by Willow Rose
I am sleeping so deeply that I barely hear the footsteps as they come up the stairs and approach my bedside rapidly. I think they’re a part of my dream, and they move so fast that I don’t have time to realize what’s happening. I don’t react until a hand grabs my arm, and I am being pulled forcefully out of bed.
Startled at this, I let out a loud scream as I am being dragged across the floor before he finally lets go of me. Ryan bends down and is hovering above me now, placing his face close to mine as I sit up, trying to gather myself. He’s very obviously drunk. His eyes are blank, his breath stinks, and his speech slurred.
“You think I’m a murderer, huh? You think I killed my friends? You think I killed Sandra and Ted, huh? Is that what you think?”
I don’t speak. I am scared, terrified, and I don’t know what to say. He is yelling at me as he says next, “How can you think that, Laurie? We love each other.”
The blood is leaving my face fast. “Ryan…I…”
He has tears in his eyes. “All this…us…is it all just a lie?”
I shake my head. “N-no, Ryan.”
“Because I love you. And I am fighting to get back to being the husband you deserve—to be me again. And all this time, I thought you were with me, that you were on my side, and then I realize that you…you think I’m a murderer?”
I swallow. I can’t think straight.
“Is that what you think, Laurie? Is that what you think about me?”
My breathing is shuddering; I have no idea what to think or say. I feel so confused.
“Tell me, Laurie. Because that’s what you were implying earlier, wasn’t it? That’s what I heard clearly. You think I killed them, or at least drove them to suicide, don’t you? But how, Laurie? How could you possibly think that about me?”
“I don’t…I don’t know, I just…well, you were hiding things, and when you left Ted’s house and didn’t call the police, I…”
“You wanna know why I didn’t call anyone?”
“Yes, please.”
Ryan snorts. He is so angry that he’s spitting when he talks now. I recognize that anger in his eyes from the day he tried to strangle me. He’s out of control, and it scares me like nothing else. I want to cry, but I’m too afraid even to do that.
“I thought I had dreamt it,” he says. “That’s why. I was in a bad place, Laurie. I had been drinking. I was very drunk and out of my mind. When I woke up the next morning, I thought it was something I had dreamt about. I blacked out that night and have no idea what I had done or where I had been. I had these images in my mind of Ted, but I was so sure it had to be something I had seen in a dream because it didn’t feel real. I pushed it back and didn’t want to think about it anymore. That’s why I didn’t go to the security forces. I was too drunk, Laurie. That’s all it was. Once I realized it was true that Ted was dead, I couldn’t tell anyone I had seen him. I could have lost everything if they found out I was driving around drunk in my truck. Don’t you see?”
I stare at him. He’s crying, his mouth frothing. I don’t know if I believe him. It makes sense, yes, but can I trust him?
I shake my head.
“No,” I say.
“No, what?” he asks, surprised.
I push him away and get up on my feet.
“You don’t believe me?” he says with a scoff.
I am standing in front of him. He can barely stand still and is swaying from side to side. “What about Sandra?” I ask.
That sets him off. I see it immediately in his eyes as a spark of fire that is lit. His jaw is clenched, his teeth gritted. He doesn’t take the time to answer; instead, he pulls out his gun. He points it at me, his hands shaking.
“I thought we loved one another. I thought we trusted one another. But I guess I was wrong.”
I stare into the barrel of the gun, thinking, this is it. He’s gonna pull that trigger and then end me.
“Please,” I say, trying to calm him. “Please, don’t…”
I don’t get to say anymore. A voice stops me. It’s coming from behind Ryan.
“M-mom?”
It’s Isabella. She’s woken up from our yelling and is standing in the doorway right behind Ryan. Ryan is taken by surprise and reacts the way a soldier with PTSD would. He screams loudly, turns around, and fires a shot.
Isabella doesn’t even realize what’s happening. The bullet hits her in the stomach, and she goes down immediately. Her body tumbles to the carpet with a thud.
I scream.
“ISABELLA!”
