Stolen

by Jalena Dunphy

  I walk to the front door, and it may be my imagination, but I swear that everything in the house has gone quiet. When I open it, a man in his forties maybe, with grayish colored eyes, deep brown hair worn slightly long, broad shoulders and solid physique, dressed in black dress pants and a grey dress shirt is standing in front of me.

  I’m staring, waiting for him to tell me who he is and what he wants. He smiles and says I must be Jessica. He extends his hand to me, but I don’t return the greeting. Just because he knows my name, and not the name I go by, by the way, doesn’t mean I have to be nice to this stranger.

  He obviously notices my prickly demeanor and tries a new approach.

  “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. My name is Bruce Stevens. I’m a . . . friend of your mom. Is she available? I need to talk to her for a minute.” He smiles at me, and while it seems genuine, I’m in too bad a mood to try to smile back.

  “Wait there,” I say as I shut the door in his face and turn to go get mom. She scares me half to death when I see her storming down the stairs yelling at me for being so mean.

  “Did you just shut the door in his face? Honestly, Jess, could you have been ruder?” She pushes past me and opens the door. “Bruce, I’m so sorry about that,” she explains with a smile.

  Hold on just one minute here! She won’t talk to me nor give me the time of day, but she’ll be nice to this stranger? Yelling at me for being mean? Has she already forgotten how she and Cass have completely shut me out the last twenty-four hours?

  Decorum goes out the window and any maturity I had goes out with it. “What the hell, mom!” I shout at her. Sleep deprivation, anger, and being left in the dark has unfortunately made me sound like a whiney bitch, but I don’t care anymore. I want answers. Now!

  “Jessica! Stop that and go to your room!”

  Go to my room? What? I am not a child anymore, even if I am acting like one right now. I think I deserve some answers, though, if our house is going to be turning into a loony bin.

  “Mother!” I whisper yell. “Why don’t you make me?” I’m scowling at her now, and she’s scowling right back. I decide to change tactics. “Look, I’ve been watching you and Cass act like lunatics and like you’re running away from something or from me, I don’t know, but this is my house, too, ya know, and I think I deserve some answers, not told to go to my room and be left in the dark.”

  She’s looking directly at me, but she’s seeing right through me. I’m waiting for an answer, and waiting. Finally, Bruce answers for her.

  “Ms. Foster, Beth, I think this is a good time to bring her in on this.” He’s gentle with her, and the way he says her name makes it seem like they know each other pretty well. How do I not know him then? Maybe they work together at the bank?

  Her shoulders sag and I watch her look away, shrug, and walk toward the kitchen mumbling that she’ll make some coffee. It’s just Bruce and me again. I don’t know him, and even though mom seems to, and to trust him, I haven’t come to that same conclusion, and until I do, I have no intentions of being so friendly with him. I know, very mature of me, but have I mentioned I’m angry and exhausted? Besides, I’m still just sixteen; some things you just can’t fight, and acting like a brat when you’re a teenager can be one of them.

  He’s smiling warmly at me, just as he had my mother, but I don’t like it. It’s as if he thinks he knows me. We’re still standing in the entryway when mom pops her head out of the kitchen and tells me to take Bruce into the family room to have a seat. I huff and roll my eyes at him so he knows I’m doing this reluctantly and lead him into the room.

  He sits in the recliner next to the sofa and I sit on the loveseat, pushing myself into the corner so I can angle myself to face him. Still glowering, I ask him how he knows my mother. Just as he’s beginning to answer, mom, conveniently, walks in and sits on the sofa opposite me and closest to him, explaining that the coffee will be done soon. She’s fidgeting with some imaginary thread or fuzz ball or God knows what on her lap. This awkward silence is driving me mad.

  She finally speaks, but only to tell me to go get Cassie. I hesitantly walk out of the room, knowing this is a ploy to get me to leave so they can come up with a cover story or something. I try to eavesdrop on the stairs, but they’ve started talking in hushed voices, so I relent and move to Cass’s door and knock, waiting for her to open it.

