Surrogate Lover

by Clara Reese

  Grabbing my purse, I hurry out the door. I love her! I want her in my life! That should be all that matters. It’s time I stop letting the past, the what-ifs, dictate the way I live in the here and now. It’s time I trust my heart and take the risk. If I drown in the process, at least I know I gave it my all.

  “Where’s the fire?” Ben’s startled voice echoes behind me.

  “I’ll call you later,” I shout, picking up my pace.

  Now that I’ve made up my mind, it seems as if I can’t get home soon enough. The thought crosses my mind to stop and get her flowers, chocolates, something, but I can’t waste time. I have to rectify things, now, before it’s too late. Before Katrina decides to leave, and I never see her again. I won’t be able to forgive myself if that happens.

  When I walk in the door, my feet falter as my eyes take in the chaos of the room. There’s a chair tipped on its side. This morning’s newspaper, that was on the table at breakfast, is strewn across the room. The vase on the coffee table has been knocked over; the bouquet scattered about across the table and onto the floor.

  Furniture is pushed around at odd angles. Drawers have been left open, the contents dumped out. The tea kettle is broken, lying on the floor, dark liquid bleeding out in a halo on the carpet around it.

  My heart skitters in my chest as my pulse throbs in my ears and sweat breaks out across my forehead and upper lip. Fear spikes across my temples and my head fills with dread.

  “Katrina?” I whisper.

  I stand, stunned, motionless, for the span of a heartbeat, before adrenaline bursts through my veins and kickstarts me into gear. Racing towards her room, I shout her name, “Katrina!”

  The silence that answers is deafening. Panic claws its way up the back of my throat, choking out of me what little sanity I still possess. Her room looks as if a hurricane ripped through it, picking up anything that wasn’t bolted down and throwing it carelessly across the small space.

  She’s not here. When I think of what that means, when I think of the only possible scenario for this to be happening, I know that she didn’t leave of her own volition. Grady was here. He found her, and now he’s taken her.

  I have to find her. I have to get to her. I race back down the hall and towards the garage. My feet aren’t moving nearly as fast as my mind is, and I stumble a few times, cursing myself under my breath for being so clumsy and incapable.

  If I hadn’t been so stupid, if I hadn’t hurt her, I would have been here when he showed up. I could have stopped him. Or maybe he would have just shot me without asking questions, and I would be lying in a pool of my own blood. I don’t know. The only thing I do know is that Katrina is in trouble, and I have to save her.

  When I reach the garage, I find Jim, one of my usual drivers, tied up against the wall. He’s thrashing about wildly, screaming behind the silver tape that covers his mouth. I rip it from his face and grab a pair of scissors to cut the bindings at his wrists and ankles.

  “Oh, god, Jim! What happened?” I can’t hide the panic in my voice as the words leave my lips in strangled succession.

  “It was a big guy,” he pants, sucking in mouthfuls of air between words. “He came in and overpowered me. He was inside for a while before he came out, dragging Katrina with him. He shoved her into one of the cars and took off. I’m so sorry, Ms. Monroe. I tried to stop him, I really did. He was just so big.”

  “I know, Jim. This isn’t your fault. Did you see which direction he headed?” I ask, terrified that I won’t be able to find them before something worse happens.

  “No, I couldn’t see out the door when he left. But I did hear him say something about taking her home. Do you know what that means?” He asks.

  “Yes,” I breathe in relief. “Thank you!”

  “I’m so sorry,” he repeats.

  “I know. So am I.”

  I have to follow them. I know I do. But the terror that crashes through me is overwhelming. It splinters across every ounce of resolve I possess. The feeling of helplessness threatens to overpower me.

  The only way to go after them is to get in a car and follow. I don’t know if I can do it. The last time I drove, my entire life came to a screaming, agonizing halt. What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not strong enough?

  Go! I demand. Willing my feet to move as my body refuses to listen to my mind. I’ll never be able to live with myself if I just sit here and do nothing. I just have to force myself to move, before it’s too late.

  29

  Katrina

  Terror pulses through my veins as nausea churns in my stomach. It seeps from every pore, crawling across my skin like a living breathing being. I hug my arms tight around my middle, cradling my unborn child, as if that’s enough to stave off the evil that shrouds us.

  I’m petrified, unable to move, unable to fight, as Grady races through the streets away from Charlotte’s house. He’d drug me to the garage before shoving me into the closest car to the door. I had seen one of Charlotte’s drivers tied up on the floor near the far wall, neither one of us able to escape Grady’s madness.

  Now I’m in the passenger seat, and we’re heading towards the house where every single one of my nightmares originate. Each breath I suck in burns across my throat like flames across kindling. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to let Grady see the panic screaming through my mind.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” The lie is rancid, as if the very thought of it is a betrayal against what Charlotte and I share. “I’m so happy to be going home with you.”

  I’m worried about what Charlotte will find when she comes home from work. Will she know what’s happened? Will she be able to put together the pieces and find me? What if she can’t? What if she’s never able to find me?

  If something happens to me…if something happens to the baby... I don’t think I could survive that kind of devastation. And poor Charlotte, she’s already faced so much loss. How will she survive this too?