I rush to her and take her in my arms. She’s just lying there, lifeless, while blood gushes out of the wound, soaking her shirt. I lift my gaze, completely in shock, and look at Ryan. I am struggling to breathe, a scream caught in my throat. He stares down at her in complete shock as well.
“Oh, dear God. No. Please…please…” he mumbles under his breath as he approaches her. He reaches out his hand toward her.
“My...my baby…”
“Don’t you dare touch her,” I yell at him. “Don’t you dare touch her!”
I am screaming at the top of my lungs, spitting, tears and snot running down my face. Ryan looks startled, then says, “You made me do this…if you hadn’t…”
“Get away,” I yell at him while holding my bleeding daughter in my arms, rocking her back and forth.
“GET AWAY FROM US!!”
Chapter 28
“I’m sorry, but it’s soon lunchtime, and then the patient needs to rest.”
The nurse comes in just as Laurie wipes away a tear from her cheek after telling them about her daughter. Jonathan sends her a smile, even though he is annoyed that they’re being interrupted at this very moment, just as Laurie was getting somewhere with her story.
“We’ll take a break then,” he says and looks at Detective Grande next to him. “Maybe go find ourselves a lunch?”
Detective Grande looks at her watch. “Sure. Why not?”
“We’ll be back later in the afternoon,” Jonathan says and sends Laurie a reassuring smile. He can tell she is exhausted from talking about all this, and even though he would have liked to dig in a little deeper, he’s sure rest will be good for her right about now.
They leave her room and walk out into the parking lot of the hospital through the sliding doors. Detective Grande sighs deeply as they go back to the Everett Street Diner and sit down in a booth. Joanne is still there, and she still smiles at Jonathan in that way that makes him want to order more food than necessary just to get to see it again. He decides to leave her a rewarding tip afterward when they’re done. Jonathan has always been a firm believer in tipping well.
“I’ll have the soup of the day and the Reuben sandwich,” he says.
Grande orders a salad. She sighs, annoyed, as she hands Joanne the menu.
“I take it you’re not satisfied with this morning’s testimony,” he says and leans back in his seat.
“I feel like we’re not getting anywhere,” she says. “I would like to get to the point.”
“She’ll get to it in her own timing. Don’t be in such a rush. I know you’re young, and you think you’re in a hurry to get somewhere, climbing the career ladder, or whatever young people dream of these days. But it’ll all come, don’t you worry. In due time.”
“Well, I’m not sure I have that much time. I mean, she hasn’t even told us what she was doing in the cabin with Frank yet.”
Their drinks arrive, and Jonathan sips his Coke. Not surprisingly, Grande has ordered a club soda with her salad. Always keeping up the perfection like so many of the young girls Jonathan runs into on the job, and just like his own daughter, wasting their youth away, trying to reach what is impossible. Always in such a hurry. It’s a shame. Jonathan was guilty of the very same thing in his young days, starting out at the beginning of his twenties—always rushing along, always going somewhere. Now, he is at the end of the rope, at least as far as the FBI is concerned. There is no more for him there. He’s had the career he
wanted, but then what? Was it worth it? He lost his marriage in the process and the relationship with his daughter that he wanted. He is trying to fix it now, but it’s hard to do in retrospect. He wants to explain all that to young Grande, but he knows she will not listen. He wouldn’t have when he was her age.
“So, I take it you’re still suspicious about our witness?” he asks as the food arrives, and they dig in.
That’s another thing that is different when you’re at the end of your fifties from the beginning of your twenties—the ability to appreciate something as simple as a good meal. These days, it is worth looking forward to in ways it never was before. Jonathan used to eat whatever was within reach, eating from snack machines, or old leftovers he had forgotten in the fridge as he came home late. When he was still married, his wife would leave a plate out for him that he could heat once he got back. He never properly appreciated the gesture and wishes now he had done that. Nothing beats a good homecooked meal. Jonathan rarely gets that anymore.
“I don’t know about her,” Grande says, crunching her salad. “There’s something that rubs me the wrong way.”
