Morning came with clouds gathering outside for a possible thunderstorm. Rochelle was thankful that Tobias was gone when she opened her eyes to excruciating pain caused by him snatching and ripping a handful of hair from her scalp. She lay upon her bed nursing her bruised body and aching head while old memories of her parents flooded her thoughts. A sickening feeling crawled through her stomach. Few doubts remained in her mind that Tobias was responsible for their deaths. She considered the possibility that he might have some accident in mind for her when he tired of his sadistic abuse of her.
Living with him had become life threatening and hell on earth.
Mrs. Rodriguez, the housekeeper, appointed herself as Rochelle's caretaker. She checked on Rochelle that morning when she didn't come down for breakfast. The middle-aged woman harbored a certain fondness for the young Mrs. Chandler, going out of her way to befriend her bosses' wife. It was no secret to her that Rochelle was an abused wife after seeing blood on the sheets too many times not to question the impropriety of Tobias Chandler's use of his spouse. However, this was the first time he'd inflicted serious damage to her person, the knot spreading on her scalp the size of a cap. Feeling great pity for Rochelle, Mrs. Rodriguez checked on her often, brought her food, juices, coffee or tea, and hovered over her like a friendly parent.
“Not feeling any better?” she inquired sympathetically, her strong Spanish accent nearly making her English incomprehensible.
Rochelle shook her head, wincing with pain at the movement.
She reached for the aspirin on her nightstand, popping the lid to pour two tablets on her palm. Tossing them into her mouth, she swallowed them with a drink of water from the partly filled glass on her nightstand. Laying her head back against the pillow, she was unable to find relief. Her head ached so fiercely it had kept her awake all night.
“You should leave him,” Mrs. Rodriguez whispered, glancing furtively toward the door, seeming to understand only mildly, how dangerous it was for her to speak of any situation occurring in the Chandler home. She usually kept a tight lip, but seeing what Mr. Chandler had done to the nice, young Mrs. Chandler was unpardonable.
Rochelle glanced at Mrs. Rodriguez, the woman's remark reflective of what Rochelle had thought of all night long. She wanted to leave Tobias, desired escape from him more than anything. His threat to kill her kept drumming in her ears, and she clearly realized that whatever she did, staying or leaving, would involve putting her life at great risk.
Tobias stopped by Rochelle's room before dinner. She was dozing when his weight sagged heavily against the mattress, the movement causing her eyes to flick open. “How are you feeling, baby?” he asked with what sounded like concern, the only reason being that he wasn't drunk yet.
“I'm not well, Tobias. The pain is unbearable. I need a doctor,”
she moaned, knowing he would not let her go see a doctor. It would invite too many questions.
He ran his hand across her forehead, brushed the auburn-gold hair back from her face, and watched her wince at his touch to her swollen scalp. “I'm sorry, baby. You will feel better in a couple of days. If not, I will see about getting you some pain medication.
Aren't the aspirin helping at all?” he inquired, seeing the aspirin bottle on her nightstand.
“No, not much,” she said raggedly.
“I'll check on you later,” he said, leaving the bed.
Rochelle watched his arrogant stroll across the room. The authoritative features of his nose, chin, and forehead were in profile and his previously sleek body was beginning to show a midriff bulge. His very presence wrought hate through her system like a festering sore erupting with poison.
She turned her back on him to hide the bitterness assailing her as he went out the door. She thought about all the guns she had seen numerous times in his study, in the gun case, the one in the nightstand on his side of the bed, and wished she had the nerve to point one at him and pull the trigger. It would be so easy and quick, she reasoned, experiencing a growing desperation to be free of the monster she married.
THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS became stressful reminders of Tobias's threat to kill her if she tried to leave him. While it played on Rochelle's mind with an intensity that left her tired, her head ached too much to do more than lightly reflect on leaving. She prayed the swelling would soon go down on her scalp.When she could think better she would formulate plans to leave Tobias.
When Tobias caught her dressed to go out the following afternoon, he stopped her. The driver, Johnson Coleman, the chauffer that Tobias provided for her use, was waiting out front.
“She won't need you for the rest of the week, Johnson,” Tobias asserted authoritatively.
Johnson nodded and drove the car back into the garage.
