“The Client”: A Short-Story About The Dangers That Women Face
December 17th, 1999. That date means many things to many different people. For some, it’s a birthday or an anniversary. To others, it holds nothing worth remembering. To me, it was the day I nearly died.
I remember that the day started like any other. I woke up at 8am, showered, and headed to work. I was employed as a secretary for Johnson & Wells: Attorneys at Law. I was Attorney Wells’ secretary, and oversaw answering his phone calls, scheduling appointments, court reminders, and making sure he remembered to pay his child support to his ex-wife every Friday. Sounds easy right? For the most part it was. I loved my job, and I took great pride in seeing my name, “Cassandra Lewis”, written on an attractive gold name plaque on top of my desk. The pay was excellent, and I was able to afford a brand-new Honda Civic with my salary. Overall, it was a decent job to have for a 22-year-old college-graduate.
However, Attorney Wells always had me work significantly passed the end of my shift all by myself. This was problematic because I never felt safe in the office at night. It was in a rough area of New York City where carjacking, robberies, and drug-trafficking were frequent occurrences. I knew this because many of the offenders were clients of Attorney Wells. I just didn’t feel safe being the last one to leave every night, so I was pretty upset when I saw that it was past 7pm. It was time for me to go home.
I finished up my paperwork, packed my things, and put on my coat. I walked over to the front door and walked into the chilly, December evening air. I turned around so I could start locking the exterior office door. Suddenly, I began to hear footsteps in the distance. They were heavy and coming at a rapid pace; someone was running right towards me. The hair on the back of my neck began to stand up as I struggled to lock the door. Unfortunately, the key got jammed and I couldn’t free it from the lock. I couldn’t leave the keys behind because they were attached to my car key, so I had to free them in order to leave. I was petrified by fear and was unable to move. As the footsteps grew closer and closer, I began to brace myself for pain as I was sure I was about to feel it. The footsteps stopped right behind me. I could hear heavy, raspy, winded-breathing with a deep undertone; it was a man. I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended to be oblivious to his presence and keep trying to free my keys. Suddenly, the man spoke.
“Hey Cassie, what’re you doing out so late?” said the man.
I was shocked because I quickly recognized the owner of this voice; it was John O’Hare, a longtime client of Mr. Wells. Mr. Wells has been working with him again as he was recently charged with his 3rd DUI. He seemed like a nice guy; always pleasant, polite, smiled at me when he came in, and would even bring me a coffee from time to time. Nonetheless, I was surprised to see him.
“John!” I nervously exclaimed. “I’m just leaving the office. Another late night!
“Yeah, I can see that!” he replied while shuffling from side to side.
It was then that I noticed how strange his appearance was. It was nearly 40 degrees Fahrenheit outside but he was not dressed for the weather. He wore baggy, ripped shorts and a thin, black hoodie. In the streetlight I could see that his eyes were glassy, and his pupils were abnormally large; he appeared to be under the influence. He also had both of his hands in his pockets and appeared to be holding something. When noticed that I was staring at his odd appearance his dynamic began to change. He grew very nervous and began looking around as if to see if anyone was watching us.
“Listen, I’m pretty cold out here Cass” he said. “How about we take this party to the diner up the street and get warm. My treat!”
“Well thank you John, but it’s late.” I replied. “I need to get home. My dog needs to be fed and my mom’s stopping by.”
I felt incredibly uncomfortable after his offer. I worked for his attorney and couldn’t grasp why he thought it was appropriate to approach me in this manner. I was a little concerned, so made it apparent that I was expected to be home. My mom wasn’t really coming over, but I just wanted John to let me go.
I turned around and tried to pull out the key again. I felt the key release from the lock, and I was blessed with the relief that I could finally head to my car. I turned around to leave, but he stepped in front of my path.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Another time then. You’re beautiful and I just want a chance.”
By this point, I was growing increasingly irritated. Why wouldn’t he take no for an answer?
“Honestly John, I’m still going to say no. It’s a little inappropriate. You’re my boss’s client. I appreciate your kindness though, so please have a good night!” I replied politely. I tried to move past him but suddenly I felt him grab my arm, hard.
“No.” he said coldly. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I looked to my right and couldn’t believe what I saw. John looked like a different person, with eyes that were cold, dark, and menacing. He was gripped my bicep so tightly that it hurt.
