One Way Or Another You Will Pay (22 page)

With
a towel around me and one around my hair, I sit on the edge of my bed, shoulders hunched, and stare at the floor.

Tom
will never rest unless he kills me.

Somehow,
without me doing anything to him, by just managing to exist independently, I torment him.

In
anticipation of Tom’s escape, I move into a hotel with the children, while Bear stays at home and waits for our tormentor.

As
can be expected, I’m on tenterhooks and jump the moment the phone rings.

Is
it the cops calling to tell us Tom has escaped?

Is
it Ingrid calling to warn us?

Is
it Bear telling me he has whacked Tom?

Is
it Tom calling to tell me that he has killed Bear?

The
thought of Bear being hurt or killed makes my knees buckle.

Ingrid
calls Saturday morning. “He says he wasn’t able to,” she reports. “But plans are still in place.

Bear
and I are worried – can Ingrid be trusted?

Is
she telling us the truth?

Should
we tell Warner and thwart Tom’s plans? But as we discussed, Tom will simply postpone his escape but we know for a fact, he will never give up on the idea.

I
move back home and continue looking over my shoulder, continue jumping the moment the phone rings and continue quietly stressing.

It’s
best to let him come, we decide. End this whole thing once and for all.

As
for Ingrid, what choice have we but to trust her?

****

A week goes by before Ingrid calls.

Her
voice is excited. “He’s out and he’s coming over tonight. Around 1 AM!”

“Oh
my God!” I say, my eyes the size of saucers.

“He
has a gun,” she warns.

My
bulging eyes meet Bears.

He
flexes all the fingers of his hand at me.

I
hand him the phone and with all my knuckles in my mouth, I watch his face as he listens to Ingrid, grunting and nodding from time to time.

“Got
you, Ingrid,” he finally says and hangs up.

Just
as he does, my phone rings. It’s the cops informing us that Tom has escaped. I hit speakerphone so Bear can listen in.

I
thank them for letting me know and hang up.

“You
and the kids leave now,” he says handing me back my phone.

‘Now?
It’s noon, Bear. She said 1 AM.”

“Arena,
I don’t know if I can trust Ingrid. Just take the kids and go and I will feel better, okay?”

I
nod but I remain where I am, my thumbnail in my mouth.

Tom’s
no longer in prison.

Bear
walks over to me, puts his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes.

“I
got this, baby.”

“Bear,”
my arms snake around his waist, “listen, I’m scared. Please get Ritchie to help you.”

He
shakes his head. “Can get messy, Arena. Don’t want Ritchie involved. I can do this. Trust me.”

Suddenly,
panic engulfs me. “But, Bear, he has a
gun
! You don’t have a gun and...”

“I
don’t need one.”

“…
I…I feel like …like I’m sending you to war, Bear.” My voice is high and shrill.

He
hugs me hard. “We’ll get through this, baby, we will.”

“I
love you so much, Bear, and Tom, he’s such a bastard, and …and like, if a man is willing to kill his children…Ohmygod, Bear, he’d be more than willing to hurt you and, Bear, if something happens to you, how will I make it without you, because I need you, I need you so much.” I grapple hysteria with a few deep breaths. “Warren, Amy, Savannah, we all need you.”

He
holds my face with both his hands. “Baby, baby, baby! Listen to me. He’s not going away. He will not rest until he gets you and Warren. I’m sure of that. It’s my
job
to protect you both and I
will
do my job. And if anything happens to me, at least you all will be safe. It’s time I did this. I love you, Arena. More than I have loved any woman in my whole life. More than I thought I could love a…”

“Stop,
Bear, stop! Don’t talk like that!”

“…
woman. You make me feel …whole. I like that. No matter how bad the day, no matter what …”

“Don’t!
Don’t! Bear, don’t!”

“…comes
my way, as long as I have you waiting for me at home. That is enough. With you by my side, I feel like I have enough. Take everything away, just leave Arena and my kids and I’ll be okay.”

I
love his words, because Bear is a man of few words, and I know they come from deep within his roomy heart. But today, they are farewell-filled, heavy with goodbye. Today, I don’t want to hear those words. Not
today
.

“I
plan on going nowhere,” he says in an adamant voice. “I plan on being
here
, okay? Here!” Using all his fingers, he points at the floor. “Raising my family. Protecting them. Okay?” “This is something I have to do as a man, ’Rena. It has to be done. Living in fear in this fortress….not the vision I had for my family. We need to end this with Tom. If I call the cops, it will just delay things. I want him to come. Today.” He hugs me again then releases me. “Have faith in me, ’Rena. I’ve never let you down, yet, have I?”

I
shake my head.

He
wipes away my tears. “I love you.”

“I
love you, Bear.”

“Now,
take my car and go!”

With
a heavy heart, I gather stuff for my three children.

Just
before we leave, Bear separates the kids and talks to each child individually, tells them how much he loves them.

When
I see him do that, I start to cry more.

