The Rabbit's Hole

by Brian Christopher Shea

  Izzy Martinez had spent the last ten minutes letting her silver Elantra defrost. She’d forgotten to put her wiper blades up the night before and they were frozen in place to the front windshield. Izzy went back in to warm herself and make a cup of coffee for the road. She had an early meeting in New Haven. There had been whispers that she would be taking the lead on a major investigation. Her heart rate accelerated at the thought. She’d been involved with big cases, but never led a team. She exhaled the anticipation, her breath visible as she exited the warmth of her modest condo.

  Armed with the knowledge that icy roads would make for a slower than normal commute, she decided to leave earlier than usual. Izzy stepped carefully, gingerly navigating the slick walkway out to the parking lot. She cradled her favorite stainless steel mug as she entered the car.

  The windshield didn’t look much better than it had before. She rummaged under the seats looking for the scraper, mad at herself for not cleaning her car at the end of the season. Her house was tidy, but the Hyundai not so much. She blew a sigh of relief at finding the mitten covered grip. Izzy looked at the dash display. The outside temperature was a balmy 18 degrees Fahrenheit. She took a long draw from the travel mug and allowed the hot liquid to add a barrier of internal warmth before stepping back into the cold.

  “I should’ve stayed in Texas with Nick,” Izzy said aloud. Great, now I’m talking to myself, she thought. One of the many signs of insanity.

  The thought of Nick made her stop, hand on the door handle. The last time she’d talked to him was almost six months ago. It may as well have been forever. Why now? Why at the butt crack of dawn in the tundra of an unprecedented early onset of a formidable New England winter?

  She let the thought of Nick dissipate as she pushed the door open. A fierce wind swept in forcefully, nearly slamming the door into her face. She won the battle against the gale and buried her face in the high zippered collar of her fleece-lined parka. The FBI spent lots of money on useless gadgetry but seemed to come up short when it came to cold weather gear. The cold air penetrated the layers of clothing within seconds of Izzy’s exit from the car. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably as she scraped like a madwoman at the ice. Bits of cold shards sprayed into her face, causing her to take on a frenzied look.

  Satisfied that the window was cleared enough to drive, she climbed back into the car. Seated and shivering, Izzy pressed her fingers against the vents allowing the warm air to thaw their rigidity. A few minutes passed before mobility returned. It was at times like these that she kicked herself for not taking an assignment in Florida.

  She gripped the steering wheel and began backing out of her parking space. She could see the fluffy white tail of her cat, Mr. Tippins, wag his goodbye. He was always perched on the couch set against the window. Sadly, he was the only male to stick around in her life.

  Izzy made her way out of her condo complex and toward the nearby entrance ramp to I-91 South.

  The entrance ramp had a slight incline and the weathered tires of the Elantra slipped on the black ice before regaining their purchase with a dry patch of asphalt. The slight skidding reminded her that she was overdue for snow tires. Izzy made a mental note to schedule an appointment with the tire shop once she got into the office.

  She was right to leave early. It wasn’t long before she was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic moving at a snail’s pace. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour, but it appeared that other commuters had the same idea to beat the rush hour. Her mind drifted as she sat idling behind a never-ending line of brake lights. Her thoughts were of Nick.

  Izzy took out her cell phone. A couple taps on the screen and she was staring at Nick’s number. Too early to call. To text or not to text, that is the question. She’d faced this internal battle too many times to count in the last few months. Her stubborn nature had always won out.

  Today, maybe due to the cold or early morning fatigue, or a combination of the two, she caved.

  The screen glowed and was brighter in the comparative darkness of the early morning. She looked down at the blinking curser taunting her to begin tapping her message. What do you say to someone you love but haven’t spoken to in half a year?

  Her thumb hovered briefly in its last moment of resistance before beginning an assaultive fury of the digital keyboard. Izzy’s thoughts poured out onto the screen like prisoners released prior to a death sentence.

