Saving Emma

by Banks, R. R.

  “Emma,” I call out.

  I wait for a moment and hear nothing over the rumble of the engine. I walk down the hallway to the right of me. There are several doors on the left side of the corridor – probably staterooms, I'd imagine.

  “Emma,” I call again, this time louder.

  I strain my ears to listen, and think I hear something. It's faint, but it sounds like a voice. Emma's voice. Hope in my chest, I run down the corridor, opening the doors as I go – all empty. At the end of the hall, I practically crash through the door and find Emma sitting on the edge of a bunk. She's got a couple of nasty looking bruises on her face, she's bound by ropes, and there's a thin trail of blood leaking from her nose.

  But, she's alive.

  The moment she sees me, she bursts into hysterical sobs. I run to her, pulling her body to me. I hold her close, stroking her hair, and plastering her face with kisses. My heart is beating so hard in my chest, it hurts. I've never felt relief this strong before in my entire life. She's alive. Thank god. She’s alive.

  “You're hurt,” she says, touching my arm after I untie her.

  “It's nothing.”

  She looks into my eyes, her cheeks red and wet with tears, her lower lip trembling wildly. I put my hand softly against her cheek, and she leans into it.

  “He hurt you,” I say softly.

  She shakes her head. “I'm okay,” she says. “It's nothing.”

  “That's my girl,” I say and place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Tough as iron.”

  “You came for me.”

  “I told you I'd always come for you,” I say softly. “I always will. I'll always protect you. You're mine. And I’m yours.”

  She leans into me, her body racked with sobs. Overhead, we hear feet pounding onto the deck of the yacht. The police, probably. We just sit and wait for them to come, holding on to each other. Holding tight. Never wanting to let go.

  * * *

  We're sitting in a bay in the emergency room, after having been checked out by what seems like a dozen different doctors over the last four hours. We're laying back on the bed, Emma curled up beside me, her head on my chest while I absently stroke her hair.

  We've laid like that, in perfect silence, for I don’t even know how long. There are no words right now. We're simply taking comfort in the fact that the two of us are alive. That we're safe. Together.

  One of the nurses gave me some ibuprofen to cut down the pain of the stab wound, before they stitched and bandaged me up. There's a dull, throbbing ache I suspect will be with me for a while, but I'll deal with it. I'd take a hundred wounds like that if it meant saving Emma. A thousand.

  She's all that matters. My entire world. When I thought I might lose her, something inside of me snapped. I've patched myself together with wire and duct tape for so many years in a sad attempt at holding the darkness inside at bay, that I didn't realize I could actually heal.

  Not until Emma.

  She's healing those torn, broken pieces inside of me. She makes me whole. With her, I know I can find that peace Pete is always talking about. I can find that sense of happiness and completeness. I honestly didn't think it was possible for me until she waltzed back into my life. Somehow, she's managed to take those shattered pieces inside of me and has made them whole again.

  A tall, thin Asian man – the doctor who's been tending to us – pushes through the curtain, making sure to slide it closed behind him. Emma and I both sit up.

  “Good news,” he says. “Mr. Kelly, the blade missed anything important. You may have a bit of a scar, and it's going to hurt for a little while, but you'll make a full recovery.”

  I nod. “Good to hear.”

  “And Ms. Simmonds, your wounds are superficial,” he says. “The bruises will fade in time, and you should be perfectly fine.”

  A soft smile touches her face as she looks at me. Emma takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. We're both going to be okay. Better than okay. And we can tackle this next chapter of our lives. Together.

  “Also,” the doctor goes on, as he consults his chart. “The baby is fine. The chloroform Mr. Hawkins used on the rag –”

  I feel my eyes grow wide at the same moment my mouth goes completely dry. I turn to Emma and see the exact same expression on her face.

  “Excuse me,” I choke, cutting him off. “The baby?”

  The doctor looks up from his chart and blanches when he sees the startled, confused expressions on our faces. He looks at Emma, and then at me, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to speak but can't quite seem to find the words.

  “Umm... this is awkward,” he says.

  “I – I'm pregnant?” Emma asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  The doctor clears his throat. “I – I'm sorry,” he says. “I thought you knew already.”

  “You're pregnant?” I ask. “But, we've been so careful.”

  She nods. “I know, I – I don't know how this happened,” she says, then turns back to the doctor. “Are you sure?”

  “We ran the blood test twice, just as a precaution, and yes, you're very much pregnant. About a month along now,” he says. “I'm sorry to break the news to you like this. I honestly didn't know.”

  “It's okay,” I say, trying to absorb the body blow the news just delivered. “Pregnant.”

  The doctor stands there looking uncomfortable, and like he wants to be anywhere but there at that moment. I give him a tight smile.

  “Thank you, doctor,” I say.

  He nods, and practically sprints away from us, the curtain flapping in the wind he generates on his way out. I turn to Emma and find her looking at me with wide eyes, brimming with tears.

  “I – I'm sorry,” she says. “I didn't know.”

  I pull her to me, holding onto her tightly. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” I say. “Don't apologize.”

