Page 4 of Guarded by the Gargoyle (Hidden Hollow #3)

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WILLOW

C arlo was a big, burly guy with sandy brown hair and brown eyes. He was powerfully built and had played football back in high school, where I met him. Back then he was a big deal—the quarterback of the winning football team at Cohen College Prep High—go Hornets!

Despite its name, Cohen College Prep or CCP wasn’t great at getting anyone ready for higher education. It was, in fact, a pretty rough place with metal detectors at every door and teachers that were dead behind the eyes from all the violence they’d witnessed. I felt like the luckiest girl alive when Carlo turned his attention to me and offered me his protection.

I wasn’t feeling quite so lucky after we graduated, went to college, and got married. The minute I said, “I do” the abuse started. It was the beginning of a long, miserable chapter in my life that I was still healing from. For a time, I had become convinced it would end in my death as Carlo got more and more violent.

Yes, I became one of those women—I wore long sleeves to hide the bruises on my arms and sunglasses even on cloudy days to disguise my black eyes. I tried to pretend that nothing was wrong—both to myself and to everyone around me—but Pop-pop saw through my deception.

“Willow my love,” he said sorrowfully. “He’s no good for you, this football boy. He’s hurting you all the time!”

“I’m fine, Pop-pop,” I mumbled, trying to smile. Inside I was aching though. At that point the abuse had been going on for years and I was used to it—resigned to it. I was numb because I thought I would never get away.

Lots of people wonder why abused women stay with their abusers—why they don’t leave immediately. Why they leave and go back again and again to the same, awful situation.

The reason is complicated and complex. A messy mixture of love and hate and emotional manipulation and betrayal that sucks you in like a spider’s web and keeps you from ever quite getting free.

At first, Carlo would cry after he hit me. He would beg for forgiveness—bring me flowers and take me on dates to fancy restaurants—ones with low lighting where the makeup hiding my bruises wouldn’t show so much. He swore he loved me and he just lost control.

“You know you make me crazy, babe!” he’d say, giving a rueful little laugh. “I wouldn’t get so worked up if I didn’t love you so much!”

I spent years believing that was true—believing that my husband loved me so much it made him hit me. And that somehow it was all my fault. If only I didn’t provoke him so much, he wouldn’t hurt me. Though usually all it took to provoke him was serving him dinner five minutes late or having another man notice me when we went out, or any of the hundred other little things that made him lose control.

I only began to believe otherwise about halfway into our marriage, but by that time it was too late—Carlo had graduated from the Police Academy and was a full-fledged cop.

Now, I’m not saying “all men” or “all cops” but you can look up the statistics for yourself on how many wives of cops are abused every year and how little they can do about it. The department protects its own and they almost never prosecute a fellow cop, no matter what his spouse says—or how bad she looks at the annual Christmas party for that matter.

I did hear Carlo’s partner, Josh Sampson, try to say something to him once after he came to our house for dinner and saw the state I was in. This was right after Carlo had pushed me down the front steps of our house and I’d ended up with some broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and multiple bruises.

“Jesus, man!” I heard him mutter to my husband when I was in the kitchen, trying to wrestle a roasted chicken out of the oven one-handed, since my left arm was in a sling. “You’ve got to start going easy on your wife! Willow’s looking really banged up!”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Carlo had demanded defensively. “She fell down the steps—that’s all. Landed on the fucking sidewalk—not my fault.”

“You sure you didn’t help her down those steps?” Josh demanded. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her looking like shit.”

“She looks like shit because she won’t take care of herself,” Carlo had protested. “Getting fat as a fucking pig, sitting around here all day while I’m out slaving to keep her in style. So what if I gave her a little push? I had to teach her a lesson. Women are too fucking mouthy—gotta keep ‘em in line, right?”

And then I’d seen him nudge his partner with an elbow and grin as I stared through the crack in the door.

“Yeah, well…just don’t push her into a fucking grave.” Josh had looked uneasy. “That would be going too far.”

