Chased

by Hazel James

  “My head,” she winces.

  “You have a little cut on your forehead, Esther. We’re going to clean it up, okay?” Paige takes gauze and saline from the bag to rinse the wound.

  “Esther, was anyone else in the house with you?” I ask.

  Her voice trembles. “Patch. He went to take his afternoon nap just before the weather turned. I called for him, but he’s so old he can hardly hear anything anymore.” It’s as if I’ve been plunged into a pool of ice water. My chest tightens, and each breath is like a burst of fire in and out of my lungs. I’m drowning. I’m burning.

  Focus.

  “What does Patch look like?” I ask through gritted teeth. I can feel Paige’s eyes on me, questioning my sudden change in behavior, but I can’t look at her. I’ll fall apart if I do.

  “He’s got white hair. Please, I love him so much. You have to find him.” Sobs overtake her frail body. Paige smooths her hand over Esther’s face, reassuring her in hushed tones that everything will be okay.

  Fighting back nausea, I rock back on my heels and hand Paige my phone. “Get her address and call 911.” My voice sounds like I’m talking into a tin can. Paige’s lips move, but I can’t hear her over the ringing in my ears. My left calf begins to ache on the way back to the house. By the time I pass the overturned coffee table, shrapnel is piercing my skin, filling the air with the putrid scent of burning flesh.

  My flesh.

  We only have three days left before our deployment is over. This was supposed to be our last mission—an easy in and out, then back to the base. Now I can’t find my teammate, and everything’s turning to shit. The coffee I drank this morning sloshes angrily in my stomach, threatening to make another appearance.

  “Patch! Where are you?” Brown dirt and dead grass blow through the house, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. “Patch!” I turn into the bedroom, searching for any signs of life. He isn’t on the bed. Nothing is, because the mattress is standing on its side next to the blown-out window. Clothes, roofing, and pieces of broken furniture are scattered around the room, and it’s hard to imagine anyone surviving an explosion like this.

  I scan the ground for trip wires, a habit I developed a few weeks into our deployment, and limp into the room, desperate to find my best friend before insurgents open fire again. They know we won’t leave a fallen comrade, so they wait until we rush in, then pick us off. Their patience is admirable, really. “Patch!” My boot catches the edge of a toppled armoire, sending me to my hands and knees. Something sharp pierces my glove as I try to stand again. “Patch, where the fuck are you?” My heart’s beating too fast, and my breathing is erratic. The searing pain in my calf is getting worse. I don’t know how much longer I can go on. I need help. I reach for my radio, but it’s not there.

  Fuck!

  I lift pieces of debris, but all I see is more destruction. I’m failing miserably in this race against the clock. If I don’t find Patch, Kelsey’s going to get a knock on the door and it will be all my fault.

  “PATCH!”

  Mound over mound, I crawl over the wreckage looking for any sign of him.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  “PATCH!” I sink to my knees and sob with the dawning knowledge that he’s gone. That he won’t be coming home with us. That I’m responsible for his death.

  “I found him!” I lift my head, wondering if I’m hearing things. Was that a girl’s voice? Since when did they let girls on our team? “I have him!” The voice is louder now. I hobble out of the room and come face-to-face with a woman holding a dog. “DH? Are you okay?” I blink once, twice. How does she know my name? “Let’s go. Esther’s waiting for us.”

  Esther?

  “DH, you’re scaring me.” The dog whimpers, spurring her into action. “Come on.” I follow her, taking notice of my surroundings. What the hell happened to this house? When we get outside, paramedics are attending to a woman lying on the grass.

  Esther.

  I turn to the girl beside me and get a good look at the dog. White hair, with a perfect brown circle over his left eye.

  Patch.

  The dog is who Esther was talking about. A mother fucking dog. Not my best friend who died two years ago. I lean forward, propping my hands on my knees, and concentrate on taking deep breaths while Paige carries Patch over to Esther and a girl who looks to be in her forties. Both women thank her profusely. She accepts their hugs and walks back to where I’m standing.

