Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  “Just.” Deep breath. “Peachy.” Deep breath.

  “Uh huh.”

  “The other moms.” Deep breath. “At my birthing class.” Small moan. “Can shove it.” Deep breath. “With their water births.” Bigger moan. “And private midwives.” Deep breath. “I’m in a freaking car chase!”

  “Glad you can see the silver lining,” I mutter, watching as the entire steering column of my car starts to shake beneath my hands. A strange, burning smell has begun to drift back from the engine and fill the interior — definitely not a good sign.

  I dart a glance ahead and see we’re nearly halfway back to the main road; my eyes snap up to the rearview, and I see the Mercedes has crept closer, the front mere feet from our back fender, so near I can make out Vanessa and Ralph’s faces through the windshield. She beeps, loudly, and it sounds like a threat.

  Shit.

  “Where’s the closest hospital, Chrissy?”

  “Don’t know.” She’s breathing through clenched teeth, her face pinched in pain, but I think the contraction is starting to pass. “Not even sure… where we are.”

  “Maybe Roxbury? Mattapan?” I swallow. “I don’t know.”

  “Not exactly… our kind… of neighborhood,” she pants.

  “Did you find the phone? Are the police coming?”

  “Called Chase. Then police.” She shudders with pain. “But the phone ran out of battery before I could describe where we are.”

  “Shit!”

  Could they track the call? Triangulate our signal? Or is that just something that happens in the movies?

  “Seriously.” She takes another deep breath, her hands pressed against her swollen stomach. “Don’t you ever charge that thing?”

  Um… no?

  “It’s not even my phone!” I say, my voice defensive.

  “You have to charge it every night, when you go to sleep,” Chrissy informs me, sounding a bit more like her old self. “Put a charger next to your nightstand.”

  “Really not the time to lecture me on proper iPhone maintenance.” I sigh. “And I don’t have a bed, remember? Homeless, for the time being.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story. Chase gave up my lease and now I have to either move in with him or find a new place—”

  “What?!” Her voice goes up an octave. “You don’t tell me anything!”

  “Chrissy, it’s really not the time—”

  My words cut off abruptly when something rams into us from behind, sending a jolt through the entire car.

  “Shit!” I glance back just in time to see the Mercedes — its shiny silver front crunched in from the impact — preparing to charge us again.

  “Hold on!” I yell, my hands curling tighter around the wheel as I brace for another hit.

  I’m so worried about the danger coming from behind, I don’t even think about what might be coming at us in the front. My eyes go wide as I see a large black SUV fly onto the access road, its turn so sharp it nearly goes up on two wheels. It’s maybe the length of a football field away — a distance rapidly shrinking, at this speed — and it’s heading straight for us.

  I can’t brake; going this fast, there’s no time. Plus, there’s the small matter of Vanessa.

  As soon as I think her name, the Mercedes slams into us again, its impact hard enough to give me whiplash, not to mention make my already-struggling car start to wheeze in a not-so-good way. Distantly, I hear Chrissy trying to soothe Winnie in the backseat, but I can’t spare much thought to them. Not with the SUV bearing down on us, coming closer and closer with each second, like some deadly game of chicken sure to end with all of us in the hospital. Or worse — the morgue.

  “Who is that?” Chrissy shrieks.

  “Not sure, but I don’t think they’re on our side!”

  “Of course not!” Her voice is laced with pain — the sign of another contraction rolling through her. “That would be too.” Deep breath. “Damn.” Small moan. “Easy.”

  Her contractions are coming closer — five minutes apart, maybe less.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I curse under my breath, watching the road rapidly disappear between me and the SUV. When the space shrinks to fifty yards, I start to lay on my horn.

  “Get out of my way,” I chant, over and over. “Get out of my way!”

  “Move, asshole!” Chrissy shouts, feeling a bit less magnanimous. “This… is… so not… the time… to fuck… with me.”

  Each of her words is punctuated by a scream of pain.