“Well, it is only her side of the story we’re getting, so it will, of course, be quite biased,” Jonathan says and pours ketchup on his plate then dips a fry in it. The fries aren’t half bad. He’s had better, but he’s also had worse.
“You know why we called you down here, right? Because she said she had information about a serial killer.”
Jonathan nods.
“I didn’t know she was just trying to incriminate her own husband,” Grande continues.
“You don’t think he did it?” Jonathan asks.
Grande scoffs. “It’s all a little blurry, isn’t it? She suspects he has killed these two people because her friend tells her they might have been killed. To me, it sounds like they committed suicide; that’s all.”
“The friend is, after all, a forensic investigator,” Jonathan says, dipping another fry in ketchup. “I think she’s telling us all this to paint a picture and to let us know all she has been through. I, for one, think she’s one tough cookie...”
“But isn’t this forensic guy also interested in splitting her and her husband up?” Grande says. “He’s obviously in love with her.”
“There are other ways,” Jonathan says with a grin. “To get a woman. I don’t see why he’d go to these lengths.”
“But come on. The investigators don’t even believe her at all.”
“Because he makes it look like suicide?” Jonathan says.
“I say she’s full of it,” Grande says. “She’s obviously crazy-paranoid.”
Jonathan chuckles. “The cynicism of youth. Her daughter was shot. The man is definitely ill.”
“That’s true,” she says, drinking pensively. “I still don’t think he killed those two from his unit. Do you think he did it?”
Jonathan chews and swallows, taking his time. “I don’t think I know enough to make any assumptions. And maybe whether or not he did it isn’t the point. Maybe it’s what they’ve been through. What she has been through. The fear she’s been enduring, and now her daughter getting shot. It’s a lot.”
Grande is tapping her nails impatiently on the table. “I just wish she’d get to the point, you know? We have a dead body and still don’t know exactly what happened.”
Jonathan finishes his drink and food, then leans back, satisfied.
“You both done with these?” Joanne says and grabs their plates as they nod. She’s wearing red lipstick today, and it makes her look good, Jonathan thinks. “I’ll bring you your checks, then.”
“I think she’s getting there,” Jonathan says as he pays and leaves a fifty-dollar tip, wishing he could see Joanne’s face when she gets it. But he prefers to be gone by then since he doesn’t want her to feel awkward or feel like she needs to thank him. She’s doing a great job, and he wants to reward her; that’s all. And maybe see one of her smiles next time he comes in. He’d really like that.
They get up, grab their phones, and leave. The bell on the door rings as they walk outside into the cold mountain air. He takes a deep breath, then sighs, looking at Grande.
“I also have a feeling we’ll be quite surprised at the conclusion once we get there. We think we have it all figured out by now, but I bet we don’t even have a clue.”
Part III
Chapter 29
When they get out of their cars and walk into the hospital, full from a rock-solid lunch, Detective Grande gets a call. She picks it up.
“Talk to me.”
Jonathan lifts his eyebrows at this. No hello or any other greeting. Just talk to me. Right from the get-go. They walk into the elevator, and Jonathan presses the button. Grande is very quiet as they travel up to the third floor, and the doors open. All he hears from her are small grunts of confirmation to let the person on the other end know she’s still listening.
They walk down the hallway, and Jonathan greets a couple of nurses he recognizes from earlier. They smile warmly, and he compliments one on her hair, another on her necklace, a third on her smile. Grande walks by all of them, barely noticing anyone, phone pressed against her ear.
As he is about to open the door to Laurie’s room, she grabs him by the shoulder and stops him. He turns to look at her. She has hung up and is putting the phone away. He smiles, happy to have her attention.
“When we get in there, let me do the talking to start. There has been a new development.”
Jonathan sends her another smile. “Oh, you mean because they found another body?”
She stares at him, startled.
“How did you know?”
He shrugs. “Call it a hunch. I had a feeling we might find more than one.”
She gives him a strange look, then opens the door and bursts inside. Laurie’s face lights up when she sees them like she has been expecting them. Jonathan likes her. She seems like the type of woman he might date if he was fifteen years younger and not still hung up on his ex-wife. Laurie has that quality about her of being just a genuinely good girl, one that might get herself in trouble, but always does everything out of a good and decent heart. The kind of woman who’d do anything to protect her children.
