"You'll regret it," Junior promised, and Maisey heard his boots move away and a truck door slam. She closed her eyes against the memories that threatened to overwhelm her and passed out just as Brett came back into the kitchen. It was a near thing but he lowered her to the floor carefully before lifting her into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom he'd already started thinking of as hers.
"Ned, call Andy," he called out, "she's passed out again."
************Two Years Earlier ******************
Maisey set down her tablet in frustration, "urrggh," she stretched and yawned, getting up off her bed, her eyes sore. She had only been writing for two hours but it was the longest stretch of uninterrupted time she'd had in a long time. Her neck ached and her legs with tingly from lack of proper circulation.
As if on que the front door opened and she could hear her husband of five years slamming around. A cold shiver went through her body as she hurried to put her tablet away into the locked desk under the window.
"Maisey!" Luke's voice barked, "where the hell is my beer."
"Coming, Luke," she called hurrying down the stairs. Her head slammed into the wall as she reached the bottom step, Luke punched her a second time while she was still recovering: she could smell tequila and rum. Instinctively she rolled away from him. She was sure the wet she could feel on her cheeks was blood, "I'm sorry Luke," she sputtered, "I was just putting your clothes out for after your shower, " she lied.
"You'd better have been, your only job is to please me, now fetch my lunch, clean up your mess, and get ready, my boss and the boys are coming for games." He said slyly and dismissed her, stomping up the stairs, to shower but she knew what he meant and felt sick to her stomach. She didn't dare disobey. The last time had seen her in the hospital with 3 broken ribs.
She was dizzy and felt like vomiting, but concussion or no she needed to do what Luke wanted. There were still bruises on her neck from when he had strangled her last week. She pulled a sandwich and a beer from the fridge and put them on the side table near his recliner before getting a cloth and bleach to clean up the blood splatter on the wall. By the time Luke came back to the living room she'd applied make up to hide the fresh bruising, knowing he would not tolerate any less than perfection. "Go get changed," he ordered, "I expect you to be a good girl and let them do what they want." He ran a finger down her cheek, "if you do good enough I'll let you sleep in the house instead of the doghouse like the bitch you are." he slapped her cheek and moved to his recliner, proceeding to ignore her.
Maisey knew she needed to leave. She was not allowed to leave the house alone, and had not been able to find a way: Luke locked the door from the outside when he was gone for long times and they had bars on the windows.
She went upstairs to change. She stood in the door of the bedroom and held onto the doorframe, wondering if this time she could make it away, as she fought off a wave of nausea. She determined to try, packed a bag of essentials and took it to the kitchen with her. It was worth dying if she couldn't make it.
Luke was watching a hockey game and yelling at the TV. She waited for a commercial and moved into the doorway, "Luke, the is no more of the whiskey you like to serve. May I go to the store on the corner and get more before they get here?"
He produced his wallet and pulled a hundred dollars out, "get two and another case of beer." he gripped her wrist as she reached for the money. "If you're not back in 30 minutes I will come for you." he took the fresh bottle of beer from her, "and you will regret it." She nodded vigorously and fled the moment he let her go.
She picked up the bag she'd packed and went out the door, walking as quickly as her damaged ribs and concussion would allow. She couldn't risk him coming after her. She didn't look back at the house: she hoped he'd pass out and forget until it was too late. Relief flooded through her when she saw a cab with its occupant getting out. She hurried to signal the driver, "how much to take me to the hospital?"
"About forty dollars," was the reply. She climbed in with a wince, handed him a fifty and told him to take her.
She climbed out and went into the emergency, the triage line was lengthy but she went direct to the nursing station anyway, "I'm sorry for cutting the line, my life is in danger, I have a severe concussion, broken ribs and my husband will kill me if he finds me." the nurse watched her as Maisey picked up an alcohol wipe used it to gently wash makeup from the side of her face. The large goose egg was purple and black, the bruising down the side of her face was green and yellow. As Maisey wiped the make up away and an adhesive liquid that had stopped the bleeding, the blood trickled down her face. No sense hiding anything now, Maisey thought, she'd really be dead if he found her anyway.
In one movement the nurse called a code over the overhead speakers, and moved around the desk. Two nurses and three security guards came through a door with a wheel chair: they instructed her to sit and Maisey found herself whisked away into the bowels of the hospital. It was apparent when they went through two other locked doors that she was not being taken to emergency. One of the nurses started asking questions after they went through the second door, "do you have anything metal in your body? is there any chance you could be pregnant? how long ago did the head injury occur? did she already see a doctor about the ribs or were they fresh? was there anyone they could call?"
They helped her into a bed while security waited outside. They brought in a mobile ultrasound and a nurse with a cart who quickly took samples of her blood. A doctor and someone they introduced as a crisis manager came in. They would need to know what happened, who did it and examine her they explained. She told them numbly what had happened that day and earlier in the week: they ordered x-rays, a CT scan and a MRI as well as a full panel if her bloodwork and photos of her entire body to be used in the trial if it went that far. A Nurse left to call the police to send someone to take her statement: no going back now, Maisey realized, they would arrest him.
"He was very drunk when I left," she told the nurse before she left the room, and shuddered, "and he was expecting company for games night, there may be other women there by now."
"Games?" the crisis manager asked.
"Yes, " Maisey nodded carefully, "sometimes he had other men come over for games: they all wound up with me and sometimes other women-- prostitutes--being forced into doing things or being tied so they could do things to our bodies. I've got scars on my back from a whip and strangle marks around my neck from trying to get away."
The nurses helped her out of her clothes and saw the bruises. The questions never seemed to stop.
The nurse came back later to tell her that Luke had been arrested along with four other men and there were two women in the hospital being assessed. The doctor had set her ribs--not something she ever wanted to experience again, and arranged for her to meet with a therapist: unfortunately only time would heal the other damage that had been caused.