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Three Years a Woman
Three years after the robbery, and after spending three years in his
humiliating disguise, Shane Turner can't take it anymore and decides to
pull off a risky stunt in an attempt to get out of his heels and skirts
early, before the seven year statute of limitations on his crimes runs
out. This work-in-progress story is a prequel to Seven Years a Woman by
Holly Sharp.
December 9, 1989
11:37pm
A car pulls up alongside the curb in a dead quiet street, under a starry
sky. The window of the car rolls down a crack, revealing the face of the
man inside. It's an older man in his late fifties. He's wearing dark
sunglasses, despite the darkness, and a jumper with the hood pulled right
up over his head. He is hunched down slightly, trying to keep a low
profile. He takes off his glasses and looks around manically, clearly
nervous beyond reason, checking to see if anyone's around. The man's face
seems weird somehow. The skin texture isn't quite right. It seems to lack
expression and the movement of his eyes seems odd.
Once the man is satisfied that no-one is around, he takes a deep breath,
pulls his hoodie even further over his head, and gets out of the car. He
crosses the road quickly, much more spryly than one would expect from 50+
year old man, and approaches a house.
The house's windows are dark.
He stops at the door.
He checks again to make sure no-one's around.
Then, he knocks.
A cool breeze can be heard rustling the leaves of a tree and a hedge
nearby as he waits.
The street is otherwise completely silent.
Small footsteps can be heard on the other side of the door, getting
louder.
The sound of footsteps cease.
The door swings open.
A stunning, buxom 22-year-old babe opens the door a crack and peers out.
She's wearing a pink onesie and her dark hair is wavy and messy, hanging
around her shoulders. Her eyes widen slightly when she gets a look at the
hooded man at the door and she takes a slight step back.
"Can I help you?" she asks in a small voice.
The man reaches up, then, up into the neck of his hoodie. He begins to
pull something underneath his jumper upward. As he does, the man's face
begins to shift and distort, until he rips what is clearly a very
realistic rubber face mask off his face.
"It's me, Angie," the unmasked man says, in a gruff, masculine tone.
When Angela realizes who this guy actually is, her face crumples and she
burst into tears. "Oh my God! Shane!"
She comes into his arms, bawling like a baby.
The man holds her and tries to comfort her, but his attention is only
half on her.
He's still monitoring his surroundings obsessively.
Angela looks up at the man - a rough but handsome-looking male in his
late-20s who is just a few inches taller than she is. It's Shane Turner,
a bank robber who's identity was revealed on camera four days ago in a
bungled, high-profile heist. He also happens to be the man she's been in
a serious, long-term relationship with for the last nine years.
"Are the cops here?"
Angela's response is given in an almost frantic tone. "No, but they've
been here all week! They had the house under surveillance but they're
gone now."
Turner pushes past her and begins to quickly move down the hall. "Are you
sure they're gone?"
"Pretty sure..."
Turner takes off his hoodie and singlet, revealing a taught, muscular
body underneath.
A green, armband tattoo wraps around his one of his biceps.
The criminal then gives his girlfriend the hoodie, singlet, and the mask
to hold while he looks through the curtain over a nearby window. "Pretty
sure isn't good enough."
Angela is clinging onto her partner and is standing well inside his
personal space. She doesn't seem to want to let him get too far away from
her.
Turner has his arm around his woman, but he's clearly lost in his own
head.
Angela is still sobbing uncontrollably. "I've been worried sick about
you. Have you seen the news??"
"I have."
"What are you going to do?"
Turner is racing down the hallway now, toward the bedroom. Once inside,
he checks there window there too. "I don't know. But I need to stay here
tonight. I slept between a bin and the wall of an abandoned factory last
night with cockroaches crawlin' all over my fucken face, and I don't want
to do that again. I need somewhere quiet to lay low and plan my next
moves."
Angela takes a step back when she hears that. "You've been sleeping next
to a bin for four nights?"
Turner nods reluctantly.
Angela is looking at the ultra-realistic rubber face mask Turner's been
using to hide from the cops, overwhelmed by everything she's hearing.
"Where did you get this?"
"I swiped it from that fancy dress shop up in Tizzana."
"And you've been wearing this for four days??"
Turner is checking another window now. "Only out in public."
Angela shakes her head. "Where have you been all this time?"
Before Turner can answer, the criminal's girlfriend notices something on
her boyfriend's back It's a horrible, red and white wound on his skin.
"What is that??"
Turner's eyes fall on the area of her body above where his girlfriend has
gently placed her fingers.
Turner winces at the reminder of it. "It's an electrical burn. Fuckin'
cop dog chased me into a substation and I must've brushed past a
generator or something."
"Oh my God... Did it hurt?"
"Worse than any pain I've felt in my life."
Angela's eyes widen. She seems deeply disturbed by that. "Baby..."
Turner resumes checking around the house, looking for bugs, cameras, or
cops. He ignores her.
"Babe!" Angela says sharply.
Turner stops. She's got his attention, but he doesn't look at her.
"What?"
"Maybe..." A beat. "Maybe you should just turn yourself in."
