Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1 Read online

Chapter Two

  Saint Joe shrank through the rear window of the Celica. An orange teddy bear sat beside the speaker behind the back seat, blocking part of my view, a gentle reminder not to look back. He was insentient and still smarter than me. He looked forward, out the windshield, while I looked over my shoulder and past him. Deep twilight shadows lay on Niles Road, the route which took me out to I-94, south toward Chicago. The sun dipped into the west while I sat at the intersection, shaking and nauseous.

  Everything I’d ever known was in St. Joseph, Michigan. Everything. I was born at Lakeland Hospital, attended church there until I was old enough to know different. My sister and her family, my old school, the two friends I didn’t lose because of Matt, my tormentor himself—hell, even my parents’ graves were back there. My entire life was encapsulated in one small town. How could I leave it all?

  Doubt swirled through me. A hand hovered near the gearshift, while the knuckles of my other hand tightened on the steering wheel.

  I could go back, face Matt and pray I didn’t end up dead at his hands. Maybe hide at Susan’s house? No. It was silly to even entertain the thought. After walking in her door, I could hang a “VICTIM HERE” sign over my sister’s front porch. Sue and Jerry’s would be the first place Matt would target. I was already worried sick about them. My debate ended there, on the faces of those boys. Their safety was an irrefutable argument. My nephews would not become casualties of my dysfunctional relationship if I could help it.

  A Chevy 4 X 4 pulled up in my rear view mirror, a black beast of a truck with enough chrome on the front to resemble teeth and its lights blazed into my low sitting car. It was similar enough to Matt’s to give me the willies. Chills ran down my spine and flushed away any second thoughts I entertained. The gas pedal creaked when I stepped down on it again. It was time to leave Michigan. My heart and soul depended on it.

  Traffic on I-94 was light. The early snowfall scared a lot of Michigan drivers. My little Celica slid on the curves, but it wasn’t bad enough to stop me. I strained to reach the maps in my glove compartment and keep my eye on the road. Dome light on, I unfolded the Michigan map and traced the length of the major southbound highway, looking for a place to gas up. There was no way in hell under a quarter of a tank would get me to Michigan City, where I wanted to stop for the night.

  The map didn’t fold nicely, and I ended up jamming the damn thing under my purse on the front seat. The corners reached up and covered part of the view out of the passenger side window. I stuffed them down and gave myself an unobstructed view.

  The rolling hills and sandy expanses of southern Michigan have a serene beauty and made for a peaceful ride. Its splendor, however, lacked in comparison to the Lake Michigan shoreline. St. Joe was beautiful. The snow clung to the pines like frosting on a Christmas cookie, white and softer than the moon’s reflection on the Saint Joseph River. I left my picturesque hometown behind because of the monster it harbored. Give me wild, open ranges, where the challenges were visible, not swinging hammer fists.

  I took the Stevensville exit, looped around and pulled into the Admiral station on the Red Arrow Highway. It was such a silly name. I never could figure out why they called it an arrow. The road was crooked as hell. It snaked along between the main highway and the lakeshore.

  Standing with my hand on the door handle, I waited and watched the road. The roof over the fuel tanks was a welcome respite from the wet snow and, somehow, I felt safer with the lights of the gas station shining down. Even though I was exposed like a lab rat in an experimental maze and more vulnerable out in the open, a blindside attack from the shadows was less likely. Matt never fought with me in public. He waited until we were home, and then he usually came at me from the side, or behind, to catch me unawares. I plugged the nozzle into the fuel tank and watched the road while the price clicked higher and higher.

  Over forty dollars in gas and a bag of road food later, I made my way back onto the main highway and pointed the Celica south. Unless I ended up in an accident, there wouldn’t be another stop between Stevensville and Michigan City, Indiana.

  After copious dial spinning and static, I finally managed to tune a radio station in. Two DJs chattered back and forth about the economy and politics and set my teeth on edge. “What hell is this? Talk radio?”

  I cranked the dial again only to find, in the year the car had sat in the driveway, someone had switched the radio to the AM channels. “Oh my goodness, Matt even messed with the car radio?”

