The Banishing (3 page)

Mark promised he’d work more hours. Melissa agreed to do some extra shifts at the hospital. It was going to be worth it, she now remembered Mark saying.

If only they had both known the future that lay ahead of them.

Melissa snapped out of her thoughts, blinking away the shadows of memories. How long had she been sitting there, staring? Grabbing her bag and coat from the passenger seat, Melissa stepped out and ran to her porch to protect her from the rain.

The front door opened instantly, and she looked up and saw Mark, smiling warmly and holding a glass of wine in his hand. “You’re just in time,” he said, standing aside and letting Melissa pass into the house. “I’ve been cooking dinner.”

So you’re the real Mark, are you?
She wanted to ask, glancing at him nervously. She shrugged herself out of her jacket, threw her bag and keys onto the coat rack, and followed behind him into the kitchen.

It smelled delicious. There were pots on the cooker, bubbling with heat, a basket of bread on the dining table, and a large bottle of Rosé wine in the center. Mark went over to the cooker, stirred something inside one of the pans, and turned to her. “Want a drink?”

Melissa stood there in the doorway, feeling slightly stunned. After the morning they had and after the way he had turned on her, she could hardly believe this was the same person. “Oh…yes. I’ll have a wine, I suppose.”

Mark smiled at her, his eyes warm and bright. “Why don’t you sit down and enjoy your drink? I’ll serve dinner.”

Melissa forced a smile, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the dining table. She poured herself some wine and took a sip. “What’s all this for?” she asked, watching him as he poured food onto plates.

“It’s only dinner. I thought I’d give you a break from the kitchen for once.” His voice seemed so normal, so casual, that she started to wonder if she’d imagined his rage that morning. She pressed a finger to her lips and sucked in air as a throbbing pain pulsed through them. She hadn’t imagined it; the man standing in front of her was really capable of that and possibly more.

“So how was work? Did you make it in on time?” Mark placed two plates down on the table and sat down opposite his wife.

“Vegetable curry. It looks gorgeous. Thank you.”

“Enjoy it while it’s hot.” Mark lifted his fork and began eating. “So…your day?”

Melissa lowered her eyes, afraid to look into his. Afraid to meet his gaze and afraid of what she might read beneath the surface. “It was quiet on the ward. Half of the beds were empty, so I didn’t have much to do.”

“Was Sharon there?” he asked, taking a sip of wine.

“Sharon? Why? Yes, she was there. She’s normally on day shifts like me.” Melissa caught a look on his face, a change pass over him. Worry? Fear? “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Did she say anything? About your face.”

Melissa hesitated. If he knew Sharon knew the truth, he would explode. “She asked what happened, and I said I fell down this morning.”

Marks eyes narrowed, fixed onto hers. “Did she believe you?”

Melissa wanted to get away. Wanted to have a bath, to be alone. She wasn’t hungry, and she wasn’t a good liar. She took a deep breath, reached for the bottle of wine and topped off her glass. “Of course she believed me, Mark. She asked me, I answered, and it was left at that.”

Mark pushed his plate aside and reached his hands across the table, taking Melissa’s hands in his. His touch was warm, comforting, at odds with his recent behavior. She looked up and smiled, but it wasn’t forced. In that moment, it felt real, almost genuine. “I am sorry,” he said.

“You already apologized.”

He fell silent, but his hand still remained over hers. She watched him, watched how his eyes filled with tears and knew then that she couldn’t just walk out. Somehow seeing him there, looking frightened and upset, meant that there was light at the end of the tunnel and meant that there was hope for them as a couple. If he got help.

“What happened this morning scared me, Mark. You frightened me. I think there is something wrong, badly wrong, because this isn’t you. You…” her voice trailed off, and she felt suddenly aware that all it would take was one word that he didn’t like the sound of, and he could explode.

“What? Go on,” he said, looking up at her, tears sliding down his rough, tired cheeks.

“You need help, because how you’re acting isn’t normal.”

Mark pushed his chair back, stood up, and went around to the other side of the table. He got down on his knees, stared up at her, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I am sorry. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why I’ve been like this, but I will sort it out. I will sort it out, because I don’t want to lose you.” He leaned in for another kiss, then pulled back, his eyes resting on the large cut on her lips. “My God…”

Melissa pulled his face forward with her hands and leaned in so that their faces were inches apart. She was seeing—for the first time in weeks—the man she loved, the man she married. “I want us to survive this,” she said.

“We will,” he replied, with a certainty she was surprised to hear.

Chapter Four

After dinner, while Mark was in the lounge watching some television, Melissa slipped upstairs to have a quick shower. The hot water pelted against her skin, warming her, waking her. She felt confused, torn between her despair over Mark’s abuse and her love for him. She remembered the way she had, in the past, heard stories of women who stood by abusive men and how she thought them to be gullible, weak, and stupid. Yet here she was, reluctant to leave the man who was hurting her. One moment, he was the sweetest, mildest man, the next, red with rage. Who was he and what was happening?
Should I leave?
, she asked herself, as she lathered soap onto her skin.
Or is there hope?
, she wondered, smiling at the way he had knelt before her, desperate to make up for his actions.

He seemed genuinely sorry, but they always did, didn’t they? Men who abused. They were clever like that, knowing when to pull back.

Melissa switched off the shower and stepped out. She caught sight of the cloth she had used to clean up that morning, bunched up behind the sink. It was smeared in red—covered in drops of her blood—and the sight sickened her.

She quickly dried herself off and pulled on her white, silk pajamas. Leaving her hair wrapped tightly in a towel, she unlocked the bathroom door and went down the hallway. She was about to go into her bedroom, when she heard something from downstairs, and she paused, hesitating there to listen.

