The news stations lead with the story of Sabrina’s kidnapping and subsequent return for exactly three days. Even though she knew Dez had made sure to put the newspaper in the garage and read it while he sat in his car, Sabrina had seen the headlines on television and while she had been online. It was through those sources that she saw the first images of the house where she had been kept. Once she had escaped, she had never looked back.
Per the papers, Ron Harold was described as violent and controlling. His ex-wife, Nancy Harold, wrote in court documents that he had tried to kill himself twice. The couple had divorced two years prior and during their fifteen-year marriage, she stated that he had thrown her against walls, punched her, and forced himself on her. She had lived in fear of him and felt controlled by him. When he had been arrested for multiple felony charges involving assault and possession of illegal drugs, she knew he would go to prison and that would give her the opportunity to file for divorce. Harold had served his sentence, and as his release date neared, Nancy Harold had begun to fear for her safety.
Sabrina felt an immediate kinship with the woman. You had every reason to, Nancy. She read on about how Ron Harold had methodically bound, beat, and abused his ex-wife at her home to begin his torture/murder/suicide plan. Nancy Harold lived alone and had recently become unemployed. Ron had left his ex-wife bound at her house as he went out, perhaps in search of cash for drugs, which led him downtown.
That is where he found me by my car, Sabrina thought. An easy pick in his warped frame of mind. Damn it.
She had learned through reports, however, that there was a connection to the Harolds and the laws offices of Connor & Winstrom. Nancy Harold’s divorce lawyer, who had received threats from Ron Harold during the proceedings, had been an associate of the firm in their Family Law division, but had since left for employment elsewhere. Sabrina couldn’t remember his name. Was it possible that Ron Harold had targeted Connor & Winstrom in his final rampage? Media sources seemed to imply so, but as far as Sabrina was concerned, it was blind rage.
Being home was less comforting than she had hoped, but the first few days had been mostly hazy, thanks to the medication. Her brother had stayed just two days and then had to head back home to his family. Still, it meant a lot to her that he had made it to see her. Dez’s mom was in and out with lots of food and plenty of hugs, and Dan, Tracy, and Olivia had made brief appearances as well. But, Sabrina really wasn’t up for or even coherent enough for visitors beyond that.
Most of her time was spent in their bedroom, where she was most comfortable sitting when she was not sleeping. The pain was constant, but the pills did help. She didn’t like to be alone, not even in a room by herself, something she found annoying and humiliating. She had always prided herself on being strong and independent, but she couldn’t bear being by herself or to hear the silence. With too much time alone with her thoughts, she feared she would find Ron Harold there among them. Simply knowing he was dead was small comfort as he appeared alive and well in her mind.
Dez was home, but often on the move, tending to the daily needs of the house. Sabrina tried her best to rest, but anytime Ron Harold—figuratively—came calling, she couldn’t fight the need to reach for comfort.
“Dez!” she yelled from the bedroom. It hurt to yell, but she forced out a screech. She was out of breath. It was him again.
Dez came running from whatever room he had been in and sat down next to her.
“What’s the matter?” He brushed her hair out of her face, trying to catch his breath.
“I saw him. Just out of the blue, I saw his face,” she said shakily.
“I’m sorry, hon. I wish I could get rid of him for you.” He rubbed her back, grazing a tender bruise.
It hurt, but she opted not to say anything. She didn’t even want to broach that subject yet.
“You want some lunch? I’ll heat up some soup.”
She hugged him hard, not wanting to let go. “I just want you here with me.”
“Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
She felt the warmth of his hand as he grabbed hers and led her down the hallway to the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and placed her in it.
He opened the cupboard, gave it a once over and turned back to face her. “Chicken noodle? Chicken and rice? Country-style chicken, whatever that is?”
He was so sweet and funny. She hoped she would be able to laugh again. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Okay.” He gave her a wink and then got to work getting the soup ready for her.
She looked down at her wrists and then felt her eye. When she looked up, Ron Harold was there again, high on drugs and smoking a cigarette. This time, she drew a breath in and remained calm as tears filled her eyes. “Dez?”
“Yeah, babe,” he said as he stirred the contents of the small pot on the stove.
She got up and walked over to him, stepping around her mind’s Ron Harold, who turned to watch her, grinning wickedly. She draped her arms around Dez’s waist. She knew Ron Harold was not there. “Just hold me.”
It was just what she had to have at that moment—to close the distance so her ghost couldn’t get in. With her arms around Dez, she felt Ron Harold dissolve into nothingness. She may be haunted by a dead man, but she was still alive. She just had to remind herself.
They stood together in front of the stove, Dez’s free arm around her, while the other one turned the spoon in the pot. A soothing feeling came over her from the motion and the sound of the stirring. She closed her eyes and just let herself go. You can’t hurt me now. And slowly, knowing she was in her safe place, she felt herself melt and drain down to the floor with her arms around Dez’s calf. She heard him stop stirring.
