Here and Gone

by Haylen Beck

  Part of her mind asked, am I dreaming? Is he really there?

  His hand came into her view, the fingers open as if reaching for a glass of water. They slipped around her throat. Pressure. Just a little. Enough to hurt.

  ‘Don’t think I won’t,’ he said. ‘If I have to.’

  Then he let go and stood upright, turned, left the cell.

  Alone again, she gasped, her heart suddenly beating hard and fast. Chest rising and falling, grabbing at air.

  She couldn’t tell how long it took for the waves of fear to ebb away, only that the sun had risen over the world outside, coloring everything around her in deep blues and grays.

  After a while, Audra became less certain that Whiteside had been there at all. He might have been a phantom of her sleep-deprived brain. Another piece of her sanity breaking and falling away.

  Perhaps that was the point. To get inside her head, break her from within. Make her crazy, keep her scared. Because scared is easy to control. Just as Patrick had done all the years they were together.

  Her husband had made her doubt every single facet of her being, kept her constantly off balance until she barely knew up from down. Every morning, he’d berate her for her hangover. Every evening he’d come home with another bottle. One day telling her how pathetic she was for needing the pills, the next day getting another prescription filled for her.

  It had started the evening after her defeat, when she gave Sean a bottle of formula for the first time. Patrick had come home from work with a bottle of white wine. He held it out to her as she fed their son.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Audra asked.

  ‘If you’re not breast-feeding,’ Patrick said, ‘there’s no reason why you can’t have a drink.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ she said.

  She hadn’t touched alcohol since she’d discovered she was pregnant, had sworn she wouldn’t touch it again after the baby was born. Too many nights had been lost to the blur. She wasn’t going to get pulled into that mire again.

  Patrick shrugged and nodded. ‘Okay. It’ll be in the fridge if you change your mind.’

  If she had possessed the clarity of mind to ask why he’d brought home the bottle of wine, why he wanted her to be drunk again after all these months of sobriety, things might have been different. But she didn’t ask. She was too broken for rational thought.

  The night feeds came and went, Audra’s mind dimming with each one, sleep seeming like a strange and vague notion, not something she could actually indulge in. In the morning, Margaret appeared, volunteered to take over and let Audra rest. Audra tried to resist, but Margaret’s insistence and Patrick’s hard stare won out. She handed Sean over to his grandmother and went to the bedroom, where she dreamed her milk had poisoned him, made him sick, and she woke with an aching sorrow that did not leave her as the day dragged on.

  Audra saw the bottle of wine there in the fridge that evening, but she ignored it, even though she was very, very thirsty.

  Another night of fragmented sleep and toxic dreams, and even as she held Sean close, listening to him gulp down formula, she felt something had broken between them. She had let him down, and she had lost something she could never get back, no matter how hard she wished for it.

  In the morning, Margaret came again. And, again, Audra handed her baby over. Once more, she went to bed. Now the mattress and the sheets felt like quicksand, and she wanted to be swallowed up, to stay in the dark forever.

  That night, she poured herself a glass of wine. But just the one.

  The night after, she had another glass. And a second.

  A day later, another bottle of wine appeared in the fridge. Audra finished the first, and opened the next. She didn’t stop until she had passed out drunk on the couch. Patrick woke her in the morning, told her she should be ashamed of herself.

  That night, he brought home a bottle of vodka.

  Again, looking back, she should have asked why. But the lure of the haze was too strong to resist, when all she wanted was to blot everything out.

  Weeks passed like that, nights and days blurring into drunken hazes and oily hangovers. The nanny had been in the apartment almost forty-eight hours before Audra noticed her. Jacinta was her name, a pretty young woman from Venezuela who looked at Audra with an expression of pity when they met in the hallway.

  ‘You’re not fit to care for Sean,’ Patrick explained, ‘so I hired someone who is.’

