Several months before, Chloe had contacted me about the possibility of doing an interview for her senior thesis project about the long-term effects to children that had been abducted and subsequently either escaped or been set free by their captor. There weren’t many such cases in the United States, but I was one of them, and it just so happened I was in the same state as Chloe.
Chloe’s manner, her friendly, open personality, had appealed to me. And something about doing an interview for a graduate student’s thesis, rather than a talk show or magazine, made me feel far more comfortable. I wasn’t going to be sensationalized, used for ratings, made to be public fodder. Again.
We’d e-mailed back and forth, traded some basic information; I even thought maybe she’d flirted a little over the phone, though my experience with flirting was woefully sparse. My attraction to Chloe had filled me with a newfound hope. She was pretty and smart, and I was going to have to spend a fair bit of time with her if I said yes to her request. I’d allowed my thoughts to go to a place where, if there was an attraction between us, I’d be able to act on that attraction.
I thought about Chloe for a moment longer, considering whether I was going to say yes to doing her interview. Once again, I attempted to work through the pros and cons, to get a handle on the nervousness that skated just under a thin pane of excitement, of possibility. But instead of dwelling on hopeful maybes, on the candid expression of a beautiful girl I’d never met, the face of another girl kept invading my thoughts. A girl who, from what I could tell, was the exact opposite of Chloe Bryant. Crystal, with the long, honey-colored hair and the lonely, wary eyes. Crystal, with her guarded, reluctant smile.
Crystal, the girl I’d never see again.
Something about my thoughts unsettled me and I sat up, running a hand through my hair, feeling strangely bereft. Maybe what I really needed to do was force myself to step out of my comfort zone. I’d hidden in the shadows for too long, spent too many years enjoying nothing other than the predictable nature of my day-to-day existence: work, home, occasional trips into town where I interacted with few. I took comfort in the expected, found safe companionship in the books I read, and still found joy in my own freedom, but I also couldn’t deny that I led a lonely sort of life.
I stood at the open window again, contemplating if I could begin to expand the walls I’d erected around myself. If I should. They were of my own making and yet, even so, hadn’t I constructed a personal prison? Was it time that I do something to change that?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I took a seat in front of my computer, logged in to my e-mail, and pulled up the last message from Chloe. I typed a short response:
Chloe, my answer is yes. Any dates work for me. Just let me know your travel plans. I’m looking forward to meeting you. Gabriel.
And then I hit send before I could change my mind.
CHAPTER THREE
Some people are mean to their bones. If you can’t beat ’em, you just have to survive ’em. Play the hand you’ve been dealt until you get a better one.
Gambit, the Duke of Thieves
CRYSTAL
My car gave a last wheezing stutter before it jerked to a stop and died on the side of the road where I’d managed to steer it at the last minute. I let out an angry yell, banging my palms against the steering wheel. “No, no, no,” I chanted, sitting back in my seat as defeat settled in the pit of my stomach. “God, give me a break.” I banged my head lightly against the headrest, my shoulders sagging.
The glare of the sun was strong as I squinted out the open window; nothing in sight but rocks and trees. I was at least three miles from Glendale, the small town where I lived, and there wasn’t so much as a gas station between here and there. I pulled my phone out of my purse and dialed the local garage and asked for Ricky. When I was told he wasn’t there, I sighed, hanging up. He was the only one who would have given me a free tow. I dialed Kayla’s number next, and it went straight to voice mail.
“Hey, Kay, it’s me. My stupid car just died on the side of the road. If you get this and you’re not working, call me.”
Tossing my phone back in my purse, I rolled my windows up and got out. I stood for a moment considering the five bags of groceries in the backseat and finally blew out a breath, abandoning them as I started walking. I’d get to town and catch a ride back with someone. At least the nonperishables might be salvageable. Goddammit, I’d just spent every cent of last night’s tips on those groceries.
