Beyond Far

By Robert Martin

After a brutal beating by her husband, who vowed she could never go far enough that he wouldnt find her, Erin Anderson escapes in fear for her life. She moves to another state but is discovered there by her husband and leaves, only to be discovered again.

Befriended by the investigator her husband hired to find her, Erin resists a romantic relationship she knows would not be right. She is burdened with guilt over having abandoned her eight-year-old stepdaughter and longs for an opportunity to return and be the mother the child needs.

Life as a fugitive is harder than she ever imagined. Where can she hide, and how much help should she accept from the investigator who befriended her? Answers dont come easily. Will she learn through these challenges to trust not in herself but in the faithfulness of God?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490864822

Robert Martin

Hi, readers, my name is Robert Martin, nickname “Donnie.” I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. I’ve had a speech problem in my whole life. I am a stutterer. I left Memphis at the age of twenty and joined the U.S. Marines. After I got out of the marines, I moved to Atlanta, Georgia, and went to school for law enforcement. I left Atlanta and moved to Indianapolis, Indiana, to pursue a career in law enforcement. I worked in various prisons and juvenile systems. I’m a disabled veteran and attend the Church of Jesus in Indianapolis. I love to testify about the Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, and the life-changing events that He has used to impact my life. In Jesus name, Amen!

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

E rin Anderson was tired when she and her husband returned home at 11:30 p.m. She collapsed on the second step of the stairs in their front hall and leaned back, resting her elbows on the step behind her. She kicked off her shoes and let them clatter across the marble floor.

What’s that all about? Cleve demanded from halfway up the stairs. Aren’t you coming to bed?

Her head dropped forward. I hate these affairs where I spend all evening trying to be nice to people who drink too much and where nobody is really having a good time.

These ‘affairs,’ as you call them, aren’t optional. Cleve came back down the stairs. Those people can do favors for me.

I’m not sure some of them are people you should be asking favors of.

You seem to think being an attorney is something I ought to apologize for. You think you’re better than me because you’re a preacher’s daughter. Well, you were nobody before I married you. He took hold of her arm and tried to raise her from the step.

She struggled to her feet. Let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.

I’ll hurt more than your arm if you don’t help me keep our position in this town. He tightened his grip. And that means seeing that Jessica behaves herself in school. The other parents know everything that goes on there.

Be careful. You know how this can end. I love your daughter dearly. Erin kept her voice level. But she’s been a troubled child ever since I’ve known her. I don’t think we should wait any longer to get counseling for her.

Cleve grabbed both her arms and shook her, his eyes wide, his teeth clenched. There’s nothing wrong with Jessica that having a good mother won’t cure. Can’t you get that through your head?

Erin stiffened so her head wouldn’t whip back and forth. I should have known better than to discuss his daughter when he’s like this. "Stop shaking me." She pushed against his chest with all her strength.

He staggered and released his grip as he recovered his balance. Don’t get in a shoving match with me.

She backed away, her hands up in front of her. He reached for her, and she turned to run but slipped on the smooth floor in her stocking feet and fell. He pulled her up by her arms, his eyes cold, his mouth a tight line.

Don’t hit me! she cried.

Cleve slapped her hard in the face. She shut her eyes, expecting another blow. When it didn’t come, she opened one eye. We can’t go on like this, she gasped, feeling blood run from her nose.

He stared at her, his gaze merciless and steady. Don’t you ever think of leaving me. He slapped her again, a backhanded blow with all his strength. She slumped, stunned, to the floor. You can never go far enough to get away from me. Now wash your face and come to bed.

She raised herself on her arms. I want to leave this house. But would it be right to leave my husband? What would become of Jessica? I’m glad she’s at her grandmother’s tonight. My father said the Bible gave only two reasons for a wife to leave her husband—adultery and abandonment. Would he accept abuse as a third reason? Would God?

Cleve is moving one step at a time toward greater violence. If I endure this marriage much longer, I’m afraid for my life. And Cleve will never let me go. If I leave, he’ll find me and bring me back, no matter how far I travel.

Erin got to her feet. God, with your help, I’ll do what I have to do. I will go beyond far.

