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WE EAT IN SILENCE FOR a few minutes, but eventually he asks me a question. “Where are you from?” It’s not the question he really wants to ask me, but I appreciate his effort to ease into it.
“I’m from Ft. Lauderdale. I’m a native. Although, I’ve lived in New York, too.”
“Wow. A real live native! I never thought I’d meet another one that wasn’t family.” Owen teases. In Florida, it’s hard to find someone that is actually from the state.
“So you’re from Florida, too? How rare.” I smile. “Now, ask me what you really want to know. It’s okay.” I see him internally struggle with whether or not to ask me anything, so I make it easy for him. “Look, I appreciate you taking me in and I promise I’ll be out of your hair in less than a day. I just need to figure out what my next move is and how to do it. Two days, tops. I promise.”
Owen sighs deeply, “First. You’re not going anywhere until we catch this fucker. Second, you’re not in my hair. You are welcome to anything you want or need. My home is your home. And third, your next move is to tell me all about you, your relationship with him, and everything I need to know to find him. We good?”
I shake my head even before he finishes. “No. I can’t let you do that. You’ve done enough. You should get back to your life and let me handle Patrick.”
Owen takes my hand. “Mallory, this is what I do for a living. I protect people and property.”
“What do you mean? You’re a security guard? I don’t believe that for a second.”
“No. I own, with my brothers, Hughes International. I’m a security specialist. We do security around the world. We’re much more than security guards. I’ve already got someone working on finding this fucker, so until then, you’re bound to this property. From the front gate to the back fence and everything in between. Got it?”
“So, you’re holding me hostage, just like Patrick did.” I know I’m being a bitch, but I can’t help it.
“No. I’m protecting you. I’m keeping you safe. I’m not hurting you. There’s an obvious difference between me and that fucker.” I can hear the hurt in Owen’s voice, along with the anger. It’s not fair to him what I said.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help me. Thank you.”
Owen just nods and finishes his sandwich and soup not looking at me again until I start speaking. “I met Patrick a few years ago at a club. He was handsome and charming. We danced, drank, and had a great time. That night, he took my number, but I never thought I’d hear from him again. He was way out of my league, but it was a fun night. But the next day he called and asked me out. He was a perfect gentleman, opening doors for me, ordering for me, and even walking on the street side of the sidewalk. All the things a girl is looking for to feel safe and cherished. After that first night, we kept dating until he asked me to move in with him. He knew my mom was sick, and I was struggling to pay for her care and for living expenses. We had been dating for almost six months and the thought of being able to take care of my mom was all I could think about.” I look at Owen and he’s paying attention to every word I say.
“Go on.” He encourages me.
“Right. So, I moved in with him and canceled all my utilities and gave up my apartment. Patrick encouraged me to quit my job so that I could spend more time with mom. He paid off all my credit cards, so I had no more bills, which meant I didn’t have to work. So, I did. Each day, my mom got worse, but I was able to be there for her because I wasn’t working.”
“What does your mom have?” He asks.
“Had. She died last week of Alzheimer’s.”
Owen just shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You’ve had quite the month, haven’t you?”
I don’t answer him, but I keep telling my story. “As mom progressed, I spent all my time with her. Even though she didn’t recognize me anymore, I still wanted to be there for her. She was my mom, after all. But, Patrick started getting demanding, saying I had to be home when he was home, I had to keep the house clean, the laundry done, cook dinner each night, etc. I didn’t really think about it because he’d let me quit my job so I could be with my mom and he paid off all my debts. I was living rent free in his apartment and he was paying for everything, so of course I was willing to do what I could around the house.”
I take a deep breath. “The first time he beat me with a belt was because I was late coming home from the nursing home. Mom had a particularly bad day, and it took longer than normal to get her calmed down enough to go to bed. Patrick had a bad day at what he called ‘work’,” I use the universal sign for air quotes, “and took it out on me when I got home. He was mad that dinner wasn’t ready. At first, I told myself that he didn’t mean it and that it was okay. I probably deserved it. But, after that first beating, they became more regular. I quickly realized it wasn’t me, it was him.”
“Then why didn’t you leave sooner?”