The sun was hot on my back, and I felt sweat gathering between my shoulder blades after only a few minutes. In an attempt to make walking easier, I hitched my jean skirt higher on my thighs. My heeled sandals weren’t exactly ideal for a three-mile hike. I bent down and took them off, but the asphalt beneath my feet was so hot it burned. Shit. Looked like the blister I’d likely get from putting them back on would be the lesser of two evils. I could only hope.
A few cars drove by, but in a town with a population of less than six hundred, I wasn’t expecting this road to be highly traveled.
I’d walked about a mile when I heard the loud roar of a truck engine and turned, moving closer to the dead grass at the side of the road and glancing back at the white truck coming my way. It slowed as it went past me and then pulled to the shoulder of the road, idling. I slowed my pace, nervous flutters beginning to move in my belly when Tommy Hull leaned out the window, squinting back at me.
“Hey, girl, you need a ride?”
I released a breath and sped up, pulling open his passenger side door and climbing in. I hadn’t seen Tommy in a while, but he’d been a regular at the Platinum Pearl before he’d married some townie several months before. “Thanks, Tommy, that’d be great. It sure is hot out there.” The air-conditioning in his truck felt wonderful and I sighed, leaning back against the seat.
He pulled onto the road and glanced over at me, his eyes moving down my bare thighs, lingering. “Sure is.” He started to swerve slightly to the side of the road and looked up, correcting the direction of the truck before glancing at me again. “That your car back there?”
“Yeah.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Piece of junk.” His eyes seemed to be stuck on my thighs again so I pulled my skirt down slightly, the movement getting his attention. He lifted his gaze and smirked at me.
“You’re lookin’ real nice today, girl. You wanna go somewhere?”
I shook my head, resisting the urge to cringe. “No, thank you anyway, Tommy.” I suddenly remembered the groceries I’d left in the backseat of my car, but decided not to ask Tommy to take me back to get them. I just wanted to get home. Fuck the groceries. Fuck my car and my life. I just wanted to get in bed and turn on some mindless talk show and forget about everything.
“Aw, come on.” He put his hand on my thigh and rubbed it lightly. “Damn you’re soft. Forgot how soft you are, baby. Miss those lap dances you used to give me.” He removed his hand to put it back on the wheel as he turned off the highway onto a dirt road.
“Tommy—”
“I think you owe me a little something for getting you off the side of the road, don’t you? Coulda just left you there, walking your ass back to town in the hot sun. Still could.” And there it was. My shoulders drooped at the cold jeering in his tone. The scenery around us, the inside of his truck, and my hands sitting in my lap seemed to take on a flat quality, as if none of this was real. I wished it wasn’t.
I looked at Tommy blankly, a familiar sense of futility settling over me. What did it matter anyway if I let him grope me in his truck? Here, alone on the side of the road, I didn’t even have the thin veneer of safety the Platinum Pearl offered. And judging by the mean look in Tommy’s eyes, I knew it’d take more effort to dissuade him.
Evidently the fact that he was married didn’t mean much to Tommy. What a lucky girl she was.
I forced my lips to lift into something that felt like a smile. “If that’s what you want, sugar.” It was impossible to inject anything other than fatigue and detachme
nt into my voice. Not that he would care.
He stopped the truck, grinning triumphantly at me. “That’s my girl.” He was on me before I could even blink, his hands everywhere, his mouth fastened to mine, his tongue probing as if digging for lost treasure. I hardened myself, my mind moving elsewhere until his taste, tobacco and something salty he’d recently eaten, was bearable, seemingly innocuous. I tilted my head back against the glass of the window, gazing up at the sky, and noticed a blackbird soaring in the distance. I watched it until it was nothing more than a small black speck, watched it until it disappeared into nothing at all.
Tommy thrust against me, panting, his hand desperately pulling at my panties as he licked up my jaw. “Aw, Jesus you get me worked up, baby. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous. Aw, fuck.” His zipper was down and he was attempting to take his belt off with one hand, still grinding against me in a frenzy, when he let out a loud gasp that ended in a groan, stilling as I felt warm wetness against my bare hip. “Fuck!” he swore, pulling away instantly.
