Married to a Stranger (25 page)

B
RAMBLES CAUGHT
on the blue-green cape as Emma plunged through the dry grass and weeds. She stubbed her toe on a rock that looked like a clod of earth in the moonlight and stumbled over the empty plastic bottles and crushed soda cans littering the overgrown lot behind the minimart. The nearest bank of trees was to her right. She headed in that direction, grateful for the visibility the moon provided.

She knew she had only a few moments to get away, a few moments before her husband noticed that she had not come back or realized that the attendant’s protest had been directed at his wife. A few moments before he came after her, searching for her, trying to capture her. Why, David? Her soul cried out, but immediately she stopped herself. No time for that now. Make a plan. Okay, okay, she thought. Go into those trees. Once you’re hidden, try to call the police again. Call for help.

For a moment she wondered, who else can I call? Her first thought was Burke, and then she rememebered. Burke was gone. Off on some personal business.

Who else? If Lieutenant Atkins was still unavailable, she could try the Clarenceville police. They knew her whole story. And they would believe her right away. They would be able to dispatch troopers to her rescue.

I can do that, she thought, panting as she reached the copse of fir trees. After I can try Lieutenant Atkins again. Her breathing was ragged from fear and the unaccustomed effort of running. She could feel the pull of the stitches in her side, on her legs. Her skin felt fiery. She kept going, hiding herself in the cover of the trees.

From the direction of the service station, she heard an inchoate shout. It was her name. She knew it was her name. David had discovered she was gone. He was after her. Don’t panic, she thought. Stop and call. He can’t hear you from where he is. You can barely make out what he is shouting. Although she knew. He was coming after her.

With trembling fingers, she punched in the numbers on her cell phone and held it to her ear, praying that Atkins would answer this time. She’s still not there, still has her phone turned off, there’s no one to help you, she thought, panic rising.

“Hello.”

Emma’s heart leapt. “Lieutenant Atkins?” she whispered.

“Speak up. I can’t hear you. Who is this?”

She spoke aloud, in the quietest possible voice. “It’s Emma Webster. I’m…in danger.”

“I got your message. Where are you?” Joan demanded.

“I’m hiding in a grove of trees. I’m in the Pine Barrens.”

“The Pine Barrens. What the hell are you doing there?”

“I thought. There was a call…” She didn’t know how to explain.

“Never mind,” Joan barked. “Where in the Pine Barrens are you?”

She wished she had paid more attention to the signs as they drove. She had figured that David knew the way. “I’m not sure. There’s a service station right nearby.”

“Emma, the Pine Barrens are a million acres. You could be anywhere. What exit did you get off at? What kind of service station?”

Emma craned her neck, but she could not see the sign in front of the minimart. “I don’t know. I thought we were going to the same place as before, but now I don’t know. You have to help me. I’m hiding but I don’t know how long—”

She gasped. Now she could see David. He had walked around to the back of the minimart and was calling her name.

“Ask them for help in the service station,” Joan said in an agitated tone. “Go in and tell them you’re in danger.”

“I can’t,” she said. “He’s there.”

“Who is it, Emma?” Joan demanded. Then there was a silence. “It’s your husband, isn’t it? That shit.”

Emma was silent.

“As a matter of fact, Chief Osmund left me a message too. His witness picked your husband’s photo out of a lineup. The witness said he was there in that cabin of Zamsky’s several months ago. With a woman. Wasn’t you, was it?”

Emma had to force back tears. “No,” she whispered. As she clutched the phone, quivering, she watched David begin to pick his way across the littered lot behind the minimart. Why did you do this to me? she thought.

“Emma, listen to me. You have to give us some idea of where to find you,” Joan Atkins said.

“I can’t,” she croaked. And then, suddenly, she remembered.

“Lieutenant,” she said. “There’s a poster. A missing persons poster. A girl used to work at this service station and she disappeared. Shannon O’Brien was her name. Isn’t there a missing persons register? Maybe if you look her up, you can find out what service station it is. The location, you know?”

“Right,” Joan exclaimed. “That’s great, Emma. That’s using your head. We can find the place from that. It’ll take a few minutes on the computer, but we can find it. Once we do, I’ll have men on the way. You just sit tight and stay on the line. We’re coming to get you.”

“Thank you,” Emma whispered. She was listening to Joan Atkins’s voice, but her gaze was fixed on David, who had stopped, looked up, and then looked toward the trees where she was hiding. He was gazing right at her across the dark field. He can’t see you, she told herself. It’s impossible. All he can see is darkness. But it was no use. He was starting to walk her way, his eyes fixed on her location.