  When she doesn’t, I tell her I know she’s awake, that she doesn’t have to talk to me, but that a man is here and mom wants her downstairs. I hear movement, then the door opens and she pushes past me and walks downstairs.

  Okay . . .

  Conversation stops when Cass and I enter the room, and I watch Bruce’s eyes light up when he sees her. He stands and gives her a hug, and she hugs back! She never hugs anyone if she doesn’t want to; so she knows him, too, then?

  I stare, completely lost, taking in the picture in front of me. Mom has moved over on the sofa so Cass is closer to Bruce, who’s still sitting in the recliner; no one seems to notice that I haven’t sat down. I feel like a third wheel, or fourth wheel, I guess, but no one seems to care at all about me. This really is starting to hurt, feeling left out of my own family. It’s Bruce who waves me in and suggests I have a seat. Well, at least he cares about me.

  I walk in front of mom and Cass, who now both have something pretty impressive on their laps they can’t pull their eyes from.

  Really? No one is going to look at me?

  “So, Jessica.” Bruce faces me and speaks. “May I call you Jess?”

  I shrug and mumble sure. What’s it matter?

  “That’s great. I’m sure you have some questions right now and probably don’t want the answers to come from me, but we think it would be a little easier if I was the one to fill you in on what’s been going on. Is that okay?

  “Do I have a choice?”

  No one speaks, including Bruce, so I correct myself and say sure.

  “Great. Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Bruce, obviously you know that now,” he says in a friendly way. “And I work for the Special Victims Unit of the police force.”

  Special Victims Unit? That sounds serious. Isn’t that the name of that show on TV that has to do with sex crimes? Oh my God, what has happened?

  My eyes go huge, I’m starting to hyperventilate, but am pulled back just in time when Bruce jumps from his chair to sit next to me.

  ”Don’t worry, Jess, it’s nothing as bad as you’re thinking.” He pats my knee and I let him. I need to be comforted, and he’s the only one offering any. “Are you okay for me to continue? Or do you need a minute?”

  I nod and tell him to go on. I have to know, and I need him to pull the Band-Aid off quickly.

  “By the look on your face I take it that you know some of what my department specializes in, but what I’m here for isn’t for that. I just met your mom and sister yesterday when they came in to the station, and I’m happy to be meeting you right now. I think you need to be brought up to speed on what’s happening, and your mom agrees but thinks it best if I’m the one to do it.”

  Mom stands, and without saying anything, leaves the room, Cass follows her. I can’t believe they left me with a perfect stranger. I’m staring at the now vacant spots on the sofa across from me when Bruce directs me back to him by continuing where he left off.

  “So, like I said, I met your mom and sister yesterday when they came to file a report.”

  A report? What could they possibly have had to file a report about? My hands are getting clammy, my heart is hurting in my chest, my blood feels like it’s going to burst from my veins, and any sense of power I may have had is a pile of ash at my feet.

  Whatever he tells me is going to be bad, and a large part of me doesn’t want to know what it is. Maybe no one has to tell me anything. I’ll just pretend everything is fine and everyone can continue ignoring me until this blows over. The minute I take to think this is a minute too long, I know, but I’m scared; scared of knowing, sca
red of not knowing, and scared about the consequences of either.

  “Saturday evening an envelope was dropped off by a young man supposedly working for the post office, though it was after their normal business hours. Your mother was the one who took the envelope, but after seeing it was addressed to your sister, she had your sister open it. There was no return address and they later noticed there wasn’t actually a mailing address for your house either.

  “The envelope did contain a letter and also a picture. I brought the letter with me, if you’d like to read it yourself.”

  I can’t speak. I put my hand out for him to give me the letter. It’s in an evidence bag, and I’m instructed not to remove it, so I straighten the Ziploc type bag so I can see the writing more clearly. I take a breath and begin to read it.

  To the lovely Cassie,

  I would love to introduce myself, but this isn’t the time yet for introductions. I have been trying to bide my time, but my patience is running out and I am afraid the business I planned to attend to later rather than sooner has taken precedence.

