Ideal Image: Snapshot, #2

by Freya Barker

  The library lot is deep, stretching all the way to the river’s edge, but other than a car someone left behind, the place is abandoned. Before hitting all the streets in the predominantly residential neighborhood, it makes more sense to check all the major businesses and parking lots along the south side of the highway.

  Nothing. Not a damn thing. I haven’t heard anything over the radio either.

  I turn back into town, but instead of sticking to the main drag, I take the first right that’ll get me to Riverside Avenue. It runs parallel to the highway but along the water and has much less traffic. Every block in this neighborhood has an alley that runs behind the yards. I check every one of those, as well as the streets as I slowly roll east along Riverside.

  Realizing I’m heading straight for Stacie’s house, just as I’m passing Fifth, I inadvertently speed up. Crazy to think that would even be a possibility, but still.

  My hand immediately reaches for the radio on the seat beside me when I see the back of a white cargo van, parked in the alley behind her house. I quickly look behind me, and seeing no one, I back up a little and pull off on the side of the road. Keeping the shed between me and the house.

  “Found it,” I call in, throwing all radio protocol out the window. “Behind Stacie’s house.”

  “Stay put. Don’t make a move,” Drew barks.

  “Need a fucking address.”

  “Seventh and Riverside, west corner,” Ben responds to Gus’ question, before addressing me. “Do not fucking move from where you are. Tell me you understand.”

  “Got it.”

  But even as I’m confirming, I’m getting out of the truck. Fuck it! I need to do something.

  I duck and run maybe fifty feet down an exposed part of the trail along the river, to where a copse of trees and thick brush gives me some shelter. I have a better view from this angle, with most of the front and all of the side and back yards in my sights.

  There’s no light visible through the windows, and with time crawling by, I have second thoughts. It doesn’t look like anyone is there, and I should probably have checked to make sure it’s even the right van before I radioed it in. Is it possible I’ve just sent everyone on a wild-goose chase?

  Just as I’ve convinced myself I may have made a mistake, I see a man coming out of the house. The light from the streetlamp on Seventh hits him, just for a moment, before he walks into the shadows, but I can tell he’s not wearing a shirt, and he’s got something tossed over his shoulder.

  Scratch that. He’s got someone tossed over his shoulder.

  All rational thought is gone as I come out from my hiding place and cross Riverside, just as I see him step into the alleyway.

  “Hey!” I yell out as I turn into the alley and see him opening the back door of the van. He whirls around at the sound of my voice and lowers the small form in front of him. Shielding himself with Mak’s little body, one hand curved around her chin and the other on top of her head. Even at this distance, I see the tips of his fingers digging into her cheeks. Something about the hold he has on her freezes the blood in my veins.

  “I’ll kill her,” he says, a smirk on his face. “If you don’t stop right where you are, I swear to God I’ll snap her scrawny little neck. Amazing the shit you can learn in the slammer.”

  I stop immediately, my hands up, palms out. I’m close enough so I can see Mak staring at me; the look in her eyes almost vacant. I hope to God she’s in shock and not hearing any of this.

  A car door slams and running feet crunch on the gravel. I stick my arm out to the side in an attempt to warn whoever is closing in behind me.

  “Stay back. He’s got Mak.”

  The footsteps come to an immediate halt and I hear Ben’s deep voice behind me.

  “Ten-four. Stay cool, I’ll take care of this,” he says quietly, but I ignore him. I hold perhaps the only weapon that can stop him and negotiating is my fucking field of expertise.

  “You don’t want to hurt her,” I tell him, my hands spread out at my side as I take a careful step forward.

  “Fucking stay put,” Ben hisses. I don’t listen.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” the man says, chuckling like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day. “I do wanna hurt her. Like I told her vindictive cunt mother, an eye for an eye. She killed my baby, I’m gonna take hers.”

  “Vindictive?” I pick up on the word that seems out of place in his tirade, inching another step closer.