  Why didn’t you choose me? Why did you let me walk away? I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me you love me. I can’t wait anymore. I’ll say it if you’re too weak. I love you! Her mind shouted the words, but her thumb nimbly navigated the keyboard delivering a veiled conveyance of her thoughts. Her thumb stopped moving. It hovered again, this time above the send button like it had many times before. She would not erase the words. This time would be different. At least if she sent it her mind would be at ease.

  She heard it before she saw it. The crunch of metal. It sounded like an explosion. Jolted from her thoughts Izzy looked up, dropping her phone as the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler filled her view, blinding her.

  The massive front end of the truck collided with the Jersey barrier. The concrete stopped the truck, but the impact swung the trailer portion hard. The bang of the truck’s initial crash gave way to a loud creaking noise as the jackknifed trailer shot up into the air and over the short wall of the concrete partition. The approaching rectangular container hung in the air as if deciding which way to fall. It seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Izzy could read the words Tommy D’s Plumbing Supplies shrink wrapped on the ribbed siding of the metallic box. The momentary pause ended and the towering mass hurtled downward, toward her.

  Izzy looked for an avenue to escape. She was boxed in, the concrete barrier to her left and pinned on the other three sides by commuters. She gunned the accelerator. Her bald tires spun hard on the icy road causing her to fish tail. She spun into the car on her right. Her Elantra pressed hard into a Prius. Wedged together, both vehicles were no longer able to move. Other drivers began reacting to the impending collision. Horns blared, and a mad game of bumper cars ensued.

  The bright light of the eighteen-wheeler suddenly disappeared, and Izzy was encased in the looming shadow of the falling trailer. Izzy was slammed facedown into the passenger seat. Unable to move, a searing pain radiated from the center of her back. Her feet tingled and then suddenly felt as if they were on fire. Her face pressed between the soft upholstery and the hard metal of the roof. She tasted blood. Izzy quickly found that she was only able to take short breaths as an immense weight pressed down hard.

  Enveloped in a shroud of fear. Trapped in the dark, the only glimmer of light came from the flickering cellphone screen mocking her with the unsent message to Nick.

  With each exhale, the crushed metal of the roof cinched tighter, making every breath in shallower than the one before. The pain in her legs was initially excruciating. And then the agony was replaced by a nothingness.

  The nothingness was bad. Izzy inhaled some of the blood that was trickling into her mouth, causing her to cough. The metal of the roof dug into her neck.

  Izzy tried wiggling her hand free. Nothing. Her hands did not respond to command. She felt nothing below the neck. This was bad, really bad.

  She blinked her left eye rapidly as blood from an unseen wound leaked into the corner. Izzy closed it, trying, without success, to keep the blood out.

  Her breathing became more ragged and desperate. Izzy’s right eye began to close. She fought to stay awake, willing herself to live.

  Chapter 4

  Anaya gave her infectious giggle. “Are you already eating for two?”

  “I’m just trying to show my support of the airport food industry. I can’t pass up a soft pretzel opportunity,” Nick said as he popped a salty bite into his mouth. “I know, I’m weak. It’s my kryptonite.”

  “I now understand why you’ve never complained about all your job-related travels.
It’s because you’ve been having an affair with Auntie Annie.”

  “Guilty as charged.” Nick grinned, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter.

  A three-toned chime rang out over the public announcement system. A reminder to notify police if a bag is left unattended. It was the third time he’d heard it in a very short period of time. Nick knew that broadcasts like these weren’t a deterrent to a serious attack. He’d seen the commitment first hand of those on that path. These messages served a different purpose that few in the population realized. They were designed to give travelers the impression of safety. It was psychologically calming to think that everyone in earshot of the message would vigilantly identify a threat. It also gave the masses the sense that they had some power to stop it. Sadly, Nick knew the reality and so to him that loud, repetitive mantra of the TSA announcement just added annoyance, interrupting the salty deliciousness of his last bite of pretzel.