“Bre? You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, not bothering to look up. “I’m good.”
Feeling his hesitation, she hugged his leg, and the stirring resumed again.
Anyone who knew Dez well knew that when he was stressed he cleaned and organized. It was just how he handled things. Having Sabrina home and safe was the miracle he had hoped for, but he was beginning to realize the battle they faced ahead. Her physical recovery was going to be tough enough, but the mental one was already presenting serious question marks.
In need of time to relieve some tension, he was desperate to organize the garage and dust—the cleaning service never did as good a job as he could. But, those were things he couldn’t do with Sabrina attached to his hip.
Minnie. Minnie could help.
She was a dear lady, a good neighbor, and she understood grief and worry. “I am saying my prayers,” she had told him when she learned of Sabrina’s disappearance. “You can count on that. I did the same thing when my Roger went off to Vietnam. It’s not the same thing, but I did feel like I had lost him.” Dez had seen her grief, even after all these years, still in her face. “It was scary, but I prayed every day,” she had told him.
Prayers. Dez wasn’t much for them, but if that was what had brought Sabrina back, then Minnie—and his mom’s whole church busy with prayer chains and phone trees—had a connection the police did not. Now, maybe Minnie would be up for more than sharing a casserole this time. When Sabrina was in the shower, he made a quick call.
Always at the ready, the phone rang only once before Minnie picked up. “Hello?” Her voice was sweet and caring, very grandmotherly.
“Hi, Minnie. It’s Dez next door.”
“Hi, Dez. How are things going with Sabrina? How is she feeling?”
He never delved too deep when anyone called to ask. Sabrina was alive and home. That’s really all anyone needed to know. “Well, she’s doing okay. Thanks for the sandwiches you brought over last night. You’re so good to us.”
“I’m glad to do what I can to help.”
“Well, that’s kind of why I called. Do you think you could come over for an hour or two and keep Sabrina company while I do some stuff around the house? I’d call my mom, but she’s not even home from church yet.”
“Oh, no. No, that’s fine. I’ll be right over.”
He felt the tension in his shoulders relax. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
Sabrina had chosen to only intermittently take the prescribed sleeping pills Dr. Willis sent home with her. They really knocked her out. But by the third day, she could take no more of feeling imbalanced, nauseous, and lethargic. Not liking the side effects, she was determined to go without them.
It had been nice to have Minnie over for a while that Sunday afternoon. She thought it would be awkward—Minnie was old enough to be her grandmother—but then things fell into place and they spent a few hours talking flowers, the weather, the change of holidays along with the season. It had been normal. Normal and nice.
But normal left the building later that night as Sabrina went into the bathroom to brush her teeth before bed. Her body tensed up as her foot stepped on the cold marble floor. The bathroom had become a place to avoid. Besides always being caught off-guard by her own reflection in the mirror (Who the hell is that?), there was the discomfort in the simplest of things, like relieving herself—something she never would have expected. There was the burning and pain, of course, and when she looked down, there was the utter display of damage in places she had never before felt pain. It was a physical reminder of the violence she had repeatedly endured, but she chose to keep to herself for the time being.
Her thighs and pubic area were brutally bruised and tender to the touch. The deep purple mixed with the dark and lighter blue hues stood in contrast to the yellow that was slowly surfacing. She could see the ever so faint outline of fingerprints on her outer left thigh. Of course, he had to have his other hand free to intermittently rest the gun under her right eye. As she continued to stare at herself, the horrific choreography of it all replayed in her mind. Methodically brushing her teeth, it took all she had to fight down the memories.
Nearing ten o’clock, she peered into the office where Dez was typing away on his laptop. It was his usual routine to spend time surfing the Internet before bed, and she felt bad interrupting him.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
He stopped typing and pushed the laptop away. “Hey, how are you doing? You need anything?”
“No. Well, yes. I want to try to go to sleep. I’m exhausted. Would you lay down with me?”
He nodded right away without hesitation. “Yeah, sure. Give me two seconds to shut this down. Everything okay, hon?”
She gave him a smile, appreciating his attentiveness. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Turning around, she went back to their bedroom and climbed into bed, not bothering to turn the light off. Dez came in soon after, changed into a T-shirt and boxers, and then went to shut off the light.
“I . . . don’t want you to do that.” There was something about the dark that she couldn’t trust, and opting out of the sleeping pills meant she would have to really face it.
“You want to sleep with the light on?”
“It doesn’t have to be the main one. I just want some light. If that’s okay?” She felt silly asking, like she was a little kid, but she couldn’t apologize for the changes in her behavior. Someone else had forced all this on her.
“Sure, whatever you want. You want the hall light, the closet light, the bathroom . . .?”