  I blast the horn again — one long, suspended beeeeeeeeeeeeep — but the SUV doesn’t move to the side of the narrow road. If anything, it starts coming faster.

  The Mercedes rams us again from the back, so hard I almost lose control of the car.

  Shit.

  “Chrissy, hold on.” I swallow. “And hold Winnie.”

  “Run the fucker off the road!” Chrissy yells back at me. “And then let me out.” Deep breath. “So I can kill.” Small scream. “That…blonde…bitch!”

  Really helpful, Chrissy.

  I tug once on my seatbelt, making sure it’s clipped tight, and watch the road dwindle.

  Thirty yards.

  Twenty-five.

  Twenty.

  I take a deep breath.

  Fifteen yards.

  Ten.

  Five.

  At the last possible second, I swerve the wheel sharply right. I register the SUV flying past us on the left, a familiar Hulk-sized man behind the wheel, but most of my attention is locked on the road in front of me.

  Or, lack thereof.

  Dirt flies up in a cloud as we spin out, the tires skidding onto the slope of patchy grass beside the road. The wheel is wrenched from my hands as I lose control of the vehicle. The world goes mute; time seems to slide into slow motion as I wait for the inevitable crash.

  Somehow, my hands find the wheel again, clamping down in a last ditch effort to bring the car back under control. It’s locked hard over — no matter how hard I try to turn, it doesn’t budge.

  I see the fence — a towering, ten-foot wall of graffiti and concrete, lining the roadway. Coming ever closer to my windshield.

  I think I scream, but I’m not sure. All I know, in that instant, is that I’m probably going to die.

  And, if I die, it’ll be without telling the one man who’s ever scaled the walls of my heart and made himself at home that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.

  Actually, I’m not pretty sure.

  I’m sure.

  Certifiably, 100%, no-going-back, in love with him.

  My last thought, before we slam front-first into the wall with a piercing screech of metal and a shower of sparks, is that I hope, somehow, he knows that.

  ***

  I must’ve passed out for a second, because when I come-to, the dust has settled, somewhat.

  My head aches worse than anything I’ve ever felt before. Judging by the pain in my lungs, I figure at least one of my ribs has to be broken — either that, or the airbag hit me hard enough to rearrange my internal organs. My shoulder burns where Ralph’s bullet grazed me, and his earlier blow to my cheekbone pales in comparison to the sharp spike of pain that shoots through my temple as soon as my eyes blink open.

  I rub at my chest, hoping it might soothe the ache there. The airbag is already deflating and over the top of it, I see the front of my car is crumpled in like an aluminum soda can. The engine shakes violently — once, twice — and then, with a final wheeze, falls silent. I see smoke drifting up from beneath the hood and pray to god fire isn’t about to follow.

  In the sudden quiet, I hear a mewling whimper of pain.

  Chrissy.

  “Chrissy!” I scream, turning around to face her as my hands search for the release button of my seatbelt. “Chrissy, are you okay?”

  My heart pounds madly in my chest as my eyes fly over the backseat.

  She’s there — eyes slivered open, her hand on Winnie’s tiny, flailing arm. />
  He’s alive.

  She’s alive.

  “Chrissy, talk to me.” My voice cracks. “Tell me you’re all right.”

  “Just.” She wheezes. “Peachy.”

  I try to chuckle, but it hurts too much. “Glad to hear it. Is Winnie okay?”

  “I think he’s just shaken up,” she says, stroking her fingers through his hair. “We’ll be okay.”

  “Good. Mark would’ve killed me.”

  “Totally.” Her grin is lopsided, but it’s there. “Listen.”

  “What?”

  “Listen.” She sits up a little straighter. “Sirens.”

  I strain my ears, listening, and when I do, I hear them — the undeniable sound of police cars, racing toward us.

  “Thank god.” I take a deep breath and pain streaks through my chest. “Now, you can get to the hospital and have that damn baby.”

  “Let’s hope I make it that far.” Her smile fades a bit. “I really don’t want some state trooper looking at my hoo-hah.”

