Pouring Your Heart Out
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“I’m not a bad girl, Miss O’Malley. I just got mixed up in something that wasn’t right,” she said as the tears flowed down her cheeks. “And it’s all because of you.”
Her words were so heartfelt and sincere that they tore at my heartstrings. And now she was accusing me of being responsible for her predicament? How could anyone think such a thing? The truth was I hadn’t even been born yet when she’d gotten involved with this criminal group.
She looked away from my gaze to wipe her face with the sleeve of her dress. “Please don’t judge me too harshly. You’ve already done enough judging without knowing anything about what happened to me.
I swear on my life I didn’t know he was a killer until after he killed his own family. If I had known then, I wouldn’t have gone along with him—even if I did love him.” She sniffed loudly and wiped more tears from her eyes.
“I thought we would be happy together. But he was only using me for money. He never loved me like he claimed to. We barely lived off the interest. I didn’t realize how much trouble I was in until one day I heard him talking to someone over the phone and realized I couldn’t afford to leave.
I tried to run once but he caught up with me before I made it far enough. That’s why I stayed and worked for him. It was either work or die. So please don’t blame yourself for my situation. Blame him. Or God. I promise I won’t tell anybody else about you. Not unless you want me to.”
The last part of her statement took me by surprise. Had she actually changed her mind? Did she really mean she would keep our secret between us? Maybe I should have listened to Mary’s warning to stay out of it. Now I was stuck with another problem. This time there was no way to solve it. I had no choice but to take responsibility. No matter what it cost me.
But first I needed to know everything.
“You can trust me, Abby. Tell me everything. Please?”
Abby nodded. “Okay. I’ll start at the beginning and hope you understand why I was so desperate to get out of there. My name is Abby Hensler.”
“Thank you. Start where you left off. Where are you from?”
“San Diego. I grew up in an orphanage. I was adopted when I was seven years old.”
That explained why she looked familiar to me. San Diego was near Los Angeles, which meant she might have come here looking for her biological parents. But why hadn’t she returned home instead of running away? Wasn’t it easier to return to your roots than go somewhere new?
As soon as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. Her parents probably weren’t around anymore. Most likely dead. Either that or she wanted to forget them completely. After all, children who lost their families often became depressed and angry. Some even turned to drugs or alcohol to numb themselves from the pain.
I decided to ask her some questions to find out whether she fit into any of those categories. “Did you lose your family during the war? Were you separated from them?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “My father died fighting in France and my mother followed him two days later. They were both taken prisoner by the Germans and never came back. There were rumors that they were executed. But nobody knows for sure.
Nobody ever found their bodies. All we know is that they were gone. That’s why I ran away from the orphanage and headed straight for Los Angeles. I figured there would be more people searching for relatives living in the city. And maybe they could help me find my family.”
If only she could have waited two more weeks, I could have helped her find her relatives. Instead, I felt terrible that she’d ended up in a worse situation. And I also wondered how long she would be able to survive in New Mexico. Without money or food, she could starve or fall ill very quickly. She certainly wasn’t used to the weather conditions here.
“Why didn’t you return to the orphanage? I’m sure somebody would have gladly taken care of you again.”
Abby shook her head sadly. “I didn’t feel safe there. When I was little, I liked playing with the other kids. I even learned to play the piano. But after a while, things started changing. Kids stopped wanting to play with me.
One day I went outside to play with a friend and one of the older girls told me to stop bothering her because she hated me. The next day another girl said I was ugly. Another girl stole a doll I was playing with and threw it against the wall.
Then she kicked it and broke it. Before I knew it, most of the other kids avoided me. By then I was too scared to try making friends. At least not anywhere else.”
“Do you think they were jealous of you being adopted?”
“Maybe. I guess jealousy comes easily to some people. But it doesn’t explain why they acted that way toward me. What happened to me must have been contagious because they never spoke to me again. I was lonely and sad and confused.
I cried every night. But the worst thing was the loneliness. Even though I had a lot of toys, I still missed my parents. I missed my mom especially. Sometimes I prayed for her to come back and take me with her wherever she was going. Other times I wished I could die and join her in heaven. I hoped if I died, they wouldn’t send me to live in an orphanage.”
