Hell, Fire & Freedom (Fighting for Freedom) Read online

  I hope he’s in a better mood when he comes home, but it’s about a fifty-fifty chance. Some days he’ll come home with new clothes, take out, or jewelry, and other times he’ll come home with more fists to throw around. I really, really hope it’s a good day.

  My stomach bumps up against the counter while I apply my lip-gloss, and I wince. That one’s going to take a few weeks to heal. I say a prayer that nothing is broken because God knows Carl would never let me see a doctor.

  I take a final look in the mirror, and realize I don’t look too bad, all things considered. I’ve been getting a lot better at covering up any damage Carl manages to dish out. He bought me a book on stage makeup a few years ago, and I have learned a lot about which colors I should use to hide bruises, redness, blemishes; you name it, I can probably conceal it.

  I take my blood-stained clothes and carry them down to the basement where I start the washer. The walk back upstairs is excruciating, but I know Carl will be home shortly. I do the breakfast dishes with haste before starting on my dessert for supper.

  I decide to play it safe after last night, and bake the lemon meringue pie his mother taught me to make the last time she visited. I wonder if she truly knows what kind of a monster she created, or if she’s just so in love with her son that she’s completely blind to his violent temperament. In any case, she tolerates me, at best, so I’m sure she doesn’t care what becomes of me. Carl visits her often, but luckily she doesn’t come around here much.

  I hear the front door unlock and say a final prayer that his mood has improved. I’m gathering the ingredients when Carl walks into the kitchen with a smile. I can’t help it, but I find myself smiling, too. Not because I’m happy to see him, but because I don’t have to fear for my life again today. Well, at least not at this very minute, and that’s something. Isn’t it?

  “I’m so sorry, Darling,” he croons in his completely unsympathetic, fully condescending way. “I don’t know what got into me this morning. I just get so upset when you act as though you’re a child and not a woman of twenty-two. It’s hard for me to understand how you’re still so incapable, but you are, and there’s nothing we can do about it, now is there?” Carl asks, speaking to me as though I’m an infant. I smile and nod because it’s all I’m able to do without wanting to lash out.

  I want to call him an abusive asshole and tell him that if he thinks I still have the mental capacity of a child, it’s because I’m locked up in this house with a complete idiot for all but an hour a week, but I don’t. I smile weakly because I am weak. I’m tired, and I’m beaten down, and I just can’t see an end in sight.

  I notice that he’s pulling a box from his back pocket, and I recognize the light blue—it’s from his favorite jewelry store.

  “I got you a little something to wear, so you’ll think of me while I’m at work,” Carl says.

  As if the shiner on my face and the bruised ribs aren’t enough of a reminder?

  He opens the box, and I’m actually a little taken aback. It’s a beautiful heart shaped necklace with a lock in the center. The entire thing is encrusted with diamonds and it takes my breath away for a moment before I remember who it’s from and the circumstances under which I’m receiving it. I take a closer look and think of the irony. Of course it’s a lock without a key. Carl never wants me to feel free, not even for a moment. This isn’t a gift, it’s a reminder. I’m careful of the emotion I let show on my face, however. Carl expects me to be grateful, happy, and pretend as if nothing has happened. So, that’s what I give him.

  “It’s beautiful, Carl, thank you. I’ll think of you whenever I wear it,” I say. I hate every word that I speak, but I know it’s what will keep me safe. Lying to Carl has become second nature. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’m just a shell of someone I used to be.

  He places the lock around my neck, and it feels like a heavy collar being placed around a prisoner’s neck. I stroke the pendant with my thumb and close my eyes, wishing my prince charming were placing something lovingly around my neck.

  “Now be a good little wife and go out and get the groceries from the garage, will you?” Carl asks expectantly.

  I’m glad he’s standing behind me and doesn’t notice the pained look that washes over my face. I can barely stand; how am I supposed to carry in a week’s worth of groceries? I know I have no choice in the matter, and it’s certainly the lesser of two evils. So I do what a good wife does, I get the groceries from the garage, and then I bake my husband a pie.

