Tomorrow we’ll tell everyone she fell down the stairs.
After this, she’ll have to quit her job and stay home.
Then we can finally control her.
Rebecca paused it again.
“That statement matters.”
I nodded.
My hands were shaking.
She covered them gently.
“You do not have to go back there.”
“I know.”
This time, I believed it.
A detective arrived that afternoon.
His name was Daniel Mercer.
He listened to a copy of the recording.
He asked careful questions.
Who struck me?
Gloria.
Who prevented me from leaving?
Nathan.
Who took my phone?
Nathan.
Who had my identification?
Nathan.
Who controlled the bank cards?
Mostly Nathan.
Had this happened before?
Not like this.
But there had been other things.
Shoving.
Blocking doors.
Taking keys.
Reading messages.
Threatening to cancel my health insurance.
Calling my employer.
Telling my family I was unstable.
Each answer made Detective Mercer write another line.
Then he asked:
“How did you get out?”
