Confined

by Barbi Barnard

  “You didn’t go into the attic did you?” he asked as we trekked across the front lawn.

  I shook my head no, a few tendrils of hair escaping from my ponytail.

  “Where’s Emma?”

  “Still at the sitter’s. I came home to grab a bite to eat and wait for the jury’s decision.” I tucked the hairs behind my ear and followed him up my front stoop.

  “Okay, wait here,” he commanded, entering the house.

  “Be careful,” I whispered.

  He took to the stairs, taking them two at a time. As Steve reached the second floor landing he paused, retrieving the gun from his waistband. I peered into the darkness, hoping against hope that he would be fine.

  The only sound in the otherwise still house was the creaking and groaning of the attic door swinging open. I heard Steve’s sneakers squeaking, the stairs groaning as he slowly climbed them, harsh light flooding the hallway, spilling down the stairs then, very faintly, I heard his laughter.

  “JoJo, Bring your phone and come up here,” he called.

  Turning the light on, I ventured into the kitchen and grabbed the phone from its receiver by the toaster, then hurried up to the attic. “Where are you?” I called, looking around the cluttered space.

  “Over here,” came the muffled call.

  I followed the sound of his voice to the north end of the attic and almost bumped into his crouched body. “What did you find?” I asked, looking around wildly.

  Nestled into a space along the wall under the eaves, was a small, baby raccoon. It peered at us with frightful eyes and made a crying sound that was reminiscent to that a distressed kitten would make.

  “It’s so cute,” I cooed. A second masked face appeared as the raccoon siblings stared at us. “Where’s mom?”

  “Not sure, but we should probably get out of here before she returns.” He stood up and we walked back downstairs together. “You should probably call an exterminator in the morning to come get them out of there. If you don’t they’ll get bigger and really wreck some havoc on the structure of the house.”

  “Okay, I’ll be sure to do that,” I said as we walked toward the foyer. “Thanks for coming, I was so scared. I imagined serial killer clowns up there.”

  “Not a problem,” he said, his hand resting on the doorknob. “See you later.”

  He turned the knob and opened the door. I had a chance here, probably the only one I was going to get. “Steve, wait!”

  He stopped, turning back to me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “For everything. Can you come back inside so we can talk? I miss you, I miss being around you, and talking to you, I miss having you around.”

  He sighed, visibly at war with himself. Stay or go, stay or go, I could see the confliction in his eyes.

  I reached out, closing the distance between us and set my hand upon his arm. “Stay, please.”

  He looked at me, those oddly hazel eyes smoldering. “I’ve missed you,” he said and shut the door.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was so stupid. I thought I was going to lose you, and I didn’t want to hurt you, so I thought if I let you go it would keep me from hurting you in the long run and I’m so sorry, I was stupid. I love you and I never want to spend another day without you.”

  Steve scooped me up in his arms. “I love you, too,” he said. “I think I always have and I know I always will.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  This place looked familiar. The low slung, dilapidated gray buildings, the garbage swirling in the late evening breeze, hell even the smell brought back memories of an event whose details I could not remember.

  Taking a tentative step forward, I glanced around trying to get my bearings, trying to figure out where I was and how I got there. “Hello?” I called out. The scurrying of some unseen animal was the only thing that answered me. “Hello?” I called again.

  The stillness of the night was unsettling; a thick, foreboding feeling pressed down on me. In my chest, my heart raced – thump, thump, thump, thump. I took a deep breath, exhaling through pursed lips, my heart, however, refused to calm. It banged against my ribs like a frightened bird desperate for escape.

  A cool breeze kicked up as I entered the alley between two ramshackle buildings. Something was going to happen, something bad. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach and for the first time, I looked down, noticing a weight in my hands. A black gun, one of my father’s guns, trembled in my hand. The gun clattered as my hand shook; a low cry escaped my lips. Flecks of dark blood speckled my hand.

  “Oh god,” I moaned. What the hell was going on, this couldn’t be real, and I couldn’t really be in some random, desolate alley with a gun in my hand and blood on my skin. Whose blood was it and why was it on me?

  I glanced up, peering down the alley. I had to be dreaming, this had to be a dream. The cold steel of the gun in my hand felt too real though. Panic bubbled up my throat, choking me. I blindly moved down the alley, searching for a way out of this nightmarish maze.

