Escaping Parker, page 2
I have to run some errands–the typical grocery store crap and dry cleaners to make sure his suits are clean for his showings of homes for the real estate business he uses to hide everything else under. I send a text to Steven, so he can have eyes on me.
Me: Heading out to the market and dry cleaners. Do you need anything while I’m out?
I wait to leave until I hear back. God forbid I don’t hear my phone and miss something he needs. While I’m getting my grocery bags ready, my phone beeps a specific ring so I know when it’s him and I can get to it quick.
Steven: No, I’m fine. I’ll let you know when I need something. I’ll be home at 6pm.
That only leaves me two hours to run around and get back to make sure dinner is made and ready. I start to stress that I’m not going to have enough time, but sitting here worrying isn’t creating more. So I set out to get everything done. Thank God I know the store like the back of my hand.
After a quick stop at the dry cleaners, I make my way through the grocery store, getting everything that is necessary, making a few sacrifices on personal items I need, all in order to save time. I’m lucky I don’t get a speeding ticket on the way home. Fortunately, I bought a pre-cooked chicken from the deli to save some time. Not the first time I opted for some help.
Normally, I love to cook, but today is rushing by, and I can’t seem to slow it down.
I struggle to get everything together and compose myself before Steven walks through that door, but something is looming in the air. Chills run down my back, giving me some weird kind of premonition of how the evening is going to go. I wouldn’t say I’m psychic, nothing like that, just all day I have felt off.
I shake myself from my thoughts; they are only making it harder on me, always anticipating the inevitable.
Everything’s ready, so I set the table, expecting him to walk through that door any minute.
He’s an hour late now, and I start to get nervous. He is always on time when he says he is going to be home. The rare times he doesn’t make it, he lets me know.
I sip my wine, acting like nothing is wrong. Knowing if I call him, it will only make him angry that I’m checking in on him. What if something happened to him? My morbid thoughts start to take over, and wonder if he’s been in an accident. Or maybe he tried to pull his whole I run shit attitude with the wrong person. He could be lying in a ditch right now. A grin creeps across my face.
I’m a horrible person to think that about anybody, but for me, I would do anything to live a normal life. I could just play the sad wife role for a moment, knowing inside I would be thanking God for giving me a way out.
Me and my morbid thoughts.
I wait for another half hour, still hearing nothing, silently praying an officer will come knocking on my door. But there is nothing.
I know the second I get up from this chair he will come barreling through this door, so I decide on not moving. After draining a half bottle of wine, my head feels heavy. Crossing my arms in front of me on the table, I lay my head down on them. Just as my eyes start to close, the door opens, then immediately slams. Disappointment plagues me as he walks toward me, but I show no signs of my private thoughts when I see the look on his angry face.
“I’m not hungry after the shit I just went through.” he says as he walks by the table, reaching out and knocking his plate to the floor. The dish breaks, sending porcelain shards and food all over. “Clean up this fucking mess!” he yells before walking away.
“Ok,” I say quietly and hang my head. The tears start to build, but I’ll be damned if I let one escape and show weakness.
“What did you say?” he stops in his tracks, turning around to face me.
“I said ok. I’ll get this cleaned up.”
“Ok? How about not saying anything and just do what I tell you to do.” He looms over me. “I don’t need your sad, poor me, small answers. Look at me when I am talking to you.”
I’m terrified he’ll see the fear in my eyes. Most men prey upon fear. Not him, it just infuriates him more. I slowly breathe in, begging it to calm me down and make the wetness from my tears suddenly disappear. I lift my head up and look him in the eye.
“What the fuck are you crying for? You know, not only do you embarrass me with your coward attitude, but you embarrass yourself. Clean this mess up and go to bed. I can’t deal with this shit right now. I’ll be in my office,” he says.
The door to his office slams shut, and I quickly clean up so I can just go to bed.
I tiptoe down the hall, knowing to him I can’t even walk right at this point. I slip into my room and change my clothes fast, before he comes out, and make my way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I slam into him on my way out.
“Sorry,” I say meekly, as I try to walk around him. When I step to one side he cuts me off.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To bed, I’m tired.”
“Oh no you aren’t. You aren’t going to bed until you have done your wifely duties. Do you think you can do that right?”
“I . . .”
He slams me against the counter, hitting my spine on the cold tile. Pain shoots down my back, and I whimper.
“Don’t act like that hurt you.” He closes the distance, his breath reeking of liquor. “You used to like it rough, remember that? When you used to make me happy?”
Fear courses through my veins, my breathing strained as my walls start closing in. He stares me in my eyes, but I keep them emotionless, not showing him any sign I’m frightened. That will just make it worse. I stay silent.
“Answer me!” he shouts.
I jump. “I used to, yes.”
“Well, why don’t we get you reacquainted with how you used to be. Now strip.” He isn’t asking, he’s telling me what I have to do. I take too long complying, and he yells, “Now!”
The first tear falls as I step back and pull down my sweatpants. Humiliated and ashamed, I continue doing what I’m told, not wanting to get knocked around physically, because I don’t know if he will be able to stop.
