Rachael's Return

by Janet Rebhan

  “That’s not what I heard,” Caroline said, her voice still soft, her gaze intentionally beguiling.

  “Well you heard wrong, pretty lady,” Vito said. “I didn’t kill Rachael’s mother; she ran herself off the road. I only wanted to talk to her, to see my kid. She was trying to take her away from me.”

  “What about the gunshot wound?”

  “You know about that?”

  “That’s how I met her. We were in the hospital at the same time. That bullet almost killed her and the baby.”

  “That was an accident. I only meant to scare her. Besides, I was shit-faced when it happened.”

  “That’s still no excuse.”

  “Hey, nobody asked you your opinion.” Vito stood, waving his gun in the air.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please just sit back down. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

  But Vito remained standing. He took a long look at Caroline. She stared back, then cast her eyes down at Rachael. “Put the baby in her crib, then we’ll talk,” he said.

  “I’d rather keep her here with us,” Caroline said. “How about I make you a drink? You look like you could use something to help you relax. I saw a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.” I could use a drink myself right about now.

  Vito stood motionless for a moment, sucked in his stomach muscles and shoved his gun in his pants. He ran his eyes up and down Caroline’s body, taking her in with an almost meditative stare. She could see he was weighing his odds. She guessed at what he was thinking: Was she worth it? Could he have her and his baby? Was she just toying with him? Was there even time before the rest of the kids came home? She knew she had to play to his ego. She walked toward him slowly, the baby still in her arms.

  “We could be a family: you, me, Rachael. I need a man who can give me more children. You’re young and strong.” She placed the sleeping baby in his arms and dared to kiss him gently on the side of his face. To her surprise, he let her. She turned slowly and walked into the kitchen. Marge lay crumpled on the floor near the sink, breathing shallowly. Caroline paused to make sure she was okay, then stepped past her and took the wine bottle from the corner. It had a screw top and had not yet been opened. She found a couple of glasses in the cabinet and poured two drinks before returning to Vito, who still stood in the middle of the living room holding Rachael, but keeping his gaze decidedly upon Caroline’s every move. “Sit down,” she said. “Have a drink, hold your baby girl, and hear me out,” Caroline said in the strongest voice she could muster. Vito did as he was told. She could tell he was not used to a woman ordering him around, yet he seemed beyond intrigued by Caroline’s bold behavior. He sat back down in the wingback chair with a sleeping Rachael in the crook of his left arm. With his right hand, he brought the glass of wine to his lips, closed his eyes only for a second, and gulped the entire glass down in a couple of swallows. He made a face and held his glass out for more. Caroline switched his empty glass for hers and watched as he swilled the second glass. She then took both glasses from him and placed them on the coffee table. Kneeling at his feet, she leaned in toward him. “I am in love with your baby. And I will do anything to keep her. Anything.”

  Vito’s face softened, and his gaze turned thoughtful, almost mournful. He reached with his hand and touched Caroline’s cheek. “Your skin,” he said in a whisper. “I’ve never seen skin as beautiful as yours.”

  Caroline reached her hand up toward her face and placed it on top of Vito’s. She felt a rush of adrenaline as her fear suddenly increased. She hadn’t thought of what she would do if she was successful. For the first time, she had to ask herself how far she was willing to go to keep Rachael safe. She wondered how long she had before Marge woke up, before Marge’s husband came home with the other children. She wasn’t expecting any tenderness at all from Vito. For the first time, she could almost feel his confusion, almost understand his possessiveness, almost comprehend how he could be the person he was. It alarmed her at the same time that it moved her. She stood and walked back into the kitchen. When she returned with the wine bottle, she poured more into both glasses and quickly drank her own as Vito had before, asking him if he wanted to lie next to her in the bedroom. “I’ll put the baby in the bed, and we can take a moment.”

  Marge moaned from the kitchen. Vito snapped to attention, his spell broken. He stood abruptly, handed the baby to Caroline, and pulled the gun from his belt.