Emma dropped the phone in her bag and fled, crashing through the low branches, tripping over roots and beginning to bleed from her broken sutures. She had no idea where she was running. She zigzagged through the trees, turning one way and then another, looking back for a second but seeing no one behind her, only darkness, all around. She wasn’t on a trail. She was just pinballing from tree to tree. How would Lieutenant Atkins ever find her, even if she did find the service station?

And then, up ahead of her, flickering through the pine needles on the branches that surrounded her, Emma saw something that made her feel faint with relief. The lights of a house. Someone was there. In their house. Someone she could plead with for help. Beg them to let her in until the police came. She only hoped it was not some drooling, wild-eyed Piney. But then she reminded herself of Claude Mathis. One of those Pineys had given his life to try and save her. Once more, she needed saving. Please, God, she thought. Let me get there before David finds me.

Ignoring the pain that seared her legs and side, Emma pitched herself through the dense tangle of tree branches, using her forearms to clear a pathway, the pine needles slapping and stinging her as she went. The far-off, flickering light urged her on, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

As she made her way toward the light, she noticed that she no longer heard David’s voice calling to her. Either he was in silent pursuit, a thought that filled her with dread, or he had given up chasing her. It seemed unlikely that he would give up the chase. But she didn’t have the time or the will to try to figure out his plan. She had her plan. That was all she could do. Presumably, the police were already on their way to rescue her. Once she got inside that lit-up house, she would find her phone and speak to Joan Atkins, tell her exactly where she was cached. Wait for rescue. The lights were closer, ever closer. She called on all her strength and thought of her baby.

Her face raw from the whipping of the pine branches, Emma finally emerged at the edge of the clearing where the lit house sat. The sight of the house up close, however, was not reassuring. Even in the moonlight, the house appeared dingy, covered with asbestos shingles, a stack of empty, cracked flowerpots by the front door. A clutch of chewed-up Indian corn hung on the peeling front door. The lights from inside the house were diffused by the grime on the windows.

Emma hesitated. Suddenly, from a dark, tin-roof shed at the end of the clearing, she heard a faint whinny. A horse. Something about the idea of a horse was reassuring, comforting. Animals were gentle and could not betray you. Rather than knock at the door, not knowing what she would find, maybe she should hide in the makeshift barn.

You’re just being paranoid, she chided herself, because of all that’s happened to you. So the people in this house aren’t rich or particularly house proud. That doesn’t mean that they won’t help you. Besides, they have a horse. They’re animal lovers. That’s usually a good sign. She had just about changed her mind, decided to knock at the door, when she suddenly heard the sound of wheels on gravel slowly coming up the drive. She saw the flash of headlights, and her mind was made up. She bolted across the clearing to the tin-roofed shed and dove inside, hiding herself behind a bale of hay.

The horse tied up in the shed looked at her with its large, gentle eyes and made a snorting sound. “Shhh…,” Emma said.

She began to rummage in her purse for the phone and held it to her ear. “Lieutenant Atkins?” she whispered.

There was no sound on the line. It was as if it had died somewhere along the way. Emma pushed every button and then shook the phone in frustration, but there was the same dead air on the line. All of a sudden she heard the sound of a car approaching. She looked out and realized that she had hidden herself just in time. The car that pulled into the clearing was their Jeep. Emma’s heart was hammering as she saw the Jeep stop. David left the car running, jumped out, walked up to the front door of the house, and knocked. He peered all around, as if he suspected her presence. Emma pulled herself back behind the hay bale, pulling a dusty blanket that lay on the earthen floor of the shed up over her. She prayed for the horse not to start kicking up a ruckus and give her away.

In another minute, she heard muffled voices. Two male voices, talking. She lifted herself up just far enough to glimpse David standing on the step, talking to a young guy in a shapeless flannel shirt wearing a baseball cap. He was silhouetted in the doorway by the light behind him, the brim of the cap pulled low on his head. David’s voice was animated, urgent as he gestured around the clearing, and Emma abruptly lowered her head and hid, trying to make herself invisible. He’s searching the nearest places in the area. He’s asking that kid if he’s seen me. Her heart was thudding. At least, thanks to Emma’s hesitation, the young guy didn’t know she was here and couldn’t give her away. She heard the kid bawl, “Mom,” into the house, but didn’t hear if there was any reply.

After a few minutes, the voices ceased, and then she heard the crunch of David’s footsteps on pine needles. Did he ask the kid if he could look around? Was he coming to search the makeshift barn? Emma’s heart was pounding so hard that she couldn’t breathe. All of a sudden, she heard the car door slam, and the engine roar. He turned the Jeep around in the clearing and began to roll back down the driveway through the woods, toward the road.