I sat up quickly, jerked out of my daze, pulling my skirt down, wiping at the sour smell of his saliva on my jaw.
He zipped up his pants, sitting back in his seat and running his fingers through his blond hair. “Goddammit! How the fuck am I supposed to go home like this? What do you think my wife’s gonna say?” He pointed down at the large wet spot on the front of his jeans.
I stared at it for a moment, and hilarity moved up my throat. Nice job, sharp shooter. My chest rose and fell rapidly with the effort not to laugh, some vague sense of hysteria mixed with the laughter that was bubbling in my chest, begging for escape. When Tommy attempted to wipe at the spot with the edge of his shirt and only ended up making it bigger, I couldn’t hold back anymore. A burst of laughter exploded from my mouth and I clutched my stomach, doubling over. I laughed so hard tears poured down my cheeks.
I looked up just in time to see the rage etched across Tommy’s face, but not in time to dodge the smack that whipped my head back against the window. That killed my laughter. I brought my hand up to my face, my laughter turning into small bursts of wheezing breath.
“Not laughing now, are ya, you cheap slut? Get the fuck out of my truck.” He reached around me and opened the door, and since I was leaning against it, I fell out, tumbling backward, hitting the ground so hard the breath was knocked from my lungs. My purse landed in a patch of dead grass to my left, and the door of the truck slammed above me. Trying my best to draw breath, I crawled backward through the dirt as the truck roared to life, turned around, and headed back toward the main road.
I sat there for a minute, sucking in oxygen, all the laughter dead on my lips. Eventually, I pulled myself up, groaning slightly at the ache in my bruised backside, and rubbing carefully where Tommy had hit me. I walked toward the highway. At least I was a little closer to home than I’d been before. That was something.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, sweating profusely, and limping from the blisters formed on my aching feet, I let myself into my apartment. Dropping my purse on the floor, I began removing my clothes, leaving them in a trail as I headed to the shower. I stood under the cool water, attempting to let the last hour and a half wash off my body and follow the soapy water down the drain. I just want to feel clean. When I emerged, I felt a little bit better, cooler at least. I opened my apartment window, though there wasn’t much of a breeze, and turned on the floor fan, grabbing my phone from my purse and flopping down on my bed.
No calls. Kayla must be working. I thought about my car, currently on the side of the road with the groceries in the backseat, and a lump formed in my throat. I needed that car—needed it to get to work. Needed it to survive. Needed it so that I didn’t have to accept rides from men who were likely to take liberties with my body on the side of the road. A sick feeling washed through me when I thought of Tommy again, but I pushed the recent memory away as best as I could.
Thinking about it all exhausted me until I almost decided just to curl up right where I was and sleep the day away.
What am I gonna do now? Oh, Lord …
I jerked to a sitting position and dialed the garage again and asked for Ricky, who’d always been decent to me when my car broke down, even letting me make payments if I wasn’t able to cover the whole bill at once.
Whoever answered obviously laid the phone on the counter. I heard him call Ricky’s name, then pictured Ricky sliding out from beneath a car, a wrench in his hand, grease smeared on his face. When he barked a “Ricky here” into the phone, I put a smile in my voice and told him how I needed his help.
“Aw, listen, babe, I can tow it for you and let you know what’s wrong with it, but you know you still owe me the money for fixing the alternator. I can’t do any more work for you until you’re settled up here. The old man will have my hide if I do.”
My hope plummeted. I didn’t even have the money for a tow, much less to settle up and then fix whatever was wrong this time—something expensive no doubt. “All right, Ricky. I appreciate the tow. It’s really generous. Thank you.”
“Sure, babe.”
I gave him the details about where it was and that I’d be over later to pick up my groceries once I could catch a lift from Kayla. Maybe some of the food was still edible.
I sat there for a minute, a dull feeling of loneliness sitting heavily in my gut. How? How was I going to work this out?