  “This is a great thing we’re doing. Look how happy she is,” Anaya said, looking at the screen of her cell phone.

  Anaya opened the most recent chain of messages and scrolled down to the image. Nick leaned to his left, peering over her shoulder at the picture of Mouse holding a golden-brown puppy.

  “Looking at her there and thinking back to what she looked like when we first found her, it’s like she’s not even the same person,” Nick said.

  Anaya sat back, closed her eyes, and nestled her head on his shoulder. She sighed, rubbing her tummy. “A lot’s changed since that day.”

  Nick chuckled. “A lot’s changed since this morning.”

  His phone buzzed, and he shifted to retrieve it from his front pocket, making a concerted effort not to displace Anaya’s head.

  “It’s Declan. Should I answer?” Nick asked.

  “Absolutely. We’ve still got another forty minutes until we board. You two boys need to catch up, but remember our little secret,” Anaya said with a wink.

  Nick stood and kissed Anaya on the head before walking to a less populated section of the gate area. He leaned against a cylindrical pillar and looked out at the choreographed maneuvers of the ground personal as they directed the movements of the planes arriving and departing. It was a masterful blend of training and execution.

  Nick answered just before the call went to voicemail. “Hey buddy, this is a nice surprise. And to what do I owe this honor?”

  Nick didn’t hear a response from his normally verbose friend. He only heard a muffled sigh.

  “Declan? Are you there?”

  “Um yeah, sorry. I’ve got some bad news,” Declan said softly.

  Hearing Declan Enright at a loss for words had Nick worried, but he tried not to let it show. “Best to just say it, plain and straight. Not much left in this world that shocks me anymore.”

  “It’s Izzy. She’s hurt real bad. ICU.”

  “What? How?” Nick stammered.

  “Car accident early this morning. She’s been in and out of surgery. I just got the call. Val and I are heading that way now.”

  “Level with me, how bad are we talking?” Nick asked.

  “Too early to tell, but from what I do know is that it’s critical. If she pulls through, it’s unlikely that she’ll walk again.”

  Nick’s body went limp. The pillar now supported all of his weight as he used it as a crutch. He looked over at Anaya. She must’ve noticed the distress on his face because she mouthed “everything okay?” Nick held up one finger, gesturing for her to hold on a minute. It felt like a rude gesture, but Nick needed to gather himself.

  “What did you mean by if she makes it?”

  “All I have right now is that there is a fifty percent chance that she may not come out of the next surgery. She’s been unconscious since they brought her in.”

  “You said car accident?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah. From what I understand, an eighteen-wheeler lost control and rolled over the median into Izzy’s lane. There are already two dead, including the truck driver. Like I said, it’s bad.” Declan cleared his throat. “Once I’m at the hospital I’ll know more.”

  “Keep me posted when you hear anything. I’m in the airport about to fly out to see Mouse.”

  “Shit that’s right. Today is the big trip. Damn. I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Declan paused, and his voice took on a more optimistic tone. “Izzy’s as tough as they come. I’m sure she’s going to pull through. She’ll be in the hospital for a long while. You go with Anaya, and I’ll keep you posted. Maybe you can make a trip this way when you get back?”

  “I’ll figure it out. I want constant updates, and I want a call as soon as she’s out of surgery! If I’m in the air, then leave me a message.”

  “Will do. Gotta go. Say hi to Mouse for me,” Declan said, and the phone call ended.

  Nick pocketed the phone and slowly trudged his way back to Anaya. He avoided eye contact, fearing that it would betray his devastation. He sat without saying a word as he worked hard to process the information he’d just received.

  “So are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Anaya asked.

  “Izzy’s hurt bad,” Nick blurted.

  Nick felt Anaya tense at the mention of her name. It was slight, and most people wouldn’t have noticed, but when it came to his ability to detect the imperceptible reactions in others, Nick was not like most people.

