by Hart, Rye
“We've only been together, what? Four months,” I say gently. “Don't you think we're moving a bit – fast?”
I try to lighten the mood by chuckling, but Peter isn't laughing. His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches as he rips the ring box away from my hands and stashes it in his coat pocket. “When you know, you know, Sydney,” he says. “And I know. Are you saying you don't want to marry me?”
“I – ” I am so caught off guard by all of this, and in that moment, all I want is to get out of the car. I want to escape. “I don't know, Peter. It's all moving too fast and I don't know what to make of any of it right now.”
The air rushes out of my lungs with a whoosh and I feel like I'm being suffocated. Choked. Like I'm fighting for air and I need to breathe. The limo feels like a cage suddenly, and even though the car is moving, I almost want to jump out, just to escape the tension.
Peter is still on his knees in front of me, but he's no longer looking at me. In the darkness of the car, I can't see the look on his face at all, but his hands clench my thighs, his nails digging into my bare flesh.
“Peter, you're hurting me,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
He doesn't pull his hands away though. No, instead, he looks up at me and I shudder when I see the darkness in his eyes. I don't even recognize this man anymore. The charming, sophisticated man my parents know and love is gone, replaced by a red-faced monster who continues digging his nails into my flesh, even as I try to pull myself away from his grasp.
I lean against the car door, as far as I can from him, desperately trying to put some distance between us. He grabs me and tries to pull me back to where I was sitting, but I fight and struggle, kicking his hand away with a high heel shoe, which goes flying to the other side of the limo.
“Peter, stop!” I scream. “You're scaring me.”
For some reason, I expect that to work. I know he has a quicksilver, wicked temper, and his anger has always terrified me, but it's never been directed at me before. Not for long, at least. Nothing like this.
“So what, Sydney?” he spits. “You come along and enjoy these fancy vacations, let me spend my money on you, but you'd really rather be fucking some scruffy inbred from the mountains? Is that it? Is that what's going on here?”
Before I know what hits me, I snap. Pulling back my hand, I slap Peter across the face as hard as I can. His head barely moves, but there's an angry red hand print on his cheek and the look in his eyes is worth it. He seems to pull himself together, as if he's coming to his senses, but it's fleeting. The monster he's become returns quickly, even angrier than before.
He looks at me with pure disgust and hatred in his eyes. His breathing is ragged, and he looks like he wants to kill me and dump my body in the woods. My heart races and a bolt of fear runs through me. I try to control myself, but I feel the trembling in my body as the grip of fear tightens around my heart.
“You're nothing but gold-digging trash,” he growls. “Just like all the others. I never should have expected more from you than I would a common whore.”
“Go to hell,” I say.
Those are the last words I utter to him, because Peter reaches over and opens the car door I'm resting against. I scream, but no one hears me. No one that matters, anyway.
“No, you go to hell,” Peter says, pushing me out of the moving car.
Luckily, the driver must have seen the door was open and he slowed down. As I fall from the limo, to the hard pavement below, everything moves in slow motion. I hit the snow-covered ground with a hard crack and the breath is driven from my lungs. The ground is slick, and I roll for a bit. As I topple over an embankment, I hear the car door slam and the limo drive away. I roll down the steep embankment, completely out of control of my body, unable to stop. I dig my nails into the hard packed, snow covered ground, trying to keep from rolling further when my head strikes something hard.
My vision wavers and blurs, and then goes dark.
CHAPTER SIX
JACK
I don't go far after leaving the diner. Instead, I go to my truck and drive around the town center for a few minutes before circling back to the cafe. I owe Daisy for my meal – not that she'd call the cops on me. I know I can always pay next time. Daisy isn't going to hold it against me and she's likely not even going to care. I won't do that to her though.
If I'm being honest with myself though, part of me wants to see Sydney again. Another part of me doesn't, though. Because seeing her again means I'll have to see that asswipe boyfriend of hers again, and God knows I don't want to get into a fight in the middle of Daisy's cafe.
I can't deny that I want to punch his lights out, but I don't even know the guy. Maybe he's good to her. Maybe she's happy. She deserves to be happy after all.
As much as I had hoped she was there to see me, running into her again was nothing more than a bizarre coincidence. One of those rare, strange cosmic events where the planets are lined up just right or some shit like that.
When I circle back around and see that the limo is gone. I slide into the spot, parking right outside the front door. This time, I leave the truck running, planning to only be inside a minute. Gunner sits in the backseat, tongue out, content to just being going for a ride. I pat his head and give him a quick scratch behind the ears.
“Be right back, buddy,” I say, as if he can understand me – though, I sometimes think he can.
I climb out of my truck and quickly go inside. Daisy is talking to someone at the counter, but she turns and offers a sympathetic smile as soon as I step inside the door. She excuses herself from the customer and comes over to me and touches my arm.
“I'm so sorry, Jack.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
I shrug and try to sound casual, hoping she buys my act. It's not her fault that things went the way they did. It's my fault.
“Just needed to stop in and pay my bill,” I say. “Sorry for my hasty exit earlier.”
“I don't blame you,” she says, shaking her head.
