As if sensing my thoughts, she says, “He's a rapist, Remi. They notified us all when he moved into town four months ago after being released from prison.”
“Are you serious?”
I can feel my mouth hanging open. I'm shocked. Really shocked. How is it that he's allowed to live here in this lovely town? This beautiful, quiet place now seems tainted by his presence. My insides fill with revulsion, replacing all the lustful thoughts I had. So quickly, he turned into a despicable human being.
She nods. “We tried to get him out of here, talked to the sheriff and all that. But it didn't work. So now people just try to make his life miserable and hope that he leaves on his own.”
The guy approaches a pick-up truck that I assume is his, pulls out a napkin from his pocket, and then uses it to open his truck door. Then he's speeding out of the parking lot while Jolene and I stand here, still staring outside.
CHAPTER 3
Remi
After filling my mug to the brim with coffee, I stand out on my back deck, looking out at the ocean. I had a restless sleep last night after what Jolene had told me.
My mind just wouldn't shut off, replaying the encounter and everything Jolene said. Finally, after quite some time of trying to sleep, I ended up getting up and doing some reading on sex offenders and what they are required to do; whether they're allowed to live anywhere they want, that type of thing.
A lot of cases are different depending on the actual crime, but from what I gathered, he isallowed to live here, and they can't force him to leave. Unless, of course, he does the same thing again. It had me thinking all sorts of crazy things like actually trying to get him to do it again. But then I felt sick at the thought.
At the very least, he has to be on the registry for ten years, and he would be on some sort of parole right now. I wonder if he has to check in with a parole officer on a regular basis? Jolene said that he was just released from prison before he came here. . . I wonder how long he was in there? Did he only rape the one person? Does he regret it?
Damn my curiosity.
I pour the remainder of my coffee into a travel mug and decide to start my walk to work a little earlier than yesterday so that I don't need to rush.
Now that people are getting to know me, I get random waves or honks as people drive by. People from my old life had done that as well, but for an entirely different reason. Here, it actually feels nice.
As I approach the end of the row of houses just before Main Street, I notice a SOLD sign hanging in the yard of one of the houses and immediately glance at the home out of curiosity.
An uneasy prickling sensation travels up the back of my neck when I see a dark figure standing in the window. It's too dark to make out anything other than the person is big enough to be a man, and they appear to be watching me.
My first thought is that it's the guyI found out about yesterday, the one who I thought way too much about all night. But I didn't really have any of thosevibes from him in the store. Even looking back at our whole interaction, if you could call it that, there was nothing that had me feeling uneasy, just disgusted at the end after finding out what he did.
Facing forward, I pick up my speed, but then I shake my head at myself and slow my pace again after a moment. I sneak a look back over my shoulder, and the window is empty now. The person was probably simply looking out at the street when I happened to walk by. I'm being silly, probably from lack of sleep and traces of paranoia remaining from the life I left.
The sun is already heating up my skin by the time I'm close to the store, and it's not even nine o'clock in the morning. A dip in the ocean and a walk along the beach this afternoon sounds like a really nice idea.
Pulling out my phone as I cross the parking lot, I re-read the message I received from my mother this morning and contemplate replying. She was apparently completely shocked that I had actually left, despite me repeatedly saying I wanted to. I decide to give her a quick call before I start work.
“Remi Jane Murdoch, what the hell kind of stunt do you think you are pulling?” she says by way of answering.
“Hi, Mom. Nice to talk to you, too.” I look up at the sky and take a deep breath for strength. “I'm not pulling any type of stunt.”
“After all we've done for you, you go and sneak off.”
“I didn't just sneak off.” Well, I guess in a way, I kind of did. “I've been telling you for a long time that I was going to leave.”
“Do you have any idea how bad this looks for us? You were meant to be with us for photos at the Matron, and you never showed. It was so embarrassing.”
“I'm sorry, Mom.”
“You're sorry? Sorry doesn't cut it . . .” She starts on about how I should be more considerate when it comes to her and dad. How I shouldn't have left and I have a responsibility to my family. I tune out most of it until she mentions getting my father to call me.
“Can't you just be happy for me that I'm really happy here?”
“And where's 'here'?”
Of course, that's all she has to say. Of course, she's more concerned with how it looks for her and dad. But she's crazy if she thinks I'm actually going to tell her where I am. I bite down on my tongue to stop me from saying anything that I'll regret.