I left Atlanta to get out of Daniel’s circle. I wasn’t a battered woman; he had never hit me or even threatened violence. He said the nicest things, actually, he just…was everywhere.
Somehow, I could go to a convention or a new book club, or even a speed dating event, and without my mentioning him, without our relationship ever being public — strangers would sing his praises to me as soon as they learned I was an art curator. His face popped up on business cards and art gallery flyers across the city. He would do me professional favors — like setting up coffee dates I never asked for with influential people and referring me for prestigious positions — even a year after he last slept in my bed.
Outside of Atlanta, and really outside the world of art curation, he was nobody. So I moved to Savannah, embedded myself in the college of art and design, and attempted to hunker down until I had a real plan. I wanted to create my own name, instead of simply aligning myself with the prominent names around me. Maybe I would write a book.
I started an assistant teaching position, and class went pretty unremarkably until we had a new student, Henry, transfer in. He came up to my podium after lecture to introduce himself. His face stood out to me even before I knew the role he would play in my life.
He was extremely well-groomed and he dressed professionally, despite the fact that it was just an undergraduate class — a fairly early-morning one at that. His whole face grinned in a way that was simultaneously charming and off-putting. Henry’s eyes were familiar, but not in a good way.
I felt like I was staring into the eyes of a ghost.
We were covering WWI and the Dada movement. When I collected the first creative submission of the semester, I mostly received signed inanimate objects and abstract collages from print media of the early 1920s. But Henry did something different. He took a kaleidoscopic image, fractured through many misaligned lenses so that the subject appeared shattered, like a broken bottle on the pavement. The subject was a man in uniform, with neatly coiffed hair, and as my mind overcame the photograph’s distortion, I recognized him.
It was Daniel.
I called in sick the rest of the week. As an assistant professor at the bottom of the pecking order, it was a risky move, but I was terrified. How had he found me?
And who was Henry? His son? I didn’t remember him ever mentioning a son, or really any family. I found myself in a fit of anxiety and nausea as I realized I didn’t know anything personal about Daniel you couldn’t read in a magazine. But he knew everything about me.
My mother had supported my decision to leave Daniel and Atlanta, so I called her for advice. After I told her what had happened in class, she laughed.
“Becca, you are so superstitious. How could you even be sure it was him? Besides, even if it was, it could be good for you to see him again.”
“What?” I replied.
“He always just wanted what was best for you. Think about your career and how hard it was before you met Daniel. And he cares about you. I…I probably shouldn’t tell you this but we had a long talk last week, and he really is so kind and gracious. He’s worried about you. You know, if I’d known what he’s like, I wouldn’t have told you to leave. You made me think he was some kind of…puppet master!”
“Mom,” I snapped, betrayed. “That’s what he is, don’t you see…he’s using you to get to me. You…you didn’t tell him where I live now, did you?”
“I didn’t give him your address…but he knows you’re at SCAD now.”
“Mom!”
“He just wanted to see if he could help you get a better position, he knows the head of the department, and…”
I hung up on her, angrier than I’ve ever felt before. I wasn’t just being prideful. I didn’t trust Daniel.
There’s something not quite right about someone who just gives and gives with no self-interest. You pay the price eventually, and I wasn’t ready to find out what that price would be.
With no more sick days to take, I went back to teaching. Henry never came back to class. I asked the registrar if he had left the school, only to find out that he had never been enrolled in the first place.
We had a faculty meeting that Friday, and at this point I wasn’t too surprised to hear that we would be getting a guest lecturer next week: esteemed art historian and museum curator Daniel Haber.
When I drove home from that meeting, I didn’t realize that I had been followed until it was too late. I stepped out of the car and heard my name in a deep earthy voice. Daniel had found me.
He was standing by his black Tesla, smiling like he had just told an incredible joke. I was tempted to withdraw, like I always did around him, but I swallowed and spoke my mind.
“What are you doing, Daniel? You aren’t welcome here.”
He just shook his head, still smiling. “Becca. That’s no way to say hello. Don’t you know how worried I’ve been?”
As he spoke, he walked up the driveway, passed me, and opened my front door. I had definitely locked it before I left home that morning.
“Well, won’t you come in? We have a few things to talk about.”
My body shook as my lizard brain hijacked my mind’s attempts to strategize an escape. I thought about getting back in my car and driving away, but then I saw Henry get out of Daniel’s car. He had a handgun obviously tucked into his waist belt.
Daniel was great at giving the illusion of choice, but this time he knew he couldn’t be too subtle. I went into the house with Daniel.
It had been redecorated since I left that morning. Daniel’s suitcases took up half the front hall, and art worth more than the house itself hung on the walls. He settled into a brand new leather armchair and lit a cigarette.
I didn’t know where to sit in my own home.
“You’ve gone too far. You can’t…”
“I’ve gone too far?” He bellowed. “You are the one who moved nearly three hundred miles just to embarrass yourself! An assistant teaching position? Really, Becca. I taught you better. I showed you your worth, and here you are just…throwing it away.”
“My worth…”
My worth wasn’t something to argue with a man like Daniel. I had to keep from getting wrapped up in his games. But my mind couldn’t synthesize a complete sentence, much less a clever one.
“Still, maybe you’re right,” Daniel continued. “About a change of scenery, and pace. I’ll be lecturing here for the next few months, that should be enough time to give you a taste of grunt work. Then there will be a position with a private collection ready for you in January in Buckhead.”
Chess moves. Life was a series of chess moves for Daniel. But I wasn’t his Queen. Just a Pawn, a wild horse he was intent on breaking. I would have to become the same type of person to beat him.
Or I could run.
I bolted for the door. He didn’t try to follow me. Henry was waiting.
I fought every instinct in my body to keep running for my car. His gun was drawn. He could shoot me, but I knew he wouldn’t kill me.
He popped off one round, which ricocheted and grazed my hip. I yelped in pain but yanked my car door open and cranked it as fast as I could. Daniel was at the door, but he just watched silently as I floored the car in reverse. I sped down the road, trying to get pulled over, desperate for protection. I could clearly see Henry and Daniel following me in the Tesla.
I didn’t stop until a highway trooper pulled me over about twenty minutes later.
Finally. I could go into custody, explain my situation, and get a restraining order in place. Maybe they’d even help me make a new identity or, well — I wasn’t sure how any of that worked. But all I felt was tremendous relief as the officer approached my car. This was the end.
He shone his light into my eyes and asked me if I had been drinking. Then if I had any drugs in my car. I tried to explain why I was speeding, but I was crying out of fear and relief, and it was hard to speak. I lifted my shirt enough to show him my bleeding side.
Then Daniel and Henry pulled up in front of my car. The officer walked to them and they spoke for quite a while. Suddenly, I wasn’t crying anymore. I was terrified. I needed to tell my story to the officer.
He turned and started walking back. But he didn’t stop at my window. “Officer!” I called. “Officer, those men…”
He ignored me and got into his patrol car. As he drove off, I heard my passenger door open, and Daniel slid into the seat next to me. Now he was holding the gun.
“Becca. You know better than this. Let’s go home.”