  ~

  The rest of the weekend passes without much drama. Carl stayed relatively quiet and didn’t touch me again. I can hear him snoring softly behind me now. I find it relatively calming tonight to know that he can’t physically hurt me while he’s asleep. I’m free to my own thoughts, my own dreams. I palm the necklace in my hand again, counting the diamonds with the tips of my fingers. There has to be at least a hundred. I’m certain it’s the most expensive piece of jewelry Carl has ever purchased for me, and I wonder if it’s enough to get Marie and me safely away from here. What in the hell would I do with the money anyway, and how could I do it without Carl’s knowledge?

  If I’m going to do anything, though, I have to do it soon. I know Marie will have no groceries this week and possibly not next week either, depending on how spiteful Carl feels. I don’t get to send her much as is, so she probably doesn’t have a lot stored up either.

  Carl works at the state bank, about a twenty-five minute drive from our house. He takes the car to work, and he doesn’t keep any cash inside the house. If I’m going to finally do this, then I need a plan. I’ve come up with hundreds in the past, but they all lacked one thing: enough money to get us far enough away from Carl so that he couldn’t find us. I don’t think he knows it yet, but this lock could become my key.

  Chapter 3

  I glance over at the alarm clock again, making sure to move only my eyes. I barely slept at all last night; I kept going over what I have to do today in my head. My palms are sweating, and my heart is racing so loud, I’m scared it’s going to wake Carl. I glance again, and it’s 6:27. Just three more minutes. I can do this. If not for myself, I have to do it for Marie. The alarm goes off, and I quickly silence it before rolling out of bed, careful not to do any further damage to my stomach. It’s feeling a little better today; I can stand mostly upright without much pain. It’s an improvement, and I’ll take any that I can at the moment. Carl checks the alarm clock quickly, before rolling over in bed.

  I use the bathroom and then check my bruising in the mirror. I look absolutely terrible. My eye is bruised purple and green, and it’s still swollen. I work swiftly to conceal it and then my lip. I lift up my nightie and see the work of art he gave me there, too. It’s been days, but it always seems to look worse before it gets any better—at least it’s covered by clothing for the day.

  I get dressed for the day before leaving the bathroom and walking into the baby blue kitchen. Its light oak cupboards lining the walls are interrupted only by appliances dated back a few decades. There’s nothing about this house that I admire, but when has my opinion ever mattered, anyway? I quickly set about making Carl’s breakfast. My pulse is racing, and I can feel the sweat dripping from my forehead. I wipe it off and take a few calming breaths.

  Checking behind me first to make sure Carl isn’t there, I make my way to the dining room with his breakfast tray and see him emerging from the bedroom.

  “Good morning, Darling, you look lovely today,” Carl says, blandly.

  My nerves are so shot that I’m scared my voice will shake if I reply, but I need to try. “Good morning, Carl. You look handsome, as always,” I say with a smile. I’m quite proud of myself for maintaining my composure.

  I can do this.

  He nods sternly before taking a seat and beginning his breakfast. I grab a slice of whole wheat toast and a yogurt from the kitchen before taking my seat. I’ll need my strength today. I eat slowly, hoping that Carl won’t attempt to make smal
l talk, or even worse, comment on what I’m eating. I still don’t trust myself to speak to him without my voice shaking. Fortunately, he doesn’t speak again until he’s finished.

  “All right, I’m off to work. Do not, under any circumstances, open the front door. The last thing we need is a nosy Miss Wilson bringing over a pity meal again, acting suspicious.

  I’m calling Mother today, too. She won’t be able to come over this week; I can’t have her seeing you in the state you’re in. She would be appalled to learn my wife is a clumsy fool, as well as a lousy cook. Am I right, Darling?” he asks, disgusted.

