Souvenirs

Prologue:

Summer, 2003

Forty-five dollars, she said, as she hooked the bra closed at her belly. She’d never mastered hooking one behind when she was younger and there was no sense trying now. Why waste time and energy on something that didn’t matter anyway? The bra came off and went on just the same.

What? his voice was hot, disbelieving. He glared up at the slim, white form of the young woman seated beside him from his prone position on the blanket. In the moonlight her skin looked as smooth as alabaster. She could have been formed from the mist coming up off the creek.

Forty-five, just like we agreed.

I’ve given you a ring--

Yes, and I love it. It’s beautiful. But I’ve still got to eat.

He watched as she pulled the brassiere around to the front and slid the cups over her breasts. She was beautiful, like one of those goddesses from ancient times. Her breasts and ass were full and tempting and, with her lovely flawless skin, he thought she resembled a roman sculpture. At two in the morning under a pale moon, only the inviting dark mat at her lower abdomen broke the effect reminding him that she was flesh and blood.

His hand shot up and grabbed her arm, stopping her from slipping the strap over her shoulder.

No, we’re engaged now. I’m trying to tell you you’re not going to have to do this anymore. His pleading sounded juvenile, immature even to himself, adding a layer of dangerous embarrassment to his growing discomfiture.

She laughed. As if this was the funniest thing she’d heard in a while. The sound burned, echoing in his ears.

What are you talking about? We’re not engaged. Her voice dropped low to a tone of conspiracy. I’m already married; you boob. And your time is up; I’ve got to be headed for home. She giggled. Leon is going to wonder what’s taking me so long. She shook his hand off and slipped both straps over her shoulders. The cream-colored lace of the bra appeared dingy against her opalescent shiny whiteness.

Not that it hasn’t been fun. You really are one of the most considerate men. You can come back anytime, honey. Ella will always take time for you. She smiled indulgently, patting his hand as if he were a child.

He felt helpless, the flimsy control over his rage shredding. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. She was supposed to be lying contented in his arms, talking about the future. Instead, she was laughing at him. This brainless bitch thought he was funny, thought his ring insignificant, as if a half-carat diamond was something that came out of one of those kiddy machines where you spend a quarter and get a prize. A low roar stopped his ears, as all sounds of the night stilled. The crickets, the lone owl out hunting, the water lapping against the dark shiny rocks, for him, all these sounds ceased to exist. He heard only the laughter, heard as it built louder and louder.

Unaware of his desperate struggle, Ella’s fingers lazily traced well-formed muscles down to his navel, as he fought to remain flat on his back on the blanket beside her. She bent forward, her eyes only inches from his. In the waiting, expectant moonlight the smile seemed maddeningly to fill her face and her eyes gleamed eerily, reflecting as if she were an animal caught in a car’s headlights. He knew in that moment total hate. His hands shook as fists clenched and unclenched of their own accord. His body burned.

Don’t be mad, baby, she whispered, bending still closer to kiss him.

With a shriek, he came alive; his hands moving so fast she had no time to react. His strong fingers clamped around her neck making breathing impossible. Instinctively, the woman’s body struggled violently against the pain and abrupt cessation of life-sustaining oxygen. Then there was the first tug at her temples, as the darkness of the night seemed to dim a full shade to her wide, disbelieving eyes. Thirty seconds is all it takes to black out when breathing is fully constricted. Thirty seconds between life and death.

Frantically, Ella rocked up and down, back and forth, terrified, fighting fiercely to get away, only to find herself with every attempt pulled relentlessly back down on top of his hard naked body.

His strong legs wrapped around her thighs, not allowing her legs employment in the life and death battle. Ella’s hands and arms were pinned, his bent elbows securing them against his belly. There was no way to force her hands up to tear at his face. She shoved and clawed wildly against a prison of ribs and hips, with no response to her tortured panic. She was held as securely as in a steel vise.

As her life ebbed away, Ella lay staring into his eyes. So intense was her gaze, he felt like she was falling into his own. At the moment she recognized death, he caught a barely discernable widening of her pupils and was startled when a jolt of extreme physical pleasure shuddered through him. And then, after an interminable time of exquisite agony, this slowly faded. Surrounded by proliferating shadow, soon all that remained were those deep, dark pools, so beautiful, so terrified. And then there was nothing. He lie beside her for nearly an hour, drained, conflicted between desire and remorse. Then he realized what he should have known all along. She had wanted death. Everyone does. She had wanted him to be there, to see her go. He was but a tool to that end. She’d needed his help and he had no choice but to give it. It was an honor.

