Rochelle returned to the Matheson house the following day. With nothing else to occupy her time, she got busy vacuuming the carpets and dusting the furniture. She left the house only once when she went to purchase groceries. The rest of the time she kept busy, a sense of high expectancy that Michael might surely call and have his problems worked out and his head on straight again. No such call came, however, and as the hours sped away into another day, she started believing Michael would never call again. Don't do this to us, he had said. When he walked out, his attitude sent a strong message of finality.
Maybe it is best, she thought. Tobias would eventually come for her, and this time she was certain he would follow through on his threat. If Michael were around, his life would be in jeopardy, too.
She did not want him involved, did not want any risks that might get him killed. If Tobias killed her, then so be it. At least she would be out of her misery and would never have to suffer his abuses again.
She thought of packing up her things, putting them in her vehicle and driving away to wherever the main highway took her.
That thought kept playing across her mind with some frequency as she cleaned. However, running away and maybe having to run for the rest of her life was too depressing for further consideration.
Finally, she made a decision.
She would remain where she was, and when Tobias came for her, she would force him to end it once-and-for all. Life had lost its resiliency for bouncing back. There was nothing to bounce back to anymore. She just wanted her life with Tobias over with, and be spared further hell from him. She wanted it over with permanently.
“Its better this way,” she mumbled aloud, feeling a kind of numbness, as though the universe had passed her by and she was a moving corpse.
When she finished cleaning the downstairs, she took the vacuum cleaner and dusting cloths upstairs, starting first in her bedroom, and then moving to the bath where she scrubbed the shower tiles and polished the glass doors. She had never done much cleaning previously, except when she was a teenager living at home with her parents where it was her duty to clean her own room. She had never had a desire to do cleaning, until now, when she was delighted to have something to occupy the endless hours while she waited.
Waiting! That had suddenly become the future of her life, waiting for Tobias.
As the morning moved on and the phone only rang once—it was Mabel calling—she accepted the fact that Michael was not going to call. Her depression grew until she no longer cared about anything. “Come on, Tobias,” she murmured aloud to herself.
“Come on and get it over with.”
When she indicated her thoughts to Mabel, she got the scolding of her life.
“Like hell you say! I have heard of fools in my life, but you are the biggest one I have ever known. If the man had done to me what he did to you, I would find a damn gun and do my best to blow his ugly head apart. I thought you had more guts than that, Sweetpea.
No wonder Michael walked away from you. He deserves better than that after risking his life to get you back. All your friends deserve better.” She hung up before Rochelle could answer, literally shaking with anger.
At first, Mabel's angry tirade only depressed Rochelle more.
She thought about leaving the security alarm off, and the door unlocked to make it easy for Tobias to just walk in and do the deed quickly. However, she kept thinking about what Mabel said, and how Tobias ruined her life. He likely killed her parents, had shot Michael, and made her life one hell on earth. Feeling sorry for herself for the wasted years, she broke down and cried. Finally, she was like a dried up reservoir. Not even the deep loneliness for Michael could bring more tears. She was tired of crying.
She was tired of living, too.
The memory of her parents' deaths and Michael's gunshot wound went her into a state of guilt. She thought about what Mabel said, and felt more guilt. Would her parents be proud of her standing like a passive victim while Tobias killed her? She knew they would not, and she knew she did not want to die like that. If she was going to die, she wanted to do it fighting. Tobias could kill her, and very likely would, but she would not make it easy on him. Mabel was right. The people who had befriended her deserved better.
She kept the security alarm set at all times, and all the doors and windows locked. She took the gun from a drawer where she had hid it beneath clothing, and placed it beneath her pillow in the event Tobias somehow got in and surprised her while she slept. Once or twice, she worried over whether or not she would be able to use the gun if the need arose. Remembering Michael on the floor with blood swimming beneath him angered and gave her bravado, making her believe she could do it. She had to; it was either him or her.
If Tobias killed her, that would be that. On the other hand, if he decided to take her back with him, she knew living with him again was beyond her endurance. She would never let that happen again, not even if it meant turning the gun on her self.
“Rochelle, she said aloud to herself, “You have three choices: kill Tobias, let him kill you, or kill yourself.”
He was stronger than she was, and the chance of her getting the upper hand would be a miracle.
While she cleaned, numerous scenarios ran through her mind of how she would handle the situation when Tobias finally arrived.
Perhaps she could hide behind a chair downstairs and wait for him with the gun ready in her hand. Maybe she could just lie beneath the sheet on the bed and pretend to be asleep while the gun pointed toward the door. There were other pre-conceived ideas, but she realized such planning was useless considering Tobias's actions would dictate the outcome of the entire fracas.
