Chapter 05
1516 Words
CARMEN
The question hung in the air. It was such a simple question people ask in everyday conversation, but it weighed heavily on me. Too heavy. It was like remembering I was a person. And an individual. Not a shadow weeping and trembling in the corner, hoping to survive.
For a long moment, I didn’t answer. I didn’t really know how to.
My name carried weight.
My family’s identity and connections were still remembered. Everyone in the business world knew William McCready and Arthur Nelson.
Giving my name meant danger.
But they had rescued me. They’d cared for me deeply, even driving me across several states, never asking for anything in return.
Because of that, I owed them honesty.
“C-carmen,” I whispered.
Ellen’s expression softened. “That’s a beautiful name.”
Frank shifted slightly, his voice calm but serious.
“Carmen, we need to ask you some things.”
My fingers clenched the blanket as fear tightened in my stomach. I knew they would want answers, but part of me hoped they would forget. I don’t know.
“Can you tell us a bit of what happened to you?”
The question was gentle; it wasn’t accusing, nor was it forceful.
They asked out of concern, but still, the answer felt overwhelming.
Too big to explain in a single breath.
My mind flashed with memories.
Arthur’s fists.
The locked door.
Three years of isolation.
The beatings.
The humiliation.
The broken bones that had never been properly treated.
Ellen watched my face carefully.
“You don’t have to tell us everything right now,” Ellen said quickly, concern sharpening her words as she saw my hesitation. “But we need to understand enough to know how to help you.”
Frank nodded.
"Because whoever did this to you—they’re dangerous," he said, his voice low. "And I suspect you were never meant to be on that road the other night. You weren’t meant to be found and saved."
His jaw tight, Frank continued gravely, “And if they’re looking for you, we need to be prepared.”
A shiver ran through me, snapping me from the momentary sense of security back into the chill of fear. That fragile safety seemed suddenly more distant.
There was no doubt in my mind that Arthur would be looking for me the moment he realized I was gone.
My voice trembled slightly.
“He will be looking for me. I don’t doubt that at all.”
Ellen leaned forward slightly. “He?”
My throat tightened.
I had avoided saying his name for years, but hiding it now wouldn’t change anything.
“My husband,” I whispered, my voice nearly inaudible.
Frank’s expression darkened immediately. “Your husband did this?”
I nodded faintly.
Ellen’s hand lifted slowly to cover her mouth. “Oh my Goddess—”
Frank’s eyes hardened.
“How long?”
The question made my stomach twist, and I stared at the blanket in my lap.
“—It started about three years ago.”
The room fell silent.
Ellen inhaled sharply. “Three years?”
Another small nod.
Tears stung the corner of my eye, hovering there as control warred with the urge to break down. I felt a sharp vulnerability replacing numbness, but the tears didn’t fall.
Not yet.
Frank ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to control his anger.
Frank ran a hand through his hair and asked carefully, his frustration evident, “And no one helped you?”
I let out a faint, humourless breath.
“One of the housekeepers would sneak me food or bandages once a week, but my husband’s latest live-in mistress must have seen, because she told my husband to get rid of Nancy, and he did. I never saw her again. He’s powerful, and no one goes against him.”
Frank pressed gently, his voice encouraging, “What does that mean?”
My voice felt hollow when I answered.
“He owns people. He’s a powerful man. There is nowhere in this country that he won’t be able to find me at some point.”
The weight of those words settled over the room.
Ellen’s eyes filled with quiet sadness.
“That explains the scars,” she murmured softly, her eyes reflecting deep empathy.
Frank paced a step away before turning back. “What’s his name, Carmen?”
My chest tightened again.
Saying it out loud felt like inviting his shadow back into the room, like he was my version of Bloody Mary. Saying his name out loud could summon him here, and then I would never survive him again. But they needed to know what they were now involved in.
“His name is Arthur Nelson.”
Frank froze.
There was instant recognition in his expression.
He asked slowly, recognition dawning in his eyes, “You mean the Arthur Nelson from the magazine cover for Business Weekly?”
The way he said it made my stomach sink, shifting my anxiety into something heavier—a mix of shame and fear because, of course, they had heard of him.
Of course, they had heard of him.
Arthur thrived on publicity, reputation, and most of all, fear. He took over companies, absorbed and destroyed them.
I nodded weakly.
Ellen and Frank exchanged a troubled look.
Frank muttered under his breath, “That’s a big name.”
Ellen reached out gently, resting her hand lightly over mine.
“Carmen,” she said softly. “You’re safe here right now. You’re safe with us.”
Her words were meant to offer comfort, but fear and doubt still lingered, swirling together deep inside my chest. For every reassuring moment, anxiety seemed to creep back in.
Arthur had always found a way to get what he wanted.
Always.
Frank spoke again after a moment, changing the subject, which I appreciated.
Frank explained, shifting the conversation, “Okay, let’s discuss your injuries now. We brought you to someone we trust to get those X-rays and set your leg properly. You’re lucky. It was a clean break.”
Lucky.
The word almost made me laugh.
Ellen squeezed my hand slightly.
Ellen squeezed my hand and asked gently, “But the other injuries—Carmen, some of these scars are years old. Broken bones that never healed right.”
I looked away. I knew that. Last year, my arm was broken, but without treatment, I still felt the phantom pains when it rained or turned cold in the winter. It trembled if I carried too much weight on it.
Arthur had been thorough.
Every bruise.
Every mark.
Every reminder that I belonged to him.
“You’ve been sleeping for nearly a week, to be honest. We arrived here three days ago, and you still hadn’t woken. We were starting to get concerned.”
A week?
My panic spiked. Arthur knew without a doubt that I was gone by now. That meant—he was already out there, hunting for me.
Ellen must have sensed my flare of panic. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“No one will find you here. Our friend, Doctor Wilson, understands discretion. This isn’t the first time he’d help someone injured off the records.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but stayed quiet.
Frank’s voice softened slightly.
“What we need to know now,” he said carefully, “is what you want to do.”
The question surprised me.
What did I want?
I hadn’t been asked what I wanted in a very long time.
My mind felt blank, caught in the gulf between an old life ruled by fear and the sudden, overwhelming possibility of a future. At the thought, my emotions shifted from uncertainty to a fragile hope, and then back to emptiness.
For years, there had only been one reality.
Survive Arthur.
Taking the abuse, day by day.
Now that reality was gone, and it was replaced by something terrifying.
Freedom.
I swallowed slowly.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never been able to think about the future when all I could focus on was shrinking myself to survive.”
Ellen’s hand tightened gently around mine as she murmured, “That’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll help you with that, too.”
Frank nodded.
“You don’t have to figure it out today.”
Outside the window, the sunlight shifted slightly as the afternoon moved forward.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t locked in a room. I wasn’t waiting for Arthur’s footsteps in the hallway. The guards weren’t laughing and making crude jokes about me in the halls while they stood guard. The staff weren’t scurrying around pretending not to see the abuse and cruelty.
And somewhere deep in my mind, those haunting green eyes flickered through my memory.
Watching me.
Waiting.
Patient.
The memory of the Grizzly man watching me from the lush forest warmed something fragile inside my chest.
It gave me a spark of something, telling me that maybe my life wasn’t over after all.
It was just beginning.
- Writer
