Home for Christmas: New Adult Holiday Dark Suspense Romance (7 page)

She had just missed the seven-day advance-purchase ticket price. It was a fifty dollar difference that meant she didn’t have enough money left over to stay somewhere like the local YWCA or even the one small youth hostel in the area. She hadn’t dared to go back to the video store. Instead, she’d been sleeping in cul-de-sacs and beneath underpasses.

With the wind whipping up under her long coat, the cold was so pervasive and relentless she shivered in a permanent state of misery. Her normal body temperature became a constant fever, leaving her teeth chattering. She longed for the relative warmth that existed between two glass panes, a place that somehow had come to feel like home.

She had headed over to do some more research about the San Francisco Art Institute and the possibility of financial aid, but she had forgotten the library had shortened hours, now that it was getting close to Christmas. She found herself out on the street again before it was even dark, facing an hour’s walk back to town.

Last night, she had slept in the recessed doorway of the high school only a few blocks away from Maggie’s new place on Fourth Street, choosing a door facing away from the road. She spent most of the night awake, worrying about the possibility of being found and fantasizing about the relief of the video store’s vestibule around the corner.

She knew she had been lucky with the unseasonable warmth, but she’d heard a weather report this morning that foretold temperatures tonight dropping well below freezing with the possibility of snow. This portent arrived as she trudged her way back into town, walking down a street in a small downtown area lined with fun little shops where people were taking their very last opportunity to buy gifts.

A little girl stood in front of the bakery holding some sort of cinnamon bun that made Ginny’s stomach clench. The child turned to the woman next to her and cried, “Mommy, look, it’s snowing!” The tone was one Ginny remembered echoing like some distant memory, that awed and giddy voice which made anything around Christmas sound magical.

Ginny looked up and saw small white flakes floating against the light of one of the lampposts. The town’s holiday decorations, a candy cane and two silver bells flocked by evergreen branches, were just starting to gather the first bit of white dust.

The little girl had her tongue out, trying to catch the larger flakes, and her mother smiled indulgently. The woman caught Ginny watching them and commented, “Perfect timing for Christmas, isn’t it?” before she steered her daughter out of the way of shoppers and they made their way down the street.

What was perfect timing for everyone else’s holiday felt like a warped and unjust act of God to Ginny. More snow! As she watched the mother and daughter pair retreat, something heavy settled in her belly, a pain that went deeper than hunger.

Her indecision stopped her at the intersection. Where was she going to spend the night? She glanced back at the street scene—traffic crawling, cars looking for places to park, people milling between stores, gloved hands clutching packages or bags. It reminded her of a snow globe she had as a kid, one of those cheap plastic things you shook in order to watch the snow fall on a city street.

She smiled at the memory. Maggie had given her that funny little globe, the one that looked so odd and stilted with all the snow gathered in clumps on the bottom. Still, in those few seconds when everything turned upside down and then righted again, when those unidentifiable little white pellets floated through liquid in a sweet simulation of snow falling, everything seemed right with the world. Ginny found herself feeling homesick.

Maggie had asked her to come hang out with them, even spend the night, but she had refused. She knew if she spent even one night with them, she would never want to leave. It would just sap her courage and urgency to get on the bus when it was time to go.

That wasn’t the only reason, of course. The main reason was she still worried about being followed, and she didn’t want to lead Brody anywhere near Maggie’s new place. Putting herself in danger was one thing, but putting them all at risk was something else altogether.

The decision weighed heavily on her as she stood on the street corner and watched the snow fall. She knew if she went left, she wouldn’t end up at the high school but rather on her sister’s doorstep. She just couldn’t do that. Eyeing the coffee house across the street to her right, she knew it closed late. She could kill some time and allow her to sketch for a while. Just down the street from the cafe, she was drawn to the promise of a warm, safe night tucked in the vestibule at the video store.

If she couldn’t have the nestled calm of Maggie’s home, the video store felt like the next best thing. It had been a week since the robbery and the memory of it seemed distant compared to the ache she was feeling for something, anything, familiar. She made her decision, turning right, noticing enough snow had already fallen for her to leave footprints behind her as she headed to the coffee house.