  A small bit of doubt chews away at the ragged nerves in the back of my mind. What if she doesn’t care enough to come after us? I try to push the thought away.

  Yes, we’ve been fighting, but Charlotte would never let anything happen to me, and especially not to the baby. She’ll come for us. She’s strong and so much more capable than I’ve ever been. If she finds out what’s happening quickly enough, then nothing and no one will be able to stop her.

  I let that thought be the comforting lifeline that I cling to, even though it feels like I’m only hanging on by the smallest, thinnest thread imaginable. If there’s any way for us to survive this, that’s it. I have to believe it is.

  Focusing all my energy on keeping Grady calm and appeased, I try to talk about the good times we had in the past. They may have been few and far between, but there were still some. He wasn’t always the violent man he is today.

  “Remember the time we got stuck in the rain after the ballgame?” I ask. “We couldn’t find the car, so we had to huddle under the bleachers, waiting for the crowd to leave before we could find it. We ended up making out like a couple of teenagers the entire time.”

  A shadow of a smile twists up at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles are still gripped tightly around the steering wheel, but the rigid set of his shoulders relaxes ever so slightly. If I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t even notice it, but it’s just enough that I let a small bit of hope creep into my heart.

  “What about when we first moved into the house. Remember that first night? The delivery truck driver couldn’t find it, so the bed didn’t get delivered, and we had to sleep on the floor. Instead of letting it be a big deal…” I can’t finish. Emotion swells inside my throat, making it hard to say the words.

  “We piled blankets across the floor and made a cozy nest. We spent the entire night making love,” he finishes for me.

  Being with Grady wasn’t always bad. When we first met, he was sweet and kind. I fell in love with him faster than I ever would have thought possible. But then,
little by little, things began to change.

  It seemed like little things, stupid things, things that anyone else would brush off as inconsequential, would set him off. He would get mad for no reason, yelling about where I was or who I was with, even though I had never given him a reason to question me before.

  He became possessive and untrusting. He was bitter and angry. And before I could even process the change or what was happening, the violence started. The more time went by, the worse things became, and the longer I stayed, the harder it was to leave.

  I shake my head, trying desperately to push the bad memories out of my mind. The more I talk, the more Grady seems to be winding down. He isn’t behaving quite so aggressively anymore. I need to keep my focus on that.

  “When we get home, I’ll make your favorite meal,” I promise. “Steak with baby reds, green beans, and homemade biscuits. I still remember just the way you like it.”

  “That sounds amazing,” he sighs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”

  Not since before he was locked away, I think. Not since before I made my escape. I leave that part unsaid, though. He’s finally just about calmed all the way down. I’m not about to risk making him angry again.

  “We can still make this work,” he says. “It’s not too late. We can get married this time. Settle down, be a family.” His eyes stray from the road to glance over at my belly. “I can’t believe you’re going to have a baby. I can be a father,” he says wistfully.

  I should probably be relieved that he isn’t trying to figure out the best way to eliminate the pregnancy, knowing that it isn’t his child. But him wanting to be a part of the baby’s life, that almost seems worse. He can’t honestly think that would be a possibility, can he?

  It’s becoming abundantly clear that he isn’t thinking rationally. Obviously, he’s completely unhinged, teetering on the fine line between crazy and downright psychotic. Maybe this was always the point we were heading towards.

  My first clue shouldn’t have been when he showed up at Charlotte’s wielding a gun. Maybe I should have seen it years ago, in the little changes that, looking back now, were extremely noticeable. At the time, however, they never raised any warning flags.

  The thought that I might be able to talk to him reasonably in order to convince him to let me go seems like a foolish notion, now. I’m beating myself up for not seeing it before. How can someone who isn’t dealing in reality be reasoned with?

  If he knows it isn’t a possibility, will he try to hurt the baby? I refuse to let anything happen to my daughter, as I see her now. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect her, and if I can’t reason with him, I’ll have to find some other way.

  I keep talking, but as I do, I let my eyes wander over the contents of the vehicle. There isn’t much in here. If I could find some kind of weapon…but what would I even do with it? If I were to hurt him while we’re still moving, I risk causing an accident.

  I can’t take the chance that any of us would be hurt. Keeping the baby safe is the only thing that matters. That means not taking unnecessary risks. I have to come up with some other way.

  The glint of silver peeking out from beneath the seat catches my eye. I wait until Grady is distracted, looking away from me and towards the road, when he’s making a turn. Slowly, so that the movement doesn’t catch his attention, I reach down and pull the cold metal out from under the seat.

  It’s a wrench, solid steel, and heavy in my hand. I quickly shove it up the sleeve of my shirt so that it’s concealed by the fabric. It probably isn’t the best choice of weapon, given that I don’t want us to crash, but for now, it will have to do.

  If the opportunity arises after we stop, maybe I can use it to subdue him long enough to give me the chance to run. It’s a good backup plan. At least, it’s the only one I have for now.

  30

  Charlotte

  I race across the garage, jerking open the door to the Aston Martin before my mind can fully comprehend what my body is doing. I throw myself into the driver’s seat, but freeze as the interior shrinks around me. My vision tunnels and the inky black ring grows thicker, darker, with each raspy breath I suck down.

