Zenith Falling (15 page)

Waking
up to an empty bedroom, she shook her head. Where was she? Where was he? How long had she been out? She moved her hands, and then her arms, relieved to find she could. Her head was killing her, and her face was tightly contorted with pain. She crawled out of the room, ignoring the agony in her midsection. Had he broken all her ribs?

She got to the hallway, and reached the phone, terrified, with each step that the man would come back and finish her off. She heard steps, then the front door opening. Oh God
, no!

The footsteps sounded familiar and she nearly collapsed with relief. It was Rob. He stopped when he spotted her, on her hands and knees, clutching the phone.

“Joelle?” Rob hurried over. “What happened?”

“Someone was in our bedroom. He attacked me before I could get out,” she said, turning towards him, and nearly collapsing on him.

Instead of taking her in his arms, or rushing to her side showing worry or concern, he suddenly stiffened and got up, pulling her with him.

“What did he want?”

“I-I don’t know.”

She looked up as Rob hovered over her. Confusion kept muddling her thoughts and
head. What was wrong here? Why wasn’t Rob the Cavalry? Why didn’t he save her? Or hold her? Or even care for her? Or call the police? Why wasn’t he furious to discover that someone had done this to her in their own home? Her head was throbbing with bewilderment, and she didn’t understand. Not one bit of it.

Then,
Rob suddenly turned and smashed his fist through the wall, his anger nearly steaming from him. She slid to the floor, whimpering in fear. No. Oh God, no! She couldn’t take the pain of being hit again.

“God d
amn it! Did he find it? Did he?”

“Find what?
” she whispered. “I don’t understand.”

She started to get up
again, but her posture was sloppy, and she had to grip the wall, clutching her side where the intruder must’ve kicked her. Oh God, what was this?

“
Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

What she’d done?
Tears filled her eyes, spilling over her eyelids. Rob pushed her into the wall, and his muscles bunched and strained.

What was happening?

Rob was strung out
. She closed her swollen eyelids in defeat. Petrified, and in sudden, overpowering helplessness, she could see he was completely high. What might he do to her?

Hi
s pupils were dilated, his speech slurred, and his body wired. He didn’t seem to realize it was Joelle he was pushing, or how to restrain his own strength. He wasn’t seeing her. He wasn’t even coherent about what happened to her. She felt afraid of Rob, something she never dreamed she feel. Glancing over Rob’s shoulder, she saw she was alone. For once, there was no one else with Rob, and no one to save her.

She was all alone, and
already beaten, and now Rob was holding her against the wall, pushing his hands into her shoulders, and pinning her there. His strength was unchecked and unnoticed by him as it pushed into her. He looked at her, his face close and very harsh.

He suddenly looked at her mouth, before grinding his mouth onto hers. Hard and punishing, the pain of his teeth and lips made her groan into his mouth. Her blood covered their tongues. She pushed against him, but he merely immobilized her. She needed a doctor, the police, a hug, an ice pack. But Rob,
her husband,
was holding her against the wall, and nearly assaulting her with the pressure of his kiss. She tried to move her head, and shake him off, but she couldn’t.

He pushed his groin into hers. It was hard, brutal, and intense. She felt sicker than she did during the
previous assault. This was humiliating, and worst of all, it was from Rob, not a barbaric stranger. She started to cry again, and the tears fell from her eyes. She screamed, but it came out only as a terrified squeak in his mouth. Finally, he lifted his mouth off hers, and blinked. He looked at her face, her neck, and her chest. Then he shook his head, and took his hands off her.

This time, a rush of adrenaline cushioned any pain, or any hesitation, and she scrambled for the front door, wrenching it open, and trying to escape her home, her husband, and her life.

It had finally turned that grave, that serious, and that horrible. She stumbled across the lawn, terrified Rob would grab her again. Terrified he would drag her back into the house and rape her, and hurt her more. She didn’t know where the intruder’s assault ended and Rob’s began just then. Or what she’d done wrong. She only knew she had to get away from there. Now.

