Hope To Escape (11 page)
Authors: Jack Parker
This time, Roden watched carefully as Martin picked the lock to Max's flat. He did it quickly, without effort; and the door swung open in a matter of seconds. The entire action was very unsettling.
"What did you say you do for a living?" Roden asked, curious.
"I don't think I did say," Martin replied. He looked up with a teasing grin from his crouched position by the door. As he stood up he continued, "I'm in acquisitions."
Roden stared at him in astonishment. "Acquisitions?" Was that another word for thief?
Martin's grin widened at the doctor's disbelieving expression, but he decided to clarify. "I work for major art dealers and private collectors, obtaining fine art. On occasion, the market is open for contemporary artists. That's why I happened to be at La Donne on 5th when Manda and her friends showed up."
"Ah." Roden noted that the job description didn't exactly explain his lock picking abilities, but he left it alone.
The three reluctant companions headed into the studio apartment. Roden noticed right away that things were not right. Max wasn't a neat freak, but he certainly wasn't a slob, either. Therefore, the current condition of the young man's home shocked his psychiatrist friend. It looked ransacked. The door had been locked, and nothing appeared to be stolen or destroyed; but discarded papers and books were strewn in odd places, closets and cabinets hung open with the contents shoved to and fro, and chair cushions and pillows were tossed haphazardly about.
"Quite the bachelor pad," Martin commented.
Roden was upset. This didn't represent Max's case very well. If Max was the one who did this to his own home, then clearly his obsession for Esther had overridden any other compulsions he had. If this was his doing, then just what made him react this way?
"Well?" Manda asked, " Do you see any clues?"
Nothing appeared obvious to him other than the evident disarray. He headed to the back of the flat, and pried through Max's clothes closet. There were no clothes littering the floor of the closet like there had been in Esther's apartment, but there were several empty hangers, indicating that items were missing.
Roden searched for Max's brown leather bomber jacket without success. He had worn it all winter for the last two years, so it's absence could be significant. Of course, the night had turned rather cool, so he may be wearing it for immediate warmth rather than taking it for the long term. There was evidence that his young friend packed, but no accurate evidence of what he packed for.
"Huh," Martin spoke from the other side of the apartment. "This must be his own personal collection of Esther art."
Roden walked apprehensively over to the site that Martin commented on. He never recalled seeing any artwork of Esther in Max's home before. True, he kept several works in his studio, but Roden thought the young man had distanced himself enough from the subject to leave her there, and not take her home.
Nevertheless, there she was in the coat closet, or what should have been the coat closet. Since he was Max's friend as well as his therapist, Roden had been in this place several times during the years since Max had occupied it. Only now did he realize that he had never seen inside this closet.
The largest and most distinctive example consisted of
a
creamy white statuette figure of Esther in flowing garb and the wings of an angel. It must have been three feet tall, but a painted wooden crate that acted as a pedestal brought its height almost to eye level. On the three walls of the closet were numerous pictures of the idolized woman, captured in several mediums: charcoal, pencil, pastel oils. Some were displayed in frames; others were simply pinned to the wall. They showed her in varying stages of youth and maturity. One drawing, Roden guessed it to be charcoal, even displayed an old woman. She looked wrinkled and weak, but her eyes still displayed the beautiful kindness present in all the artist's Esther works.
Another portrait caught Roden's eye and held it: a drawing of the child Esther penciled on lined paper from a notebook. It looked more rudimentary than all the others, but the talent was there. It must have been one of Max's first, done at a young age, when he should have been paying attention in school.
Roden shuttered, and Manda looked stunned. Seeing the statues in the art gallery were nothing compared to this. She didn't know what to make of it, but Roden knew it wouldn't be long before she began voicing her distress, and he didn't
look
forward to it.
Martin spoke before either Roden or Manda could find their own words to utter. "Well, it looks like the man has been holding out on us."
"Yes," Roden responded, bewildered. "I had thought he'd managed to separate himself from this 'divine image' he created out of Esther."
"Guess not." Martin rejoined, with a shade too much entertainment evident in his voice.
"I knew he still created works with her in mind. I even congratulated him on the collection at the gallery; but I thought he had it under control. I mean . . . he did other subjects, too. Not everything he created was Esther. But I've never seen these. I had no idea he made so many – or kept so many." Roden shook himself, surprised to find that he had made this observation out loud. It was unlike him to be so indiscreet and unprofessional, since Max was, in fact, his patient. The worst part, though, was that his words set Manda off.
