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Tillie

I wished with all my heart I could have met Xavier in another life.

Or, at least before I’d met Paul St. Martin.

Paul had been charismatic, handsome, and way out of my league.

But we’d met at church and my parents had loved him.

Mostly because he had money and owned a local meat processing plant.

My father thought Paul was his path to easy street.

My mother thought her standing with the church women would rise.

I let them push me toward him, never seeing the monster hiding under his charming exterior. The worst part was that no one believed me when I told them he’d hurt me. At least, I’d thought it was the worst part. I found out how wrong I was when word got back to him of my accusations.

I shook the memory. The very last person I wanted to think about today was Paul.

Saturdays were my happy days. I got to spend an hour talking with Xavier.

There was always the glass between us, but it still felt personal.

He’d sacrificed everything to free me from hell.

Me. A stranger he’d come across on the road during a raging storm.

The least I could do was come visit him once a week.

As I got in my car, I pulled my notebook and crayon out of my back pocket and set them down.

Then I started the engine and adjusted the air conditioning before taking my phone out and putting the number Xavier had given me into my contacts.

I doubted I’d ever use it, but the contact was one more tie I had with Xavier and, right or wrong, I wanted every tie to the man I could get.

He was everything Paul was not, and everything I never knew I wanted.

My new home was only twenty minutes away from the prison property.

I hadn’t done it on purpose, but when I found this small but wonderful farmhouse with thirteen acres of land at such a reasonable price, it had seemed like fate.

This was where I was supposed to be. And really, I could write anywhere in the world I wanted to.

Sure, electricity and the Internet would be a huge help but weren’t strictly necessary.

The fact my place was off by itself where no one would bother me guaranteed I’d spend many days and evenings on the front porch with my laptop.

* * *

It had been two weeks since I’d told Xavier about my house. I’d printed out pictures to show him last week. I’d hoped to print out a few more before I went to see him tomorrow.

I’d taken actual possession of the property yesterday morning.

I hadn’t brought much with me because I didn’t have much.

My clothes, laptop, office chair, a makeshift desk, and my car.

That was all. My mother and father had sold off anything I got from Paul’s estate as payment for me living with them after Paul’s death so while I had a bit of cash and a decent vehicle, I had very little else.

Thank God for that money, too, because I’d been living in a hotel for two months before I found and bought this place.

The cash payment I’d offered was the only way I’d managed the purchase.

The owner came down on what I thought was an already pretty good price and let me have the keys a week later once the paperwork had all been filed.

I sighed happily as I pulled onto the long drive to the house and into the attached garage.

This was my new home. I was proud I’d been able to buy the place by myself.

If the money I’d used to make the purchase had come from my dead husband, I’d still count it as buying the house with my blood and so much pain.

Besides, I might not make much money as an author, but I made enough for payments on this house even if I’d taken out a mortgage.

I counted that as proof I was a success.

Small-time, maybe, but a success nonetheless.

Saturdays were devoted to Xavier, but Sunday through Thursday brought me back to the real world.

Figuratively speaking. Because my world was pure fantasy.

Literally. I could make up any world I wanted and that was my reality for the next six days.

The only time I had to poke my head out into the real real world was to go to the grocery on Friday mornings.

Technically I also went out on Saturdays to see Xavier, but then I didn’t think about anything other than my time with him.

It was important to me to make every minute count. For both of us.

* * *

It was now Friday afternoon, over a month since Xavier had given me a way to contact him. I hadn’t needed to use the phone number, obviously, but I liked having that connection in my hand. I often stared at the number I’d labeled “Xavier’s Friends.” It made me feel less alone.

I always allowed myself Friday afternoon to do whatever I wanted. I’d read or binge-watch a TV show or bake something. I’d just come from doing my weekly shopping and was going to make my favorite recipe of egg noodles, cheese, ground beef, and tomatoes. It was my comfort food.

