Lindsay Delagair - Unforgivable

Ryan started swinging.

By the time he finished, Micah wasn’t much more than just a body on the floor. He lifted the bloody face up for the final time. “You are such an idiot! I can’t believe she’s thrown her whole life away because of you,” he practically spit the words at Micah. “Are you really stupid enough to believe that she left you for me? You don’t know her at all! If she hadn’t been trying to save your… If she hadn’t been forced, she never would have done it.”

“W-what?” Micah slurred, “Tell me-please.”

“You aren’t worth it! At least I’ve kept my promises, but I never told her that I wouldn’t kick your ass for what you did. She wouldn’t call the cops and she wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital after you finished with her. I had to wait until the next day to knock her out with brandy to get these shots.”

“She doesn’t drink,” Micah spoke, clearer than before.

“There are a lot of things she doesn’t do, but you… You son-of-a-bitch, if I have to bury her because you sucked out the last of her will to live, I will be back and I will kill you!”

Ryan threw the photos on the floor and the three of them left.

Micah rolled onto his back, everything was throbbing. He was sure several ribs were cracked, his gut was on fire and everything had a red haze from the blood that was stinging his eyes. He laid there for a few minutes and then made it up on his knees. His head swooned as he staggered up on his feet and stumbled for his bathroom.

He looked in the mirror with a strange sense of appreciation at the work-over Ryan had given him. He washed his face. The sting of chlorinated water in the cuts helped him become more alert. When he finally dried off, he assessed the wounds. He had cuts under both eyes, his lips were split and swollen, his nose was still bleeding, the side of his right cheek was thick and red and his eyebrow on the right was also split and still bleeding. He was right about the ribs, taking a breath was excruciating.

Grabbing a few more paper towels he went back into his office and picked up the photos off the floor. He sat at his desk and stared. He didn’t know exactly how hard he had handled her in his fury. He had been filled with so much rage that he’d blocked most of that afternoon out of his memory, but looking at her, the images came vividly back. Her cheeks and eyes were black and blue from where he had slapped her so hard that he knocked her onto the coffee table. There was a shot of her back showing all the bruises she sustained where she hit it. Her lips were swollen and cracked just as his were now. Bruised skin covered her from where he’d gripped her throat and shoulders, to the places where he grabbed for her when he snatched her back from trying to escape. Ryan had even taken pictures of her ripped clothes and her bloodied undergarments. A wave of nausea hit him-what kind of animal had he been that day?

But then Ryan’s words pricked his consciousness. What did he mean that she didn’t really leave to be with Ryan? Who forced her to run that day, and what did he mean when he said she was trying to save someone?

There was only one person to get those answers from, but if she was willing to suffer through what he’d done to her and still not tell why she left, how would he ever get her to talk? And then another pain hit his chest; Ryan’s last statement made it clear that Leese was a suicide risk. She seemed fine the night of the finale, but then again she left with Ryan immediately after the show.

He had to get to her. He had to find her and tell her he was sorry for doing what was unforgivable. But he had to have answers and he knew she’d still refuse him.

He waited for the bleeding to stop before he headed to the airport. He knew her well enough to know if he got close to her, she would be more concerned about his injuries than her own safety. He shook his head; how could things have gone from the happiest moments of his life to the darkest?

Hours later, when he arrived at her house, no one was there. He picked the lock and went inside to discover her belongings were gone. He called Nadia, cowering inside at the berating he was sure to receive, but evidently Nadia was in the dark about everything concerning Leese. She wanted to talk, but Micah had to cut the conversation short as he simply told her it was of extreme importance that if she called to please have her get in touch with him right away.

He staked out Ryan’s house for several days, she wasn’t there, but another woman was. This woman was as young as Leese and evidently Ryan’s actual girlfriend. But, from the constant expression on Ryan’s face, he was extremely worried about Leese. She had to be on the run again, but why? He’d made no effort to bother her since the attack. Why would she take off? Unless she was planning something she didn’t want Ryan to witness.

He called his family, once again enlisting there help to find her.

“Forget about her,” his mother snapped. “She’s not worth any more pain.”

“Please, Mom. I need your help. I found out something I didn’t know before and-and I have reason to believe she was forced to leave.”

“Son, stop torturing yourself-she went after another man and that’s all there is to it.”

“No, there is much, much more to all of this. I’ve got to know the answers. I’ve got to find her before-before it’s too late.”

“I think you should come home and stop-”

“I am coming home-D’Angelo has a job for me.”

His mother paused, “I’ll help you look for her, but I think it would be wise to stop taking so many jobs. We can look for her together.”

Four months of dirty deeds for D’Angelo passed quickly. But, every free moment he had was spent following up leads that his mother turned up. Leese had done an excellent job of hiding this time. She had taken cash, but made sure no numbers were left behind. There had been no traceable phone calls home, and no credit card receipts. The only thing she had that might give her away was her car. There were very few Shelby Ultimate Aeros on the road, and you couldn’t simply pull it into Wal-Mart to have it serviced.

His mother had begun conducting interviews with former Remake contestants saying she was helping the producers get next season’s group ready, and she needed their opinions. Every time she turned interviews into conversations about Leese. When she got in touch with Dobrey Stewart, she got her first solid lead.

