Run For Their Lives - Chapter 6 cont
Sally and David ate in silence as had become the norm, the dining table an island between them. In fact, it was virtually a continent; so total was their lack of communication. Sally pushed her food around her plate and sighed, while David ate automatically, his attention focused yet again on the pile of computer printouts next to his plate, rather than the food upon it. His wife looked disapprovingly at his elbow propped on the table, disdainful of his shabby T-shirt and faded jeans. She herself was dressed up to the nines ? classic black off the shoulder velvet dress, hugging her curvaceous figure in a way he never did anymore; brilliant white diamonds dripping from her ears and throat in stark contrast to the ebony. She may be a Beckett by marriage, but by God she was a Reynolds by birth and by breeding, and the Reynolds always dressed for dinner. For the hundred and thirty-seventh time, she wondered what she had ever seen in him.
Finally, out of sheer loneliness, Sally reached over for the remote control and flicked on the TV. For sure, it would be better company than her husband. David looked up momentarily, annoyed at the distraction, then mentally switched it off and returned to his studies.
His wife looked hopeful when she registered his movement, but it was an ignis fatuus.
She toyed with the idea of picking up her plate and hurling it at him, but decided the effort would be wasted. Why give herself more clearing up?
Nothing short of another earthquake was going to shake him out of it this side of the early hours.
She was wrong.
A few moments later, both of them were riveted to the set, as the scheduled program was interrupted to bring a newsflash about a jailbreak.
Three prisoners had broken out of a high security wing, killing two guards.
David had been disinterested until mug shots of the escapees had been flashed up and his wife screamed a name. A name that was all too horribly familiar.
?David, that?s Ruggiero!? she pointed wildly at the screen. That face. That name. Memories and emotions stirred and surfaced in an uprush that robbed them of their breath.
This was the man responsible for their dramatic meeting. Mingled with the terror this man monster inspired, Sally felt a tingle of excitement as she recalled the heady thrill of that time, when she had become an overnight celebrity. A heroine. Well, all right, heroine by proxy if you wanted to be strictly accurate.
If it hadn?t been for Lucky?
Poor Lucky. Best darned dog she?d ever had. Sally still missed her dreadfully, even though it had been over a year since old age had overtaken her. Despite the fear Ruggiero?s escape struck in her heart, Sally couldn?t resist using the situation to score points off her husband.
?Maybe I?ll have to save your life again. Perhaps then you?ll notice me. Only this time round, I might just decide you?re not worth the effort!? she had risen to her feet and stood over him, hands on hips.
David stared vacantly at the screen, a different sort of panic welling inside. He knew he should be afraid of this man. He?d been told time and time again that he was lucky to have survived the attempts made on his life by Ruggiero and his twin brother. That he was responsible for putting Guido behind bars. That the Italian had vowed revenge for his own incarceration and the demise of his sibling, Marco, for which he blamed David.
Yet the real panic came not so much from any cowardice or dread of a confrontation with the huge convict, as from the old sense of bewilderment and loss of sanity which thoughts of that period of his life gave rise to. The whole incident, spanning several weeks, was nothing but a blur to him, as if it had been a bad dream, or a movie he?d watched without paying attention to the plot. Afterwards, he thought he remembered odd moments, but he couldn?t be sure if that was just because he?d been told so many times what had happened that he began to imagine that he actually remembered it. Then there were the other memories ? of being somewhere else entirely, with people whose faces and names hovered illusively just out of reach of his recall. Events he thought had been real, but so vague and intangible and unlikely that he could prove none of it. His (expensive) therapist had said it was his brain?s defense mechanism. That the shock of what he had endured only really came out when it was all over, and this ?other place? was his way of blotting out the horror, by pretending it had happened to someone else.
It made a certain sort of sense, he supposed. It sounded very logical, very Freudian or whatever. Only this nagging little voice inside kept insisting that there was more to it. Now a nagging great voice outside demanded to be heeded, and David turned to his wife, the exasperation surfacing once more.
?How many times are you gonna throw all that back in my face, Sal? Must I spend my every waking moment expressing eternal gratitude for something I can?t even remember? Besides, even if you did save my life, that doesn?t mean you have a right to tell me how to live it. You don?t own me, body and soul.?
?Gripping the table with both hands, he scraped back his chair and stalked across the room. Not for the first time, David wondered how he had ended up married to this woman. They were world?s apart ? he the unsophisticated loner, she the glamorous boss?s daughter. That, he supposed, was the crux of it. She was the boss?s daughter. Not only had she supposedly effected his rescue from an untimely end, and ensured his recovery by paying some very hefty medical bills, but then it seemed she had secured him a lucrative position in one of her father?s companies. Him and a dozen or more other workers made jobless by circumstances he was alleged to have set in motion.