She was on the sidewalk, running, trembling, crying, and hurting. Glancing over her shoulder
, there was nothing but the empty street, garbage cans, old cars and the occasional dog barking. No one stopped her. No one asked to help her. No one came behind her. For that, she was eternally grateful.

It was pouring down a heavy, soaking rain. She wore only a hooded sweatshirt, jeans and her boots. Without a penny in her pockets, no identification, no car keys, she had nothing and no one in the world to go to. She was bleeding, bruised, gasping for breath, and praying for help. Her tears slowed, until shock numbed her. Still
, she had to do something. She had to go somewhere. Where? Where could she go without any money, transportation, or even a coat?

Then her racing heart slowed down, and her blood wasn’t pumping so hard. There was only one person in the entire world she knew of who would help her.
No matter what.
No matter what she’d done or said. No matter what she ever did. Nick was the only safe haven she had.

There were a dozen or so couples milling about Nick’s condo; all young, well dressed, clones of Erica and himself in one way or another. They all enjoyed a gourmet dinner, prepared by Nick’s housekeeper. Erica chose the selection, set the elegant table, and poured the wine, ever the all-around perfect hostess. Nick was grateful for her skills, her quiet, sophisticated grace and uncanny sense of style. She was dressed in an eye-catching brown and gold dress, with her long hair cascading down one side of her head. She and Nick were entertaining a potential customer, a man with more money than some small companies earned in a lifetime, and more finicky than any man had the right to be. Nick intended for his elaborate dinner party to finally cinch an otherwise impossible deal.

He was trying to be impressive;
showing his professionalism, class, intelligence and discretion; and doing a nice job of pulling it off too. Nick owed much of the success to Erica’s involvement: her clever conversation, party demeanor, and keen ability to keep everyone talking, comfortable, and happy, without seeming contrived or boring.

Halfway into the night, t
here was a knock at his front door. He motioned to Helen, the housekeeper on duty tonight, to answer it, and turned back to George Gunderson, the proud mayor of Seattle. A strong political presence never hurt, after all.

Nick frowned when, moments later, Helen softly touched his arm inconspicuously to get his attention. He tilted his head back so she could quietly speak to him.

“When I answered the door, there was a young girl there. I think she’s in trouble. I thought I’d better tell you. She saw me, and I seemed to frighten her. She turned to leave without a word.”

Nick sat still for a
full ten seconds before putting down his wine glass, and, without another word, leaving the mayor, who was mid-sentence in their discussion. There could only be one young girl that Nick knew who would be so scared of Helen answering the door, she would turn and leave without a word. And it sure as hell wasn’t one of his sisters.

Nick strode quickly through the living room, past his guests, to the front do
or, which he yanked open and slammed behind him. A small, slight figure, waiting by the elevator at the end of the elegant hallway, was visible in the recessed lighting. She was huddled on the beige carpet against the pale green wall.
Joelle.
She nearly faced the wall with her head bent, and a hood up over her hair. She was also soaking wet. Water dropped off her, pooling into the tightly woven, pristine carpet.

He walked closer to her, but stopped several feet away, and waited a moment. She didn’t raise her head or acknowledge him, but jammed her hands deeper into her pockets.
“What are you doing here?” Nick asked her. “And why didn’t you wait to see me?”

She didn’t turn, but he saw her back stiffen
as she huddled deeper into her sweatshirt. “Forget it,” she whispered in a voice so quiet, he had to step closer to hear her. “I didn’t know you were having a dinner party. I’ll just see you at work.”

The elevator doors opened
and she started to step in.

He grabbed
her arm. She tensed up unnaturally as she tried to yank her arm from his fingers.

“Hold it a second,” he said as he pulled her towards him, letting the elevator doors shut
as it descended. “What’s going on?”

The hood began to shake and
he sighed. “Why do you always have to be so damned difficult?”

