Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) (27 page)

Claire could not sleep.

She’d been tossing and turning, and had gone from her bedroom to the living room couch, then back to her room, now she was on the couch again.

Claire had her head propped against a soft foam pillow, had a bowl of sourdough pretzels on her lap, and was watching the Conan O’Brien Show.

Conan was poking fun at President Bush, making him out to be an idiot because of his decision to keep U.S. forces in Iraq. The studio audience went wild.

Claire, however, did not laugh.

No!

Presently nothing could make her smile, she felt so utterly helpless.

Not knowing where your child was had to be, without a doubt, a parent’s biggest fear. Even if, as Rachel had pointed out, that child was technically an adult.

To make matters worse, Claire started to think about another thing Rachel had said:
What if Ashley bought another gun
? Oh God, how awful would that be?

It punished Claire’s heart mercilessly to think that her lovely, talented, daughter, who, recently, had exhibited signs of happiness, might once again be contemplating suicide.

By Friday morning, Troy still wasn’t quite himself. His mind was lost in an all-encompassing haze.

“I’m surprised you came to work today,” Adam Campbell remarked, as he entered the cramped produce stockroom. It was cold. The door to the walk-in refrigerator had been left open.

“Oh. Hey Adam.” Onto a long steel shelf, Troy was busy stacking boxes of fresh, California tomatoes. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Same old crap.” Adam had just punched in. His sun-colored hair was tidily combed, and still damp from his morning shower.

“Why are you surprised I came in?”

“I thought maybe you’d spend the day searching for Ashley.” Adam removed his jacket.

“Where would I search? She could be anywhere.” Since learning of her baffling disappearance, Troy kept thinking, if only Ashley knew how miserable he’d been over their breakup, perhaps she would not have resorted to this. “If I got in my car right now, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for her. It would be the ultimate wild goose chase.”

“Well, was there a favorite place the two of you used to go?”

Troy shrugged. During the two months or so he and Ashley had dated, there had been many places they had gone.

“She liked to go to a lot of art galleries,” he said, probing his muddled brain. “Cafes, the movie theater, the beach. Other than that, I really can’t think of anywhere.”

***

There had been one place; however, that Troy and Ashley had deemed more special than most. A hotel they had stopped at in Philadelphia, called the Liberty Bell.

Troy and Ashley, without the baby, had spent an evening there, which neither would ever forget.

The Liberty Bell was where they had their first sexual encounter. Troy remembered how nervous they both were, especially Ashley.

That day, as they normally did whenever they traveled to Philly, they had spent the afternoon buying art supplies, and visiting museums and galleries.

Then, by six PM., rather than head back to Jersey, Ashley had suggested they spend the night in the city. Not wanting to drive home either, Troy had agreed that getting a room might be fun.

They were lucky. The Liberty Bell had a few vacancies. It was a peppermint-scented lodge, air-conditioned, virtually identical to a Holiday Inn.

After settling in and ordering, from the restaurant, two chilled bottles of Korbel champagne, Troy and Ashley soon found themselves on one of the twin beds.

They had the powder-blue drapes pulled shut, the TV on in the background, tuned to The Wheel of Fortune, and now they were about to kiss.

“No!” Ashley suddenly said, turning her head. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

What? At that instant, every hormone in Troy’s body had been anticipating close physical contact.

This was late in August. Prior to now, aside from a few chummy pecks on the cheek, Ashley had never showed serious interest in wanting to become intimate.

“You don‘t have to be afraid,” Troy said, patting the edge of the firm mattress, hoping she would sit back down. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“It’s not that,” Ashley confessed bashfully. “I know you’d never hurt me. It’s just that, aside from my husband, I’ve never been with anyone.”

This acutely personal statement sent Troy reeling. “No one?”

She nodded, embarrassed. “Nope.”

“Not even first base?”