  Audra went to bed for four days, only emerging for another bottle of whatever Patrick had left in the fridge or cupboards for her. On the fifth day, a doctor came to the apartment. One Audra didn’t recognize. He smelled bad, sweat and mildew, masked with aftershave. He asked her a few questions, scribbled on a pad, and gave the paper to Patrick. Her husband came back after an hour with a bottle of pills and a glass of water. She refused the water, downed two pills with a mouthful of neat vodka, and went to sleep.

  Looking back, it seemed to Audra that she had been sucked down by a sinkhole, unable to climb out again. Every time she resolved to go without a drink or a pill, Patrick would appear with a full glass, or another rattling bottle.

  Sometimes she wondered about her child. She was surprised one day to pass through the living room on her way to the kitchen and see Sean walking across the room into Jacinta’s arms, a tottering gait, his hands up and flapping, giggling as he went.

  ‘When did he start that?’ Audra asked, suddenly aware that months must have passed without her noticing.

  ‘A week ago,’ Jacinta said. ‘You saw him do it yesterday. You asked me the same thing.’

  Audra blinked. ‘Did I?’

  ‘Do you want to hold him?’

  Audra didn’t answer. She went to the kitchen and fetched another bottle of wine.

  She remembered Sean’s third birthday. They had a small gathering at Patrick’s parents’ apartment. Patrick had hidden the booze and the pills, told her he wanted her sober.

  ‘Don’t show me up,’ he’d said. ‘Don’t embarrass me.’

  The fog had drifted from her mind that morning, and she studied herself in the mirror after she showered. The darkness around her eyes, the blotches on her cheeks. The skin too loose on her bones. But she did her best with the makeup and the new clothes Patrick had bought. She presented herself to him before they left to walk the few blocks south.

  ‘You’ll do,’ he said, a weary exhalation.

  She walked next to Patrick along Central Park West, Jacinta hold-ing Sean’s hand as he tottered ahead. The buzz of the traffic fizzed in her brain, the cool air on her skin making her tingle, aware of the sensation of her clothing against her body, the weight of her feet on the ground. In spite of the rumbling ache behind her eyes, she felt something she hadn’t experienced for so long: she felt alive.

  ‘Patrick,’ she said.

  ‘Mm?’ He kept his gaze ahead, didn’t turn to look at her.

  ‘Maybe I should get some help.’

  He didn’t answer, stopped walking. Audra stopped too, both of them standing like islands, the flow of people like water around them.

  ‘Maybe I should talk to somebody,’ she said. ‘About the drinking. And the pills. Try to change.’

  Patrick remained quiet, but his jaw worked as he ground his teeth.

  ‘I didn’t know it was my son’s birthday until you told me.’

  Tears came, hot on her cheeks.

  Patrick took her hand, squeezed it hard, squeezed until it hurt. ‘We’ll talk about it when we get home,’ he said. ‘Pull yourself together. Don’t embarrass me in front of my mother’s friends.’

  ‘Why do you keep me like this?’ she asked. ‘Why keep me around at all? I’m not a wife to you. I’m not a mother to my son. Why don’t you just let me go?’

  He squeezed her hand again, harder, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

  ‘Do you want to humiliate me?’ he asked, leaning in close. ‘Is that what you want? So help me, I will beat you senseless right here on the str
eet. Is that what you want me to do?’

  Audra shook her head.

  ‘Then shut your fucking mouth and start walking,’ he said.

  Audra wiped at her cheeks, sniffed, got herself under control, and walked with her hand in his, the bones aching.

  At his parents’ apartment, people milled between the tables laden with finger food and glasses of sparkling wine. Audra watched the bubbles, imagined the feel of them on her tongue, the sweetness of the swallow. She and Patrick sat at a table in the center of the room, Sean in a highchair, Jacinta feeding him a piece of cake.

  Patrick Senior sat quiet in a corner, his hands quivering in his lap, the dementia by now evident for all to see. The guests ignored him, as did his son and wife. From the other side of the room, his distant eyes met Audra’s, focused, only for a moment, but long enough for her to wonder if the old man saw her. Did he recognize her, the way she recognized him, each lost and alone in a room full of people?

