Escaping Parker, page 7
“We’re changing our course right now to throw them off. Please don’t wallow on this. Andrew and I know what to do.”
“I’ll try not to.” My voice is coated in sarcasm.
“There it is. I knew that attitude would be back soon.” Rig grins. “Welcome back, didn’t think the niceness would last too long.”
“The niceness? I’m a very likable person, and let’s remember it’s my life we are talking about here. You shouldn’t have told me.” I raise my voice.
“You told me to tell you. Let’s be very clear on one thing here: It’s not just your life. It’s my fucking life as well. You think they wouldn’t come after me first? He knows by now that you aren’t doing this alone; you haven’t successfully done it alone any of the other times,” Rig says matter-of-factly.
“Oh, nice jab there. Thanks for that.”
“It wasn’t meant for a jab, it was just a fact. Look, it’s pointless to argue with you over who is more in danger. Forget I even told you, and from now on, if you want to know things, don’t decide after you hear them that you don’t want to hear them.”
“Deal.”
We don’t say another word on the subject, and I know I need to chill out on the way I let words fly out of my mouth. It’s not a good trait, and I know I’m just letting out pent up anger and hurt, but I don’t need to let it affect other people in the process.
After a long, quiet drive we arrive at a hotel so Rig can get some rest for the night. We settle into our double-bed room, and have food brought up. Rig falls asleep right after we eat. Bored out of my mind, I soak in the tub. Then I’m left flipping through channels, finding nothing appealing to watch.
I turn the TV off and search the mini-fridge, hoping there’s something good that will assist in my boredom. I’m not normally a drinker, but I just need it to ease my own thoughts. It’s fully stocked. I grab a mini vodka, which is sure to cost a lot of money. I take a whiff, and it singes my nose. Sure that this is just what I need, I toss the contents back, welcoming the burning feeling. I quickly grab my drink on the nightstand and chase the vodka with it. Warmth floods my stomach and I start to feel comfortable, so I figure having one more won’t hurt. I shoot another one back quickly, and thankfully this one doesn’t burn as much as the last.
I walk over to the window and stare intently out at the city below, watching cars and people move along carefree, going about their lives. I wish I could be out there with them, walking around exploring. Once I’ve had enough torture, I walk away from the window, and my foot catches on the oversized comforter. I trip and fall flat on the floor with a loud thud. With my inebriated state, I start to laugh uncontrollably, waking up Rig.
He pops up. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m A-O-Fucking-K.” My words slur.
His eyes cut to the empty bottles on the side of the bed. “Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice laced with irritation.
“Me? No, no. I’m not drunk, buzzed might be a better word. I didn’t mean to wake you, I tripped on the blanket.” I get up from the floor, stumbling a little. The liquor is really starting to set in, and my head is a little fuzzy. It feels fantastic. I don’t care what he has to say. I’m not a child, and I definitely don’t need to be told what I can and can’t do.
“That really isn’t the best thing to be doing. What if we have to leave quickly? I can’t have you not being able to function in a crisis situation,” he explains.
“I can function just fine, watch.” I walk over to the mini fridge, grabbing an amber colored liquid, and quickly drink it up. I cough and cringe as soon as I taste it. Not as easy to go down as the vodka, but I’m trying to make a point here.
“That wasn’t what I was talking about.” He shakes his head, keeping his eyes down at the bed.
“Maybe you want to have a drink and lighten up. I’ve slept all day and most of the ride here. I can’t sleep and I’m bored.”
“Well, this isn’t a fun vacation, and I’m not here to worry about your entertainment. Sorry, can’t help you there, and I don’t drink while I work.”
“Aren’t you just a party pooper? Suit yourself, you can go back to bed now. I promise not to wake you again.” I stumble to my bed, grabbing the empty bottles and tossing them one by one into the trash can, like I’m playing basketball.
“I can’t go back to bed once I’m up,” Rig grumbles. “So what has been your drink of choice tonight?” He sits up in bed, leaning back against the headboard and running his hands over his face.
“I went with the vodka, then when I finished those off, I drank some of that awful whiskey. It was horrid, but it did the trick.” I flop onto the bed, my feet dangling over the edge.
“What trick was that?” he asks seriously.
“The I don’t give a shit trick. I’m just trying to feel normal for a moment, have a little fun, and forget about everything. No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about the dreadful things he has done to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that my judgment is so far off that I actually thought this was the man I was going to spend my life with. You know, I would look at myself in the mirror every day, searching for the thing I did to make him treat me like this. I still do it.”
“Well, you’re never going to find it, because it doesn’t exist.” It’s sweet, but I can’t believe it.
“You know, things were great for a while, well, before I knew what he was really doing. If you would’ve asked me back then if I was scared my husband would ever hurt me, the answer would have been: no way in hell. It’s like something snapped in his head, and he woke up completely different one day, I always thought it was my fault, I know now that it wasn’t, but he always made me feel like it was.” I let out a long, slow breath.