“Not even that. In high school, I was one of the few girls who kept her skirt on. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I never thought about doing it. It’s just I wanted people to like me for me, not for what I could do for them sexually. And in those days, I saw too many of my friends, who gave it up too easily, wind up getting dumped . . . I never wanted to end up in that situation. Then once Peter came along, I was taken, and didn’t have to worry anymore.”

Her words left Troy disappointed. After all, Ashley was the one who had recommended they spend the night together. He had merely gone along with the idea.

“All right,” he told her, buttoning his shirt. “If you’d feel more comfortable sleeping on that other bed, feel free to do so.”

“Please don’t be angry with me,” she said. “Maybe after we have some champagne I’ll loosen up.”

“Hey,” he again teased, “do I strike you as the type of guy who would use bubbly to try and seduce a woman?”

That got her to smile, which certainly diminished some of the tension.

“No,” she answered, giggling. “If I thought you were that kind of person, I wouldn’t be here with you right now.”

“Are you thirsty?” he asked.

“And how. Please, set me up.”

“I need a drink too. Hold on.” He grinned. “Don‘t go anywhere.” Troy withdrew one of the bottles of Korbel from the silver ice bucket. When he popped the champagne open, the cork, similar to a bullet, launched toward the wall. Bonk!

“Oh no!” Ashley kidded. “I hope you didn’t put a hole in the sheet rock.”

Troy cracked up. “Nawe,” he said, pouring the cold, fizzy bubbly into clear plastic cups. “We’re good. If champagne corks could put holes in hotel walls and ceilings, they wouldn’t serve it.”

“Thank you,” Ashley said, after he had handed her the drink.

“Should we propose a toast?”

“Sure,” she told him. “To what?”

“To us. Here’s hoping that the future will bring us many more great times.”

“I’m all for that.”

They smiled longingly at one another, and then touched cups.

Suddenly, after drinking several glasses, Ashley once again began to remove her clothes.

“Umn, what are you doing?” Troy asked, not sure what to think.

This time she had taken off everything. Ashley had an exceptional body, like a Playboy centerfold.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” was all she would divulge, before passionately flinging herself into Troy’s arms. “And I want you! I want you so bad!”

“I want you so bad too.”

“Oooh. Ooohhh. Uuuhhh!!!!!”

Smooch! Smooch!

Excited breathing.

Groping hands.

The bed being ravaged.

Champagne spilled.

The mattress bouncing up and down.

Laughter.

Before long, when they were each satisfied, Ashley sat up and whispered, “So tell me, Troy, are you still going to want to be with me when we get back home?”

They had the white sheet pulled up to their necks.

Troy was perplexed. “Of course I‘ll still want to be with you. Why would you even ask that?”

“Because now all the mystery is gone. C’mon silly,” she added, friskily bopping him over the head with her pillow. “Don’t you know that when a woman likes a guy, she doesn’t want to go to bed with him too soon, because she’s afraid that if she does, he might lose interest?”

“Other men might lose interest,” Troy said, also sitting up. “But you don’t have to worry about that happening with me.” If anything, now I’m more interested.” He winked jokingly, and it had its desired effect.

***

Then, in the days ahead, came the uproar,
I can‘t believe I slept with you
!

Hearing those angry words, which Ashley had yelled at Troy in front of the supermarket, left him staggered.

So much so, that evening, he had gone home and had Googled everything he could find on rape victims.

He had learned, among other disturbing facts, that some rape victims allegedly relive the crime during their next sexual experience, regardless of whether it takes place the next day or thirty years later.

Troy was appalled to think that when he and Ashley had been in that hotel room in Philadelphia, that she might have been imagining, he was one of the monsters from the field.

Perhaps that explained her initial insecurity.

***

“I doubt it’ll happen,” Troy said to Adam. “But if you do see Ashley come into the store, I want you to let me know as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“And if I’m not here, call me.”

“You’ve got it, dude. No problem. I‘ll be on the lookout.”

Now some might say she was fortunate to wake up from what could have easily been a fatal overdose. Ashley, on the other hand, viewed the situation differently.

