The New Husband(67)
“That’s strange, you’ve never done that before,” he said.
“Like I said, I couldn’t sleep, with Maggie and all.” The words tumbled from Nina’s lips as a believable explanation came to her. She had to crane her neck to look up at him as Simon loomed over her. As she turned her head some more, she could see he was gripping the back of her chair with force. His face shifted, hardening, realigning into the shape she’d seen that day with the tree branches, an unsettling dark anger—maybe the same face he had shown Maggie.
Stop it, Nina! she scolded herself. It’s all in your head. It’s Hugh getting to you. This is Simon. This is the man you love and who loves you. Stop freaking yourself out.
Nina closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, it was the old Simon she saw. The look was gone. He knelt down beside her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Let it all go,” he said sweetly.
Nina felt foolish, and angry with herself. If there was anyone to be suspicious about, it was Hugh. She had to make a decision. One way or another, she had to let all this nonsense go. There was simply no reason to suspect that this beautiful man who had come into her life when she needed him most was anything but wonderful.
Tension left her body as she powered down the computer.
“Come back to bed, babe,” Simon said as he led Nina upstairs.
His warm voice made her relax. He’d drawn down the covers, and Nina climbed underneath. Gently he rubbed her back until her eyelids grew heavy.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed the back of her head. “We have everything we need.” As he continued to rub her back, it was as if he were erasing her doubts. Soon her limbs felt heavy, and before she knew it, Nina was fast asleep.
She awoke with a start to find it was still dark outside. The clock on the cable box read 5:30, thirty minutes before her alarm would sound. She leaned over to see Simon sleeping peacefully beside her. But why had she awoken so suddenly, pained by a gnawing anxiousness? Then it came to her: Simon was asleep, but had he been the whole night? Was there any chance he might have snuck downstairs, opened the laptop, and launched a browser window? If he did, he might have been in for quite the surprise. In her distracted state, Nina had forgotten the one thing she had meant to do before returning to bed.
She’d forgotten to clear the browser history.
CHAPTER 37
Don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t cooperate, and watch your children die.
That was the message drilled into Glen’s head time and time again. But it wasn’t only threats that had made Glen obedient. There were the beatings. Though they had lessened over time, the irregularity of them had Glen always on edge.
They came and went with Simon’s mood, like he was the weather, stormy or calm, hard to predict. He used Glen like a punching bag to take out his frustrations. They were near constant in the initial months. Simon had wanted to be with Nina and the children the same day he took Glen, but at some level he understood feelings would have to develop somewhat naturally.
There was punishment for fighting back. One effective counterstrike would quickly get Simon to break off his attack and move to the safe zone outside the box. Once there, he’d hit Glen with a police-grade Taser capable of shooting upwards of thirty feet away. Glen had received enough jolts to zap the fight out of him, literally. His conditioned strategy to any acts of violence was to shield himself as best he could from the blows while waiting for Simon’s storm to pass.
As Simon grew more complacent in his new life with Nina, the beatings became less frequent, until they stopped altogether. But when the door to the box flew open, Glen knew something terrible was coming his way.
He had been enjoying a dreamless sleep, so much easier than the other kind. The basement lights were on, so he could see Simon’s face as he neared. Fear bubbled in Glen’s gut. He recognized the familiar look in Simon’s eyes.
The blackness was back. The darkness. The rage.
Cocking his fist, Simon threw a punch that connected hard with Glen’s face, just below the right orbital socket. It was a solid strike, though Glen was sure Simon pulled back a bit. For obvious reasons, he couldn’t bring Glen to a hospital.
Simon threw another punch to the head, but this blow Glen deflected. Instead of fighting back, Glen’s Pavlovian response kicked in. Box. Taser. Defend only. Wait it out. For the next volley, instead of going high, Simon went low. Glen had no idea what was coming. He went to the ground, moving his hands up to cover his face a split second before Simon’s kick sank into the fleshiest part of his abdomen. Glen gasped as air sprang from his lungs. He rolled to avoid Simon’s next attack, but couldn’t roll far enough and was kicked twice in the back. The sudden movement pulled on his ankle restraint, gouging out a chunk of his flesh.
Blood seeped from an open wound to Glen’s lower leg, setting a dark stain against his gray sweatpants. To avoid the next volley, Glen rolled onto his stomach, but Simon straddled him and threw more punches to the back of Glen’s head, grunting like a rabid animal as he landed blow after blow. Glen bucked and squirmed beneath Simon, trying desperately to worm his way out.
“Simon! Simon!” Glen said, pleading. “Stop! Please! Stop! What’s wrong? Talk to me. I can help.”
Simon panted, and his fist went back yet again, but this time, he didn’t throw the punch.