Breath Of Life

by Shyla Colt

  The figure turns, and I hold my breath as sweat breaks out on my back. It’s a young boy with a long, slender face and wide, green eyes. The adrenaline continues to flow as I unglue my feet and push my cart, staring at the off-white floor with gray specks. My energy is waning as I cut the trip short and head for the check-out.

  The reaction was instantaneous and over the top. My legs feel like Jell-O, and my emotions are a swirling mass of confusion. Will I have a mini meltdown every time I see a tall male in black clothing? My gut clenches and my eye sting with tears I refuse to release. I can’t be seen like this. I keep it together as the cashier rings me up, settle my bill, and power walk to my truck. After tossing the bags into the passenger seat, I get behind the wheel.

  Still shaking, I gulp down air and grip the steering wheel tight. The aftermath is even worse than being shot. My mind flashes to the late night call I received from Quinn. She’ll understand. I fumble with the cell phone in the pocket of my flannel and pull it out, searching for her number in my phone book. I hit send.

  “Ollie?”

  “Hey, Quinn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Who said anything was wrong?”

  “The strain in your voice and the fact that you’ve never called me before.”

  “I was in the grocery store, and I saw a tall guy in all black. It all came back, and I just stood there.”

  “Are you okay? Was it one of them?”

  “No. It was just some kid.” My voice cracks. “I panicked over some young kid. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “We went through a traumatic event—”

  “Please don’t bullshit me.”

  “I’m not. When I have a nightmare, I get up and check all the locks on the doors and the window. I peer around the perimeter of my place, terrified they’re out there lurking somewhere. I get it, believe me. It’s okay to be freaked out. And that’s the same thing I tell myself. Not me blowing smoke.”

  “Yeah? Well, it doesn’t feel true.”

  “Never does,” she whispers.

  “I don’t know why it feels better admitting that to you.”

  “Because we’re probably both lying to everyone else about how okay we are?”

  I snicker. “You got that spot on.”

  “Hard to be open and honest when they’re all watching and waiting for you to snap. I’m getting the same thing from my people.”

  “Why do you sound so calm about it?” I ask.

  Her laughter rings in my ear. “Because women by trade are better at hiding their pain. Don’t you know what by now?”

  “Better than you can imagine,” I reply, thinking of my mother and the smile she put on as she helped portray the image of a picture-perfect family.

  “Are you good now?”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  “Anytime. You talked me down, at an ungodly hour. Don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Same goes to you.”

  I disconnect knowing this is worse than I anticipated.

  Chapter Three

  Quinn

  “So when are you getting back on the horse?”

  “Hello to you, too, Max,” I say, shaking my head at my older brother.

  “What? I’m trying to tough love you. Everyone else is coddling.”

  I sit up on the couch and swing my legs around. “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, when was the last time you were robbed at gunpoint and had to watch a man damn near die in front of you?”

  “I’m not saying I know what you’re going—”

  I hold up my hand. “No, if you’re smart you aren’t, because trust me you have no clue what I’m dealing with. And for your information, I go back to work after this weekend.”

  He irritates me like a fresh batch of poison ivy. I know that he’s trying to be helpful in his completely over the top way, but I can’t handle his crap right now. The boy has led a charmed life. He has good looks, a talent he didn’t have to work for, and all the privileges afforded the first born and only male. A freelance travel writer, Max tours the world on someone else’s dime and makes his own schedule. I’m not knocking him; he took his skill for writing and morphed it into a career that he loves, and I applaud him for that that.

  But in all that constant on the go, and lack of anchoring responsibilities, he often forgets what life is like for those of us left behind with things like mortgages, friends, families, bills, and a more traditional gig closer to nine to five hours that requires adulting and peopling. He gets to fly solo, and charm the locals while he eats in tiny hidden spots and sips on wine with his camera in hand.

  “Good. You’ve been cooped up here long enough.” He plops down on the couch.

  “Did you come here just to bust my chops or is there a reason?”

  “Can’t a big brother check on his sister?”

  “Not when he’s hassling her. I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”

  He flashes me a pearly white grin, and I roll my eyes. Not working on me today.

  “I wanted to rattle your cage a bit.”

  “Why in the hell would you want to do that?” I sneer.

  “To make sure you’re still in there. You haven’t been yourself lately, and yes I completely understand why, but it worried me.”

  The truth behind his actions cools the flames fueling my anger.

  “You could’ve lead with that.”

  “Not my style. Besides, I wanted to see your response.”

  “And what’s the verdict, judge?” I ask.

  “My Quinn is still in there. She’s suppressed as hell, though. I know I seem like an asshole, but the longer you let this go, the more it becomes your new norm. You’ve been in the house more often than not, and I know you aren’t keeping in touch with me the way you used to, so I can only assume it’s the same for others.”

  Because I don’t want to have lovely little chats like this.

  “I just don’t feel up to it. I think I’m allowed some time to process.”

  “It’s been almost a month,” Max says.