  “Seriously, Chrissy, we need to discuss your priorities.”

  I hear her laugh, but the sound is swallowed up as my car door is yanked open with a jarring squeal of metal. I turn, fully expecting to find a police officer, firefighter, paramedic — really, any kind of first responder would do, at this point.

  Instead, I find The Hulk.

  ***

  I’m so stunned by his appearance, I don’t even fight him as he reaches in, wraps his hands around my biceps, and yanks me from the car without a word.

  “Hey!” I scream, when he throws me up over his shoulder. “Put me down!”

  “Bring her back here!” I hear Chrissy shrieking. “Or I swear to god, I will kill you!”

  “Chrissy!”

  “Gemma!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I scream as my fists pound his back, flooded with disbelief that I’m being kidnapped again.

  Kidnapped from my kidnappers!

  It would almost be funny, if it didn’t totally suck.

  I can’t see much, considering I’m hanging upside down, and all, but I can tell the Mercedes is long gone. That’s not much of a surprise — Vanessa and Ralph may’ve been the worst abductors in the world, but evidently even they were smart enough to cut and run when they saw my car spin out of control.

  Kidnapping is one thing. Murder is another.

  The Hulk doesn’t break stride or bother to respond to any of my curses. He just walks up the dirt incline toward his SUV — which, I’ll have you know, didn’t suffer so much as a scratch — pulls open the passenger door, and tosses me inside. To my surprise, he doesn’t close the door after me — he keeps coming, wedging his massive frame into the seat, until I’m forced to scramble to the driver’s side, to get away from him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I screech.

  He doesn’t answer as he settles into the passenger seat, pulls the door closed, and flips the locks.

  “Drive,” he says flatly.

  “I’m not driving anywhere!” I stare at him like he’s a total crazy person. “And I’m not leaving my friend! She’s pregnant! She needs medical attention!”

  “Cops will be here any minute.”

  “Exactly! And I fully intend to wait for them!”

  His jaw clenches as he stares me down with those eerie, empty eyes for a long moment, before reaching into his jacket pocket and whipping a sleek black gun from his holster. He’s not like Ralph — he definitely knows how to use that thing.

  “Drive.”

  I swallow hard, glance one last time at my car, still smoking faintly by the wall, and pray to every god up there that Chrissy, Winnie, and the yet-unnamed fetus will be okay.

  And then, I drive.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Let Go

  We’re silent for almost an hour.

  I listen each time he tells me to make a turn, change lanes, merge onto a different road. Every bone in my body aches to the point of distraction. My mind searches for possible escape plans, but everything I come up with ends with me meeting a very gruesome end, either staring down the barrel of The Hulk’s gun or bleeding out in a flipped SUV.

  Neither of which sounds very appealing, at the moment.

  I can only hope Chrissy is with the police, by now — that she’s safe at the hospital.

  Eventually, we leave the highway and merge onto a winding back road, the trees growing denser as we move ever eastward. The coast can’t be far off, now, and I feel dread stir to life in my stomach as thoughts tickle at the back of my mind. Thoughts of another car ride, not so long ago, when Chase told me a story about the house he grew up in.

  When we pass an ornate wooden sign that reads MANCHESTER-BY-THE-SEA WELCOMES YOU, I feel the pit in my stomach morph into a bottomless cavern of anxiety.

  I know exactly where we’re going.

  I hear Chase’s voice echoing through my mind…

  They were driving home one night, to our summer house in Manchester... It was raining out, really miserable. The roads were slick…

  My hands clench tighter around the wheel.

  “Why are we here?”

  The Hulk looks over at me, surprised I’ve broken my resolute silence, and readjusts his gun where it lays against his knee.

  “Brett wanted you to bring me here, right?” I try to keep my voice calm, but it starts to fray as hysteria creeps in. “He did, didn’t he?”

  He looks out the window, as though thoroughly bored by my questions.

  “Why?” I ask. “Why here?”

  He doesn’t say a word.