* * * *

With great relief, she settled into her spot on the floor of the vestibule. Fatigue crept into her joints and bones as the warmth began to thaw her limbs. She stretched out onto her back and watched the snow falling, more heavily now. Her bus ticket was tucked away in her pocket, and although she dreamed about warm beaches and sunshine, she felt a bit sad that this might be the last snowfall she saw for a very long time.

It seemed impossible that spending alone and homeless, watching it snow from the entrance of a video store, was preferable to the night spent at the place she had always known as home. But the closer it got to Christmas, when she thought of this time last year, she knew she had a lot to be grateful for tonight.

When Brody had dragged her from her bed in the middle of the night, she found herself looking up through the branches of the little tabletop tree she had decorated in an attempt to create some semblance of a normal Christmas. She wondered how she ever could have believed in something as benevolent as Santa Claus. She was getting the only gift she would get from her stepfather that year, as he knelt between her legs while his cop friend and hunting buddy, Steve Santos, forced himself into her mouth.

Merry fucking Christmas, sweetheart.

There was the hope, now she had escaped, her life could unfold, and she clung to that. The envelope in her pocket was the ticket to a freedom she could only begin to imagine. She felt a greater anticipation tonight than she had ever felt before, her whole body tingling with it as she watched the magic of the snow falling down, remembering the snow globe and how you had to turn the world upside down to make it snow.

Her whole world had turned upside down, but all was right somehow. She felt something filling her, something she very seldom felt, a novel belief that something good was coming. Perhaps it was just the promise of the holiday, the weighted expectation of Christmas coming. Her blood sang with it every year, and it was operatic now, filled with something beyond the feeling she had when she was young and thought she might glimpse Santa leaving something in their stockings.

Somehow she was surprised, but no more shocked that night than she was the year before, when a door opened and the safety of her universe collapsed under the weight of a man. There were two of them and she recognized the tall one right away, the one who had punched in the security code. The other had a jacket she recognized, black with blue stripes.

Her quick instincts might have saved her if it hadn’t been for the length of her own coat. She was up and had the door open before they were on her, but one of them stepped on the hem and she was brought up short. It was just long enough for him to grab her by the arm and twist her back into the vestibule, pressing her hard against the glass. It was the tall one. She could see his reflection, although her breath was beginning to fog it enough for it to be unclear.

“Where’s our fucking money, bitch?” He pulled her toward him only to shove her back hard, her cheek pressed against the cold surface of the glass. She gasped but didn’t say anything—she knew it wouldn’t matter.

“Look through her bag, idiot,” he urged his friend in the blue/black coat, who then yanked it off her shoulder. She saw his reflection pulling out clothes, her sketchpad, her toiletries, tossing them aside.

“Nothing,” blue/black coat said, tossing her bag into the corner. “Hold her.”

Ginny closed her eyes against his hands digging into her coat pockets, pulling out a bus ticket, twenty dollars in cash, and a Scrunchie.

“Well, she spent some of it on this.” Blue/black coat showed the tall one her bus ticket, then shoved it, and the cash, into his pocket.

“You gonna skip town with our money? Where is it?” The tall one twisted her arm tighter.

Ginny felt herself leaving, floating somewhere above them, gone, nowhere near her body in that moment. She couldn’t have answered him if she wanted to. She knew it was only a matter of time, and she was right.

The tall one spun her around, snatching her coat off and throwing it over her bag. “Maybe she’s got it hidden somewhere under all this.”

Their hands were on her, pulling, pushing, leaving her cold and trembling, stripping her down. The floating, observant part of her was amused at their frustration with all her extra layers of clothing.

“Told you she wouldn’t still have it.” Blue/black coat eyed her shivering form in jeans and t-shirt.

“Haven’t checked everywhere.” The tall one grunted as he unzipped and tried to shove her jeans down her hips over her leggings. “Come on, help me.”

Blue/black coat took over the tugging, and their hands were on her, searching, probing. It was when the tall one turned her around and pressed her into the glass again and blue/black coat pulled her leggings down to her knees, that the disembodied part of herself came home.

Finally finding her voice, she flailed and screamed at them.