No wonder he had been in awe of her, and felt beholden to her. Then he had been flattered by her attention. Most of all, he supposed, he had clung to her as a link to the chunk of his life that was missing. She knew what had happened where he did not, and the ignorance frightened him. He had been confused and vulnerable. With hindsight, he would have done better to draw a line and move on, to let sleeping dogs lie. But at the time he had been desperate for answers, and she had fuelled his desperation.
He had the newspaper clippings to prove that he owed her his life; he had just mistaken gratitude and need for love.
So when his good friends the Donahues (friends he couldn?t exactly remember having made) told him she was a good catch, he let himself be reeled in.
Not that he had really had much of an option. Sally Reynolds had set her sights on him, and she was a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted. What he?d admired then as strength of character and determination, he now saw as the stubbornness of a rich-@#%$ spoilt-brat daddy?s girl.
?Body and soul? Body and soul?? Sally retorted, her voice rising in pitch to a near shriek. ?I don?t even have your mind. You act like I don?t exist. You spend more time with that damned computer of yours than you ever do with me. And if it?s not that then it?s your precious car. I?m lucky if I come in a poor third. Then if you do deign to talk to me it?s more work, work, work. You never take me out cos you?re too busy inventing.? she spat the word with venomous contempt, finally pausing for breath.
?That?s not fair. You?ve always known how seriously I take my work, Sal. That?s the way I am. That?s one of the reasons your father hired me. The trouble with you is that Daddy has always bought you everything you?ve ever wanted. You never learnt that you can?t buy people?s affections and have them altered to fit like a tailored dress. You can?t expect me to change just to suit you.? David?s voice was calm ? he remained placid. He hated these confrontations and weathered them as best he could, but it was wearing.
Sally turned to look at him, an infinite sadness in her eyes. ?Oh, no, but that?s where you?re wrong. You have changed, David. You?ve changed a whole helluva lot. You?re not the man I fell in love with at all.?
She regarded him for one moment longer, her expression emphasizing the fact that he appeared as a stranger to her. Then she turned on her heel and ran crying from the room, leaving David staring after her with the bemused look of a puppy who?d been scolded without knowing the nature of his indiscretion.
Monday January 6th 2003.
Los Angeles.
Los Angeles.
Sally and David ate in silence as had become the norm, the dining table an island between them. In fact, it was virtually a continent; so total was their lack of communication. Sally pushed her food around her plate and sighed, while David ate automatically, his attention focused yet again on the pile of computer printouts next to his plate, rather than the food upon it. His wife looked disapprovingly at his elbow propped on the table, disdainful of his shabby T-shirt and faded jeans. She herself was dressed up to the nines ? classic black off the shoulder velvet dress, hugging her curvaceous figure in a way he never did anymore; brilliant white diamonds dripping from her ears and throat in stark contrast to the ebony. She may be a Beckett by marriage, but by God she was a Reynolds by birth and by breeding, and the Reynolds always dressed for dinner. For the hundred and thirty-seventh time, she wondered what she had ever seen in him.
Finally, out of sheer loneliness, Sally reached over for the remote control and flicked on the TV. For sure, it would be better company than her husband. David looked up momentarily, annoyed at the distraction, then mentally switched it off and returned to his studies.
His wife looked hopeful when she registered his movement, but it was an ignis fatuus.
She toyed with the idea of picking up her plate and hurling it at him, but decided the effort would be wasted. Why give herself more clearing up?
Nothing short of another earthquake was going to shake him out of it this side of the early hours.
She was wrong.
A few moments later, both of them were riveted to the set, as the scheduled program was interrupted to bring a newsflash about a jailbreak.
Three prisoners had broken out of a high security wing, killing two guards.
David had been disinterested until mug shots of the escapees had been flashed up and his wife screamed a name. A name that was all too horribly familiar.
?David, that?s Ruggiero!? she pointed wildly at the screen. That face. That name. Memories and emotions stirred and surfaced in an uprush that robbed them of their breath.
This was the man responsible for their dramatic meeting. Mingled with the terror this man monster inspired, Sally felt a tingle of excitement as she recalled the heady thrill of that time, when she had become an overnight celebrity. A heroine. Well, all right, heroine by proxy if you wanted to be strictly accurate.
If it hadn?t been for Lucky?
Poor Lucky. Best darned dog she?d ever had. Sally still missed her dreadfully, even though it had been over a year since old age had overtaken her. Despite the fear Ruggiero?s escape struck in her heart, Sally couldn?t resist using the situation to score points off her husband.