  But I worry, deep in my bones, that I already know the answer.

  ***

  When we round a bend and the bridge comes into sight, I pump the breaks. Hard.

  It’s smaller than I thought it would be — maybe forty feet across, fifteen feet wide, constructed of wood planks and a stone foundation. Thin, plywood railings on either side are all that separate cars from plummeting into the inlet below, where water rushes in with the evening tide.

  A small, overgrown sign peeks out from the foliage at the side of the road.

  CROFT ESTATE

  Shit.

  The Hulk looks over at me. “Keep going.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” My hands tighten around the wheel until my fingertips turn white.

  His gun hand twitches slightly, but he doesn’t lift it. Instead, he reaches out, punches a few keystrokes into the built-in navigation system, and leans back in his seat, waiting.

  The sound of ringing fills the car.

  “Is it done?”

  Chills break out all over my body as Brett’s oily voice oozes from the speakers.

  “You psychopath!” I snap, vibrating with anger and fear. “What the hell is wrong with you? What am I doing here?”

  A dry chuckle sounds over the line. “Ah, Miss Summers. Still with us, then.”

  My heart starts to pound. “Why am I here? You have your revenge. You found out about Phoebe, about my father – you’ve got all the ammunition you need to derail my life.”

  “And there’s the fundamental flaw in your thinking,” he tells me cheerily. “Because this isn’t about you, Gemma. It’s never been about you, or the West family.”

  “It’s about Chase,” I whisper.

  “Brava!” He sounds amused. “The greatest illusionists — and businessmen, for that matter — know that distraction is one of the best tools in the box, my dear. Slight of hand, shift of focus — you distract the audience with a trick in your right hand, while your left works the real magic.”

  “Listen, Brett, I don’t know what you’re planning, but whatever it is, I’d suggest you rethink it.”

  “Oh, really?” He sounds amused. “And why would I do that?”

  “You really think you won’t get caught, if you hurt me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gemma.” He chuckles again. “You drove up to your boyfriend’s summer house, pe
rhaps to confront him after a rather unpleasant interaction with his ex-girlfriend — in a car rented under his company name, I might add. On your way, you met with a terrible accident, on the same bridge where others — your boyfriend’s parents, in fact — lost their lives in the past. Such a tragically beautiful coincidence. And such a dangerous bridge! Maybe we’ll have it torn down, in memory of all the people it’s taken from Chase. That would be quite poetic.”

  “You’re sick.” I swallow against the lump in my throat. “You really think Chrissy won’t tell the police it was your thug who grabbed me? That Chase won’t know it was you, if you hurt me here?”

  “Oh, Miss Summers. It’s a good thing you’re pretty, because you aren’t exceptionally clever.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “The police will never be able to link me to this with anything more than circumstantial evidence – and everyone knows, that’s not the kind that sticks. Plus, there’s the problem of a motive. Why would I possibly want to hurt you?” He makes an amused tsk noise. “Even if Chase goes to the police with everything he’s been collecting against me for the past decade, it’ll be his word against mine. And I’m not the one with a criminal record. Who do you think they’ll believe, Gemma?”

  My stomach clenches so hard I think I might throw up.

  “Poor Chase.” He laughs. “Of course, he’ll know the truth. That’s half the fun. In fact, I tipped him off. He’s on his way there, as we speak.”

  My heartbeat picks up speed, thinking of Chase. Of how terrified he must be, driving back to the place where his parents died, knowing what’s waiting for him when he gets here.

  No.

  I’m not about to let that happen.

  I’m not about to let him watch another person he cares about die.

  Not now. And definitely not here.

  “It won’t work.” My voice shakes, despite my best efforts. “There’s a flaw in your perfect plan, Brett.”

  “Oh? And what might that be?”

  “I’m not going to drive off the fucking bridge.”

  “Of course not.” He laughs again. “That would be ridiculous.”

  A little bit of tension slips out of me.

  Maybe, I can reason with him.

  Maybe, I can delay until Chase gets here.