She purses her lips and I can tell she's not happy about something, I assume it's the same reason I feel like shit.
“Anyway,” she says. “The meal is on me.”
Pulling out my wallet, I shake my head and stuff a fifty in her hand. My meal cost less than twenty bucks, but she deserves the extra for putting up with me all these years.
Staring down at the cash, Daisy objects and tries to hand it back to me.
“No, it's yours,” I say. “You know I'm not hurting for cash, Daisy. Take it.”
“I'm not hurting either,” she says.
We both know that's a lie. I'd give her more if she'd take it, but Daisy has her pride and I know not to trample all over it. The couple of times I've broached the subject of helping her out, she's shut it down right quick. So, I resort to giving her little bits of cash now and then. It's not much, but it still helps, and she's most likely to accept those.
“I gave her the note, Jack,” Daisy says, her eyes serious.
“Oh yeah?” My throat closes up on me, and there's a lead weight in my stomach. “Did she read it?”
“Not here, but she took it,” Daisy says. “She couldn't read it with that jackass sitting across from her.”
A small smile pulls at my lips. It seems we feel the same way about Peter. Something isn't right with him. He just seems slimy to me. The kind of man who wouldn't think twice about laying hands on a woman. I never would have pictured Sydney with a guy like him.
Part of me though, thinks it might be my own jealousy poisoning how I see him. I'm not exactly an unbiased source. Daisy likes everyone though, and if she doesn't like you, there's usually a reason.
I really wonder what Sydney sees in him. I mean, I guess he's everything her parents wanted for her – rich, handsome, and well-dressed. But from the small portion of time I'd been in his presence, I can see that he's got a wickedly possessive side.
“Thank you, Daisy,” I say.
The note was meant to be
given to her if she ever happened to come back into Daisy's cafe, sure. But, I didn't plan on her being with someone when I wrote it all those years ago. I was young and naive back then, now I know better. The note belongs in the trash, not in her hands. I take some small bit of comfort though, knowing that most likely, it'll end up where it needs to be regardless. It's not like Sydney will ever forgive me, not completely. And it's not like I can blame her for it.
A guy can hope, though. Back when I wrote the note, I still had a lot of hope left in me. That's not so much the case anymore.
“Well, I better be off. Gunner's waiting in the truck,” I say.
Reaching out, Daisy takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly, giving me an encouraging smile.
“Don't give up on her, Jack. I know what I saw all those years ago between you two. That was true love,” she says. “And the way you looked at each tonight was much the same. She has your information. She'll come around. Mark my words, Jack. She'll come around.”
I smile faintly, but I don't buy it. I don't buy any of it. Not even close. I appreciate what Daisy is saying though. I appreciate that she's trying to keep that spark of hope alive in me. No matter how false that hope might be. Squeezing her hand before letting it go, I don't bother to argue with her as I step back out into the frigid, frozen night.
Gunner is sitting in the front seat patiently, staring at me, likely watching Daisy and I through the window of the restaurant. He looks content in the driver's seat, so much so that I joke with him when I open the door.
“You gonna drive us home, buddy?”
He kisses my face as I slide into the driver's seat, helping him scoot over, his entire body wagging as if I'd been gone for much longer than a few minutes. With the way he greets me, you'd think I was coming home after being away for years, or some shit.
“Back seat, Gunner,” I say, patting the guy on the head.
He obeys, his tongue still out as he hops over the center console into the back seat of my truck. He sits down and looks at me like, I'm ready for the next adventure.
“Just going home, Gunner,” I say. “I think I've had more than enough adventure for one night.”
Yeah, I talk to my dog. Probably more than I should. I settle myself into the front seat and put the truck into reverse and start to back out. Out of the corner of my eye though, I see movement and glance over. Though it's getting pretty dark, I see a woman walking down the middle of the road in nothing but a skirt and light blouse. I can see that she isn't even wearing any shoes. She's looking down at the ground, and while it's too dark to see her hair color or features, I know who it is right away.
She stumbles, almost falling into a snow drift. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her bare arms, and she slides on some ice. She stumbles and can't quite catch herself, falling down into the snow. She lays there in the freezing snowbank, not moving. I'm out of my car in a second flat, running down the middle of the street toward her.
“Sydney!” I call.
When I get to her, she stares up at me with blank eyes. I take off my coat and wrap her in it as tightly as possible. That's when I see the blood pouring from the wound in the back of her head. I quickly yank my cell phone out of my pocket and dial 9-1-1.
It seems like it takes forever for the call to go through, and the entire time, my gut is churning, and my pulse is racing. I stare at her and she looks back at me with eyes that are wide, vacant. I've seen people with that thousand-yard stare before and it's usually because they see their own death barreling down upon them.
I'm not going to let that happen to her. She is not going to die on me. I refuse to let her.
“Stay with me, Sydney,” I say in my most commanding voice. “Help is coming. Just hang on.”
I rip off my t-shirt even though it's freezing, and hold it to the back of her head, doing my best to stanch the flow of blood. I check her pulse, it's weak and thready. Even in the shadows and gloom of the evening, I can see that her pupils are dilated. She still hasn't said a word to me, nor shown any sign of recognizing me. She's just lying there, looking up at me blankly.