  Margaret came to sit with Audra and Patrick Junior. Father Malloy – the priest who had christened their son – followed behind, smiling. Margaret took Patrick’s hand in hers.

  ‘Now, you two,’ she said, ‘isn’t it time you gave me another grandchild? We can’t have Sean growing up an only child, like Patrick.’

  Patrick blushed and smiled as Margaret squeezed his knee. And Audra caught a glimpse of her function in the marriage, then. She shivered and counted the minutes until she could go home and retreat to the haze.

  19

  DANNY STEERED THE rental car out of the lot at Phoenix Sky Harbor, followed the GPS directions for the Ak-Chin Pavilion to the west of the city. A Mexican eatery near there, with a bar, popular with the locals, he’d been told.

  This goddamn heat. Christ, he was used to the cool of San Francisco, never too hot, never too cold. Not like this. The goddamn air cooked the inside of his throat. He’d made the mistake of putting his hand on the hood of the Chevrolet when he collected the car, and it recoiled as if he’d stuck it on an electric burner.

  The journey took twenty minutes along the highway, then only a handful of turns until the sprawling grounds of the amphitheater came into view. He headed west for two blocks and found the restaurant. A hand-painted sign over the door, big red letters, green cacti wearing sombreros. Plenty of space at the curb this time of day, he pulled in.

  Danny put his fingers to the door handle and braced himself. The car’s AC had barely begun to cool it down, and sweat pooled in the small of his back, in the crack of his ass. He opened the door, and the heat roared at him.

  A few paces took him to the restaurant door. Inside, ice-cold air gushed down from an AC unit over the threshold. He stayed there for a moment, savored the feel of it on his body. A young Hispanic woman approached, took a menu from the table by the sign that said PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED.

  ‘For one?’ she asked, a broad smile on her face.

  Danny returned the smile. ‘Hey, how are you? I’m here to see George. I think he’s expecting me.’

  Her smile disappeared. ‘Wait right here,’ she said and dashed over to the bar to speak with a large man. His black hair was greased back, his arms sleeved with tattoos. He glanced over at Danny as the girl spoke. He lifted a telephone receiver, spoke a few words, listened, then hung up before saying something to the girl.

  She came back to Danny, nervous now, and said, ‘This way, please.’

  He followed her to the restaurant’s dim interior, weaving through the tables and the scattering of afternoon diners. A doorway veiled by stringed beads, the sign above reading PRIVATE DINING. The girl slipped a hand between the beads, pulled them back to allow Danny to step through. On the other side, the beads rattled and whispered across his back as she let them go.

  The room held one large circular table. Big enough to seat a dozen comfortably, more if patrons were willing to touch elbows. It had been set for a gathering, a clean white cloth, sparkling cutlery and glasses. At one of the chairs, George Lin.

  ‘Long time, Danny Doe Jai,’ George said.

  ‘Ten years,’ Danny said.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about your wife and your little girl. No man should have to deal with that shit. Come, sit down.’

  Danny walked around the table, took a chair two away from George’s. A little more than arm’s length. He wasn’t afraid of George Lin, but that didn’t mean he trusted him.

  Danny cast his eyes around the room. ‘Mexican?’

  ‘When in Arizona,’ George said.

  ‘How can you stand this heat?’

  ‘What, you don’t like it? It’s always wet and cold in San Fran. Here, it’s summer all year long. Why do you think I moved out here? I got a pool in my yard and everything.’

  Danny shook his head. ‘I don’t think I could take it. Drive me crazy after a while.’

  George smiled. ‘Man, just chill out and eat some ice cream, drink some water, you’ll be fine. Anyway, you ain’t here to talk about the weather.’

  He reached under the tablecloth for something on the seat to the far side of him. A large padded envelope, creased and torn. He set it on the table, a weighty clunk from within.

  ‘Here you go,’ George said as he sat back, one hand waving at the envelope. ‘Check it out, see if it fits.’

  Danny pulled the envelope toward himself, parted the opening with his fingers, peered inside. He tipped it up and a Smith & Wesson Model 60 tumbled out, followed by three boxes of ammunition and a speedloader.

