Joe Cabot: the owner of The Rose and Crown Tavern. Until her mother had contracted tuberculosis, she had worked here as a waitress. As well as in other–capacities. Wendy gritted her teeth, whatever her mother had done, she had done it for her children.
Joe's dark hair was greasy and slicked back, his thin mustache neatly trimmed, and he wore a dark brown suit three-piece suit with a gaudy pocket watch chain dangling from the pocket. When he saw Wendy enter, he stood, hands wide, grin even wider, showing off stained teeth.
"My dear Gwendylon. What a pleasant surprise."
"Mr. Cabot," Wendy greeted.
"Please, no need to stand on formality, call me Joe. We've known each other long enough." His eyes skimmed down her body and she crossed her arms in front of her. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Wendy took a deep breath and began her rehearsed speech."I'm actually here on a formal business matter."
Joe's eyebrows winged up, "Oh," then he chuckled and came around his desks towards her. "Why don't we sit and discuss this 'formal business matter'" He gestured to two leather high back chairs near the fireplace.
Wendy nodded and sat. Joe, however, merely leaned against her chair, staring down at her and she shrank back a little. Come on, Wendy, you can do this, she tried stiffening her spine and continued on. "I have been going over mum's affairs, and noticed that she was not paid for the two weeks before she left your...establishment."
Joe's face was inscrutable, he had dropped his arm down over the back of the chair and his fingers were getting closer and closer to her shoulder.
"I...I was hoping that this was merely an oversight and that you would correct it..." She felt herself stuttering, wanting this to be over. She wanted to run from the room, run from the sickly sweet smell of cologne and sweat. But she had her brother to think about, they wouldn't last much longer on her mother's pitiful savings. If she could just get them through one more month, then she'd have time to figure something out.
"Hmmm...two weeks you say." Joe rubbed his chin and came around to stand in front of her. He stood so close she could see the sheen of the fire in his belt buckle. "I'd have to check the books, why don't you stay and we can discuss this more, say over dinner."
Inside Wendy recoiled at the offer, "Unfortunately, I have to be home before dark, so I was hoping we could resolve this now. If not, I can always come back," –the absolute last thing she wanted to do.
"Wendy, Darling," Joe snickered at his little pun, "I have my own 'formal' arrangement I've been meaning to discuss with ya," finally he sat down across from her and she breathed a sigh of relief. "I know how much you and yer brother are struggling, and since your mum was such a loyal and talented employee," he chuckled again, "I'd like to do what I can to take care of ya."
"That is very kind Mr. Cabot, but we are fine on our own."
Joe continued on as if she hadn't said a word, "A pretty young girl like yourself needs looking after, protection if you will from the wolves of the world."
"Old Tim does a fine job of keeping us safe..."
He waved his hand at her comment, "Old Tim won't live forever, and there is so much I can do for ya," he licked his lips at that.
"Again, that is very kind but we don't need charity."
"Oh, I wasn't talking about charity...I'm talking about an arrangement. Between us."
Wendy's mind went blank for a moment and Joe allowed the silence, "You mean...you want to marry me?"
At that, Joe tipped back his head and roared with laughter, "Oh Wendy, you are something else. No, no, I'm not the marrying type. I mean the same arrangement your mum and I had."
Memories flooded involuntarily into her mind. After her father, Clark Michael Darling, died in the war, her mother had lost a piece of her soul. The once vibrant woman became merely a shell of her former self. However, that didn't stop her from caring for Wendy and Michael, it just stopped her from caring about herself.
She had been working at the Rose and Crown for two months when Wendy went to see her and drop off an Umbrella. The surly bartender had pointed towards Joe's office when she asked about Moira. She remembered going to the door and seeing it slightly ajar. She didn't knock. Instead, she'd pushed open the door to find a sight that plagued her dreams.
It came to her in flashes of color. Her mother's lighter auburn hair spilling over the mahogany desks. Her dark green skirts thrown haphazardly over her back. Joe's navy blue shirt, partially unbuttoned. His cheeks, pink from exertion.
She stood there long enough for her mother to look up and lock eyes with her. Tears stained her face, which oddly was devoid of emotion. Her mother's eyes finding hers compelled her into action. She shut the door, not caring if it was loud, and ran from the tavern. Wendy had sworn that Joe didn't see her, but judging by the knowing look on his face, maybe she was wrong.