Abby’s voice sounded far away now like she was talking about someone else. But I could see her face clearly in front of me. Could it possibly be true? Or was she trying to convince herself that she had nothing to fear from death? It was hard to believe anything bad ever happened to her.
She continued, “Then one night I woke up screaming. A man was standing over me. He had his hand on my chest and he was squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. It hurt so much. I thought I was going to die right there.
But when I opened my eyes, the room was empty. No man—just darkness. For a few moments, I kept staring at the ceiling wondering what just happened. Then I heard a noise coming from down the hall. It sounded like footsteps approaching the door.
I grabbed the closest thing I could find —the iron bar that held the window shutters. I lifted it and shoved it through the bars. The sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the house. As soon as the intruder stepped inside, I swung the bar and hit him square in the forehead.
He fell backward and slammed onto the floor. Then I jumped out the window and ran across the yard. I hid behind a bush and watched as he picked himself up off the ground. Blood dripped down his face. His clothes were torn and covered in dirt. But no matter how dirty he got, he always managed to look clean. It seemed strange to me that such a handsome man could get so filthy.”
Abby paused and looked directly at me. Her gaze pierced mine and I suddenly understood the meaning of her words. She was describing a ghost. An apparition who appeared before someone who was dying or dead.
“He took his hat off and wiped his bloodied hands on it. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out. It glowed red in the moonlight. He turned around slowly and faced me. I don’t remember exactly what happened next but I do remember seeing him turn into dust and blow away in the wind.”
A chill swept over me. Was this really happening? How many people did Abby tell this story to? Did anyone know what she saw? If so, maybe I should contact them. They might be able to help her.
“Did you see any other ghosts?” I asked.
“Yes. There were others. Some came out of nowhere; others followed me home and stood outside the house waiting for me to open the door. I tried to ignore them but it didn’t work. Every time I walked by them, I felt their stares burning holes through me.
And when I went outside, I sometimes heard their voices whispering in my ears. That’s why I left the orphanage. I couldn’t stand the loneliness anymore. So I packed a bag full of clothes and headed west to Montana where I hoped nobody would bother me. Maybe it was foolish to leave. But I didn’t want to stay alone anymore. Not unless I could finally meet the ghosts of those I loved.”
It was difficult to hear her say these things. Hard to believe she actually experienced them. But she told me she believed in ghosts. Now I knew she wasn’t lying to me. This woman had seen real ghosts. I wondered what else she’d witnessed since her mother disappeared.
I stared straight ahead, afraid to look at her. We rode in silence for a while. Finally, I asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“Since my father disappeared.”
“Have you seen your parents since then?”
“No,” she said. “And I’m not sure if they’re alive. I can’t stop thinking about them. I miss them more than anyone will ever understand. I hope someday I’ll see them again. I pray they are somewhere in America, living a happy life without having to worry about me.”
“You’ve given me quite a bit to think about, Mrs. Beaumont,” I said. “But we need to make camp here soon. Can you lead us to another spring?”
“Sure,” she replied. “We can ride for a couple hours and reach a creek that runs beside the road.”
As we traveled farther west, the landscape became less populated. More trees and hills rose high above us, blocking our view of the plains. I decided to ask her about her husband. I wanted to learn everything about him. Why did she marry him? What kind of man was he? Would it have been possible to save him with CPR?
“Who is Mr. Beaumont?” I asked.
Abby glanced at me and smiled. “Oh, he’s very nice. You won’t even notice him once you get to know him. He’s quiet most time. Sometimes I find myself wishing he talked more because I feel like he doesn’t care much about anything except getting a job done.
His face always seems blank and uninterested. And yet I can’t deny how handsome he is. He has dark brown hair, almost black, and hazel eyes. His skin looks smooth as silk. He has such fine features: sharp nose, strong chin, and full lips.”
Her description made me smile. Men often described themselves in ways that only women would understand. A few months ago, I read a book written by an author who also wrote romances. One thing she noticed in men was their tendency to describe themselves using words women use to talk about beauty products. They often used words like flawless, handsome, gorgeous, and stunning.
“Do you love him?” I asked.
She hesitated briefly before answering. “Yes. At first. After we got married, we lived happily together. For a year or two. But then one night he woke up screaming. When I ran into the bedroom, he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me until I fell to the ground.
He screamed, ‘Don’t you dare touch her.’ I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. Later, after I realized what he meant, I broke down crying.”