Oh thank God, Emma thought. Her heart was still hammering, but now it was pounding with relief and hope. He’s gone. We’re safe. She placed her hand on her belly and blessed her baby. Now we know there’s a woman in the house, thanks to the kid yelling for his mother. We’ll go up there and ask for her help. Find out the exact location and call the police. They probably had a landline, even if her cell wouldn’t work. Thank you, God, Emma thought. Thank you.

Throwing off the dusty horse blanket, Emma straightened up. She patted the horse on his long, soft nose and then crept toward the door of the barn. She was still afraid to walk out into the moonlight. Staying in the shadows, she edged her way around the clearing and then rushed up to the front door and knocked. Looking anxiously around her, she rubbed her hands together as she waited for the door to open.

When she heard the lock snap back and the doorknob turn, she drew in a deep breath, ready to try and explain her problem as coherently as possible.

Donna Tuttle opened the door.

“Oh, thank God,” Emma said. “I’m sorry to bother you but I’m desperate. I need your help,” she implored the woman in the doorway. And then, looking closely at her, Emma froze.

The woman smiled with her lips, but her eyes were glacial. “What a surprise,” she said.

Emma stared and shook her head as if she did not trust what her eyes registered. She clutched the doorframe to keep herself from sinking to the ground. “You’re alive?”

“I
MUST
be dreaming,” Emma said. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Natalie, is it you? Oh my God.” Emma tried to take it in. It was Natalie, but not Natalie. Her red hair was dyed black, and she wore a shapeless plaid shirt. But it was her, and she was alive. Emma reached out to hug her friend. Natalie was wooden in her embrace, and Emma quickly released her.

Emma shook her head. “I can’t believe my eyes. And to find you here, in this…godforsaken place. The one door I knock at. It seems…absurd, but here you are.”

Natalie did not smile. “It’s not a coincidence. David’s uncle’s place is in the next clearing up the road. I assume that’s where you were going.”

It crossed Emma’s mind to wonder how Natalie knew where David’s uncle lived, but it seemed unimportant. If it was the nearest house, why wouldn’t she know? Emma brushed her questions aside and stared at her friend, enjoying for a moment the longed-for but unimaginable pleasure of seeing a loved one return from beyond the grave. “Do you realize that everyone thinks you’re dead, Nat?” Emma asked.

A defiant look flickered across Natalie’s beautiful face. “I know,” she said.

“What happened? Did you survive the fall? Did you change your mind? What happened?”

Natalie looked anxiously around the clearing and then took her arm. “Come inside,” she said. She pulled Emma in and slammed the door shut.

Emma went willingly, studying her old friend as Natalie locked the door. Emma could discern the lithe, strong body hidden by the baggy clothes. And even under that mop of dyed black hair, there was no mistaking Natalie’s fine features and translucent skin, which glowed pearly even in the yellowy shaded lights of the dingy, unkempt house.

Emma shook her head. “Nat, I don’t understand. I feel like I’m hallucinating. What are you doing here? Why are you hiding out like this?” Even as she asked, an explanation came to her. It was entirely possible that Natalie might be unable to face the embarrassment of admitting that she had not really taken her own life. “Look, you shouldn’t feel…ashamed if you changed your mind about the suicide. No one will be angry. It’s wonderful. It’s a miracle that you’re still alive. Come home. Burke has been in mourning for you. We all have.”

“Oh, Emma,” said Natalie, shaking her head. “I’d forgotten what you were like. Always the steady one. The rock. No problem is too great for Emma.”

At first Emma had thought her friend was saying something kind about her, but then she felt the sting of Natalie’s sarcasm. She looked around the ramshackle, unkempt house. “Well, you need to face up to what you’ve done.” But then her compassion for her friend welled up again. “Look, let me take you home. I’ll help you.”

“You’ve got your own problems,” said Natalie.

Emma froze. Her heart constricted at the truth of those words. “What do you know about that?”

“Well, that attack on the night of your wedding happened just beyond those trees,” Natalie said. “It’s not exactly a secret around here.”

Emma realized that it was true. Anyone who lived around here would know about the attack. For one moment, the shock of seeing Natalie had made Emma forget all about David, and the fact that her life was in danger. “It’s true,” she said. “David was just here. Did you see him? If you did, he must not have recognized you. He’s…trying to find me.”

“Are you hiding from him?” Natalie asked.

“Yes. Because…I think he’s the one. The one who’s been trying to kill me.”

