Out Of The Smoke

by Becca Jameson

  Renae glanced over at him. “Alan? That’s your house phone.” She smiled, eyebrows raised when he glanced her way.

  The half-hour trip to get to the motel would be long. If there was going to be a search in the area for Liz—he couldn’t bring himself to think the word “body”—he wanted to be there. Maybe, just maybe, they’d get lucky. Maybe he hadn’t killed her yet.

  Alan leaned forward to pull the officer’s card from his back pocket and redialed the number.

  “Brown here,” he began in a hurried voice.

  “Sorry about that.”

  Brown actually chuckled. “I figured it out quickly. I hope you have someone with you. You’re not thinking too clearly.”

  “My sister.”

  “Good. I’ll call you when I get there and let you know the specifics. Take exit twenty-seven. Gotta go, other line…” He hung up.

  Alan was so antsy his legs were bobbing up and down, his hands sweating as he rubbed them on his jeans.

  Silence filled the car while he waited for Brown to call back. Renae didn’t say a word. Just drove as fast as possible.

  The minutes ticked by. Alan stared at the screen. Were there enough bars? Was it charged? Did he have a signal? He flipped the phone open and closed over and over to make sure it was still working.

  He saw the lit screen indicating a call was coming in before it even rang and yanked it open. “Yes?”

  “Just got here. It’s the motel on the right about a half mile off the exit. You can’t miss it. The area is blocked off. Local police are checking out the car. You won’t be able to get very close yet.”

  You wanna bet? “Okay. Be there in a few.” Please, please, God, let her still be alive.

  Alan closed the phone and stuffed it in his pocket. “Can you drive any faster? Two more exits.”

  “I’m getting there. No need for us to get in an accident on the way.” Renae never took her eyes off the road. She was indeed driving very fast, her hands gripping the steering wheel as though they would fly off the road if she let up the pressure.

  Knees jiggling, Alan gripped the door handle. Come on. His heart raced and his breathing was so heavy he could hear it over the din of the car.

  Finally, the exit and then a quick jaunt down the outer road to the obvious disturbance. Three police cars were on the scene, lights flashing, no sirens. Alan jumped out of the car before Renae even had it in park and ran toward the scene.

  “Whoa there, Mister. Where are you going?” A cop stopped him with his palm.

  “She’s my girlfriend. Have they found her yet? I have to get through.” He spotted Brown across the parking lot with four other officers.

  “Brown?” The brusk man with his hand still on Alan’s chest yelled over to the only cop Alan knew. “He the one you’re expecting?”

  Brown nodded and motioned Alan over with a wave of the hand.

  Alan ran the short distance like it was a track meet he needed to win. He could see the sedan in question behind the building, the only car in the rear.

  “You’ll need to stay out of the way, McCarthy. Let us do our job.”

  “Are you crazy? Time is ticking. What if she’s alive somewhere around here?”

  “Look, she’s not likely to be here at all. He probably traded the car and abandoned this one in the night. We’re checking it for prints now.” Brown put a calm hand on Alan’s shoulder, but it didn’t lesson his anxiety. His hands itched at his side. He kept making fists and releasing them as though he would punch the first person to piss him off. And he would.

  Two officers headed for the car and began dusting it for prints. They peered inside, but shook their heads in indication that nothing was in there.

  “Hey.” An officer hurried over toward them. In fact, he began to run, as he grew closer. “Get back. Get back,” he yelled to no one in particular. He waved his hands frantically in front of him.

  Confusion marred everyone’s faces as they slowly took a step in the indicated direction.

  With his arms spread wide to encompass all five people in the cluster, the officer yelled, “Move. Now… Back.” He pulled his gun and turned toward the building, aiming it back and forth while he spoke. As they all jogged in the indicated direction, Alan kept his gaze on the enraged officer with the pistol.