It’s a fair question. “I couldn’t. I didn’t have a job, an income, credit cards, friends, a place to go. I had nothing. I completely depended on Patrick. He set it up that way. He managed to alienate me without me even realizing it. Eventually, it got to a point where I couldn’t leave the house without him or one of his cronies chaperoning me. I was never alone. And I had Mom to think about. Patrick was paying for her care. He knew where she was, of course, so I couldn’t take the chance he would hurt her to get to me. So, I stayed.”
Owen’s face is red, and his hands are fisted. “This is so fucked up, you know that. Right?”
I think I take him by surprise. “I’ve always known how fucked up it was. Not once did I ever believe it was my fault after that first beating. But what could I do? I had to bide my time because of my mom.”
“What ‘work’ did or does Patrick do?” He asks using air quotes.
“Patrick has a lot of side businesses. I’ve seen a lot of drugs, cocaine I presume from the white bricks I’ve seen on television. He also has a lot of guns. Big ones, small ones, and then he also did a lot of computer stuff. He was careful to never talk about work in front of me, so that’s all the specifics I have. I know it’s not a lot. I’m sorry.” The guy and I lived together for a long time. You’d think I’d know more, but I really don’t.
“It’s okay. We’ll find him, but I have one question. What made you finally leave that night we met two years ago?”
I remember that night like it was yesterday. “Patrick was amped up on cocaine and mad about some imaginary dust on one of his computers he claimed I didn’t clean. He smacked me around a bit earlier in the same evening, but came back for more. The final straw was when I heard the crack of the bone in my arm and then the other in my ribcage. I realized if I didn’t get out, I may not survive and that would do my mother no good.”
“Smart girl.” Owen says.
“A few days before, I found a duffel bag of cash in the back of the closet that had been there the entire time we had lived together. I just assumed he had forgotten about it, so I had taken it and hid it by the pool at the apartment building. One night, I left the shelter and retrieved the money and used it to move mom to another facility and pay for her care.”
“And now he wants his money back, right?”
“That and some key he claims I have.”
“What key?” Owen sits back in his chair.
“Today, he claimed that I have a key to a safe deposit box. I vaguely remember him giving me a key and telling me to hold on to it for him the day before I left. I had put it on my car key ring, but I don’t have a car anymore, so I don’t carry any keys. It may be in a box in my apartment, which is what I told Patrick. He was taking us there when we stopped for gas.”
“Did you tell him where your apartment is?”
I shake my head, “No, but who knows if the guys who killed Ralph and Edie were following me. They were coming to the store almost daily the last few weeks. They could have easily followed me and then told Patrick.”
I watch Owen stand up and grab his cell phone off the counter. He looks at me. “I’m going to have someone go to your place and clean it out. You good with that?” He dials a number.
“Yeah, but the only thing I care about are my mother’s ashes. They’re in a box on the floor in the corner of the room by the bed.”
“Hey. It’s me. I need a sweep team at,” he pauses and looks at me, “What’s your address?”
“478 NW 25th Way, apartment 28.” I answer.
“You hear that?... Yeah, bring everything to my condo... oh, and make sure to grab a box on the floor... yes, everything... thanks.” Owen hangs up. “In the morning, we’ll go to my condo and go through your things. We’ll find the key. That will help us find this fucker.”
“You have a condo, too?”
Owen nods. “Among other things, yes.”
Suddenly, I’m exhausted, but I’m afraid to go to sleep and wake up and still be sitting on the floor tied to a pole waiting for Patrick to show up.
Owen must see me repress a yawn. “You should go to bed and get some sleep.”
I nod. “I should, but I’m not sure I’ll get any actual rest.”
Owen goes to the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen with a sleeping agent. “Here. You’re going to need the ibuprofen for your wounds. The sleeping medicine will help with the resting.”
I take the bottle from him and pull out two pills. “Thank you. For everything.”
Owen nods, “You’re welcome. Now, go.” He points towards the staircase.
I follow his instructions because they sound like a good idea. I grab the glass of water and down the pills as I climb the stairs and go into my room.
The bed looks inviting. I pull the sundress off and find a t-shirt in the heap of clothes on the bed and put it on to sleep in. I slowly climb into the bed as my entire backside hurts, but I eventually settle in and feel the bed absorb me into it.
Thinking back on the last two days, I decide to be proud of myself for conquering my fears and escaping Patrick’s wrath.
Now I just need to help catch him so I can live in peace.