by Gun Brooke
When Gail told me that she loves me—it was like a sucker punch. If I had doubted what I’d done to her, that sealed it. And yet…another memory flickers through my mind. Gail, down in the shelter with me, desperately telling me she loves me after I revealed everything. And me, frantic and scared, only wanting to bolt, to escape, unable to deal with all the rampaging emotions. So I fled to the old ruin of a house. And there, I stood in the house, watching the corner where I kept my food, my sleeping bag, and the lantern, knowing I couldn’t make myself stay there one more night, no matter what.
I ache at how I left Gail without sharing how I feel about her. She loves me, and the least I can do is admit the truth.
I have scattered memories of how I ran out of the crumbling house and tore through the denser part of the woods to get back to the farmhouse faster. And then…nothing. I must have fallen and lost consciousness.
I have no idea how long I’ve been here like this. I close my eyes when I feel, rather than hear, something buzzing against me. I can’t figure out what it is at first, but it’s familiar. What is that? It might be important, like it demands some action on my part. I feel down my body with my right hand, but by the time I’ve reached the area around my hip where the buzzing sensation originated, it has stopped. I whimper and feel myself fade again.
Gail. Can you hear me? I’m still here.
I love you.
Gail
The house, if you can call it that anymore, looms before us like something from a horror movie. The front door hangs from one hinge, and debris has collected around the triangular opening. The windows on the front are broken, and tattered curtains billow in the wind.
“Shit. Is this it? This can’t be right.” Mike has wrapped her arm around me, and that’s the only thing holding me up. “Flynn, can you go inside?”
“I’m coming too,” I say, not about to let someone Romi doesn’t know be the one who finds her in there—if she’s inside.
“It’s probably not safe—” Flynn stops as I hold my hand up.
“Don’t even try,” I say, my voice every bit as harsh as it used to be, pre-Romi. “Come on.” Mike sits the dogs down, ordering them to wait outside. I walk with her, and she has to push the broken door out of the way for us to enter.
“Please, Gail, be careful.” Mike guides me inside.
I can’t imagine anyone staying in this half-collapsed house. Slowly, and mindful of the treacherous floors, we make our way through the dirty, cold rooms. Wallpaper smelling of mold hangs from the walls like torn flesh. The ceiling looks like it may fall on our heads at any moment. I’m far too aware of the signs of animals residing in the rooms, and I refuse to imagine Romi staying here. It simply isn’t possible—that’s my firm opinion until we reach the room farthest to the back. When I step over the loose threshold, I notice it’s not as bad as the other rooms, even if the difference is marginal. It looks like someone has tried to clean it up.
“Oh, dear God.” Flynn stops where she’s walked in ahead of us, directing her flashlight to one of the corners.
I can’t hold back a groan, not sure what Flynn’s seen, only that it can’t be good. Our flashlights converge on a rolled-up sleeping bag, a small cooler, a lantern, and a backpack, which I recognize. I haven’t thought of it until now, but Romi set it down inside the front door yesterday when I invited her in.
“Romi. No. No, no, no, no…” I look wildly around the room, half expecting Romi to be hiding in a corner we haven’t checked yet, but the room is empty. “She’s been here. Today. That’s her bag. This…she’s been staying here.” Hot tears fill my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Blinking hard, I will them back to where they came from. “This is what that fucking guilt made her do.” Mike gasps and takes a firmer grip around my waist. Perhaps she thinks I’m losing it. She’s not entirely wrong.
Flynn has opened the backpack. “Hmm. Here’s her badge for the Belmont Foundation Center, a wallet with cash, and neatly folded clothing, mostly tees and underwear.” She picks up the sleeping bag. Holding it at a distance, she turns to Mike. “The dogs. Good at tracking?”
“It’s not something we’ve trained them to do per se, but we should try it. They’ve met Romi before.” Mike turns around and tugs gently at me. “Come on. We’ll see if the boys can pick up her scent, all right?”
I’m not ready to go. Not yet. I hate what I’m seeing, but it’s still mesmerizing in a horrible way. A vision of Romi, curled up in the sleeping bag the same way she did next to me last night, tortures me.