It has been years since I have had sex with this man willingly. Most people don’t understand what it feels like having to choose between staying alive to fight another day, or defying him, hoping his threats are empty.
I’m dead inside, but I choose to remain an optimist. Refusing to give up so easily, it’s a daily fight to keep my head above water. Defeat isn’t something I plan on giving in to. I tread carefully to keep my life, knowing if I just keep going, I will be free one day.
Being forced to commit such a personal act unwillingly violates every part of my soul. I’ve said no, stop, so many times, it just falls on deaf ears. He takes what he wants. I often wonder if being in jail is better than this, knowing there I will also be under the control of another, but will it be as bad? I have vivid dreams about ending his life; I have weighed out the pros and cons. Would a jury sympathize with me, would the amount of evidence be enough to liberate me? Or would I just become another woman, let down by the system? I have nobody on my side since I haven’t ever spoken a word to anybody.
No one option seems better than the other, so I die inside a little more while he forces himself on me.
I’ve been broken and cut down the whole weekend. Steven was in and out of the house, which left me a lot of time alone, thinking, feeling dirty inside, which hurts me to the core.
So having to get ready is a challenge this morning, scrambling around, feeling like I’m missing something. I’ve double checked everything multiple times, but everything is here.
I’m running late to my meeting with this new client, Andrew, which makes me feel unprofessional. I know I’m going to be apologizing a million times. As I pull into the empty parking lot, I wonder if I’ve confused the dates. There aren’t any other cars here. I brush it off, knowing lots of people take public transportation in the city to avoid the gridlock of lovely Southern California. After parking, I gather my briefcase and computer out of the back of my car, and make my way to the front of the building.
Being in the city, I would expect to be walking into a large building with an elevator. To my surprise, it’s not. I check the address on my phone again, making sure I’m at the right place. I am. I walk in to a mostly unfurnished lobby. A small older woman with peppered hair sits at a mahogany desk. She looks a little tired, but brightens up once she sees me.
“Hi. My name is Clarissa. I’m here to see Andrew . . . um . . . I don’t have his last name.”
“Clarissa, he is expecting you. Let me go back and see if he is ready. Give me a second.” She smiles, backs out of her chair, and disappears behind the only door I see here. There isn’t anywhere for me to sit, so I haul my bags over my shoulder and stand there, acting busy while I check my phone. A couple minutes go by, and she comes back and holds open the door.
“He’s ready now, dear. Please follow me.” I’m slightly intimidated, not completely comfortable in this empty space.
We walk through the door and Andrew, I presume, is behind at an empty desk, with a yellow envelope sitting right in the middle. Unexpectedly, he’s also an older gentleman, gray hair, who looks full of life. I guess youth is the stereotype I have of the modern world full of technology, because you could never get my grandparents behind a computer. The funny thing is, I don’t even see a computer on his desk. An urge to flee floods my system. The only thing stopping me is the receptionist blocking the entrance.
“Clarissa, so glad you could make it. Please take a seat.” He stands up, extending his hand towards me.
“Andrew, nice to meet you,” I say, apprehension apparent in my voice.
“Can I get you something? Water, coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Ok.” He motions to his secretary. “Mary, if you could please excuse us. We have some business to discuss. Thank you for showing her in.”
“Of course. Good luck, dear. He is the best at what he does. I hope it all works out for you,” she says quietly before she exits.
I quirk an eyebrow.
“I guess you’re wondering why someone who is interested in buying one of your websites doesn’t have a computer in his office, huh?” he asks.
“That did come to mind.”
“That’s because I’m not buying your website, I’m buying you freedom instead.” He leans forward in his chair, watching my reaction.
“What?”
“After your video call on Thursday with one of my associates, she immediately called me and told me how dire your situation was. She gave me the little information she had on you, including your email address, and I had some of my friends give me the lowdown on you and your husband.”
“I don’t understand,” I stutter. Did I hear him correctly, or is this all just a dream?
“I know this is all a lot to take in, so tell me if I’m going too fast, or if you have any questions. We don’t have much time.”
“Ok.”
“Since the day my daughter was killed by her ex-husband, my life has been committed to making sure women, like you and her, have a safe way to get out. I couldn’t help my daughter, but I owe it to her to help as many women and children as I can. From here, you will be taken by car to a destination not known by others. You will have no knowledge of where you are going until you get there. Everything you brought with you today stays here; I will make sure it is disposed of correctly. You can bring nothing but the clothes on your back.”
“What do I do about money? Is this for real, or is this some sick joke set up by my husband?” My mind spins as I try to take it all in. I wonder if this is real, if I’m ready, or how I will make it without anything of mine.
“Right now, you don’t need to worry about money. We’ll get you all set up, and once you have a new name, social security, and appearance, we’ll go from there. Although, I must let you know, this isn’t something that is going to happen overnight. This is a long process of running, never staying in the same place for too long. You’ll have someone I appoint to your case with you for a while, so you won’t be alone. Do you have any questions?” he asks, sympathy etched in his eyes.