But apparently shoving me down the steps and punching me in the face wasn’t going too far. I saw Josh giving me sidelong glances throughout the meal, but he never said anything else—and never tried to help me either.

So much for “to protect and to serve.”

That moment in our marriage was a kind of wake-up call for me. I began to open my eyes—which had been swollen shut too often from Carlo’s punches—and realize that what was happening wasn’t right. At long last, I began to think about getting away from my husband.

The problem was, Carlo wasn’t about to let me go.

When I tried to bring it up—pointing out that I had never been able to give him children and he deserved to be with someone who could—he shut me down, hard.

“You’re never leaving me, babe—you understand?” He had me by the shoulders, his fingers digging into my arms and his face shoved right into mine, our foreheads touching. His breath smelled like stale beer and the cigars he and his partner liked to smoke to relax. “Fucking never. You try and I’ll hunt you down and drag you back home—and you won’t like what happens next, I promise you that!”

So that was my life. I had just about given up all hope of ever getting away from him when suddenly, for no apparent reason, he just seemed to start losing interest.

He stopped calling me all the time to check on my location. Our whole marriage I hadn’t been allowed to have a job because he wanted me at home where he could keep tabs on me—that way he said, he didn’t have to worry about “other men sniffing around,” as he put it. But all of a sudden, when my Grandfather asked if I could help him at the shop, Carlo agreed, though he had refused to give me permission for years.

That was just the start. Gradually, my husband’s grip on me loosened. He began to stay out late with his friends and go to bars with the guys instead of coming straight home, where I had better have supper waiting for him if I didn’t want a twisted wrist or a fat lip. He even stopped looking through my phone on a daily basis to make sure I hadn’t been “flirting” with strange men. (I never would have dared. The one time a male friend from high school tried to contact me on Facebook, Carlo put my arm in a cast.)

At the time, it felt like a kind of miracle. Slowly but surely the noose that had been around my neck ever since I was stupid enough to say, “I do,” began to loosen. Sometimes Carlo would stay out all night and when he finally came home, he seemed surprised to see me there—it was as though he had forgotten all about me. As though he’d forgotten he even had a wife.

I knew he was seeing other women at this time—I didn’t give a damn. I was just happy and relieved to know that he was finally loosening his grip on me. From high school on, he had been obsessed with me—completely fixated on everything I did and said—and somehow everything was always wrong.

Now, he stopped hitting me if the kitchen table had some crumbs on it. He no longer went into a furious rage if dinner wasn’t exactly what he wanted and ready the minute he walked in the door. Because half the time, he didn’t even show up for dinner, leaving me in peace.

At the same time this was happening, Pop-pop started getting thinner and looking his age—which he never had before. His thick black hair finally turned silver and then started to thin and his booming voice got softer.

I’m ashamed to say I didn’t put two and two together—I just thought Pop-pop was aging. It wasn’t until later that I suspected there was a link between my Grandfather’s gradual illness and my husband’s loss of interest in me. I was too busy trying to get free of my awful marriage to consider why Carlo was slowly loosening his stranglehold on my life.

Finally, I dared to present him with divorce papers. With Pop-pop’s encouragement, I had gone to a lawyer he knew of who specialized in no-fault divorces. All I needed was Carlo’s signature and I would be free.

I really expected him to lose the strange calm that had come over him and beat me when I showed the paperwork to him. Instead, to my incredulous relief, he signed—actually signed and let me go!

That very night I moved back in with my Pop-pop, who continued to get thinner and weaker. I had never heard from Carlo again…

Until now.

Now my ex was standing in the front of my shop, his eyes narrowed as he stared at me. It was as though I was an old acquaintance that he used to know from high school—someone he was trying to place.

“Hey, uh…uh…” He snapped his fingers like you do when you’re trying to remember a name or a word that’s on the tip of your tongue.

“Yes, officer? How can I help you?” I asked blandly, not giving him any help.

Carlo didn’t answer my question.

“I know I know you from somewhere,” he said to me. “Your face is so familiar!”