“You don’t just snap, it’s was always there. And it’s definitely not something you did. There isn’t anything in the world that a woman could do to make me abuse her, physically or verbally. It’s just not what you do.”
“I guess so.” I look down at my hands, nervously picking off little fuzz balls on the blanket. “Excuse me.” I leave to go use the bathroom, splashing cold water on my flushed face, and triggering another memory.
I cower in the corner of the room, shielding my face. He promises he won’t ever do this again. I shouldn’t believe him. I don’t even know what I did to bring this on; all I told him was that I was tired and really wanted to go to bed. He came in late, and I was already asleep. That wasn’t acceptable to him.
He says I should have been waiting for him like a good wife would’ve done. I have no clue where this is all coming from, and all I want to do is run far away from here. The yelling starts again, and before I know it, he grabs me by my hair, his face inches from my own, screaming words I can’t make out. Liquor oozes from his breath, and he starts pulling me to my feet, dragging me to the bathroom.
He pushes me into the shower, turning on the freezing cold water. My sorry pleas fall on deaf ears, and I know that he can’t even hear me through his own rage. Fresh tears cascade from my eyes, mixing in with the icy water, and I start to shake harder.
He walks out of the bathroom, but I’m too scared to get up, fearing it will only make him angrier. I stay put, my heart starting to die inside.
I stay like this for God knows how long until he comes back in and turns the water off, throwing a towel at me and telling at me to dry off before I get in the bed. Once I’m dressed, I walk carefully over to the bed.
He mumbles, “Maybe next time you’ll think of me and not be so selfish.” He quickly turns over with his back to me and doesn’t say another word.
I’m startled back to the present moment by Rig, who stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders.
“You’re shaking.” His eyes are full of pity, but understanding.
I can’t hold the stare, dropping my gaze from his. These mixed up feelings are getting too intense. Hurt and pain, but a longing for this pain to go away. Craving his lips on mine, I know better than to force myself on him again. I don’t need the rejection on top of everything else. That will only break me.
“Stop looking. It’s not there.” He calms me, and his hands start to rub tiny circles on my skin, igniting a need so strong that I can’t walk away.
I’m sure the combination of desire and alcohol is fogging my brain, making me unable to decipher right from wrong. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’m drunk and I have no control over what might happen if you show me even a fraction of attention,” I admit.
“We’ve been over this before: I don’t like to mix business with pleasure, it’s a deadly cocktail.” His hands go still, but the fire is there.
I put my hands on the sink in front of me, lowering my head, trying to breathe away these feelings.
“What do you want from me?” Rig asks. “I don’t want you to make a huge mistake while you are not thinking clearly. I don’t want you to hate the person I am because you thought I was someone else, then have to sit in a car with me for God knows how long.” His voice sounds like a mixture of conflict and lust.
“I want you to take this pain away, just like you are taking me away from everything. I want to feel for once and not be scared. Make my own decisions about what I want, and how things should be, without being told I’m incapable of making any right choices. Is that too much to ask?” I say, slapping my hands down on the counter.
In one fluid motion, he grabs my hips, spinning me around to face him, and lifts me up on the counter. His lips crash against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and slide my fingers through his hair, gripping him tightly. His hands slide down my exposed legs, sending tiny prickles of electricity throughout my body, waking up a desire that was long ago locked out, one I thought I would never feel again.
He continues working my mouth and sending me into a state of euphoria. Nothing could knock me down from this high; this is something I’ve needed, even if it’s completely wrong. He moves my legs apart and gets closer, fitting perfectly between my thighs. I let go with one of my hands and slip it under his shirt, running my hands up and down his back. My fingers graze tiny raised bumps on his skin that I can only imagine are scars. Is that why I’ve never seen him without a shirt? I just assumed it was because he was a gentleman and didn’t want to make me uncomfortable.
A beep on his phone catches his attention. He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on mine. “I have to get that; it could be where we’re going next,” he says, panting slightly.
I can’t form any words. All I can do is nod as I’m still reeling in this momentary bliss.
He walks away and everything suddenly feels cold and empty. I take a second to catch my breath and not look too deep into this. He was only doing what I asked him to do, even if I didn’t actually say the words.
The mood is ruined for the evening and we are going to go into this awkward place. I hop down off the counter and walk to my bed, unsure if the room is spinning from that kiss or from the alcohol. I won’t give Rig a chance to say how this can’t happen again, or apologize for doing it. I want it to stay like this for as long as it can. I watch him mess around on his phone while I slide into bed. Maybe tonight I’ll have peaceful dreams and be distracted from the nightmares that usually creep in after dark.
Nothing says awkward like waking up in the morning, head pounding, and visions of me persuading Rig to kiss me; although, I don’t regret it. Last night was about letting go, fighting back the anger that lives inside me, and just being ridiculous.
I’m nervous to hear Rig’s first words after I wimped out and went to sleep when he wasn’t paying attention. I’ve been lying here awake for a while, pretending to be asleep so I don’t have to face him yet. I hate not knowing how he is going to act. It’s like living with Steven even though now I’m making it this way, torturing myself when I’m sure everything is just fine. The joys of overthinking.