  He walks over to say goodbye, and it takes everything in me to smile at his condescending comment, but I do. I rise to meet him. “Of course, Carl.” With that, he leans in to kiss me, and I feel his stiffness press into me. I choke down the fear that takes over my body.

  “You’re lucky I’m already running late for work,” he threatens. I nod and turn to clear the breakfast dishes, desperately trying to calm my breathing. I hear Carl set the alarm before closing the front door and locking it behind him.

  I watch out the kitchen window, pretending to do the dishes, as he gets in his car and starts to pull away. I force myself to count to ten, so he doesn’t see me run the second he leaves the driveway. When I feel like it’s safe, I drop the dishes back into the sink and run to the basement to grab Carl’s ancient suitcase. Returning upstairs, I shove it full of clothes, toiletries, and makeup, all while my stomach throbs in pain.

  I check the front window every few minutes to make sure he hasn’t returned—so far, so good. I still have some room left in the suitcase so I shove some apples, granola bars, water, and crackers in there. I’m not sure when I’m going to be able to eat next, and I want to make sure I can keep my promise to Marie that she stays fed.

  I fill my purse with all of the jewelry Carl has given me through the years. I’m careful not to take anything that was his mother’s or anything that’s his. I don’t need to give him another reason to come after me, or worse, send the police to bring me back.

  I grab the phone and call a taxi to an empty house down the street. After hanging up, I dial the local movie line so he won’t be able to find the last number I called until he receives his phone records. He knows I don’t have any money, so hopefully he will think I left on foot and I’m just hiding somewhere around town.

  I take one last look around the house. Is this finally it, or am I going to get myself killed here? I can’t say I care anymore. Free or dead, it’s all the same so long as Carl can no longer hurt me.

  I slip on my shoes and open the window that leads from the dining room out to the back deck and climb out, reaching back in to take my suitcase and purse with me. I don’t need him seeing from his monitor at work that the front door was opened. I know he hasn’t done anything to the windows yet because he was hoping to put the alarms on those this summer.

  I close the window and take a deep breath; my body is really working against me right now, and I almost wish I had decided to do this when my ribs were fully healed. Almost. I make my way through the neighbors’ backyards, hoping they don’t notice me; we were never really close with any of them, but my paranoia is in full force. I come into the front yard of a house that’s been on the market for almost a year now and I notice the taxi is already waiting. Relieved, I slide into the back seat, keeping my baggage with me.

  The driver is a big guy, probably three hundred or so pounds. He’s wearing a baseball cap, and sporting a scruffy beard. His taxi smells like stale cigarettes and spearmint gum. I cringe slightly before speaking. “Could you take me to Howard’s Pawn Shop on Ninth, please?” My voice is shaky, and he looks at me inquisitively through the rear view mirror. I figure he can probably still see the bruising on my face. I look a lot better than I did, but all the makeup in the world couldn’t make it disappear entirely. He starts the meter and backs the car out of the driveway. I do a quick scan of the road for Carl’s car and come up with nothing. “I’ll just need to run into the pawn shop a moment, and then North Valley High School, please. My final stop will be at the airport,” I say, as my voice cracks.

  “Of course, ma’am, not a problem at all,” he says with a curt nod before turning his eyes back to the road.

  I’ve heard some women in the grocery store talk about how Mr. Howard is a fair man, and I hope that proves true. We pull up to the store front, and I grab my purse and rush inside. I’m aware that I look a bit frantic, so I take a few calming breaths before walking up to the counter.

  Mr. Howard is a short man who appears to be at least eighty. He has a small ring around his head of sparse grey hair and light grey eyes that exude warmth. I feel myself relaxing in his presence.

  “What can I do for you this fine day, missus?”

  “I’m looking to sell some jewelry. I was told this was a good place to go,” I say, pulling the boxes from my purse and opening them, my hands shaking slightly. I slip my wedding rings off of my fingers and set those on the counter, too.

