I finally updated! Sorry I haven't updated in almost a week, but I've been gone for five days, with no computer or Internet access, so... yeah, but I'm back now. This chapter is dedicated to my best guy friend, Charlie, who unfortunately had a similar experience several times in his life. Keep on singing and acting, buddy. You know you rock my socks off. The rest of you, enjoy this next chapter.
"So do I finally get to meet this secret new girl you've been seeing?" Mr. Davis teased, as Roger and Bridget came home from a movie one night to the Davis's, in order to meet Roger's parents.
"Yes, Dad, you do," Roger said, laughing and putting his arm around Bridget. "This is Bridget Kincaid. She's a senior, like me, and she lives with her mom in a flat not too far from here."
Mr. Davis nodded. "It's very nice to finally meet you, Bridget," he said, smiling at her. "Roger talks about you quite often."
Bridget smiled. "Does he?" she asked, looking up at Roger. She shook Mr. Davis's hand. "It's nice to meet you, too, Mr. Davis."
"This is my wife, Phoebe," Mr. Davis said, indicating to his wife, who was standing next to him.
"Nice to meet you, Bridget," Mrs. Davis said, smiling at her.
Bridget nodded and smiled. "So, does Roger have any brothers or sisters?" she asked.
"Nope, it's just him, spoiled and all," Mrs. Davis said, smiling fondly at her son.
"Thanks, Mom," Roger said, laughing, and he grinned at her.
Mrs. Davis laughed. "Well, I can see you two are happy together," she said, "so congratulations to you both. And welcome to Scarsdale, Bridget. If either you or your mom ever needs anything, just ask us, OK?"
"Thanks," she said, grinning, and Roger pulled her closer to him.
The following evening, Bridget was just about to go to bed, when she heard a knock on the front door. It was almost eleven, so she was puzzled about who would be coming over at this time of night. "Mom?' she asked, coming out of her room to the hallway. Mrs. Kincaid had also come out of her room, which was right next to Bridget's.
"Now who do you think that could be?" Mrs. Kincaid asked, frowning.
"Should I get it?" Bridget asked.
"No, that's OK, sweetie, I will," Mrs. Kincaid said, looking down at her. "You just go back to bed, OK?"
"OK," Bridget said, but after her mother went downstairs, Bridget stayed where she was and crouched down by the stairway banister to listen. What she heard chilled her blood.
"Steven," Mrs. Kincaid breathed, as she swung open the door and saw her ex-husband standing there, "what are you doing here?"
"Did you really think you could run from me that long, Crystal?" Steven said, walking into the house. Mrs. Kincaid looked up at him, scared. "I'm a CEO of a huge oil company, for God's sake. I have connections and friends in high and low places. You can't just leave like that and expect me not to find you again."
"You're not supposed to be here," Mrs. Kincaid said, her voice shaking.
"The hell I'm not!" Steven yelled, and he shoved her backward, hard. "You fucking called the police on me that night you left, didn't you? They fucking put me under house arrest! Do you know how fucking embarrassing it was to be dragged off by police in front of all my friends?" He glared at her. She didn't answer. "Well? Do you?"
Mrs. Kincaid shook her head and let out a whimper. "No," she said. "But you wouldn't change your ways when I first asked you to, months ago, so I changed mine and left. It was for your own good, too; you couldn't hurt us anymore." She looked up at him. "How did you find us?"
"I hired a Private Investigator, of course," Steven said, "just like all the other times. You were pretty good at avoiding him for a while, coming all the way here, but since I paid him an excessive amount of money every day, he didn't give up." Steven held his arms out to the side and Mrs. Kincaid flinched. "And here I am." He looked down at her through cold grey eyes. "Where's Bridget?"
"I don't—" Mrs. Kincaid began, but Steven cut her off.
"DON'T lie to me, Crystal!" Steven yelled, spit flying from his mouth.
"Bridget," Mrs. Kincaid said, as calmly as she could, without turning around, "get out of here."
"Mom—" Bridget said, standing up. She wanted to help her mother, but knew she couldn't.
"Bridget, I said go!" Mrs. Kincaid yelled this time.
Bridget swallowed and nodded, just as her father looked up, searching for her. Their eyes locked, grey against green, and he shoved past Mrs. Kincaid to make his way toward Bridget. Mrs. Kincaid grabbed him by the arm to try and stop him, but he hit her across the face, hard, and she fell to the floor.
"Mom!" Bridget yelled, terrified, and in a flash, she was down the stairs and in front of her father. She tried to fight him, but he was too strong. One hit to her head had her on the floor as well. She struggled to back away from him and ran straight back up the stairs again, once she regained her senses. Steven didn't follow.