“What happened next?”
“I told him I never touched her. The last time I saw her was when she opened the front door to go shopping. She waved goodbye at me from across the street. Then she turned around and walked away.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Of course! But no one came. Nobody cared. No one seemed surprised to hear what he said. In fact, they all laughed at me afterward. They called me crazy and accused me of trying to steal his property. I begged them to help me.
To take him away. But none of them listened. All they did was laugh some more. It hurt me so badly. My heart ached and my head pounded. I could barely stand. That night I went outside and found myself sitting near the front gate.
There were lights burning inside the house. Lights that should be off at night. I looked up and watched the shadows move along the walls. I heard strange sounds coming from behind the windows. So many noises… footsteps… doors opening and closing… voices calling out to each other…”
I reached over and took hold of Abby’s hand. “Please tell me what happened next.”
“One day he came home and locked me in the house. I tried to escape but I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me leave. Every time I tried, he held me back. If I cried or yelled, he hit me. Or worse. He kept telling me he loved me, and that I needed to do whatever he said. Otherwise, I might lose everything.”
The story she shared with me was heartbreaking. I remembered reading a similar account in the newspaper. I hoped it was true and not just gossip. But now I knew why Abby was determined to catch this killer. She had to protect her family. Her children.
“How long did it take for you to realize he wasn’t going to let you go anywhere?”
“Two years. Two whole years of suffering. Of being trapped. Of being afraid. Until finally I thought maybe I’d die there. Maybe I’d never see my kids again. Or any of the people I cared about. That was when I began searching for a way out.”
“He was very patient,” I remarked. “It must have taken him a while to get where he wanted you. Did you ever try to run away?”
“No. I didn’t want to risk hurting anyone else. Not when I was still a prisoner. Besides, if I left, he might come looking for me. And then he would kill someone else.”
“Was he always violent toward you?”
“Not at first. I think he liked me. Liked having a wife who didn’t argue. Who did exactly what he wanted. Once I gave birth to our son, he started treating me differently. Like I was less important than him. He put the baby above me every time.
Always wanting to play with him instead of spending time with us as a family. I hated it. I felt so alone and unwanted. And then he became even crueler and meaner. He treated me like I was nothing. Worse, he made me feel guilty for feeling unhappy. As though I caused him to pain somehow.”
I shuddered. How horrible! What kind of person would treat a woman so cruelly?
“After a while, I stopped fighting against him. I gave up on trying to make him love me. I figured he was just like most men and that once he got bored, he would eventually change.”
“Why didn’t you seek help?” I asked.
“Because I was too ashamed. Because I was embarrassed. I knew nobody would believe me. Most likely everyone would assume I was lying. Which is why I decided to hide here. To wait for the right opportunity to come along.”
“That must have been difficult. Living under these conditions. Trying to survive.”
“Trying to survive isn’t easy when your husband doesn’t want anything to do with you. He spends hours working. But when he comes home, he has little interest in talking to me or playing with our child. He only wants to relax and watch television.
I’m sure he likes watching sports games because they give him something to talk about with other guys. Nothing interests him anymore. We don’t share a single common interest. He can hardly keep his eyes off the television. The last thing we need around here is sports channels. This place needs prayer more than football!”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, both thinking about the terrible things Abby endured.
When I spoke again, my voice sounded choked. “You’re an amazing woman. You’ve done remarkable things since you arrived here. I know you’ll find justice for your children.”
“Thank you.”
She lifted her chin and smiled proudly. “What about you? Do you plan to stay here?”
“Yes. I hope to become one of your best friends. When we reach Denver, I may even be able to offer some legal advice. After all, I’m a lawyer now.”
Abby chuckled. “Good luck with that! Now you’ve gone and done it. Now he’s going to expect you to solve all his problems. It won’t matter how much money I pay him. Next thing I know, he’ll be asking you to handle his divorce case.”
“Divorce cases aren’t nearly as complicated as murder investigations,” I pointed out. “Besides, I doubt he will ask me for legal help. For now, I simply want to help you. If that means finding the man responsible for killing your sister and taking the law into my own hands, I’ll do it. I owe it to your sister, to yourself.
Don’t worry, I’m no longer naïve enough to believe the authorities will bring the killer to justice anytime soon.”
The End