It was Mark, and he was talking. She hadn’t heard the phone ring, but maybe she missed it in the shower. She leaned quietly over the banister, trying to hear more from below. It wasn’t that he was talking, she realized, but the
way
he was talking. His voice sounded like a whimper, like a frightened child.

Melissa tip-toed barefoot down the carpeted staircase and stopped just outside the lounge doorway. From there, she could see nothing except for the muted TV.

The door was half-way open, and from behind it she stood, silently listening.

Mark was talking, but his voice seemed small, weak, and wounded. It reminded her of the way her brother had spoken as a child after being told off by their parents.

“I know I have to,” he was saying, his voice shaky and nervous. “I will do it. I’ll get it done.”

Melissa pressed her ear to the door, wanting to hear everything.

“Not a lot of time, I know, but I will do it. I promise.” Mark fell silent, then after a few moments, he added, “There was a lot of blood. I thought you would like that.” He sounded pleased with himself suddenly.

Melissa felt sick.
Is he talking about what he did to me this morning?
, she wondered.

“I know what you want. I know. You don’t need to tell me, again. You already told me, and you’ll get it, okay?”

Melissa suddenly had enough of listening. She wanted to know what was going on. She pushed open the door and barged into the lounge. It took her only a moment to realize the phone was still in its cradle; Mark hadn’t been on the phone at all.

Chapter Five

“I think he may be sick,” Melissa whispered into the phone.

“That’s all the more reason to get away from him,” Sharon replied. “I’m sorry. It might not be easy for you, but you need to get out of there. If he is having some sort of mental breakdown, then you don’t know what he’s thinking or what he’ll do next. Do you really want to wait and find out?”

Melissa tucked her legs beneath her on the bed. Mark was still downstairs, watching TV. He denied everything when she questioned him, saying she must have been hearing things. After that, she grabbed her mobile phone and called Sharon. She didn’t know what else to do; what she heard in the lounge had unnerved her.

“If you had a husband, and he was sick, you’d just walk out on him?”

Sharon laughed. It sounded cold, insensitive to Melissa, and she suddenly regretted making the call. “I would have been gone a long time ago. Seriously. I know you probably think I’m being a bitch, but the guy is hitting you, and now he is having conversations with himself. The words ‘get out’ and ‘now’ come to mind.”

“Mark might need me. He might need help, Sharon.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sharon asked tentatively.

“Sure.”

Sharon sighed. “I just don’t get it, Melissa. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been strong, self-assured. Staying with an abusive husband? That just isn’t you. Why would you stay?”

Melissa, feeling swallowed by darkness at the question, tried to find an answer, something that sounded right, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I know you’ve had a hard time of it. Losing your parents in that car crash. That was only a few years go, Mel...and you never see your brother. You probably felt vulnerable, alone, and Mark seemed like a release from that at the time. Am I right?

Breaking into the silence of her thoughts, Melissa suddenly heard a creak on the staircase. “He’s coming upstairs. I’ve got to go. Speak to you at work tomorrow.” Sharon started to say something, but Melissa slammed the phone down onto the bedside table and lay down, trying to look relaxed and natural.

He paused in the doorway, his face like a mask—frozen, fixed, and unreadable. “Who was that?”

Melissa looked away from him, pretending to yawn. “Huh?”

“You were talking to somebody.” It was said like an accusation, sounding like a threat. Melissa tried to remain calm. He had obviously heard her speaking. What worried her was how much he had heard.

“It was just Sharon, that’s all.”

Mark stepped into the room, then perched onto the edge of the bed, staring down at Melissa.
The bird and his prey
, Melissa thought, then felt guilty for thinking it.
If there was something wrong with him, then it wasn’t his fault. People had…problems, breakdowns, all the time.

“
Yes, but they don’t hit their wives
,” Melissa imagined Sharon saying.

“What did Sharon want?” he asked coolly. Melissa noticed that the relaxed charm of earlier had disappeared. She wanted to sit up and back away a bit, but wondered if that would annoy him more.

“You know what she’s like. She’s complaining that I’ve not been out with her in a long time. You know we used to go out for lunch a lot. We used to go for a drink after work nearly every day. She misses it, I suppose.”

“So what did you tell her?” Mark asked.

Melissa shrugged. “What
can
I tell her? You never want me to do it anymore, and lately you’ve—” she stopped, suddenly remembering the pool of blood on the bathroom floor and shrunk within herself.

As if reading her mind, Mark leaned forward, running his hand across her cheek. “Hey, I told you I was sorry about this morning. You should go out with Sharon, all right?”

Melissa was surprised. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

Mark smiled, but it seemed forced, unnatural. “What harm can it do?” He stood up, picked up a paperback novel he had been reading from the bedside table, and started to leave when Melissa stopped him. “You’re sure? It’d be nice to go out for a meal this Friday.”

Mark paused, his back to her, and said quietly, “I said it’s fine. Go ahead. You
should
go. We don’t want her asking questions, do we? Let’s make it all look normal.”

Melissa said nothing, but laid back, her head pressed into the soft pillow. Somehow, the memory came to her, walking into her mind out of nowhere, like a deep fog finally parting to reveal something behind its deep thickness. It was him, as he had been then, when they first met. Mark.

Melissa remembered it with colorful vividness; she did not have to think hard at all to remember the day they met. The day that marked something big for her, something that set her apart from the woman she used to be. That is how she saw it—always had—that she had become the woman she wanted to be when she started dating Mark. She had finally found a sense of fullness, whereas before, she had seen herself to be as thin and transparent as tracing paper. She knew how it sounded. At one point, she would not even admit to herself that she felt that way, knowing that the very idea of somebody making her complete made her sound weak, a nobody.