  George tapped each box in turn. ‘Hollow point .357, FMJ .357, and FMJ .38 Special. Unless you’re thinking of starting a war out here, I figure that should cover you.’

  Danny lifted the pistol, kept the short muzzle aimed at the wall, and opened the cylinder to check that the five charge chambers were empty. He gave it a spin, closed it, then cocked and dry-fired three times.

  ‘That’ll do,’ he said. He packed the pistol and the ammo back into the envelope.

  George extended his open hand. Danny fished a roll of bills out of his pocket, counted out hundreds into George’s palm.

  When he was satisfied, George asked, ‘So, you just doing some target practice while you’re here?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Danny said as he grabbed the envelope and stood to leave. ‘Good to see you again, George.’

  As he walked to the beaded doorway, George called after him.

  ‘Whatever you got going on, Danny Doe Jai, just be careful, all right?’

  Danny glanced back over his shoulder and said, ‘I’ll try.’

  He slipped through the hanging beads, back out through the restaurant, the package under his arm. The young lady who’d greeted him gave him a nervous smile as he passed on his way to the door. As he reached the cool draft of the AC unit, a thought occurred to him. He turned back to the girl.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Is there a hardware store near here?’

  20

  THE SUITED MAN extended his hand across the table and said, ‘My name is Todd Hendry, I’m a public defender.’

  The chain rattled as Audra lifted her hand to shake his. ‘You’re what?’

  ‘I’m your attorney,’ he said.

  The interview room’s fluorescent light reflected off his freckled scalp. He placed a thin file, a notepad, and a pen on the table as he sat down.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Audra asked.

  ‘You can’t go to an arraignment without representation,’ he said. ‘Well, you can, but I wouldn’t advise it.’

  ‘Arraignment?’

  ‘The possession with intent charge,’ Hendry said. ‘The hearing’s in an hour. Didn’t they tell you?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘All they’ve done is question me about my children.’

  Another session with Mitchell last night, one first thing this morning. The same questions over and over, the same answers. No matter how often she told the FBI agent that Whiteside and Collins had taken Sean and Louise, that her husband had to be behind it, Mitchell kept turning it around, poi
nting the question back at her. And always that kindness in her eyes and in her voice.

  At one point this morning, during a brief break in the questioning, when she was alone with the patrolman in this room, an idea crept into Audra’s addled head: What if she really had hurt her children? What if they were right? Maybe her mind couldn’t cope with the truth, so she had created another reality? None of this felt quite real, did it?

  That had been the closest she’d come to breaking. She had felt herself crumble, like a wall with no foundation.

  Hendry opened the file, what looked like some sort of police report, clicked his pen, and placed the tip close to the pad. ‘So, tell me exactly what happened on the morning of the fifth.’

  She told him. The general store by the roadside, Whiteside’s car parked out front, driving away, the flashing lights in her mirror, the stop, the search.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ Hendry said. ‘Before Sheriff Whiteside opened the trunk of your car, did he seek your consent to search it?’

  ‘No,’ Audra said.

  ‘Was the bag of marijuana visible from outside the vehicle?’

  ‘It was never in my car in the first place. He planted it there to—’

  Hendry raised a hand. ‘Listen, let’s not say anything about planting things in your car. Assuming – just assuming – the marijuana was in fact in your car, where he found it, would it have been visible from outside the vehicle?’

  ‘No,’ Audra said. ‘He reached under some blankets to get it, but it wasn’t—’

  ‘That’s all I need to know,’ Hendry said, smiling.

  Judge Miller peered over the top of her glasses, her gaze somewhere over Audra’s shoulder.

  ‘Sheriff Whiteside, is this true?’ she asked, the lines of her face deepening, puckering around her mouth. ‘Didn’t you seek consent to search the vehicle?’

  Audra turned her head, saw Whiteside stand up from his chair among the crowd of onlookers, his hat gripped in his hands, and clear his throat.

  ‘No, Your Honor,’ he said, ‘it’s not true. I had consent to search.’