Every Last Breath (17 page)

At the time when Jack first placed a weapon on her, he had used an excuse that made sense to her. Maggie had been reading a book on marriage that suggested a woman get involved in her husband’s favorite activity.

That’s when things changed quickly.

Jack received a delivery from UPS at 10:35a.m. He called out of work that day and was outside trimming the bushes with a machete when the driver pulled up. Maggie saw him bring in a box big enough for a flat screen TV.

She wondered what it was.

Jack tore open the cardboard container and revealed his newest fascination. Maggie stared at him as he held the leather breastplate up to his chest. “What is that?” she asked incredulously.

“Armor.”

“Armor?”

“It’s for sword fighting.”

Her mind blanked. “Who buys armor for sword fighting? Who even makes it? Who makes the swords?”

But it was all there, in a box. She called the bank immediately and found out how much the armor cost. She hung up in utter disbelief. How could he do this? They didn’t have that kind of money to spend. He must have taken it out of the baby’s savings account.

Rather than confront him, while he learned to maneuver this new weapon, Maggie watched as he worked out. Jack was not a novice. She found out that he had trained in this medieval art as a teenager. The practice was back. While it scared her, she took the advice of the marriage professional and she asked Jack about his new hobby. Her hope was to rekindle their relationship. She was sure that if they fell back in love, his anger would subside and things would be good. However, Jack had a different idea.

One afternoon when she came home from church, he sat at the kitchen table oiling the blade on his steel sword. It was a new one, made of Israeli steel. Jack told Maggie to put the baby to bed and meet him on the porch.

She had not put the two together until it was too late. When she left the nursery, Jack was suited up, and ready to battle. He explained that he was in need of a training partner— and he wished her to fill in for him. 

When she asked why, he said it was because she was the right height.

Maggie kept her reservations quiet. She stood off center from what he called the down strike, a motion that would severe the shoulder. He practiced his angle and took some trial swings. Without regard to her body language, Jack made his stance and then unleashed a series of moves that rivaled a Hollywood stuntman.

He called out each strike as she stood there as his test dummy. One wrong move, one flinch and he could cut her. Her nerves tingled as she closed her eyes. She listened to his voice, void of emotion or care. A tear rolled off her cheek. As she wiped it, she tuned back in to the newcomer who was living with the renegade cop. She wanted to tell her to run, and not look back.

The walk down memory lane further convinced her that she needed these women. Who else could help her see the danger she was in, and how normal it became for her. She could have been beheaded, and this was not ISIS.

An older lady was speaking when Maggie refocused on the group. “I’m a survivor of domestic abuse and I have two girls. When I was 28 years old, I arrived home from work to find utter chaos, again inside my suburban home. My out of work husband would drink all day and our children were home while this happened. The oldest rode the bus to school but frequently walked home with a friend, if her father forgot to pick her up from the bus stop.”

She went on, “The house was a giant mess, with garbage all over the floor and pile of clothes high enough to tip over. I ran over to see the kids but they weren’t in the living room.  That’s when I heard the faint cries of both my darlings, coming from the bathroom. There they sat, naked in the bathtub, the water was freezing cold.”

“What happened? I asked them.”

“Daddy forgot about us.” I grabbed their robes and turned on the heat lamp. Then I clustered them together and wiped their tears. “Are you alright?”

The little one nodded but my eldest kept crying. “He shot a squirrel momma. He heard it running on the roof and took out his rifle. He killed it mommy. I saw.”

I grabbed my children and walked past their bedrooms, that’s when I noticed the sheetrock and mess on the floor. My husband shot straight up through the roof with a shot gun.

Ten minutes later their suitcases were packed. I called a cab so he wouldn’t follow us. I called my brother and asked him to get my car. I did not give him the details.

A neighbor called the police and before I ever got to the cab, our home was surrounded by cops. It was the best day and the worst day of my life.

Before heading home, Maggie needed to regain composure. Her memories left her on edge and the purpose of the meeting was to feel stronger, more hopeful, not frightened. She needed a minute to breathe.

Maggie locked the stall at the shelter bathroom and sat down on the toilet. Her emotions were rising up. She felt sick. Little girls don’t grow up wanting to be victims. But she was all grown up now, and that’s what she was. Part survivor; part victim. She wanted to be a sole survivor and more. But how?

She knew the answer. By setting boundaries, by trusting again, by moving forward without the fear, that’s how you regained control of your life. But that in itself, seemed overwhelming. She called Claire. She’d know what to do.

The friends met at the Green Café coffee shop. She kept rehearsing something the detective told her, something that was supposed to put her mind at rest. But Maggie turned the statement upside down and her fear was growing. She knew how to think, but what she wanted was for someone to climb into her pit of fear and identify with what she felt. Then, and only then could she climb out.

“A victim needs to be heard!” That would be her social status, should she ever get online.

The detective said, ‘Men like Jack may hide in the shadows but they leave footprints.’  Inwardly, Maggie prayed Jack left a big ass footprint so they could find him.

Once Claire arrived, the conversation flowed the way Maggie had hoped.  “You brave girl, hiding all this for so long. Were you out of your mind?”

Maggie nodded as the tears began to fall. She wiped them, knowing more would follow. “I didn’t want to scare you away by telling you the truth. You were the only friend I had and I couldn’t risk losing you.”

She gripped Maggie’s hands. “I don’t care that SOB is still alive, I’m all ears.”

With her chin on her hand, Maggie began to sob. Her hair cascaded around her as she spoke. “I want to tell you about it last night once things calmed down but I wasn’t ready.”