In her mind, the fact that she still had a pulse indicated one thing: someone upstairs wanted her to remain alive.

Initially, when she had opened her eyes, Ashley had no idea where she was.

On impulse, she raised an unsteady hand up to her brow. Felt the warm, sticky blood. How it had wet her hair and had pooled on the hardwood floor.

Then, when she had gradually made her way into the bathroom, she saw, in the mirror, that some of the blood from her mysterious head injury had also dripped, in long crooked lines, down her cheek.

The sight was gruesome.

Ashley looked like a wounded character from a horror movie.

***

For a considerable amount of time, Ashley stood in the cool shower meticulously washing her face and golden locks, as well as reviving her circulation.

Fortunately, the cut near her temple, where her head had collided with the edge of the coffee table, wasn’t as severe as the blood had made it seem.

Ashley did not think she required stitches. All she appeared to need was some hydrogen peroxide to cleanse the gash, and a couple of strong Band Aids.

Once that had been dealt with, she checked her supply of morphine, to find out how many pills she had taken. Five! Whoa! That was way too many. No wonder she had woken up on the floor.

This, what had happened, would have to remain a closely guarded secret.

***

The next day, early in the afternoon, Ashley finally got around to calling her mother.

For nearly an hour, they engaged in more bickering than rational conversation. Ashley’s mother informed her that, before she had phoned, she was about to head down to police headquarters to report her missing.

“Huh? Why were you going to do that? I left you a note.” Ashley was in the kitchen, seated at the table, eating a hot bowl of New England clam chowder. Her weakened body craved salt. Also water. She had been drinking tons of it.

“Don’t hand me that nonsense!”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. In your note, you made it sound like you might-” Her mom paused for dramatic affect. “Well, you know. There seemed to be a message between the lines.”

Naturally, Ashley assumed, her mother’s fury had to do with the possibility that she might have been planning to permanently run away, and leave the baby motherless, forcing her mom to either take over the responsibility, or put Kimberly up for adoption.

“And why did you leave your cell phone at home, did you do that so I wouldn’t be able to track you down?”

“Umn, no. I just forgot about it.”

“You forgot about it. That‘s bullcrap!”

“It’s true.”

“You’re full of it, Ashley.”

“Hey, go ahead, think what you want.”

Eventually, when this controversial part of their discussion had been resolved, Ashley let her mother know about the cottage she was renting.

“Did you sign a lease?”

“No. The landlord, a friendly older gentleman Blake Cromwell, is letting me pay on a weekly basis. Since it‘s a winter rental, I‘m not sure how long I‘ll be staying. I decided though, that it will definitely be more than a couple of weeks. If I like it here, I might stay until the spring. We‘ll see.”

“That’s unusual, him letting you pay on a weekly basis. What kind of house is it?”

“A small cottage, along the ocean. You should see it. You’d like it. It even has a fireplace.” She elaborated about how clean the place was. No bed bugs, cockroaches, or mice.

“What’s the neighborhood like?”

“Nice. Mainly upper middleclass.” The town was slightly more populated than Wichita.

“Castle Beach. How far a drive is that?”

“About two hours. Give or take.”

“So Ash, what brought this on? Why all of a sudden do you need to be renting a home?”

“It’s not all of a sudden. C’mon mom! You know I’ve been searching for an apartment.” She blew on her spoon and then sipped some of the steaming chowder.

“I’m aware of that. Except I was under the impression that you were looking for something local?”

“I was. I couldn’t find anything local.” Suddenly Ashley winced. She reached up and touched the Band Aids on her head. She wanted to make sure the cut hadn’t started to bleed again. It did not.

***

Even though Claire was mad at her daughter, she was relieved that Ashley had finally called. Now she did not have to go to the police station. Thank God.

“What about your job?” she asked. “Stella told me you didn’t even give her two weeks notice.”

“You talked to Stella?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”