  Glassy windows reflecting moonlight rushed by as I ran down the alley, the gun still in my hand. In the distance, I heard the wail of a siren and stopped, trying to pinpoint its location. Briefly, I wondered if they were coming for me, but it seemed impossible. If I didn’t know where I was, surely no one else would either.

  I sat down with my back to a building and pulled my knees toward my chest. The wailing came closer. I dropped my head to my knees, dropping the gun on the ground beside me and sobbed.

  To my left, there was a slow shuffle of footsteps. My head popped up and I snatched the gun off the ground beside me, unsteadily holding it out in front of me.

  “Who’s there?” I called in a shaky voice.

  “JoJo,” a familiar voice replied.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “JoJo!”

  I bolted out of sleep and looked around. Steve’s worried face peered down at me. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked, concern melting the soft chocolate of his eyes.

  I patted the bed around me, making sure there was no gun in the bed. “I’m home right?”

  Steve squinted at me, his eyebrows knitting together. “Of course you are,” he said slowly. “Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”

  I nodded stupidly. “I was in some kind of, I don’t know… there were a bunch of old buildings, I had a gun, and there was blood on my hands. Then cops showed up.”

  Steve pulled me close to him and rubbed my back. “It was just a dream,” he soothed. “Everything is fine; I think you’re just stressed because of the trial.”

  I rested my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes. “Probably,” I admitted. “But, I don’t know Steve, it felt… real. Almost as if I’d been there before.”

  “Maybe it looks like somewhere you’ve been before. Or maybe you’ve seen it on TV or in a movie. There are thousands of explanations. Just take a deep breath; you’re fine. It was just a dream, okay?”

  “Okay,” I replied, but there was something, I don’t know, call it lingering paranoia, but it felt almost as if he was trying to convince me that it was really just a dream. Steve was staring intently at me. I had the feeling that he was trying to force me into believing something I wasn’t so sure of.

  I smiled feebly at him and slid out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower,” I said as I padded toward the bathroom.

  Shutting the door behind me, I flicked the radio on and allowed the swell of music to fill the bathroom. Humming along to the music, I undressed and stepped into the tub, turning the shower on. As the water warmed, Steve knocked at the door.

  “JoJo?” he called through the wood. “Judge Fisher’s secretary called, the jury came back with a decision. You have to be in court at nine.

  I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. “Okay,” I called back.

  What was with my weirdness this morning? Okay, maybe it had to do with last night, I mean, we broke up and then got back together last night. He told me that he loved me – crazy in the head, com
mitment-phobic me.

  I smiled and turned my face to the spray. Someone actually loved me just the way I was. It was a giddy feeling, the happiness swelled – pushing the darkness of the dream and Steve’s odd behavior out of my mind.

  After I finished in the shower, I re-entered my room and quickly dressed. Steve called up from downstairs, “It’s getting late, we gotta hurry or we’re going to be late.”

  “I’m coming,” I called, slipping on my shoes and hurrying down the stairs. He met me at the bottom of the staircase with a bagel and a cup of coffee.

  As we left the house, I pulled my jacket on and slipped on the icy stairs. Steve dropped the coffee and caught me. “Remind me to salt those when we get home,” he said, righting me.

  “Will do,” I replied.

  The scene at the courthouse could only be described as pure chaos. Reporters were camped out on the courthouse steps, lying in wait for me to show up so they could fire another round of face-flushing questions at me.

  Steve parked the car, then hurried around to the passenger side. “Come on,” he said, opening the door and offering me his hand.

  I took it and glanced down at my feet, nervous.

  “Chin up,” he said gently. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  I glanced up at him, blinking back tears. “Okay, let’s go.”

  With our fingers intertwined, we ascended the courthouse steps. The waiting reporters hurled questions at us.

  “Are you dating the Chief?”

  “Is that why Curtis Duggar’s on trial, you know, because of your connections with the Chief of police?”

  “Ms. Weston, if you were any other normal woman, you know, not sleeping with the cops, would we still be here?”

  I whipped my head around to give that reporter a piece of my mind, Steve tightened his grip on my hand and pulled me toward the doors of the courthouse. “You have to ignore them,” he said.

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “They’re not attacking you.”