"You told me you were a psychiatrist! How could a psychiatrist know so little about his patient's mental illness? You said you've known him for seventeen years? But you apparently know nothing! Look at this," She tore a picture off the wall. "Does it look like he's separated himself from his work? What the hell kind of
a
demented freak draws picture after picture of some innocent girl he barely even met?"
Practically in tears and hysterics, she crumpled the paper and threw it in Roden's face. He worked to keep his calm, though he met few people in his life that were able to make him falter in his self-control like she could.
Manda then turned to the statue and tried to shove it off its pedestal. Martin grabbed her before she succeeded, and held her, trying to calm her. Roden could see that she was under a great amount of stress over the welfare of her friend. Manda seemed the sort of person who might be better off exhibiting her emotions. If she bottled them up, when she finally went off, it would be like an atomic bomb. So, he stood there as Manda poured out her anger, fright and frustration, and let Martin hold her to subdue her physical display.
Roden turned away from the scene as Manda's emotions continued. That's when he noticed the bare space on the wall over the desk in the corner. He took a few steps in that direction. On the wall there were still four pins piercing torn edges of paper.
The answer suddenly came to him. "I know where they went!" Roden blurted out. He turned towards his companions. "I know where they went."
Suddenly, Manda became quiet. After a few sniffles, she croaked out "What?"
"Max knows how to survive
a
winter in the wilderness. He did it during his senior year of college. Well, not the whole winter, but winter break and part of the spring semester. He spent some time in a cabin in the wilderness preserve up north. He was writing an anthropology thesis on habits influenced by the lack of human contact, or something like that. He thought that the best example of this study would be to act as his own model for some firsthand experience.
He didn't have a car at the time, so I drove him up there. When I picked him up three months later, he said the seclusion had been the greatest peace in his life, and that he would gladly do it again for the escape."
"Escape!" Manda cried, "You think he escaped up to the wilderness preserve?"
"Well," replied Roden, "He had a map of the preserve pinned up on the wall here. It looks like it was torn down in haste, like he grabbed it on his way out the door."
"He took her into the woods?"
"That seems like the most likely place."
"But it's huge, isn't it?" Martin added his own question into the mix.
Roden took a deep breath. It was huge, however, there were only twelve cabins on the entire preserve. The cabin Max had rented was in the southwestern
corner
of the wilderness. Wasn't it? Would he go back to the same cabin? Could Roden remember how to get there?
"What are we waiting for then? We're losing time." Manda seemed to come back out of her dramatic fit.
Strange to witness, but as soon as she exhausted her emotions, Manda seemed fine. Martin let her go, and as she wiped a few tears from her face and sniffed away her outburst, she said, "We need to get moving so we can catch up to them before they make it into the preserve. I expect to be dismissing this whole incident with Ess over a cup of coffee in the morning."
With all the dignity she could muster, she swept towards the door of the flat. Martin and Roden, after exchanging confounded and impressed looks, followed her out.
Ess's breathing finally slowed down to a rate that wouldn't be defined as hyperventilating. The fact that she had opted for a stranger's car in order to get away from her kidnapper hadn't quite sunk in yet. She just let shivers of shock and waves of prickly warmth rake alternately through her body.
The man in the driver's seat had not yet attempted to speak to her. After aiming several vents of hot air in her direction, he just let her sit there and regain herself. Ess's toes and fingers began to ache as the numbness of the cold night thawed out of them. The feeling was a relief rather than
a
pain.
Coming out of the shock made her very tired, and she began to doze. No music played on the radio to either lull or disturb her, and the acceleration of the car as they evened out of the curves in the road seemed to sooth her agitation. She felt oddly comfortable and safe as she put distance between herself and her former captor, and soon she drifted off from exhaustion and ease.
An hour later she stirred from her dreamless state. It wasn't like her previous awakening when she had slowly returned to consciousness from what was likely a drug induced condition in the black vehicle. This time she didn't have to reclaim her senses to know where she was. The situation struck her much faster, and she woke with a start.
Ess's sudden wakefulness didn't go unnoticed by the driver. She knew he was watching her out of the
corner
of his eye. Still, he didn't speak.
She stuttered, trying to find something to say. Finally, she determined the best way to begin. "T-thank you. For stopping." From the light of the dashboard she looked at him as he gave her a quick masked glance. There was no indication that he accepted or refused her thanks.