Staring into Ella’s eyes, he’d watched as she’d slipped into that other world. Beautiful eyes, so wide, so full of fear, he shuddered again thinking of them. Those eyes had traveled the gauntlet from fear to understanding, to acceptance, and finally to peace. Peace was the final destination. He had the proof. He’d seen it happen. He loved the changes. And loved that he was the one responsible. It had been an accident; he’d been angry and hadn’t meant to do it. But he was no longer sorry. He was at peace. Maybe even as much as she was.

After a few minutes of stroking the woman’s beautiful white limbs and admiring the perfection of her body, he picked up the limp body and carried her to the creek, carefully laying her down in the clear shallow water. Using extreme care and a bar of soap he carried in the car for emergencies, he washed every inch of her body and then his own. The water was unbearably cold after only a few minutes, but he took his time. This had to be done right. There could be nothing left behind that would tie him to her. He looked down at the woman, tightening his grip on the diamond ring he now held in his palm. She didn’t need it and he suspected it could be traced. It was his. Beautiful, the edges sharp and glittering and unforgettable, it was fitting memento of the night. A souvenir, so to speak.

Satisfied that there was nothing left to link them, he positioned the body carefully among the rocks, not wanting her to drift away and be found ugly, in an unflattering position that would mar the perfection of this, his first creation. As a final gesture, he turned her head to face the dirt trail they had driven in on only two hours before, so she could see who would find her. Fishermen came here often. He hoped one would come soon. He was confident that she would be found, but he didn’t want her found a week from now, when she wouldn’t be so beautiful. He wanted her found while her eyes could still speak and could tell them what she’d seen.

Chapter 1

2010

The red spark to Izabelle Marie Stuart’s hair always seemed brighter whenever she was angry. Today it seemed to glow. Her green eyes narrowed while she watched the car back onto the street. Seven-thirty at night and Grant was going out.

She sighed. She might as well go to Abby. The woman was going to need her support, whether she would admit it or not. Grant was a run-around, loving bars and women, where Abby seemed to live in perpetual denial. Izzy had been trying to tell her that there was more to life and that she didn’t deserve this, but so far her suggestion had been ignored.

She entered through the back door. Always came in the back. Grant hated her, and rather than cause a confrontation, for Abby’s sake, she only showed up when he wasn’t home. Of course, if it had been up to her there wouldn’t be a Grant. She knew what to do to a run-around, overbearing jerk like him. But, she’d humor herself with those pleasant thoughts later. Right now, there was Abby to deal with.

Sitting on the sofa, Abby straightened her back and tossed her pretty brown hair over her shoulder. The long mane got its golden accents from the hours she worked alone in her garden under the warm sun. Unaware that Izzy had arrived, she stretched as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Izzy grinned knowingly. She knew the woman was happier without her husband; she could read her. Now, to persuade Abby of this. She could be so stubborn.

You’ve got to leave him, you know, Izzy said. Abby started, not having heard the back door open. Izzy sauntered into the living room, coming through the kitchen as if she owned the place.

Why would you say that? You’re talking about my husband. Abby glared, surprisingly brave for once. Apparently, even if she thought it herself, she wouldn’t willingly give anyone else the right to discuss Grant. Relationships between husbands and wives were complicated, as Izzy was beginning to see. She couldn’t know, as she’d never been married. And she sure as hell didn’t intend to ever go that route. But she had no intention of allowing her ignorance to stop her from taking up the challenge.

You know why. He’s off with one of those women. He’s not out with the boys, like he tells you.

I don’t believe you. Grant would never cheat on me.

Izzy laughed a short guttural laugh, one that ended in a snort. She’d laughed amusingly ever since a child. She was happy to see Abby smile in return, even though she knew the smile wouldn’t last.

Izzy changed her demeanor, her eyes now staring sadly into her friend’s. She watched Abby’s face tighten again. She knew what that expression meant. It meant the young woman was aggravated. It was bad enough being ridiculed, but pity is worse, especially coming from your best friend. She hated that she had to be the one to do it. But if not her, then who?

Why are you looking at me like that? And just what makes you think you have the right? Abby snarled at her, all her anger at her husband spilling out. Izzy knew it was because she was the one there, because she was convenient. Not because she was the true brunt of the anger. But it still hurt.

Whoa now! I’m only trying to help. So shoot me for caring! Izzy held her hands up in a gesture of surrender. Ridiculously, she was the villain and Abby the sheriff.

Stick ’em up, partner.

I didn’t ask for your sympathy. If I wanted it, you’d be the first to know.

Okay, okay. Forget it. Izzy gave up for now, exasperated.

Izabelle sat down beside Abby and turned to the sit-com playing on the television. Neither said another word. They remained this way through the eight commercials that followed one after the other. By the time the program came back on, both tempers had cooled.