  “What happened? Where’d you go?”

  “Flashback,” I reply, as if one word can answer everything that just happened. ‘Rip my heart out while making me relive the worst moment of my life’ would be more accurate.

  Her tiny hand grips my forearm. “What can I do?”

  “Just give me a minute.” My voice sounds like gravel sliding over concrete. Her lips form a thin line as she looks me over and releases a breath through her nose.

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  I sit on the grass and watch the movements of everyone around me: Paige taking the first aid kit to the truck; a police officer spraying a red X on the side of Esther’s house with the date, time, and search information; medics lifting Esther’s stretcher; Paige talking with the woman in her forties. These are all real things that are happening right now. This is Oklahoma, not Afghanistan. I rub the heels of my hands over my eyes, as if that will make the visions in my head disappear, then rise and join Paige.

  “DH, this is Esther’s daughter, Sally. She rushed over here when she couldn’t reach Esther by phone.”

  I shake Sally’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you so much for taking care of my mama. I keep telling her she doesn’t need to live alone at her age. Now it looks like she has no choice.” She gestures at the destroyed house and chuckles. “Anyway, I’m gonna get Patch home and head up to the hospital. Thank you again.”

  Paige and I lift a hand and wave, then walk to my truck. “You okay? Need me to drive?” she asks.

  “I’m fine, and no—nobody drives my truck but me. I’m just sorry that you missed out on seeing another tornado today.”

  “I’m glad you stopped. Chad would have just called 911 and kept driving.”

  I stop in my tracks. “He’s that much of an asshole?”

  “He’s that squeamish,” she calls over her shoulder, as she continues walking. I catch up to her in three strides and open her door, shaking my head.

  “Sounds like a winner.”

  “He’s not a bad guy. He’s just… well… not you.” I start the truck and turn it around, wondering what prompted her to say that. She’s leaning against the door, but the way her left hand is worrying the frayed edge of her jean shorts tells me she’s anything but relaxed. I know the feeling. I’m always tense after a flashback.

  “That’s probably a good thing. I think the world can only handle one of me.” I grin, trying to lighten her mood and the overall feeling in the cab. She smiles and rolls her eyes.

  “That’s not what I meant. Chad is sweet and loving and a whiz when it comes to numbers.”

  “But…” I prompt.

  “But we don’t actually have a whole lot in common.” She wrinkles her nose like the words taste bad in her mouth.

  I lift a shoulder. “Opposites attract, right?”

  She shifts her upper body toward me. The seatbelt carves a path between her tits, and I grip the steering wheel a little harder to keep my hand from wandering to her side of the truck. “That’s the thing. We’re not opposites, either. We both come from good families. We love to read. We want three kids. We prefer our cheeseburgers with ketchup only. And he’s always been supportive of my nursing career. But he doesn’t get it like you do. Back there?” Paige gestures out the rear windshield. “That was amazing. Not just chasing a tornado, but getting to help someone who needed it. That would have never happened with Chad. We wouldn’t have even left the house because he�
��s convinced that driving in the rain increases your chance of an accident.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?” I can’t believe I’m actually sticking up for Captain Boring, but Paige needs to quit comparing us. Chad, as much as it fucking pains me to admit it, is good for her. I’m not. She deserves someone reliable. Someone who doesn’t crumble in the middle of a crisis because his head is too fucked up to process what’s going on. There’s no future with me, and the sooner she learns that, the better.

  She pulls her phone and lip gloss out of her purse “Shut up. You’re missing the point. Anyway, I’ve got to call him to let him know you didn’t kill me.”

  “He knows you were going out with me today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And he was okay with it?”