  “Fine, then we’ll all go into the bedroom,” Vito said. He motioned with his pistol toward the hallway. “Get going! Hurry!”

  Caroline did as she was told, but she paused to grab her trench coat off the wall hook along the way. “I have some things in my pocket I might need,” she said softly.

  “Whatever, baby, just keep going. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  As they entered the master bedroom, Caroline placed Rachael in the crib and covered her with a blanket. Then she turned to Vito, who sat on the bed, the gun still in his hand. She nodded toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right out.”

  Vito locked the bedroom door, pulled his jeans off, and slipped under the comforter on the bed.

  Caroline locked the bathroom door and reached into her coat pocket to find her cell phone. She was grateful for the noisy ceiling fan that came on when she flipped the switch. She called 9-1-1 first. When the operator answered, she flushed the toilet and spoke quietly into the phone. “I am being held by a man at gunpoint. I have a baby. Please send the police.”

  “Okay ma’am, where is the gunman?”

  “He’s in the other room. I’m in the bathroom, but I don’t have much time.”

  “Okay, what is your location?”

  Caroline turned the faucet on full force. “I don’t know; I’m somewhere in the San Fernando Valley on Gresham Street. Can’t you see the address?”

  “Ma’am, you’re calling me from a cell phone. Do you have the telephone number for the house you’re in? I can do a reverse lookup.”

  “No, I don’t.” Caroline looked around the bathroom and fixed her eyes on a stack of magazines near the toilet. “Hold on.” She picked up the September issue of Ladies Home Journal, read from the label on the lower left corner. “It’s 223 Gresham Street in Winnetka. Please hurry!”

  The operator typed the address into her computer. “Looks like we already have multiple units Code Six at the scene,” she said.

  “Oh thank God! I’ll try to stall him,” Caroline said.

  “What are you doing in there?” Vito called from the bedroom.

  Caroline poked her head out the door. “Shh. You’ll wake up the baby, and we won’t get to do anything.”

  “Well, are you getting naked or what?”

  “I’ll be right out,” Caroline said. “Now just be patient. I’m almost done.” She texted the address to her husband along with the words: inside with baby, he has gun, trying to stall, but if baby goes, I go with. She placed the phone in her back pants pocket and opened the door.

  “What the hell, woman? I thought you were getting ready!” Vito sat up in the bed.

  “Calm down.” Caroline walked casually toward the bed. “I thought we could go slow, you know, get to know each other a little more first.”

  Vito threw off the covers and jumped out of bed, clad only in white briefs. “We don’t have time for slow, woman! They’re gonna be home any minute now!”

  Rachael awoke and began to cry softly. Another loud crash came from the garage. Marge called out from the kitchen, and the front doorbell rang. The neighbor’s dog began to bark, and the whop-whop-whop of helicopter blades could be heard overhead.

  “Damn, woman, now look what you’ve done!” Vito grabbed Caroline and pulled her tight up against his body, violently thrusting his pelvis into hers. She felt the hardness of his shaft slam against her pubic bone, could feel the black and blue marks already forming. “I never should have trusted you!” He stopped suddenly and let her go to reach for his gun on the bed behind him. When he turned around again, she sprayed hi
s eyes with the pepper spray retrieved from her trench coat pocket. “Aaahhrr! You are gonna regret this!”

  “This is the police.” The loudspeaker pierced through the noise of the helicopter. “The house is surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

  Vito ran screaming obscenities into the bathroom. Caroline took Rachael from the crib and raced toward the kitchen to find Marge sitting on the floor, holding her head in her hands. “Hurry,” she said. “We have to get outside fast.”

  “What happened?” Marge said.

  “We don’t have time now, Marge. He’s got a gun, and he’s going to take Rachael.”

  Suddenly, the back door leading to the kitchen slammed open, and Bennie came bounding inside, followed closely by a man with a wide-barreled shotgun. He was dressed in plain clothes but had the command and authority of a police officer. He thrust one arm out, holding his badge.