The gun beneath her pillow was always at the foundation of her thoughts. Would it serve to protect her? Would she be able to use it to protect herself? She thought about the quiet little bedroom community surrounding her, it's populace of people going about their work and daily lives with no thought of the perilous situation Rochelle felt certain would happen beneath their very noses. These gentle people with their simple lives would never come close to the kind of hell she had known, was still anticipating with dread. The life she lived with Tobias would seem like fiction to them, a storybook tale such as would never touch their lives or the family and friends about them. She was different. Tobias had made her different.
After cleaning the shower, toilet, and sink, she took a damp towel and began wiping the tiled floor to remove any film of dust that had gathered in her absence. She was wiping behind the toilet when a tile suddenly moved beneath the towel. She inspected it, seeing that the grout around its edges had broken loose. Carefully, she slid it back in place, thinking she should call someone to repair it. She added that to her list of things to do.
She worked right on through noon, not bothering to take time for lunch since she wasn't hungry. She was just finishing vacuuming the last bedroom when the phone rang and Mabel greeted her in a repenting tone.
“Sweetpea, I'm sorry I blew my top, but I hope you realize how precious life is.”
Rochelle's emotions were never more sensitive, or tender, but she was determined there would be no further tears, and she fought them valiantly. “I know, Mabel. Thanks for setting me straight. If I must, then I will fight until there's no fight left in me. I won't make it easy for him.”
“Have you considered getting out of that house, perhaps going somewhere else?”
“I thought about it, was even tempted to do so after I realized Michael and me were finished. However, wherever I go, he will keep looking until he finds me. I don't want to spend my life running. I will take every precaution and do whatever I have to do, but I've decided not to run anymore. I want a normal life, Mabel, and I'll never have that if I start running again.”
“Why don't you go to my house? You know you can stay there.”
“No, you don't know Tobias. He would eventually find me no matter where I go. I would never put your life in any danger like that. I might as well stay here and face it. Otherwise, this problem with Tobias is never going away.”
“Sweetpea, I don't know what to say.” Mabel's voice broke, and she was unable to hide the emotion she was feeling. To detract from her distraught state, she said the first thing that popped in her mind.
“What have you been doing all day?”
“I've been cleaning all day. I'm just finishing up.”
“Have you had lunch?” Mabel asked, glancing at her watch.
“Nope, I wanted to finish cleaning first. If your store clerk is there, you can come have lunch with me. I'll make you a ham sandwich, and we can cut the apple pie I bought.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mabel replied, not caring all that much for the sandwich or the pie, but she felt a need to see Rochelle, especially after knowing that Michael's stubborn pride wouldn't allow him to do so.
Michael habitually had stopped by Mabel's shop for the past three mornings, but not once had he mentioned Rochelle's name.
Mabel knew his visits were quests to see if she would volunteer anything. She didn't. His lofty attitude needed taking down a notch or two. Mabel made up her mind he could find out about Rochelle first hand, or not find out anything at all; at least not from her.
Rochelle had their lunch ready when Mabel arrived. Mabel was very fond of Rochelle, and had some idea of the suffering she had gone through. Knowing how depressed she was, Mabel tried to be cheerful, sharing tidbits of gossip or witticisms she had heard.
Rochelle laughed at Mabel's tales, but the laughter never reached her eyes. Her beautiful, brilliant green eyes were big dull pools of strain.
“So you've been cleaning?” Mabel said, looking around at how neat everything looked. “You know Tillie would be glad to help you a few hours every week.”
“I needed something to do. I think I would go a bit crazy if I didn't find something to occupy my time and mind. It keeps me from thinking about Tobias so much. I know he will come for me. It's just a matter of time.”
“Honey, the man has to be stopped. You need something to protect yourself, maybe a gun.”
Rochelle let the subject slide. She decided it was best that no one knew about the gun she kept. It would only cause unnecessary concern. “Maybe the alarm will warn me soon enough to call the police,” she replied.
Not comfortable with this discussion, she changed it. “Do you know someone who can repair a loose bathroom tile?”
“Michael can,” Mabel said, arching a brow.
“No, not him, I would never ask him, not now.” They finished the sandwich and pie, so Rochelle stood up and took the dishes to the sink.
“Where is this tile? I am surprised Michael hasn't already repaired it. While you were gone, he just about lived over here when he was away from the bank. He was always banging on something, repairing this or that. I don't know how he missed a loose tile.”
“It's in a rather inconspicuous spot behind the toilet. I would never have noticed it if I hadn't been wiping the floor with a towel.”
“Let's take a look at it,” Mabel said, not all that interested in a loose bathroom tile, but it gave them something to do.
