by Jo Crow
With no car, few allies, and the police on my tail, three hours would be cutting it close. I’d need to stick to the woods and the back roads. If any one of the townsfolk saw me, I knew word would spread, and the police would be there in a heartbeat.
So I ran.
I ran until my lungs were shriveled and my hamstrings ached. I ran until my mouth tasted like metal. I ran until sweat beaded in my eyelashes and slid down my face.
But at last, I arrived.
McNair Furniture, with its crooked, hanging C and grungy facade, loomed before me. Withered, too-tall weeds sprouted around the foundation. Cracked cement was colored orange with rust run down from the side of the building after years of neglect.
No one could be ready for something like this, but I didn’t hesitate as I stepped through the open front door. I’d get my son back, or I’d die trying.
36
The front door leading into McNair Furniture opened to a vast workshop area where laborer’s stations had once been set up to assemble furniture. Only remnants of those stations remained—decrepit tables, some upright, some thrown aside, chairs missing their legs or cracked down the middle of their seats left haphazardly on the floor, and an assortment of rusted tools and other odds and ends I didn’t recognize. The pipes running across the high ceilings overhead were in a state of disrepair, and one of them had burst. Water had eroded some of the concrete flooring, leaving a shallow basin that now grew mold. The place smelled damp and musty, like a basement with a drainage issue.
The once proud factory had fallen into ruin, a ghost in a town that was dying in its absence.
Amanda stood in the center of the wreckage, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Beside her, frighteningly tall, was her father—Blake Harwood.
“So glad you could make it, Clara,” Amanda called to me. Her voice echoed through the huge room. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t show. You haven’t met my Uncle Jake, have you? We got in touch a few years ago, and he’s been my favorite relative ever since.”
An uncle. I swallowed, stepping forward. So I hadn’t been seeing things—Amanda did have help. It must have been Jake who’d set fire to the staff house that night, giving Amanda the chance to form the perfect alibi with Detective Elkins while I dug my own grave and made baseless accusations.
“Where’s James?” I demanded. My voice shook from the physical exertion of getting to the factory, and from the fear of the unknown. “I want to see my son.”
“James is somewhere safe, for now. He’s in the building. First things first, we have to make sure you aren’t trying to pull a fast one on us. Come over here. I want to take a look in that purse.”
Damn it. I knew it was a gamble, but I had hoped the cards would fall in my favor. I should have known better. Hickory Hills had been one disaster after another, and the small amount of luck I’d come across was too sparse to be dependable.
Sick to my stomach, I crossed the room slowly, making sure not to move suddenly. Jake Harwood, a gorilla of a man, had a revolver trained on me. I wouldn’t give him reason to use it.
The closer I drew, the more I wanted to run away. Sunlight streamed down from above in strips, whether from windows or from tears in the roofing, I didn’t know. It shone across Amanda’s face in ribbon-like segments so I could see the unhinged glint in her eyes and the smug upward turn of her lips.
Jake Harwood wasn’t anymore pleasant to look at.
When I was within arm’s reach, Amanda held out a hand and made me stop. “Before I go looking in that purse of yours, do you have anything you want to tell me about? Am I going to find something naughty in there, Clara? You were always such a troubled young woman.”
The position of power over me excited her—I could see it in her eyes as clearly as I could hear it in her words. I didn’t want to admit to the weapon in my bag, but I knew I had no other choice. “There’s a revolver in there.”
Amanda arched a brow. “Oh, Clara. You poor, sweet, idiot.”
“Did you expect me to come here unarmed?”
“To be honest, I thought maybe you would.” Amanda shrugged. “It makes no difference. In fact, it’s going to make what I want easier. Uncle Jake, can you please tell her what to do?”
Jake looked me over, his face nothing but cooled wrath. “Take the gun out of the bag and hold it to your head.”
I looked between the two of them, stalling for time.