"Turn myself in??" Turner roars, as loudly as he dares. "Are you fucking
serious???"
Angela breaks eye contact. "Yes..."
"I could easily get 30 years in a maximum security prison!" the man goes
on. "I'd get out when I'm over 60! The best years of my entire fuckin'
life - gone! No way in hell. I'm not rotting in a cell with axe murderers
for next 30 years of my life. Fuck that. I'd rather die right now!"
Tears are streaming down Angela's face as Turner keeps checking every
nook and cranny of the house. "So, what, you're just gonna keep running?
How long do you think you can keep that up??"
"I don't fuckin' know!" Turner bellows in reply.
Angela shrinks at the muscled fugitive's outburst.
Turner notices her discomfort and tries to settle down. "I just need to
lay low until the statute of limitations on the robbery runs out. I made
a couple of anonymous calls to a lawyer from a payphone yesterday and
they reckon that, in seven years, the cops can't touch me. I just have to
keep myself hidden until then."
"You're gonna hide for seven years??" Angela shrieks. "What do you think
you're gonna do? Wear that cheesy mask for the better part of the next
decade?"
Turner goes quiet.
Angela comes closer to him, and lays the tips of her fingers gently on
his shoulder, revealing her long, white fingernails. "Shane..."
Turner begrudgingly looks at her.
"You can't keep running," she says softly.
Turner think about that for a moment. Then, his sullen expression morphs
back into anger. "To hell I can't."
At that moment, a massive sound can be heard down the hall.
Turner races to the bedroom door in time to see a team of armed police
officers swarm inside.
They spot Turner immediately.
"OH SHIT!!" The criminal pushes his girlfriend out of the way and
immediately makes a run for it.
The cops begin sprinting after him.
Turner literally throws himself out a window.
Tumbles painfully on the ground in the backyard of the house.
He picks himself up.
And bolts toward a line of trees behind the house.
The officers, while fast, are no match for the speed of a man who's
entire future depends on getting away.
Turner runs through the scrub and into the small forest behind Angela's
suburb.
He searches manically for a place to hide and eventually finds one - a
crevice, just large enough to fit his body, below an overhanging rock
near a stream.
He lies down and wriggles into it.
Six armed police officers can be heard barking orders at each other not
too far away.
Turner looks out from beneath the rock.
His eyes dart around wildly as footsteps and voices come from all around
him.
The officer's legs flash past Turner's face in the darkness.
They're literally that close.
"Can you see him?" Turner hears one of the cops yell.
"No. He must've gone that way!" another one responds.
Turner breathes a sigh of relief as he hears the officers' footsteps
trail away, but he doesn't leave.
He just stays there, under that rock, praying and hoping that the
officers don't come back.
~o0o~
Two hours later, Turner creeps toward the back of the house through the
darkness and the scrub.
He ducks down behind a fallen tree and surveys the scene with terrified
eyes.
The flood lights are on, illuminating the entire backyard but not the
tree-line.
All six officers are clearly questioning Angela about the her criminal
boyfriend's visit, even though he can't make out what they're saying from
this distance.
Turner just crouches there for a while, mortified by the sight of the
armed officers in kevlar vests that were undoubtedly watching the place
the entire time, ready to grab him when he came back to his girl's house.
The cops really, *really* wanted to get him, and that scared the guy out
of his mind.
Something then catches Turner's eye.
It's an object in one of the police officer's hands.
His stomach drops and his eyes widen when he sees what it is.
It's his face mask.
The police now know how he's been hiding from them this whole time.
He wouldn't be able to hide from them like that again.
He needed a new plan.
Turner stays there for a while, in the darkness and the cool breeze,
contemplating his next move.
Tonight, he'll go back to the old factory and sleep behind, if not
inside, the rusted dumpster he slept in last night, and try to sleep
despite the cockroaches crawling on him.
But after that?
He needed to be able to move about freely in public.
He still had the money from the robbery, buried in a nearby national
park, but how was he going to spend it if even going near a shop to buy
some food would bring a whole team of police officers hellbent on taking
him to prison down upon him?
He needed another disguise - a better disguise - and one that the cops
won't know he's using.
But, he had no idea what that disguise could be.
It was at that moment that Turner saw something that would change his
life forever.
In the backyard, lit by the floodlight, was a clothesline.
Some of Angela's clothes and underwear were been pegged onto it.
Turner was familiar with all the pieces -he'd seen her in them all a
dozen times before.
The short, tartan skirt she was wearing when he'd picked her up in a club
down in Sydney was hanging on the line.
The white, lace teddy he'd ripped off her before he'd last fucked her was
on the line too.
Seeing those clothes filled him with so much sadness that he could barely
keep from choking up.
Through the dark and sad thoughts in his mind, though, another thought
appeared.
As he stared at Angela's pink, ruffled wrap dress hanging on the line
next to her favorite white bra, an idea began to form in his mind.
It was an insane idea.
It was a humiliating idea.
It was actually one of the worst ideas Turner could think of.
But compared to being put down by a squad of police officers and being
locked in a cage with violent, deranged murderers for the rest of his
life?
He knew it was an option he couldn't ignore.
Julianne
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