She went on, her agitation accelerating as she spoke. "I – I wish I could explain what happened. I – I don't know how I ended up there . . . and you stopped . . . and then we were shot at, and – oh God, thank you for stopping. I don't know what I would have done . . ." As she was attempting to make her distorted and pointless explanation, she noticed that utter darkness surrounded the car. There were no distant streetlights, no headlights from other cars. The skyline from some far off city lights could not even be seen on the horizon.
They seemed to be heading away from civilization. Ess didn't know exactly where they were or what direction they were pointed in, but she was sure they were not heading back towards her home. She began to feel uneasy.
"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," She really didn't, "But can you tell me where we're going?" Then she felt the need to elaborate, in case her hero felt offended at her qualm. "I mean, I don't think this is the way back to the city."
The man didn't reply. He looked as though he was struggling for words. She continued, "We really should report this to the police. I was kidnapped; we were shot at. We really should head for a police station." Ess felt nervous, and it was evident in her voice.
At long last, he spoke. "I don't think that would be a good idea." Well, that didn't do a thing to ease Ess's anxiety. Rather, it elevated it.
"Why not?" she squeaked out, failing miserably at hiding her resurfacing fear.
"Because your kidnapper has plenty of influence in the police force. They would just look the other way, and you would be an open target for Angoli's men. You're better off in hiding."
"What?" Ess whispered in disbelief.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to scare you. Honestly." The sincerity in his voice sounded strange in association with his words. "But the man responsible for your kidnapping is influential and dangerous. The best thing for you right now is to stay out of sight." He gave her
a
longer look than his previous glances, and she could see determination on his face. "And I'm going to help you."
"What?" Ess dropped her jaw in her shock. His short declaration sent many thoughts and questions swirling around in her head. Where to start? Perhaps the obvious question. "You just picked me up on the side of the road. What are you talking about?"
He grimaced, realizing that his words must be confusing to her. She had no idea what was going on. "I'll tell you everything, but you have to keep an open mind. Please don't jump to conclusions or develop an opinion of me just yet."
Ess felt dazed. She didn't understand his request, but she needed to know what he was talking about. She had to know what was going on. Whatever it was, it was affecting her life, and putting her in a lot of danger. She agreed to his stipulation with a simple "Okay", not sure if she could keep to it.
He started with a deep breath, taking it slow to ensure that he was thorough. "I think the best way to start would be to introduce myself – although we've actually met once, a long time ago." He took an opportunity to steal another glance at her. She looked puzzled.
"My name is Max. We first met when you were selling lemonade. I remember that you were trying to earn money so that the doctors could make your brother better." Yet another quick glance showed him that a cloud fell over her face. She remembered.
"You're the artist." It all fell together from what she remembered of him and what the man in the restaurant had told her when he informed her of the artist who created the Esther sculptures. The introduction sped through her mind, leading to the ultimate realization in a matter of seconds. He was an obsessed and deranged creep. That was the conclusion her friends had made after witnessing the effigies he had created. He was obsessed with her, and now he had her.
Another thought: he rescued her from the malicious
kidnapper
that was chasing her down in the woods. Ess was lost in confusion. Nothing made sense to her yet.
Max continued. "I just want you to know, I never meant any harm. It was just that – when you gave me that lemonade and you spoke to me as an equal human being – it was the first time I ever received kindness. Before that, I don't think I ever even knew it existed. And I never forgot it." He paused for a moment, slightly embarrassed to be sharing his feelings with someone other than Dr. Roden, but continued anyway. "It meant so much to me, and it became a sanctuary for me. I didn't have an easy childhood; but when I thought of you and you're compassion towards me, I just . . . I was able to carry on. It got me through some tough times." His explanation felt a little absurd and dramatic, but it was the truth. Part of him was grateful for the opportunity to be able to finally tell her how important she had been to his very existence.
Now, Ess was stunned. She only barely remembered the encounter, and really had no idea what kind of impact it truly had made to that ragged little boy. "And you became obsessed about it?" she ventured to ask.
"I'm afraid that was the diagnosis." Max replied, sounding rather ashamed. "But the way I see it is this: see, people believe in guardian angels, and ask for prayers of deliverance all the time. They believe and depend on them." Max noticed by another of his short glances that she was hearing him out. "They even rely on religious conviction to keep order and sanctity in a world where each one of their lives aren't . . . really even a worth a spec in the world's past or present or future." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, when I was a boy, you were the answer to a prayer that I didn't know to pray."
