Runner (33 page)

"If you're so scared of me, why are you trying to piss me off? If I hit you now, then you're right? Is that it?"

"I'm not trying to piss you off. I really don't want to make you mad. I'm just trying to get you to accept the situation as it is."

"That's just the situation as you think it is. You're young, practically a kid. You'll learn more about life as time goes by, and then you'll feel better about the one you have." He watched her for a second, then sighed and picked up his fork.

Christine stopped looking at him while he ate. She looked at the silverware on the table, but saw it was actually good silver, so it would be soft metal, useless as a tool or a weapon. She looked at the shadows on the lawn to figure out which way was west. When she slipped out of here, it was probably going to be night, and west was the best direction. Interstate 5 was just to the west of Rancho Santa Fe, and that would be where all the traffic was. If she made it to the freeway shoulder and started waving her arms, she wouldn't have to wait more than a minute or two before she got picked up, or maybe even arrested.

She studied the trees, the hedges, the buildings. What she would need was luck. If only one of the gardeners had been careless and left a trowel or a pair of clippers lying around, she might have a chance to conceal it under the big, loose top she was wearing. She studied the rock garden. Where was everybody? What if Richard really was alone? She had seen Andy Beale leave. The cook Richard had mentioned wasn't visible anywhere. The whole estate was silent except for the chirping of small brown birds with off-white breasts. Maybe this moment was her last opportunity. If she could get behind him and pick up one of those rocks, she could hit him on the head with it. Richard always had his car keys in his right front pocket. She could grab them, run around the far side of the garage away from the house, find the black Porsche, get in and drive. She would be free.

But she thought about how horrible it would be to crack somebody's skull with a rock. It could kill Richard, or leave him paralyzed or something. As she tried to visualize it, she raised her eyes to gaze across the table at him. He gave an insincere smile, and behind it, there was a smirk of self-satisfaction. He thought he had charmed her, fooled her into some relapse of bad judgment. She felt a tightening in her chest. He wasn't trying to get her back. He was trying to fool her, to destroy her life, and then laugh at her for it. Yes, she decided. Yes, she could hit him. She looked past him and chose a smooth oval rock about the size of an ostrich egg. If she were behind him she could probably lift it in one hand and bring it down hard.

How would she get behind him? She was nearly finished with her salad. Maybe she could get up, go pick a flower, and tell him she wanted a few of them to put in a glass of water for her room. She played the whole conversation in her mind, and decided she could be convincing. The only remaining problem was forcing herself to act.

His cell phone rang. He still had the same irritating little tune for a ring tone. She watched him snatch the phone out of his shirt pocket and flip it open. "Yes?"

The phone call was like a message to Christine that she should act. She had been reluctant, but the call took all of Richard's attention. He was scowling down at the table, not even looking at her. Christine stood up and slowly, casually walked a couple of steps away from the table with her hands clasped behind her. She saw him look up at her for a second, but somehow he satisfied himself and stared down again.

"Of course it's me. What's the problem?"

She looked at the house. It still seemed quiet and empty. She walked a few more steps, pretending to look at the flowers in the rock garden, until her course led her around behind Richard. She moved her eyes to his back as she dug the rock free of the soil and started to pry it up.

Richard suddenly stood and pivoted, and his hand jumped to her throat like a striking snake. He clutched the front of her top so it tightened on her neck. "What the fuck have you been doing?"

"Nothing," she said. "I just stood up to look at the flowers. I thought maybe—"

He shook her. "In your room!"

She understood. Her eyes flicked to the window of her room. Behind the bars she could see the heads of two people moving around in there, and after a second she recognized them. As one of them passed close to the window and the light fell on blond hair, she could tell it was Claudia Marshall, and then she saw the long black hair of Sybil Landreau. They were searching her room, and they must have found her secret.

Christine considered trying to reach for the rock, but Richard's grip on her blouse was too tight, the fabric almost choking her. She could barely move.

His face was close to hers, and she could feel the puffs of wet air on her face as he spoke. "I left you alone," he said. "I made them give you some space to yourself. I trusted you!"