“Take the gun out of your purse, Clara,” Amanda hissed, “and put it against your head. Let it kiss your temple. You don’t have to take the safety off just yet. All I want is to see it.”
Hands trembling, I opened my purse and drew the revolver from inside. Jake kept his gun trained on me, and I knew if I tried anything, he would shoot.
“That’s it, Clara,” Amanda said, grinning. “Lift it up. Put it against your head.”
My elbow didn’t want to bend and my injured wrist from my encounter with Jake in the grocery store parking lot might as well have been cooked spaghetti, but despite the protestation of my body, I lifted the revolver and placed the muzzle against my temple. The kiss of metal made me want to scream, but all that emerged was a terrified whimper.
Amanda laughed. “Oh my god, do that again.”
I couldn’t. Just like in my nightmare, my feet were rooted to the floor, and my body was made of lead.
“Whatever. You’re such a spoilsport.” Amanda rolled her eyes. “But I guess it doesn’t matter. Once was enough. Now I’ve got you in position, I’m going to tell you exactly what I need you to do.”
I didn’t nod. I didn’t even breathe. The tension locked down my body and narrowed my focus. I could only listen to Amanda and scramble for ways to get out of this situation unscathed.
“If you want James to live, I want you to click off the safety and pull the trigger.”
Another scream emerged as a whimper, and I blinked back sudden tears. Amanda cackled. She shook her head and took a few steps back.
“What are you waiting for, Clara? Thinking twice about how much you value that little boy’s life? You know, if you don’t do it and I have to kill you, I’m going to let him see your body. I’m going to make sure he realizes you killed yourself, and you hated him so much that you felt you had to die.”
“No.” I was barely able to get the syllable out.
Amanda didn’t listen. “Then, once he knows you’re dead and it was all his fault, I’m going to make sure he gets assigned to an inner city foster program—the most underfunded, the roughest, the most brutal—and he’ll spend the rest of his very short life being beaten as his health worsens while you rot on your dead daddy’s factory floor.”
I knew she was trying to get into my head. It was working.
“What would your little boy think if he knew how helpless you looked now?” Amanda circled me, and I followed her with my eyes as my heart hammered. “He looks up to you, doesn’t he? He thinks you’re his world. But sometimes, our gods die, don’t they?”
“You don’t have to do this.” My nose was running, but I couldn’t lift my hand to stop it. “We can solve this another way. There has to be something else you want, something we could work together toward—”
“Really?” Amanda stopped circling and approached me head-on so quickly I was sure she was about to push me down. I braced myself for an impact that didn’t come. Instead, she brought her face so close to mine that the tips of our noses brushed. “You really think this is something we can just work out?”
A primal part of my mind parsed out the details before the logical part of my mind could. The way Amanda was standing blocked Jake’s line of fire, and Jake looked so smug with the situation that he wasn’t moving to correct course.
My window of time was limited. In a heartbeat, Amanda might move away. I had to take my chances when I could.
I sank my knee into Amanda’s gut, a feral cry parting from my lips. Amanda, unprepared for the violence, toppled backward and collided with Jake.
&
nbsp; I dove away, but before I could get far, a shot went off. I thought for sure I was dead. I waited to lose consciousness, sure that by the time I hit the floor I’d feel the blood dripping from my temple, but instead, something heavy collapsed to the ground seconds after I met the unfinished concrete.
Jake Harwood.
What happened next went too quickly for me to process, so I gave in to instinct and let my body do what it would. I swung the gun up to point at Amanda, but she was already on the move. She’d snatched Jake’s revolver, and she dove behind a table.
“Get to cover, McNair,” a gruff, familiar voice barked at me from nearby. Stunned, I looked toward the source. Detective Elkins. While Amanda and Jake had been distracted, he’d sneaked through the warehouse in order to fire off the shot that had saved my life. “The police have this from here.”