  Your sister has decided it smart to make a fool out of me and I don’t take lightly to that. I know, especially now that that joke of a boy is out of your life that you will be a voice of reason to her stubbornness. I am counting on you.

  Your sister has given what should have been mine to that ridiculous boy she thinks she loves. What can she possibly know about love? There is no one who will ever love her more than I do, and she will soon learn that.

  This is the part where you come in. I will give her a choice: She can choose me. Or she can choose him. If she makes the wrong choice, I am warning now that fatal consequences will be inflicted on certain third parties. It’s her decision.

  Please don’t make me regret confiding in you. I would hate to be angry with you, too. You have a choice in all this too, you know. Help me, which helps your sister, or don’t help me and say goodbye to the life and sister you know.

  I will be in touch soon.

  I look up from the letter at a stoic faced Bruce and back down at the letter in my hand. I slide my hands over the glossy feel of the baggie it’s enclosed in and imagine the hands that had touched the letter inside. Who is this person? Why does he want me? Do I know him?

  I’m absentmindedly turning the letter over and over again in my hand, my mind a mess of thoughts and feelings, when Bruce clears his throat.

  “I know this is a lot to take in, and I’m sure you have plenty of questions. I’ll answer what I can, but, unfortunately, that isn’t going to be much; we haven’t had a lot of time yet to investigate.”

  I stare blank faced at him, then close my eyes and say a little prayer to the Cosmos. Whatever happens next, please, please, keep Cass, mom, and Rogan safe. Please!

  “Jess. Jess, please.”

  I wince as hands rest on top of mine folded on my lap. I yank them away, open my eyes, and blink rapidly at the nervous but sincere eyes staring back at me. I want to say something, anything, but my throat feels like it’s become the size of a straw, just wide enough to inhale small gasps of air and exhale just as pathetically.

  I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

  I bolt for the front door and leave with the door still bouncing off the wall from my force. My feet pick up speed and soon I’m running. My mind doesn’t know where I’m going, but my feet seem to have a plan.

  Soon I’m bent over and panting in front of Rogan’s door. I bang on it with my fists and, long after an appropriate amount of time, I keep banging. When the door opens, my fists keep pounding, but now into flesh. I cry out and collapse into warm arms I know so well, and I cry. I cry until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I fall fast asleep in Rogan’s arms, on the cold entryway tile and in a fetal position, with endless questions rattling around in my mind.

  Will this be the last time I get to be in his arms? Will I ever get to see him again? Do I tell him or do I break his heart and let him live with anger instead of fear? Would that guarantee his safety?

  Soft fingertips are caressing my bare arm, and for a moment I forget where I am. I know who I’m with, but it isn’t until I try to move, my entire body protesting from the pain of the position I’ve kept for I don’t know how long now, that I remember. I groan, pushing up onto the palms of my hands, and away from Rogan and the floor I’ve made into a bed.

  My eyes are swollen from all the tears I shed, and my head is throbbing. The pain I felt in my heart when I first arrived is comparable to the pain I’m in right now.

  I place my hand flat on my forehead, trying to alleviate the pressure pushing on my brain, but to no avail. I give up and opt to resume my position back on Rogan’s lap. At least there I feel warm and safe. Right now, I feel cold and hopeless.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened? You’re scaring the shit out of me and I hate that you aren’t telling me. Did your mom and Cass finally fess up on why they were acting so weird?”

  I give a noncommittal shrug, knowing that isn’t going to keep him from pushing for answers, but I feel too tired and drained to get into this right now, so I tell him before he continues. “Babe, I’d love to tell you what’s happening, but right now I feel like I’m dying, my head hurts so badly. Will you just trust me that I’ll tell you what you need to know soon? Please?”

  I feel an aggravated breath heave from his chest, but as he begins stroking my head, he agrees to wait until I’m ready. This is the only thing right now that I can thank the Cosmos for; everything else is total shit. I hate the universe right now.

  The house is dark when I open my eyes. I fell asleep again? Mom must know that I would have come here, but still, she must be freaking out. I have to go home and face this head-on. Like it or not, my life has completely changed in the course of minutes, and now I know there’s no going back.