“Gail. Please.” Mike carefully drags me with her, holding onto my good arm.
“So cold in here,” I murmur. “She saw no other way than to stay here when she left the basement. All because of me. To protect me. Like atonement.”
“What basement?” Mike asks, still pulling at me. “Yours?”
“Yes. A secret room. A shelter.” I know I sound monotonous, unfeeling, but I’m down to my emotional reserves, and if I give in to the fear spreading through my veins, I’ll be hard pressed to come back from it.
“You can tell me later. There, watch out for the front door. It looks ready to—oh, good. That works.”
I flinch as Detective Flynn kicks the offending, broken door down. The woman’s compact form clearly holds some power.
Perry and Mason sit regally where Mike left them, despite being untethered. Mike unhooks their leashes and then holds out the bag for them to smell, even opening it and pulling out a shirt I recognize well.
“Go find Romi, boys. Find Romi.” Mike encourages the dogs, and to my surprise, they cock their heads at the exact same angle and then start sniffing the ground.
“They do look for toys and treats that way when we play in the dunes. I hope it works for Romi as well,” Mike says. “Go find Romi, boys. Go on! That’s it, Mason. Good boy.”
The dogs look entirely alike to me, but one of them starts making his way into the bushes next to the house. When I notice the other one follow and that they move in the direction of my house, I dare to hope, just a little bit. Mike takes out her phone and taps the screen.
“Eryn? Look for our flashlights. Perry and Mason might be onto something, and they’re moving toward the house from our location in a straight line. Yes. Let’s hope so.”
“I’m calling for backup,” Flynn says where she’s walking in front of us, pulling out her cell phone. “At first, I thought this was about an adult who might want to leave, which she has every right to do, but if that had been the case, she would have taken her money and possessions. Besides, I’d like to get the chance to tell her the news from New York.”
I can’t process what she’s talking about, only cling to the statement about Flynn calling in backup. Something tells me we’ll need it.
Chapter Twenty-six
Romi
“You have your head in the clouds, girl, and the idea of you singing for a living is what your uncle would have deemed a fool’s errand.” Aunt Clara presses her palms against the table and leans over me. “Where you got this notion, I’ll never know. I’ve brought you up since you were young enough to not remember anything else—”
“Not true!” I stand up so fast, the kitchen chair falls behind me. “I remember Mom!”
“Impossible.” Aunt Clara scoffs and dismisses my memories of my mother like they’re nothing. “Nobody remembers anything before the age of four. You have a few blurry snapshots of Elisabeth, and that’s what makes you think you remember.”
I want to scream at her that she’s wrong. I want to take the fallen chair and break it against the wall. Of course, I don’t. I’m twelve and I’m powerless. Right then and there, I vow to myself that I’ll bide my time until I’m old enough, and then I’ll leave this house, this woman who doesn’t love me, and make a different, much better life for myself.
Aunt Clara points wordlessly at the chair. I pick it up and place it neatly at the table. “May I be excused?”
“Certainly. You better remain in your room fo
r the duration of the evening.” Aunt Clara shakes her head and leaves the kitchen. “Something tells me you have a lot to ponder.”
I walk upstairs and into the only space in this house where I can pretend I belong and sometimes believe it. I pull one of the small boxes from the bookshelf and open it as I sit down on the bed. Tugging a pillow on my lap, I hug it while I look at the photos of Mom, myself, and the house we used to live in. I have no photo of Dad, unless you count the ones of him as a toddler that Aunt Clara keeps in an album. She’s his aunt, not mine, really.
I do remember the woman in the picture. It’s either that or I’m simply imagining her voice, her smell, and her long, golden-brown hair. I close my eyes and hear her say my name, over and over, and her love is evident.
Gail
We stumble along the path that is little more than a line in the terrain. Around us, the trees are looming, the wind making them rustle and release the last of their leaves.
“Good boys. Keep going. Find Romi!” Mike encourages the dogs regularly. “Look. There are the others. I can see their flashlights.”
I can too. My heart sinks when I see that they’re moving closer. That means they haven’t found Romi either. “What about your backup, Detective?” I ask, out of breath. “We need help.”