“John… what’re you doing? Let me go, you’re hurting me!” I screamed.
I tried to free myself from his grasp, but he was too strong. Suddenly, I felt something hard press into my stomach. Even though my coat was on, I could feel exactly what it was: a gun.
“Don’t move. Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound.” He mumbled harshly. “If you want to live, you will do EXACTLY what I say.”
I knew I was going to die if I stopped fighting, so I obliged to his orders.
With the gun pressed into my gut, he led me towards my vehicle. Just like I had always feared, help was no where in sight. He told me to unlock my car, so I pressed the “unlock” button on my key fob. He opened the passenger side door behind the driver’s seat and told me to get inside. Once inside the vehicle, he told me to turn my back to him and stick my hands out. I could hear him fumbling around in his pocket and pull something out of it. I felt a scratchy, brittle sensation on my wrists, and I knew he was binding me with rope. Then, he told me to lie down and not get up until he told me it was okay.
He got into the driver’s seat, and he pulled away from the office. The safety and certainty of my environment was gone, and now my life was at the will of this man that I barely knew. I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted to live. So, I made the decision to try and keep track of my whereabouts. I lay there quietly on my back and looked at the sky through the moon roof. The moon roof and the opposite passenger window were the only methods of visibility I had to the outside world. I saw dozens of city lights pass by and signs for restaurants. I recognized exactly where we were, until he pulled into an abandoned parking set far back from the road. I could feel the car be put into “park”, and John got out of the vehicle. I had a fleeting moment to say a few prayers to God before he came over and pulled me out of the vehicle. He threw me on the ground and told me to stand up. In my heart, I felt like this was it; this was how I was going to die. I was never going to get married or have kids. My job is going to realize I’m missing and they’re going to tell my parents. My mom and dad are going to look for me, but the police are going to find my body. I felt immense sorrow for them and wished I could’ve seen them one last time. When that thought entered my mind, I began to break down and plead for my life.
“John… you don’t have to do this. YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS. Please! You can take it all back. I don’t want to die John. I miss my mom and dad. Please, just let me go.” I cried.
I didn’t hear a single sound from him, so I decided to keep pleading.
“Just let me go. God forgives all John. He will forgive you. You must let my go. You don’t want to do this.” I cried to him.
I looked up and noticed something strange; his eyes softened and were full of tears. It was as if whatever evil had come over him fell out of his heart, and the magnitude of what he had just done dawned on him.
“Cassie… I am so sorry” he whimpered. He immediately ran back to my car, got inside, and drove away. All of the fear, panic, and rage that had been building since he had kidnapped me suddenly released and began to scream uncontrollably. I realized my purse, cellphone, and wallet were still in my vehicle, so I had no way to call for help. I was afraid that he was going to come back and kill me, so I started to try and find help myself. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew it was late because the streets were deadly quiet. I ended up seeing a convenience store with lights on a short walk away, so I decided to go there. A clerk heard my screams and came out to see what the commotion was all about. I told him what happened, and he quickly called 9–1–1.
The police came immediately and took my statement. I had none of my belongings, so they phoned my mom for me. She came down to get me. The second I saw her, I ran to her and began to weep harder than I ever had before. I told her how scared I was and how thought I was never going to see her again. She comforted me for a short while before we got into her car. She drove me to my home to pick up my dog, and she brought me back to her home where my dad was waiting for us. I never spent another night in my apartment.
What happened to John you might ask? That would be a great question. No one knows, not even the police. When the police tracked down his identity, the found where his residence was and went to see if he was there. They didn’t find him, but they did find something shocking. His home was filled with photos of me. He had been stalking me and had been for some time. He had pictures of my home, my dog, my family, my everyday whereabouts, and even private photos. I had no idea that I was being stalked and told the police I simply thought he was a friendly client.
Shortly after raiding his residence, they found my vehicle dumped near Coney Island. That was the last trace of John O’Hare; he has never been seen since. The police looked for many months but could never find him. He never touched a credit card or used his passport. It was as if he vanished into thin air, leaving endless questions in his wake.
It has now been 6 years since he kidnapped me; 6 years of change, but I’m still just as afraid as I was that very day. I don’t know why he did what he did, or why he didn’t finish what he started. Many say he committed suicide out of shame, but I think not. For every December 17th that has gone by, I have received a postcard with no address or name. The only words that are written are “I’m sorry.”