Her cheeks heated, "Whatever arrangement you had with my mother, I will have no part in it."
"I understand your fear, Wendy. It is understandable in your condition. But don't worry–"
"My condition?"
She hated the condescending laugh he gave her, "Well, you are a virgin, right?"
Wendy stood abruptly, the conversation had become more than she could bear. She would figure out another way to get through the month. At this moment she would rather die than take any of Joe Cabot's filthy money.
"I'm leaving now. Never mind about the two weeks pay. Thank you for your time." She turned briskly for the door, but he moved quickly to stand in front of her, blocking her escape.
"Mr. Cabot..."
"Wendy, I don't think you understand," he took a step towards her, "When I want something, I always get it." His voice became low and more–menacing.
"Mr. Cabot...let me pass..." her voice trembled at the end.
He reached out his hand and caressed her cheek, "You are so beautiful," it stroked down her neck and then rested heavily on her shoulder.
Wendy felt frozen in place. She swallowed and tried reasoning with him one more time, "Please," she hadn't meant to sound so weak, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes.
"Just accept my offer and things won't end badly for you."
She shook her head and tried to retreat, to step around him, but her last bit of resistance was what finally aroused his anger.
Before she could scream, he shoved her to the floor. Her legs buckling underneath her, she heard something pop in her wrist as she tried to catch herself. The pain lanced through her forearm–a sharp burning sensation. Wendy tried to get up, but Joe was now partially leaning over her and both his hands gripped the material of her collar. "I tried being gentle with you, but it seems you want it a little rough. I don't mind." With a sharp jerk, he tore the blouse. Buttons scattered across the floorboards and she felt the cool air on her now exposed cleavage. Wendy flailed her uninjured hand at him, trying to scratch his face or slap him, anything to stop him. She opened her mouth to scream, but his large hand covered her mouth like he knew exactly what she was planning on doing.
He started to hike up her skirts and had almost succeeded. Please, God, help me, she prayed as she continued to flail and thrash.
It seemed like, at this moment, God was listening.
Two things happened at once, Joe's hand slipped down her mouth exposing the skin between his pointer and thumb, and instinctively she bit down–hard. Hard enough to taste blood. He cried out and drew back, cradling his hand.
Then, Joe's door opened and Imogene stepped in, "Wendy, dear? Did you want some–"
Wendy didn't wait for her to finish the question. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted out the door. She didn't look back when she heard fist meeting flesh and a feminine cry. She didn't look back when she heard tables and chairs being thrown.
Wendy ran out the door of the tavern and down the pathway towards the road. It was dark, and her heart beat a fast cadence in her chest. She wasn't sure he was chasing her until she cut through her short-cut and then a moment later heard crashing in the underbrush.
This only spurred her on faster.
Her pace became less sure when she passed an outcropping that she didn't recognize. Had she taken a wrong turn? No, that was impossible. She pushed herself faster. Her sides had begun to ache, and it hurt to breathe. Her wrist had gone numb, she may have broken or dislocated it.
Then she skidded to a stop. In front of her was a bluff that dropped down towards the ocean. A dead end.
The surf crashed against the cliffside, sending spray upwards, wetting the end of her skirt. She stared down into the abyss, a feeling of numb fear rose inside her as if the waves themselves were smashing her hope to bits instead of the rocks below. How had she gotten here? How could she have gotten so turned around?
"Wendy!" A voice yelled from the darkness behind her and she turned towards it. Bobbing lights appeared, shutter-like as figures ran along the path through the trees. They were getting closer. And there was nowhere for her to go. Thunder cracked across the sky. Cold, steady rain soaked her in seconds. She tried holding the tattered pieces of her blouse over her bare skin, but it did little to stop the freezing rain from chilling her to the bone. "Wendy!" the voice was now barely discernible above the sound of the storm and the waves, but she knew he was getting closer
She took a step backward, she couldn't let Joe take her. Then the ground shifted beneath her and she was floating. No. Falling. To be swallowed up by the ocean, bashed against the jagged rocks. Her body torn to shreds. For a moment she wanted to give up, to let go and be free of everything: pain, sorrow, misery, brokenness. A flash of a round smiling face and she screamed. She couldn't leave like this, she had to live–for Michael. But it was too late.
She felt herself slowing down, something tugged at her. She knew it was only an illusion, that any minute she would hit the ocean and the rocks. Then everything went black.
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