“Yes, the bathroom light. That’d be good. It won’t bother you, will it?”
“You know me. I can sleep through pretty much anything.” He turned the overhead light off and kept the bathroom light on after he brushed his teeth. He climbed into bed and she snuggled up to him.
He stroked her hair. “Tomorrow’s Monday, but it sure doesn’t feel like it. I know your brother wanted to take care of you, but he needs to be home right now himself. So, I’m staying home this week with you, if you can stand me.”
She looked up into his eyes and smiled. “Of course. I’m glad it’s you anyway, but yeah, Adam’s family needs him more than I do.” Staring off for a quick moment, she considered her brother’s plight and wished she could be there for him. His visit was short, but she wanted to be the one standing strong and helping. Eventually, I’ll get there.
“I don’t even know what day it is. Everything is all messed up for me.” She thought for minute. “It’s really Sunday night?” He nodded and she sighed. Normally, she would be getting ready to go to work the next day, but normal seemed so far away, even with Minnie bringing a bit of it home. Her former life seemed foreign to her, even though it was only one week ago.
“Well, just try to sleep tonight.” He gave her a hug. “I love you.”
She yawned. “I love you, too.”
She tossed and turned for a good hour, staring at the ceiling and listening to Dez’s rhythmic snoring. Sleep. That was all she wanted, but it wouldn’t come. As she willed her eyes closed, she reached for Dez’s hand and waited it out, hoping Ron Harold would not visit her in her sleep.
It seemed like only moments later to Dez that he was awake. Usually he was a deep sleeper, so waking him nearly took an act of nature, but when he heard the heavy breathing and whimpering and felt the bed shaking, he knew something was wrong. He rolled over just in time to see Sabrina wake up mid-scream, in tears.
He grabbed her flailing arms and got in her face, his heart beating faster. “Sabrina! I’m here. What is it?”
Out of breath, she fearfully looked around the room and wiped the tears off her face as he released her wrist. He could feel her move in closer and climb into his arms.
“Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me,” she softly cried.
“I won’t. I promise. It’s okay,” he said. Sitting up against the headboard, he pulled her closer and held her tightly as he rocked her like a child. “Just breathe.”
“I saw him. Dez, I saw him. I felt the gun under my eye.”
“He’s not here, baby. I promise. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone get to you.” Continuing to rock and soothe her, he was overwhelmed with hate for the dead man torturing his sweetheart from beyond the grave. Bastard is so lucky he is dead.
He held her as she softly cried, and it wasn’t long before they both laid down again and fell asleep. He slept fitfully for a few hours, and then rolled over, reading the clock that showed two fifteen in bright numbers. As he reached over, he discovered that Sabrina was not in bed, so he sat up and looked around the room.
“Sabrina?” He heard nothing in reply. “Sabrina?” He waited for a response again. “Sabrina!” Quickly, he got out of bed and started frantically searching, in the bathroom, in the closet, down the hallway. She wasn’t anywhere. “Christ,” he muttered. “Sabrina!”
He ran downstairs and checked the basement, then rushed back up and made a pass through the kitchen, the other four bedrooms, and his office. As he came back through the hallway, he took a moment to catch his breath. There was a logical explanation. Sabrina couldn’t just disappear . . . again. Rubbing his eyes, he heard it, the faint sound of crying. “Sabrina? Where are you?”
Following the sound, he walked back into the large walk-in closet of their bedroom. He gently rifled through the bottom rack of hanging clothes on his side. It was scary for him to hear her, but not yet see her. “Sabrina? Baby, are you in here? It’s okay.”
When he got to the end of the rack, he saw his luggage set had been moved, and he could hear her breathing behind it. Slowly, he turned a piece of luggage to the side and found her hunkered in a ball, trembling and in tears. She hugged her knees to her chest as she looked down at the floor, her face wet with tears and her hair in a tangled mess. It took his breath away to see her in such a state. This was not the woman he’d fallen in love with. “Come on out, hon. It’s okay. Come on.”
Dez barely recognized her crawling out from behind the luggage and into his arms, this fear-stricken woman who was shaking and inconsolable with terror. Crouching down, he held her and felt the rapid pace of her heart beating. She cried intermittently, mumbling things he couldn’t understand. He lay down on the floor and pulled her to his chest as tears fell down her face. If this is where we sleep tonight, then this is where we sleep tonight. Softly, he rubbed her back and lightly kissed her forehead. I don’t know what else to do for you, baby.
He held her as tightly as he dared, hoping to ease the trembling in her body. Maybe his safe embrace could speak to her on some level. There was nothing else to say.
Mid-morning, Dez got up and left Sabrina sleeping peacefully in bed. He went into the kitchen, started the coffeemaker, and proceeded to drink four cups straight. The previous night was eventful in ways for which he hadn’t prepared. On his fifth cup of coffee, he decided he needed to do his homework about her situation if he was going to help her through it.