He started to walk, dragging her along by the front of her blouse. She was bent over, unable to quite keep up with him and afraid she would trip and fall on the uneven flagstones of the patio. He jerked her inside, then sped up as he hauled her down the long hallway to her room.

Christine was bent forward, looking at the floor and trying to keep from tripping and hurting herself, trying to hold back a bit to slow their progress. Her resistance seemed to make him more angry and rough. When they reached the slightly open door to her room he gave it a kick so it swung open the rest of the way. Richard yelled, "Shit! I can't believe this!" The curtains had been taken down and
tossed on the floor, the bed had been pulled away from the wall and the mattress flipped over. Every drawer and all the cupboard doors were open. She could see that the top was off the toilet tank in the bathroom, and Steve Demming was kneeling in front of the sink searching the cabinets.

Staring at Christine with distaste were the two women she had gotten used to thinking of as bad angels. They were tall and attractive and stylish like the mean girls at school, and they looked at her the way those girls used to—as though she were less than human.

Christine felt her strength draining from her as soon as Richard pushed her inside the room. The damage she had done to the plaster wall and the mess the two woman had made reduced her to shame and humiliation. She hated herself for being so vulnerable that these enemies could make her feel anything, but she couldn't seem to overcome her discomfort.

Sybil Landreau arched an eyebrow and said, "You're no housekeeper, honey."

Claudia Marshall gave a bark of a laugh, just a single harsh sound. Then her mouth returned to the familiar smirk as she watched Christine.

But Richard didn't see anything amusing. He seemed stung and outraged by the damage she had done to the plaster. She had seen little reaction to her angry words in the garden, but the gouged plaster of the wall had thrown him into a rage. "You little moron," he said, and pulled her closer to the wall. He changed his grip to the back of her neck. "Look at it." He thrust her face close to the damaged wall. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?"

Christine sensed that if she gave in now, in front of these smirking women, she would be lost. "I was doing what anybody would do—trying to get out."

Richard increased the pressure on her neck until he had pushed her face against the plaster. "There's no way you could get out. Didn't you pay any attention when you were working for me? Didn't you see how old houses were built? There are wooden laths and plaster, then two-by-fours and insulation, then sheets of plywood, then siding."

He didn't seem to see that she had been trying to reach the bolts that held the bars over the window, but she didn't want to use that to defend herself. She was beginning to fear he would break the bones in her face against the wall. "I guess I didn't pay that much attention."

"I guess you didn't." He jerked her backward and pushed her so she fell onto the bed. He said to the others, "Take her to the other room, will you? I don't trust myself with her anymore." He didn't stop on his way out the door.

The two women pulled Christine to her feet. They seemed to think she was resisting. Claudia bent her wrist and twisted her hand to make her walk beside her. Sybil Landreau held her other arm. They steered her out of the room, down the hall two doors to another bedroom. This one was smaller and plainer, with very little furniture. They released her in front of the bed, and she sat down, fighting back tears.

Sybil said, "You stupid cow. You don't know when you've got it good, do you?"

"Maybe not."

Sybil bent slightly so her black eyes held Christine's. "There's something you ought to think about. We're working for Richard. If we weren't, there wouldn't be anyone to tell us what to do and what not to do."

"What does that mean?"

Claudia Marshall was standing a few paces back with her arms folded. "You still don't get it? What's happening here is what Richard wants to happen. You think that without him you'd be free. The truth is, all you'd be is dead."

Christine said nothing.

"You haven't paid for what you've done, because our client wants that baby you're carrying to be born. That's all that's kept you alive. As long as he wants you here, you will be here."

The two women turned and went out the door. Christine heard the door lock. No one returned with food or to check on her. A few hours later, a bit after seven in the evening, her water broke and contractions began. At seven the next morning the contractions were making her strain to keep from screaming, so she was sure her labor must be nearly over. Ruby came into the room, saw what was going on, and ran out.