“Like hell you do!” Amanda screeched. A shot went off, and I felt the bullet singe the air next to my face. With a startled gasp, I scrambled across the ground and dove for the nearest knocked over table. I took shelter as Amanda cussed. Another shot went off, but whether it belonged to Detective Elkins or Amanda, I didn’t know. I tried to count the pops of gunfire, but gave up before long. I had no idea how many rounds Detective Elkins had, or if Amanda’s revolver was fully loaded. Counting wouldn’t keep me safe. Action would.
I heard Amanda’s footsteps—much lighter than Detective Elkins’s—approach my table. Another gunshot went off, and I barely had time to scramble away before she encroached on my cover and opened fire. One pop went off. Then another.
Then, searing pain.
I shrieked and fell, my revolver skittering across the ground until it hit a chair six feet away. The pain was unbearable. The heat originated in my calf, and it burned up through my leg and infected my stomach almost instantly. More than anything, I wanted to curl up on the ground into a tight ball until the pain subsided, but I knew if I stopped moving I would die. So instead, I started to crawl, dragging my leg behind me.
Far in the distance, almost a whisper, I heard James shrieking.
I needed to get my gun back. I needed to end this.
“McNair!” Detective Elkins bellowed. A new sound had joined James’s shrieking—the distant wail of sirens.
Someone landed on top of me, crushing the back of my knees with their own. The pressure made my gunshot wound hurt a thousand times more, and the resulting howl of agony that escaped my lips was nearly inhuman. Arms locked around my chest and flipped me over so I was the one on top.
Amanda.
She sat up, pinning me to her chest. She still held her gun, but she hadn’t thought to point it at me yet.
“Try to shoot at me now, you bastard!” Amanda clutched me harder, using me as a human shield as Detective Elkins approached.
She was high from the fight and getting sloppy, and I saw my chance. My eyes met Detective Elkins’s for just a split second, hoping he’d see my intent, before I slammed my head backward and crushed Amanda’s face with my skull. The crunch was grotesque but satisfying, and her scream was all the sweeter when the revolver tumbled from her hand.
Detective Elkins sprinted for us, tore me off Amanda, and pinned her to the floor. I landed roughly to the side, sweaty, and panicked, and in so much pain my leg had started to go numb. But alive.
I was alive.
Police officers flooded the building. Amanda hissed and spat and screamed, but no matter how much of a fight she put up, Detective Elkins did not relinquish his hold. The world sharpened for a second, like I’d just turned on high definition streaming after living my life in low resolution, then faded out completely.
I hit the ground; far away, I heard a man shout for a paramedic. The world sounded like it was underwater, distant shouts muffled by the rushing in my ears. My mind struggled to swim through the same heavy waters that drowned out my auditory senses, thoughts coming in fragments I couldn’t quite put together.
James.
I needed to get to James.
Somewhere, he was waiting for me, safe for now, but certainly not safe forever.
“My son.” My voice cracked, and I was unsure if anyone could hear me, but I needed to do something. “He’s here. He needs me.”
Through the rushing in my ears, I heard him sobbing. The sound grew closer, and so did the footsteps of the officers who’d stormed the building.
There was nothing left to fear.
My last thoughts before I thought nothing at all were how glad I’d be to hold James once I woke up, and how good it would be to run my fingers through his hair without worrying it would be the last time I’d ever do it. We’d finish the documentary, be paid our wages, and get him into the hospital for treatment, no matter what it took. After what we’d just been through, it would be nothing at all to see out the filming.
I would walk to the end of the earth if it meant James would live, knowing that, when I arrived, we could walk back together.
Epilogue
I popped the plastic lid off the square piece of cake, then set it on my lap as I tore into the packaging containing the candle. The thin cardboard back tore easily, and the wax 4 tumbled onto my palm.
James watched, enchanted.
“Where should I put the candle, birthday boy?” I asked. Thick chocolate frosting would help it set wherever James wanted. “In the middle?”
James nodded, gaze latched onto the candle in my hand.