  “What happened?” Brown asked the question on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

  “There was a mistake. Some confusion.” The cop was breathless, his gaze everywhere at once. Others pulled their weapons. Alan stood behind them, concern overwhelming him. What the hell was happening?

  From the vantage point of the group Alan was with, he could see both the front and the back of the motel. They were backing away from the side of the complex. A woman ran from the office in the front of the building, an officer close on her heals.

  “What confusion? Carson, what’s this about?” Brown demanded. In an intricate practiced display of precision, the five police all had their weapons drawn by now, each in a row scanning for whatever hidden danger only one of them was privy to.

  “That woman is on morning shift,” he spoke low and deep, breathing still heavy. Angling his head toward the frantic lady dashing across the parking lot, he continued, “She arrived as the night manager was leaving and they didn’t really speak. Apparently he was cross with her for being a few minutes late.”

  “And?” Brown was impatient.

  “She didn’t think there were any guests. None were marked on the register. So when she saw the car out back as she took out the trash, she assumed it was another abandoned vehicle. Called the cops. But she was wrong.”

  “It isn’t abandoned? What, man?” Brown spoke, but Alan was thinking the same thing. What the fuck was happening?

  “There is a guest. He’s in number six, presumably. Unless he left on foot.”

  The meaning started to sink in even before Carson continued.

  “If that car belongs to your kidnapper, then he’s most likely still behind that door over there.” Carson motioned again with his head toward a room on the front, near the office.

  “But where’s Liz?” The voice was Alan’s, spoken without him realizing it until he heard himself.

  No one answered, but several seemed to remember he was even with them. Brown turned in his direction, his gaze flicked back and forth between the motel and Alan. “You really must get back. This is a crime scene. I don’t want you to get hurt. We don’t know what Martin has planned, or if he has a weapon.”

  Alan nodded his head in agreement for no apparent reason. There was no way in hell he was going to step back.

  More police vehicles arrived, sirens blaring now. They skidded up to the scene and Alan noticed Renae way off to the side behind the line of cars. Her hands were both covering her mouth in shock, but she was a safe distance away.

  A booming megaphone jerked Alan back to the front, causing him to jump. With his chest pounding as if he’d just run a mile instead of a hundred yards, he listened to the speaker.

  “Come out with your hands up.”

  Nothing.

  “You are surrounded. There is nothing you can do but surrender, Martin. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  Did the curtain move?

  The officers fanned out, pressed Alan back more than he would have liked. Why were they moving away instead of closer?

  Is Liz in that room with him?

  Alan couldn’t breathe. He took short steps back, staying just barely behind the line of officers. A U-shaped arc formed around the front of the motel, pressing Alan closer to the rear.

  “Martin, this is over. Let Elizabeth go. Don’t make this any worse for yourself. Come out with your hands up.” The megaphone made Alan jerk every time he heard the words booming from its wide cone.

  Silence. A woman was sobbing. Alan glanced over to see it was the one who’d run from the building moments ago.

  The door to the room eased open and a man stepped out with his arms in the air. “Don’t shoot. I’m
unarmed.”

  “Down on the ground. Arms out. Now,” the guy with the megaphone yelled.

  The guy was shaking, but slowly kneeled to the ground and then lay down in defeat. “That bitch was asking for it,” he yelled.

  Alan nearly screamed. He had to bite into his thumb to hold back his anger. What did he mean? Where was she?

  Cops ran at the man from every angle, guns aimed at him ready for any false move. Two officers pushed the door open and went into the room while Alan waited, his feet ambling forward with no regard for his own personal safety.

  Moments later, they came back out.

  “Where is she?” One of them screamed down at Matthew while others were in the process of cuffing him. “What did you do with your wife, Martin?”

  Shrill laughter cut through the still air. “Fuck you, and fuck her. Get me a lawyer.” Martin rolled onto his side and kept laughing.

  He was a psychopath. Insane.

  Now what?

  “How many times do I have to tell you to get back?” Alan jerked toward Brown who frowned at him and pointed behind the building. “This is not a safe area yet. Get back and let us do our job. If Liz is in the area, we’ll find her. Move.”

