by Lori L. Lake
Dez heard a ripping sound, and then deep-throated laughter. A male voice growled, “Stop it! Stop fighting or—”
“No, you stop it,” a woman’s voice shouted. “Get outta here!”
“Oh, shit!” the man’s voice growled. “You move, I cut her throat. Got it?” In a different tone, he hollered, “Get her!”
That was all Dez needed to hear. She touched her shoulder mic and called for backup as she ran toward the back of the house and around to the other side, visually checking the doors and windows until she found what she suspected: a sliced window screen leading into what she thought would be the dining room.
Hearing another scream, she flicked on her shoulder mic again and advised the dispatcher to hurry the backup team. In a hoarse whisper she said, “This sounds bad. I’m hearing at least two male suspects and one, maybe two, female victims.” In the background she heard far-off sirens, and as her skin crawled, she felt an uncharacteristic compulsion to do something and do it now. A loud crash startled her, and she hit the shoulder mic again. “I’m going in. Tell ’em to follow quick as possible—north side window.”
Hooking her flashlight on her belt, she hoisted herself up over the windowsill headfirst and tumbled into the darkened house as quietly as she could. Scuttling across the floor on her hands and knees, she moved toward the faint light of the doorway and peeked around the corner. Stairs, where are the stairs? She rose and silently inched around the corner out of the dining room. She grabbed the flashlight off her belt, feeling the metal warm against her palm, then clicked it on and unholstered her gun.
Jaylynn Savage realized she was tired when her watch chimed eleven. She had spent the entire evening in the air conditioned college library cramming for her summer term finals, and visions of Constitutional Law danced in her head. She persisted for another ten minutes, then gave up when her vision kept blurring. Running hands through short white-blonde hair, she hoped the political theory exam would go well in the morning, but she just couldn’t study one more minute. Going over and over the material was no longer productive. Since the library closed at midnight anyway, Jaylynn decided to head home. She packed up her books, said hello to friends on the way out, and exited into the humid summer air.
Jaylynn liked to say she was five-and-a-half feet tall, but that was only if she was wearing shoes with an inch heel. A slender build, lightly tanned skin, and sun-bleached blonde hair were evidence of time spent outdoors. Her face, framing warm hazel eyes, was full of youthful innocence and of something else perhaps best described as contentment.
As she strolled away from the library, her legs felt strong, but fatigued, from the five mile run she’d taken earlier in the day. She walked slowly from the library to the bus stop, going over First Amendment issues. That’s one area of the exam I’ll ace. I know that cold. She thought about how glad she would be to finish this final class. Perhaps she’d have time to write poetry again.
The bus deposited her half a block from the rented house she shared with two friends. Cutting up the alley, she let herself in through the kitchen door. Jaylynn loved the old house she and Tim and Sara lived in. Not only was it situated right across the street from Como Lake, but the house was also enormous. Every room was spacious with tall ceilings, ornate woodwork, and walk-in closets. She shut and locked the door quietly so as not to awaken Sara. Her other roommate, Tim, wasn’t home yet. She knew because his beat-up red Corolla wasn’t parked out back. She tossed her keys on the table and crept up the stairs.
Sara must still be up, she thought as she turned the corner on the landing. The lamp in her roommate’s room cast a faint patch of light that slightly illuminated the top stairs. She thought of her friend sitting on the couch, studying in the spacious master bedroom, and she smiled, but an acrid smell, like body odor, assaulted her senses. She squinched up her face and frowned. When she heard a thud and a ripping noise, she paused on the stairwell, heart beating fast for reasons she didn’t understand. She eased up the last two stairs and peered silently around the doorway into her friend’s room.
Sara lay twisting on the floor in the wide space between the twin beds, her hands taped together. A huge figure in a dark gray sweatshirt and black pants straddled her waist, muttering and threatening. He held a knife in one hand and a silver strip in the other. Sara screamed as he tried to put the duct tape over her mouth. She shook her head furiously, whipping around her long brown hair and causing it to stick to the tape. Her assailant slapped the side of her face and she screamed again and struggled, tears running down her cheeks, as he forced the strip of tape over her mouth.