  Anaya had confronted him, only once, about his feelings for his former partner. Nick had minimized any relationship, but he knew that Anaya saw through it. She never pressed him again on the issue, but any mention of her name brought an awkward tension between the two of them. It was usually brief but always present, and Nick felt it now.

  “Job related?” Anaya asked.

  Nick shook his head slowly. “Car accident.”

  “How bad?”

  “Declan said she may not pull through.”

  “Jesus. What do you want to do?” Anaya said taking his hand.

  “Not much I can do. We’re about to fly out to Michigan for a mini vacation.” Nick said in a tone more snarky than he intended and immediately regretted it.

  “This trip is more than a vacation and you know that,” Anaya shot back.

  “I know. That came out wrong. I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

  Nick leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees. He let his face fall into the palms of his hands. He rubbed at the lines of stress etched into his brow.

  “You didn’t let me finish. Izzy’s circumstance trumps this trip without question. You need to go see your friend.”

  “What are you saying?” Nick asked, peeking out at Anaya.

  “I’m saying get your ass up out of that seat, go to the ticket counter, and book a damn flight to Connecticut!” Anaya said, sounding like a drill sergeant motivating a fresh recruit.

  “But this trip is something we’ve been planning for months. I know how important it is—for us and Mouse.”

  “I’ll go to Mouse. You go to Izzy.”

  Nick noticed Anaya purse her lips at the mention of her name. He knew that her decision, although it came quickly, was not an easy one.

  “What did I do to deserve you?” Nick asked.

  “Just make sure you come back to me.” Anaya paused, placing her hand across her belly. “To us.”

  Nick smiled weakly, leaned down, and kissed her. He glided his hand over hers. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have a plan. Give Mouse a big hug for me.”

  “Nick, I really do hope that Izzy’s all right.”

  Nick nodded. He gave Anaya one last kiss atop her head, breathing in deeply the subtle scent of lilacs, before he grabbed his backpack and headed off in the direction of the ticket counters. He looked back only once before disappearing in the disjointed flow of wayward travelers.

  Chapter 5

  Kemper Jones sat in his cubicle staring at the case files spread unevenly across his desk. He’d unbuttoned his pants in an effort to relieve the pressure. His khakis were now se
cured only by the worn leather of his belt with the buckle gripping desperately at the last notch, like a free climber holding on for dear life to the edge of a cliff.

  His stomach rumbled loudly, and he looked at the clock. The diet he’d started was killing him. He was supposed to remain in a fasting state until noon. He eyed the wall clock that seemed to mock him with each jittery tick of its hand. Jones still had a few hours until he planned to take his lunch, but his hunger was definitely speeding up that timeline. He could always just start over tomorrow.

  The heavyset detective from Austin Police Department’s sex crimes unit drummed the beat of Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing into the closed manila folder in front of him, preparing to open it as his phone rang.

  “Detective Jones,” he said into the receiver, happy for the distraction from his pangs of hunger.

  “Hey Kemper, it’s Pete Cavanaugh. I got something I need your eyes on.”

  “Shit.” Jones knew that it was never good when Homicide called. “How old is she?”

  “Not a kid. Not even a girl,” Cavanaugh said.

  “Now I’m intrigued. What’ya got?” Jones asked with a thick drawl.

  “It’s best you come here.”

  Jones didn’t respond. He felt the rumblings of a big case that was only rivaled by the rumbling in his empty stomach. His desire for burnt ends this early in the day had him concerned. I’m an addict. Hi, my name is Kemper and I love barbeque. Jones laughed to himself at the thought and envisioned himself speaking at a BBQ Anonymous meeting.

  Jones redirected his attention to the man on the other end of the phone. He tapped the speaker function and set the phone on the disorganized pile that was his desktop. Jones removed his duty weapon from the top drawer of his file cabinet. He forced the pancake holster into place on his hip. The weight of the gun added to the precarious rigging of his pants and tested the tensile strength of his belt.