  She rests her head against my chest, letting me stroke her hair, and soothe her. We sit in silence for a long time as each of us absorb the news. This is the last thing I expected to hear tonight.

  Slowly, Emma sits up and turns to face me.

  “What are we going to do?” she asks softly.

  I look into her eyes and feel the most powerful connection to another person, and the most profound sense of love, I've ever experienced. It's overwhelming. I take her trembling hands and raise them to my lips, planting soft kisses on each of her knuckles. Emma is the most beautiful woman in the world to me. The only woman I love. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.

  “Seriously, Brice. What are we going to do?”

  “I guess we're going to have a baby.”

  Her mouth falls open, and she looks at me like I suddenly sprouted a second head. I don't know exactly what's going on inside that head of hers, but I know the idea appeals to her, at least on some level. She’s talked about wanting to be a mother before. Wanting to raise a family. She's driven to excel in her career, but Emma is the kind of person who can do both – be successful in her own right and raise a family.

  The idea of having a child is something that's been more and more prevalent in my mind lately. Ever since Emma came into my life, and I started to think about the future and building a legacy my child could take over when I'm done.

  Clearly, this is the universe nudging me along in that direction.

  “Is that practical?” she asks. “I mean, considering that we're both basically getting started in our careers, and –”

  I put my finger to her lips, cutting her off. I give her a smile and gently kiss the tip of her nose.

  “Do you love me?” I ask.

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Because I love you. With everything in me,” I say. “I want to be with you. Forever. I want to raise a family with you. I want to build something that our kids can continue. And their kids. I want to build that with you, Emma Simmonds.”

  “A – are you asking me...”

  Her voice trails off, but I know where she's goi
ng with that thought. This isn't at all how I ever pictured asking the question – though, I've never actually pictured myself asking the question to begin with.

  Ideal circumstances be damned, this still feels right. The mere thought of spending the rest of my life with Emma fills me with joy.

  I nod and give her a smile. “Yes, I am,” I say. “I want to marry you, Emma. Though, I do request that I officially ask you when we're in a better situation. This is not how romance should be.”

  She throws her arms around me and plants a kiss on my lips, as she squeezes me tight. Tears of joy roll down her face, and her smile lights up the room. It's a smile I want to wake up to every morning and see before I go to bed every night.

  Yeah, this absolutely feels right.

  “The romance level is good,” she says. “Romance level ten.”

  I shake my head. “Bullshit,” I say and laugh. “I'm going to ask you again when the romance really is at level ten. And you better act surprised.”

  We hold on to each other and laugh for a long while, and all I can think is that yeah, this is exactly how I want my life to be. Holding onto the woman I love, laughing like an idiot, and being deeply, ridiculously in love.

  I wasn't expecting it. I wasn't looking for it. In fact, I was actively trying to avoid it. But, you can't escape fate. When it's right, it's right. And this is serendipity.

  “I love you, Emma Simmonds.”

  “And I love you, Brice Kelly.”

  I never knew life could be so wonderful. Never knew it could be so perfect. I guess you can teach an old dog a few new tricks after all.

  Epilogue

  Emma

  One Year Later…

  I step into my office, stowing my bag on the ground beneath my desk, and dropping into my seat. I take a couple of minutes to sort through the stack of mail on my desk, before turning my attention to my emails. There are a ton of requests for interviews piling up. Radio, TV, and even other journalists are all requesting interviews with me. Nothing I want to deal with right now.

  Carlyle Hawkins' trial is coming up, and it's the talk of the town. Judging by all the interview requests I'm getting, it's might even be the talk of the country. Our little local paper has become national news.

  After my abduction, and Hawkins' arrest, the story went viral. It blew up. I had to dig hard and deep, but I broke the most amazing story of my life. Granted, I don't have a lot to compare it to, but there are days I wonder if I'll ever have another story this big.

  Not only did I nail Hawkins – he's currently looking at charges on twenty-three counts of first-degree murder – but, a lot of others were swept up into the net as well.

  Nineteen other men, ranging from the Chief of Police, to the Deputy Chief, to several City Council members, to a District Attorney, to a few members of the police department's rank-and-file, all knew about or were actively involved in Hawkins' murder spree.

  The night he kidnapped me, he talked about feeding the proclivities of others. After that, I uncovered a mountain of information. Hawkins' place out on Catalina was basically a murder house. He would acquire women for evil, sadistic men to live out their fantasies. To act out and do the things they could never do in society. Among the other indignities they inflicted on those girls, these monsters beat, tortured, and ultimately murdered an untold number of women.

  We may never know the exact number. We probably won't.

  It all started when one detective busted Hawkins cold, standing over the body of a woman he'd just defiled and strangled. They struck an accord, where Hawkins would acquire “talent,” as they called it, whenever the detective required. In exchange, the detective would look the other way while Hawkins did his thing. He'd also make sure no connections were ever made between the victims to avoid scrutiny.

  That detective went on to become the now-former police Chief Willis. Slowly, the circle expanded – something I understand Hawkins came to resent since his initial agreement was with Willis, not the others. But, their “boys club,” ran unchecked for more than a decade.