  He was the only one to get into the car, and I could easily picture him changing the station to one spouting sports while he started up the car every few months. It was always him-him-him. His radio. His house. His diet. His fists.

  For a second time I thought, Fuck you, Matt.

  I switched to the FM dial and finally landed on a top forty station. Some nasal, high-pitched girl sang about her love for her man. It made me sick. With another spin of the dial I found a station playing angry rock music. I turned it up, howled along and dragged the bag of snacks from the back seat. Starving because I had spent the dinner hour at the intersection of I-94, I stuffed a cheese puff in my mouth. The thing was mostly air, with a little batter and a lot of fat. Just the thing Matt would not like me eating, and damn it if they didn’t taste better when washed down with scorn. I was hating him and loving the hell out of the junk food.

  The Michigan border passed beneath my wheels in silence. I did not whoop or shout, only sighed and released a fraction of the tension along my spine. Sooner than I expected, the Michigan City exits loomed ahead. I pulled off the highway and onto a smaller, much busier road. The summer before I met Matt, my girlfriend Ilene and I had spent a night in Michigan City and stayed at a Super 8. It was a familiar place and hopefully a safe one. I’d never spoke about the trip, or Ilene, around him. I drove in, walked up to the front desk and got a room with cash and an alias.

  Room 210 was not the nicest appointed room I’d ever been in, but the door had two sets of locks, the shower was hot and the pillows were soft. I pulled back the bedspread, and sat on sheets smelling of bleach. With the hotel visitor guide in hand, I punched the appropriate numbers and dialed Susan’s house. The phone rang three times, and then the answering machine picked up. I disconnected the call before the message finished.

  What the hell? It’s late, the kids should be in bed by now…

  I waited a few minutes and dialed again. The message started once more. “Hi, you’ve reached the Nelson’s. Sorry we’re not in right now. If you leave a message, we’ll be sure to return your call.”

  It wasn’t safe to tell her what hotel I stopped in, but I couldn’t leave her worrying like our mother had taught her to. “H-hi, Susan. It’s me. Kally. I wanted to let you know I’ve stopped for the night, and I’m safe. I’ll try to call you again before I set out.”

  Where was she? Were they all right?

  I was tortured by sudden worry, thinking Matt had something to do with their late night silence. At the thought, I broke into a cold sweat and guilt swarmed through my guts like angry bees. I sat a moment, clutching the handset of the phone, debating on whether or not to call again, but acid burned in the back of my throat, and the cans of Diet Coke and snack bag of cheese puffs attempted to reappear. Hand over my mouth, I ran to the bathroom and fell to my knees beside the toilet. With every thought of Susan and the boys, my guts clenched. Visions of Matt terrorizing them flashed in my mind.

  The junk food churned up through my throat and out into the toilet. I slumped back onto my heels, shaking and sweaty. I prayed for my family’s protection and then rose on weak legs to splash water on my face. All my doubts about escaping Matt’s tyranny evaporated when I looked in the mirror. My hair looked more like tangled hay than the blonde it was. A dark bruise ringed one of my eyes, and the split on my lip had scabbed over.

  “It’s no wonder the clerk at the gas station looked at me funny.”

  The hot water steamed, rippling along the sides until the sink was full
. The rough-napped hotel washcloth was not the best thing on tender skin. I submerged the terry cloth, and then rung out the excess water. Even wet, the washcloth was cat-tongue rough. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, cheeks and chin, taking care not to hit the torn skin on my mouth.

  I pulled the chain attached to the light above the mirror and watched the sudden shadows wipe away the signs of abuse from my face. The hotel was blissfully quiet and velvet dark filled the room after I shut off the lights above the bed. I curled up on my side and faced the door, half expecting it to get kicked in. It didn’t.

  The digital clock blinked with each minute ticking past. Faint red light splashed my pillow like digitized Chinese water torture. The empty side of the bed echoed the rumbles in the hollow pit my gut had become. I missed Susan. I missed my nephews. Hell, I even missed the fuzzy, snoring lump who had occupied the other side of the bed for a year. Matt was a monster, but he was a demon I had grown used to. In the vacuum of his presence, loneliness settled on me, comforter thick and spare pillow cold. I stretched out and slid to the middle of the bed, silencing the ghost lying there.

