I counted to sixty, a slow, deliberate measure of my newfound freedom. Then, I walked towards the skeletal remains of the gas station where a black Ford truck was concealed in the deepening shadows.

Marcus stepped out, an umbrella held aloft in one hand and a thermos in the other. “Did you get everything?”

“Every last word.” I showed him my phone, stopping the recording. “He actually told me to ‘remember my place.’”

Marcus shook his head, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Three years of watching him control you was bad enough. But this…” he gestured to the empty highway, “…this is criminal. Rebecca is going to have a field day.”