Free Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) by John Meany Page A

down. “Let’s just eat dinner. I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it. But I’m not in the mood for a pep talk.”
    “Okay. Guess what?”
    “What?”
    “I found Kimberly a high-chair. Throw some stain and varnish on it and it’ll look as good as new.”
    “Oh, that’s sweet. Thank you, mom. You didn’t have to do that.”
    What Claire Whittaker enjoyed doing, since retiring two years ago, was buy and then resell things on EBay. She’d pawn anything from old books, records, sewing machines, dolls, to any kind of trinket she could find either in her attic, or at the various flea markets, garage or yard sales, which she attended on a weekly basis. “I know. I wanted to. The next thing I’m going to do is look for a stroller.”
    “All right,” Ashley told her. “You can do that. Then that’s it! You hear me? I don’t want you going overboard buying things for Kimberly. We don’t need to spoil her.”
    “I’m not going to spoil her.”
    “I hope not.”
    “Although look who just purchased her a new hat.”
    “I bought her the hat for the beach. She can’t be sitting in the hot sun with a bald head.”
    Claire carried a serving dish with the steaming roast beef on it to the table. “And I bought her the high-chair because the one we have is cracked from when you accidentally knocked it over on Monday. Remember?”
    Ashley filled her plate with both the meat and the veggies. “Okay. And I said thank you. I just don’t want her to grow up expecting things.”
    “I understand,” Claire said, handing Ashley the tub of butter and a roll. “From now on anytime I decide to get Kimberly something, I’ll clear it with you first. Deal?”
    “Okay. Deal.”
    “Pass me the salt. I’m starved.”
    “Me too. Wow! This roast beef is excellent. I hardly need a knife to cut it, it’s cooked perfectly.”
    “It is delicious. This time, Ash, I almost cooked the roast beef as great as you do. Which, as you know is pretty sad when you consider that your father and I owned a diner. I should be able to cook the meat better than you.”
    “I think your specialty is meatloaf,” Ashley noted. “I remember when I briefly worked there again during college, that’s what the customers used to like. The meatloaf and those big bacon double cheeseburgers.”
     
    ***
     
    After supper, Ashley escaped to the basement, which she had recently turned into an art studio.
    When she was younger, Ashley used to paint portraits, still life, and landscapes with peaceful themes. Since the rape, however, that had changed dramatically. Now she was doing frightening surreal art, alternating from daring cubist style to emotional impressionism.
    Of late she had also started to write equally menacing poetry. Ashley kept these personal thoughts recorded in a journal beside her bed. In that same nightstand drawer, that’s where she also stored her .22 Caliber revolver. Ashley had purchased the firearm to help her feel safe, particularly when she planned to be out at night.
    Her mother had not wanted her to buy it. Claire felt uncomfortable having a loaded gun in the house. She had heard too many horror stories about how they can accidentally discharge.
    Now, after putting on her favorite Shania Twain CD, Come on Over, and locating her pallet and a clean brush, Ashley stepped in front of her easel.
    Onto a new canvas, she let her imagination run wild. Soon mesmerizing images materialized.
    On a nearby table, next to her pint of Smirnoff vodka, Ashley’s two bottles of prescription medication seemed to be beckoning her name.
    There would be no nightmares tonight. Ashley was sure of that. The sleeping pills would see to that.

     
     
    CHAPTER 15
     
     
     
     
     
    The following morning, Ashley’s mother woke her up at eleven o‘clock. Claire stood beside the queen-size bed, with the baby cradled in her arms.
    Groggily, Ashley pushed her floral quilt, blanket, and sheet away from her face. Then, with her eyes still shut,