 Kilpatrick Lane, Richmond, Virginia, sound familiar?"
"How?" she asked but the question was rhetorical. He had his ways. The better question would have been, why?
"I made more than one phone call while you were out, darling. I wanted to learn a little more about you. I always like to know who or what I'm dealing with in any given situation, I don't like surprises."
"You're heartless," Renee said in disgust as she sat up. "Dragging my family into…,"
"I'm tired, Renee," he interjected. "I've been awake since 3 a.m. yesterday morning and all I wanted was for the three of you to shut up, and follow orders. No one seems to be able to grasp that concept so let's see how this sinks in; as we speak, Elizabeth is lying peacefully on the bathroom floor covered in a warm blanket. If you stay quiet, I'll make sure she stays that way. She'll be found, she'll get a proper burial, and your parents will have closure. However, should you decide to get cute, try to scream, try to escape again, anything; her body will disappear, both of you will disappear and no one will ever know what happened. Again, I urge you to think about your parents, Renee."
She stared up at him, taking a moment to make certain the gravity of the situation, then closed her eyes and muttered, "Okay."
"Good, I knew you would make the right decision."
He extended his hand and begrudgingly, she took it, fully aware that now was not the time to play stubborn and slap that hand away. The curtains flung open, followed by the door and a rush of cool air hit her face for the second time that night.
"Not so fast," he said, gripping her hand and pulling her back when she tried to step outside without him. "It shouldn't be this hard," he said, leaning closer. "We were getting along so well. We were so close," he whispered and she could only wonder what he meant by that.
Through it all she didn't move not knowing what to do anymore, surrounded by fear and uncertainty. She knew she had to survive, for her parent's sake if nothing else. For them to lose both their daughters…it was unthinkable. Renee had to get home, had to let them know that she had been with Elizabeth until the very end and that her younger sister had died trying to protect her.
"Could we ever recapture that, I wonder?"
She would have to plan her next moves carefully, somehow find the right words to say and keep her head on straight. What to say, what to say?
"I'd rather you just kill me," she answered, once again deciding on honesty. This too was more than likely a test of some kind; with him, everything was, like one long, horrible job interview and if she had thrown herself at him, he would have seen right through the lie and the interview would be over.
"That would be hasty. Don't you remember what I told you before?" he asked as he left her momentarily and crossed the room. He crouched down and rifled through the mini bar, pulling two beers out of that refrigerator and tucked them under his arm. "Not while I still owe you that drink. Now come with me."
The words sent her mind reeling. It was nonsensical; bring her outside to kill her after having ample time and opportunity while she had been asleep. Why wait so long? What was the plan – walk her down the beach a ways, force her to down a couple beers and make it look like some drunken woman had gone for a late night swim only to be pulled under by the rip tide? Renee could only imagine what they planned to do with Elizabeth's body and she found herself not wanting to go outside, preferring the cramped hotel room. If she were going to die, she wanted to be found with her sister, not washed up on a beach somewhere after the fish had a go at her.
"Now," he said and pushed her through the door when she hesitated.
Renee clung to the door frame, her nails piercing the wood until that forceful push sent her stumbling into the chilly night. This was it, he was marching her to her death.
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Author's Note: First of all, before I forget to mention it (because I've already forgotten a few times), thank you to everyone who has reviewed anonymously. I never get to respond to you personally but your comments are very much appreciated.
As always, thanks to emptyvoices for her vigilance and wonderful suggestions and thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.