Amy
and Savannah laugh at Bear, but Warren’s eyes dart between Bear’s face and mine, a worried look on his ten-year-old face.

His
eyes linger on my face, obviously noticing my swollen eyes and my red cheeks.

He
walks over to me and takes both the tote bags off me.

“It’s
heavy, Warren,” I protest.

“I
got it, Mum, don’t worry.”

Even
though he’s been sired by Tom, Warren has all Bear’s mannerisms (Thank God for that!). Kind, courteous, not much of a talker, and most of all, he’s very protective of his little sisters and me. Protective of the women and girls in his life.

That’s
a relief to me. Don’t ever want him to be a misogynist like Tom.

Because
of all that he and I have been through, all we suffered in Tom’s hands, all the times we went without, and the huge loss we suffered when Sasha died, Warren and I are extremely close. Connected, in fact. Two wounded, kindred souls.

He’s
usually the first in our house to ask me what’s wrong.

Then,
he tries his best to fix it. Gets me (without asking) headache pills, a glass of water with ice in it, makes me a cup of tea (awful, cold and weak, but still), massages my shoulders, and will lead little Savannah away from me. “Let’s give Mum a break, Sav.”

Very
protective and caring of me. As young as he is, he won’t relax until I’m smiling.

He’s
a Mummy’s Boy for sure. Fast forward – the girl who gets him will be very lucky.

Fifteen
minutes later, I’m heading for Soong’s with my kids in Bear’s Toyota Prado SUV, my car parked outside my garage in my home, visible to all.

I’m
home, Tom. Come get me.

I’m
quiet as I drive, barely paying any attention to Amy’s jabbering in the back seat.

Damn
you for putting Bear’s life in danger, Tom! Damn you to fucking hell!

“Mum?!”
Warren says.

I
glance behind to look at him.
What
?

“Why
are you hitting the steering wheel?” His blue eyes are pools of concern.

“She’s
drumming, silly,” Amy says. “My Mum does that when she drives, she hits the steering wheel and …” To demonstrate, Amy pays air guitar and bobs her head.

I
turn my head back to the road. When I look at the rear view mirror, I lock eyes with my son.

“I’m
okay, Warren,” I mutter.

His
eyes remain fixed on me for the rest of the short drive.

****

Soong and her family are on holiday in Thailand, but she has given me keys to her house to water her plants and collect her mail.

When
I told her that I may use her place, she said, “Hundred percent, Arena! Just don’t have sex on my bed.”

The
hotel we stayed in the last time was far too claustrophobic for my noisy and unrestrained kids, and since I anticipate staying for a few days, Soong’s house is a lot easier on the kids.

After
the silence poor little Warren had to endure while living with Tom, the restrictions he was forced to live with for years, being forced to wear shoes all the time for
whatever
reason; being noisy, loud, and rowdy is a luxury in my house and I indulge my kids. Especially Warren.

I
encourage him to argue his point. Not backchat but to
argue
. There’s a difference.

As
a child, he had no voice, was robbed of doing things little kids do. So I’m compensating and
over
compensating too.

Give
me three good reasons why I should, Warren. But watch your tone of voice.

He
usually does.

My
friends call my house noisy. (Their kids love it.) Blaring music all the time, kids yelling and running through the house, toys strewn everywhere.

I
love it.

Rebellion
at its best. I want a home, not a museum.

I
smile when I think of Tom viewing the photos Ingrid gave him.

He’d
be disgusted at the state of the place I call home.

After
locking all the doors and windows, I settle the kids in front of Soong’s TV and walk over to her living room to be alone with my thoughts.

Warren
is immediately by my side. “He’s coming after us, isn’t he, Mum?”

I
whirl around to look at Warren, who’s playing with his fingers, a scared look on his face.

“Warren…I
…eh…”

“I
heard you guys talking and I heard the police.”

“Oh.”
I don’t know what to say to my son.

“What
if he hurts Dad, Mum?”

“Warren…”

“I don’t him want to do that, Mum. I should be there to help Dad.” Tears fill his face. “Dad needs me, Mum.”

I
rush over to hug him. Any talk or mention of Tom and Warren usually appears by my side. Once or twice, after a lengthy conversation about Tom, Warren wet the bed. That spoke for itself.

“It’s
going to be okay, hon. I promise. Dad can handle things. We just need to send positive vibes Dad’s way. Think we can do that?”

His
nod is reluctant.

I
force a smile, then hug my son. “I love you, Warr…” I stop when I feel something hard under the back of his shirt.

“What
is this?” I ask, as I turn him around and lift up his shirt.

“Oh
my God, Warren!” I cry, when I see the knife he’s carrying. “What…?”

“One
of Dad’s fishing knives. It’s sheathed, Mum. It’s safe. Don’t worry!”

Horror
distorts my face. “Warren …Warren…how…why…?”

“To
protect us. In case he comes after us.”

“Oh
my God!” is all I can say.

“I
won’t let him hurt you again, Mum,” he promises. “I will kill him. I will!”