Page 32 of I'm Watching You

Seconds passed. No phantoms appeared. Her heart slowed.

Nicole’s mind cleared. ‘He’s far away, three thousand miles away. Richard is in San Francisco. Christina is dead. I’m Nicole now.’ She was in Virginia and living with her friend Lindsay O’Neil.

‘I’m safe. It was a dream.’ Nicole switched on the lamp by the faded floral couch. As she hugged a colorful pillow, her gaze traveled over the living room’s hodgepodge of antique and modern furniture. An assortment of clocks ticked and chimed on the mantle. A large area rug warmed the scuffed parquet floor. The room should have looked disjointed, but Lindsay had united the salvaged pieces and given them a new life and purpose.

She’d done the same for Nicole.

Without question, Lindsay had taken in Nicole when she’d fled her abusive marriage. She’d given her safe harbor and was helping her to regain control of her life.

Nicole curled trembling hands into fists and said aloud, ‘He can’t find me. I’ve covered my tracks well. I’m safe.’ But the helpless fear still remained.

A clock chimed four times. Other clocks joined in, creating a symphony of sounds. Four o’clock.

It was time to get ready for her evening shift at the studio.

Just a week ago, Nicole had told Lindsay she had to get back to work. Lindsay had tried to convince her to just hang out for a while and give herself time to heal, but Nicole had refused. She needed to work so that she could push the past from her mind. Lindsay had understood and had gotten Nicole a new Social Security number. Nicole wasn’t sure how Lindsay had accomplished the feat so quickly but she hadn’t asked.

Within two days, Nicole had gotten a job at a mall portrait studio. She’d only been on the job about a week and knew that snapping photos of babies and high school graduates was a far cry from the artistic photography she’d done in San Francisco. But right now she didn’t have the luxury of being a snob. This job was about making money, which equaled the means to run if Richard found her.

Nicole moved through the dimly lit apartment to the kitchen and got a soda from the fridge. She popped it open and savored the cool liquid on her dry throat and uneasy stomach.

She was afraid all the time and that made her angry with herself. She’d been a fool to love Richard, a man who had ruined her life.

Richard.

He’d been the man of her dreams and she’d loved him so much in the early days. But behind the kindness and flowers lurked a man who was evil incarnate.

Two years ago when he’d burst through the front door of her San Francisco photography studio, he’d been dodging an onslaught of rain. Dressed in jeans, a white linen shirt, and Gucci loafers, he had immediately captured her attention with his dark good looks. They’d hit it off. He’d been so charming. She’d been enthralled. They’d married less than two months later in a sunset ceremony on the beach. Her parents had passed away by then but she’d had a collection of friends to stand by her side. She’d worn a silk halter dress that had shimmered in the light of a hundred torches. Flowers had adorned her head. She’d worn no shoes.

Richard had held her hand as they’d stood before the minister. His hand had been cold and she knew he was nervous. She’d been charmed that such a sophisticated man could be nervous. He’d sworn that they’d be together forever.

Forever.

The word haunted her now.

They’d been married less than six months when the problems started. She’d been late coming home one night because she’d spent extra time in the darkroom, burning and edging the print of a mother and child until it was perfect. When she’d left the studio, she’d felt so proud of the work. She was finding her voice as an artist. And commercially, she was on the brink of something big in her career.

When she’d arrived home, Richard had accused her of seeing someone else. The idea was so ridiculous, she’d laughed. His temper had snapped. He’d called her a whore. A cunt. He’d said he despised the sight of her.

The words had cut through her like knives. She’d started to cry.

Instantly contrite, Richard had begged for her forgiveness and poured her a snifter of brandy to settle her nerves. He’d sworn he’d never lose his temper again.

Stunned and shaken, she’d allowed him to hug her. And God help her, she’d clung to him.

Each day for the next month, he’d sent her flowers: large and lavish displays of roses, tulips, rare orchids. Slowly, she’d dropped her guard. She’d believed his words of love.

But as her success grew so did Richard’s resentment. He didn’t like the demands her work made on her time. And like a fool, she’d confused his need to control with love. And so she had tried to appease him. She’d downplayed her successes and awards. And when that didn’t work, she’d cut back her hours. Seen her friends less so she could be with him more. Each time she gave up a piece of herself, he seemed to be mollified. But he was never content for long. She realized she could never sacrifice enough to make him truly happy.

Nicole began to despise her marriage. Increasingly, she’d felt trapped. Angry. Alone. She’d even gone to a local community center to hear a woman, Claire Carmichael, speak about abuse. But at the time, Nicole just couldn’t believe that her marriage was that bad.

Then, almost three weeks ago, Richard had lost his temper because he’d not liked the dress she’d chosen. It had looked cheap to him and in his eyes a poor reflection of his standing.

She’d tried to explain it was the latest fashion. But she had been silenced by the anger and venom that had erupted from him. He’d beaten her so badly that she couldn’t leave the house for days. He’d told her if she ever tried to leave him, he’d kill her. With great relish, he’d spoken of drugs that could keep her alive for days as he’d slice away at her flesh with a knife.

She’d been terrified, knowing he would do exactly what he’d threatened to do.

Confident that he’d totally trampled her spirits, he’d given her a lavish display of roses and then left their San Francisco home for an overnight business trip to New York.

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