The tall one clamped his hand over her mouth, using his other arm across her midsection to pull her in tight against him, crushing the air out of her.

“You better shut up,” he warned.

Feeling him pressed against her behind, she knew what it was and what he intended to do with it. She was still screaming, but nothing came out. She bit down hard on his hand and he swore, shoving her head hard enough against the glass it created a small spider web crack. Seeing blackness, then stars in the blackness, it was only then she felt the pain exploding through her head like white-hot fireworks.

Moaning, she heard one of them say something about getting her, teaching her. Her ears were ringing, her head on fire. There was more tugging, ripping, her panties gone, then she was being bent over. Her voice resurfaced and she found herself screaming again.

“Shut her up!” blue/black coat hissed, then someone hit her hard across the mouth and she tasted blood.

Still, she couldn’t stop screaming, and the hand came again, this time in the form of a fist. It felt as if something in her head rattled loose with that hit and the voice stopped. Everything stopped. Sound receded. Light faded. She sank quickly, falling, dying, and all she felt was a final relief, an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“The cops!” Blue/black coat yelled and the tall one dropped her.

She crumpled to her knees.

They bolted out the opposite door into the snow but she didn’t see them, just heard them. She dry heaved onto the floor—there was nothing in her stomach to come up, but she convulsed as if there were.

She became aware of boots, a familiar blue uniform. Large hands held her hair back as she trembled and heaved, murmuring something unintelligible. She turned her head to look and her heart sank when she saw him, the same man she’d seen in the library, at Barnes and Noble, in the 7-Eleven and Dunkin’ Donuts, the one who had a crush on her back when they were kids.

“Nick,” she croaked before slipping into a blissful, empty and painless darkness. 

She woke up floating on a cloud. Her body ached but she rested on something so soft it was unimaginable. Her eyes focused and she realized she was in someone’s home. She was on a sofa and there was a television, a coffee table, all the usual living room amenities, along with a Christmas tree in the corner. One stocking hung on the fireplace mantle. She heard someone talking and, for a moment, couldn’t remember anything that had happened.

He was on the phone. She sat bolt upright, suddenly remembering everything.

Nick was on the phone. Who was he talking to? Who was he telling?

Scanning the room for her backpack and coat, she found them in a corner. The world slipped a little as she stood. Steadying herself on the arm of a chair, she moved toward her things. She had to get out before Brody showed up.

Nick moved further into the kitchen, his voice muffled. She strained to hear. Was he calling more cops? Worse, was he calling Brody? She shivered, sure it was the latter as she shrugged on her coat and shouldered her backpack, easing toward the front door.

“Hey! Hey there! Hold on!”

She heard him call out as she turned the knob. She pulled, but found the deadbolt locked.

He caught up to her in three quick strides, and as she unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the door, he pressed his hand flat against it and shut it again.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere but here!” She moved around him, starting toward the kitchen.

“Listen, you have to stay.” He caught up again, moving in front of her to block the entryway with his body.

“Like hell I do!” She shoved at him, but it was like trying to move a brick wall, and her head and mouth throbbed with the effort. “What for? So you and Brody can finish what those two started? I don’t think so, asshole! Now get out of my way!”

“Brody? Your stepdad? What are you talking about?” The genuine look of confusion on his face stopped her for a moment.

“Do they give you acting lessons in private dick school?” she snarled, turning away from him and running toward the front door.

“We can’t keep doing this running thing all night.” Exasperated, he caught up with her again, stepping in front of the door before she could reach it.

“Then get out of my way.”

“What are you running from? What are you running to?”

She swallowed hard, throat burning, voice shaking.

“If you had any idea what I was running from, you never would’ve told him where I am. Now get out of my way!” She ducked under his arm, pulling at the door, but was no match for the weight of him pressed against it.

“Listen to me!” He grabbed her arms and pulled her toward him. “I’m trying to help you. That’s all I want to do!”

“If you want to help, then let me go,” she pleaded. “Please, whatever he’s told you, none of it is true. You can’t let him find me. I’m
begging
you.”

The tears were coming and she couldn’t stop them, although she tried hard. She even bit down on her bruised and swollen lip, hoping the pain might be a distraction.