  “Now, what’s a pretty lady like you doing, selling all of your stuff?” he asks, looking into my eyes. I begin to panic and search for an exit. He knows. Maybe he’s a friend of Carl’s. God, Brynn, what were you thinking? This is incredibly careless and risky. I look back up at Mr. Howard who’s looking at me sympathetically, and not in an accusatory way.

  “Now, now, calm down, I was just teasing you. That’s none of my business at all, now is it? I’m just a nosy old man, don’t mind me,” he says, taking out an eye piece. He looks the jewelry over. “This is some beautiful stuff you have here—all high end.”

  “It’s been well taken care of, sir. I also have this necklace,” I say, undoing the clasp and removing it from my neck. With that, his eyes grow wide.

  “Now, this I might need to keep for myself,” he chuckles. “She’s like a crow, she loves all things shiny. I’m coming up on almost sixty years with the missus. I think she would like this, don’t you?” he asks looking it over. “What were you looking to get for all of this?”

  “I would think she would. I’m not sure what it’s all worth, to be honest. I just need ... as much as possible,” I say awkwardly. He looks into my eyes, and I swear he can sense my fear.

  “Well, this necklace alone is worth about ten grand, new, and the other stuff here, all together, is probably about the same.”

  I gasp, wondering how Carl ever came up with that kind of money, or why he would ever spend it on me. I guess there’s a lot about Carl I will probably never understand.

  “What would you say to ten thousand cash?” he asks with a partially toothless smile.

  “I would say you’re a most generous man,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. He opens the safe behind him and returns with a stack of money and a little oval coin with a woman’s face emblazoned upon it. I recognize it as some sort of religious medallion, as he places it in the palm of my hand.

  “You take care of yourself, you hear? A pretty lady like yourself shouldn’t carry this much cash around for long. You’re smart; make sure you find yourself someone who appreciates that,” he says and then points to the little coin. “This is just a little something so you always know someone is looking out for you. Take care of yourself,” he says kindly.

  “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me. Happy anniversary to you and your wife, and may you be blessed with many more happy years together,” I say sincerely, before turning and leaving the store.

  I climb into the back seat of the taxi, and the driver starts off again without a word. I slouch down, terrified that someone will recognize me and report back to Carl before I have the chance to flee town. His warnings that he has eyes everywhere have always made me nervous. The taxi driver glances back at me skeptically.

  We pull up in front of Marie’s school, and I mentally prepare myself for the task ahead before climbing out of the taxi. I say a little prayer that she remembers who I am and that she will want to come with me. I walk into the fr
ont office, and give the secretary Marie’s name before walking back into the hallway so she won’t be privy to our conversation.

  I pace back and forth apprehensively until I catch sight of her coming down the hallway. She’s tall now—so much taller than I remember. She’s almost as tall as I am, which is roughly five foot five. Her eyes are cast to the floor, and her long blonde hair spills in front of her face. It takes everything in me not to run and pull her into my arms, but I don’t want to scare her.

  She looks up and recognizes me immediately. She looks good—she could stand to gain another fifteen pounds, but overall, she looks healthy. I let myself smile genuinely for what seems like the first time in forever.

  “Marie?” I ask cautiously. But there’s no need for caution as she throws herself into my arms and buries her face in my neck.

  “I thought you were a dream. I knew I had a sister. I knew you would come back. Ma told me I was crazy,” Marie rambles with a mix of excitement and disbelief. I can feel her hot tears trickle onto my neck, and I’m shocked to find I’m also crying.

  The taxi driver honks outside and brings me back to reality. We don’t have much time.

  “Marie, listen carefully. I left my husband, Carl; he’s a very dangerous man, and he will come after the both of us if we don’t get out of here quickly. I need to go far away, and I want you to come with me. I’ll take care of you as best as I can. You can call Ma when we get there, but please, please say you’ll come with me. I can’t do this without you,” I beg. She looks like she wants to say something, but stops and nods her head instead. I breathe a sigh of relief.