Mrs. Kincaid wasn't moving. But Bridget knew she had to do as her mother said, and that was to get herself out of there, before her father came after her, too. Fighting him herself was just putting her in a dangerous position and she knew it. Bridget bolted to her room and opened her window. She climbed out onto a metal suspension hanging from her window to the ground, covered in vines, climbed down the suspension, and jumped the last few feet, landing cleanly on the ground. Then, after a last glance back at her new house— which had yet to feel quite like a home— she raced off to Roger's.
By now, Bridget knew well where Roger's house was. It was only three blocks away from hers, so it took her only a few minutes to get there. When she did, she raised her shaky fist and knocked.
Mrs. Davis answered the door. "Bridget?" she asked, looking down at Bridget sleepily. She let out a yawn. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry to come here like this, when it's so late, Mrs. Davis," Bridget panted, "but I need a place to stay, and, well… this is the first place I thought of."
Mrs. Davis noticed the tears shining on Bridget's face. "What happened, dear?" She beckoned Bridget inside. "Come in, come in."
"Thanks," Bridget said gratefully, and she entered the Davis' house. Mrs. Davis led her into the living room and sat her in a chair.
"Would you like anything?" Mrs. Davis asked. "Water? Pop? Milk?"
"Just water, thanks," Bridget said, and Mrs. Davis got her a glass of water. Then she sat down in a chair across from Bridget. "Where's Roger?" Bridget asked.
"Closing shop with his dad tonight," Mrs. Davis replied. "They should be back any minute."
"OK," Bridget said. "Thanks for letting me come in, Mrs. Davis. I know this is really awkward and all. I really appreciate it, though." Bridget tried to smile, but it came out as more of a pained grimace, because her face hurt where her dad had hit her.
"It's OK, sweetie," Mrs. Davis assured her. "Now tell me what happened. I'll do anything I can to help."
"Thanks," Bridget said. "Well, I guess I should start from the beginning. You know I used to live in Wyoming on a ranch, right?" She looked up at Mrs. Davis, who nodded. "Well, the reason we left is because my dad was— is— abusive. He's a CEO of a huge oil company down in Wyoming. We don't really know why, but when I was five years old, he started drinking and abusing us. It started subtly at first, with stuff like pinching, but as the years went on, it accelerated to hair pulling and beatings for small things, like breaking a glass or something."
She held up her long brown hair. "And with hair like this, you can guess how easy it was for him to pull mine first." Mrs. Davis nodded and Bridget went on. "I was six years old when he came home on a drunken rage one evening, slammed me into a countertop, and broke my arm."
Just before Bridget closed her eyes, images of the painful memory flashing through her mind, she saw Mrs. Davis's hand fly up to her mouth in shock.
"But we lied to the doctors and told them that I'd been climbing a tree and fell. My mom left him and went back to him seven times, until recently. Every time we'd leave, no matter where we'd go, he would always find us. She was constantly in and out of jobs, as we frequently fled that bastard. We were even down in Mexico City at one point, from when I was twelve until I was fourteen. That was the best, because the people were nice, they taught us Spanish, and we could work off our stay, however short or longer it was. I babysat for a family, whose two little kids— a girl named Mimi, and a boy named Juan— well, they were the most adorable, well-mannered, sweetest kids in the world. I haven't seen that family since— I think their last name was Marquez?" Bridget tried to remember, but didn't.
"They gave me the best fourteenth birthday party I could ask for, just the two of us and their family and a Mexican celebration bash, and then we got word that my dad was in town for 'business'— yeah, right— and we had to leave again. That was the last time I ever saw those sweet kids' faces again."
Bridget looked down, trying to hide her tears, but she went on after a moment. "Our Mexican citizenship was temporary, and we've rented shitty apartments everywhere else. This is the first true house we've been able to afford. I'd give anything to go back to Mexico again, but if I did, I wouldn't get to see Roger."
She was about to continue, but was interrupted by Mr. Davis and Roger arriving home. "Roger, honey, can you and your dad come in the living room, please?" Mrs. Davis called.
"Mom, we're tired," Roger whined, coming into the living room. "What do you— Baby, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?" he asked. He immediately went over to her, surprised, and put his arms around her. "Tell me."
"Do you want me to tell them, Bridget?" Mrs. Davis asked, looking at Bridget, who nodded. "Bridget's dad found her and her mom tonight."
She looked at Roger, who looked back blankly. "Yeah?" he asked, pulling Bridget a little closer to him.
