My Divorced Husband kept forcing me to Re-unite, but he was on P@role

Every single day. I need to know you’re okay. I will. I promise. After they left, Danielle and I ordered pizza and watched Netflix. She didn’t ask too many questions about Marcus, which I appreciated. She just let me exist without having to explain or relive everything. Monday came. I logged into work remotely, tried to focus on spreadsheets and client accounts. It was impossible. Every email notification made me jump. Every text message, even though I’d blocked Marcus’ number, I kept thinking he’d find a way to contact me. Around noon, Patricia called. How are you holding up? I’m in Boston staying with my cousin. Smart. I wanted to update you. Marcus’ parole officer called me this morning. They’ve decided to revoke his parole. My heart leaped.

Really? He’s going back to prison? Not yet. There’s a hearing scheduled for next week, but given his behavior toward you, combined with his criminal history, the parole board believes he poses a risk to public safety. What happens if they revoke his parole? He serves the remainder of his original sentence, which in his case would be about 6 months. He had 2 years left when he was released early for good behavior. 6 months, not long, but better than nothing. In the meantime, Patricia continued, “The GPS monitoring is in place, and the restraining order is active. He knows he can’t contact you, but he also knows I’m gone. He’s going to look for me. Let him look. He won’t find you. You didn’t tell anyone where you went, right? Just Jennifer and Tyler and you. Good. Keep it that way. That week crawled by. Every day felt like a month. I worked. I ate. I slept badly.

Danielle tried to cheer me up with outings, coffee shops, bookstores, walks along the Charles River. It helped a little. Boston felt far away from my old life, anonymous, safe, but I couldn’t shake the paranoia. Every man who looked vaguely like Marcus made my heart race.

Every dark-colored sedan that seemed to follow us for too long. Every time my phone rang with an unknown number.

Friday afternoon, Patricia called again.

Rachel, sit down. I have news. I I was already sitting, but my stomach dropped anyway. What kind of news? Marcus’ parole was revoked this morning. He’s being taken back into custody as we speak. Relief washed over me so intensely, I started crying. He’s going back to prison. Yes, for 6 months minimum. Maybe longer if they find other violations. So, I’m safe. I can go home.

Patricia hesitated. I’d wait a few days.

Make sure he’s actually processed into the system. Make sure he’s behind bars.

But yes, theoretically, you should be safe. I called Jennifer immediately. She screamed so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Oh my god, Rachel, this is amazing. You can come home. Patricia says I should wait a few days just to be sure. Okay, yes, smart.

But then you’re coming home. We’re going to celebrate. We’re going to get so drunk. I laughed for the first time in weeks. I actually laughed. That weekend felt different, lighter, like I could breathe again. Danielle and I went out for a nice dinner. Celebrated with wine and dessert. I slept through the entire night for the first time since this nightmare started. Sunday morning, I started planning my return home. I’d go back Tuesday, I decided. Give it a few more days just to be absolutely certain.

My phone rang at 10:00 a.m. Officer Ramirez. Miss Rachel, I need you to listen carefully and not panic. My blood turned to ice. What happened? Marcus Holloway escaped custody this morning.

The world stopped. What? How? He was being transported from the courthouse to the facility. There was an incident during the transfer. Details are still coming in, but he overpowered a guard and fled. We have units searching for him now. Oh my god. Oh my god. Rachel, where are you right now? Boston. I’m in Boston. Stay there. Do not come back to New York. Marcus doesn’t know where you are and we need to keep it that way. How long has he been gone? About 2 hours.

We’ve issued an all points bulletin. We have his photo everywhere. Someone will spot him. You don’t understand. Marcus is smart. He’s been planning this. He knew what was coming. We’re doing everything we can. In the meantime, you need to stay safe. Stay where you are.

Keep your doors locked. Don’t go out alone. After I hung up, I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Danielle found me sitting on the couch staring at nothing. Rachel, what’s wrong? I told her about Marcus escaping.

About the manhunt. We need to call the police. she said immediately. Boston police. They need to know you’re here and that you might be in danger. She was right. We called. Two detectives came to her apartment within an hour. Detectives Morrison and Lee. They took my statement, documented everything. We’re coordinating with NYPD. Detective Morrison said, “All major transit hubs are being monitored. Airports, train stations, bus terminals. If Marcus tries to leave the state, we’ll catch him. And if he’s already here,” I asked. He has no way of knowing you’re in Boston.

Unless you told someone who might have told him. I only told three people.

Jennifer, Tyler, and my lawyer. Nobody else. Then you’re safe, but we’ll have patrol. Units drive by this building regularly just to be sure. After they left, Danielle and I pushed furniture against the door. We closed all the curtains. We sat in the living room with our phones charged and nearby. Maybe I should get a hotel, I said. I don’t want to put you in danger. Absolutely not.

You’re safer here. This building has security. A hotel is too exposed. I spent that day jumping at every sound.

The building was old, full of creeks and groans. The pipes rattled. The neighbors walked heavily overhead. Every noise was Marcus coming to find me. Monday morning came. No news about Marcus. No sightings. No arrests. He’d vanished.