  Sleep remained elusive. Paranoid, I rolled to the far side of the bed, pulled open the curtains and checked the parking lot. Matt’s truck was not there. I knew it wouldn’t be, but I checked anyway. The orange teddy bear in my back window matched my lonely expression. I grabbed the door key and stuffed on my boots. Damp, chilly wind buffeted me when I stepped outside and retrieved my bear from the Celica. At least we could be lonely together. I had to smile a little when I walked back through the lobby, I felt like an elementary school kid wandering down the hotel corridor in my flannel pajamas and clutching a teddy bear.

  Back in bed, with the bear in my arms, I finally succumbed to a fitful slumber.

  The room spun when I opened my eyes and, for a moment, all sense of place and time was lost. I rubbed my hands over my cheeks and pushed back my tangled hair. Then, my rational side awoke. I remembered where I was and why. The ceiling of a room in the Super 8 was above me, the right side of the bed was empty.

  My vision was bleary and I knew I’d slept with my mouth open. My tongue felt like a cat had slept on it. I cupped my hand in front of my lips and huffed a few breaths. Oh my… I need a toothbrush.

  My bags were far enough away to make it a nearly callisthenic stretch to reach them. After a good amount of rummaging and cussing, I fished out toothpaste, a tooth brush and my slippers. My orange teddy had rolled over and gone back to sleep. I shuffled to the bathroom and left him on the pillow. My fleece clogs were fuzzy and warm, and after I brushed my teeth my breath was icy fresh. The toiletries went back into the small bag, but I kept my slippers on for a quick foray to the lobby and the continental breakfast the sign at the front desk promised.

  Two elderly couples sat at the tables by the windows, and a rather rumpled looking man danced from foot to foot, waiting for the toaster. After last night’s gastrointestinal pyrotechnics, I knew cereal or sweet pastries would not sit well, and puking again was not an option. I walked past the thermoses of coffee, picked out an Earl Grey tea, plunked it into a carry cup and drowned it with hot water. Then, I joined the queue at the toaster, plain bagel and steaming cup of tea in hand.

  The foam plate was hardly bigger than the bagel, and I had to stack the buttered pieces together to carry my meager breakfast back to the room. Then, there I stood, with bagel in one hand, cup in the other and room key in my pocket. “Duh!” I would’ve smacked my forehead if my hands weren’t occupied.

  A rustle alerted me to the presence of someone else behind me. Oh God, no! Every muscle clenched and my jaw locked on instinct. I ducked my head and curled my shoulders in an effort to protect myself. I waited for a voice to raise or a hand to fall. Neither happened.

  “Can I help you?” A wrinkled hand came into my view, reaching for my plate.

  The hallway closed in on me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, when I should have relaxed and accepted the help. Someone stood behind me and I hated it. Too many memories were attached to the fight-or-flight feeling I suffered from when someone was behind me. I suffocated there against the door, stubborn and unmoving.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  The voice was feeble, the fingers resembled spindles covered with skin. A modicum of relief trickled through me, and the sick trepidation sluiced from my gut. But I shook my head and balanced the bagel plate atop the teacup. I looked over my shoulder and into the face of one of the balding old men who had been in the lobby moments ago. His glasses were thick, his eyes projecting clear concern. I managed a weak smile for him.

  “No, thank you. I can manage.”

  Releasing a shaky sigh, I pulled the card key through the lock and the green light flared. My bagel tipped when I pushed the handle down, tea sloshed in the cup, but I made it back into the room without spilling. The door swung closed, and I deposited my breakfast on the table in the corner.

  Silence overwhelmed the room. I reached for the TV remote and chewed my bland bagel. The available channels clicked past in rapid succession while I finished my breakfast. Local news forecasted better weather for the Chicago area. To the west, it was more of the weather I left behind. A storm advanced from the West coast, over the Rockies and into the plains. The upper east corner of Wyoming looked to get nailed with an early snowstorm. After the less-than-auspicious forecast, I pulled jeans, a flannel shirt and sweatshirt from my bag—better to dress warm and be safe.

