“I can’t tell you,” Natalie answered. “It’s a surprise.”
Never in her life had she hated herself more than she did at that moment. The guilt felt like a toxic gas swirling inside her. But what choice did she have? She’d read her fair share of true crime stories about women who had tried to flee a dangerous situation. She knew how they ended up. She’d learned about fathers who had annihilated their whole family, an unfathomable, unholy act, carried out with grim precision and evil desire. She had studied these men to better understand what made them tick, trying to get a clearer sense of her husband and what he might do in retaliation. These men all seemed to have one trait in common: they had to have it their way, had to have the last word—always.
The man thinks: I want my mistress and not my family.
Answer: get rid of my family.
The man again: I don’t have enough money to care for my family the way I think we should appear to our neighbors and friends—nice home, nice cars, nice clothes, my life is a lie, we’re better off dead, so …
Usually the murder-suicides are done with a gun, but there have been cases of smothering, strangulation, and knives that Natalie had read about.
How would Michael kill them? That gruesome question would rattle about her head in the horrible hours between three and six, when all she wanted was sleep, while the man she feared most slumbered peacefully beside her. He’d do it with a gun, right? Quick and painless. He doesn’t want us to suffer. He wouldn’t want that for his family. He’s not cruel in that way, though he is cruel in a different way. And no question about it—her husband is quite capable of murder. He was capable of other things, too, cunning and deceitful in ways Natalie was only beginning to comprehend.
What Natalie did know was that Michael wasn’t coming with them, and when Bryce and Addie finally learned the truth, the whole truth about their dad, she assumed (or prayed) that they’d be quick to forgive her for the deception.
The driver off-loaded them at the curbside. Nothing to sign. Uber. Natalie peered into the dark trunk, hoping with all her might.
Bryce soon confirmed her worst fears.
“Teddy’s not here,” he bellowed.
Natalie felt about in the interior, her hands brushing the carpet, searching every corner.
Please … please … please … be in here. Please. Oh God.
She felt again before resorting to her last hope. The flashlight on her phone. She shined the blue-tinged light into the darkness.
Nothing inside but a few straps for securing baggage and part of a car jack.
Natalie turned to Bryce, getting low to face him. Gazing into the vast purity of his eyes, such tenderness and guilelessness, so much innocence there.
“Sweetheart, darling,” Natalie said, brushing her hand against his warm cheek. “I’m so sorry, love, but I think Teddy must have fallen off the luggage when we were leaving.”
He inhaled sharply, eyes gone wide. His shock and hurt felt like a knife in Natalie’s heart.
“We have to go back and get him,” he demanded.
“We can’t go back,” Natalie said, the ache in her heart deepening. “I’ll call the hotel. We’ll make sure Dad brings him to us when we all meet up again. Okay?”
Not okay, Bryce’s tear-filled eyes told her.
Damn you, Natalie scolded herself, but then another thought overcame her self-recrimination. She imagined the crime scene tape around the house. Blue and red strobe lights pulsing in the dark night sky. Neighbors standing behind the cordoned off area, clutching each other for comfort. She could hear the whispered talk in her head:
“I knew something was wrong with that guy … had a feeling about him. I should have said something.”
“I promise we’ll take care of it,” Natalie assured Bryce, vanquishing that horrible vision. She kissed her son gently on the top of his head, inhaling his scent, fresh and life affirming, her person that she helped to make, that she carried inside her body, a part of her soul forever, entangled in the fabric of her being. The love she had for her children felt as infinite as the stars hidden in the dark sky overhead.
She brought Addie over and hugged both her kids as the Uber driver merged his car into the flow of traffic.
“I love you two with all my heart,” she said. “And I will never, ever let anything bad happen to you.”
More lies, that voice inside her head scolded. You can’t make that promise. That’s not how life works.
Then she amended her words.
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”
* * *
Now they were here, and Natalie was determined to keep her promise. Cab after cab passed her. Not one had a light indicating its availability. She prayed, head tilted up to the heavens, eyes closed. Please, she silently pleaded. Please help us. Please keep us in your heart, dear Lord. Please, watch over us.
She opened her eyes and spied a cab with a single white illuminated light coming down the avenue. Out shot her arm, her hand waving frantically. The driver maneuvered over two lanes. He put the window down a crack. He wanted to know her destination.
“Avis Rental Car on Twenty-eighth and Broadway,” Natalie said.
She heard the trunk latch come undone. The cabbie opened his car door, got out, and loaded the luggage into the back.
Natalie ushered her children into the backseat, got in herself, and closed the rear door behind her.
A few seconds later, Penn Station was no longer in sight.
Soon New York would be far behind them, but Natalie knew she couldn’t relax. Michael would come looking for them, and he wouldn’t stop until they were found.
CHAPTER 11
MICHAEL
Michael kept the radio on for company while he wound his way through heavy traffic out of the city. Sports talk. Mindless stuff. He had his phone on the dash in a holder, Waze there to guide him. When traffic came to a stop, he’d drum his fingers restlessly against his leg. Sweat collected under his thick leather watchband.
It made him nauseated to think he was headed away from his family. They were on a train, heading south or west, to a destination unknown. Soon as the traffic thinned out he made a phone call to Amtrak, one that he should have made from the hotel but he’d been too eager to leave. Navigating a hellish phone tree while driving wasn’t optimal, but he managed.
Eventually, after enduring a lengthy bit of Muzak, someone came on the line.
He knew from the gruff greeting that his “ask” was going to go nowhere. Still, he had to try. He explained the situation to the woman on the other end of the phone.
“My wife is missing…”
“Kids with her…”
“Took an Uber to Penn Station…”
And, finally, “Can you look up her name and give me a destination on the ticket?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s against our privacy policy,” the Amtrak employee replied.