Mrs. Davis looked at Bridget for further permission. Bridget nodded again. "Bridget's father was abusive for years. They've tried to get away several times, but he's always managed to find them," Mrs. Davis told her husband and Roger. "He's a CEO of a big oil company, so he's been able to hire a Private Investigator every time they left, in order to find them again."
"That's fucked up," Roger growled angrily.
"Roger, watch your language," Mr. Davis scolded him.
"Sorry, Dad," Roger said, "but the man deserves to be behind bars for what he's done to them. Don't you agree?" He looked at his father.
"I do," Bridget said, before either of Roger's parents had said anything. "Mr. Davis, most of my mom's and my stuff is still down in Wyoming. If he's not there, due to jail or whatever, can't we go get it back and start a real life here in Scarsdale?" She looked at Mr. Davis. "That's all I want."
"Don't worry, Bridget," Mr. Davis said, "we'll help you with that."
"OK, thanks, Mr. Davis," Bridget said. Then her face clouded. "Oh my God, I almost forgot about my mom! She told me to get out of there, but he was hurting her. God, I have to go back. How am I supposed to know if she's OK otherwise?"
"Roger and I will go," Mr. Davis said. "You stay with Phoebe, OK?"
"OK," Bridget said, and she sat down wearily in a nearby chair.
"Are you gonna be OK, Baby?" Roger asked, looking at her with concern.
"Yeah, I'll live," Bridget said, waving him off. "You can go."
Roger nodded and left with his father.
"Oh my God, Mom!" Bridget exclaimed with relief, as Crystal came hobbling into the Davis's house with Mr. Davis and Roger, a little while later. Bridget rushed over to Mrs. Kincaid and threw her arms around her mother. "Are you OK?"
"Ow, ow, ow," Mrs. Kincaid groaned, as Bridget hugged her gently. "Yeah, I'm OK, sweetie, are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Mom," Bridget said, as she helped her mother into a chair. "God, what did Dad do to you after I left? Why are you limping?"
"It's nothing, honey," Mrs. Kincaid said, shrugging it off. "I twisted my ankle when I fell, that's all."
Bridget could already see bruises forming and swelling rising on her mother's face. "Mom," she choked, as tears formed in her eyes.
"Don't worry, honey, I'm fine," Mrs. Kincaid said. "As long as you're OK, I'm OK."
Bridget nodded and turned to Mr. Davis. "Mr. Davis, what are we gonna do?" she asked him.
"I called the police on the way down," Mr. Davis said. "They should be arresting him soon. I told them to come here once they had, so we could have this"— he indicated to Mrs. Kincaid— documented for evidence and set up a court date to press charges and, hopefully, put him behind bars for good."
Mrs. Kincaid nodded and winced. "Thank you, Mr. Davis," she said quietly.
Mr. Davis nodded. "Of course," he said. "Also, Mrs. Kincaid—"
"Please, call me Crystal," Mrs. Kincaid said to him.
Mr. Davis nodded. "OK. Also, Crystal, if you and Bridget want to stay here tonight, you may. There's a guest bedroom that you and Bridget can stay in, next to Roger's."
"Oh," Mrs. Kincaid said, looking up. "Thank you, but no. I would really like to go home after this is all over and sleep in my own bed, if that's OK."
"That's perfectly fine," Mr. Davis assured her, nodding again. "Bridget?" He turned to face her.
Bridget turned to her mother. "I'd like to stay," she said, looking at her mother.
"OK," Mrs. Kincaid said, "as long as you're safe."
"Don't worry, Mom, the Davis's won't let anything happen to me." She smiled weakly.
"OK, then you can stay," Mrs. Kincaid said. Not too much later, an officer and detective came to talk to Bridget and Mrs. Kincaid. They were photographed and their statements given, and then Mrs. Kincaid gave Bridget a hug.
"Crystal," Mrs. Davis said, "let me give you a ride home? We don't want you walking on that ankle for a while."
"OK," Mrs. Kincaid said, feeling in no mood to argue. She thanked the officer and detective, and then left with Mrs. Davis.
Roger came forward and put his arms around Bridget's waist from behind. "Don't worry," he said, "my mom will take care of her. She'll make sure she's settled in and doing fine. And it's late. You should get some sleep."
"OK," Bridget said.
"Dad," Roger said, turning to Mr. Davis, "Bridget and I are going to go to bed, OK?"
"OK, Roger," Mr. Davis said, "just remember the rules. Bridget, the guest room is right next to Roger's."
"OK," Bridget said, smiling at Mr. Davis. They bid each other goodnight in the hallway and then each went into their respective bedrooms. Bridget was so tired that she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
As always, don't forget to review. Next chapter will be up soon.
Until next time, lots of love,
Renthead07