“I have to see a doctor,” Rochelle implored, mere speech wreaking excruciating pain and sending a grimace weaving across her face. It was all she could do to stay on her feet, dizziness nearly overcoming her.
“There'll be no doctor. Go to your room and rest. You'll be okay in a few days.” His look told her he would tolerate no rebuttals.
Knowing better than to argue, Rochelle turned about on unsteady feet and headed back into the house for the bedroom.
Embittered by Tobias's firm control over her life, her desire to escape from him began growing into an obsession.
The week stretched endlessly before Rochelle. Every day filled with unrelenting pain from her swollen scalp. Confined to the house, and not feeling much like reading or watching television, time pressed upon her in boring pursuit. It gave her time to think, and time to start brainstorming possible plans of escape. It had to be a good plan so carefully thought out there would be no opportunity for failure. With Tobias's threat to kill her if she tried to run away, one chance might be all she would have.
The week passed without further incident. Tobias slept nightly next to her, never touching her. During the day, he looked in on her frequently to inquire how she was doing. “I'm glad to see you feeling better, baby,” he stated encouragingly each time he appeared, barely coming past the threshold. His overt concern resembled a predator's stealthy actions to entice his prey.
Rochelle knew he did not care whether she felt better or not. He was simply afraid she might die and the authorities would charge him with murder. Aggravated by his presence, she treated him with silence. She was to remember frequently how her parents had tried to open her eyes to the kind of man Tobias was. She could almost picture them saying, “we told you so.”
THREE WEEKS PASSED BEFORE Rochelle's scalp healed. The swelling went down and she could brush her hair now with only slight sensitivity. Three weeks, enough time to lie in bed and make plans for the most important and daring scheme ever attempted in her life. Believing Tobias would act on his threat to kill her if he caught her running away could not deter her belief that freedom was well worth the risk.
Ultimately, however, it could very well be the last thing she ever did, she surmised.
Many times, Rochelle opened the drawer in the nightstand to look at the gun. Apprehension shivered across every nerve ending, causing her to close the drawer quickly. After repeating this action many times, she finally reached down and laid her hand on the gun.
It was cold to her touch. Wrapping her fingers about the gun, she lifted it, turning it in her hands, paralyzing fear gripping her at the very thought of what she considered. The cold metal of the gun kept reminding her how deadly it was, and her heart pounded fiercely with apprehension. Pushing both arms out in front of her, she took aim, envisioning Tobias's face before her and thinking how quick and easy it would be to do the deed.
Just a little squeeze of the trigger and it would be over. She would be free.
But would she?
The police would come and carry her away and she would still be a prisoner.
A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and her hands trembled at the thought of sending a bullet into Tobias's brain. Her knees weakened until she had to sit down, dropping on the edge of the bed.
The thought of shooting Tobias frightened her considerably. With rising hysteria, she shoved the gun back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
She could not do it. She would never be able to pull that trigger.
To knowingly attempt to snuff out another's life was against everything she had ever been taught. It would make her no better than Tobias.
She could not do it.
Her only choice was to leave him.
Leaving was not something she could do overnight. It would take time, planning, and strategy. Since she was not allowed to go anywhere without Johnson, who gave Tobias a report of every outing, she would have to plan carefully every move. Drawing money from the bank account her father left her would be first on her list of things to do. Then she would stash it in the safety deposit box until she was ready to make her get-away. That seemed like the most likely plan, the best one that came to mind. She decided to act on it, and planned an outing on the following day.
“Where are we off to today, Mrs. Chandler?” Johnson asked respectfully, it the first time in more than three weeks since she had requested his service.
“To my favorite shop, The Boutique,” she replied in her quiet manner, climbing into the back of the vehicle while Johnson held the door for her. She could not help but wonder if he had been watching the monitor that night when Tobias raped her. Her face reddened at the thought and she found herself unable to meet his gaze.
Johnson sometimes talked to Rochelle on her frequent shopping trips. Today, however, he was silent, and Rochelle was glad. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing. Her palms were sweating, and she kept telling herself to stay calm despite that deep fear in the pit of her stomach at what would happen if Tobias were to learn of her plan. She was surely treading disaster, but if it all worked well, she was certain the outcome of regaining her freedom would be worth the risk.