  “Bitch had it in for me the moment she saw me in that courtroom. Went after me like a fucking rabid dog, slapping me with that rape shit.” He starts laughing, more like cackling. “Must’ve thought it was her lucky day, she’d have a chance to get back at me.”

  “For what?” I ask, knowing full well what he’s referring to, but wanting him to lead the way.

  “She was a wild bitch at a party, and I tamed her. Nothing me, my cock, and a drop in her drink couldn’t handle,” he snickers, shrugging his shoulders, but never letting go of Mak’s head.

  I hear Ben growl behind me as he clues in, but I wave him back with a hand. I’ve got him right where I want him, like a key witness, lead carefully to a single possible conclusion.

  “How long ago?” He looks at me, clearly confused at the question.

  “What the fuck difference does that make?” he blusters, shuffling impatiently and taking a quick peek over his shoulder, where Drew and Gus are blocking his exit on the other side of his van. “Nine, maybe ten years?”

  Got him.

  “Do you know how old she is?” I gesture at Makenna, who hangs limply in his hold.

  STACIE

  I wonder if I’m pregnant.

  Funny, the stuff you think about when your life is hissing away.

  It’s only a matter of seconds before the oil flames in the pan will ignite the gas, and yet my mind has jumped to the last time I saw Nick. Why does it feel so long ago? I remember feeling him slide out of me; I remember his words. Unlike the only other time I had unprotected sex.

  That’s the jump my mind made; from the shock of seeing the only memory I have of another night long ago when my mind was not in charge—to Nick, and a baby.

  A sad thought: I’d not only failed to protect the one I had, but wouldn’t be able to save even the promise of another.

  In a sudden burst of adrenaline, I surge up, using every little muscle I have at my disposal, while ignoring the screaming pain of my body. Pulling my knees up, I plant my heels in the sopping rug and shove my butt back. I do it again. And again. As far away from the stove as I can get.

  Tears stream down my face with the strain, or perhaps it’s with the realization that my final effort to at least try to save myself is futile. But anything is better than not doing something while death is coming at you hard.

  Too many regrets.

  If by some miracle I survive—my little girl survives—I vow never to live a life filled with regrets. No opportunity will be left untested. Every moment will be lived and celebrated, treasured for the beautiful gift it is. I won’t be hiding anymore. Not my face and not my heart. Not from Nick, not from anyone.

  With the dining table between me and the kitchen, I scurry around to where my back is against the base and my head is braced underneath the tabletop.

  This moment right here is a choice; to cower here, waiting for the inevitable—or to fucking live and fight, until there is nothing left.

  With the last bit of strength I have, I heave up, toppling the table on its side, and I collapse, spent, behind it.

  I don’t have time to draw a breath when all air is sucked from around me. A chaotic flash of sound and light erupts before I slip into a painless dark.

  NICK

  “The fuck you say,” he mumbles, his eyes wide in disbelief. “The fuck...”

  I watch as he slowly releases his hold on the little girl, letting her slide down the front of his body, and collapse at his feet.

  The next moment—a loud explosion, followed by
a spray of debris, shakes me to the core. I immediately crouch and turn to the house, as smoke pours from a massive hole in the back wall where the kitchen window and door used to be.

  Without hesitation, I am on my feet and running with the rattle of falling glass around me. Straight toward the house where flames are shooting from the opening.

  “Anastasia!”

  There is absolutely no doubt in my heart that she is in there, somewhere in that infernal devastation is the woman whose mere existence is my reason for breathing.

  I don’t register the chaos of voices and screams behind me, as I catapult myself through the thick smoke and flames, right into the pits of hell.

  Scrambling for purchase with my feet on the rubble, I squint against the smoke and look for something, anything, recognizable. Flames shoot up from everywhere. I instantly know an accelerant was used.

  “Stacie!” I yell, but am punished immediately by the astringent burn of smoke down my airway.