  What they didn't realize though, was that Hawkins was so disgruntled with the whole situation, that he kept receipts. He had the goods on all of them, including videos of them doing the most deviant, disgusting shit you can imagine.

  Unbeknownst to them, Hawkins ensured that if he ever went down, he would take them all down with him.

  That's what happens when you make a deal with the devil – eventually, that bill is going to come due. And for guys like Willis, Avilla, and many others, that time is now.

  Obviously, the revelations in my piece set off a firestorm in the city. People are falling all over themselves to resign and get the hell out of Dodge. It's been fascinating watching the rats flee the sinking ship, all of them afraid of the skeletons that may be uncovered.

  Personally, I think these people, our leaders – elected or not – should be held to a higher standard. They should be shining examples for everybody else to follow. Getting the evil and the corrupt out of positions of leadership and allowing good people to replace them, can only positively impact the community.

  Unfortunately, not everybody else seems to think so. I can't even count the number of death threats I get in a day now. Most of them are crank calls, but some have turned out to be serious situations in their own right. There are some crazies out there who think what I'm doing – shining a light on the dark, sordid underbelly of society – is wrong. That it's not my place to do so.

  Such is the way with this line of work. Some people will always view you as the bad guy, when all you're doing is exposing the truth. And that's what matters the most to me – getting to the truth of things and getting it out there.

  What people choose to do with that truth is on them and their conscience.

  “Hey, rock star.”

  I look up and see Ava standing in the doorway, smiling curiously at me.

  “Good morning,” I say. “What's the smile for? Get a job offer from CNN? A big bonus?”

  She laughs. “No on CNN. Maybe about the bonus. We have put up some big numbers, thanks to you.”

  I shake my head. “No, the paper is finally becoming reputable because of you, Ava,” I say. “You pulled this paper up out of the gutter, and put us on the right path. You did exactly what you said you were going to do when I first met you.”

  “Well, it helps to have good people working with you.”

  I give her a big smile and pat myself on the back – in my mind. “Yes, it certainly does.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “I actually did get a job offer a couple of days ago,” she says. “Managing editor for the Washington Tribune.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That's big. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” she says and smiles.

  I sit back in my seat and let out a breath. Over the last year, Ava and I have grown close. I've come to respect and admire her. She's an incredible woman and a good friend. Even though I knew the day would eventually come – I knew coming in that she wasn’t a lifer here – I'm still not ready to say goodbye to her. I'm happy for her, but I'm going to miss her.

  “I turned them down,” she says.

  My jaw drops open as I stare at her. “You did what?” I ask. “Do you know how seldom those positions come open? And if they're headhunting you –”

  She gives me a warm smile. “I'm proud of what we've accomplished here,” she says. “I'm proud of everything we've done. We turned a garbage heap into a gold mine. And I'm not quite ready to give up just yet. I'm happy here.”

  I look at her for a long moment. “I'm – shocked,” I say. “Beyond shocked.”

  She laughs. “Don't get all sentimental on me now,” she says. “You can save the sentimental crap for your husband. I just wanted you to know. That's all.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say. “I'm so happy you're staying on, Ava.”

  “Yeah, me too,” she says and smiles. “By the way, speaking of Brice, he's in the conference room
and has requested the pleasure of your company.”

  “Oh, I didn't expect him today,” I say. “I thought he was going to be at home with Bridget all day.”

  She shrugs. “Better go check in with him.”

  Ava walks out, so I stand up and make my way down the hallways toward the conference room. Through the glass wall, I can see Brice sitting in one of the large chairs, cradling our baby girl – Bridget Ava Kelly. We named her after my mother – and Ava, of course, who is Bridget's godmother.

  He's dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt, leaving most of his tats visible. It's just such a sweet, but strange sight. Brice is a large, gruff-looking man covered in tats, with a thick beard – which is contrasted by the tiny, delicate baby in his arms. He cradles her so gently, and the look of absolute love on his face melts my heart every damn time.

  Brice is a good man, but he's on his way to becoming an even better father. He dotes on our little girl non-stop. She's going to be a spoiled daddy's girl if he's not careful – and I'm sure he's going to scare off a lot of teenage boys in the future.

  I step into the room and see that he and Bridget are not alone. Two men are sitting across the table from him. Both are dressed in nice suits. One man is balding while the other has a thick head of perfectly-styled hair. They look like they could either be salesmen or Feds. I'm not quite sure which way I'm leaning yet.

  I cast a look at Brice, and he just shrugs, an amused smile on his lips. He turns his attention back to Bridget, smiling and cooing at her.

  “Mrs. Kelly,” says the bald man as he stands and offers me his hand. “Anthony Waters, Managing Editor of the New York Times. This is my associate, James O'Shea.”

  By associate, I'm assuming he means the guy holding his briefcase. O'Shea looks to Waters for everything. And he doesn't seem to speak.

  I shake both of their hands, and they sit back down, as I drop into the chair next to Brice. Confusion sweeps me as I look from my daughter to the two men sitting before me. I haven't given consent to be interviewed by the Times, so I'm not sure why they're in our conference room.