  “DEA!” he shouted. “Everybody! Up against the wall! Now!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Ragna Sweeney refilled her glass with more Diet Coke and grabbed a bag of barbeque potato chips from the tiny pantry on her way into the living room. Her husband had relocated from his recliner to the bedroom, where he sat at a small desk, writing checks for the rent and the gas company. As Ragna sat down in her favorite spot on the sofa nearest the end table, she saw the words BREAKING NEWS flash across the television screen in bold red color. Oh jeez, not now! My show! Then she noticed the familiar yellow house and heard the news anchor reporting a hostage situation where a gunman was holding one, possibly two women along with an infant inside a house in Winnetka. She choked trying to call out her husband’s name as she recognized Marge’s bright-green Prius in the driveway. She stood and walked closer to the television set, turning up the volume until it blasted throughout their apartment. “Harrrrooooold! Oh my God, Harold, come quick! You’ve got to see this!”

  Fiona Carlisle smiled when she saw the young man in the paramedic uniform enter her hospital room. He carried a bouquet of red roses in one hand and wore a wide grin across his face. She had grown to love his rounded features and his restful gray-blue eyes. They had become staples in her daily routine since she had entered the hospital under circumstances she still couldn’t quite piece together from memory. Nancy had filled in many of the missing pieces for her. The doctor said she was a very lucky woman to have survived her ordeal, and that she would eventually remember everything.

  “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” she said. It was then she noticed he carried something in his other hand as well.

  “Well,” he said, “speaking of cats.” He placed an oblong black nylon bag at the foot of her bed. At one end, it had nylon mesh clear enough to see through.

  “Charlie!”

  “I had to pull a few strings to get permission to bring him in here, but I thought it would be worth it.”

  “You’re a sweetheart, Sean,” Fiona said. “I’ve missed the little guy. I hope he still remembers me.”

  Sean unzipped the top of the cat carrier and handed Charlie to Fiona. “Mind if I turn the news on?”

  “Of course not.” Fiona stroked Charlie gently as he purred loudly and curled himself into a small ball in her lap.

  The breaking news was on all the local channels. Helicopter footage and bright searchlights revealed a modest house with a large tree in the front yard and a detached garage in the rear. A large crowd had gathered in the front, along with news reporters and police; an apparent hostage situation and a standoff with police were playing out for all to view in real time. The camera cut to a young woman standing next to two men. A nearby reporter asked if she could answer a few questions. The woman turned to face the reporter, and her features filled the television screen.

  “Say,” Sean said to Fiona, “isn’t that your doctor friend, Nancy?”

  The house was dark as Jena walked from the garage into the hallway. She had forgotten to leave any lights on for herself since she had been gone all afternoon. She felt her way into the family room, where she switched on a light and found the remote for the television. Tossing her tennis racket on the nearby chair, she set her purse down on the coffee table and hit the power button on the remote. She turned to walk into the kitchen, switching on more lights as she headed toward the refrigerator. The television blasted the breaking news at a volume Jena did not remember setting, and she grimaced, holding her hands up to her ears as she walked back toward the family room to adjust the volume. The sight of a near-naked man clad only in white briefs and black socks waving a gun in the air and running across the front lawn of a little yellow house made Jena pause to take notice. She forgot all about the volume when the TV screen split in two and the scene on the right revealed the face of an attractive woman flanked by two men. Yet it wasn’t the woman Jena recognized. It was the man standing to the woman’s right side and somewhat in the background. She recognized the familiar profile, the way he stood erect and purposeful. He had a very worried look on his face. A man to the woman’s left placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. They were speaking to each other. Jena was almost certain the man in the background was her friend Caroline’s husband. She looked closer at the television screen as the reporter in the foreground turned to address the action on the front lawn. As Jena was able to focus for a longer period of time, she became certain the man in the background was indeed her best friend’s husband, Jake Martin.