I’ll pay you, obviously. It would be an after-hours job, nothing more.
Gabriel Dalton’s words wove through my mind, and I picked up my phone again, tapping it lightly against my chin for a minute before typing his name into the browser. There was no lack of information. I clicked on a link near the top, bringing up a news story from twelve years before.
The Morlea Police Department held a press conference on Thursday, June 29, to give more details about the Gabriel Dalton case. Nine-year-old Gabriel, the little boy abducted near his home in 1998 while playing in an empty lot with his eight-year-old brother, Dominic, caught the attention of Vermonters along with the nation. Gabriel was missing until a week ago, when he appeared on a woman’s doorstep, bloody, identifying himself as Gabriel Dalton and asking for help. Through the investigation, police discovered that Gabriel had been held in the basement of the house next door to the woman who called 911, and that he had been there for the past six years. Gabriel had escaped by stabbing his abductor, identified as Gary Lee Dewey, with a sharpened piece of rock. Gary Lee Dewey was deceased when police arrived. Gabriel Dalton, now fifteen, was reunited with his brother, and they are both currently in the care of their father’s business partner at Dalton Morgan Quarry. Gabriel and Dominic’s parents, Jason and Melissa Dalton, passed away in a car accident in 2003.
Just a year before their son came home. God.
I looked up a few more articles, finding similar information. My eyes lingered on the nine-year-old face of Gabriel Dalton, the sweet, all-American smile, those same innocent eyes that I’d seen from the stage. There were only a couple of pictures of Gabriel at fifteen. In the first one, he was long-haired, wide-eyed, and looked distressed by the flash of the camera. In the second, he was standing in the pose that had triggered my memory: hands in pockets, head tilted, his hair falling over his forehead as he squinted slightly at the camera. It was the one all the news stations had used for months on end as they reported on his story.
Biting my lip, I set the phone down, leaning back on my pillows, wondering what hell Gabriel had endured during those six years locked in the basement with a child predator.
You can help me practice being touched by a woman.
I swallowed down a lump, not wanting to think about why he was so averse to being touched. Figuring I already knew.
I hadn’t wanted any part of Gabriel’s self-imposed therapy, but now, sitting here, I couldn’t even remember why I’d said no. Clearly, I was a willing body, and by the sound of things, that was really all he required. He needed me, and I needed the extra money. He could have
asked any of the dancers last night, but he’d chosen me, and then I turned him down as if I were too good for the job, but in reality, I wasn’t.
I could help Gabriel become comfortable with someone in his space, someone touching him, and he could give me the money I needed to get my car running again. Win-win. How hard could it be? Yet why did a peculiar sense of anxiety run down my spine? I squashed it, pulling my towel more tightly around myself, and picked up my phone again, doing a search on Dalton Morgan Quarry. It was in the nearby town of Morlea, and although I didn’t know if Gabriel worked there or not, I decided to take a chance, dialing the number. If I couldn’t find him this way, I’d give it up and move on to plan B, whatever that might be. My heart beat more quickly as I waited for someone to answer.
“Dalton Morgan Quarry.”
I hesitated, feeling nervous, unsure.
“Hello?”
“Uh,” I finally got out. “Uh, yes, um, may I speak with Gabriel? Gabriel Dalton?”
There was a short pause. “Sure.” It sounded like the man—young man, I thought—was smiling. “May I tell him who’s calling?” Yes, there was definitely a smile in his voice.
I cleared my throat. “Crystal. Um, just Crystal.”
There was another short pause before the man finally said, “Oh.” He sounded disappointed. What was that about?
I frowned, opening my mouth to say something, when he beat me to it. “Sure thing. Hold on.” Music came on the line and I stood up, holding my towel up with one hand and my phone with the other while I paced in front of my bed. After what seemed like a good five minutes, another voice came on the line.
“Hello?”
It sounded like Gabriel’s voice—at least from what I remembered—and I quit pacing. “Hi, Gabriel? Um, this is Crystal. You might not remember me but—”