“I understand. Ben replied and told me you were resting. I am glad he was there with you, but I would have liked to be there too, especially for Eli.”

Maggie couldn’t contain her smile. “He adores Ben.”

“We all do,” Claire wooed.

“How much danger are you in? What is Jack going to do?”

Maggie crumbled in fear. “He’s a monster. I prayed and prayed that he would never get out. But they released him. Those parole board people have no idea how sick he is.”

“Maggie, was Jack was at your house?”
       “Yes. I know it was him. He’s been sending signs for a week. He’s trying to see if I break.”

“Why would he do that Maggie? What does he have against you?”
        Maggie’s head lowered. “I exposed him. I let the authorities into our little twisted world and he sees himself for who he really is. He blames me. And he wants revenge.”

“Jesus Maggie. You need to get out of here. Take Eli and run away.”

Her eyes lifted. “If I run he may find me again. If I stay here, at least the police are willing to help me.”

“You know as well as I do, these men are too smart for some cop.”

She leaned over the table and a wave of trepidation set in. “He’s had three years to plan how he’d find me and what he’d do to me when found us. How am I supposed to function with that type of hate set against me?”

“Well he screwed up once before, he will do it again.”

Maggie shook her head. “He didn’t screw up, I called the cops. I blew the whistle. It happened in New York. My neighbor was out walking her dog when I came home with the baby. She had two cops at her house and came out to warn the neighbors that there had been a break in. Two things were stolen, cash and jewelry.

I wasn’t too afraid but part of me wondered if Jack was the thief. Instead, he came down from the attic carrying an arsenal of knives, swords and staves.”

She swallowed hard. “When I asked him what he was doing, he said that the burglary next door was planned, and that someone had been watching her house.”

Claire leaned closer. “What did he say?”

“I was so stupid. Jack began placing the weapons all over the house. By the windows, the doors and on top of shelves, the TV. He was utterly paranoid.”

“What did you do?”
When I asked him what he was doing, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I hope the little fuckers come here because I’ll slice them into pieces.”

Claire slumped back in her chair. “Maggie, this guy could have killed you.”

“He tried once.”

Claire’s face drained of color. She had not told anybody about this, it was too terrifying. But now was the time to talk. Now was the time to speak her truth.

“The room was dark and Jack was asleep,” she began, looking at Claire for the nod to keep going. “I crept into bed, the way I always did, slow and methodic hoping not to wake him. I managed to get in bed and pull the covers over me without Jack stirring. But sometime later, once I was sound asleep, I woke up. Something poked me. I laid completely still trying to assess where I was and what was happening. Then I felt it again. Something sharp pressed into my ribs, it wasn’t a jab or even a purposeful touch more like a curious poke.

I called out to Jack. “What are you doing?”

There was no reply, so I said, “Jack, it’s me. Maggie. What are you doing to me?”

A switch flipped on and Jack stood up beside the bed. He stared at me as if I was a foreign object. Then he crawled over the bed staring at me with this dazed look.

I lowered my voice. “Jack, what are you doing?”

He grew defensive. “There was something in here. It was sitting on you.”

I was terrified as I kept asking him to tell me what he saw. I searched the room looking for his swords.

Finally he said to me, “I tried to kill it, but then you made me put the light on. And now it’s gone.”

He went on to describe a demon. He said it was green with sharp teeth protruding from its lip and he was sitting on me.” I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to wake him if he was sleeping and I wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. I just knew that he could easily turn on me at any time.”

As Maggie shared her tale a detailed flashback overwhelmed her. He moved toward her pulling the knife out from behind his back. “What did you do today while I was not here?”

Maggie’s mind warped. The pathways that decide to fight or flight had vanished. She thought about calling for Eli, maybe his father would stop if he saw the little boy.

Maggie wouldn’t jeopardize her son like that. Instead she stayed still. “Jack. Wake up. I’m your wife. I’m no demon.”

It was no use. This had happened once before, years ago before they got married. That was the night she knew she would never get away from Jack. Never.

“The next morning, Jack was gone before I awoke. I went for a walk and called the abuse hotline. When the woman asked me if I was in a safe place to talk, I emotionally collapsed.”

“What happened next?” Claire prompted.

“The rest of the day I was in a fog. I called the police and made plans to remove Eli from the home. But I didn’t know how? The police put me in touch with a phone counselor and we made a plan to meet. I needed to know how to act and what to do. My adrenaline was pumping so hard. It’s like I wanted to flee but I couldn’t. I had to end my life. How do you pack up your life in 30 minutes and not look back?

The answer is fear. Did I want to get out or did I want to run into Jack again?”

“Jesus Maggie, he really is crazy.”

She trembled. “Then how did he get out early? How did he fool them?”

Claire reminded her, “You were fooled once too. Don’t forget that.”

Maggie’s throat tightened. Claire was absolutely right. If she cared to be honest, this had started when they were dating.

One night she stopped by Jack’s after studying for final exams. When she got there the house was dark but Jack’s car was in the driveway. He’d been extremely stressed; things with his father weren’t going well. They spoke on and off since his parent’s divorce and from what she could see, he was better off without him.

Maggie made her away around to the back of the house. It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to go for walks at night, especially near the woods. She never went, it sounded creepy. Jack had told her about the native Indian tribe. When they roamed the land freely their custom was to bury you right where you were died. Jack would often express to her that he could feel their spirits while he was out walking and some were kind but others seemed hostile.