I felt Mom’s hand on my cheek. “Then I guess you’d better start taking some new ones, sweetie.”
I straightened suddenly and swiped at my tears with both hands. “Wait. Dad, do you have your cell with you? I know you can’t use it in here, but I can take it out into the main corridor, right?”
“Absolutely. Once you clear the double doors out there, you’re good to go.” He leaned to one side to dig it out of his back pocket. “What do you have up your sleeve?” He handed it over to me without waiting for my explanation.
“Do you have Mrs. Ransome’s number in here? If not, I can call Jordan and get it.”
“I do. You don’t think we were going to let you date Jordan without having both his parents on speed dial, do you?” Dad winked at me and I stuck my tongue out at him, the way I used to when he teased me.
“Stella is number five,” Mom said. “I programmed it in for him.” Of course she had. Mom was the best unofficial secretary Dad could ever wish for.
“Well, she has Killian. She can take some pictures and send them to your phone!” I jumped up, leaned way over the bed, and kissed Mom very carefully on the chin. Hurrying from the room, I promised to be right back with a phone full of pictures to show Mom.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I pushed through the double doors of the unit and out into the wide connecting halls where the elevators were, already holding the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Ron,” came Stella’s voice. She sounded a little wary. “Is everything all right with Beatrice?”
“Hi, Stella, it’s me, Savannah. I borrowed my dad’s phone. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I heard her release a quick breath of relief. “Are you wondering how Killian’s doing?”
I grimaced through my smile. In fact, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind to ask how Killian was doing. “Always,” I said.
“Gina and I built the boys a tent and they’ve been in there for the last hour, reading books and going through the toy basket, one piece of plastic at a time. I think your son’s excitement over it all has sparked a renewed interest in things those two haven’t played with in ages. In other words, all is well.”
“That’s so good. I almost had a little meltdown in the car on my way here. I told Jordan I knew Killian would be fine without me, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to do without him.”
“I understand completely,” Stella murmured good-naturedly. “Oh! And we had beginner’s luck in the bathroom about half an hour ago. Those two little boys are pros when it comes to dunking Cheerios in the toilet.”
“Cheerios? What?” She’d lost me there.
“Oh, goodness. Oldest trick in the book. Dunk the Cheerios. Worked like a charm for my boys, so here’s hoping it will work for yours. Dump a couple of Cheerios in the toilet and have them aim and shoot.” I was laughing by the time she finished explaining, wishing I’d been there to see it. I’d have to grab a box of cereal at the store along with diapers. “I took pictures, too. I hope that’s all right. They were just so cute.”
“Oh, that’s perfect! That’s actually the real reason I’m calling.” I explained to her my plan, and she happily agreed.
“I’ll get right on it. Give me about ten minutes so I can get a few candids and a few posed, then I’ll send them right over.”
I hung up and hugged the phone to my chest. After a brief debate on whether or not to go back inside, I opted to wait in the hall so I’d know as soon as the pictures came in. I had no pockets so I shoved the phone in my bra, wishing I’d worn my jeans instead of the wrap-around skirt I had on, and crossed the corridor to a shallow alcove with a window that overlooked the front of the hospital. It wasn’t a very scenic view, but I liked people watching. There were three chairs against the wall several feet from the alcove; I grabbed two and scooted them over into the sunbeam slanting through the window. Turning them face to face so I could sit in one and prop my feet up on the other, I crossed my arms over my chest and slouched. Warmth spilled over me. I closed my eyes and sighed, beginning to feel my almost sleepless night.
I didn’t hear him approach, so I wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing behind me, but when my left foot began to tingle, I straightened up and shifted positions a little. A movement in the reflection in the window caught my eye. I gasped and spun around in my seat, my feet slipping off the chair in front of me. There stood Marek, King of the Gypsies, staring down at me with an eerily neutral smile on his face.
“Hello, Savah. I see you were not lying to me about the hospital at least.”
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, lurching to my feet. The hallway remained empty except for the two of us.
“I’m here to bring you home. Why else would I be here?” His expression didn’t change. He didn’t come nearer, but his position had me cut off from any escape. “You missed a good crowd yesterday. We lost money because of you, you know. People came to see Salome and were sorely disappointed.” His eyes raked up and down my body, turning my blood to ice water in my veins. “You owe me, Savah.”
“I’m not going with you. My mother needs me. I told you that.” I crossed my arms to stop my hands from shaking, but I hoped he’d see it as an act of defiance. Surely, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to grab or hit me here, where there was probably at least one security camera trained on us even now.
“Oh, no, no, no.” He shook a finger at me and took a small step closer. “You did not tell me anything. You just left. No phone call, nothing.”
“I tried calling you several times!” I declared.
“With this?” He held up my phone, the face of it sporting a starburst crack. “How could you call me several times if you didn’t have your phone?”
“You know what I mean, Marek. I called you from my parents’ house—”
“The one from the blocked caller ID, right?” He made air quotes around the words. I continued without acknowledging his statement.
“And then from here…” My voice faded away. I’d called him from the hospital. I’d led him right to me.