I’m sorry, Izzy said.

I’m sorry, too, Abby whispered, her pain cutting through the last of Izzy’s resolve. It’s just that he had me pick up a bottle of wine and I thought he was staying in.

I know. It’s okay. She stroked Abby’s arm, trying to comfort, not sure what to do or what she could say. She felt Abby’s pain as much as Abby did.

They remained a while together on the couch, but eventually exited to the kitchen to work on the supper dishes. Everything had to be clean and spotless. Grant insisted on a tidy house and everything always went Grant’s way.

You’re right, Abby said with her hands in the sink as she washed the glasses. She nearly whispered the next statement. I suspect he’s been running around on me for a while, but haven’t wanted to admit it. She hung her head. It was plain that the shame of admitting it hurt almost as badly as her husband’s unfaithfulness.

Izzy nodded, not wishing to interrupt. The words were difficult for Abby to say without a barricade of her own good intentions getting in the way.

Abby, tears threatening, finally asked, What should I do? Since children, she’d always deferred to Izzy’s judgment. Izzy had been the one who always knew what to do.

Abby… If it was me, Izzy began slowly, staring out the kitchen window into the mute darkness that hovered outside. She knew that what she would say next would be a nearly impossible suggestion for Abby to follow, but somehow she also knew with a best friend’s impeccable timing that this was the time to suggest it. I’d confront him on it, and kick the creep out.

Abby stared at her, seemingly flabbergasted. Confront Grant? She couldn’t even wear the color clothes she wanted. Grant insisted on pink. She’d always hated pink. But she had a closet full of pink clothing now. It was just easier to do what he wanted.

Izzy knew all about this. All about the man’s strange, controlling ways. Why do some men feel the need to rule every little thing about their wives and girlfriends? And why do some women allow themselves to be so dominated? Still, it wasn’t like it was something new to the world. It had been happening since the beginning of time.

She took Abby’s hand in hers. You’ve got to do this. You’ll know if he’s lying or not. If he isn’t running around, you’ll know, and I’ll apologize to you. Right down on my knees with my head hanging, my arms around your knees, and my big old butt in the air; I’ll scream to the heavens for your forgiveness.

She said this so comically that Abby had to smile. Apparently, the thought of Izzy groveling at her feet was just too much, probably even funnier to her than if Grant were to do it. Of course, she knew that Grant would never consider doing such a thing. That was the difference between them. Izzy truly loved her.

Chapter 2

Donna worked in the produce section of the supermarket. She wore her tops low cut and revealing, and, like the mountains of cantaloupe on display, had been blessed with round, curvy melons of her own. It was also obvious that she and Grant were old friends. Izzy, staying out of sight, had witnessed Abby’s terse smile when she’d been introduced. She’d caught the cold stare when Abby had tried to warn the other woman, had tried to make her understand that Grant was married and that he wasn’t on the market no matter what his grin implied. To her benefit, Donna had seemed disconcerted with her stare, but it hadn’t stopped her from returning the man’s flirting. One fluttering hand insisted on lingering on those round, voluptuous hills that pushed up over the rim of her blouse. A wedding ring flashed there in the glare of the store’s fluorescent lights making Abby’s warning inconsequential. Izzy scowled.

Married, too. As if it mattered.

She sighed, remembering. Grant was such a louse. Again, she thought if it were up to her the man would simply disappear. But Abby seemed to love him. Why? She didn’t think she’d ever understand.

***

Izzy critically checked Abby’s swollen lip, You’ll live.

Her sympathy lacked the warmth and concern Abby was expecting and the young woman’s expression showed it.

Izzy looked back at her coolly. You better toughen up, kiddo. This won’t be the last time. You let him get away with it.

But he said he was sorry! And that he’ll never hit me again.

Izzy snorted. Yeah, that’s what they all say.

It was really my fault. I pushed him too hard, and he was tired… Her voice trailed off.

Abby, Izzy said, her voice ringing with sarcasm. He was tired? And why was he tired? Was it because he was out to all hours of the night? Running with that produce lady with the big melons?

How did you know about her? Abby appeared startled, although why she should be was a mystery. Izzy always knew what was going on. She’d never been able to keep a secret from her.

Tell me about it.

Abby was silent for so long that Izzy finished her coffee. Then the first faltering words stumbled out and, surprisingly, weren’t what she’d had been expecting.

I had to breathe in that sickly-sweet smell all night.

What?

When he came home, it was late. I couldn’t face him at that time of night; you couldn’t expect me to. Here she hesitated, before continuing. I pretended to be asleep. He threw his arm over me like always and he smelled horrible, overpowering sweet, gagging sticky. Like her cheap perfume. I could hardly stand it. That’s when I knew it was true.