“What are you talking about?” He shook his head at her.

“Oh, come on, you know who! The guy you were just talking to on the phone!” She pulled away from him and ran—she didn’t care anymore where to.

This time when he reached her, he enfolded her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, grabbing her wrists and crossing them over. He held her that way for some time, not speaking, just waiting for her to stop struggling. When her breath began to slow a little and she relaxed against his bulk, he finally spoke.

“I’m going to tell you something and I want you to listen. Then I’m going to ask you a question and you’re going to answer me. Do you understand?”

He waited for her to nod, which she did reluctantly, before going on.

“I wasn’t on the phone with Brody,” he assured her. “I haven’t told anyone anything, Ginny. That was my partner on the phone. I told her I wasn’t coming into work tomorrow, that’s all.”

She relaxed a little at these words, not sure what to believe.

“Look, I know you’ve been sleeping at the video store for the past few weeks.”

She let that information sink in, not knowing if she could or should trust what he was saying.

“Now... is Brody looking for you? Did you run away?”

“You... really don’t know?” she asked, her voice small. She felt him sigh.

“I don’t know much. I know what I think. I think you ran away and you clearly have nowhere to go. You’re clearly very afraid of something... or someone... sounds like you and Brody had some kind of falling out? And you seemed to like the peanut butter and apple juice I left out for you.”

She gasped, flushing, and she knew what he was saying had to be true. It all came at her, everything, the weeks alone, the terror of believing Brody was looking for her, having her followed, the harsh words and hard hands. It came with so much force she gasped and then sobbed, collapsing as if she was a puppet and someone had just cut her strings.

He gathered her up and sat with her on the sofa. She found herself clinging to him, desperate for someone who might be able to offer even just a little comfort.

“What happened?” he asked her again, and she found herself telling him, in small bursts, about her stepfather and his abuse.

“So you ran away?” He stroked her hair and she found herself sinking against him, nodding. “And you thought he called me about you?”

She nodded again, closing her eyes, feeling more comfortable here in Nick’s arms than she had anywhere in a very long time.

He took a deep breath, and then he said something she had never heard a man say in her life. “Well, you’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Thank you.” She put her arms around him, feeling a warmth and easiness that should have taken years to accomplish, given her justifiable tendency toward mistrust.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Ginny.” He sighed again, hand still in her hair. “But you know...”

He leaned back to look at her, and she saw something in his eyes that stopped her, some internal struggle that put her on edge.

“What?” she asked.

He cleared his throat.

“We really should make a report.”

He said it as if he knew what her response would be. She leapt out of his lap, practically hissing.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, encircling her wrists with his hands and pulling her back toward him. “I’ll tell you what. You stay here tonight.”

She looked down at him, suspicious.

“You can have a bath and I’ll make you something to eat,” he said, tempting her, but she was far too skeptical to give in. He looked at her like he could read her mind, saying, “Don’t worry, I have a guest room. Then tomorrow, we’ll talk about more about this, okay?”

“Brody’s a cop,” she reminded him. “The minute my name is in any system, I’m dead.”

He nodded sympathetically.

“They took my bus ticket to California and the only money I had to my name.” She sank into the chair opposite him, the realization finally hitting her. All of her dreams of California and art school had vanished in one five-minute struggle. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“It’s going to be okay,” he assured her, his hand swallowing hers as he helped her to stand.

For some reason beyond her comprehension, looking into his quiet, dark eyes, she believed him.

* * * *

After weeks of bathing in a bathroom sink, Ginny moaned out loud when she slid into a full, hot tub of water. Nick had insisted on the compromise of taking digital pictures of her face on his iPhone before he gave her towels and let her into the bathroom. She didn’t know how long she spent soaking after she’d washed everything three times, including her hair. She may have even slept a little in the heat, startling out of her daze when he knocked.

“Hey, food’s ready,” he called through the door.

“Give me just a minute.” She reached for a towel.

“If you want, leave your clothes and I’ll throw them in the machine,” he told her. “There’s a shirt on the door that should cover you. Come down when you’re ready.”

“Okay.” She pulled the plug and let the bath water drain.