Tomorrow was my hour with Xavier. It wasn’t as long a day as before I moved to Terre Haute, but I liked to have a dinner I could heat up quickly at home.

Not often, but occasionally, they extended visiting for an additional hour or two.

Sometimes, that additional time wasn’t in the same block.

So I might have to wait a couple hours between them.

Having leftovers made one less thing for me to have to do when I got home.

Without fail, I was always emotionally exhausted.

Because, the fact was, I couldn’t imagine my life without our visits.

Before I entered the house with my groceries, a chill went up my spine. I froze, key in the lock, looking around the area. The garage door was off the kitchen with a covered walkway between the two. I stood in the walkway and set my bags on the concrete.

“Who’s there?” I called out, not sure what I expected to happen but really hoping I was being paranoid. Sometimes, going to the prison was more than a little scary, so it was certainly possible I was imagining things. “Hello?”

Just as I was about to relax, a large figure stepped part way out of the shadows, enough for me to see the imposing figure in dark jeans, a dark, long-sleeved shirt, and black leather gloves.

I couldn’t see his face or any identifying marks, but surely there couldn’t be many men as large as this guy.

“You’re not to go past the fuckin’ fence in the backyard.

If you do, you won’t fuckin’ live to get back inside the fuckin’ fence.

” When I said nothing, he shifted his weight and I shied away instinctively.

“Understand, girl?” I nodded, but he clenched his fists in anger.

“Bitch, say you understand,” he snarled.

“I-I under-understand.”

“Don’t leave this fuckin’ house until Monday. Go inside and don’t leave. Don’t get your fuckin’ mail. Don’t answer your door if anyone comes the fuck over. Understand?”

I nodded again before finding my voice. “Yes. I understand.”

Then he stepped into the shadows and disappeared.

For several long seconds I stood frozen in place, unable to make myself move. My heart pounded so hard I could feel my throat throb as well. Was I hallucinating? Had I imagined the entire encounter?

But the faint scent of sweat and stale cigarette smoke lingering on the soft breeze confirmed I hadn’t dreamed the encounter.

Someone had been waiting for me outside my house.

Warning me not to go past the fence. I wasn’t sure what to do.

I didn’t want to stay here, but it sounded like it might be safer to do what he said.

One thing was for damn sure, I wasn’t going past the fucking fence.

I had no one to help me, and after my experience with the police when I was with Paul, I couldn’t make myself call 9-1-1 for help.

At least I’d had cuts and bruises to prove Paul had been hitting me.

How was I going to prove someone had been outside my house threatening me?

When I finally spurred myself into action, I unlocked the door with trembling hands and nearly tripped over my grocery sack I’d set next to the door.

Thank God, it was only one large sack. I was able to loop it over my arm while I stumbled inside and shut the door, pushed the deadbolt closed, and turned the lock on the knob.

I dropped the sack before rushing through my house and turning on every light in the place. I checked in every closet and cabinet, every hidden nook and cranny I knew about.

I hurried to check the front and back doors.

Both remained deadbolted and the knob locks were engaged.

There were no broken windows or anything indicating someone had been in my house, but I was still officially freaked the fuck out.

I wasn’t sure how safe I felt here but, unless I called the cops, I was stuck for now.

Pulling out my phone, I pulled up the app controlling my lights. If the guy had someone watching the house, the last thing I wanted was for them to know which room I was in. So I shut them all out at once and crouched in the corner by the stove, a cast-iron skillet in my white-knuckled grip.

The kitchen floor was cold against my bare legs as I huddled there, trembling. Part of me wanted to crawl into a closet, but I couldn’t make myself move from my spot. Every creak of the house settling sent fresh waves of panic through me.

I’d survived Paul. I’d started building a new life. And now this?

My phone glowed in the darkness as I stared at it. The screen dimmed, then went black. I tapped the screen awake again and pulled up my contact list. My mother. My father. Right. No help there.

Xavier.