Breaker (21 page)

Natalie is in her old apartment, changing into her Catholic schoolgirl uniform. She grabs a short winter coat, still wearing the gloves and hat, but showing as much leg as possible, the socks pulled up to her knees.

She skips down the sidewalk, a young girl on her way home from school, happy as can be, trying to stay warm, her long legs exposed to the elements.

As she approaches the truck she sees it slow down, hoping he's seen her in the side mirror, skipping ahead, her headphones on to make him more confident. In her peripheral vision she sees him come to a complete stop and she smiles to herself. She walks on a few steps more and then pretends to notice her shoelace is untied. She bends over, her skirt riding up a bit, then realizing she can't quite reach her shoes, goes down on one knee, her backpack set on the concrete as she ties her lace once, and then twice. She can hear the door slide open and see the man step out of the mail truck with a package in his hands. She stands up, grabs her backpack, and looks for the nearest house.

As she walks up the path to the apartment complex, she can see him behind her, the reflection in the glass as he gets closer and closer, a smile on his face, glassy eyes tracking her, his face emaciated, patchy gray beard growing in like he has mange. She pulls out her keys and reaches for the lock.

“Excuse me, miss…” he begins, as she turns around.

The package falls from his hands as the syringe aims for her neck. And in that one moment, Natalie remembers everything that Ray told her, everything he ever taught her. She swings her left hand across her body, knocking the man's arm away, kicking out with her right foot, into his crotch. In the distance she hears squealing tires, car doors opening and slamming, footsteps and radios, as her attacker bends over, his left hand drifting to his balls. As she cocks back to punch him in the face, the keys drop, and the brass knuckles slip over her fingers. He reaches out and stabs the syringe into her thigh, jabbing into the bone. Natalie screams as she straightens up, dropping the knuckles to the ground, grabbing her leg in pain. And then he sees her,
really sees her,
and realizes who she is. David Nelson's face, already pale, is now turning green, his hands going up to surrender as the police flood through the gate, but Natalie isn't having it. Her leg screams out in pain, the drugs coursing through her body, the world swimming as she takes a staggered step toward him, lurching forward, her focus on his nose, the palm of her hand shooting up into his face, cracking the septum and following through with all of the rage she's held on to, so many years alone, so many horrible men in the world, blood spraying her as his head snaps back, his mouth open, the broken cartilage shoved up into his brain.

Natalie is on him before he hits the ground, one punch after another, his face quickly smeared with blood, teeth littering the sidewalk, his body going limp. Her partner, Hanlon, pulls her off of the man, other cops streaming into the space, radioing in an ambulance, sobs escaping her as they hold her back.

David Nelson will live for four hours, his brain swollen from the trauma, his nose cartilage driven up into his frontal lobe, awake for only fifteen minutes, time enough to confess to dozens of murders spanning over twenty years. The doctors and police officers take his DNA to run against the host of crimes that have been committed in the area, which later confirms his shocking assertions.

Natalie will take a leave of absence, and never return to the police force. No charges will be brought against her, citing self-defense in the line of duty.

A week later there is a buzzing at her front door, and Natalie goes to the intercom and speaks into it.

“Who is it?” she asks.

“My name is Sandy. I'm a friend of Ray's. Or, I was, anyway.”

Natalie pauses, her hand on the buzzer, staring off into space, and then she replies, “I'll be right down.”

In her bedroom she finds the pepper spray and brass knuckles, which she slips over her right hand. She pulls on her jacket, opens the door to her apartment, and heads down several flights of stairs to the foyer below. For a moment, she flashes back to Ray and the dying cat, how he broke its neck, putting the creature out of its misery, the moment shocking to her as she hid in the shadows, the man hunched over the tiny animal as if a giant peering down a beanstalk. She shakes her head and heads to the front door, her eyes on Sandy and her hands—always that uneasy feeling that things could suddenly go south.

“How did you know Ray?” Natalie asks, pushing open the door partway.

The woman stands there, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her makeup freshly done, a long black cashmere coat over a blue business suit, her lips a velvety red.

“I work at a bank just up the street a bit. Is it okay if I come in?”

“I don't think that's a good idea. What do you want?”

Sandy nods, her head moving up and down, her eyes closing for a moment.

“I get it, it's okay,” she says. “Probably the smart thing to do. Although most rapists are men, right, Natalie?”

Natalie stares at the woman, her gut swirling, a dull rage swelling behind her eyes.

“And twenty percent of serial killers are women, so what's your fucking point?”

Sandy sighs and smiles, her teeth white and perfect.

“Ray took out a life insurance policy many years ago, a few months before he died. He appointed me as the adult custodian of the policy, since you were underage at the time.”

“He did what?”

“He named you as the primary beneficiary.”

Natalie stares at the woman, pauses for a moment, and then invites her in, up to her apartment to talk. They sit in her kitchen and have a cup of coffee, the envelope sitting between them.

“I've been following you since he died, Natalie—the news, your career in law enforcement, all of it,” Sandy continues. “We met when he came to empty a safe deposit box that his mother left him. He came back later, and asked me about wills and life insurance, and we had a few conversations. It's complicated, and I'm no attorney, but I told him I'd help him however I could.”

