Page 55 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Naomi lied.
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Ruth
The cab dropped them off at 45thStreet. They took their luggage and entered the Metlife Building. They went through the lobby and onto the escalators, which led down to the main concourse at Grand Central. Ruth clung to Scott, her arm looped under his.
A stone of solid fear sat in her gut. She hated being outside. Every damn second robbed her of breath. She was smart, intelligent. One part of her brain told her this was not right – this was an illness. There was no need to be afraid. She wasn’t going to be attacked in public, not with her husband beside her.
And yet she knew it was right to be fearful. A killer was stalking her. He’d come to her hotel. The man who’d put a knife in her flesh knew who she was, and to protect himself it made sense to finish the job.
You’re not paranoid if there’s a good reason to be afraid.
It reminded her of a time when she was twelve. Her parents had split that year and neither of them could agree who would take Ruth for the summer. Turned out, neither of them could look after her so she spent that summer break at her grandparents’ rickety house on the lake. It was a colonial painted house with creaking floorboards, a wrap-around porch and screechy doors. When the wind picked up at night, and rattled the windows, she was sure it was a vampire tapping on the windowpane and seeking an invitation inside. Ruth felt alone, unloved and lost. Her fear and loneliness turned those tree branches into the nails of a vampire at her window. But it was more than that. Back then, at nighttime, every dark corner held a ghost or a scary face. Scott had taken all her fears away when she’d met him.
Until the blue-eyed man came calling on her on September fourteenth.
The fear that she had experienced in her grandparents’ house was with her now. Except she wasn’t twelve. She wasn’t in their old spooky house. Her parents were gone. She was a grown woman, afraid of every face in the shadows, every dark corner and what might be lurking there. It wasn’t youth trauma and childish imagination fueling that fear now. He was real. The danger was real.
The monster was real.
She looked around, unable to think of anything else other than the blue-eyed man she’d seen at dinner. Patrick Travers. The monster had a name now. She looked behind in case he was following but there was no one there.
When she turned back, she saw someone on the adjacent escalator. The one beside theirs that ran in the opposite direction, going up toward 45thStreet. It was only a woman. It wasn’t him. She took a few quick breaths.
Once they reached the bottom of the escalator Scott said, ‘We have to be quick. Our train is leaving.’
As they got to the ticket office, the clerk told them they’d just missed it. She noticed Scott was out of breath, even though they hadn’t exactly been running.
‘It’s fine, we’ll take the ferry,’ said Scott.
Another cab, and then a short wait until they boarded the ferry across the river. Ruth sat up top, huddled into her coat against the cold, rocking gently back and forth with Scott rubbing her back. The near freezing temperature kept the rest of the passengers below in the heated cabin. Scott said he needed some air.
He got up from the bench beside her as the ferry sailed through Buttermilk Channel, between Governor’s Island and Pier 12. The lights from the island shone on the black water like neon ghosts. She felt better. Calmer. The fresh smell from the water, the wind in her hair, the isolation on the deck, the gentle rock of the boat – it all helped. She was still shaking, but she didn’t know if it was from the anxiety of being outside or the cold. They would dock at Red Hook in five minutes, and the fear of passing through the crowds grew on her, but Ruth closed her eyes and fought it down. She’d watched the small group of passengers carefully as they’d boarded. The man was not following them. Of that, she felt sure.
Scott leaned on the rail, looking out at the island. She saw his shoulders heaving as his gaze lowered to the water. The noise from the wind and the engine made it difficult to hear, but she thought he was sobbing.
He’d been through a traumatic experience too. Nothing like the horror she’d endured, but Ruth knew she sometimes didn’t appreciate the effect all this was having on Scott. He had been a rock since the attack, but it was taking its toll. Sometimes she caught him staring at her, in something like pity.
Or guilt, perhaps.
Even though there was no one else on the deck, she didn’t like being apart from Scott. Not like this. Not out in the open.
She got up and moved towards him. She stopped in her tracks when he heaved his guts over the side, a long trail of brown spit hanging from his lips in the wind. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, sank his torso over the rail and kept his head down. She took another few steps, placed her hand on his back.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
He swung round, startled, and then he softened.
‘Sea sickness. I’m okay, honey. And look at you. You’re doing great. See, it’s not so bad being outside.’
She nodded, gazed out at the water. ‘I know he’s not on this boat. Travers, I mean. I know he’s looking for me. I just . . .’ The panic began rising, her chest felt tight, sweat broke out on her top lip. ‘Oh, Scott, what are we going to do?’
He took her in his arms, but she resisted at first. Then she felt the strength of him. Solid. Sure. Her protector.
‘Let’s get somewhere safe first. Then we can talk. It’s going to be okay,’ said Scott.
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