He said, “Stop it! Stop fighting or I’ll—”
Without a thought, Jaylynn pushed into the room. “No, you stop it. Get out of here!”
“Oh, shit!” He rolled aside and spun around, grabbing the girl on the ground by the neck. “You move, I cut her throat. Got it?”
He wore a tan nylon stocking over his head, obscuring his face and making his features look distorted and diabolical. He glanced toward the shadowy area behind the door and said, “Get her!”
Jaylynn turned to see a smaller man, dressed like the first and also wearing a nylon mask. She screamed, a loud, throaty bellow. He was no taller than she, but was much stockier and held a wooden bat in one hand. As she screamed again and backed toward the door, the smaller man grabbed her by the shoulder and arm. He dragged her onto the twin bed near the door and shoved her so hard that she bounced when she hit the mattress. She saw the baseball bat coming at her face and rolled to the side to avoid it. It hit the wall with a resounding crash. As he dove toward her, Jaylynn got her feet up, knees to her chest, and kicked him in the torso, sending him sprawling against the opposite wall and to the floor. Before she could roll off the bed, he was up. He dove on her again, the bat in one hand and a hank of her hair in the other.
Jaylynn shrieked and growled, kicking at him and swinging wildly, some of her blows connecting solidly. He stumbled back from the bed, panting. Getting a better grip on the bat, he advanced on her again. “I’ll kill you, bitch!”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs. A husky voice shouted, “Police!” A flashlight beam shone down the hall. Jaylynn’s attacker turned toward the doorway and she saw him swing the bat. It struck an arm coming low through the doorway and she heard a clatter. Jaylynn rolled off the bed. She yelped when her knees hit the floor. When she looked up, a blue-clad figure dove into the room and rolled. Instantly the cop was back up.
Dez winced when she saw the bat descending, but it was too late to pull back. She felt an explosion of pain when the bat connected, and her hand involuntarily opened. Her Glock flew from her grasp and skittered behind her. She knew she didn’t have time to find it in the hallway and instead burst into the room shouting in rage.
The beefy man with the knife let go of Sara and got to his feet. His partner, wielding the bat, rushed Dez, only to be met by her right elbow slamming a solid blow to his face. He dropped the bat and staggered back, cradling his face. Jaylynn took the opportunity to kick him behind the knee and he screamed in pain and fell. She looked for Sara, caught her eye, and saw her friend’s look of terror. Jaylynn gestured, pointing toward the closet, but when Sara tried to rise, the big man shoved her, knocking her back to the floor. The bound woman made a high-pitched noise as she squirmed away and slid halfway under one of the twin beds on the far side of the room.
The man with the knife came at Dez in a rush, but out of control. She got the flashlight up to block the downward lunge of the blade and kicked at his groin with her steel-toed service boot. Enraged, he yowled but kept on coming, managing to slice downward through her shirt to imbed the knife in her vest. She knocked aside his knife arm and gave him a right elbow to the chin, sending him off balance. Dez punched him in the side of the head with the flashlight. As he went down, the other man regained his footing and picked up the bat. He swung high and Dez ducked to a squat, then launched herself to head-butt him across the room. He hit the bedside table and
smashed the lamp to the ground. Sara squeezed farther under the bed to avoid being landed on.
Dez extricated herself from the little man’s grip as Jaylynn sprang across the room and wrenched the bat from his hand. She whacked at his head. Though he raised his arms in defense, Jaylynn nailed him solidly on the collarbone, feeling a surge of adrenaline when he roared in pain. She stepped back, tripping over the big man’s leg as he rose, cradling his bleeding head. Scrambling on all fours, Jaylynn crawled across the carpet, up and over the twin bed near the door, and dove into the hall. I’ve got to find the gun. Find the gun. Find the gun. It repeated like a chant in her head. She spotted it on the landing three stairs below and picked it up, surprised to find it much lighter than she expected. She didn’t know how it worked. Was there a safety?
As Jaylynn came back through the doorway, she saw the woman in blue whirl, graceful and deadly in the same motion. Every time an attacker came at her, she used quick left jabs and kicks to flatten one, then the other. The larger man wailed in a high-pitched voice and tried to get up. The cop nailed him in the side of the head with a vicious roundhouse and kicked him in the chest.