CHAPTER 2

I t was her all right, the woman whose picture he’d seen the day before. He remembered the smile, her face crinkling around the eyes. Matt Daly had always been attracted to women who smiled with their eyes. The photograph was made in happier times. Now her eyes were round with apprehension, searching the dentist’s waiting room for signs of danger.

She saw him glance at her and looked away.

The picture he’d seen in his consulting office reflected what his technicians thought she might do to change her appearance—cut her hair and color it several shades darker. They had guessed right.

Today, in dark slacks and a short-sleeve shirt, she was inconspicuous among women going about their business in the city.

Erin Anderson, missing person. Her disappearance, reported today, was not a priority with the police. A grown woman might have any number of reasons to drop out of sight. But Matt’s partners, not judging how good a person’s reasons might be, immediately began a search for her, assuming the family had a right to know what happened to their absent kin.

In the waiting room, a mother watched her child playing on the floor at her feet while other patients read magazines. Matt made a selection from the magazine rack and sat down beside the woman. She focused her attention on the tropical fish swimming in a tank built into the wall on the other side of the room.

He said, Some people find it calming to watch fish swim.

Erin glanced briefly at him. Maybe that helps if you’re afraid of dentists.

It’s terrible, to be afraid.

The door at the entrance opened, and she turned as if sensing danger. A man strolled to the office window. She returned her attention to the fish. Yes, it’s terrible to be afraid.

Matt whispered from behind the pages of Sport Fishing. Try not to look too surprised when I say I know who you are. She froze and stared at him, her eyes wide with fear. On the side of her face, he saw a dark bruise that layers of makeup failed to conceal. On her lip, a cut showed despite dark lipstick.

Ms. Anderson? a clerk called from the office. Erin rose slowly and went to the window. Here are your credit card and driver’s license. The clerk held onto them, comparing the license photo and the patient as if she doubted they were a match.

Erin reached for the card and license. That’s not a good picture of me.

The clerk smiled. I asked them once to take mine again, but of course, they wouldn’t.

Erin returned to the chair beside Matt and put away the credit card and license, fumbling with the catch on her purse. What do you want of me? she asked in a voice almost too low to be heard.

Matt held his magazine in front of him, pretending to read. You need to know that your husband has hired a consulting firm to search for you.

She drew in her breath. How do you know?

I manage the firm.

The small fish in the tank darted back and forth, running from imagined predators and disappearing into coral hideaways. And so now you’ve found me. She snapped her purse shut tight.

Matt peered past the bruise on her face and the cut lip to the hazel eyes that should be smiling. It’s not my case. You’re assigned to somebody else. A wry smile twisted his face, the irony of his situation apparent.

She stared at the tank, bright blue and silver fish reflecting light from a hidden source. What do you intend to do?

I don’t know. You look like somebody who could use a friend. He took a business card and a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote his cell phone number on the back of the card.

Ms. Anderson, we’re ready for you. A technician in uniform held a door open against its spring with her foot.

Matt passed the card to Erin, who took it without glancing at him and palmed it on her way out of the waiting room.

After what seemed a long time, another technician called Matt and led him to the dental chair in a room smelling of chemicals.

Wasn’t the weather fine over the weekend? the technician commented. Dr. Yates went fishing and caught a thirty-pound grouper and cooked it on his grill. And no, I did not get invited, but I heard it was delicious. She clipped on his paper bib and tilted the chair back. Make your own adjustments to the headrest if you want.

Matt reached up and tugged the headrest into position. I sometimes see people I know in the waiting room. Today I saw a woman whose name, I think, is Anderson.

She has a broken tooth, the technician volunteered. Told me she fell in her kitchen.

They say most accidents happen at home.

She laughed. I can believe it. You ought to see the stuff my kids leave lying around for me to trip over.

The chair was not uncomfortable. Matt considered a nap while he waited, but the frightened woman he’d seen in the waiting room occupied his mind. Is her husband responsible for those injuries? He doesn’t deserve to know where she is.

Finally, the dentist came in, accepted congratulations on his fishing success, and went to work. Forty-five minutes later, after repairs to two fillings and a lecture on flossing and brushing, Matt escaped and paid his bill.