Still, she could barely suppress the fear of thinking of Tobias's retribution. She could imagine all sorts of things far worse than death that he might do, and had every reason to believe her husband would be merciless.
Johnson pulled into a tiny parking lot next to The Boutique, and parked the car. “Are you planning on being long, Mrs. Chandler?”
“It depends,” she said noncommittally. “You know me, Johnson. Some days nothing appeals to me, then others, well… you know how it is.” She spoke much the very same words to him on every outing, but today, they sounded insincere to her own ears. She could feel sweat popping out all over her, her fear mechanism in high gear. Thus far, she had done nothing any different from a thousand times before, but the contrived deceit, planned out in her own mind, brought nervous guilt stimulating every nerve ending.
Despite the fear quaking through her, she managed to sound calm, and Johnson seemed satisfied with her answer. He grabbed a magazine from the seat next to him, pushed the seat as far back as it would go, then made himself comfortable for a long wait. He knew Rochelle lingered over fittings sometimes that had taken up to three hours on one occasion, so he was always prepared with something to read when he took her to that particular shop. Occasionally, he might run to a nearby gas station for a bathroom break or a soda; otherwise, he sat and waited, occasionally cranking the car to run the air conditioner.
“You take your time, Mrs. Chandler,” he said, repressing a yawn and covering his mouth with his palm.
To keep Johnson from knowing about and reporting her visits to the bank to Tobias, she devised a plan to delude him. She would enter The Boutique, go out the back door and down an alley, and then cut back out onto the sidewalk where she would hail a cab to take her to the bank.
Today, both clerks were busy and the proprietress was nowhere in sight, so Rochelle entered the store and kept walking right on out the back door. The clerks did not even see her, and Johnson had no reason to suspect this shopping trip was any different from all the others. She had no trouble flagging a cab, and she was at her destination in minutes.
In the bank, she inspected the safety deposit box her father rented in her name. Strange, she thought, that she had never bothered checking it before. She supposed there had not been a reason since Tobias was generous with his money. Now, when she opened the large safety deposit box, it was stuffed full of money, and upon first glance, looked like many thousands of dollars in various denominations. There was also a fat envelope of documents.
She turned it in her hands, deciding to investigate it another time since she felt the need to rush.
Needing more space for her other purposes, she rented another safety deposit box. After learning the balance of the savings account, she was duly shocked that the amount rivaled anything beyond her expectations. She was certain her father never would have put that much money in a low interest savings account unless he had good reason to believe something might happen to him. A sense of guilt surged swift and strong as she blamed herself for not listening to her parents. They likely would still be alive today if she had only listened to them. She shook off the bitterness and guilt for the moment, needing to concentrate on her plan.
Rochelle knew she would create attention if she tried to withdraw the entire amount at once, so she did some mental calculations, deciding to make intermittent withdrawals over several weeks. She withdrew the first advance, placing it in the new safety deposit box with the withdrawal receipt, and suddenly thought about what her father had said. “One day, you will be glad of my foresight.”
Daddy, you were right, she thought, and I wish to God that I could tell you that now.
When her business was finished, she took the cab back to the alley entrance, quickly making her way back to The Boutique on foot. She found the alley door locked, and knocked softly while she worried that no one would open the door for her. Remy, the shop owner, opened it and raised her brows when she saw Rochelle.
“Remy, please don't mention this to anyone,” Rochelle implored quietly.
“No problem. What my customers do is their own business.”
Just to make her trip look good in Johnson's eyes, she bought a blouse, and the clerk boxed it for her. Glancing at her watch, she was satisfied she had used less time than usual when she shopped, sometimes buying nothing after lengthy browsing.
“Mrs. Chandler, you didn't buy much today,” Johnson said more in conversation than in speculation after noticing her single package.
Rochelle's nerves were on edge even though she knew Johnson had no reason to suspect her of doing anything different than she had hundreds of times before. “I couldn't seem to find anything to suit me today, Johnson.”
“Where to?” he asked, knowing she sometimes made the rounds to several shops.
“I think I'm ready to go home. I'm not in a shopping mood,” she said with a deep sigh of resignation. Feeling terribly relieved over having successfully gone to the bank without detection, she started planning her next shopping trip when she could withdraw more money from her account.