by L. B. Dunbar
As I parked in front of the shelter, I exited my truck to see a dark figure walk out of the shadows. I recognized the long trench coat of the man who followed me the night I followed Martha. He wasn’t hiding from me tonight as he approached me confidently.
“She isn’t here,” he said, a concern in his voice.
“And you are?”
“Fr. Mike,” he replied, rushing through the formalities as if he were bored. “You need to find her before it’s too late.”
“Hollister? How would you know?” Then I remembered Hollister’s mention of Michael McMann and her brief explanation of him being a stalker. She didn’t wish to clarify why he was following her, or how he knew her. I feared he was another man who took from her without her consent.
“Are you Michael McMann?” I asked.
“That’s of no concern. You have to get to her. He took her again.”
My blood turned to slush within my veins as my body filled with cold.
“Who? Who took her?”
“Jordan,” Michael spoke.
“And you know this how?” My voice rose in both hysteria and anger.
“I was here to see her.”
My fist connected with his face before I could control it. He was another man that took what I now considered mine. More importantly he took from her against her will. I hated him.
Blood burst from the pale man’s face and covered him in red. His hands reached for his nose as he crouched and spit.
“I might have deserved that,” he spit again, “but I didn’t take advantage of her like he did. She simply has something I want.”
My fist rose again as those were the words Hollister had used. Men wanted things from her. Things they always took.
“She has something of mine,” Michael held up his weak hands in defense of his face.
“You already took something from her,” I bit. “Maybe what she has she deserves to keep.”
“Not like that,” Michael said. “It’s an object.”
“What?”
“That’s not your concern.”
I stepped closer to the smaller man, and he moved back, visibly flinching in response to my approach.
“It’s…it’s a ring. I just want the object back.”
I thought of the ring that Hollister gave to me, all those years ago. The thin gold band; surely, it could not be worth that much. Plus, Hollister said it belonged to her mother. What did the man want with Hollister’s mother’s ring? I didn’t care. I needed to know where Hollister was.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, as the blood dripped down his face onto the dark trench coat.
“You’re a liar.”
I began to walk around him.
“Knock on the door. You’ll find she’s not there. The other girl, the skinny dark girl, she’s been with him in the past. With Jordan. I haven’t seen her for a while, either. I think she might know where Hollister is.”
I immediately went to the back door. It was the door where those in desperate need announced their presence. Hollister had told me numerous stories of women who came through the back alley to this door. There was a direct bell to the office and the room of the night watch. I rang the bell frantically, holding it down in my haste. I was just about to bang on the door when Marie opened it. Her hair was pinned and her housecoat was a pale yellow. She looked like she’d stepped out of the 1960’s, and I imagined her as a sweet grandmother one day.
“Perkins?” she questioned, as she looked over my shoulder and into the dark alley.
“Where’s Hollister?” I demanded.
Marie narrowed her eyes at me.
“She’s most likely asleep.”
“Can you check please?” I stood my ground. I would not barge into the shelter, as I knew men were not allowed. I did not want to alarm Marie any more than necessary, but I suddenly had a sickening feeling in my stomach. I turned to face Michael who waited at the end of the sidewalk, near the front of the shelter. Marie noted the direction. She nodded once and closed the door on me. I waited impatiently several minutes before she returned. Her ashen face matched my fear.
“I…I don’t want to be worried, but she isn’t in her bed,” Marie said, her hand travelling to her throat.
“Michael McMann has been watching her,” I said, nodding again in the general direction of the front of the home.
Marie’s hand covered her mouth as she leaned out the door.
“But he claimed that Jordan took her tonight.”
Marie’s eyes opened wide.
“Michael seems to think that another girl in the shelter might know where he took her. Martha possibly? He said a girl has been absent several days. Hollister mentioned that Martha was gone. Could they be the same person?”
Marie’s hand still covered her mouth and she shook her head vigorously.
“I…I have no idea. Martha has been missing. Hollister did say she saw her once near your home. She believed Martha was still seeing the man who abused her.”
“Do you know where near me?” My panic was rising. It explained how Jordan found my home so easily.
“Walking distance is all I can guess. She was leaving from your place the first day when she saw Martha.”
I didn’t have time to recall that first night. Or the day after.
“How do you know this, Marie?”
“Ma cherie, there isn’t much that Blanch fleur keeps from me.” There was a hint of a smile, despite the concern in her eyes.
“I promise to find her,” I vowed, as I leaned forward to kiss Marie on the cheek.
A treasure hunt…
[Perkins]
I didn’t know Michael McMann; I certainly didn’t believe I could trust him, but I needed him all the same. He had been the one stalking Hollister. I had to hope he might know where Martha met Jordan, if it was close to my home. I tried to call Tristan and Lansing for support, but it was well into the early hours of the morning. Both men were either physically occupied or mentally incapacitated. The amount of alcohol flowing at the party meant it was going to be a drunk-night for both of them.