Sandy takes a sip of her coffee and sighs.

“I didn't know what to make of Ray at first,” Sandy continues. “I…he…well, he was an imposing figure.”

Natalie nods. “Yes, I know. He lived next door to me and I was scared of him for years. I barely remembered his parents—they made me uneasy, which made me distrust my own parents, and most authority figures, but in the end, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.”

Sandy nods.

“So, what changed your mind about him?” Natalie asks.

“He made me laugh. And when I saw what he wanted to do for you, I let down my guard a little and really tried to see him for the man he was trying to be. I'm not stupid, I'm sure he got into trouble—I heard things about him from some of my co-workers, people noticed when he came into the bank, but I had to make up my own mind.”

Natalie sighs.

“Yeah. So what do you get out of all of this?” she asks.

“Nothing, really—maybe a little karma. I tend to judge people, to make a lot of assumptions based on appearance. And Ray helped me to change that bias, to really see people for who they were, what they were trying to do in the world.”

Natalie eyed the envelope.

“You can open it if you want, or you can wait until I'm gone. I mean—I know how much is in there.”

“You do?”

“Well, I helped him fill out the paperwork, we talked to a few lawyers together—I'm the executor. You won't have to be a cop anymore. I read the papers, saw you finally got your man.”

Natalie looks up at Sandy and opens her mouth.

“You did a lot of good work, Natalie. You made the streets safer for a lot of little girls. When you turned eighteen, I planned to show up on your birthday, but then the papers were talking about your joining the police force, and you seemed so busy and focused, I thought I'd let it quiet down a bit. I didn't want to distract you. I wanted you to find David Nelson first.”

“So now you're here?”

“Yeah. I figured it was time. I'd waited long enough, too long maybe, I know, but I'm here. I'm honoring my promise, and I hope this will make a difference.”

Natalie stares at her hands, silent.

“I should go,” Sandy says, standing up, pulling on her coat.

Natalie walks her to the front door, and they stand together for a minute.

“They say when you break a bone that it knits back together stronger than before,” Sandy says. “And I think something in me was broken a long time ago. Ray helped me to mend it. I think I'm stronger now, better for having known him.”

Natalie nods, her eyes tearing up, and she takes a step forward and hugs Sandy, the woman trembling for a moment, her breath stuttering.

“I think I could say the same thing,” Natalie says. “My parents were never good people, and I'm not sure about all that happened in Ray's life, but that cycle of abuse has been broken now, that need to damage others gone. I quit the police force. I can't be around that anymore. I need to do something else now, move on and figure out who I really am.”

Sandy nods.

“Good luck with that. If you ever want a cup of coffee or to just chat, here's my card. Like I said, I'm just up the street.”

Natalie takes the card and slips it into her pocket.

“Thank you, Sandy. Take care.”

Sandy heads down the stairs and Natalie closes the door behind her. She wanders into the kitchen and picks up the envelope, tearing it open, looking at the check.

$400,000.

She sits down.

Natalie thinks of everything she's been through over the past six years. She thinks of first talking to Ray, how he defended her from the boys in the alley, and how much tougher she is now. She wonders about beasts as warriors, monsters seeking only to be human, and all of the pain that lies in the gaps between such existences.

Natalie closes her eyes and pictures that dark presence, the festering anger, the rotting resentment, the sense of disappearing, the feeling of not really mattering, and she lets it all go. She forgives all of the malformed spirits in her life and washes her hands of that black magic. She takes a deep breath and pushes it out. She casts it out. Her eyes open for the first time, nothing inside her broken now, all healed, all whole—stronger now than ever before.

This book is dedicated to anybody who has ever been physically, sexually, or emotionally abused. Know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it doesn't have to be a train. Talk to somebody you trust, get help, do what you have to do to get out, to survive, and know that this isn't your fault. It can get better.

I have to thank my agent, Paula Munier, at Talcott Notch, and Dana Isaacson, at Alibi, for constantly helping to get the best out of my writing. I can't thank you both enough for your continued support and guidance. You've made this book better, in so many way. Everyone at Alibi has been amazing, such a great team. And it always comes down to my wife, Lisa, and my children, Ricky and Tyler, who let me type away in the solitude of my office, but only for so long before they drag me outside for ice cream on a hot summer day to remind me why I work so hard. Thank you all for building me up and never losing faith. And to you, faithful reader, for coming back for more. None of this would be possible without your support. Thank you.

PHOTO: JOHN GEIGER, 2009

R
ICHARD
T
HOMAS
is an award-winning writer whose work has appeared in more than one hundred publications. Nominated for five Pushcart Prizes, he is the author of the novels
Disintegration
and
Transubstantiate
as well as three short-story collections,
Herniated Roots, Staring into the Abyss, and Tribulations
. He is also the editor of four anthologies: The New Black, Exigencies, Burnt Tongues (with Chuck Palahniuk and Dennis Widmyer), and The Lineup. Thomas lives with his family in the Chicago area.

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