In the parking lot, he guessed Erin Anderson, with her broken tooth, was still in the dentist’s chair, and the late-model BMW coupe was hers. He wrote down the tag number, got into his black Lexus, and returned to his Airport Boulevard office, halfway between the regional airport and downtown Mobile, Alabama.

Matt Daly’s company operated out of a modest, tan-brick building, identified by only a street number and the company name on the door glass in gold letters, DL&B Consultants. Using his card, Matt opened the door, entered the cool interior, and strode down the wide, central corridor to the elevator. He got off on the second floor, where a large corner office with a view of the street was his.

At first there was just Matt, a C.P.A. with an M.B.A. degree who called himself a management consultant. Some clients, though, had people problems, and it was this area that interested Jackie Liu. With a Ph.D. in psychology, she had joined Matt as a partner a few years before. In time, they found they were dealing more with criminal activity and increased their depth of experience by taking in Ben Bolton, an attorney and former police detective.

Long before Erin Anderson’s husband, Cleve, swallowed hard and wrote a check for the advance on his fee, DL&B had earned a reputation as a company that got results. And because they kept a low profile and their cases were often the kind clients didn’t talk about, the name DL&B possessed an aura of mystery. Rumors circulated about cases they had worked on—and some they hadn’t worked on—and the partners secretly enjoyed the image of glamour and excitement attached to them.

Matt sat at his desk, listened to voice mails recorded while he was at the dentist’s office, then called partner Jackie Liu to acknowledge her message. She made the short trek to his office and entered without knocking.

Jackie was tall for an Asian woman and moved with a swiftness that suggested great energy. Her husband, a computer scientist, had on occasion worked for the office in what might be described as hacking, although Matt did not like to use the term.

She sat in one of his black leather chairs, crossed her long legs, and leaned against the chair back. Has Ben mentioned that we’re looking for Cleve Anderson’s wife?

I saw an enhanced photo of her yesterday afternoon. Is there something I don’t know?

There’s a ninety-five percent chance Cleve has been beating his wife. If she goes back to him, it can only get worse.

Matt could have told Jackie he’d seen the wife and she bore evidence of a beating, but the effect on him was still too fresh. We can’t afford to take a case and then tell the client we’ve changed our minds.

No, and Ben would never agree to it, since it’s his case. He’s like a hound on the scent. But once a man starts to beat up on his wife, she’ll never be safe with him. This shows he’ll do anything to control her. Jackie’s delicate fingers bit into the leather chair’s padded arms. And the most dangerous time for the woman is when she tries to leave. She might be killed.

Matt stared at the wall behind Jackie, where pen and ink drawings hung in dark frames, and considered the folly of involving himself in Ben’s case.

CHAPTER 3

T he snack bar at Wal-Mart was not crowded. Two women sat talking across a table. At another table, a young mother bottle fed her infant in a carrier while eating a sandwich with her other hand. A gray-haired couple parked their shopping cart against the railing that enclosed the area and went to read the menu over the serving counter, leaning close to focus on the small print. Outside the snack bar, customers passed, intent on their shopping, paying little attention to those around them.

Erin found a vacant table and sat down to wait, elbows on the Formica surface, hands folded. Her blue jeans and tennis shoes were not unlike the clothes worn by other shoppers, and the same might be said for her white knit top, which she’d put on straight from the dryer.

A dark-haired woman Erin’s age, accompanied by a boy about four, came into the snack bar. She, too, might have been a shopper, in her T-shirt and khaki shorts. The boy wore jeans and a T-shirt with a University of Alabama logo. Erin saw her looking around and stood. The woman stared, hesitated, then ran to embrace her.

Glenda, thank you for coming. Erin smiled at the boy. Blake… how you’ve grown. You don’t remember me, do you?

I don’t think he does. It’s been, what, two years now? Glenda sat down. Have you eaten?

No, but I’m not hungry. You go ahead, and then we need to move on to some other place. She glanced around her. I must be careful.

I understand. I’ll get us something to go.

Let me pay for it. Erin reached for her purse.

No, this one’s on me.

In a few minutes, Blake returned to the table and climbed onto a chair. Mom’s getting me a hot dog. I can only have one a week ’cause they’re not good for you.