  Alan backed up toward the car. What if Martin had killed her already? What did he do with her? Would he have dragged her body into the woods right here and left her?

  Alan held his breath, headed toward the car and peered inside just as the police already had. He was careful not to touch anything and ruin evidence. There wasn’t anything inside. He cupped his hands over his face to block the rising sun. Not a trace of evidence that he’d even used the vehicle. It was almost too tidy. Not even a napkin or takeout cup on the floor.

  Fuck. Where was she? Should he start searching the woods?

  Something caught his attention. The tiniest noise over the voices behind him. His mind was probably playing tricks on him, but he froze and gazed around the area. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought the car jerked. What was that? Shit. It did move. It happened again, a distinct swaying. The trunk! Why hadn’t anyone thought of that?

  “Liz.” Alan ran the few steps back to the car, not caring a bit about prints anymore. “I’m here. I’m coming. Hang on.” He turned his voice the other way. “Help! Someone help me.” With his fingers, he pulled on the lip of the trunk as though that were going to be enough to open it. He needed to open the driver’s side door and pop it. He ran around the car. Locked. “Help,” he screamed again. “She’s in the fucking trunk!”

  Loud voices. Yelling. And then others surrounded the car. Alan ran to the rear again, pulling on it futilely. A crash sounded, broken glass shattering, and then a pop and the lid sprang open. Alan hadn’t taken his eyes off the trunk.

  God almighty. Alan reached in with both hands and pulled a terrified Liz into his arms. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He squeezed her body against his, her pounding heart the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.

  Someone pried her away a few inches and gently pulled the tape from her mouth. She just sobbed, sucked huge lungs full of air into her body and laid her head against Alan’s shoulder while another officer cut the ropes clear of her hands.

  “I’m so sorry,” Alan mumbled into her hair. He could kick himself for all the time they’d waited in a standoff with the bastard in the motel room, ignoring the car in their faces.

  Slender weak arms clung to him, wrapped around his neck and held on for dear life.

  “We need to get her to a hospital.” Brown had his hand on Alan’s shoulder, his look of great concern when Alan glanced up. “She’s been in there a long time. She’s dehydrated.”

  Liz moaned, but didn’t speak. Alan cradled the back of her head with his entire palm to keep it from swaying off his chest and lulling to the side. She was barely coherent.

  An ambulance pulled into the parking lot and sped toward them. Two paramedics jumped out and flung open the rear of the vehicle to pull out a stretcher.

  “Mr. McCarthy, you have to let her go. Let the medics do their job.” Brown’s voice seemed far away. “Alan?”

  In slow motion, Alan carried Liz’s shivering body over to the gurney and laid her on the stark white sheets. “I’m right here, baby. Right beside you.” He let his grasp on her slide away until all he had was her hand in his own. A death grip that had to be painful, but he didn’t care. She was here. She was alive.

  People spoke all around him, but Alan only stared into Liz’s eyes and held her gaze. Huge green eyes filled with fear that said, “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t, baby. I’m right here.”

  *

  The ride in the ambulance had been a quick one and then Liz was whisked away down a hall. Alan trailed at the rear, not willing to lose sight of her but knowing the doctors needed some space to do their job.

  They rounded the corner to a room and carefully lifted her onto a hospital bed. She hadn’t spoken since he’d first hauled her out of the trunk. She was conscious, but her head was rolling back and forth in obvious pain, her eyes closed. Alan tried to squeeze into the room as the gurney from the ambulance was removed, but a hand stopped him.

  “Sir, we need you to wait out here for a few minutes. Let us get her stabilized.” The doctor waited for eye contact and when Alan looked from his palm resting on Alan’s arm to the man’s stern gaze, he took a deep breath. “I promise we’ll let you in as soon as possible.”