  Coughing, I pull the neck of my shirt over my mouth—for all the good it will do—and focus on the one recognizable thing on this side of the house; the dining room table. It’s on its side, the tabletop on fire, but I can still see the gouges and divots from flying debris.

  “Fucking hell,” I hear Ben swear behind me, before he too bursts out coughing.

  The sounds of the fire is something I’ve never experienced before. Crackling, hissing, moaning, and whenever she finds a new source of air, or combustible element to feed her, her roar is deafening.

  That’s why I don’t hear what Ben is yelling, until he gives my shoulder a firm shake and points at the dining table.

  “We’ve gotta lift it. Something’s moving.”

  Moving means alive, and I don’t even waver, I grab onto the burning surface on one side, Ben on the other, and together we heave it over.

  “Jesus,” Ben hisses, but all words are stuck in my throat as I recognize Stacie’s blonde hair under the blood and the dirt.

  Immediately I clear her body of debris, slide my arms underneath her, and lift her up. There’s no waiting for backboards when the fucking house is burning down around you.

  Ignoring Ben, who seems frozen, I hurry away from the flames and out the front door, the woman who holds all of my heart in my arms.

  CHAPTER 27

  Stacie

  “Can I come in?”

  Drew’s head pokes in the door.

  “Yes,” I answer, more of a rasp than an actual sound, but he gets the gist and sits down on the chair beside my hospital bed.

  He’s the first familiar face I’ve seen since I woke up in this bed a short while ago. Medical personnel have been in and out, poking and prodding, and I let them after the nurse assured me my daughter was fine.

  From what I gather, I was knocked out, have a large laceration on the back of my head, a fractured orbital bone, suffered some smoke inhalation, and other than that: bruises, cuts, and scrapes. The first was stitched, the last were cleaned and bandaged, and the rest of my injuries have to heal on their own. The irony is, other than singed hair, I did not sustain any burns.

  “Where is everyone? Have you seen Mak? Is she okay?” I pepper Drew with questions, which only results in a coughing fit that hurts enough to fill my eyes with tears.

  “Do I need to get a nurse?” Drew asks, worried. I shake my head as I try to get some air. “Let me do the talking, okay? Your daughter is with Nick’s father and Becca in the cafeteria. Neil drove him and the girl here, because Nick refused medical treatment until there was someone familiar who could look after Mak.”

  “He’s hurt?” I manage, without dissolving in more coughing.

  “He pulled you out of a burning house,” Drew says. “His soft manicured hands won’t look the same.” I open my mouth in Nick’s defense, when I notice the smirk on his face. Tease. “He and Ben went right through the flames to get to you,” he continues more solemnly.

  “Ben?”

  “Saw him walk out, so he’s fine, but I’m not sure where he’s off to.” It’s out of character and I scrutinize Drew’s face for answers, but he looks away, glancing out the window instead. “Borland is in custody,” he informs me. “I’m about to head over to question him, but he’s tucked away safely. You can breathe easy now.”

  “Good.” I blink furiously to keep the tears of relief at bay. A warm hand covers mine and gives it a squeeze.

  “I wish we could’ve grabbed him before he hurt you, Stacie—before he was able to do all this damage. Your house...Jesus.”

  I lift my hand up, palm out, to stop him.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I rasp, remembering the last thoughts I had when I was sure my time had come. “Things don’t matter.”

  Drew nods once, sharply, before he gets up, leans over the bed and kisses me on the forehead.

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  I watch his broad back disappear out the door and close my eyes.

  “HEY, BEAUTIFUL.”

  I blink a few times to find Nick beside my bed, his voice not much better than mine. I notice both his hands are bandaged up. He sees and shrugs.

  “Your hands.”

  “It’s not too bad. They’ll heal,” he assures me. “Will it hurt if I kiss you?”

  I smile and shake my head, as he’s already lowering his mouth to mine, pressing gently against my lips.

  “Love you,” he whispers, never losing contact, so I can feel his words brush my skin.