  The dry cleaning bag served for my dirty clothes hamper, which I smashed tight and shoved back into my bag. My packed bags sat on the bed, with the teddy bear looped through one of the handles. I dropped beside them on the rumpled blankets, and picked up the phone to try Susan one last time before setting out for Chicago and beyond.

  One ring, and then two. But on the third, someone answered.

  “H-hello?”

  “Oh good. You’re home! I was so worried about you.”

  Susan groaned, and I could tell by the thickness in her voice I’d awakened her. “Kally? What’re you doing calling this early?”

  It was only six forty-five a.m. when I looked at the clock. I’d forgotten about the early morning hour. I was always a morning person. Susan wasn’t very civil until she’d had half a pot of coffee. “I’m sorry to wake you, Sue. I tried your number twice last night, and no one answered. I was worried… I thought he—”

  “You thought Matt came here looking for you?”

  “Yeah.” I choked back the fear rising in me. The tone in her voice told me he had been there. I didn’t have to wait long for her to validate the assumption.

  “He did. Jerry met him at the door, and Matt bellowed like a damned bull. Then, he just took off. I looked out the window an hour later and I could see the hood of his truck around the corner. He was there for hours so we took the kids and went for dinner and a late movie. Thank the Lord it’s the weekend.”

  My guts seized. My throat tightened around a guilty cough. My sister was facing the brunt of his anger because I was a chicken ass and ran when I should’ve fought back. “I’m sorry, Sue. I got you into this.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’ve been telling you to leave the bastard for a year. We’ll manage. Jerry’s cousin works at the courthouse, so if it’s necessary, we’ll get a PPO on Matt. You just take care of yourself.”

  “I will. I’m headed out now.” Stuffing my guilt away, I rose and checked the room one last time. “When I get to Chicago, I’ll find a cell phone and call you with the number. I love you, Sue.”

  “Love you, too, honey. Call me when you can.”

  Disconnecting the call was like leaving Susan all over again. I hung on the line, listening to the dial tone and feeling like a fool. My hands shook, and tears welled up. Chicago was the point of no return for me. It was the farthest I’d been from home, and I knew if I went past it, there would be no return trip. Tears blurred my vision and fell. I dropped the phone receiver onto my lap.

  “Goodbye, Susan.�
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  I put the handset back on the phone, gathered my bags and took stock of my snacks. There wasn’t much left, and I had a long way to go before the day was done. Gillette, Wyoming was at least a fifteen hour drive. A plan formulated in my mind. I could stop and get some food when I picked up a cell phone in Chicago. And with a small part of my path decided for the day, I slung my bags over my shoulder and left the room behind.

  The perky girl behind the counter never questioned my alias when I checked out of the Super 8—cash works wonders, even in this credit card based society. I paid for the night’s stay and my long distance calls. The money Susan insisted on me taking was such a blessing. I wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay in a hotel, and I might not have had enough money to make it out to see Ilene. I gave the clerk a smile and then stopped at the little breakfast nook for another cup of tea. Granted, I would have to stop for a potty break, but there are certain sacrifices to make when the weather is damp and cold.

  An icy patch in the parking lot caught my foot and sent me sliding, the trunk of the Celica catching me before I fell. I leaned against the car, propped the bags up on the bumper and then stuffed them in the trunk. With one hand braced on the car for balance, I slid around to the driver’s side, and then climbed into my seat. I sat clutching the warm teacup with the car running for a few moments until the engine warmed up.

  The travel time from Michigan City to Chicago was negligible in comparison to the rest of my trip. I’d hardly finished my second cup of tea when the Chicago exits signs blotted out the sky. I stayed on 90/94, which turned into the Dan Ryan, the major artery pumping traffic through Chi-town and northward. There were times the highway was so clogged with cars the town could’ve had a coronary. My Celica was expelled into the stream of traffic aimed for the Des Plaines Oasis, which was a perfect place for me to stop for a potty break, fuel up and buy a cheap phone.

  I stood cross-legged at the fuel pump, doing the pee-pee dance and groaning while the tank filled and my meager stash of money dwindled. At this rate, the fuel industry would relieve me of the majority of my sister’s generosity. Even though I was terrified of horses, they were becoming an attractive alternative to oil based fuels, if I could ever get the guts to climb up on one.