Detective Morrison called me at noon.

We’ve been tracking Marcus’ known associates, family, friends, former co-workers. Nobody’s heard from him. His parole officer says he had no close relationships. He was essentially a loner. What about his phone? Can’t you track that? He left his phone in the transport vehicle, probably deliberately, so he could be anywhere.

Yes. The word hung between us. M.

Rachel, I need to ask you something. Did Marcus ever mention any particular places? Somewhere he liked to go.

Somewhere he felt safe. I thought hard.

Our marriage felt like a lifetime ago now. He had a cabin, upstate New York, near Lake Placid. He inherited it from his father. We went there a few times when we were married. Do you have an address? No, but it was on a lake.

Small, secluded. You had to take a dirt road to get to it. That’s helpful. I’ll pass this information along to the New York State Police. They can search the area. But I knew somehow that Marcus wasn’t at the cabin. That was too obvious, too easy. Marcus was coming to Boston. I don’t know how I knew. Maybe it was intuition. Maybe it was fear talking. But I knew it in my bones. He was coming for me. Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting in Danielle’s living room pretending to work when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. My hands shook as I opened it. Found you.

Just two words, but I knew it was Marcus. I called Detective Morrison immediately. Then, Officer Ramirez in New York. Forwarded them the text. Can you trace it? I asked. We’re trying. The number is probably a burner phone, but we’re working on triangulating the signal. He’s in Boston. I know he is.

Stay inside. We’re sending units to your location now. Danielle and I moved to the interior bedroom. No windows. We locked the door and waited. 15 minutes later, my phone buzzed again. Another text. This time it was a photo. My stomach dropped. It was a picture of Danielle’s building taken from across the street. He’s here, I whispered. He’s outside right now. I called 911, told them everything. They said units were 2 minutes away. Those were the longest 2 minutes of my life. Another text came through. We need to talk, Rachel. Face to face like adults. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely type a response. The police are coming. You need to leave. I’m not going anywhere.

Not until we talk. There’s nothing to talk about. We’re divorced. It’s over.

It’s not over until I say it’s over.

Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer. Another text. You’re making this harder than it needs to be. Then I just want you to understand. Then I loved Amanda. I loved Crystal. I loved you, but you all leave. You always leave. My blood ran cold. I never wanted to hurt any of you, but you forced my hand. I heard shouting outside. Loud voices.

Police. Then nothing. My phone didn’t buzz again. 10 minutes later, Detective Morrison called. We have him. Marcus is in custody. I burst into tears. Danielle put her arm around me. He was across the street from your building when we arrived, sitting on a bench watching the entrance. He didn’t run, didn’t resist, just asked if he could call you first.

What did you tell him? We told him that’s not how this works. Marcus was extradited back to New York the next day, charged with escape, violation of parole, stalking, violation of a restraining order and multiple other offenses. His bail was denied. He’d be held in maximum security until trial.

Patricia called me with updates. The prosecutors were building a case. They wanted to charge him with attempted harm against me. given his history and his behavior. They’re also reopening Crystal’s case, she said, looking at it as a possible intentional passing instead of an accident. Do they think they can prove it? I don’t know, but they’re trying. And Rachel, they want you to testify about Marcus’ behavior, about the stalking, about everything he said and did. I’ll do it. Whatever they need, but first, I needed to understand.

I needed to know what had really happened to Amanda and Crystal. I needed to know what Marcus was capable of.

Patricia helped me get in touch with Amanda’s family. Her mother, Gene Westbrook, agreed to talk to me over the phone. I’ve thought about reaching out to you, Jean said. Her voice was tired, worn down by years of grief. When I heard Marcus got married again, I wanted to warn you, but I didn’t know how to find you. And then I heard you divorced him, and I was relieved. Can you tell me what happened to Amanda? The real story.

Gene was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice cracked.

Amanda was the kindest person. Everyone loved her. When she started dating Marcus, we were happy for her. He seemed nice, polite, attentive, maybe too attentive, but we thought that was sweet. When did things change? After they got married, he became controlling.

He wanted to know where she was every minute, who she was talking to, what she was doing. Amanda started making excuses not to see us. She’d cancel plans at the last minute. When we did see her, she seemed anxious, jumpy. I recognized that version of Amanda. I’d been that version of myself during my marriage to Marcus.

We told her she could leave him. Jean continued, “We told her she could come home, but she said she loved him, that he was just stressed about work, that things would get better. They didn’t get better. No, they got worse. The night she passed, they’d been at a dinner party. Amanda’s friend called us the next day, said Amanda and Marcus had gotten into an argument at the party.

Amanda wanted to leave early. Marcus insisted they stay. The friend said Marcus had a look on his face she’d never seen before. Cold, angry, my chest tightened. They left the party around 10 p.m. Marcus called 911 at 11:30. Said Amanda had fallen and hit her head. But the medical examiner found bruises on her neck, signs of strangulation. The coffee table story never made sense, but he was only convicted of manslaughter.