Natalie raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“I’m afraid so. Oh God, it’s a long story,” said Emma. “A nightmare really. Who was it that answered the door to him, anyway?”

“A friend,” said Natalie.

“He called you ‘Mom,’” said Emma.

“I’m not his mother,” Natalie said.

“So, why…?”

“It’s just easier this way,” Natalie snapped. “But tell me more, Emma. What are you going to do now? Why do you think that your husband is trying to kill you?”

“It’s a long story,” said Emma, suddenly overcome with weariness.

“If you need to escape from him, you could disappear,” said Natalie. “Like I did.”

“Why should I disappear?” Emma cried. “No way. I’m going to see that he pays for what he’s done. I’m not going to live on the run and hide from him. Unlike him, I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. The police will get him for what he’s done to me.”

Natalie gazed back at her impassively.

“What?” Emma said.

“You’re like a little policeman yourself,” Natalie mused. “Trying to maintain law and order.”

This time there was no mistaking the insult. It was very like the way that David had insulted her, telling her that she reminded him of a cop. And it made her equally angry. “At least I know right from wrong,” said Emma. “What you’re doing here is wrong. Letting Burke suffer, thinking you are dead while you indulge your hurt feelings…” Then, suddenly, another disquieting thought occurred to Emma. “Wait a minute. Burke identified your body.”

“The great psychologist,” Natalie scoffed. “He believed exactly what he was supposed to believe. He read my handwritten note, saw my car by the bridge. When they found a decomposed body in the water with red hair, wearing my clothes, my jewelry, he made a positive I.D. Declared me dead,” she exulted.

“Well, if it wasn’t you in that river, who was it?” Emma demanded.

“What does it matter? You don’t know her,” Natalie said irritably. “She worked in a gas station around here.”

Emma thought of the poster she had seen at the service station. The pale-skinned, redheaded girl who had disappeared after her shift. “Shannon O’Brien?” Emma cried.

Natalie looked at her warily. “Well, very good, Emma. Very clever.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t understand. How could she be wearing your clothes? Your jewelry.”

“My wedding ring, even. I thought that was a nice touch.”

Emma pressed on her own chest to keep herself from retching. “You mean…you…put her there? In the river.”

Natalie nodded. “After I dressed her in my things.”

“Oh my God. Did you find her body somewhere? Oh Natalie, you didn’t…” Her voice trailed away.

Natalie’s gaze was cool and blank. “She was a drug addict. She was nodded out, lying by the side of the road in waist-high weeds when we…I found her. Not dead, admittedly, but it was only a matter of time.”

“You could have called for help. For an ambulance.”

“She just would have done it again. Now she’s buried in my grave. There’s nothing more to be done.”

Emma shook her head. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Actually, when I found her, it gave me the idea. If everyone believed I was dead, it would be better,” Natalie said. “After all, the life of Natalie White, the poet, was over. I was ruined. My life was ruined. I figured that at least suicide would make my work more interesting. Might even make me a cult figure, like Sylvia Plath.”

“Over? Ruined? What are you talking about? You were riding high. You just won the Solomon Medal.”

Natalie shook her head impatiently. “They would have taken it away from me. My reputation would have been destroyed. I had to die. I certainly wasn’t about to go to jail. There was no other choice.”

“You’re not making any sense,” said Emma warily.

“Oh, forgive me,” said Natalie sarcastically. “I thought your husband might have told you.”

“Told me what?” Emma asked.

Natalie snorted. “How all that wonderful publicity about the Solomon Medal backfired on me. You see, there was an accident last spring. An old man got run over. Some retired professor from the college.”

“Oh yes. I remember that vaguely. It was a hit-and-run, wasn’t it?”

Natalie shrugged. “There was a witness. Some guy who was videotaping his girlfriend’s comings and goings on that block. He videotaped the accident, but he never told the cops because he was married and he didn’t want his wife to find out about the girlfriend. Anyway, he saw me on TV and he recognized me from the videotape. He was threatening to ruin me. He was blackmailing me.”

Emma stared at her. “It was you? You were the driver?”

“He was old,” Natalie protested as if the victim’s age made her crime negligible.

“Oh my God.”

“Spare me the self-righteousness,” said Natale, disgusted.

“Excuse me for being…shocked. You killed that man. And what about Shannon? Her family doesn’t even know where she is,” Emma cried.

Natalie shrugged. “I can’t help that.”

Emma shook her head “God, you are so selfish. It really doesn’t matter to you, does it? None of it.”

Natalie glared at her. “I’m selfish? You can say that? You, the girl with the perfect family and the perfect life. You don’t know what I suffered in my life….”