  “Which is the blink of an eye.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him the paranoia keeps me in on days I normally would be out and about, and has kept my sleep in small, stolen bunches.

  “Don’t get defensive, sis. I’m only being real.”

  “No, you’re a presumptuous prick. I’m dealing, I’m healing, and I’m functioning just fine. Unlike Ollie, my wounds aren’t on the outside. Believe me, knowing someone risked their life for you is a powerful thing that takes time to digest.”

  “Ollie? Are you still in contact with that guy?”

  “Yes. I probably will be for the rest of my life.”

  “What do you even know about him?” Max asks as he angles his body toward me.

  “Now who’s defensive?” I ask with a smirk.

  His brow furrows and his thick brows draw down over the deep-set, dark brown eyes so like our father’s. His hair is cut close to his head in a fade that hides his natural curl pattern, and his skin is a rich blend of our mother’s mahogany tone and our father’s chestnut brown. It’s a blemish free skin I’d wanted to kill him for in high school when I went through my breakouts. I was a late-blooming flower. A fact I’m grateful for now. I can see now how it freed me up to focus on other things. But, back then it’d been heartbreaking.

  “It’s my job. I’ve never heard you mention him before.”

  “I told you, I know him through Efia. I was on a gig. It’s why his sacrifice is so amazing. I didn’t know him from Adam.”

  “And now you’re what, bosom buddies?”

  “Thank you, Tom Hanks. No, we’re friends who are getting to know one another better, like any other people who meet each other.”

  “Is this romantic?”

  I snort. “Seriously?” I recall the man who’s become the one person I think understands me right now. This hit him harder, physically and emotionally. We’re ki
ndred spirits now.

  “Yes. It’d be easy to mistake an emotionally charged life altering situation like this for—”

  “Let me stop you right there before you piss me off. Neither of us is in the market for romance, and if we were it’d be none of your business. I appreciate your concern and that you feel this is your right as a big brother, but we both know I don’t need it. I’m thirty-five, Max. I’m not a little girl, and I can take care of myself.”

  He tosses me a black look. “I’m always going to worry.”

  “I didn’t tell you to stop. I’m telling you it’s not needed and there are clear boundaries. When and if I decide to date, I’ll introduce him at the time I choose and not a minute before. I’m so single it’s not even funny, so you can let your big brother Spidey senses recalibrate and go into hibernation.”

  He laughs. “You always had a way with words. I still think you should try your hand at writing.”

  “My dance card is full, thanks. How about we not make this visit all about me? Are you dating?”

  “No time, sis. It would take one hell of a woman to be able to deal with my schedule. It’s easier to not get too serious. It keeps everyone involved from getting hurt or being disappointed.” I can hear a strange sadness in his voice.

  Narrowing my eyes, I study him closer. “Did something happen, Max?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing new. I know you all think I’m the ultimate playboy. But what I love to do isn’t conducive to what most people envision when they dream of getting married and starting a family. We all sacrifice to have things, and I’m no different.”

  With the mask of happiness lowered, I see my brother in a new light. I place my hand on his arm. “We’ve all got someone out there waiting to find us or be found.”

  “You still believe that?” he asks.

  “I do. I’ve seen it too many times,” I say, thinking of Efia and Edgar. At her lowest, while she battled Alopecia, she met the love of her life.

  “Maybe you’re right, kid.”

  “Enough Hallmark moments. Let’s do a horror marathon the way we used to.”

  “You order the pizza, I’ll get the popcorn and pick the movies?” he asks.

  “Since you’re my guest, I’ll let you pick this time.”

  “So generous,” he replies dryly.

  I laugh, feeling more like myself than I have in weeks. We fall back into our familiar rhythm, and in the next thirty minutes, we’re parked on the couch watching Aliens as we stuff our face with the double pepperoni.

  This is exactly what I need more of.

  LEANING AGAINST THE wall, I place my hands on my lap as I wait for Detective Kunes to meet me in the lobby. One plus side to my nightmares is the additional information I’ve managed to glean. I want these guys off the street and behind a jail cell. They’ve turned my life upside down. The least I can do is try to return the favor in some way. I close my eyes and try to hold their features in my mind. It’s been almost a month since the robbery.

  That’s been weeks of seeing their faces behind my eyelids every time I sleep. With each night the visions have become clearer and clearer, clinging to me as I wake instead of fading away like normal dreams. From the scruff on his chin to a distinctive scar that ran down the side of the leader’s face. I have no doubt I can describe them in great detail. However, I worry that they’ve been watching me.

  It’s what made me take the long way to the station, park two streets up, and walk here. I’ve never seen anyone strange around my house, but I swear I feel eyes on me. I’m overly suspicious. It’s a natural response given what happened. Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I’ll begin to believe it. I stand as the tall, lean, white-haired man with a weathered face and electric blue eyes walks toward me.

  I like Detective Kunes. He’s a straight shooter, who knows what he’s doing and seems to really care about his job. In his late forties, he still has plenty of passion and enough experience to get things done.

  “Ms. Fleming.” He holds his hand out, and we shake.