Dobrey mentioned loaning Leese a cottage in California so that she could get away from all the publicity. When Celeste pressed her for more information about the cottage, Dobrey became suspicious and ended their conversation. She couldn’t find any records in California that showed Dobrey owned a piece of property, but Celeste was certain she was keeping it under an assumed name. When the court house is of no help, the newspaper archives are. She found a seven-year-old article about how Dobrey Stewart had given the money for a public library in the small northern town of Gualala. They mentioned that Ms. Stewart had been so enamored with their town that she had purchased a cottage in the vicinity.

Micah was on a plane and in Gualala by the next day.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her before,” the man at the local grocery store admitted pointing to the blond version of Leese as Micah showed him two photographs. “She’s a real sweet gal, kind a shy and quiet. I think she’s living somewhere just north of here. She drives a red four-wheel drive, a Jeep Wrangler I think. Should I tell her you’re looking for her next time she’s in town?”

Micah smiled, “No, I was going to surprise her. We were friends in high school back in Florida and I wanted to see her before I head back to the east coast, but I’ll find her.” His lies were smooth as silk and had enough sincerity to make a believer out of anyone.

There was a small motel on the ocean side, right across the street from the grocery store. He could wait a day or two and see if a red Jeep came through town. He really wondered if the man could be mistaken because a Jeep just didn’t sound like Leese’s kind of vehicle.

By the second day he was ready to move a little further up the coast to show her picture and see if anyone else might know where she was at, but, as he was fueling up, he watched a red Jeep pull into the store. When the young woman with blond pixie hair and a flowery, flowing baby-doll top and blue jeans climbed out, he knew without a doubt he found her.

He parked his car at the far end of the grocery store lot and waited. Thirty minutes passed and she finally came out pushing a cart with a few bags. She loaded everything into the Jeep and headed back out on the highway going north. He would have to be extra careful tailing her; he knew what kind of skills she possessed behind the wheel, and if she suspected he was following her, she’d out drive him, even if she was in a Jeep.

The road was dangerously curvy, up and down and sometimes would break free on the edge of a cliff that dropped off to the mesmerizing Pacific. There were two cars between them and as he rounded a sharp s-curve in the road he realized she must have turned off, she was no longer in the lead. He traveled to the next turn-off and headed back south, looking for the sign of a driveway. He passed one so obscure and small it didn’t look like a driveway, but more like an overgrown path. He saw it too late to make the turn so once again he had to continue traveling until he could reverse course. He made the sharp right and headed up the weed-ridden path. Surely there was another driveway that he missed. This didn’t appear to be traveled very often. Just as he was considering turning around, the woods gave way to a cottage set on a hill in an open field; a red Jeep was parked out front beside her unmistakable Shelby Aero under a car cover.

He was sure she hated him for what he had done to her and, if his plan worked, and she allowed him to get close enough, she was going to hate him worse by this time tomorrow morning.

He parked the car and walked up to the front door. He looked back and couldn’t see the road below, but it was a beautiful view of the ocean over the tree tops. He looked at the front porch, noticing all the flowers and the pair of rockers. Could it be that she had moved on to man number three? Perhaps Ryan didn’t know what he was talking about. The front door opened before he could step up on the porch, and she was standing there behind the screen door.

“Don’t take another step,” were her words of warning.

He could see a pistol in her hand.

This might be harder than he imagined.

I pulled up to the cottage and grabbed my bags of groceries. Today was absolutely glorious. The smell of the ocean mixed with the fragrance of pine trees and wildflowers. It was a little piece of heaven. I was glad when I remembered Dobrey offering me this place; it couldn’t have been better timing. Ryan had been hovering over me after the attack, but he had to go back to his life, and I needed a lot of time to think. I’d only called him twice since I’d been here. Both times I borrowed someone else’s phone and made the calls when I was far away from Gualala. All I wanted him to know was that I was still breathing and was okay. I missed him so badly-mother hen routine and all. He had been my one true friend, but it was time to let him get on with his life.

I had the groceries out of the bags and on the table as I sorted what would go where, when I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. I never got visitors. My heart picked up speed as I opened my purse and pulled the pistol out and slipped off the safety. Moving to the front door, I watched as a sedan with darkly tinted glass pulled up short behind the Jeep. I froze as I watched who climbed out. I didn’t know if I could threaten the one person in this world I loved with such strange desperation. I watched Micah look down the hill at the ocean and then turned and began walking up to the front door.

I couldn’t let him inside. I couldn’t let him do to me what he did the last time, and I might actually have to shoot him. I certainly wouldn’t be shooting to kill, but I couldn’t allow him to put a hand on me, not now. I opened the door and gave him my warning as he started to step up on the porch.

“Leese?” he replied in shock, his voice high pitched and strange as he looked at the gun in my hand.

“You taught me to shoot so I don’t think it’s wise for you to come any closer,” I warned.

“I’m not armed,” he stated, pulling off the light jacket he wore, and turning around so I could see that he wasn’t hiding anything.

“Really? I don’t see those hands of yours tied together and they are just as lethal as your guns-at least they were the last time you put them on me.”