My heart was pounding in my chest but I tried to keep my expression calm. My suspicions about why Carlo had let me go were cemented in that moment.

Remember I told you I was pretty sure that my Grandfather had something to do with it? Well, now I was absolutely sure. He must have put some kind of spell or curse or something on my ex to make him lose interest in me and then, to eventually forget me completely.

But now he was back in my shop and I could almost see the memories flooding back into his head.

“Carlo—that’s Willow, your ex,” his partner Josh said, frowning. “You telling me you don’t even recognize her?”

“Willow?” A look of dawning comprehension broke over Carlo’s cruelly handsome face. “Oh, yeah— Willow!” he said, striding over to me.

“Hi, Carlo,” I said, still trying to play it cool. “I thought your precinct was across town.”

“Yeah, well—they moved us. This is our new beat,” Josh answered for him.

I saw a brief flash of frustration on his face and knew at once what had happened. Carlo had probably roughed a suspect up and gotten the department sued for police brutality again.

I say “again” because it most definitely wasn’t the first time this had happened. Carlo had gotten more complaints than almost any other officer on the New Orleans PD but instead of suspending or firing him, they just kept moving him around and giving him second, third, and fourth chances.

And now, apparently, his new precinct was the one right near my shop. Of all the lousy luck.

Still, I tried to keep calm.

“I see,” I said coolly. “Well, is there anything I can do for you? I was just setting up the shop.”

“Anything you can do?” Carlo repeated stupidly. He was still staring at me, looking more and more like a man who has woken up from a dream. Did that mean the spell my Pop-pop must have put on him was fading? I certainly hoped not.

His partner, Josh took charge.

“We saw a shoplifter run in here,” he said to me. “Black male, maybe five’ two—curly hair, brown eyes, probably around sixteen.”

Carlo blinked.

“Oh yeah—the little fucker ran right in here.” He nodded. “So where is he?”

I could feel the little boy trembling against my leg as a surge of indignation ran through me. There was no way he was a day over twelve, but I knew Carlo and his partner would pretend otherwise so they could rough him up.

“Sorry,” I said coolly. “I haven’t seen anyone who fits that description. Maybe he ran into some other shop, further down the block.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he ran in here. Let’s just have a look in the back—maybe the little fucker is hiding.”

Carlo started to come around behind the counter but I blocked his way, very aware that the little boy was hiding behind my skirt.

“Sorry, you can’t go back there,” I said firmly. “That’s my private residence.”

Carlo gave me an incredulous look.

“What are you talking about? I been back there hundreds of times—I remember now. Back when your Grandpa was still around. Where is old Pop-pop anyway?”

I felt a stab of grief but tried to keep it from showing on my face.

“He died,” I said quietly. “About a year ago. Now please leave my shop—there’s nothing here for you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Carlo was looking me up and down in that appraising way I used to dread when we were married. “You look hot in that Gypsy girl outfit,” he said to me. “Kind of whorish, but hot. Don’t know why I ever let you get away.”

My heart skipped a beat and not in a good way. Goddess above, whatever my Grandfather had done to him was definitely wearing off. I needed to get him out of my shop before he decided he wanted me back.

“I really need to go now,” I told him. “It’s inventory day—you know how long that takes.”

He frowned.

“Thought you said you were just opening the shop?”

“I really need to get back to work,” I said, not answering his question. “Your shoplifter isn’t here so why don’t you go check some of the other shops in the row? He’s probably getting away.”

“Fuck yes—he probably is!” Josh exclaimed impatiently. “C’mon, Carlo—we need to go!”

He turned for the door, but my ex still lingered. He was staring at me as though he was fixing me in his mind—making sure he didn’t forget again.

“This isn’t over, babe,” he said.

“Yes, it is. We’re divorced,” I snapped. “Now please leave .”

I knew the moment the words were out of my mouth they were a mistake. Carlo had always hated “mouthy women”—which meant any woman who disagreed with him.

“I don’t think so!” He stepped closer to me and grabbed my face in one big hand, pinching hard enough to really hurt. “I’ll leave when I’m Goddamned good and ready—not before. You got that, babe?”