“Done.” The urgent tone in Flynn’s voice makes me sob, and Mike’s arm tightens around me. I hear Flynn talk on her radio but don’t pay attention to the words.
“Don’t give up, Gail,” she says firmly. “The boys are onto something. I can feel it.”
I’m pretty sure she’s trying to keep me from growing hysterical, and I can’t blame her. “I’m all right.” It’s a damn lie.
One of the dogs stops about twenty yards ahead of us and starts barking. A few seconds later, he’s joined by his brother, and both have their noses pressed against the ground. They’ve found something. My fear overrides any hope and insists it’s probably a dead rabbit or something, but nonetheless, I lengthen my stride and push free from Mike.
“Gail, wait!” Mike catches up with me. “At least hold on to me.”
I realize I must, or I’ll fall. Hooking my arm under hers, I drag her along with me, blindly relying on her to keep me on my feet.
“Hush, boys. Enough of the noise now,” Mike calls out to the dogs, and they grow eerily silent. Flynn reaches the dogs first and nudges them aside. I stumble over to her just as she bends over something dark and lumpy.
I take the last two steps, and just then, the beam from Flynn’s flashlight dances over what the dogs just found. I see fabric and something ghostly white.
“Romi!” The sound is torn from my throat in a cry of terror as I fear she’s dead. Nobody could be that white and be alive, not even my pale girl. “Oh, God, Romi…” I fall to my knees and crawl over to the still form. I touch her cheek and yank my hand back. Cold, like a marble statue. Too late for Romi. Too late for me. For us.
“I feel a pulse,” Flynn says. “Paramedics and another black-and-white are en route.”
Then more light floods the path where Romi lies so still. Manon, Eryn, Tierney, and Stephanie have joined us from two directions.
“Is she breathing? Should we try moving her?” Eryn asks, dropping to her knees next to me.
“She’s breathing, but it’s shallow, and her pulse is quick and thready. Let me check her.” Flynn runs her hands over Romi and gently pushes them in under her. She goes still and makes a face. “Something poking her inside her jacket. I can’t be sure it hasn’t perforated her skin. We can’t risk her bleeding out.”
“She’s so cold.” I start to remove my jacket. “She could be going into shock.” I know all about that, having experienced it myself. I spread the jacket over her, and soon another jacket, this one Tierney’s, is covering Romi’s legs. Eryn pulls off her baseball cap and places it gently on Romi’s head.
“It’s not much, but perhaps it will help some,” she murmurs.
Eryn in turn kneels next to Romi and stabilizes her neck with her hands.
I’m holding Romi’s free hand in mine, pressing my lips against the alabaster skin. Her other arm is hidden underneath her. “Romi, please look up. Romi.” I keep repeating her name, hoping for the smallest of signs.
I hear the others talk, but I don’t really listen. Only when the black dog that startled Romi at Vivian and Mike’s dinner party comes closer and lies down close behind Romi do I look up. Tierney rearranges my jacket to cover both Romi and the dog.
“Shared bodily warmth,” Tierney says and pats my shoulder lightly.
“Thank you,” I mouth as my voice fails me. I clear my throat painfully. “Where’s the ambulance?” I have no idea about response times in the countryside. What if the damn thing has to drive all the way from Providence?
“Eight minutes out, last time I heard.” Flynn is also kneeling by Romi’s head, her fingers feeling for a pulse frequently. “Her pulse is rapid but not weaker. She’s breathing the same as before.”
I worry that Romi isn’t shivering. Isn’t that a bad sign? I don’t dare to ask anyone, in case they confirm my fears. I lean over Romi and keep saying her name, calling her, coaxing her to answer me.
“You have to look up at me, Romi,” I manage to say, my voice breaking. “I know you think you have to leave, but it’s not true. You need to come home with me, and we’ll figure it out. Please, Romi. Open your eyes and look at me. If you give me a chance, I’ll show you we can make things work. There’s nothing we can’t fix, no matter how it frightens you. I’m only afraid of losing you—nothing else. Please, Romi. Please.” My tears fall on her face. “Look up and you’ll see I’m here. We’re all here.”