The bathroom god’s win out over my pride. I feel a rumbling in my stomach, and I’m sure I’m about to throw up everything I ate and drank last night. I jump out of bed and make a run for the bathroom. I sit on the floor sweating after throwing up, leaning back against the cold tiles. I hold still, not wanting my stomach to get upset again. I take a breather for a moment until there is a soft knock on the door.
“You ok in there?” Rig quietly asks through the door.
“Yeah, I will be. I just have a headache. Give me a minute to clean up and I’ll be ready to get on the road.” I rise slowly, careful not to lose my stomach again. I start the shower to rinse quickly so I don’t hold us up, but hoping it will help make me feel better. I get ready in record time.
When I walk out to where the beds are, Rig is standing there with a bottle of water, holding out two pills for me. “Take these. Aspirin will make you feel better.”
I pop them in my mouth and guzzle the entire water bottle. “Thank you, I was so thirsty. Well, I’m ready.” I grab my bags, seeing as he has already got his propped on his shoulder.
“After you,” he offers, holding the door open.
We don’t say much at first, like he is testing me, waiting for me to apologize, or to act like I’m sorry or embarrassed for last night. I’m not. There’s no way I’m going to say anything about it, because I don’t want to ruin the little bit of hope he had given me. I needed to feel wanted, and other than the pounding of my head, I feel like a tiny bit of me woke up.
“So, how far are we going this time?” I ask, deciding on being a partner in this trip rather than a victim on a rescue mission.
He is right with what he has been saying all along, that I act like I’m the only one risking something, or like I’m in more danger than him. Truth is: we are both screwed if we get caught, and they won’t have any mercy on him if they find us. Still, my confidence in him is growing, and it’s getting easier to trust him when he says he won’t let anything happen to me.
“We’ll be on the road for about fourteen hours. It’s going to be a long trip, but I want to get there tonight.” The corner of his lip pulls into a smile.
Relief floods me when I see he is in a good mood so far, and I don’t have to wonder if he regrets last night. “What are you going to do when all of this is over? Do you take breaks, or do you just jump into the next case?” I ask.
Rig shrugs. “I’ll probably just hop into the next one. There are so many people to help and not enough people to get them out. I would feel guilty taking too much time off.”
“So when do you have time for you? You must have moments where you are exhausted and need to recharge your batteries?”
He must not only be drained physically, but mentally on top of that. It must be a lot hearing the horror stories, seeing the torment that lives in the eyes of the people he takes away, not just adults, but children.
“I don’t. When I stop and take a breather, all I see are these people. My breaks are keeping some people where they are longer than they should be. I’m their only hope of getting away, and being needed is a great feeling.”
“Are you going to be doing this for the rest of your life? Don’t you want a life outside of this?”
“I don’t have time for a life; all I would be doing is saying goodbye. I’m on the road three-fourths of the year, and it’s selfish to not be able to give one hundred percent of myself to someone. So why even bother?” he says, never taking his eyes off the road.
“That’s very true, and I can see why you do this. I just don’t want to see that one day, when you can no longer do this, that you will be alone. And all you have ever done is comfort everyone else.”
“I’m not worried about that. I have all I need right now: open road and endless places to visit. And I’m not alone on these trips, I meet some really great people.” He nudges me with his elbow.
I smile. “How long is your average trip?”
“Nothing is average, nothing is the same. It’s a case by case thing. Some take a couple weeks, depending on the aggressor. And some can take months, if not longer. It’s all about connections, and how far someone is willing to go to get what they want. The ones with children are a little more complex, getting them into schools when a family has settled, trying to establish a whole new life. We always watch them. It’s not over once we leave. We are making sure their ex’s don’t go too far looking. Most give up, but like I said, when it involves children, they are more intent on finding them.”
“What about me? How complex is my situation?” I ask.
“Yours isn’t the norm. You not only have a husband who is looking for you, but you also have a whole army of people making sure you don’t spill their secrets. They have resources and eyes everywhere. The drug cartel isn’t only in California; there are bases all over the country, their distributers who make them money. We have eyes on your husband, and we know his every move. His search wouldn’t go unknown at this point. How do you think we knew he has hired a PI? We know what he is doing and how carefully we have to tread.”
Thinking about his words, I start to feel uneasy about stuff. But unlike before, I’m just going to cut off this conversation about me. I don’t want to know any more. It’s proven that the more I know, the more I can’t win.
“Maybe we should stop talking about this. I know I started it, but I don’t want to know,” I say honestly.
As we continue the drive, I stare out the window and count cars, keeping my mind distracted.
“So, tell me something about you. Anything,” he says.
“I’m sure you know everything about me, you have been briefed,” I say.
“I know facts about you, like where you lived, your work, and things like that. What’s one thing about you that everyone should know?” He actually sounds interested.
“I thought I had to change everything about myself in order to hide. No use hanging onto the past.”
“You can change things like your appearance or your movements. You can’t change people’s hearts, and what’s inside. That’s one thing you have to realize.”