  Alan nodded. He couldn’t see what they were doing, but several doctors and nurses leaned over Liz’s bruised body. Alan laid his head a little too hard against the wall and winced at the contact. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on his calves to catch his breath. When was the last time he’d breathed easily? Yesterday?

  She’s here. She’s going to be okay.

  “Sir?” Someone had silently stepped out. “You can go in now. But let the nurses still do their job.”

  Alan pushed through the door. Liz was already in a hospital gown lying on the bed. One nurse carefully rinsed her right wrist with some sort of baster over a plastic tub while another arranged an IV on the far side. Her face was splotchy and red, a distinct raised red rectangle all around her mouth from duct tape.

  The first word he heard was “ouch” which made him cringe, but then he smiled. Her small cry meant she was reacting appropriately to the pain.

  He tiptoed closer and gently laid a hand on her thigh to draw her attention from the wound on her arm. He hadn’t expected her to be awake, or nearly as lucid yet. She jerked her hand from the nurse’s grip and opened her eyes, seeming far more coherent than before.

  When she turned to look at him, her face was almost blank for a long moment before a slight smile curved the corners of her mouth.

  He tightened his grip on her thigh.

  “Ouch,” she said again. She flinched and pulled her other arm from the grip of the IV nurse. “That really hurts.” Her voice was extremely hoarse.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I need to get this IV in. It’s hard to find a vein. You’re so dehydrated.” The nurse leaned over for another attempt. Alan watched the blood drain from Liz’s face. Her whole body grew tight.

  “Look at me,” he soothed while placing his hand on her cheek. “Relax for just a moment so she can get the IV in. You need the fluids.”

  Liz grit her teeth while the nurse performed tortuous acupuncture on her bruised and battered forearm. Alan wished he could take the pain for her. He’d endure anything if it meant she never had to suffer again.

  “Done,” the nurse finally proclaimed and quietly left the room.

  Thank God. Alan had been holding his breath and stared into Liz’s pain-filled eyes.

  Apparently, Liz had been also, because she exhaled for several seconds and relaxed into the pillow while her face loosened to a more natural state.

  Alan continued to grip her leg and hold her gaze while they waited for the remaining nurse to address first one wrist and then the other.

  “I’m
going to leave these wounds open for now, until the doctor can check them to see if you need any stitches. Try to hang tight for just a little while and then I’ll be able to put some ointment on them.” The nurse grabbed her things and left.

  Alan couldn’t have described a single detail about her because he’d never lost eye contact with Liz.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said as he moved in closer and then kissed her gently on the cheek.

  When he pulled away a few scant inches, tears were slowly creating a little stream down her cheeks. “Did they get him? Matthew?”

  “Yes. He’s in custody.”

  Liz shook her head back and forth. “You don’t know him, Alan. He gets away with everything.”

  “Not this time, babe.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Not this time. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “I’ll be in trouble, won’t I? For leaving New York like that.” Her voice was raspy, faint.

  “I know a good lawyer. You’ll be fine.” Alan smiled.

  He wanted more contact with her, needed to know she was really here in his arms. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already was. He settled for a hand on her upper arm, shaking with emotion.

  The tears increased and he pulled back to wipe them gently off her tender cheeks, reddened from hours of crying and her skin’s reaction to the tape. “Liz?”

  “Yeah?” She searched his eyes.

  “I know we barely just met, but I think I’m in love with you.”

  The tears increased. “Could you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.” As long as it involves you staying in my life.

  “Please don’t jog at six o’clock in the morning anymore.” Her coy grin lit up her face.

  “Done.” Alan leaned in to lay a tender kiss on her lips.

  The End

  About the Author:

  Becca Jameson lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and two kids. When she isn't writing, she can be found reading, editing, scrapbooking, running, swimming, biking, or taxiing kids all over creation. She doesn't sleep much…or sit down often…but she loves to be busy! To learn more about Becca Jameson, visit her blog at www.beccajameson.com or email her at beccajameson4@aol.com