For the next hour, he read through everything the doctor sent home from the hospital and searched for additional information online about rape and abduction victims. He was prepared to reassure her at every turn of her recovery. Sabrina was back, but she wasn’t fully back, and he wanted his Sabrina.
He checked his phone and as he suspected, there were plenty of messages and inquiries about Sabrina. It was important that she got her rest, though, and she certainly wasn’t ready for any more company. He made a mental note to get back to everyone later, in the next day or two. Until then, he had but one job—taking care of her and helping her feel safe again.
Feeling exhausted but not wanting to go back to bed, he started his day. As he passed through their bedroom to the bathroom, he saw Sabrina still in bed, asleep. Thank God.
Mentally drained and worn of energy, he stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water run down his back. It felt good, as did the privacy. As much as he loved her, he wasn’t used to this new clingy version of Sabrina. He needed this time to himself. Having Sabrina back home had become a blessing wrapped in constant worry.
He dried himself off, wrapping a towel around his waist and opening the door to let the steam out. Sabrina sat at the foot of the bed, gently touching the cut below right eye that sat on top of a nasty bruise on her cheekbone.
“Here, let me,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her into the bathroom. Gently, he lifted her up on the counter, standing between her legs as they’d done a hundred times before. This time, her legs hung limply, nothing sensuous in their position. It made his mind wander to other situations that may be affected by her sexual attack. “If there is one thing I know after watching Alex fight all those years, it’s how to treat a facial wound. Lean your head back.”
“Okay.”
He carefully took her chin and guided it back for her. Opening the drawer to his left, he got a few supplies out while she pushed her hair away from her face so he could dab ointment lightly on her cut. “There, it’s just dry is all. Is it itching yet?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said in her still scratchy voice.
“Okay, I am putting a bandage on there just so it doesn’t dry out.” Gently, he tried to place a bandage over the wound without applying pressure to the bruise, but he couldn’t fight tears building up when she started to whimper. It was hard for him to avoid thinking about the act that caused the bruise. “Sorry, baby. There, I’m done.”
She bent her neck back down and blew out a breath. Then, she gave him a quick kiss on his stubbly cheek. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
He was surprised by her comment. “Of course I’ll take care of you, baby.”
She reached up, wiped a tear from his eye and gave him a smile through her tears. He took her hands and kissed them both and gave her a return kiss on the cheek. Tears ran down her face as she slowly and awkwardly let herself down from the counter, not taking his hand that was there waiting to be grabbed.
He backed away to give her room. As her T-shirt—his old T-shirt she chose to sleep in—ever so slightly lifted up, it exposed what he wasn’t prepared to see. He stared in shock at her inner thighs that were deeply bruised black and blue. From midway down her thighs to just above the back of her knees, the bruising told the story she tried to hide from him. He didn’t want to see it, but at the same time, he could not look away. “No. No. No. No . . .”
The proof of what happened to her drew fresh tears from him. He reached for her arm as he doubled over for a moment, as if he had been punched in the stomach.
“I’m sorry,” she tearfully whispered, pulling away to turn from him.
Quickly, he stopped her, grabbing her by both arms as tears trickled down his face. “Sorry? Sabrina, he’s a fucking asshole, baby. Don’t blame yourself for—”
“But I am to blame!” She screamed with a force he had never heard from her. Sheer anguish jumbled her face.
The only word he could think of to describe it was scary, for in that moment he was both scared for her and of her. His own anger took hold as he watched her withdraw, seeming to shrink as she leaned against the counter and sobbed. He caught her arms to keep her from sliding to the floor.
She kept crying as he held her. He smoothed the T-shirt lightly over her hips, hoping she could feel secure once more. What had happened to her wasn’t right, but he couldn’t change it. He had wanted her back and he got her, and now she needed him more than ever.
“I don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault,” he said with contained anger in his voice as he pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Something awful happened, but you survived. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you.”
She looked up at him like a child who was sorry for something for which they needed to be scolded. “I’m sorry, Dez. I’m so, so sorry . . .”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Please, don’t be sorry.”
The last thing he wanted to hear was her take blame for any of it, like it could possibly be her fault, and he didn’t want her to regret him seeing the damage on her body, even accidentally, no matter how much pain it caused both of them. She continued softly crying against his chest, so he led her back to bed and put her underneath the covers with a kiss on her head. He turned the TV on to The Food Channel so she could relax.
He needed to be alone.
With her settled in, he walked back into the bathroom and closed the door quickly behind him. It was bad, the things this man had done, but the attack wasn’t over. It was still happening, and it was happening to him, too.
Imagining what she had been through churned anger inside of him. Seeing the evidence jolted a mix of his emotions—sadness, dread, and helplessness. Turning both faucets on full blast for sound, he slammed his fist down on the counter and had a good cry.