RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Twenty
December 30, 1912
Alice did not show up for the final performance
of Othello. Neither Rose nor Robert knew where she was, and all Gabe
knew was that she had gone off with her beau that morning and hadn’t returned.
Rose wondered if Alice felt that, since she wouldn’t be coming back to the
theater, she didn’t have any reason to finish the show.
Rose took Alice’s place for the last time
that night, giving her performance everything she had. She didn’t know when she
would do Shakespeare again, having decided that she wasn’t ready to leave the
secure life she had established and venture out into the unknown. The audience
cheered wildly afterward, but Rose felt curiously detached, as though she were
watching from a great distance. She had the odd feeling that she would not see
this theater again, although she had decided to stay on and remain with the
company. She had not yet informed Norman of her decision, but she planned to do
so the following night, when the cast and crew would be gathering for a New
Year’s Eve celebration. She would inform the director of the Shakespeare troupe
that she could not accompany them tomorrow morning.
The audience applauded delightedly after the
show, and someone brought her flowers, but Rose had the strangest feeling that
someone was watching her with hostility. She didn’t know how to explain the
feeling—perhaps it was her own guilt at having auditioned for a role, won it,
and then decided to give it up. Maybe, she thought, it was Jack’s ghost,
condemning her for not making it count. But Rose didn’t feel ready to leave
yet, and she had found a good life and good friends, even if Alice was
extremely flighty. She also felt that it would be wrong to abandon her friend
when she had so many problems.
Rose lingered after the audience had left,
the anxious feeling growing stronger. She had greeted several audience members
at the back door, including a teenage girl not much younger than herself whose
great aspiration in life was to be an actress. Rose told her what she had
learned, leaving out the seamier portions, and the girl had run off, promising
to take Rose’s advice and study monologues for audition purposes.
Most of the cast and crew had already left
when Rose finally slipped out the back door and into the alley. No one was
around as she started down the dark, heavily shadowed back street. Halfway down
the street, Rose thought she heard someone moving in one of the shadowed
doorways, but when she didn’t see anyone, she attributed it to an overactive
imagination. No one was lingering with dangerous intent. If there was someone
there, it was likely a drunk, passed out in some pile of garbage, or a homeless
person, seeking shelter from the cold night in the only shelter they could
find.
Rose passed the doorway where she thought she
had seen someone and continued up the alley. She had gone about ten feet when
she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling around, she saw someone following her
through the shadows.
"I don’t know who you are, but you’d
better stop right now. I don’t have any money, so if that’s what you’re after,
you’ll be very disappointed. I don’t have any jewelry, either, so you’d better
go look for another victim." It wasn’t the first time that someone had
followed her, hoping that she had something worth stealing.
The person stopped, standing almost hidden in
the shadows. He laughed, a low, chilling sound. Rose stepped back, every
instinct screaming at her to run. But she knew that if she did, he would be
upon her in seconds. Slowly, she backed away, trying to put as much distance as
possible between them.
There was something familiar about the
laughter. Rose felt a chill run down her spine as the man moved toward her,
more quickly now. She tensed, ready to fight.
"No jewelry? Rose, you really can’t
expect me to believe that. That diamond engagement ring, those diamond
earrings, the Heart of the Ocean..."
Suddenly, Rose knew who the stalker was. A
scream froze in her throat as Cal stepped from the shadows and grabbed her arm.
Rose struggled, employing every self-defense
move that Alice had taught her, but Cal had the strength lent by anger...and
madness, she realized. In less than a minute, he had her pinned against the
wall, his hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing so that she could barely
breathe. Rose stood perfectly still, trying not to antagonize him further.
Cal laughed again, the same chilling sound,
and Rose realized that he was going to kill her. She tried to struggle, but she
felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen. He squeezed her throat harder,
choking her. Tears ran down Rose’s face, from the pain, and the fear, and the
struggle to get any air at all. Waves of blackness edged at her consciousness,
and Cal smiled, enjoying her terror.
Suddenly, he eased his grip. Rose choked and
coughed, drawing in air. Her lungs seemed to be on fire, a sensation she hadn’t
known since the night the Titanic sank and she had struggled to the surface of
the freezing water. She tried to move, but Cal pushed her harder against the
wall. His hand still on her throat, he allowed her just enough air to remain
conscious. His other hand moved to touch her hair, tugging painfully on her
inky black curls.
"You looked much better as a
redhead," he told her, yanking on a handful of her hair. Rose tried to
jerk her head away, but he only pulled harder.
"You redheads are all alike," he
continued. "Even when you try to disguise your true nature, you’re still
little whores, all of you. You may have been upper class, but you’re still no
better than your good friend Alice." He smiled at Rose’s shocked look.