  The screeching cry of twisting metal and shattering glass echoes in my ears. I can feel every slice as tiny shards rain down around me, cutting through flesh. Panic slithers across my spine, wrapping around my neck in a vice-like grip, squeezing tighter until I fear I might actually pass out.

  Katrina’s voice whispers across my ear. I grab hold of it like a lifeline, struggling to pull it closer, refusing to let go. Her words from the day she found me down here in a panic come back to me. Words of comfort, of love.

  I focus on her. The gentle cadence of her voice, her touch, the honey and lavender scent of her soft hair when it wafts across my cheek as we make love. I love her. I let that knowledge pull me out of the darkness and back into the light.

  With every breath, I grow stronger. With every breath my resolve to save her becomes greater, until all of my fears fall away. The only thing left is a steadfast determination to save her, to bring her back home where she belongs…with me.

  I pull out of the garage, tires squealing atop the asphalt as I take the tight turn a little too fast. I race through the streets, faster than the speed limit, but not so fast that I worry I’m not in complete control of the vehicle. It’s been many years since I’ve been behind the wheel, but the memory is still there, the movements natural, instinctive, etched in my muscles like a brand across skin.

  I press a button on the steering wheel, bringing the voice recognition to life. “Dial 911,” I command.

  A piercing ring blares through the air. “911. What is your emergency?”

  “Hello,” I breathe out, the relief in my voice audible. “My name is Charlotte Monroe. I’m currently traveling down Covington Ave. My surr…my girlfriend has been kidnapped. Taken by force from our home by her ex-boyfriend. I believe he is armed and he has a violent history against her. His name is Grady Thompson. He was only recently released from the state penitentiary.”

  The operator asks a few questions about Grady’s description and the make, model, and color of the vehicle he’s driving. I keep the line open, hoping that if I find Katrina and Grady first, the police won’t be far behind. I’m just turning to go up Hartnell towards the freeway, when I spot the unmistakable vibrant red outline of Addison’s Maserati. It was the only insanely, lavish indulgence she would let me purchase for her.

  “I see them!” I shout. “They’re heading north on Hartnell towards the Broad Street onramp.” My heart is thundering in my chest, the sound echoing through my ears.

  “Ma’am, we need you to keep your distance. We have officers in route,” the operator’s voice advises through the speakers.

  I refuse to just hold back and do nothing. Ignoring her suggestions, I steer closer. Grady’s eyes meet mine in the rear view mirror. His mouth twists in anger, but there’s something else there…fear. Katrina’s head swivels around to look at me through the back windshield. The terror in her eyes sends a shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  Grady quickly darts down a side street so fast that I can’t risk following without careening into the row of adjacent businesses. No matter, I know where he’s heading. There’s a shortcut that comes out just before the tunnel. I can cut him off there.

  Slamming my foot down on the gas, tires squeal behind me, and the acrid scent of burnt rubber on asphalt assaults my nose. With a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, I twist the car into an alley. The outside of windowless buildings, dumpsters, and trash blur past me in a haze of dull colors, as I accelerate towards the woman I love and the madman who is her captor.

  Navigating turns, speeding down alleys, and cutting across a few busy streets, I leave the frantic honks and dirty looks of irate drivers in my wake. The only comfort is the distant wail of sirens, growing louder, nearer. The opening of the tunnel appears at the end of the tight
alley I’m bowling down. There’s no way for me to tell what’s coming from either direction.

  I send up a small prayer, begging anyone who will listen not to take Katrina away from me. The front of the car juts out through the narrow alley opening. There’s a flash of red to my right as the car Grady is steering slams into my front bumper. The red car spins wildly out of control, while the solid concrete of the buildings on either side of me trap my car in place.

  There isn’t enough room for me to open the doors, so I push open the sunroof and crawl through. I slide down the windshield and scale the hood before jumping the short distance onto the road below. My eyes grow wide at the scene before me.

  The back end of the red car is angled upwards against the metal post of a streetlamp. One tire is angrily hissing, as all of its air is expelled from the mangled rubber. The noxious scent of gasoline fills the air.

  Grady is out of the car. He’s wrenching open the passenger door and dragging Katrina from the seat. A piercing cry escapes her lips as he pulls her around to the front of the car. He holds her in front of him like a shield, a silver handgun clenched in his fist, the muzzle digging into her temple.

  “No!” I scream, holding my hands out in front of me, willing him to just wait.

  “If you come any closer, she dies.” His voice is calm, too calm, belying the malicious intent behind his words.

  Katrina’s eyes are huge, the pupils dilated to monstrous black orbs that consume the brilliant grey of her irises. Tears stream down her cheeks. Her entire body is shaking as she cradles the small extension of her belly. My baby…our baby.

  No, no, no, no, no! I’ve already lost Addison, and I barely came out on the other side of that with my sanity intact. I can’t lose Katrina, too.

  The very thought of the woman I love and our baby in danger causes my knees to buckle under the weight. My head feels like it’s trapped in a vice, squeezing down around me until I feel like it might actually explode. Eyes locked with the devil himself, I’m terrified that none of us will survive this.