Squeak

Abduction

Helen

I returned from my safe with our passports in hand and smiled at the sight of my granddaughter jumping up and down on my bed with her kitten ear headphones on. Izabel was my everything, and the thought of never seeing, holding, or kissing her, having our tea parties, and spending Papa King's money ever again threatened to send me into one of the worst downward spirals I had ever experienced.

I loaded a gun with bullets meant for Jacob and was ready to end my son's life. I loved him—God knows I did, but he went too far by trying to take Izabel from me. How could he be so selfish when I was the only one who loved him before Jezebel came along? His father didn't love him. Jacob felt immense pride when it came to the child he forced in me and became even more prideful as the child grew and began favoring him more and more as the years passed. He thought of Erik as his progeny in all aspects—nothing would make him happier for Erik to turn out just like him.

Unsurprisingly, Erik was not enough for Jacob. He wanted many children to continue his legacy, but I refused and flushed four of Jacob's children down the toilet. I'd be damned if I helped contribute to his homegrown terrorist organization. He thought I was defective because I couldn't give him another child, and he made sure to let me know how worthless I was. I was an idiot for saving him.

Jacob King's hold on me was unexplainable, and I hadn't realized how mentally disturbed I was until I killed Charles, triggering Jacob's suspicious return. It was then that I realized I was my own harbinger of my pain. I could've left while he was away—changed my name and hair—and undergone minor plastic surgery if I was desperate enough, but I didn't. And the truly fucked up part was that he knew I wouldn't. He knew he struck the fear of God in me several years ago when he murdered the first and only man I ever loved outside of my son.

"Joaquin," I whispered, wiping away fresh tears.

Joaquin and Erik were my reasons for staying. I had convinced myself that I deserved Jacob's punishment because Joaquin's death was my fault. I shouldn't have entertained him when he approached me in the museum, asking my opinion on a Monet. I was startled at first. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it was deep and comforting, like a smooth shot of aged bourbon. Minus his height, Joaquin was the exact opposite of my husband, and that's what drew me to him. He was lean with pale skin with freckles that dotted his perpetual blushing cheeks and nose. His eyes were a crisp blue, bright and clear, free of the negative effects of alcohol and stimulants. He dressed like an English gentleman with a tweed sport coat and an Oxford dress shirt, vest, tie, and khaki pants. Jacob would've taken one look at him and called him a pretentious fucker. Still, I was attracted to the pretentious fucker. I'd never met anyone with such kind eyes and a gentle smile.

Joaquin spent the afternoon giving me a personal tour. He was polite, knowledgeable without sounding like a 'pretentious fucker,' and effortlessly humorous. I laughed genuinely, something that hadn't happened since I was 17 and took the familiar path from teen Bible Study to my home. I wished I wasn't so lost in my own world. I wished my natural instincts and fight or flight kicked in when the sleek, black sedan rumbled behind me on that dirt road where cherub-like Helen Warren vanished. That day, God disappeared, and the Devil took his place.

My faith in God slowly began to return as I dated Joaquin. He made me feel revered with his swoon-worthy love letters that could only be described as pieces of art, his subdued touches that ghosted over healed broken bones and faded bruises, and his promises of a future free of pain and abuse.

I was embarrassed when we shared our first kiss. I came at him rough and aggressive, accidentally nipping his lip too hard and making him bleed. I wanted to shrink into myself when he pulled away abruptly and pressed his fingers against his bottom lip. I cried when Jacob's harsh words reminded me of how worthless and stupid I was, of how I could never do anything right. But like the amazing man he was, Joaquin consoled me and let me know it wasn't my fault. He was aware I was in an abusive marriage and that my view of intimacy was skewed. He wanted to try again but asked permission to take the lead. He mentioned that we could stop at any time—an option that was never afforded to me before. His lips met mine so softly that I hadn't realized for several seconds that he was kissing me. My heart raced, but not from fear. I was losing myself in Joaquin, but in a good way—in a way that made me feel powerful—powerful enough to pack me and Erik's stuff and leave Jacob for good. I could restart my life, never looking back on the horrors that befell me.

Weeks had passed of Joaquin's lessons on intimacy before we made love. I was a nervous wreck, and Joaquin took my shaking as a sign of fear and backed off. I rushed to explain that I was scared, but only because I didn't know what to do. I was far from a virgin, but I had never made love before. I didn't even know what to do with my hands. They were usually forced above my head or behind my back. He asked me if I trusted him. I said yes, and that night would be seared into my brain forever.

"Are you okay, Nana King?"

I sniffed and wiped away my tears. "I'm okay, sweetheart."

"Are you sad because you'll miss Papa King when we go on our trip?"

The man can rot in Hell.

"Are you excited for our trip?" I asked, refusing to answer her question.

"Yes! We are going to have so much fun!"

"Yes...we...are."

She took one final jump as I zipped up our suitcase, and she bounced on her butt before sliding off.

"We have to go say goodbye to everyone."

"We don't have time. We'll miss our flight."

"B-but my mommy will be sad if I don't say bye. And Daddy Erik and Papa, too."

"We'll say goodbye at the airport. Will that work?"

Izabel shrugged her shoulders. "I guess so."

"Do you have Muffin?"

"Mhm!" she confirmed, reaching for the stuffed teddy bear.

"Good. Let's make haste," I said, pulling up the security cameras. I smiled widely as I watched Jezebel nearly stab Jacob to death. I rolled my eyes when Erik stopped her but perked up again when she kicked my husband in the face—knocking him out cold.

Let her finish the fucking job, Erik!

"Come on, sweetheart," I said when Adrian gave me my window of opportunity when he entered the kitchen. I grabbed Izabel's hand and the suitcase and ran like the wind. The poor child couldn't keep up. I squatted, put her on my back, and raced to the garage. I threw the suitcase in the backseat and dumped Izabel into the passenger seat of my SUV. My heart didn't stop racing until I was halfway to the airport.

I glanced at Izabel, who happily sang along with Aretha Franklin on the radio. She spelled 'respect' incorrectly, but she couldn't do anything wrong in my eyes.

Erik wants me to leave Jacob? Okay...done. But I'm taking my grandbaby with me. 

03/17/2024