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“Disgusting, look at you. Who would even want you, you make me sick!” Marcus raged, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.
“Let’s go, I don’t wanna get involved in this,” one of the men said and two seconds later they were driving off.
“I knew you would ruin this opportunity for me! You stupid, worthless, piece of sh-”
She spat in his face. That was all she could do, her body screamed at her to do something but with her arms pinned and her body and legs pressed against the car, her choices were limited.
He flinched, shocked, and wiped at his cheek, loosening his hold on her and she took her chance. If she stayed with him any longer, she would die. She could feel Death knocking at her door, it was just a matter of time before she let him in.
So she ran.
In the dark.
Her raggedy shoes didn’t protect her feet from the pebbles and rocks that scraped at the sides of her feet as she ran but she kept going, desperation spurring her on.
“Get back here!” he roared, and she could hear him gaining on her.
“No!” A sob slipped out at the thought of him catching her.
Then she heard it, the click of the hammer pulling back on his gun. He was an expert shot and she knew once he pulled that trigger, she was gone.
She didn’t look back, just kept running and waited for death to catch her so she could collapse into its warm, sweet embrace.
The gun went off but she didn’t fall, didn’t feel it anywhere. The silence stopped her, she turned around. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, lighting up the field, and there he was, rolling in the dirt. She could hear him crying out, a gurgling sound. She tentatively stepped towards him even though her brain was screaming at her to keep going. Her body fighting her flight impulse as her muscles and tendons twitched with urgency to leave.
“Reb-Rebelle,” he gasped, the sound watery.
She spotted a rock close by, a large rock that she had dodged but he hadn’t been so lucky. He had tripped and shot himself. She watched as blood poured from his chest.
The magnificently lethal Marcus Black had tripped and shot himself.
A hysterical laugh slipped out of her as she watched him choking on his own blood, writhing in the dirt. “Help me…please…” he gurgled, begging her like she had begged him so many times before for some mercy. So, she did exactly what he had done to her every time she begged: absolutely nothing. He reached for her ankle and she stepped back. She sat down close by in the dirt and watched as the light slipped from his eyes. It only took a few minutes and she loved every single one of those blissful seconds…
She prayed for the last time. Not for his soul, that was far beyond saving. She prayed that he was truly gone, that he had been taken into the depths of hell to be tortured for eternity. And with that, she walked back to the car and drove out of town, to the nearest hospital and told them what happened.
His death was ruled an accident: only his fingerprints were on the gun and the trajectory of the bullet matched with her description of what happened. Case closed.
But members of the town were suspicious and soon she heard the whispers.
Widow Black murdered her husband.
She guessed in a way she was responsible for his death; she hadn’t tried to help him, and some days that burned at her conscience.
Those days, like today, she let it. She let it drown her.
Rebelle shut her eyes. She couldn’t think about it now or she wouldn’t pull herself out of the spiral of memories. Tears ran freely down her cheeks.
“Come on now, it’s not all bad,” she whispered to herself, hiccupping as she mimicked her sister’s words to her. When they were children and Rebelle was upset, her twin would always cuddle her and say,count out what’s good.It was a mantra that had stuck with Rebelle ever since her sister ran away after their mom died. Rebelle hadn’t seen her since they were sixteen. Sometimes Rebelle wondered what life would be like if she had stayed. No way would Rebelle have left with Marcus. Maybe herfather would still be alive too, instead of having drunk himself to death shortly after she left.
“Count out what’s good. You have your health, kinda. The shelter…” she trailed off.
Marcus had debts, big ones and the bank repossessed the house and car, putting Rebelle out on the street. But before she had to leave, she went through all his papers, eventually coming across the bill of sale for the land and abandoned building which he’d had registered in her name. Marcus had been trying to hide the asset from the IRS, keeping it off the books for some nefarious purpose, and it remained untouchable. For once, he actually did something right. She had somewhere to go, somewhere that was all hers. Even if it was just crumbling concrete with no power.
She worked hard to clear it out and gradually made small improvements to turn it into an animal shelter. It wasn’t a great one; she’d had hardly any money so had to do most of the work herself, but it was a shelter nonetheless.
She replanted the small white rose bush she’d liberated from the home before it foreclosed. It was a miracle that she’d somehow managed to keep it going since she left home. Now it flourished outside the shelter as a symbol of hope. It was the start of something good, something that was irretrievablyhers.
“The animals at the shelter, they’re good and you’re helping them. Your business is growing,” she added.