I worked the bottom of the candle down through the frosting and into the cake, then pulled a lighter from my pocket and flicked the striker. Flame burst to life, and I exposed it to the wick until it caught. Then, smiling, I set the lighter aside and held the slice of cake up for James to see.
“Happy birthday to you,” I sang, grinning. “Happy birthday to you.”
James looked up at me. The flame glistened in his eyes.
“Happy birthday, dear James, happy birthday to you.”
There was no one to clap but James didn’t care. He smiled at me, sweet, like only a four-year-old could be, then blew out the candle. I cheered, James cheered, then he settled down beside me on the picnic blanket and waited patiently for one of the plastic forks I’d brought outside just for the occasion.
A lot had happened in the past thirteen months. After a short hearing in court, Amanda had been found guilty and sentenced to fifty years to life in prison. There was a part of me wished I could get through to her and reverse the damage done, but I knew it wasn’t my place. My place was here, beside James, in front of the recently renovated McNair house.
I’d brought my own crime to the attention of the authorities and, after a brief investigation, I wasn’t charged. The cause of Rachel Harwood’s death was officially changed from suicide to accidental death. My status as a juvenile at the time of the accident, together with the fact any evidence that could be collected was long outdated, and all the witnesses were deceased, meant there was no case to answer.
It was behind me now. I passed James a plastic fork and removed the candle from the cake, and he dug right in. While he ate, I tilted my head back to watch the sky. After a lengthy stay in Boston, I’d forgotten how clear the air was here, and how bright blue the sky could be outside a big city. It hadn’t been an easy decision to come back, but it was the right one. I’d exorcized my demons, and I knew I couldn’t leave my hometown to languish. I would continue the good work my father had started.
“McNair.”
The Appletons were out of town, and I hadn’t expected anyone to show up for James’s birthday party, so his voice came as a pleasant surprise. I looked toward the driveway to find him on his way up the lawn, his cruiser parked not all that far away. “Hello, Detective Elkins.”
“Tony, please,” Detective Elkins said. “Not unless you plan on getting in trouble with the law any time soon.”
“I hope not.”
Tony chuckled. He had a box wrapped in reflective blue paper in one hand, which he passed to James, and a Manila envelope that he handed to me. James
was too interested in cake to pay the present much notice. “I thought it was a rumor you were back in town. Thought I’d go check it out for myself.”
“We’re back,” I said with finality, setting down the envelope on the blanket next to me. “While we were at the hospital, I had crews in to renovate the house and fix up the staff houses in the back—guest houses, now.”
“I heard the rumblings around town that this place was being turned into a vacation spot. I didn’t know you’d be the one in charge.” Tony sat on the blanket a respectful distance from James and myself. He’d admitted his mistake and apologized, but I got the feeling there were still sore feelings between us. Coming to visit was a start. “The place looks nice.”
“Thanks. Royalties from the documentary surpassed what I’d expected. We’re turning the old house into a bed and breakfast. I can’t bring McNair Furniture back, but I thought maybe I could revive the economy a little by bringing in some tourism. So far, so good. We’re already booked for a full year.”
“Impressive.”
I smiled at him, letting him know things between us were okay. “I’ll be able to keep staff employed here at the McNair Resort, and I’m sure it will generate other jobs. Souvenir shops, restaurants… I’m hopeful it will spark the change in fortune Hickory Hills needs so badly.”
“I take it James is doing better, then?”
I looked in James’s direction, thrilled to be able to share the news at last—even if it was with a man who’d once been my enemy. “He took really well to the experimental treatment, and he didn’t have to go back for as many rounds as they initially believed he might need. According to every specialist he’s seen, the gliomas have vanished. He’s cured.”
James looked up from his cake, then went back to eating. It wouldn’t be long before he was finished with the slice.
“We need to have annual check-ups, but the outlook is good. The doctors think he’ll live a long, healthy life.”
“Glad to hear it.” Tony stretched, then slowly climbed to his feet. “It was a mistake to sit down. These old bones aren’t getting any younger.”