Oh Goddess! Now my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break right through my ribcage. I was having waves of flashbacks—horrible memories crowded my mind like bile. All the times he had hit me, beaten me, belittled me—it all came back like a wave of putrid water trying to drown me. I felt sick—like I might faint or throw up. My mind was a blur of panic.

“Josh!” I gasped, appealing to his partner. Sometimes he could rein Carlo in—not that he tried very often, I thought resentfully.

“Carlo, come on.” His partner came over and put a hand on my ex’s shoulder. “We need to get going—that little fucker could be anywhere!”

Carlo ignored him.

“You know, for the life of me I can’t remember why I let you go,” he said, glaring into my eyes. “You were a pretty good fuck and I always liked your cooking—when you bothered to do it right. You’ve let yourself get fat but you could lose the weight—with the right motivation .”

To my shame, it was all I could do not to beg him to leave me alone. I hated to admit that he reduced me to blind panic but the way he was hurting me was bringing back so many bad memories!

Somehow, I managed not to beg.

“You’re hurting me,” I said instead, my voice coming out high and tight. His fingers and thumb were digging into the flesh of my cheeks—I was sure he was going to leave bruises on my pale skin.

“Carlo…” Josh said warningly. “You know what the Captain said—we need to avoid any incidents —at least for a while.”

A surge of anger went through me almost eclipsing the panic—why was it that men like Carlo were allowed to keep on being assholes and nobody stopped them? Why did he keep getting away with it?

“Let me go!” I said in a low, trembling voice, somehow managing to get the words out. “I’m not your wife anymore.”

“Yeah? Well, we’ll see about that.” Carlo let me go at last and took a step back, but that appraising look was back in his eyes. “Seems to me that you and I have some unfinished business, babe.”

I didn’t say anything, just stared at him as he and Josh finally left the store, the bell tinkling to announce their departure. Trouble…this meant nothing but trouble, I was sure of it. Carlo had remembered me and now that Pop-pop was gone, whatever spell or curse he had cast on him was clearly wearing off. I had a really bad feeling that I hadn’t seen the last of my ex—not by a long shot.

I put up my hand to touch the place where he had grabbed me and my fingers came away wet. Damn it, was I crying? I swiped at my eyes and took in a trembling breath that was more than half sob. It seemed that I was, though there was no way I ought to be crying over my asshole ex.

But the awful memories from my marriage—memories I had tried really hard to bury and forget—were now uppermost in my mind. They made me feel sick and sad and scared all at once. Carlo was the reason I was never, ever going to trust any man ever again. He was also the reason I never wanted to have any kind of sexual intimacy because he always made sure sex hurt. He?—

“Hey, lady—is it safe to come out?” a little voice asked and someone tugged on my skirt.

“Oh!” I looked down in surprise. In the wave of awful memories that was crowding my brain, I had completely forgotten about the boy who had been crouching behind the counter all this time, doing his best to be invisible.

“Yes—it’s safe,” I told him, swiping at my eyes again. “Though you’d probably better leave by the back way, just to be sure.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I really didn’t take anything,” he said, looking at me earnestly. “I mean, I picked up something but I put it right back. I wouldn’t never steal—my Mama would beat my ass if I did!”

I smothered a watery smile.

“I believe you. Here…” I went to the praline display and grabbed a few of the plastic wrapped candies to give to him. “Just go home and be safe, okay?” I told him.

“Thanks!” He examined the pralines eagerly. “These are my favorite .”

“You’re welcome.” I ushered him through the small back apartment and let him out. “Be careful!” I called to him as he looked around cautiously before running down the side street.

He threw a wave back at me but didn’t say anything. I watched him disappear in the early morning crowd of tourists and then shut the door and double checked the lock. I didn’t blame the boy for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he had certainly brought a whole heap of trouble to my door that I really didn’t need.

I wondered how long it would take for Carlo to show up again. Now that he had remembered me, I was very much afraid he wasn’t going to leave me alone.