“Can I call my parents?” I gulp back the lump in my throat. “They don’t have the slightest clue that this has been going on, and I just want to say goodbye to them.”
I don’t know if this is real. I try to feel him out, gauge his honesty. How can I just jump into this, wondering if Steven has set this up to see how far I would go to leave? How will I ever know if I don’t do it? I could be giving up the only opportunity in my life to get away.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t call anyone,” he says. “Nobody can know that this is going on. It will put them in danger, and I’m sure that is the first place your husband will go. So the less they know, the better. It’s going to be hard, but this, as you have explained, is life or death. You need to go now and start over. I will always know where you are.”
“He knows I’m here; my phone is tracked. He will come after you. I’m sure if you look out the front, there’s someone parked out there, watching me. I can’t just walk out of here like nobody is around.”
“I know you don’t know me, but please trust me. I have been doing this for fifteen years now. I know what I am doing. Don’t worry about me. This isn’t my office, and nobody knows I am here. My wife and I will follow you out and get in another car. It’s already done.” I get a small glimmer of hope, that this is what I’ve been looking for, and it calms me.
I take a deep breath as the information starts to sink in. Many different emotions overcome me, and my eyes well up with tears. A sadness settles in my gut that I won’t ever get to talk to my parents again, but understanding it’s what needs to be done to protect them. But I’m joyful that my prayers have finally been answered and I get to start over, able to live for me again. Determination to make sure I do everything correctly so I don’t jeopardize this last chance I have been given.
“Can’t I have a day to think about this? I know what I need to do, but this is all so much,” I express.
“No, you need to leave today, now. Can I be honest with you?” he asks.
“Yes, of course.”
“Sadly, if you don’t leave today and take this chance, there may not be another. You putting this off because of fear will really seal your own fate. You may not be alive to get another chance, so it’s important that you still keep fighting, pushing, and getting away. I don’t want to read about you in the news. Please, Clarissa. Let me help you.”
“Ok, I’ll go. I don’t know if I will ever be able to thank you enough for giving me my life back,” I say, completely choked up.
“Follow the plan and never go off course. Keep my men and women who are helping safe, and that will be thanks enough. Are you ready to go?” He stands up with his hands clasped in front of him, the way he acts so calm has a way of settling the nerves in me.
“I am.”
“Ok, lastly, I need you to remove your jewelry, anything you would be recognized by. Put it in this bag here.” He hands me a bag, and I have never been so happy to remove these cold pieces of metal from my finger, what was once a symbol of our love and commitment, has turned into a ball and chain I’m ready to take off.
I take off my earrings and a small chain around my neck, placing them in the bag. While zipping it closed, I think of it like I’m closing this chapter of my life, ready to start the next.
I hand him the jewelry baggie and my other belongings I brought with me. He walks over to a curtain and opens it up, revealing a back door.
“Please, follow me,” he says, leading to a parking lot, where there are two cars waiting. One is a black SUV, with a man holding the door open, and Mary sits in the other.
“This is Mark. He will be driving you, and then you will be meeting up with your point person, who will be traveling with you for the rest of the time. Here, this is yours.” He hands me the envelope that was sitting on his desk.
I nod at Mark. He’s older, like Andrew, but tall and lean, with his “I mean business” kind of look. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes, and he’s wearing slacks and a sports coat, like some secret agent. I wonder if I poke him if he will even acknowledge it. He is a nice looking man, not my cup of tea, but that’s the last thing I’m thinking about right now.
I flip the envelope over in my hands a couple times, then start to open it.
“Don’t open it yet. Wait until you get to your resting place. Stay safe,” Andrew says, then hops in his car.
I look around and say my silent goodbye to a city I love, hoping this isn’t goodbye forever.
“Get in,” Mark says curtly.
I do as he says, and buckle up, not knowing where I am going, and not wanting to ask. I don’t know if I am allowed to. We pull out and I close my eyes, laying my head back on the headrest and taking in everything. I’m terrified, unsure if this will even work. Steven has always been able to find me no matter where I have gone. This is completely different this time, but I’m still scared. If he does end up locating me, he will keep good on his promise.
It’s unlike me to trust so easily, and that’s exactly what I just did with Andrew. I took the first chance at getting out and I ran with it, hoping this isn’t all a lie. I’m grasping at anything at this point, so I can just learn to be again.
“Hi, um . . . Mark, how long will we be on the road,” I ask quietly, not wanting to be a pest.
“Well into the night. We have about twelve hours until we get to our first stop. Do you need something?”
“No, just wondering. I don’t know really how this all happened so fast. I just don’t know where we are going, and I’m a little scared.”
“Well, Mrs. Fields . . .”
“Clarissa, please call me Clarissa.” I hate that damn last name.
“Clarissa, you have nothing to be scared of. I fully intend to keep you safe, and I will not let anything happen to you. This is not something you really can prepare for. If you would have known, well, then so could have your husband. Just try to relax, and enjoy the ride.”