“And then from here. Yes.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head, his tone patronizing. “You were not hard to find, Savah. You and your trusting preacher daddy with his number listed for the entire world to know. At first, I worried Ronald Clark would be too generic to trace, but when you called from the hospital, I called and asked to be transferred to your mother’s room. I believe your father, himself, picked up the phone. I do not know for sure, though. I did not introduce myself, and neither did he.” All traces of his fake accent were gone. He took another step toward me. “From there, I just looked up Ronald and Beatrice Clark and voilà! I found you.”
“How do you know my parents’ names?” I was shocked into asking. Sure, anyone could “google” anything on the internet, but Marek wasn’t computer savvy at all. I’d been surprised when he’d changed his cell phone to a smart phone a few years back, and I knew he rarely used it for the Internet services. He usually just handed it to me when he needed something looked up. But I’d never told him anything about my family. I hadn’t even told him my real name when I came to him to ask for help.
“Do you really think I didn’t know they were looking for you? Your face—and their names—were on every television screen in Southern California for several weeks.” He held out a hand toward me. “Shall we go now?”
“Go where? I’m not going anywhere with you.” I still felt bold enough to stand my ground for the time being. If he tried to drag me away, they’d be waiting for him at the front entrance.
“Of course you are going with me.” He reached into a linen bag he had slung over his shoulder and pulled out his phone, swiping it open to the last picture he’d taken.
Stella Ransome had her back to the camera, but I could still tell it was her. She stood in front of her house with her phone, taking a picture of Killian, LB, and Gina standing in the middle of one of Stella’s gorgeous flowerbeds beside the front porch. Gin
a leaned forward over a bush as if she were smelling a flower. Killian and LB both squatted on their haunches, studying the ground between them. They must have discovered some kind of bug in the dirt.
Marek had just been at my house. At the Ransome’s house. He knew where Killian was.
Oh, God, how long was I dozing? My hand flew to my chest to grab my phone, but mid-flutter, it occurred to me that Marek didn’t know I had one. He couldn’t know I had a phone. I pressed my palm to my sternum instead, my fingers moving along my neckline to make sure the corner of the phone wasn’t protruding. I was not well endowed, so hiding a phone in my bra wasn’t an easy feat, but I’d grabbed one of my dad’s baggy cardigans on my way out the door as a preventative measure against the chill from the hospital’s air conditioning, and it covered far more than my lightweight peasant top did. I just prayed the phone was on silent; he’d hear it if it vibrated.
“I’m his father. Savah. I don’t care who that woman is; she can’t keep him from me. You’ll come with me now, without any signs of duress, mind you, or I’ll head right back over to the picturesque Maple Avenue—I can be there in fifteen minutes if I hurry—and pick up my son from the babysitter’s house.” He wriggled his fingers at me. “Come, my love. Let’s go home. Now.”
I didn’t take his hand, but I nodded compliantly and stepped forward to join him as we made our way to the elevators.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Our caravan usually camped near whatever event we performed at. Because most of us didn’t have mortgages and other normal living expenses, we usually made enough at the larger events not to have to take on other gigs in between weekends. The Southern California Pleasure Faire was one such event for many of the performers and merchants, and especially during the last week of the Faire, we made very few plans, other than to celebrate a good run with the rest of the campers and the assorted riffraff of camp followers and social misfits who found sanctuary in our midst. It was our unofficial week of R&R before the final show—before the final huzzah that would send us all on our various merry ways.
So I knew Marek had no place he needed to be today, no one expecting him to show up for anything. Which meant he had all day to make me pay for what I’d done.
I felt as if my feet were dragging through quicksand, and my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it, but I held my head up and walked beside him on shaking legs, desperate to look normal. As we stepped out into the ninety-degree day, I hugged my father’s cardigan around me, cold to the bone.
And I prayed he’d forget about Killian, that he’d be satisfied with taking only me with him, and leave my baby in the care of people who would take care of him even better than I could. I fought back tears as I poured all the love in my heart into prayers for Killian, begging God to make sure my son never doubted how much I loved him. I was certain that once I left Midtown, Marek had no intention of letting me come back. I didn’t know how, but even if he had to kill me, he’d never let me away from him again.
I clung to the thin thread of hope that the phone in my shirt was a lifeline. I just needed a chance to use it.
Marek didn’t touch me once the whole long walk across the parking lot and out to the street beyond the pan of the security cameras. But the moment we turned the corner out of sight of the hospital, he wrapped his fingers around my arm just above my elbow and squeezed so hard my fingers went numb. I let out a small yelp and tried not to flinch, but I couldn’t help it.
Marek continued to walk along beside me, not looking at me, but he didn’t let up on his grip, propelling me forward at an increasing speed the farther we got from the hospital. We must have walked almost a mile before he jerked me toward a little truck I didn’t recognize parked on the side of the road beside an empty lot. Tears of pain and fear streamed down my face, but I concentrated on making no sounds. No matter what he did to me, I had to stay alert, conscious, alive long enough to use the phone.
“Climb over,” he commanded. “And no funny business.” He opened the driver’s side door and all but threw me inside.