  “Detective Kunes.”

  “Thanks for coming down today. If you want to follow me to my desk, we can talk about what you remembered.”

  We head to his desk, and I sit down, placing my hands neatly in my lap. It feels like being in front of my high school principal.

  He nods at me. “You say you remembered something that might be helpful.”

  “Yes, when I first came in and gave a description I was in shock, and everything was muddled. I’ve been having dreams ... well, nightmares really, and I have a much better recall of their faces and some of their distinguishing marks. One had a scar that ran down the side of his face.” I gesture from my temple down toward my cheek.

  “And you’re sure?” Detective Kunes asks as he straightens like a hunting dog who just caught a whiff of prey and is about to point.

  “Yes. I’m positive. He was the leader with the gun. He had a hook-shaped nose, thick, bushy black brows, and small, inset eyes. I couldn’t tell the color. He had a hood that shadowed him, but I’m shorter, so I looked up into it. He had a goatee, but it was trashy and thin as if it was just growing in or he couldn’t pull off the look. He had thin lips.”

  “Let me get you set up with a sketch artist. I want you to tell him everything you’re telling me, okay?”

  “Sure.” Shifting in my seat as unease fills me, I struggle with the urge to leave. I grip the arms of the chair as fear sweeps over me. Once I help identify these men, there’s no going back. Right now, all they have is a vague and extremely generic description. Disgusted by the idea of not doing my part to keep Dallas safer, I smother my doubts in a blanket of empathy. Walking away is setting up someone else, maybe another woman who won’t have a person willing to stand up for her.

  Kunes returns with the same petite brunette with large, doe-shaped eyes fringed with long lashes. Her full lips are curved up in a welcoming smile. My anxiety eases as I stand.

  “You remember Missy?”

  “I do. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You too, Quinn.”

  “I’m going to have her take you to a room. She’ll let me know when you’re all finished.”

  “Okay, thanks, Detective.” I follow Missy back to a room and instantly notice the silence. The police station is a hub of activity today. Phones are ringing, officers are pouring over case files, and actively booking and answering questions. Here I can really focus and think. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

  “Whenever you’re ready, you can start,” Missy says.

  I let the imagery come forward in my mind and relay every detail I can. It’s a purge. I’m a shaken bottle uncapped and exploding. I pour out every drop. Spent, I lean back in the chair an hour later, feeling like I just underwent an intense therapy session.

  She turns the last sketch toward me. “Is this the man you see?”

  Chills skitter down my spine. She got him on the button—right down to the evil in his eyes and his curled up lip.

  “That’s him,” I whisper.

  “You did great. This is going to be a huge help to the investigation. If they’re on the books, Detective Kunes will have no trouble finding them with these. I’m going to bring him in. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.”

  Nodding my head, I take a sip of the water she got me somewhere between sketch one and sketch two. The door opens, and I look up at the detective. The wrinkles in his forehead and the sadness in his wizened eyes make me sit up straight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He closes the door behind him. “I have good news and bad news.”

  My stomach spasms. “Good news first.” I am not ready to be bogged down by more crap.

  “I know who all of these men are.”

  “And that’s bad why?” I ask.

  “Because they’re high ranking members of the D.A.C., or Down Ass Crew.”

  “The what?”

  “An up and coming gang, looking to take over the establi
shed areas, absorb the weaker territories, and pit themselves against the stronger ones. The streets of Dallas are about to get bloody if we can’t crush this before the movement gets more momentum.”

  I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Will this help?”

  “It could. It might be if we cut the head off the snake the body will die.”

  “Am I in danger?” I ask, wondering if my fears were justified. Have I been followed?

  “It’s possible. Have you noticed anyone suspicious around you?”

  “No, and believe me, I’ve been looking.”

  “Good. I won’t lie. This could be dangerous if we get them in here and take this to trial.”

  “Can I ... can I think about this?” Everything’s changed. These men aren’t just some drugged out thieves. They’re higher ranking members in an organized crime ring. What if they already know I’m here?

  “Sure. Once you decide, let me know?”

  “Of course.” I stand. The white walls are shrinking around me, and the collar of my button down feels too tight. My body temperature spikes. I need to get out.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Thank you.”

  I follow him through the crowded space, eyeballing every person we pass. Could they be here now? How many people does he control? I mumble a polite good-bye and speed walk the last yard to freedom. Bursting free of the stale environment, I inhale the fresh air. The sun chases the chill that settled into my core the moment he told me about D.A.C. My eyes dart back and forth as I scan the area. Everyone seems to be where they should be. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop my mind from running wild. Turning on my heel, I force myself not to run as I leave the station behind me.

  OLLIE

  As soon as I open the door, I grin at the mop of chocolate-brown hair that surrounds a cherubic face. Rolly glances up at me with those big, hazel-colored eyes so like his mother’s, and I can’t help but smile. This has been the longest time we’ve been apart since he was born, but I didn’t want him to see me when I was so weak. It would only worry him. I know he understood I was sick, but it does nothing to lessen my guilt over our separation.