Hideout by Jack Heath (iphone ebook reader txt) 📕

husbands all did exactly the same things. Exactly. Is there a literal textbook? Required reading for all men—a step-by-step guide to controlling your wife?’

I said nothing.

‘Oh, don’t give me that not all men shit,’ she said, as if I had spoken. ‘This happens everywhere. Maybe not every man is an abuser, but every man has a responsibility to fix the problem.’

I kept my mouth shut. Boys at the group home had tried to sexually assault me. At school, I’d been beaten up and had my teeth knocked out. As an adult, I’d been threatened at gunpoint.

I knew from the FBI stats that men were three times more likely to be murdered or assaulted than women. But I also knew that ninety per cent of perpetrators were male, so I didn’t argue with her.

‘When did you decide to go to the police?’ I asked.

‘Joey was almost one. I woke up one night with Rick’s hands around my neck. He said I’d been snoring too loudly and it was disturbing the baby.’ For the first time, Lynne wasn’t watching the pedestrians outside. She was just staring at the cabinet where all the pies were stored, not seeing it. ‘He choked me out. When I woke up, I just knew: the next time he would kill me. There was nothing I could do to make him happy or calm him down. My best behaviour was never going to be good enough.’

‘But it took you a couple of weeks, is that correct?’ I’d seen the police report already.

‘Nine days,’ she said, a bit defensively. ‘He was on leave. I had to wait until he went back to work. As soon as he left for the day, I started packing a suitcase. Once I had it, I walked to Fulton Street and hailed a cab. Well, four cabs.’ She grimaced. ‘The first three wouldn’t take me. They didn’t have a baby seat. The fourth one didn’t either, but I begged the driver and he agreed to give me a ride to the police station. I told them the whole story. I got a restraining order. He came to the police station, but I didn’t have to see him. I hid in one of the interview rooms while he talked to the police.’ She shuddered. ‘He didn’t yell, or swear. He said he was worried about my mental health, and that I’d talked about hurting Joey. He sounded so reasonable. And I was there on my own, just whispering, “Don’t believe him, don’t believe him.”’ She exhaled. ‘Luckily, they didn’t.’

‘Who did you stay with?’

‘I spent a few nights in a women’s shelter on Waugh before I could get in touch with my parents. After that, they paid for a hotel for me.’

‘Here? You couldn’t get back to Delaware?’

‘Not legally. Joey was Rick’s son. I couldn’t take him interstate without his permission. Instead, my parents came to Houston to help look after Joey while I talked to a lawyer.’

‘Do you think that’s why he wanted to have a child?’ I asked. ‘To control you?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I get why you’re asking, but no. He really loved Joey.’

She was already using the past tense. Loved.

‘Did you see Rick anytime between then and Monday?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not until Monday.’

On Monday, Lynne finished work and took the elevator to the basement parking lot. Joey was with her, having spent all afternoon at the office day-care centre. Her mom had unexpectedly dropped him off at one o’clock that day, so she could take Lynne’s father to an appointment he’d forgotten about with an eye specialist. Lynne had found it hard to concentrate after that, knowing Joey was right downstairs, probably screaming because he was surrounded by strangers.

He was fine when she collected him, though. He waved at Lynne’s colleagues as they entered and left the elevator. They smiled and waved back but still avoided Lynne’s gaze. Thanks to Rick, a few people still thought she was crazy, and those who actually understood her situation were keeping their distance so they wouldn’t feel obliged to help.

When she got to the basement, Lynne loaded Joey into the car seat. He was in a squirmy mood. It was hard to buckle him in, but she got it done. She climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine and drove up the ramp towards the boom gate. She swiped her pass and the gate creaked open. She rolled out onto the street. The last of the summer sunshine fell through the windshield, warming her arms. The trees in Hermann Park were beautifully green. She reached into one of the cup holders for her sunglasses.

Then the gunfire started.

She felt the first shot before she heard it—straight through her calf muscle and into the console between the car seats. She thought for a second that she’d been stung by a bee. Her worst nightmare was a bee in the car. It was only when the second shot punched through the car door and tunnelled through the seat beneath her that she realised what was happening. She frantically unbuckled the seatbelt and scrambled away from the door, into the passenger seat. The car rolled forwards across the street, driverless.

Two more shots rang out. Neither one hit the car. Then there was a pause. Police later concluded that the shooter was using a Remington R25 GII, which had only a four-round magazine. He was reloading.

People were screaming on the street. The car hit the kerb and lurched up. The radio babbled, unconcerned. Hot blood trickled down Lynne’s leg and into her shoe. She covered her head with her arms, shaking.

‘You know what the worst part is?’ Lynne told me. ‘Actually, the whole thing was the worst part. But here’s something I can’t stop thinking about: I didn’t climb into the back seat and try to shield Joey with my body. I didn’t think to