  “With all my heart,” I respond, and his gaze, just inches from mine, goes liquid.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure him and watch as his eyes close.

  We stay like that for a bit. Staying as close as our injuries will allow, breathing in each other’s air. Communicating everything with just the slightest touch. No words are needed.

  “Mak?” I finally ask, and he pulls back a little.

  “She has some bruising where he held her.” A dark shadow passes over his face, and he looks away. “They’ll heal.”

  “Nick?” I wait until his eyes meet mine again. “Tell me, what’s wrong with my baby? Why isn’t she here?”

  He swallows hard; I watch his Adam’s apple move and brace myself.

  “It was hard on her. The whole situation was so fucked up. By the time I got to them, she looked like she’d checked out—like there was no one home.”

  My poor baby. Such a tough little cookie she’d seemed the first time I ended up in the hospital. While everyone else had still been struggling to process what happened, my little girl seemed to take it all in stride. I thought it had been such a blessing, that she moved right along, never showing any adverse effects. Fuck, even as recently as the first time we met Henry, she’d talked about me almost dying as if she was discussing homework. I should’ve known the other shoe would drop. I just wish she hadn’t had to go through the additional trauma.

  “Bring her to me,” I urge Nick, who slowly shakes his head. “I mean it. She needs to see me.”

  “Baby, I tried,” he says, his voice pained. “The doctor says she’s in shock and it will eventually pass. She doesn’t say anything or react to much, except when I asked if she wanted to see you. She started to wail.”

  There is nothing that hurts as sharply as your child’s pain. My hand comes up automatically, pushing hard between my breasts, as if to contain the building pressure on my heart.

  “Bring her to me,” I repeat. “Right now, Nick. I need to see her...No—she needs to see me.”

  Call it instinct, but I just know whatever is festering inside her will only become more damaging the longer we let it. The wound has to bleed clean before we can allow it to scab over.

  “I’m not sure,” Nick starts. “What if—”

  “Please,” I implore, cutting off his objections. “Trust me.”

  Nick pauses, staring at me intently before he finally gets up, and without a word, leaves the room.

  It doesn’t take long before I hear her coming down
the hall. The low-pitched keening like an animal in pain. The sound cuts right through me and my breath stalls in my chest.

  Nick marches in the door, carrying Mak in his arms, ignoring the nurse trying to stop him. He doesn’t even pause, but comes straight to my bed, where he lays Makenna on top of me.

  My arms immediately wrap tightly around her, and I bury my face in her hair, mumbling soothing nonsense.

  NICK

  It kills me, walking out of that room, hustling the nurse out in front of me. I trust Stacie, though. I trust she knows what she’s doing, because I don’t fucking have a clue.

  “Sir, you can’t just leave that child...calling security...” the nurse prattles on and I don’t even hear half of what she says. I step back, so I’m blocking the door and turn to face her.

  “That child has been through trauma most adults will never face in their lifetime,” I bite off, getting into her space. “Twice in this year alone,” I spit, holding two fingers up to her face. “She needs her mother. She needs to touch, hear, and smell her mother.”

  “But...”

  “You’ll have to go through me to get in.”

  I fold my arms over my chest in an attempt to show her how serious I am. It seems to work when she turns on her heels and stomps off down the hall. My legs feel suddenly weak and I slide my ass down the door until it hits the floor. I stare out the window that lines the hallway to see the day start to dawn.

  Yet I worry. There’s no way to know how much of what I said in that alley registered with Mak, but everyone else who was there sure as fuck got it. The idea of Mak having to go through life, carrying that as her burden, kills me. She’s been through enough.

  Fuck. I hate to think of my Anastasia having to deal with that, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she finds out. I have no choice but to tell her. She’ll likely hate me for it, but she would hate me more if she found out she was the only one out of the loop.

  It takes a while for me to register that I no longer hear Makenna’s crying, and I scramble to get up. Sitting down without the use of your hands is a fuckload easier than trying to get up again. I finally manage and gingerly push open the door to peek in.