  Vito splashed the running water from the faucet into his burning eyes. “Goddam branco rico cadela!” He forgot about his pants and groped his way toward the kitchen after Caroline and the baby. Stopping in place when he heard the back door slam shut, he glimpsed the man with the shotgun shouting for everyone to get up against the wall. What was that he yelled? DEA? Oh, for fuck’s sake! What next? He turned and ran back through the master bedroom and out the sliding glass door, where the helicopter suddenly switched its searchlight to the back patio. He slipped down the side yard toward the front of the house as the helicopter followed, somehow sensing every movement he made even before he was in the spotlight. When he reached the front, the entire yard was flooded with lights from news cameras, police cars, and overhead helicopters. His eyes, already impaired from the pepper spray, were now blinded by the glaring fulgor, and Vito became a caged animal—a spectacle for all to view. His hands darted above his head, but when the voice on the loudspeaker instructed him to drop his weapon, he ran back into the house through the front door amid a hailstorm of bullets firing in his direction.

  Freddie Bechtel stopped his car at the police barricade and rolled his window down as the policeman walked up to his side of the car. “Quiet, please, everyone!” he yelled at the kids. They had been fighting since the movie ended, and all Freddie wanted now was to go home, send them all to bed, and settle down in front of his television set with a beer to watch the evening news. “Officer?” he said. “I live on this street, just a few blocks up.”

  “Yeah, we got us a situation here, so I can’t let you through. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.”

  “But I live here. Can I ask what the problem is?”

  “There’s been an incident. It’s not safe yet to go in. You need to take your kids out of here until we give the all clear.”

  Jesse sat next to Freddie in the front seat. “Rachael,” she said, looking through the windshield up the street to where she could see flashing red and yellow lights. “Freddie, what about Rachael?”

  “Shut up, Scarface.” One of the boys kicked the back of her seat.

  “Quiet!” Freddie turned and yelled, his sharp tone filled with apprehension. The boys looked at Freddie, then back at each other, and then down at their laps before giggling softly. “Sir,”—Freddie turned back to face the officer—“my wife is at home with the baby. What if the problem’s at my house?”

  The officer paused. He glanced briefly at the kids before turning his attention back to Freddie. “What’s your address?”

  “223
Gresham.”

  The officer’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, park over there at the curb, stay with your kids, and I’ll get right back to you.” He turned and walked a few feet away, raising his radio to his mouth. “17A11. I’m at the intersection of Gresham and Oso. I got a guy here with some kids who says he lives at the house.”

  Freddie pulled over as instructed then got out of his car. He immediately recognized some of his neighbors walking toward him. Their anxious faces made him suddenly fear the worst. He turned to tell the kids to sit tight, and that’s when he noticed only three of them in the car, all in the back, punching one another in the arms with their fists. Jesse was no longer sitting in the front.

  Nancy saw the little girl before anyone else did. She had just finished talking with the reporter when she noticed something move behind the news van nearest to where she stood with Mitch and Jake. Wafer thin, she was dark skinned with long brown hair and knobby knees. Her hair was parted on one side and draped over her face, covering part of her right eye. When she peered around the corner of the van, a breeze caught her hair and blew it backward, uncovering a pink webbed scar that couldn’t have been more than a year old. Nancy had seen burn victims come into the hospital over the years, and she was getting good at recognizing the stages a scar goes through before finally settling into its permanent color and texture. This little girl’s scar covered the outer portion of her right eye, pulling it downward, and ended just below the cheekbone, where the hollowed area began. Aside from the scar, the child appeared absolutely healthy with large sunken eyes, big caterpillar eyebrows, and thin, pouty lips. Her olive skin was smooth, and her hair was shiny, black, and straight. Nancy felt a strong protective surge come over her, and the next time the girl peeked around the van, she leaned forward and smiled at her, waving a hand down low as if in secret sign language. To Nancy’s surprise and amusement, the little girl ran over and hugged her at the waist, burying her face in her side. “There, there,” Nancy said, placing a hand on her head before cupping the little girl’s face in both hands. “What seems to be the problem?”