  “It doesn’t matter, the truth is, that’s the way they see it and there’s nothing you can do to change it. If this were anyone else the same thing would be happening and they’d be asking a different, albeit just as nasty, set of questions. It’s their job, don’t take it personally.”

  I followed him into the dimly lit, overly warm courthouse and headed toward the courtroom. The judge had yet to enter as I made my way to the front of the courtroom. Garza glanced up at me and motioned for me to sit beside him. I kissed Steve lightly on the lips before leaving him at the first row of seats behind the prosecutors table.

  “Are you nervous?” Garza asked as I sat down.

  I shook my head no and asked, “Are you?”

  “No,” he scoffed conceitedly. I have an eighty-five percent conviction rate. If this guy gets off it’s because the jury is a bunch of ignorant dummies.”

  “Oh,” I said softly. This was Mora, Washington for cripes sakes, and by that I mean the Middle-of-Nowhere. People here weren’t stupid, but they weren’t completely educated and most thought that the law worked a lot like last week’s episode of Law and Order. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it could end badly especially in a case where the evidence was subpar.

  Directly in front of me, a door opened and the members of the jury spilled out, filing into their seats to my right, as the last person sat, the bailiff called the court to order and an irritated looking Judge Fisher entered.

  “Be seated.” He turned to the members of the jury and said, “I understand you have come to a decision?”

  The jury foreman stood. “We have your honor.” He held up a white slip of paper. Fisher motioned to the bailiff who crossed the courtroom, retrieving the paper, which he handed to the judge.

  Fisher made a grand show of opening the slip. His eyes darted back and forth, as he read the verdict. Finally, he folded it back up and handed it back to the bailiff who carried it back to the waiting foreman,

  “Mr. Foreman, members of the jury, how do you find the defendant?”

  The foreman opened the slip of paper and said in a loud clear voice, “We find the defendant, Curtis Duggar, guilty of the charges of felony stalking.”

  “And in the charge of criminal trespassing?”

  “Guilty, your honor.”

  On the opposite side of the courtroom, Curtis’s wife made an odd keening sound and began crying out, “No, no, no.”

  The judge banged his gavel and shouted, “Order! Mr. Duggar, you’ve been found guilty of the charges against you by a jury of your peers, you will be remanded to custody until sentencing Monday morning. Court is adjourned.”

  I glanced back at Steve, stunned. I knew there was irrefutable evidence against Curtis, but I didn’t expect them to find him guilty. Color me surprised that they did. I stood up, squeezed behind Garza, and went to Steve. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed, whispering in my ear. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

  “I know, I don’t know why I was even worried in the first place.”

  “Silly girl, let’s go home.”

  Home. I smiled, liking the way it sounded coming out of his mouth. It sounded right and comfortable and safe; the way home should feel.

  That night, after Emma came home from school and dinner had not only been had, but cleared away as well, the evening found us lounging in the living room; a show about ghost animals on TV had Steve and Emma’s attention completely absorbed. I sat there watching the two of them, relishing the fact that for the first time I felt safe. Most nights, I sat here waiting for the other shoe to fall, for something completely horrible to happen.

  Now, with Curtis in jail and Steve here, the universe felt right.

  Steve glanced up at me smiling. I love you, he mouthed.

  I love you too, I replied.

  Smiling, he rolled back over and focused on the TV.

  I sat back and watched the two of them discuss the haunted animals featured in the show. I didn’t necessarily know what was going on, but it was okay. I loved the fact that we were all together again.

  After the show, Emma stood up and announced that she was headed to bed, Steve and I called goodnight to her as she trailed up the stairs. When her door clicked shut above us, he turned the TV off and sat down beside me on the couch.

  “So,” he said after a beat, “What do we do now?”

  I smiled and shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Steve frowned at me. “All of your problems are now virtually nonexistent and you have no idea what you want to do now. What kind of woman are you?”

  I shrugged again. “Well,” I said, trying to keep the embarrassed flush off my skin. “There’s one problem that still needs to be taken care of.”

  “Oh?”

  I glanced down at my lap and wondered how to say it without sounding like a complete idiot. “Never mind,” I said after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

  He glanced down at me, slipping his fingers under my jaw, lifting my face. “Hey,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

  I took a deep breath and said, “Well, there’s still the intimacy thing. I was, um, kinda hoping, that uh, maybe we could-“ I paused, humility and embarrassment clouding my brain.