Reaching a hand under her chin, he raised her face towards the light. She strained her head back,
and tried to shrug him off, turning her chin to escape him, but not before he glimpsed her face: one swollen eye, a split lip, and bruised, puffy cheeks. He cursed out loud, never expecting to find her like that.

Just then, the door down the hall opened. A well-dressed, older couple emerged and started walking towards them. They were chatting, and talking happily to each other. The couple stopped beside them at the elevators, and Joelle shr
unk into herself. Nick put his hand on the wall over Joelle’s head, blocking her from the couple’s view. She finally, painfully, raised her face ever so slightly up to his. Tears brimmed on her eyelids and her lips trembled. She was scared… freezing… and completely desperate.

A thick silence descended into the hallway as the couple sensed something was awry. When the elevator came, they got in, but not before giving Nick an odd look. He let out a long breath when the doors finally closed
and his stomach cramped. God. Damn. What did Rob
do
to her?

How could he not know right off?
It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and raining. Joelle wouldn’t show up for no reason. It had to be something major and life-shattering for Joelle. She turned into the wall. “I don’t want to interrupt your party. I have to go.”

“Where? Where are you going to go?”

“You’re hosting a party.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about that stupid party in there. What did he do to you?”

She trembled at his threatening tone. Her body jerked almost as if his words, themselves, were striking her. He shut his eyes and breathed slowly, in and out.
Fuck.
He was scaring her. Everything  would scare her now. He had to calm down. If only for her sake.

“It’s not like that. He didn’t do all of this,” Joelle answered softly.

“Then who did?” Nick kept his voice even, quiet, and tried to sound soothing.

“Please. Just forget I came by here. It was a mistake.”

His jaw ached from clenching it. Was she for fucking real? Did she really think he’d let her leave like this? Without helping her? After her wounds were healed, he vowed to someday convince her that she was worth far more than any stupid dinner party, or client.

His insides ache
d for her, but he should have expected it all along, shouldn’t he? He realized Joelle lived in a bad place, and at some point, something would happen because in a lifestyle such as hers, something had to blow. He backed off from rescuing her at the hospital because she wasn’t ready to hear him, and he didn’t want to push her. He was afraid it wasn’t his place, but mostly feared his own reasons for pushing her so much.

Nick
felt responsible for leaving her at the mercy of Rob, his lifestyle, his friends and groupies. Joelle was shaking. Freezing. Wet.
Beaten up.
His heart could break for her. She was so small, huddling against the wall, as though she were trying to hide herself from him.

He swore he’d kill Rob Williams someday for doing this to her.

“Stop it, Joelle. And shut up about leaving. About being sorry to me. Don’t ever be sorry to me. Not for this.”

She finally, hesitantly, looked up, and stole barely a glance at him, almost invisible beneath the deep shade of her hood.

Softening his tone, now that he had her attention, Nick said, “Come on, Joelle. You need to get dry, and sit down. I’m going to put my arms around you and I want you to lean all your weight onto me. Okay? That’s it… that’s my girl,” he said in a soothing tone, coaxing her before approaching her. Putting his arm around her, he tucked her under his armpit, as he wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s okay. See? I’m just going to help you inside to dry off.”

She let him touch her through the multiple layers of wet clothes. His suit was instantly soaked at every point of contact that she had with him. Her legs almost buckled,
they were quivering so much. He walked her slowly and steadily to his door, which he opened before gently bringing her inside with him.

The entire room went silent. Nick blocked her from his guests’ view with his body, and rather carried her after that to his room, slamming the bedroom door on his nosy guests.

His room was illuminated by the softest glow from a bedside lamp. His guests’ coats covered his bed, as Joelle stood before him, shivering, slump-shouldered, defeated, abused, and very hurt. He felt sick inside. She withdrew from him, almost trying to avoid him, as well as everyone else. Why wouldn’t she? The man who claimed to love her most in the world had obviously beaten the living shit out of her. How badly hurt was she underneath that hood? Underneath her clothes? Why wasn’t she even wearing a coat in the merciless storm?