“Oh, sure I do, Nat,” said Emma in disgust. “Your terrible childhood. Everybody knew what you suffered. I listened to it a million times. I comforted you a million times. Not know what you suffered? You never would let anyone forget.”

“Emma, you bitch!” Natalie cried. She reached out and pushed Emma over with all her might. Too stunned to react or stop her fall, Emma fell to the grimy floor, landing with a thud on her knees. Gasping, she extended her arms to steady herself.

Natalie reached up under her flannel shirt and into a leather sheath concealed there. She pulled out a hunting knife, holding it aloft. Before Emma could rise, Natalie kicked her in the side with the toe of her heavy work boot. Emma felt the stitches split and the sticky sensation of blood spreading beneath the arm of her loose, stretchy shirt.

“Now get up,” Natalie commanded.

Gasping for breath, Emma grabbed her throbbing side, astonished at the turn this bizarre reunion had taken. She thought of resisting, but the look in Natalie’s eyes was terrible. It was a good bet that Natalie would use that knife on her at any moment. She had to cooperate. Had to hope that maybe she could reason with her. For a minute she thought of the other person, the man she had seen at the door in the ball cap. Who was he, and where had he gone? Was he still here? Maybe she could appeal to him, whoever he was, to help her.

“Get up,” Natalie shrieked, poking Emma in the shoulder with the knife. Emma scrambled to her feet. Natalie pressed the knife’s tip to Emma’s throat. “Go,” she said. And Emma went where she was prodded. They passed from the filthy, garbage-littered kitchen, to a small bedroom with nothing in it but a rumpled, unmade bed that smelled of sex and sweat, and a straight-backed chair, as well as a pile of clothes and a plastic bag full of toiletries lying on a bureau.

“Sit,” Natalie commanded, banging the chair down in the middle of the room. Emma knew she was too weak to fight, that she would have to acquiesce. Especially because she felt the point of the knife sticking into the back of her neck. Emma sat down on the chair, and Natalie opened a nearby drawer and grabbed a length of rope that was coiled there. She looped it around Emma and began to make knots in it as she went.

Emma took a deep breath and tried to keep her arms as far from her torso as possible as the rope went around her. Natalie looped it and wove it until Emma was trussed to the chair.

“Why are you doing this to me, Natalie?” Emma demanded. “I never hurt you. I’ve been your friend through all of it, all these years. Even on my wedding day, I was wishing you were there with me. Despite all the bad times, I still wished I could share it with you.”

Natalie’s eyes blazed. “Oh, yeah. I really hated to miss that. Your wedding.”

Emma looked at Natalie and suddenly felt a new fear, blooming like a black rose in the middle of her chest. “Wait a minute. You said earlier you thought David might have told me about you. About the hit-and-run.”

“But he didn’t, did he?” said Natalie.

“How could he have known about that?”

A sly grin spread across Natalie’s face. “You really don’t know, do you? He kept our secret.”

“What secret?”

“Well, think about it, Emma. Who do you think I would call for help if some bastard came along trying to blackmail me?”

“Your husband,” Emma said. “Burke.”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Burke. Oh sure. He’d be a lot of help. He’d be all sympathy. Can’t you just imagine it? Mr. Pure-as-the-driven-snow. He’d be giving me a lecture on my role in the breakdown of society’s mores.”

“Burke adored you.”

“His wife, the poet. I was a prop in his perfect little universe. The brilliant, beautiful wife who required just a minor little bit of psychological fine-tuning. No. I don’t think so. Burke couldn’t have coped with the thought of his precious bride as a killer. He was better off believing I was dead. No, I did not tell Burke.”

Emma looked at her with wide eyes. “A friend?” she said.

“A friend.” Natalie began to smile. “I suppose you could say that. A friend. A special friend. A friend who I used to meet for afternoon delights at your little honeymoon cabin over the rise there.”

“You and David.”

“Oh yes,” said Natalie.

“He wouldn’t have kept that from me,” Emma protested weakly.

“But he did. Didn’t he?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Sorry,” said Natalie.

Emma felt as if she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch her breath. Even though she had expanded her chest to keep the bonds from holding her too tightly, it was as if no air would enter her body. She pictured David there, with Natalie, in that hideaway where he’d brought Emma for their honeymoon. David and Natalie, adulterous lovers trysting in the very cabin where he had carried Emma over the threshhold to their new life. The cabin where she’d been slashed by an ax. The place where he had tried to kill her.

The cruel thought pierced her, and she let out a moan. She knew what it was to wish to die.