I contacted Kaye Sirs, next. As the manager of our band, he was the voice of reason, as well as the man with connections when we needed help. I’d never called in a favor from him, but I needed him tonight. He answered on the second ring.
“This better be a damn good emergency.”
I heard the rustle of sheets and sensed the physical exertion of Kaye getting out of bed. He spoke softly to someone in the background before returning to address me.
“What’s going on?”
“Someone took my girl,” I rushed. I could feel Michael’s eyes on me.
There was a pause.
“Perkins, you know I was never good at this stuff. That was Arturo’s job to deal with your crazy quest to find a girl and keep your virginity. I can’t really help you, if she broke up with you. There’s plenty of other girls out there who have wanted you for years.”
“Kaye,” I interrupted. “She didn’t break up with me. She was taken. Kidnapped.”
“Perkins,” Kaye began in the patronizing tone he used most often with me. “How do you know this?” he sighed into the phone.
“Because she’d been taken before. Hollister is Elaine Corbin’s cousin. She was kidnapped as a kid and thankfully found, but not before some bad stuff happened to her. He was recently released from jail, for good behavior, and has been following her throughout the city.” At this point, I glared at Michael. He’d been following her, as well.
“I have a witness?” I raised an eyebrow at Michael. “He saw her taken by him. Jordan Waters is his name.”
There was another pause and I heard the clicking of keys on a computer.
“Hollister SanGrael. The Hollister SanGrael?” Kaye’s voice rose.
“Yeah…well…the only Hollister SanGrael I know,” I breathed into the phone, exasperated.
“Okay,
Perkins, I’m on it. Give me a few hours.”
“I don’t have hours,” I choked into the phone. What if he took her far away? What if he took her back to the woods?
A wave of sickness traveled up to my throat. I couldn’t allow my mind to imagine what Jordan would do to her.
“Okay. Let me see what I can do,” Kaye said before hanging up. I wanted to have faith in Kaye, but we’d had a hard time finding Arturo. When someone wanted to go missing in New York City, it seemed they could do it. I was convinced I was the only one who had talked with Arturo since his disappearance. I cursed myself for being a terrible friend again, as my concern had been Hollister when I called Kaye. Not Arturo. I had forgotten to mention that I’d seen and spoken to him, only a few hours ago.
I had to think. As I drove closer to my home, I turned on Michael.
“Okay. Where do I look?”
“I have no idea,” he sighed. I slammed on the brakes and Michael slid forward with a jolt. The seat belt restricted him with a harsh tug. His hands shot out to protect himself from hitting the dash. For a moment, he was a bobblehead as he bounced back and forth.
“Get out,” I demanded.
“What?” Michael said as he took in the surrounding street. Not another car on the road. Boarded-up buildings. Thick metal grates across the doors of long closed businesses. A paper or two blew down the abandoned avenue.
“I…” he paused.
“If you can’t help me, I don’t need you,” I snarled. Michael McMann still needed to be dealt with for stalking Hollister, but in that moment, I needed his stalking ability to help me out.
“Hollister seems to think you were on the river the night Jordan came to my place. If it was you, you must have followed him.”
“You live on the river?” Michael said innocently.
I reached across him and pushed open his door.
“Out.”
“Okay, fine. I know you live on the river. I did follow Hollister there one night, but I don’t know what you’re implying about a night Jordan was at your place.”
“On Thanksgiving.”
“On Thanksgiving, I was at my home.”
“You lie.”
“I have several hundreds of witnesses and one, in particular, to confirm it,” he added sheepishly.
“You sick bastard,” I hissed.
“Hollister,” he said and it pulled me from my disgusted thoughts.
He closed his door and we crept slowly down the street. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for or where I was going. I continued to worry that while I searched the darkened roads in the city, Jordan might be taking her down darkened roads in the woods four hours from here.
My phone buzzed.
“Kaye?’
“I have an address, but it’s recommended you wait for police. This Jordan Waters is in violation of his parole, however, his parole officer hasn’t been reporting in regularly either.”
Kaye told me an address that I repeated so Michael could help me remember. We were only three streets from the location.
“Perkins, don’t do anything stupid. Don’t try to be a knight in shining armor. Just wait for the ...”
I hung up as Kaye continued his lecture. I hit the accelerator and took the two corners at a speed that almost raised the tires of my truck. I parked with a halt in front of the address. I had trouble at first, as many businesses were missing their original numbers. We stumbled upon a door between a boarded up storefront and a wired fence across the broken windows of another building. The door was missing a number, but it had to be the next in series. I exited the truck, assuming Michael was behind me. I banged on the damaged wooden door. Did I think Jordan would just come to the door, open it, and let me take Hollister back? For a moment, I must have foolishly thought this as I stood waiting. This time I needed to take what I wanted. I wanted her.
I rammed the door with my shoulder. It took three hard shoves before the door fell inward. I stepped over it and took the stairs two at a time. The building was still as if there wasn’t an inhabitant inside when I heard the scream. It was my name. I didn’t recognize the voice, but I ran.