Izzy glanced at her, sympathy finally showing. This was more than anyone should bear. To have to breathe in the scent of another woman all night was torture. Grant was such an ass.

And then this morning, after breakfast, I confronted him. He denied it, of course. But I said I knew and that I didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.

Izzy nodded, agreeing.

He got so mad, he slapped me on the face. It was a reflex. It wasn’t intentional; I know that now.

Izzy looked at her cup, saddened that Abby had so much to learn. Her lips tightened as she thought of what she wanted to do to Grant. The man didn’t deserve to live. Lovely scenarios of stringing him up and watching him swing in the breeze went through her head.

Really, Izzy. He was so sorry; I couldn’t stay mad at him. He loves me… He does, Abby whimpered.

Okay, honey. Whatever you say. If you want to fall for it, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to believe him. Your husband is a jerk and always will be, and you’d be better off without him.

Abby’s hand went to her swollen, torn lip. When she pulled it away, she looked as if she expected the blood that had been there earlier to return.

Izzy knew that in the six years of Abby’s marriage, this had been the first time that Grant had actually struck her. But she knew that once Pandora’s box had been opened, it wouldn’t be the last. Oh, Grant had apologized all right. She was sure they had cried together and that he’d promised it would never happen again. That they’d ended up in each other’s arms. She was also sure that the bastard had managed to get in that it was all her fault; that she made him so mad he couldn’t control himself. It’s always the woman’s fault with those kinds of men.

"See what you made me do? he’d whispered, his voice tragic; her sympathy and understanding demanded because his heart appeared to ache so badly. And then the kicker, What the hell is the matter with you? Why would you make me do that?"

Oh, she knew about men. Why didn’t Abby? Her friend had crumbled. And now she probably believed she’d been the one to force him into using violence.

Do you seriously believe he will never hit you again? Just like you believe that there’s never been another woman, right? And that the earth is flat just because you can’t see the curve?

Abby tried to keep her expression even, but Izzy could tell. She always knew when the other woman wasn’t being honest, even when she was lying to herself.

Still, Izzy’s voice was gentler when she continued, What are you going to do?

Tears threatened, but Abby pushed them back, shaking her head that she didn’t know.

You’ve got to leave him. The man is poison, Izzy stated in a firm voice, as if it was settled and that it was an easy task.

I can’t! I haven’t any money. How can I leave without money? And besides, where would I go? I have no one besides you and Grant.

And whose fault is that? You had friends before he came along. Remember Casey and Janet? They used to be your buddies.

Casey left before we moved back here to Cincinnati. Remember? I don’t know where she went. I think maybe Houston or someplace. That’s a long way away. It might as well be the surface of the moon, Abby replied.

Izzy was silent for a brief time and then, Where’s Janet, Abby? Her tone was quiet, suggesting something terrible.

I don’t know. She took off and didn’t leave any forwarding.

Did she? I don’t believe it. Her family is still looking for her. She wouldn’t leave without telling her mother where she was going. You know something bad happened to her.

Abby sat, not agreeing or disagreeing. She seemed too tired to think about it.

What happened to her? Izzy’s voice was gratingly persistent. You know. Tell me.

Apparently, Izzy wasn’t going to give up.

Pretty, mouthy, vivacious Janet. She’d led the little group of girls whenever Izzy wasn’t around. When Izzy was with Abby, Janet and Casey hung out together without them. Izzy thought they didn’t like her. People always said that when there are three there’s an extra cog, but it’s the same with four. Only no one’s alone. It was a little better; it wasn’t as painful that way. Children are often cruel, but they were adults now. This was the past. Now there was only Izzy and Abby.

Abby knew when she was beat.

Why do you think I’d know? she asked resignedly, knowing her question wasn’t answering anything.

Izzy simply regarded her with that solemn, cheerless expression she wore sometimes. She didn’t have to say more. They knew. They both knew.

Abby’s earlier argument, the one where she’d no place to go, no money to go with, came back to her. She clutched at it and swung it back into the ring, desperately needing something else to think about.

How far do you think I’d get with no money? Not very far walking. Grant would track me down and find me in a heartbeat. Abby stood and for emphasis jammed her hands in her pockets and pulled them inside out. She wanted to show Izzy just how poor she was. Change clinked out onto the floor, a dime flashed as it rolled to a hiding spot under the sofa. Amazingly, a crumpled dollar bill was in her right hand.

She suddenly remembered the change left over from the bottle of wine the night before. Dismay, colored by fear, washed over her face. Grant would be mad. She was always forgetting something and… All monies were