"I guess she didn’t tell you about me. Alice is good at keeping her mouth
shut—when she’s sober. A few drinks, and she’ll tell you anything you want to
know. She told me all about how you had run away from me, about how you had
stolen her place on the stage, and about the lovely little boarding house you
live in. Alice fell in love with me from the start, just like all you little
redheads. She knows what she’s doing—very professional. I guess her years
dancing for men taught her everything she needed to know."
"You..." Rose choked out.
"You’re the rich man she was in love with, the one she wouldn’t talk
about, the one who gave her all those expensive presents—and a lot of
bruises."
Cal laughed. "And she loved every minute
of it. Just like you."
"You—"
"—unimaginable bastard?" Cal mocked
her. "Hardly, Sweetpea. My mother gave birth to me before she revealed her
true nature. She was a redhead, just like you, and any male was fair game for
her, from the strongest, most virile of young men, to boys—even very young
ones."
Rose’s eyes widened in horrified comprehension
of what he was telling her. Cal—and his mother? No wonder he had gone mad.
"No, I am not a bastard. I am my
father’s son—and my mother’s. She was just like you—and she left, too."
"She was sick. She died—"
"She left. How is not important. She
deserved what she got, just like you." He tightened his hand on her throat
again.
Rose struggled, pleading with him with her
eyes not to do this. He loosened his hand again, wanting her to hear one more
thing.
"Your mother is just like you, too. My father
is smitten with her."
"She’s...all right?"
"My father, fool that he is, believes
himself in love with her. She will destroy him, as all of your kind do. I can’t
allow that."
"Leave her alone, Cal."
"She’s dangerous, evil, as all of you
redheads are. My father has been protecting her, making sure that she remains
safe from harm. He even paid her debts and gives her money. He doesn’t
understand what she is. I tried to explain it to him, but he has been guarding
her ever since. One day, he’ll let his guard down and I’ll be able to take care
of the problem."
"Stay away from her. She hasn’t done
anything to you." Rose knew all too well what Cal was capable of, and the
thought of her mother in Cal’s hands was more than she could bear.
"She’s a redhead, just like all the
others." His hands tightened suddenly around Rose’s throat again. Rose
knew that time had run out. She prayed for a distraction—any distraction. A
mugger, a drunk, a rapist searching the alleys for a victim—any of them would
be better than Cal, and might distract him long enough for her to get away.
Just as she was losing consciousness, Cal
stepped back slightly, putting more pressure on her windpipe—and accidentally
kicking an alley cat. The animal screamed, startling him. He loosened his grip
just enough for Rose to draw in some air.
She took advantage of his distraction,
driving her high-heeled shoe into his knee. He let go of her, almost falling.
Rose raised her foot, kicking him with all her strength in the groin, then ran,
struggling to get enough air.
Gasping for breath, Rose darted around the
corner and onto a better-lit street. She could hear footsteps behind her, so
she ducked into another alley, diving behind an overflowing garbage can. She
huddled there, hidden between the garbage can and a doorway, struggling for
breath, trying not to breathe too loudly. Gripping a sharp can lid, she pulled
several newspapers over herself, hoping that she wouldn’t be found, but
prepared to fight to the death if necessary. Holding her breath, she waited,
frozen with terror, as she heard Cal walking down the alley. He passed close by
her hiding place, but didn’t see her. At last, he left, assuming that she had
gone down another street.
Rose remained where she was for another hour,
fearing that Cal would come back, but finally she slipped from her hiding
place. Her throat aching and bruised, but thankfully capable of taking in
adequate air again, she headed for the boarding house, hoping to avoid meeting
anyone.
Everything was quiet when she came inside,
but Rose knew that she couldn’t stay there. Cal knew where she lived, and he
wouldn’t hesitate to come after her. She hurried up the stairs as quietly as
she could and slipped into her room. Pulling her bag out from under her bed,
she stuffed as much as she could into it, including the Heart of the Ocean, and
then slipped out again, leaving her other possessions behind. She hadn’t
planned on joining the Shakespeare troupe, but now she thought that it was a
good idea and an easy way to escape. Cal had always found Shakespeare
incomprehensible, so it wasn’t likely that he would pay attention to the
traveling theater troupe. He had only attended Othello tonight to go
after her.
Rose rushed through the streets of New York,
making her way to the hotel where the acting troupe was staying. The director
wasn’t happy to have her wake him up in the middle of the night, but he paid
for a room for her, telling her to be ready to leave by afternoon tomorrow. All
the equipment and props had to be loaded onto the train, so everyone had to be
ready to leave hours before the train pulled out. Rose didn’t mind. The sooner
she left New York, and Cal, behind, the better.