Rochelle led the way upstairs to her bedroom. Mabel stopped just inside the door, her eyes scanning the interior. “I can't believe you sleep in this room,” she said.
Rochelle moved on toward the bathroom. “It was either that or live day after day believing ghosts roamed around in here behind a closed door at night. It was the only way I could prove to myself that there was nothing in here to be afraid of.”
“Well,” Mabel sighed disbelievingly with raised brows, “that's about the most original idea I've ever heard.”
Rochelle knelt on the floor next to the toilet. Reaching behind it, she touched the tile, feeling it move beneath her fingers. “It has come loose completely,” she said lifting it and handing it to Mabel.
“What's that?” Mabel asked sharply, her eyes glued to the place from which Rochelle removed the tile.
“What's what?” Rochelle asked, seeing where her eyes were staring. She bent down lower and stretched her neck, trying to gain a better view of the floor on the backside of the toilet. “Why there's a hole there, and something's in it,” Rochelle cried, her hand already reaching to grasp whatever it was in the hole.
“No!” Mabel shouted. “Don't touch it.” She had no idea why she didn't want Rochelle to touch it, but she did have an aversion to reaching into dark holes. “Can you see what it is?”
“The toilet throws a shadow on it. I can't tell. There's a flashlight on my dresser.”
Mabel ran for the flashlight and was back in a couple of seconds. “Just don't put your hand down there. It could contain a snake, a rat, or just about anything.”
Just about anything is what the hole contained. Beneath the tile, someone had cut out the flooring to form a pocket between the floor joists. Inside was a small brown book that looked like a diary, and on top of it was a gun. Rochelle raised her head, looking at Mabel in deep puzzlement.
“It's a gun. Why would someone put a gun in a place like this?”
“Oh my God!” Mabel exclaimed, drawing Rochelle up from the floor and pulling her toward the bedroom. Her face turned terribly white and she looked like she might actually pass out.
“Mabel, you look like you've seen a ghost. Here, sit down in this chair. Tell me what's wrong.”
“I have seen a ghost. I would be willing to bet that is the gun used to kill Michael's father and stepmother. The police never did find it, and that is why they were unable to discover who did it.
They charged Michael but all they had was circumstantial evidence and not enough proof. Do you know this gun may very well contain the fingerprints of the person who shot the Mathesons?”
Rochelle also went pale. “What will we do, Mabel?”
She looked at Rochelle, thinking. “We have to call the police.”
“But, Mabel…”
“I know what you're thinking. It wasn't Mikey. I would never believe it was Mikey, not in a hundred years. No one else in town believes it either.”
“But what if you're wrong?” Rochelle asked in a shaky voice.
She knew anyone was capable of murder if given enough provocation, real or imagined. She had wished a million times that Tobias was dead, had thought numerous times about the gun in his bedside stand, considering how easy it would be to shoot him.
Hadn't she literally made up her mind to do just that if he came for her? She was determined to kill him if necessary to avoid going back to Miami with him.
“Sweetpea, if you know him well enough to love him, then you know he couldn't have hurt his father and Tina.”
“Mabel, let's just think this through. My God, this is startling evidence that can put someone away for the rest of their life; maybe even send them to their death. I know as well as anyone that a person is capable of killing another. I have thought about it hundreds of times myself. I don't think it would be hard to do if a person is pressed enough.”
“It wasn't Mikey. I can understand you wanting to kill Tobias, but Michael loved his father. He would never have done anything to hurt him. I know that, as well as I know my own name. Anyway, he has already been tried and found not guilty. They can't try him again, but something like this could ruin him.” Strong, generous hearted Mabel burst into tears at the damnable thought Rochelle suggested. “Dear God, it can't be him,” she muttered more to herself than to Rochelle.
“Then if you are that sure, call the police. Let's get it over and done with, but I pray to God you're right.”
“I know Mikey didn't do it. I'd bet my life on it.” She went to the phone, and even as sure as she felt, there was still that seed of doubt that caused her to lift the phone reluctantly. She pushed the buttons, listening until someone answered. “This is Mabel Driscoll. I need to talk to Detective Benjamin Norton.”
Rochelle was literally shaking all over, tension tightening in her neck and shoulders over the possibility of what they might learn.
“Detective Norton, I'm out at the Matheson house. I think there is something here you'll be interested in seeing. We've found the gun.” Mabel could hear a sharp intake of air, and a breathy excitement over the news.
“Who else is with you?” he asked.
“Rochelle Chandler, the lady renting the house from Michael.”
“Don't touch anything. I'll be right there,” he said, hanging up the phone.