?Maybe I?ll have to save your life again. Perhaps then you?ll notice me. Only this time round, I might just decide you?re not worth the effort!? she had risen to her feet and stood over him, hands on hips.
David stared vacantly at the screen, a different sort of panic welling inside. He knew he should be afraid of this man. He?d been told time and time again that he was lucky to have survived the attempts made on his life by Ruggiero and his twin brother. That he was responsible for putting Guido behind bars. That the Italian had vowed revenge for his own incarceration and the demise of his sibling, Marco, for which he blamed David.
Yet the real panic came not so much from any cowardice or dread of a confrontation with the huge convict, as from the old sense of bewilderment and loss of sanity which thoughts of that period of his life gave rise to. The whole incident, spanning several weeks, was nothing but a blur to him, as if it had been a bad dream, or a movie he?d watched without paying attention to the plot. Afterwards, he thought he remembered odd moments, but he couldn?t be sure if that was just because he?d been told so many times what had happened that he began to imagine that he actually remembered it. Then there were the other memories ? of being somewhere else entirely, with people whose faces and names hovered illusively just out of reach of his recall. Events he thought had been real, but so vague and intangible and unlikely that he could prove none of it. His (expensive) therapist had said it was his brain?s defense mechanism. That the shock of what he had endured only really came out when it was all over, and this ?other place? was his way of blotting out the horror, by pretending it had happened to someone else.
It made a certain sort of sense, he supposed. It sounded very logical, very Freudian or whatever. Only this nagging little voice inside kept insisting that there was more to it. Now a nagging great voice outside demanded to be heeded, and David turned to his wife, the exasperation surfacing once more.
?How many times are you gonna throw all that back in my face, Sal? Must I spend my every waking moment expressing eternal gratitude for something I can?t even remember? Besides, even if you did save my life, that doesn?t mean you have a right to tell me how to live it. You don?t own me, body and soul.?
?Gripping the table with both hands, he scraped back his chair and stalked across the room. Not for the first time, David wondered how he had ended up married to this woman. They were world?s apart ? he the unsophisticated loner, she the glamorous boss?s daughter. That, he supposed, was the crux of it. She was the boss?s daughter. Not only had she supposedly effected his rescue from an untimely end, and ensured his recovery by paying some very hefty medical bills, but then it seemed she had secured him a lucrative position in one of her father?s companies. Him and a dozen or more other workers made jobless by circumstances he was alleged to have set in motion.
No wonder he had been in awe of her, and felt beholden to her. Then he had been flattered by her attention. Most of all, he supposed, he had clung to her as a link to the chunk of his life that was missing. She knew what had happened where he did not, and the ignorance frightened him. He had been confused and vulnerable. With hindsight, he would have done better to draw a line and move on, to let sleeping dogs lie. But at the time he had been desperate for answers, and she had fuelled his desperation.
He had the newspaper clippings to prove that he owed her his life; he had just mistaken gratitude and need for love.
So when his good friends the Donahues (friends he couldn?t exactly remember having made) told him she was a good catch, he let himself be reeled in.
Not that he had really had much of an option. Sally Reynolds had set her sights on him, and she was a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted. What he?d admired then as strength of character and determination, he now saw as the stubbornness of a rich-@#%$ spoilt-brat daddy?s girl.
?Body and soul? Body and soul?? Sally retorted, her voice rising in pitch to a near shriek. ?I don?t even have your mind. You act like I don?t exist. You spend more time with that damned computer of yours than you ever do with me. And if it?s not that then it?s your precious car. I?m lucky if I come in a poor third. Then if you do deign to talk to me it?s more work, work, work. You never take me out cos you?re too busy inventing.? she spat the word with venomous contempt, finally pausing for breath.
?That?s not fair. You?ve always known how seriously I take my work, Sal. That?s the way I am. That?s one of the reasons your father hired me. The trouble with you is that Daddy has always bought you everything you?ve ever wanted. You never learnt that you can?t buy people?s affections and have them altered to fit like a tailored dress. You can?t expect me to change just to suit you.? David?s voice was calm ? he remained placid. He hated these confrontations and weathered them as best he could, but it was wearing.
Sally turned to look at him, an infinite sadness in her eyes. ?Oh, no, but that?s where you?re wrong. You have changed, David. You?ve changed a whole helluva lot. You?re not the man I fell in love with at all.?
She regarded him for one moment longer, her expression emphasizing the fact that he appeared as a stranger to her. Then she turned on her heel and ran crying from the room, leaving David staring after her with the bemused look of a puppy who?d been scolded without knowing the nature of his indiscretion.
~~~***~~~