The operator finally picks up on the other end of the line. “9-1-1, what's your emergency?”
I quickly and as calmly as I can, explain the situation. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing myself to stay calm and in control. Because that's what I've been trained to do – stay calm and focused under pressure. Though it's been years, my training kicks into overdrive and I force any emotions or fear I might have right out of my head.
This isn't a battlefield. Bombs aren't going off and bullets aren't flying, but I need to remain as calm and focused as if they are. Sydney needs me to stay calm. To stay in control. The ambulance is on the way, I just need to keep her warm and control the bleeding.
Wrapping her tiny body in my gigantic coat, I pull her into my lap and use my body heat to keep her warm. I find myself rocking her gently, talking in soothing tones even though she's not said a word to me, yet. She just stares at me, expressionless. Shock and trauma does that to a person.
“It's going to be okay, Sydney,” I say. “You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine.”
I keep repeating the same thing over and over again. What else can I say? I just pray that I'm not lying to her. Her lips are purple, and she opens and closes her mouth, as if she's struggling to speak. Finally, a choked voice comes out, a sound I barely recognize.
“H - how do you know my name?”
Her voice is thick and hoarse, sending a chill running through me – and not just from the freezing temperature and the lack of a shirt. She's looking at me with those wide eyes and I can see the fear etched into her features. I can tell by the expression on her face that she genuinely does not recognize me. Like I'm a complete stranger holding her in my arms.
“Syd, it's Jack,” I say. “We ran into each other at Daisy's, remember?”
The look in her eyes tell me all I need to know. She has no clue who I am.
Sirens sound in the distance, bringing some comfort. Help is almost here. She's awake, even though her face is a blank mask. I try to get her to focus on staying awake until the paramedics can get to her.
“Stay with me, Sydney,” I say.
Red and blue flashing lights come closer, and the sirens are blaring now. People on the street stop and stare, and for the first time, I notice them all. “Get out of the way!” I shout, waving to the group of lookie-loos.
They continue to stare, but one-by-one they move to the sidewalk, as if they didn't see or hear the approaching bus. I see Daisy pushing her way through the crowd to get to us. She's crying, her entire body shaking as she hurries over. I fear the old woman might slip on the ice and really hurt herself in her haste, but she manages to get to us without any injuries and I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Oh my God, what happened?” she screeches.
“I don't know, I found her like this. She was just walking down the road,” I say.
She drops to her knees and whispers to Sydney, and still, Sydney looks as if she's never seen the woman in her life.
The ambulance stops short of us and the EMTs quickly pour out. A tall, blonde man is the first to reach Sydney and he pries her from my arms, which is no easy feat. I'm having trouble letting go of her, even though I know help has arrived and there's nothing more I can do.
A woman with dark hair and gentle eyes pulls me aside as the blonde and another man examine Sydney. I can't stop looking over at her small listless figure and feel utterly helpless. My body is shaking with shock now that control is out of my hands. I can finally feel something, and my emotions hit me hard. My knees grow weak and my vision wavers. I almost fall to the ground, but somehow, I manage to remain upright, though a greasy, queasy feeling roils around in the pit of my stomach.
I hear the EMT's asking Sydney questions, “What's your name? How old are you?”
“I don't know.”
“What happened to you?”
“I d
on't know.”
The fire one question after another at her rapidly, but, the response is the same.
She can't remember anything. Not about the incident. Not about herself. Not about me or Daisy or anything else for that matter.
“Do you have ID, miss?”
Again, she shakes her head. “I don't know.”
The EMTs look to me, searching for some answers. Something to shed light on this mysterious woman.
“Her name is Sydney Bellflower,” I say. “Not sure what happened. I came out of Daisy's and found her like this. She was just walking down the middle of the road in a daze.”
“Do you know this woman?” The female EMT asks me.
“I do.”
“Are you related to her?”
I start to say no, that we're just friends, but something inside of me tells me to lie. I know that in an emergency, only family members are able to get information, to fill out forms, to be there at the hospital with her. Daisy meets my gaze and gives me a small nod. This qualifies as an emergency and a good reason to lie. But, before I can speak, Daisy does the honors for me.
“This is her husband,” she lies.
The woman looks to me. “Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes.”
My voice cracks, though I'm hoping they take it as me being emotional rather than me telling a bald-faced lie. Sydney might not ever forgive me for lying about this, but I don’t really care. Sydney needs help and she's all that matters right now.
I look around, wondering where in the hell her asshole boyfriend is. My muscles grow tight, and my head throbs with the stress of it all. I have a very bad feeling about this – one that involves Peter. I try to tell myself it's jealousy talking, that there's a perfectly good and logical explanation for it all.
I tell myself a thousand different things, but even I'm not buying it.
His girlfriend is walking down the street with a gash on the back of her head, no shoes, not dressed for the cold and he's nowhere in sight? He better have a damn good explanation, or I'm going to make sure he's the one bleeding if I ever see him again.