  “Well, he was worried that I’d get hurt, but he’s not my keeper.” I shift in my seat. If Chad had half a clue about the shit that goes through my head when Paige is around, he wouldn’t want me alone with her. She brings the phone to her ear and coats her lips with cherry gloss while it rings. A muffled male voice tells her to leave a message, which she does before tossing her phone back in her purse. “Oh, yeah.” She reaches into her bag for my phone and holds it out toward me.

  “Did I miss any calls?” Aunt Helen usually checks on me when she knows I’m chasing. Not that I told her—or anyone else—what my plans were for the day. The less people asking questions or drawing conclusions, the better.

  Paige pushes a button, illuminating the screen, then shrieks with disgust and launches my phone at the floorboard. “Ew! Ew! Ew!” She wipes her hand on the side of her leg.

  “What?” I ask, laughing. I wish I had my camera out to capture the look on her face.

  She shudders in her seat, still wiping her hand off. “You got a picture in your text messages that I will never be able to unsee.”

  “What was it?”

  “A selfie.”

  “What’s so bad about that?”

  “It wasn’t of a face.”

  “So what was it?” I have a few guesses, but I’m perfectly content torturing Paige. Besides, this is the side of me she needs to see. The real side. The one that makes Chad look even better than he would on his own.

  “Nope. Just… no. God, I need some hand sanitizer.” She fishes a small bottle out of her purse.

  “Aw, come on. You can’t leave me hanging like that,” I tease.

  “I can, and I will.” She shudders again and turns up the radio. I find my fingers absentmindedly tapping along on my steering wheel. Don’t tell anyone, but that country shit is starting to grow on me. Paige sings along, something about calling “dibs,” and I make a split-second decision to head back to the auto shop instead of taking her home. I may not be able to call dibs, but I can share my post-chase victory beer with her. That’s something friends would do, right? Hell, I do it with Eric all the time, and I don’t have feelings for him.

  Satisfied with my effort in finding a platonic activity, I enjoy the rest of the ride knowing I’ll get more time with Paige. I selfishly wonder if I can talk her into watching a movie just to draw the evening out a little more, but that thought dies as my truck rumbles to a stop behind the auto shop.

  As if I haven’t dealt with enough ghosts today.

  “DH, who’s that?” Paige points up at the slumped-over body leaning against the door to my apartment. Mousy brown hair covers her face, but I know who it is. It’s the person I used to see in my nightmares, before they were taken over by images of Patch getting blown up. I let out a frustrated curse and unbuckle my seatbelt.

  “Sheila. My mother.”

  “I TOLD HIM TO STAY away from my roommate! I swear to God if he’s in my house, I’m going to murder him!” Allison shouts from outside the front door. Her key slips into the lock, and seconds later the door swings open. She marches into the foyer and scans the living room before settling her eyes on me and groaning. “Please don’t tell me he’s in your bedroom.”

  “Who?” I ask, sitting up on the couch. I tuck my bookmark inside So Much More and toss it the coffee table. I could use a break from Miranda anyway. That bitch.

  “DH. His truck is parked outside. Where is he?” She cranes her neck down the hallway leading to my room.

  I lift a shoulder. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since last night.”

  Allison sets her lunchbox and purse on the kitchen counter and flops down beside me on the couch. “So how did his truck get here?”

  “I drove it home last night.”

  She wiggles a finger in her ear and shakes her head back and forth. “I’m sorry, I thought you said you drove DH’s truck home.”

  “I did.” It comes out like a question, because suddenly I’m not sure what’s going on.

  Allison’s eyebrows climb up her forehead while her jaw drops to her chest. She stays that way for several seconds before composing herself. “Are you serious?” she whispers.

  I pause to think about the events of yesterday afternoon. There’s the part where I chased a tornado, and the part where DH and I saved an old lady. Then the flashback, the drive home and DH’s mom lying on his doorstep. I don’t want to tell Allison any of that because it’s not my business, but yes, everything happened the way I remember. “Yeah. He gave me the key and told me to drive his truck home. I didn’t have my car because he picked me up.”