Above me, I hear someone else sob. I’m not the only one torn between fear and frustration. All we can do is wait for the ambulance and make sure she doesn’t stop breathing.
Romi
I want to see. I want to open my eyes, but I can’t, no matter how I try. I’m not as cold anymore, and the voice of my mother has been replaced by others, though I can’t figure out who they are—loud one moment, muted the next. I try to make out what they’re saying, and that’s when I hear my name again. Over and over. Not my mother. Perhaps it never was?
I wish I could reply. It seems important, and the urgency in the voice closest to my ears makes me want to reassure whoever it is. I can hear them even if the words are garbled at times.
Warm hands cover the right side of my face, the part that isn’t resting painfully on something prickly and cold. They stroke me, over and over, and then warm lips kiss my temple. Now that the person is closer, I hear the voice. And I recognize it. It’s her. Impossibly, she’s here next to me, where it’s so damn cold. I don’t want her to get cold.
I struggle to form the words as I try to implore her to go to that place where the warmth is. The house that used to be cold for an entirely different reason, but is warm and welcoming now, because she lives there.
She. Gail. Yes, Gail! It’s Gail’s house. Aunt Clara ruled there once, but not anymore. What was once a loveless space is now very different. Gail lives there these days, though she would rather play her violin in Manhattan, and there’s warmth and caring and love…Yes. There’s love in that house now. Perhaps Aunt Clara found love there once, but I know it must’ve been before she took me in. I never experienced it.
“Gail,” I say. I try to shout it so she’ll hear me, but I can’t. Perhaps my shouts are whispers. I don’t know. “Gail.” I try again.
Feet shift around me. Things are moved, and I get colder again. New hands, hands of strangers, turn me, and now I make myself heard. I scream as the pain in my side, which I had forgotten about until now, shoots through me.
“Careful with her!” It’s Gail’s voice again. Angry and afraid.
“We are. She’s on a backboard now to secure her spine and neck. A branch is stuck in her side, I’m afraid, and as soon as it’s secured in place, we’re transporting her.” It’s a male voice, and I wonder if he’s taking me to
a hospital, or perhaps to jail.
“Just…just be quick.” Gail’s hand is on my cheek. I would recognize that hand anytime.
“Gail,” I say, and now my voice is husky, but almost normal.
“Oh, God, yes, Romi! I’m here. We’re all here with you. You’ll be all right.” Gail takes my hand, rubbing it between hers. Something else touches my other hand and—this can’t be right—I could swear someone is licking it?
“Hey, move over, doggie. I need this one to get a line in,” an unfamiliar female voice says.
“Charley, come.” Now that’s Stephanie. I’m confused. Who’s Charley? Oh, right. The retriever. That explains that.
“You still with us, Romi?” the male voice asks.
I try to nod but can’t move my head. After a moment of panic, I realize I’m strapped into some collar. “Yes.” I pry my eyes open. After blinking a few times against the moving lights, I find Gail’s face to my left. I can’t make her out very well as the lights keep flicking on and off her face, but it’s her. She’s here.
“You came looking for me,” I say and cough. It hurts enough to make me groan.
“Of course I did.” She touches my face again. “We’re taking you to the hospital. You’ll be fine.”
“Good…v-very good to…know…” My vision is growing foggy around the edges, and I have to close my eyes. “No jail?”
“No. A hospital.”
“Got to re-sch-t a little…so tired…” I think I hear Gail call my name with new panic in her voice as I fade away.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Gail
The nurses on the ward are angels. I’m convinced of this. Instead of nominating me for the local four-star-bitch competition, they go out of their way to reassure me, assist me, and bring a bed for me to stay with Romi in her room. She’s asleep now after having the laceration from the branch in her side stitched up. Several blankets are keeping her warm, and they’re rehydrating her via an IV. She’s also on intravenous antibiotics to prevent potential infection after having a branch break her skin. The doctors say she’s expected to make a complete recovery. I damn near slid off the chair in the waiting room when I heard the words from the physician in charge of Romi’s care.