There were only four doors on the second floor. I followed where I thought I heard the sound, the front of the building. Then I heard shuffling and a loud thump. I kicked in the door on the left. My foot only went through the weak wood at first and the door held as a chain latch vibrated. I used my shoulder again to slam into the barrier and burst into a room where Jordan Waters lay over Hollister. Martha knelt over him with a knife in her hand.
My savior…
[Hollister]
When I saw Perkins barge through the door, my strength caved and I cried. His name came out a strangled prayer of thanks as he knelt next to me.
“Hollister? Hollister please,” his voice struggled.
“Perkins,” I swore I said it, but I didn’t hear my own voice. “Get him off of me,” I begged, my voice slowly rising up as if I was coming out of water.
“Get him off of me!” I yelled.
The weight of Jordan was removed from me. Suddenly, I was crushed into Perkins arms. He was smoothing my hair and stroking my back. He rocked me in his arms, and I tried to take breaths that matched his heartbeat under my ear. I gulped in the refreshing scent: manly and woodsy. The subtle voices of people down below rose up the stairwell, and the thud of feet mixed with the sound. Martha continued to whimper next to me in a rapid fire of the Spanish language, that I couldn’t comprehend.
“Police, release the girl,” I heard from behind Perkins. His arms slowly slipped from me, and I finally attempted to move. I reached up for him and latched myself around his neck. I wasn’t letting him let go of me.
“It’s not me,” Perkins said. He shifted us so the police had a clear view of Jordan, his body covered in blood. I peeked over at Martha. She released the knife, but continued to kneel on the mattress, stained with blood as well. She rocked as she hugged herself and continued her chanting in Spanish. I realized Martha was mixing the prayer of contrition with the “Our Father.”
Perkins spoke for me, as I didn’t trust my voice and tears continued to pour down my face.
“That’s Jordan Waters,” he said, his heavy hand still holding me pressed to him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we need you to release the girl,” an officer spoke.
I was in Perkins’ lap at that point and he rose, taking me with him. I was so shaky I didn’t think I could stand alone. Perkins set me to the side of him, but I still melted into him as our arms draped around each other.
“Ma’am, we need to take a statement from you. You are?” I began the whole tale of who I was and what happened in the past. As I continued to explain that I had been kidnapped by Jordan Waters before; the police officer raised an eyebrow in disbelief, until another officer approached to add in that he remembered my story. The second officer stated that he had found Jordan’s record, his lack of parole reports, and the restraining order I had recently filed. My body trembled violently by the time I finished with the explanation of what happened. I closed with what transpired the last few hours.
I explained how Martha sat frozen in horror as Jordan attempted to undress me. He had tugged my legs to drag me down so I lay flat on my back. Without my hands I had no defense, other than to twist side to side in attempts to keep him off of me. He flattened me by laying on me with his total weight. Flashbacks clouded my mind. I willed myself not to shut down like I had done ten years ago. I wanted to keep fighting as long as I could.
Jordan addressed Martha’s growing concern and rising hysteria at what he was going to make her witness. I didn’t even know where the knife came from, but I could only assume from previous experience that Jordan slept with it under the mattress. It was a means of protection that would be immediate. Martha must have learned this security measure.
I couldn’t say I saw Martha stab Jordan. But I knew something had happened. Jordan let out a huge scream and then slowly collapsed on me. His wei
ght was dead. Literally.
When I finished, I worried that what Perkins just heard would be the end of our relationship. I leaned into him for physical support, but I felt a million miles away from him as far as a connection. My heart was cold, and I couldn’t feel the warmth of him. I believed he was done with me. I had this strange notion that he had fulfilled a prophecy, as well. He was determined that he was at fault, or had guilt for not saving me before. Destiny had allowed him to rescue me this time.
The police completed my statement and escorted me down the stairs, while Perkins held my hand. The empty apartment was now a crime scene. Martha was handcuffed and guided into a car also. I was allowed to get in Perkins’eeping truck, as a stretcher with a body bag was lifted into the ambulance. Jordan was removed from my life forever, but not my memory.
We rode in silence behind a police escort to an emergency room. I was placed in a wheelchair, although I could walk and was wheeled to a room to be examined. I assured the nurse that I had not been penetrated. I hadn’t been touched in a physical manner, but I was required by police procedure to be physically examined. At the moment I felt more violated than I actually had been. I shut down during the exam. It was even more difficult as the doctor did an internal exam that included pressing on the growing bruise where Jordan had punched me in the lower abdomen. Somewhere I lost Perkins. He wasn’t allowed in the examination room.
“Says in the report that you claimed you were pregnant?” the female doctor asked.
“I…I might have just said that. I was hoping if he thought I was pregnant, he would leave me alone.” I looked away like an errant child.
“Do you think you might be pregnant?” the doctor asked gently.
“I…I don’t think so.”
“Are you sexually active with someone?”
“I am…I was…I mean, yes. I have been,” I stammered.
“Maybe we should just run a blood test to be certain. We can add or retract it from your police statement.”
Something occurred to me.
