Twisted

Christmas, honey.”
    “Now, time for your present.”
    “I think I like our new tradition.”
    Her daughter instructed, “Sit down. Close your eyes. I’m going outside to get it.”
    “All right.”
    “Sit on the couch right there.”
    She sat and closed her eyes tight.
    “Don’t peek.”
    “I won’t.” Susan heard the front door open and close. A moment later she frowned, hearing the sound of a car engine starting. Was it Carly’s? Was she leaving?
    But then she heard footsteps behind her. The girl must have come back in through the kitchen door.
    “Well, can I look now?”
    “Sure,” said a man’s voice.
    Susan jumped in surprise. She turned and found herself staring at her ex-husband. He carried a large box with a ribbon on it.
    “Anthony . . .” she began.
    Dalton sat on the chair across from her. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “When Carly thought you were missing, I went over to that cop’s place to be with her. We were worried about you. We got to talking and, well, that’s her Christmas present to you and me: getting us together tonight and just seeing what happens.”
    “Where is she?”
    “She went to her boyfriend’s to spend the night with him.” He smiled. “We’ve got the whole evening ahead of us. All alone. Just like the old days.”
    Susan started to rise. But Anthony stood up fast and swung his palm into her face with a jarring slap. She fell back on the couch. “You get up when I tell you to,” he said cheerfully, smiling down at her. “Merry Christmas, Susan. It’s good to see you again.”

    She looked toward the door.
    “Don’t even think about it.” He opened the sparkling wine and poured two glasses. He offered her one. She shook her head. “Take it.”
    “Please, Anthony, just—”
    “Take the goddamn glass,” he hissed.
    Susan did, her hand shaking violently. As they touched flutes, memories from when they were married flooded back to her: His sarcasm, his rage. And, of course, the beatings.
    Oh, but he’d been clever. He never hurt her in front of people. He was especially careful around Carly. Like the psychopath that he was, Anthony Dalton was the model father to the girl. And the model husband to the world.
    Nobody knew the source of her bruises, cuts, broken fingers . . .
    “Mommy’s such a klutz,” Susan would tell young Carly, fighting back the tears. “I fell down the stairs again.”
    She’d long ago given up trying to understand what made Anthony tick. A troubled childhood, a glitch in the brain? She didn’t know and after a year of marriage she didn’t care. Her only goal was to get out. But she’d been too terrified to go to the police. Finally, in desperation, she’d turned to her father for help. The burly man owned several construction companies in New York and he had “connections.” She’d confessed to him what had happened and her father took charge of the problem. He had two associates from Brooklyn, armedwith baseball bats and a gun, pay Anthony a visit. The threats, and a lot of money, had bought her freedom from the man, who reluctantly agreed to a divorce, to give up custody of Carly and not to hurt Susan again,
    But, with terror flooding through her now, she realized why he was here tonight. Her father had passed away last spring.
    Her protector was gone.
    “I love Christmas, don’t you?” Anthony Dalton mused, drinking more wine.
    “What do you want?” she asked in a quivering voice.
    “I can never get too much of the music.” He walked to the stereo and turned it on. “Silent Night” was playing. “Did you know that it was first played on guitar? Because the church organ was broken.”
    “Please, just leave.”
    “The music . . . I like the decorations too.”
    She started to stand but he rose fast, slapping her again. “Sit down,” he whispered, the soft sound more frightening than if he’d screamed.
    Tears filled her eyes and she held her hand to her stinging cheek.
    A boyish laugh. “And presents! We all love presents. . . . Don’t you want to see what I got you?”
    “We are not getting back together, Anthony. I do not want you in my life again.”
    “Why would I want someone like you in my life? What an ego . . .” He looked her over, smiling faintly, with his placid blue eyes. She remembered this too—how calm he could be. Sometimes even when he was beating her.
    “Anthony, there’s no harm so far, nobody’s been