My forehead cracked against the doorframe, and I whimpered softly as little sparks pinged before my eyes for a moment. I scrambled over the middle console, clutching at my chest, hoping the phone wouldn’t fall out of my shirt in the process. Hunkering down in the passenger seat, I pressed my forehead where I could feel a goose egg already starting to form beneath my palm.
He climbed in behind me, settled into the driver’s seat, and put both hands on the steering wheel. Turning to me, he smiled, his eyes wide, and in a cheerful voice, he asked, “So. We have the whole day ahead of us, Savah, dear.” He’d never called me ‘dear’ before, and my stomach churned to hear it now. “What shall we do?”
I said nothing. My head hurt badly, and I was more afraid to speak than to stay silent.
“You don’t have any suggestions? Come, Savah.” He reached over and pulled my hand away from my forehead, but he didn’t acknowledge the injury at all. “This is your day. We do what you want.”
I stared straight ahead out the window, willing someone—anyone—to come along, someone who might sense the danger I was in. The street remained empty.
And I remained quiet. Terrified and quiet. But I couldn’t stop the tears sliding down my face.
“Why are you crying, Savah? Why are you sad? Aren’t you happy to have a whole day with me all to yourself? Isn’t this what you’ve wanted for months—no, years? ‘Stay home today, Marek. Don’t go out tonight, Marek. Why don’t you spend some time with me, Marek?’ Well, here I am, woman. Ready to do your bidding! So tell me what you want to do today.” He squeezed my fingers so hard the bones of my knuckles ground together. “Tell me, Savah.”
Closing my eyes, I clenched my jaw to hold back the groan of pain. I hated the sound of my false name on his lips.
“Now!” he roared into the stillness. I yelped in surprise and stiffened against my seat back, waiting for the blow to come. I wouldn’t close my eyes—I’d learned the hard way to keep them opened. At least I’d know what was coming that way.
But he didn’t hit me. He kept my hand in a vice grip, but he didn’t strike me.
“I—I don’t know,” I whispered, not sure what he wanted to hear.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You knew what you wanted to do when you left camp Saturday. You knew what you wanted to do when you packed your belongings and ran away in the middle of the night.” Was he talking about now or three years ago? “You knew what you wanted to do when you left our son in the care of a stranger on Maple Avenue this morning. You knew what you wanted to do when you climbed in the car with that man who looked like he wanted to eat you for breakfast. Tell me something—did he? Has he already gotten a good taste of you?” His false smile was turning to a sneer. “Well?” His voice rose. “Did you throw yourself at him like you did me? Did you spread your—”
“No,” I cried out, not even wanting him to speak the words out loud. “No. These people are my family, Marek. My friends and neighbors.”
“How dare you!” His yell filled the interior of the truck, intensifying the pain in my head. It was sweltering in the tiny cab, but he didn’t seem to notice. I, on the other hand, was having a difficult time getting enough oxygen to keep my thoughts straight. “No!” he shouted again, banging his free fist on the steering wheel. “I am your family—your only family—and the other members of our troupe are your neighbors. You left this place and came to me, remember? You begged me to take you, to give you a place to stay. You—” He released my hand and jabbed a finger into my cheek. I whimpered. “—said your past was dead to you, Savah. Remember?” He poked me again, and I jerked my head away.
“Stop, please! You’re hurting me.” I knew it wouldn’t help, but I was afraid he might just shove his finger right through my cheek if he kept this up.
“I’m hurting you? No, you hurt me when you left me,” he roared again, pounding on the console between us now.
“I know, I kn
ow. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” My mind scrambled for a way out of this, a way to calm him down enough so I could try to reason with him. Suddenly, an idea occurred to me. It was far-fetched, but maybe in his twisted frame of mind, he might believe it. “I just wanted things to go back to the way they were, Marek. Before Killian came along and changed everything.” I trembled as the lies began to ooze from me like toxins, my own words making me want to wretch. “I miss you. You said it yourself. How many times have I asked you to stay home with me? To spend time with me? I know Killian is the problem. I know that now.”
Marek didn’t say anything, but when I worked up the courage to look over at him, he was staring at me with narrowed eyes, a scathing scowl on his face. I hurried on.
“When I ran into Jordan on Saturday, I got scared and thought they would try to take me away from you. But when he called to tell me about my mom’s accident, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to give them Killian. To win you back without him in the way anymore.” I reached across the console and laid a hand on his leg. The long muscles bunched beneath my palm, and I moved my fingers along the inside of his thigh encouragingly. He lowered his gaze to my hand, and his smile softened the tiniest bit. “But for now, I need to go back, Marek. If I go back now, I can explain my absence. I’ll tell them I slipped and bumped my head—I even have proof of it.” I fluttered the fingers of my other hand at my forehead, but I didn’t stop stroking Marek’s leg. “But if I don’t go back now, they’ll come looking for me. For you. We still have the show to do next weekend, Marek. They’ll call the police and send them after you. Do you understand me? You’ve… said some things that have them worried about you—”
A Long Way Home Page 18