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” she answered, stepping back at his suggestion.

Yeah, like she could determine the state of her health and wellbeing! She needed to be in the fucking ER right then. But he knew better, didn’t he? She would never do the logical thing, like getting professional help. He balled up his fists at the
hopelessness he felt now coursing through him. Then his head snapped back.
What if she was raped?
He took a deep breath and whispered softly, “Shall I call the police?”

Her gaze met his, and she shook her head as she quickly looked away.

“Joelle,” he prompted. She stiffened her entire body. “How hurt are you?”

“Not that bad.”

“Were you raped?” he finally asked as matter-of-factly as he could manage. He had to know. She had to tell him. He waited, with his heart lodged in his throat.

She shook her head no.

What happened, Joelle? What happened to you tonight?
The obvious questions were on the tip of his tongue, but she seemed to shiver harder, and her teeth were clattering. It wasn’t time yet for answers. First, he had to take care of her. But how?

“You need to get dry.”

No answer. Finally, she nodded and turned. Her zipper rasped as she yanked back the drenched hood; it was a sponge of water dripping all over the carpet. She held it against her, making her even more pathetic-looking, if that were possible, so tiny and child-like standing there.

“Come on,” he said, gently putting a hand on her arm, and
leading her into his bathroom. One end had a giant, two person, spa-like bathtub. She kept her head down, so her face was still obscured. There was no assessing how injured she was.

He started the tub’s faucet, running a hand underneath until it was hot, then put the drain in and let it fill. Rising, he found several large, thick, thirsty towels, which he placed on one corner of the tub. Finally
, he looked at her. She was shivering, with goose bumps raising the fine hairs on her arms. Her clothes dripped a puddle wherever she stood. He wished he could just take her in his arms, dry her off, and hold her. But he sensed there was nothing worse he could do at that moment, than to touch her.

“Get in there, and get warm. I’ll make sure no one bothers you. Take as long as you need. I mean it
, Joelle, warm up, and dry off. Try to relax and get your bearings. You’re safe here, I promise you that. Okay?”

Her head nodded her affirmat
ion with only a fraction of an inch of movement to confirm she understood. He passed her, although he was loath to leave her. But he had no choice. Closing the door behind him firmly, he exited.

He remained in his bedroom, alone. Exhaling a long, weary sigh
, a tremor passed through his body. What would he do with her? Say to her? Should he call the police? Could she talk to them? He sensed she’d probably run from that. Maybe even hate him for it. What was the right way to approach her? To press her for the details? Or just let her be?

Nick heard t
he water taps turn off. Good. The water made sounds of movement; perhaps she was more coherent.
Erica.
He suddenly thought to get Erica, and ask her to talk to Joelle. Break the ice, and see how badly hurt she was. Joelle wouldn’t let him near her, but she just might let another woman.

He opened his bedroom door, and returned to the guests to find Erica had done a magnificent job, as usual, of playing hostess. She covered for him and respectfully
urged his guests to leave. Nick ignored the few who tried to get his attention or say goodbye, stomping right past them. He grabbed Erica’s hand and practically yanked her into the bedroom with him.

“That was Joelle?” Erica ask
ed, the minute they were alone.

“Yes.”

“What happened to her?”

“
Someone beat her up.”

“And she came here?”

“She has nowhere else to go.”

“I see,” Erica said quietly, biting her lower lip in thought. There was nothing catty or insincere in her tone.

“She’s taking a bath. I didn’t know what else to do with her. She won’t talk to me. She won’t even let me see her face. But I saw plenty. Could you go try to talk to her? Just to see how badly she’s hurt? I don’t know; maybe she should be at the ER. I just–” Nick ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then paused and said, “I just don’t know what to do.”

Erica tenderly placed one hand on his forearms to show her support. “It’s all right
, Nick. I’ll go see if I can help her.”

“Thanks
, Erica. Thanks so much for this.”

“Nick
?” He turned back at her voice. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Like what?”

“Just exactly why she came to you?”