supposed nervous breakdown where they warned me about the dangers of abusing drugs.
“Valium is highly addictive,” the doctor told me.
It might have been the only time I ever laughed during the whole experience. I didn’t tell him that thanks to my mother, I’d been addicted to Valium for years—living like some junkie, only I’d never known it, alternately overly sedated or in the throes of withdrawal.
For a long time I beat myself up, asking how I couldn’t have known. But I ended up making peace with it. My mother had kept me locked within a strictly controlled environment where she could bend reality in any manner she wished. The brainwashing had started while I was very young, and as long as nobody on the outside challenged it, and as long as she kept me isolated, I remained in the dark, never stood a chance of finding the light.
When I returned home from the hospital I was a changed person. I’d been to the bottom, and in that process, finally got to see what was left.
Nothing.
I was tired of keeping secrets, tired of being the victim, tired of my mother and all her lies. She knew it, too, and kept her distance. We barely spoke a word to each other throughout the summer.
Soon September came, and thanks to Warren, I was out of there. I went off to college, finally freeing myself from hell, the one she’d owned and operated. As the years wore on, I had less and less to do with her, and as that happened, she continued losing the hold she’d once had on me.
But not all of it.
I could travel to the far ends of the earth, off the planet, even, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Her ghosts still lingered, always would; they’d become a part of me. That’s the most tragic thing about child abuse and its effects —they never leave, just take on another form. The abuser goes on living as if nothing has ever happened while the victim pays the price.
And that’s the biggest lie.
Chapter Fifty-Two
It seemed as if the Texas Plains were becoming the backdrop for our lives and perhaps the saddest of metaphors: a never-ending road. Muted shades of brown flanked both sides of a dusty blacktop, one that seemed to go nowhere.
Just like us.
The events of the past few days were catching up to me, and I could feel my mind and body quickly approaching overload. Now our lives were in more danger than ever, all because of a note and a necklace.
We drove on.
“We can’t go back to Telethon,” CJ said. “That’s the first place he’ll look for us. It feels like there’s nowhere else left to run.”
I sighed. The Road to Nowhere was getting longer all the time.
About ten minutes later, I noticed CJ looking at me funny.
“What?” I said.
She sniffed. Sniffed again. “I think we’ve got a problem.”
I took a deep breath through my nose, and smelled something burning. “Oh, no,” I said. “No, damn it,
I drove onto the shoulder, pulled to a stop—and as soon as I did, smoke began to drift from under the hood.
“Just when you think it can’t get any worse…” CJ said.
“It does.”
We both got out of the car. I popped the hood and jumped back as a stinking cloud of smoke boiled out.
“I don’t believe this,” CJ said, leaning against the car, crossing her arms and shaking her head. Then she kicked a little dirt.
I knelt and looked under the car. A puddle was already forming on the ground. I stuck my finger in it, took a whiff, looked at CJ. “It’s the radiator. We need to get to a service station.”
“There’s nothing for miles around here,” she said. “Where will we go?”
“Maybe we can flag someone down for help,” I said.
“But what about Bill?”
“Just make sure the safety is off on your gun.”
CJ took the gun out of her purse.
And we waited.
About ten minutes later, we saw a car coming, off in the distance.
“It’s a patrol car,” CJ said, looking ahead and looking relieved, her hand over her forehead to block the sun.
The wind had picked up again, and the air was thick with dust. I squinted as the green and white sheriff’s vehicle rolled toward us.
CJ stowed the gun in her purse, then began flagging him down. She glanced over at me. “It’s the deputy from the diner!”
The car slowed down, came to a halt. The deputy leaned over toward the passenger window.
Before he could say anything, CJ said, “We’ve broken down. Can you get us some help?”
“The nearest service station is up in Boulevard,” he said. “It’s a good fifty miles from here.”
I roofed my hands over my face to shield it from the blowing dust and dirt, tried to speak over the whistling wind. “Can you call them for a tow?”
“No point,” the deputy shouted back, also pitching his voice over the forceful winds, “Jim Shemple’s closed on Wednesdays. It’s his fishing day.”
CJ threw her hands up and said, “You’ve got to be joking.”
The deputy shook his head.
“What can we do?” I asked.
Another strong wind came rushing through, blowing sticks and dirt in our faces, and nearly forcing CJ off the road.
“I could drive you there,” he shouted. “We might get hold of his nephew, Jessie… he lives just a few blocks from the station. He tows for Jim. But it’d be best if you come with, just in case we can’t find him.”
I gave him a nod. “That would be great. We’d sure appreciate it.”
“Hop in, then,” he said.
We piled into the front because the back was filled with all his gear. CJ sat next to the deputy, and I got in after.
“Thanks so much for the help,” CJ said once we were on the road. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
The young man kept his eyes on the road, nodded, smiled politely.
“Something was leaking from a hose,” CJ continued. “It might be an easy fix if we can find the mechanic.”
Then I glanced over at his waistband, and something immediately caught my attention.
Both of his holsters were empty.
I heard what sounded like the slide of an automatic handgun clicking into place, then cold steel on the back of my neck.
“Gawd a mighty, this conversation’s as dull as dishwater,” Bill Williams said. “How ‘bout we liven things up some?”
CJ gasped.
The car kept rolling.
The gun’s barrel slid from the nape of my neck to the soft spot on the back of my head. I felt the burn in my stomach.
“So nice to finally meet you folks,” Bill said with a thick southern drawl, now moving the barrel over to CJ’s head and teasing her curls with it. I could see him in the rearview mirror, all big grin and cold, cold eyes. “Although,