“Stay down,” the cop shouted. The smaller man lay on his side, heaving with exertion. The officer handcuffed his wrist to the bigger man’s ankle, and jumped clear of them. With her left hand, she dragged Sara out from under the bed and toward the closet across the room.
Jaylynn stood in the doorway holding the bat and the black gun. “Here!” She offered the weapon to the police officer. She kept the bat for herself.
The tall, dark woman turned, her face white despite the exertion. She seemed enormous to Jaylynn—not fat, just solid and very powerful. Later, Jaylynn would remember the feral smile of satisfaction on the cop’s face and consider that she might be a very dangerous woman. But at that moment, as she looked into steel blue eyes for a heartbeat, she felt as though she knew her, and a thrill of recognition coursed through her mind. The blue eyes narrowed as they met her own, and for a brief moment, Jaylynn wondered if the woman recognized her, too. But of course she couldn’t know her. The cop hurried across the room and snatched the gun from Jaylynn.
Sara whimpered, and Jaylynn moved farther into the room. “Sara! Sara, are you all right?”
“Wait,” Dez said. She held the Glock in her left hand and stood over the two panting men. “Don’t move. I’d be so very happy to shoot your fuckin’ heads off if you move a single muscle.” Dez heard the sirens coming, their whining becoming more insistent as her backup drew nearer. She glanced at Sara and made a quick motion with her head toward Jaylynn. “Get her outta here. Now! Into the hall. And be sure to stay clear of these two jokers. Wouldn’t want to have to blow their brains out, now would we?”
Jaylynn wanted to tell her it was perfectly all right with her if the cop emptied her gun into their sorry carcasses. Instead, she leapt to Sara’s side and helped her to her feet. She dragged her out into the hall where her friend sank to the floor sobbing. Jaylynn slowly pulled the duct tape off her mouth. She was still trying to loosen the twisted tape from Sara’s hands when the backup officers burst into the house.
The house was surrounded with spotlights and curious onlookers. Police ran in and out of the stucco home as a tremendous commotion, both inside and outside, engulfed the neighborhood with noise and light. After a few tense moments, Dez relinquished her guard role and let the backup cops take charge. Once the suspects were properly cuffed, she stepped over and whipped the nylon masks off their heads. Two white males, in their early twenties, neither very handsome—especially in light of the damage she was glad she’d inflicted. The bigger man was bruised and bleeding from three gashes in his brows. His ear bled a trail down his neck. The slimmer man bled profusely from a cut below his left eye. At the moment, they were both sullen and angry as they sat on the floor muttering and cursing her. The backup cops read the two men their rights before dragging them out of the room and down the stairs.
Dez’s right arm throbbed painfully as she eased down the steps, passing the emergency medical team coming up the stairs for the injured young woman. A stream of cops crowded through the front door to take a look at the two suspects, both of whom Dez suspected were responsible for the neighborhood’s recent rapes.
The living room, now flooded with light and activity, was furnished with overstuffed chairs, a fluffy sofa, an upright piano, and a futon couch. Four oak bookcases full of neatly ordered books stood along one wall. Movie posters covered most of the other walls: a black-clad Schwartzenegger from The Terminator, Jackie Chan in a flying kick, Geena Davis pointing a gun, and Stallone hanging from a cliff. Dez walked through the room, past a Bruce Willis Die Hard poster, and out the front door. As she stepped wearily down the front stairs, a thin man dressed in khaki slacks and a tan T-shirt ran up the walkway.
“Where’s Jay and Sara?” he asked her breathlessly, running his hand through his red hair.
“Inside.” Two paramedics maneuvering a stretcher came up the walk toward her, and she navigated the last two stairs and stepped over onto the grass, gesturing to the young man to do the same. “Who are you, sir?”
“Tim Donovan—I live here.” He pushed past, looking back at her, his face pale and stricken. “Are they, uh, okay?”