  “Holy shit.” She draws the words out, which only places more emphasis on the weirdness of the situation. Doubt prickles its way up my spine.

  “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

  “It’s just… nobody drives his truck. Ever.” Allison cocks her head to the side. “You don’t know what happened, do you?” I guess the blank expression on my face serves as an answer, because she continues talking. “When DH was deployed, his mom and dad stole his Ford Ranger. DH kept it at the shop during his deployment to Afghanistan. Kevin and Sheila broke in and took it back to Texas to use as a getaway vehicle for some drug run. They ended up getting arrested after they flipped the truck in a ditch during a high-speed chase.”

  My eyes get wider and wider the more Allison speaks. “They’ve both been in jail for a couple of years now. DH was pretty injured when he got home, and then he was medically retired from the Air Force. He bought a new truck and his only rule was that it had to be a brand new one. Like, off-the-trailer brand new. He wanted to be the only one who ever drove it.”

  I slowly nod as I absorb everything. So many things about DH make sense, but now other questions swirl inside my head. “I know he was in the Air Force and that he deployed, but I had no idea he was injured.”

  “You’ve never seen his left leg?” Allison asks, pulling a throw pillow to her chest. I grab the one on my side of the couch and do the same.

  “No. He’s never mentioned anything about it, either.”

  “Not surprised. I’ve only heard the story once, and that was second-hand through Maggie and Eric. He was blown up in the explosion that killed his teammate.”

  “Patch.” I whisper. “He told me that his friend died a few days before their deployment was over, but that’s all he said. He changed the subject after that.”

  “Yeah. It’s been rough on him from what I’ve heard.” Allison pauses and studies my face. “What were you doing with DH, anyway? Last I heard, you two were supposed to hang out but you cancelled.”

  “He took me chasing yesterday because I’ve never seen a tornado. We were going back to his apartment for a victory beer. But when we got there, something came up that he needed to take care of. He got out of the truck and told me to drive home.”

  “This is all so weird,” Allison confesses.

  “What is?”

  “All of this.” She waves a hand in my general direction. “It’s just so unlike DH. He’s not exactly known for his commitment. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever been in a relationship. Just promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt, because then you’ll hate me since I’m sort of related
to him, and I’ll have to find a new roommate.”

  “We’re just friends, Ali.”

  “Hmm. When is he picking up his truck, anyway?”

  “No clue. I haven’t heard from him since last night.” I thought about texting or calling him, but I don’t know if he’s still dealing with his mom. Plus, I sort of like knowing I have to see him again. There aren’t any more career days, and we’ve already done a tornado chase. I’m running out of valid excuses to hang out with him that don’t involve him being in the ER for an injury. As a nurse, I’m not supposed to wish harm on people.

  “So what are you doing this evening?” She’s not at all subtle with her change of subject, but I don’t press it. I’d rather not discuss DH anymore either.

  “Just reading. Why, what’s up?”

  “My parents heard from their adoption agency today. They have the green light to adopt a little girl from China. I’m flying out there with them to help keep an eye on my little brother while they’re doing paperwork and stuff. That means I’m moving Maggie’s baby shower up a couple of weeks. Want to go shopping with me?”

  “Sure. I had a lot of fun planning my best friend’s shower a couple of years ago, and I’m always up for shopping.”

  “Great! We’ll leave in about fifteen minutes. I’ve got to pick up one of Maggie’s friends along the way. She’s co-hosting the shower with me.”

  Why didn’t I ask Allison who she was picking up? I’ve wondered that no less than fifty times in the last two hours. I have no idea how someone as sweet as Maggie can be friends with someone like Whitney Greene. I work with her a few times a month, and those shifts are always the most painful. She spends more time primping and thrusting her boobs at the doctors than she does focusing on patients. All that does is make more work for everyone else.

  I was going to give her a second chance until she walked to the car and tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the passenger window. She flashed a fake smile and said something about how her legs were longer than mine, so would I be a dear and hop in the back seat?