  I can’t, no, I won’t, let my family or Rogan be hurt because of me. Whatever I have to do, I will do. What choice do I have now anyway?

  Before I lift my head, I say goodbye to Rogan from his lap. I can’t see his face right now or I’ll start crying and maybe never stop. This might be the last time I see him like this, where he still loves me. “I have to go now. Thank you for taking care of me and being here for me. I love you so much. I’m sorry, for everything,” I say, even though he won’t understand the full extent of my apology.

  I push up and stand on my feet. Feeling lightheaded, I lean on the wall for a moment until the sensation passes. With my head down, I turn and grab the door handle, opening it and preparing to step over the threshold when arms pull me back and around to come face to face with pleading eyes and a worried expression.

  He keeps his promise, even though I know it’s killing him, and he doesn’t ask any questions. Instead, he tilts my head up with his fingers under my chin and softly grazes his thumb across my lower lip. I roll my eyes closed and wait for his lips to touch mine. When they do, I inwardly sigh, a contented breath, relishing this moment; perhaps the last moment I’ll ever feel this way with anyone, unconditionally loved and desired.

  I walk out the door and walk what feels like The Green Mile—the walk to my execution.

  Before I step into the house, I try to calm my drifting thoughts and remind myself that whatever happens next isn’t my fault, but that whatever I’m asked to do, I’ll do to protect my family. I feel like I’ve aged ten years in less than a day. Oh, how I wish I could just keep up my vow to do the dishes more often.

  Life’s a bitch.

  I’m surprised to see Bruce still sitting in the family room. Did he stay the whole time I was gone? I highly doubt that; he probably just got back or something.

  I close the door softly, needing as many seconds as I can get before I face this. I pad quietly toward where Bruce, and now I notice mom and Cass are sitting too, and clear my throat. Two pairs of tired, tear-stained eyes turn and focus on me, followed by a set of gentle, comforting eyes. I’m quickly growing desperate for the serenity his eyes bring me.

  He
rises, and with open arms walks toward me. Just before he attempts to hug me, he raises his brows, silently asking if it’s okay. I answer by walking into his open arms, breathing in the scent of strong but pleasant cologne. I had planned to have to be strong right away, but Bruce is helping me feel like it’s okay if I’m not because I’m not alone. Mom and Cass seem to have checked out, but at least he’s here for me. I shouldn’t have judged him so harshly before, but it’s too late to take that back now.

  I don’t pull away from him immediately, and he doesn’t seem to mind; he keeps holding me, soon beginning to rock me from side to side, not saying anything in words, but speaking volumes in actions. I know he won’t leave me to deal with this alone.

  He eases me out of our hug, keeping one arm around my shoulder, leaning in to whisper into my ear, “I know why you had to bail, but you worried me half to death . . . and your mom and sister.” He adds, “Please don’t do that again. I know you don’t know me, but I’m here for you. I won’t stop being here for you, okay?”

  An uneasy, foreboding feeling washes over me, as if it was just confirmed that my world has been irrevocably altered. With a pain in my gut at this realization, I nod in understanding. Good or bad, things will never be the same.

  With his arm still on my shoulder, we walk into the family room. Instead of sitting back in the chair, he sits us both down on the loveseat, moving his arm off my body, but keeping it close to my leg, as if he knows I need to feel the close proximity to a caring, comforting person.

  He looks between my family and me, then begins speaking directly to me. “We’re so happy you’re back. Your mom received a text from Rogan that you were at his house, but, unfortunately, for a little while anyway, it’s probably best you don’t bring him into this like that again. It’s not safe.”

  Rogan had let mom know I was with him and safe? I should have known he would do that, keeping her from worrying, taking care of me like always. I miss him already.

  I hear Bruce clear his throat loudly, snapping me back to this dreadful chat. I nod, already accepting that as a given. He seems pleased with the fact that he doesn’t have to convince me to stay away. I am not so pleased, but I love Rogan too much to take any chances.