I’m glad you’re learning about health.

Yeah, Mom’s teaching Dad and me, but she says he doesn’t listen very good. He likes to barbecue ribs on our grill.

Maybe that’s all right if it’s not more than once a week.

That’s what he says. Blake turned to watch his mother waiting at the counter. When her order was filled and packed in two plastic bags, they left the store.

In the parking lot, Glenda unlocked her blue van, buckled Blake into a back seat beside their take-out lunch, and motioned Erin to join her up front. You may remember the old Cottage Hill Park. I played softball there when I was younger—much younger. Blake likes the kids’ playground.

They drove to the park and turned down a long drive with a walking trail beside it. A woman jogged on the trail, arms swinging, pony tail bobbing behind her. The drive ended at a large open area with a ball field, tennis courts, and playground. They parked and carried their lunch to a picnic table in the shade, just outside the playground fence.

Behind them, the sun shone brightly, and the warm air held the faint scent of pines. Glenda served lunch, passing out wrapped sandwiches and placing a large bag of fries in the center of the metal table. Erin, I got you a sub and a Sprite. I remembered that’s what you like. She held her sandwich in both hands before biting into it. Now explain something to me. Why is your hair dark and short like mine instead of light and shoulder length like it used to be?

That’s part of what I need to talk about. Erin glanced at Blake and then at his mother. Glenda nodded that she understood, and they continued their meal with little conversation.

Blake finished his hotdog and crammed a last fistful of fries into his mouth. I’m ready to play.

Go ahead, his mother urged.

He ran to the gate, let himself into the playground, and climbed the steps to the large wooden fort, which was the playground’s main attraction.

Now tell me about your hair.

Erin stared at the dense oak wood beyond the playground, its shade dark and forbidding. I’ve run away from home.

I knew that.

You knew?

Yes. Last night at prayer meeting, Dr. Nelson announced that Cleve had called and told him you were missing. He said you had emotional problems, and they feared you might harm yourself.

Erin’s mouth fell open. Look at me. Do you see a crazy woman?

I see a woman who’s angry. What’s Cleve done?

He hit me.

Glenda bit her lip. Was that the first time?

No, it’s been going on for a while, and it’s getting worse. At first, it was verbal abuse, belittling me and cursing me. Then he started hitting me.

That must be hard to take. I would be tempted to call 9-1-1.

I did that once. Locked myself in the bathroom and called 9-1-1 on my cell phone.

What happened?

Cleve met the police at the door. I tried to squeeze past him, but he wouldn’t let me out of the house. He explained that I had just gotten upset, ‘as women sometimes do.’ They laughed about it, and the police left. Erin stared at the ground where discarded cigarette butts littered the wood chip surface. I realized then he was untouchable.

Glenda swung her legs over the bench and strolled to the playground fence to find Blake. He appeared, looking over the battlements of the wooden fort with a solemn face. She waved, and he waved back. It’s not so much fun playing by yourself. Sometimes we bring one or two of Blake’s friends. She gathered up the papers and cups from lunch and tossed them into a trash barrel.

Glenda sat down across the table from Erin. I think the Bible verses that tell wives to submit themselves to their husbands are some of the hardest.

We need a miracle. I’ve prayed for him and tried to talk to him about it. I want to do what’s right.

I believe you do. Glenda propped one foot on the bench and scratched an insect bite on her bare knee. Would you go back to Cleve?

No. Erin’s voice was firm. I tried to be a dutiful wife. I did everything he asked—well, almost everything—but he was never satisfied. Tears flooded her eyes. He doesn’t love me.

The Bible only asks you to submit to him.

I know. I can’t make a case for leaving him in the eyes of the church. And Cleve would keep me from making a case in the eyes of the law. He does that sort of thing for a living. Erin wiped her face with the back of her hand. But I can’t go back.

Glenda reached out and placed her hand over Erin’s. I was just reminding you of what the Bible says. The Holy Spirit will show you how to apply it. She watched Blake climb down from the fort, one step at a time, and head for the swings. Come on. Let’s give the boy a push on the swing.

They entered the playground as Blake pulled himself up onto a plastic strap that hung from two chains. Glenda pushed him until he swung high and