“Yup, I think so.” Dez continued down the walk, suddenly feeling a bit sick to her stomach. As she moved along, she tried to flex her forearm, but it hurt too much. She looked at her watch: 11:58. In two minutes my shift is over. Good timing. She headed over to the ambulance to have her arm looked at.
Tim took the stairs two at a time and blasted into the house in time to nearly mow over the EMTs and his two roommates.
“Sara, Jay, what happened?”
“Oh, Tim!” Sara fell into his arms weeping.
“Excuse me, sir,” the EMT said as he gently grasped Tim’s shoulder. “Please, we need to transport her.” The medic turned back to Sara. “Come along, Miss. Let’s take you in for a little look-see and make sure you’re okay.” He helped Sara onto the stretcher and covered her with a blanket.
“I’ll go with her,” Jaylynn said.
“Only room for one, ma’am,” the EMT said. He strapped Sara down and nodded toward his fellow medic, and they moved the stretcher toward the stairs.
Jaylynn turned to Tim. “One of us needs to go with her, but we need to close up the house, too.” She pointed at the open window at the top of the stairs.
“Here, Jay,” Tim said. He shot a hasty look toward the stairs as the EMTs rounded the corner and disappeared. Digging in his pocket he pulled out his car keys. “Take these. You drive over, and I’ll go with Sara now.” He took the stairs down two at a time.
“Wait, which hospital?” she called out after his departing back. He paused, looking back at her impatiently. “How do I know where to go?”
A patrolman standing behind her in the hall touched her arm. “I’m Officer Milton. I’ve got a lot of questions for the report. Why don’t you follow me over to the hospital?”
“There you go,” Tim said. “I’ll see you over there.” He disappeared down the stairs.
“I have to lock up the house,” Jaylynn said to the cop.
“Good idea,” Officer Milton said. “I’ll help you with the windows.”
Jaylynn collected her things and locked all the doors. As Officer Milton escorted her through the yard, a white van arrived. Two men piled out. One shone a bright light in her face while the other man held a microphone and shouted questions at her.
The reporters did double-steps on the lawn next to Jaylynn and Milton as the officer tried to hurry them down the walk. “Can you tell us what happened?” one reporter asked in a breathless voice.
“I came home to find two men in our house attacking my roommate. They tried to get me, too, but before they could, a cop—” She stopped and looked around the yard, letting her eyes come to rest on the various police cruisers. “It was a woman cop. I don’t know who she is, but she nailed both of them ev
en after losing her gun. She was incredible, a sight to behold!” She looked up at Milton. “Who was she, Officer? Where’d she go?”
“Reilly,” Milton muttered.
“Who?” Jaylynn said, but the reporters had already heard.
“Reilly? Desiree Reilly?” one of the men repeated excitedly. “Reilly was the officer? Oh, this’ll be a great story. What else can you tell us?”
“That’s it, folks.” Milton pushed past the reporters. “You know the channels to go through.” He took hold of Jaylynn’s elbow and rushed her down the walk. Wordlessly, he helped her into Tim’s Toyota, then got in his cruiser and slammed the door. He turned on his lights, but not his siren, and maneuvered around the other police cars parked haphazardly along the street, slowing to wait for Jaylynn to catch up with him. Jaylynn looked back at the scene. Neighbors stood in tight bunches watching from the front stoops of their houses. She waved as she passed the couple on the corner and they hesitantly waved back, not quite sure who she was.
Dez’s forearm swelled so quickly that before she even arrived at the hospital, the paramedic had to immobilize the forearm with an inflatable splint. “It’s likely broken, you know,” he said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
At the emergency room they led her through the crowded waiting area and toward an examining room. She didn’t want to look around, but she couldn’t help herself. The last time she’d been here was for Ryan. Even now her eyes filled with bitter tears, and she bit her lip to try to control her thoughts. She hated this place, didn’t want to be here. She considered turning around to leave, but before she could, the nurse on duty was at her heels ushering her to a table. The nurse helped her unbutton and remove the bloodied and tattered blue shirt, and Dez grasped at the Velcro on the bulletproof vest. The nurse picked up a pair of trauma shears.
Dez said, “Hey, no! These things are expensive.”
