Till Death(55)

The next breath I drew was shallow and it burned all the way to my soul. “I know I couldn’t have been the only one who told him what I did, but he eventually decided it was the reason why I could no longer be his bride, and when he told me that, I knew what that meant. I was no longer good enough in his eyes.”

I opened my eyes, but I really didn’t see the ceiling. “I knew when he put me in that gown, blindfolded me, and led me outside, I knew he was going to kill me. I can remember those moments like it happened seconds ago. The dress was so thin, nothing more than lace, and I could feel the warm breeze on my skin. I could taste the fresh air, and I could smell fresh rain and the faint scent of manure. I knew I was outside. I knew that was it. It was going to happen.” A tremble coursed through my body and Cole squeezed my hand. “He cried, Cole. He cried while he escorted me outside. Sobbed, and I . . . I begged him. I pleaded with him, and oh God, I said everything and anything, because when I knew that I was going to die, I didn’t want to.”

A knot in my throat almost choked the next words off. “He stopped crying, and he’d let go of me. I didn’t know where he was, but I tried to run. I didn’t make it very far when he slammed into me, knocking me to the ground. He flipped me onto my back, and I felt it, this horrible burning sensation in my stomach, like I was being ripped apart. He’d stabbed me.”

Cole remained silent, but the tension rolling off him was a third entity in the room, a heavy presence of righteous fury.

“He hadn’t bound my hands. He was that confident of handling me, and I . . . I don’t know exactly what happened next. All I know is that I fought back. There was this fire-type pain again here,” I said, waving my hand over my breasts. “We were struggling on the ground, and he dropped the knife at some point. He had his hand on my throat, choking me. I got ahold of a rock. Dumb luck,” I whispered. “That’s what saved my life, dumb luck. I hit him on the head, and he let go. I remember jumping up and running, tugging off the blindfold at some point, and I just kept running until I reached that farm . . .”

The farm that had the horses I could hear. Dumb luck had also sent me in that direction, and a round of extremely good luck had Mr. Mockerson, the older owner of the farm, out mending a fence around his cattle.

Turning my head toward Cole, I drew in a deep breath. “If he had killed me, he would’ve cut off my ring finger. He would’ve stripped me out of the gown, put me in a new one, and that gown . . . and my finger would’ve hung in the room with the rest of them.” I blinked slowly. “I don’t know why I told you all of that.”

A muscle flickered along his jaw. “I’m glad you did.”

Some of the ten-year-old tension seeped out of my muscles. My therapist had touted the therapeutic benefits of opening up about what had happened, and I hadn’t really believed her. I’d been wrong, because the next breath I took was cleansing.

“Got a few things to say though. That wasn’t a damn bit weak,” he replied quietly. “There is nothing about you that is weak. You survived hell and it wasn’t just dumb luck. You fought back and you survived. You’re a survivor. You earned that title, baby. You own it.”

A faint smile pulled at my lips. “Own it. I like that.” I paused. “You know, I never knew what he looked like until afterward. He always kept his face hidden. Either I was in a dark room or he blindfolded me. I don’t know why he did that, but when I finally saw a picture of him, I was blown away. Messed me up in the head a lot, because he . . . he looked so normal. Like he could’ve been teaching one of our classes at college. He was someone you saw in the grocery store behind you or you smiled at when you saw them on the street.”

“That’s how they usually look,” he said, raising his hand and mine. He kissed the back of my knuckles, each of them. “Serial killers tend to look like the guy next door, someone you wouldn’t judge as unsafe based on appearances.”

“Everyone was surprised, weren’t they?” I asked.

Cole nodded. “Not a single person who knew Vernon Joan suspected he was the Groom,” he said, and I flinched at the sound of his name. “None of his neighbors or his coworkers down at the plant. He didn’t have any family around these parts. Don’t think he had any alive.”

Vernon Joan.

The Groom.

Serial killer and rapist of at least six women. Some people believed there could’ve been more, but it was unlikely that anyone would ever find out. My escape had led to his arrest. Even as bad off as I was, almost dying on the way to the hospital, I managed to tell them what I knew, and it had been enough to lead the authorities to his home at the base of the Appalachian Mountains. Instead of being arrested, he’d taken the hunting knife he’d used on me and slit his own throat in the room that I and many other women had been held in.

I didn’t know how to feel about that, probably never would. Part of me wanted him to go to trial, to answer to the families and loved ones of the lives he robbed from them. The other half was simply glad he was dead.

My eyes came to his again. There was something else I hadn’t shared with Cole. “I told him that I was in love with someone else.”

The skin around his mouth tightened. “What?”

“That’s what I told him—the Groom,” I clarified. I hadn’t used his real name and I wouldn’t start. I wouldn’t give him that. “I told him that I was already in love with someone else.”