Wrapped in a towel, she inspected her face. Her lip was swollen and blue on one side, and she had a bruise already on the same side of her cheek that looked as if it might grow darker. The lump on the left side of her forehead hurt the most. It was the size of a quarter, red in the center and purple at the edges.

She towel-dried her hair and found the white button-down shirt he’d left hanging on the door. It was enormous and came to her knees. She debated about a bra and panties or leggings for a moment, and decided to let him wash everything and just wear the shirt.

“Nick?” She found him setting the table in the kitchen.

He was still in his uniform and just looking at him in it brought a tangled combination of feeling—apprehension and security. She smiled at him anyway.

“I’m starving!”

He stood frozen, forks and napkins halted in midair, looking at her wearing his shirt and standing framed by the doorway. Ginny glanced down and noticed her still-wet hair leaving little see-through patches on the material in places. She saw the lustful look in his eyes. It made her flush and felt a low heat burning below the hunger in her belly.

“What’d you make?” She decided to brazen it out and walked toward him, where he still stood, as if transfixed. She cocked her head at him and met his gaze. There was more than kindness in them now, she noticed, although he looked quickly away, as if he wanted to hide his feelings.

Clearing his throat, he managed to answer, “Spaghetti. Have a seat.”

She did, her stomach growling at the smell and thought of food. She’d discovered hunger was interesting in that way. There were times when the stomach seemed to forget for a while that it hadn’t been satisfied, but the sight or smell of something could bring that instant gnarl and clench again.

She was ravenous and devoured it all, an entire plate of pasta and sauce, her own roll with butter and half of his. He watched her as he chewed thoughtfully. She thought he looked preoccupied with something, but she was so engrossed in satisfying her own senses she didn’t care.

It was only when her belly was full that thoughts began again, and she asked him, “So... you live alone here?”

His smile was strained and she didn’t realize until that moment how callous her question might have been. But she’d seen pictures on the mantle—him and some girl. They looked happy together. There were even pictures of him with Nick’s family—well, Nick’s dad. Seeing that had stopped her cold.

“I moved in here with... someone... but it didn’t work out.” He shrugged.

“What about your dad? Do you have anything for dessert?” She ran the two questions together and he laughed. “Did you tell your dad about me?”

“No, I didn’t tell anyone,” he said, standing. “I have some Ben and Jerry’s I think. Want me to check?”

She nodded, contemplating this information. “Did your father ask about me?”

“Why would he?” he asked, head in the freezer.

“No cops, okay?” She looked at him in earnest. “Please. No cops. Just you. No one else.”

“Okay.” He held up two containers. “Do you want Chunky Monkey or Phish Food?”

“Oh, yes!” She smiled. “Both!”

“Brody
is
looking for you.” He gave her this piece of information slowly. “A missing person’s report was filed. It came across my desk last week.”

“I figured.” She met his eyes, trying to tell if he was really being honest with her. “Nick, you have to tell me the truth. I know Nick and your dad are friends...”

The memory of this man’s father was far too close, his beefy, groping hands. But she couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t possibly.

“He doesn’t know you’re here.” Nick shook his head. “I promise.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” She tried not to sound like she was begging, but it still came out as a plea as she watched him take down two bowls and pull out spoons. “Not anyone.”

“Ginny, why did you run away?” he asked as she started clearing the table, taking their dishes to the sink while he scooped the ice cream.

“I’m eighteen, I’m not a runaway.” She put her chin out, feeling defiant.

“You know what I mean,” he replied softly, turning her face toward him so she had to meet his eyes.

“He... hurt me.” She swallowed, feeling the tremble in her mouth. “Just... leave it at that.”

Nick nodded slowly, handing over her ice cream without another word.

They settled on the sofa with their bowls and Ginny let each bite of cold, creamy sweetness melt in her mouth, eyes closing in relief. She hadn’t been warm and fed like this in a while. He watched her with a very similar expression on his face.

“Nice TV.” She nodded toward the big screen, trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, it was her idea to buy it,” he admitted with a shrug, finding the remote and flicking it on. Ginny realized he’d mistaken her comment as a hint. “But I don’t use it much. Not a lot of time to watch really...”