Grande doesn’t seem to see what he sees, and she stands by her bedside, looking angry. Jonathan sneaks inside and sits down, waiting to see what Grande wants to do next.
“Laurie,” she says, making her voice deeper than usual.
Laurie’s smile freezes. She can tell something is wrong. She bends her head slightly. “They found him, didn’t they?”
“In the river, yes. This means we now have two dead bodies and only one survivor, you.”
The fact that she doesn’t try to avoid this confrontation makes Grande ease up on her slightly. Her shoulders come down, and she pauses, leaving room for Laurie to explain. Laurie exhales deeply, and tears spring to her eyes.
“I was going to tell you about him,” she says. “But I wanted to tell the story first. It’s important you get the entire story. I want to make sure you understand the background for all that happened. I promise you; I was going to tell you about him.”
Detective Grande lifts both her eyebrows. Jonathan nods calmly. Grande sends him a look of impatience, and he mimics for her to calm down. He reaches over and squeezes Laurie’s hand lightly.
“We have all the time in the world, sweetheart. We appreciate you telling us everything, Laurie; we truly do. Take your time. We know it can’t be easy.”
After Isabella is shot, everything is a little blurry to me. I walk around in a haze I can’t escape. I spend night after night and day after day in the hospital. I have no idea how long I’m there, and if you ask me to tell you what the doctors tell me at this point, I won’t be able to recollect it. There are so many faces, so many words, and so much fear in those days; I can hardly believe I survived it.
Isabella has suffered a gunshot wound to her abdomen, and it came dangerously close to her vital organs. She goes
through so much surgery you wouldn’t think a young girl could possibly endure it. Every day, it’s something new—a fracture here, a piece of bone there. It is like her body has completely shattered. She is breathing through a tube; she’s unable to talk and communicates with us through blinking. Yes, it sounds crazy, but that is all we have. I am being told so many things; I hardly know what to believe. One day, they say she’ll never walk again, the next that she will walk but not be able to utilize her hands. But then she suddenly starts moving both legs and arms, and soon she is sitting up in the bed. After more surgeries, she’s slowly getting better, even though we’re told she’ll need physical therapy afterward to learn how to walk properly, and until then, she’ll need crutches. I am struggling to keep it together and sleep most nights in her room, while Damian stays at my parents’ place. They make sure he gets to school every day and then bring him out to me in the afternoon, where we hang out by Isabella’s side, just praying for her full recovery and reminding ourselves how blessed we are to still have her here with us.
Our prayers are answered as we are able to take her home with us a month later. I take her to my parents’ place, and we stay there for a few days until it finally gets too small for all of us, and I rent an apartment in the condominium building next door. This way, the kids can hang out with their grandparents as much as they want to, but we won’t have to get on each other’s nerves. The apartment is expensive, and I don’t know how long I can continue to pay for it, but my parents have given me money to help me out for now. They don’t want me to worry about getting a job at this point when things are still so new, and Isabella still needs my care.
I haven’t heard anything from Ryan while all this has been going on. After the incident, he was arrested by the SPs, and he told them it was an accident, which I couldn’t tell them wasn’t true. The incident is still under investigation, and he has been released for now. Meanwhile, he has promised to get therapy and to stay away from us. I have gotten a protective order out on him, just in case, so he can’t come near any of us, which makes me feel slightly safer. My biggest concern is him showing up, demanding to see us, trying to get us to come back home. I fear he might be able to persuade us, and then we’re back in that prison it was living with him, always worried we might anger him or trigger his anxiety somehow. I still wake up, bathed in sweat at night, and I dream about him shooting Isabella most nights, but I also often dream about him crying and telling me he never meant for it to happen. I am filled with guilt during the day, wondering why I didn’t move away earlier before things got so bad but also fighting this feeling deep inside me that I somehow pushed him this far. That if I hadn’t started asking him all these questions, accusing him, he wouldn’t have pulled the gun.