At nine a man that the women addressed as "Doctor" arrived with a bag full of medical supplies and equipment. He spoke little, and when he did, it was in Spanish. He took Christine's temperature and blood pressure, listened to her heart and lungs, and then went away. The woman he brought with him as an assistant spoke no English either. She wore tight jeans, high heels, and a black top that was extremely low cut to show the gold chain with a heavy cross on it that rested between her breasts. The woman read Spanish-language magazines about movie stars, which she put down once every hour to examine Christine. Afterward she would go outside for a while and return smelling strongly of cigarette smoke.

After her fourth trip, in the late afternoon, she brought the doctor back with her, and together they pushed the television set from Christine's old room in on a cart. The woman watched shows on the Spanish-language stations in which people were invited down
from the audience by young women in bikinis to participate in some kind of competition, while Christine's pain almost made her faint.

After midnight Christine went into the final stages of labor, and only then did the woman in high heels seem to wake up and become active. The baby was born, and as soon as the doctor cut the umbilical cord and got the baby to breathe, the woman washed it and wrapped it and took it away. Christine did get to see that it was a boy, and that it was big and seemed healthy. She cried for joy and relief. After a few minutes Sybil and Claudia and Ruby appeared and moved Christine to her old room, which had been restored and rearranged. There was a white crib pushed up close to the bed, and a changing table by one wall. The Mexican woman gave Christine an injection, and she lay in the bed, still crying, until she fell asleep.

When Christine awoke, Ruby Beale was in the room with her. "Good morning," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's my baby?" Christine said. She was overcome with a feeling of panic. Was he dead? Had they already taken him away?

"Ready to see him?"

"What have you done with him?"

Ruby went out the door, and a moment later, the Mexican woman came in carrying the baby wrapped in a soft cotton blanket and wearing a small cap, so only his little reddish face peeked out, his puffy eyes like slits. The Mexican woman seemed to have softened since the baby was born, and as long as all of her attention was on the baby, she was cooing and making little sounds with her lips. When she looked at any adult, she seemed to bristle and glare. But she brought the baby and set him at Christine's breast, and kept rearranging him until he began to nurse. This was the strangest feeling of all for Christine.

"He's a little bit early," said Ruby, "but I wouldn't even call him a preemie. He's over five pounds—just about normal weight."

After a few minutes the two women left, and after that, the world was populated only by Christine and her baby.

When they had been together for an hour, the door opened again and Ruby and the Mexican woman returned. The woman lifted the baby off Christine and took him out of the room. "Let me hold him," said Christine, but the woman didn't seem to hear or understand.

"Don't worry," said Ruby. "He'll be back soon enough. He just needs to be changed, and you need breakfast. If you're going to nurse, you've also got to eat."

Christine said, "I want him. You have no right to take him away." She felt terrible fear and love for the baby. "Can't you hear me? I want him with me."

"Have you figured out what to name him yet?"

"I'm sure you have."

"No. The mother gets to do that. I have some suggestions, though. Andy might be a good name."

"His name is Robert."

"Robert," repeated Ruby. "Robert Andrew Beale."

"Robert Monahan. His name can't be Beale because it's not a legal marriage. And I'm not naming him after your husband."

Ruby patted her, but her expression was cool and distracted, and not nearly as gentle as she had been before the birth. "Please yourself."

Routines developed over the next few days. At first the Mexican woman brought Robert in only to be nursed. But then Christine began to spend more and more time with Robert, and to change and dress him and hold him.

It was when she was alone, without Robert, that Christine was forced to think. A big healthy boy was just what the Beales had wanted. Maybe if he had been a girl, the Beales would have been
disappointed in Christine and decided she wasn't suitable, and would have let Christine take her baby and go. But Christine reminded herself that during the past two weeks she had spent many hours listening to Ruby and Andy Beale talk about the baby, and neither of them had ever expressed any interest in whether it was a boy or a girl. They wanted a baby, period. The thought made Christine panicky, and sent her mind off again on its circular course. She kept remembering what Claudia and Sybil had said about Richard keeping her alive. Maybe they would be allowed to kill her now that Robert had been born. The thought made Christine's heart pound and her head ache, but she couldn't think of anything she could do to stop them. Whenever she heard a sound in the hallway, she jumped, then tensed her muscles and waited, listening intently.