The raw honesty and intensity of this philosophical speech left Ess more astounded than ever. Dwelling on it, taking it all in, was too much. There were too many conflicting observations that it brought forth. It was better to keep the explanation going. "So, what does all this have to do with this 'dangerous man' kidnapping me?"
Shame once more crossed Max's face. "It's my fault. I'm so sorry. I wish I could go back and undo it . . ."
She prompted him to continue his explanation rather than expound on his self-loathing apology, "But what did you do?"
"I created my Esther works and they drew attention. More importantly, they drew the attention of a wealthy man by the name of Marcus Angoli." Max needed to explain everything to make this woman understand. "When I was in college, I was encouraged by a professor to display my art in
a
local gallery. Mr. Angoli happened to be associated with the gallery and picked up on my works. They were paintings, all done in a Pre-Raphaelite Roman goddess theme . . . and they had your face.
He purchased the collection soon after they were placed on display. I was reluctant to sell, but I was
a
starving student at the time, and he wagged a lot of money in my face. I thought he liked my works in general, but over the years I noticed that the only works he actually acquired were of Esther – of you. You were like the unattainable movie star, only existing to be pined over.
I was taken to his estate once to manage
a
particular arrangement of some of the works. His home was like a fortress. Security cameras, guards . . . I never knew a place like that existed anywhere around here. Anyways, he has an entire room dedicated to the art he purchased from me, and there's a lot. He seems to have his own little obsession for you. Turns out, I wasn't the only one who thought highly of you. Except he didn't know that you were a real person. At least, not until you showed up at La Donne a couple of weeks ago." Another quick glance showed troubled shock on his passenger's face. He hated being the barer of such news, but it was better that she knew the danger.
"I hate going to the galleries and seeing my art on view, and I rarely go once the exhibit is opened, but Angoli insisted on meeting with me in person to discuss the purchase of my latest sculptures, because I did not want to sell them. Unfortunately, he was determined to have them, and, of course, he won out in the end. I'm ashamed to say that he threw a lot of money in my face again, and I couldn't refuse."
"Eighty thousand dollars? I can't say that I blame you." Ess commented quietly.
Max was surprised. "How did you know?"
Ess replied, "I tried to buy them myself. I didn't want them on display. They have my face . . . and the nude! I was embarrassed." Now it was Max's turn to be embarrassed.
"I didn't mean to be derogatory." He explained, "It's not porn. It's art. The ultimate beauty is the uninhibited human body. I was trying to emphasize beauty, not sexuality."
Ess just responded with a nod. Her chin was set and her eyes unreadable. Max couldn't
tell
if she accepted his justification or not. So, he decided to move on.
"Well, when you walked into the gallery it caused a little stir. Not a lot, but enough to bring you to Angoli's attention. I was too stunned myself to notice his reaction when he saw you. I didn't realize that it would be such a revelation to him as it was to me."
If Ess felt appalled and disturbed before, what he had to say next would really distress her. "Now here is the shocking part that I am most embarrassed to tell you, but please don't be mad." He paused for another deep breath. "Once I saw you, I couldn't just let you walk away again. I looked for you for so long, in classrooms, in crowded halls and stores, in every face I passed on the street. And finally, when I wasn't looking, you appeared.
I had to follow you. I told myself that I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and that you were happy with your life. I just wanted to look in on you from time to time, sort of like a guardian angel.
So, I trailed you and your friends to the café, and followed you home. Everything seemed well enough. You're life was simple and quiet. You seemed safe." Ess looked at him, her brow furrowed in disappointment over his description of her life. Her life was simple, and it was small, but she couldn't say that she was exactly happy about it.
"After I made this estimation, I tried to back off. I thought I had control of myself by this point in my life, but the pull was . . . it was . . . overwhelming. After only a day, I started finding excuses to pass by your neighborhood, though it's really not on my way anywhere. I discovered where you worked and shopped, the route you took home after work. I noticed that, on the days you left your job before dark, you would take
a
longer route home so that you could go through the park. The autumn leaves are starting to turn, and the scent of the fading summer is unbelievable right now. I imagined that you were enjoying the charm of it as much as I did. It seemed to me like you were in your element there." He caught himself going off on a tangent, and stopped himself.