Page 62 of Protecting What Is Mine

He pushes the seat back, plops down behind the wheel, and slams the door closed.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask as Roger starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot.

He throws his arm across the passenger seat and cranes his neck to see through the rear window as we back up. When he stops, he looks at me, the grit in his raspy voice betraying the smile painted on his face. “It’s like I said. We’re taking a stroll down memory lane is all.”

“Maybe some other time.” I slide behind the passenger seat and strain to reach the door latch. Unfortunately, his old car is so big, that even in a situation where I could calmly and casually push the seat forward, I’d still struggle to reach the handle.

“Ah ah ah.” Roger clicks a button on his door and I hear the locks engage. “Now Dollie, what did I just say about doing as you’re told?” He straightens, places the car in gear, and slams his foot on the gas pedal as he pulls onto Main street, throwing me back as the dinged and dingy car roars to life under his rough hand.

I look out the window and know If I’m going to do something, I better do it quick. Once we’re out of town, even if I manage to get free of him, what then? Still curled up behind the passenger seat, as far from him as I can be, I lunge for the door handle again.

The muscle in Roger’s jaw flexes as he looks over. Without warning, he slams the brakes, sending me flying forward. Before I realize what’s happening, he grabs me by my shirt, tearing it open as he yanks me back. He looks through the rearview with an unapologetic smile as he punches the gas pedal again. “Neither you or that bitch daughter of mine ever did have the common sense to know what was good for you. I warned you and warned you, just like Clinton did. But no, you had to be stubborn then, too. You went right on doing whatever it was you wanted to do. And now he’s in a world of shit because of it.” He fires a glare back through the mirror. “And then there’s the two broken ribs and concussion that put him in the hospital.” Roger shakes his head. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten I owe that beau of yours a visit, too. All in good time. I promise you that.”

The threat in his words hangs heavily between us. While I know Hank can hold his own, the knowledge that I brought this kind of crazy into his life is a rock in my belly.

“Where are you taking me? At least tell me that,” I plead.

“See for yourself, Dollie.” Roger motions his hand at the view through the windshield.

“All I see is farmland.”

“That always was the trouble with you girls…no vision.” Roger’s eyes narrow. “Wanna know what I see? What I taught Clint to see?” His jaw flexes again. “Everything out there, everything you lay your eyes upon, that’s opportunity. You just have to know how to spot it. And how to take it.” Roger clenches his fist. He quickly checks the rearview and then taps the brakes, slowing the car before he cuts the wheel and takes a left onto a utility road.

“Something about this is familiar,” I mumble to myself.

I glimpse Roger lift a brow through the mirror as he speaks. “It ought to be. Before your daddy got himself into all that trouble, he used to bring you and your momma out here from time to time. You and Sammy and little Clinton all used to play hide and seek in the woods. You remember that?” He turns his attention from the road, looking off into the evening sky, like he’s gone nostalgic or something. “Yeah. The future of our family had real promise in those days.”

Silence fills the car as Roger drives. He’s busy thinking about what should have been while I’m busy trying to orient myself to the area, in the hopes that I might have a clue which way to run if the opportunity presents itself.

But I don’t have a clue.

Not the first one.

While an old barn or road name might offer a glimmer of a memory, nothing about the area is familiar enough to be useful.

Roger slows the car as we approach the end of the utility road.

“Now what?” I ask, motioning ahead. “You brought me all the way out here to a dead end?”

Roger snickers. “Here comes the bump.” His warning comes too late to do any good. By the time I realize what he’s saying, the failing shocks have already succumbed to the force of the wheels pushing against them. The car bounces and jostles and sends my head banging into the headliner.

“Oww,” I cry, as I rub the sore spot on the top of my head.

Where the road ends, there’s a shallow ditch, and then a trace of what used to be a gravel driveway, but it’s so worn and grown over, if you didn’t know to look you’d likely never notice. Roger eases the car along the trail, up a small hill, and into the woods. He turns back to look at me and cracks a heartless smile at my pain.

The thought of him smiling at my misery sets me off. “Why are you doing this? Is this because of what happened to Clint?”

He says nothing, but his smile fades as he turns his attention back to driving.

I look through the window and glimpse a rickety old cabin coming into view in the clearing at the end of the gravel drive. The way it’s tucked back in the woods, you’d never know it was here unless you knew where to look—just like the gravel leading up to it.

I might vaguely remember this place from my childhood. But it didn’t seem nearly this creepy and run down.

The car creaks to a stop when we reach the cabin. Roger kills the engine and throws his arm over the passenger seat, turning to face me. “Last stop,” he growls. The grit in his voice and the innuendo behind his words are enough to make my skin crawl. But it’s the maniacal laugh as he reaches for my purse that sends me into a panic. “Get out,” he says coldly. He lifts his seat forward and stands at the door with his hand extended, impatiently waiting for me to exit.

I bite my bottom lip and climb out without accepting his assistance. The way Roger looks at me, a disgusting mix of anger and disdain and…I think lust, makes me incredibly self-conscious and all-too-aware of the skin showing through my torn shirt. I attempt to cover myself as I take in the surroundings and try to get a sense of where we are.

Slivers of evening sunlight break through the trees and light the otherwise dark path leading to the door. I can’t be here, not overnight, not with him. “Okay, now. You brought me out here, we had our stroll down memory lane, now please, please take me back.”

Roger’s voice is low, barely above a hiss. “Why? So you can talk to the cops and get me jammed up like you did your cousin?” He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the cabin. “I don’t think so, Dollie.”

---