by Amy Faye
You can go to sleep with your only concern being that little Ava's been a little squirmy lately. Nothing wrong with that. The only long-term concern being that her life kinda got away from her… but that was seven, eight months ago. No problem.
Then you wake up to a problem so God damn big that there's nothing you can imagine being worse than that. So you try to fix it. You go to the police.
But they can't find anything, until something gets worse again: Mitchell finds out. There was a time after he left that there was nothing that Anna wanted more than to have him back in her life.
For a moment, with Ava gone, she wanted him back again. But it's hard to think how he could have helped her. How he could have fixed the problems that she was having.
He couldn't have, that was the only answer she could find.
So now things had gotten that much worse—Mitch had to pay for everything going wrong in her life, and that brought his attention back down on her. Brought her back into the line of fire.
She couldn't have imagined things getting worse than that, though. Things couldn't get any worse.
Then they'd blamed her for not paying. Said that even though she did her best to pay them the way they wanted, even though she was trying to follow all their instructions as carefully as possible, she'd screwed it up and now they were going to punish everyone for her screw up.
That was as bad as it seemed. And now it seemed like things were looking up. Maybe that was the end of it. Maybe things couldn't get worse again.
Anna knew, instinctively, deep down, that wasn't true. She knew that things could absolutely get worse, and like anything she knew that it was as likely to happen as it was not to happen.
The one thing she didn't know was how it was going to happen, and when it was going to happen. Maybe she'd have another day, maybe she'd have another week, maybe she'd have another year without things going really wrong.
Maybe she wouldn't. There was a knock at the door.
Mom gets up to answer it, dusting her shirt off just in case some drippings have splashed onto it. She looks fine, but she always seems to be concerned with it. Preoccupied.
Anna can hear her opening the door.
"Marty? What's the problem?"
Marty's their manager. He's supposed to have gone home about five minutes ago. Apparently he hasn't. Apparently he's come here, instead.
A second voice, one that Anna doesn't recognize, starts speaking. "Mrs. Witt? Mrs. Allison Witt?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know where we could find an Anna Witt? She's not in her apartment. We thought you might know where she is."
The voice sounds official. Not someone that Anna's ever met, but if she's not wrong, then the woman is probably some sort of government person. Maybe a policeman. She's known enough police people to last a lifetime, these past couple of days.
"Yes, she's eating supper in our apartment. May I ask what this is about?"
"And where is her daughter, Ava? Is she here as well?"
"Yes. What's this about?"
"Please excuse me, ma'am. I'm not here to cause any trouble, but I've been asked by the court to take custody of that child until such time as court has been convened to determine preliminary custody."
Anna's heart felt as if it was stopping in her chest. What? What were they talking about?
All she knew for sure was, they were here to take her baby. And there was nothing that she could do to stop them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The reprimand was, frankly, letting him off easy. There had been a long moment where Josh Meadows was afraid that they were going to fire him. Indefinite suspension, at the very least.
Instead, he'd been put on leave for a week or so, and then he'd return to duty. As long as he was willing to make an apology and avoid Mitch Queen. The first, he could hold his nose and manage.
The second would be easy. If he never lived another day, Josh Meadows never wanted to see that slug again. If they crossed paths at the pearly gates, then it would be too soon.
The detective relaxes in his seat for a long time. He should be heading home. He's not really supposed to stay here. Something in the back of his mind tells him that he's forgetting something, and he can't leave until he's figured out what the hell it is, no matter how much he'd like to.
There's no open cases right now. He was only working lead on the kidnapping, and now it's been handed off. The Feds are involved. Real experts. People who actually said to themselves, one day, 'I want to deal with kidnappers for a living.'
That's what they probably should have done from day one. He'd gotten a pretty good deal out of the whole thing, meeting Anna and everything, but it's not hard to see how he might have screwed everything up pretty damn good.
Maybe if they'd had a real pro on the job, they'd have been able to do something about Al Queen in the first place. Maybe they'd have known exactly how to deal with all of it. Use that famous F.B.I. playbook of theirs, and just go through the steps.
Well, the Detective didn't have a playbook, and he didn't have a hell of a lot of time to figure one out. So if he'd made any mistakes, then that was on his shoulders, but it wasn't because he hadn't been trying.
The desk didn't have any special mementos. He didn't have anything to remember. Nothing he wanted to remember, anyways. The things that he had weren't the sort of things that were remembered fondly.
But no matter how many times he went through, disqualifying things in his head one by one, he couldn't shake it. That nagging feeling that there was something he was missing. Something he'd regret not having. Something he'd regret big.
Something that he'd regret not having, and he'd regret it for every one of the several days he'd be gone. Something he'd regret big time. What the fuck could that even be?
He sits forward again. It wasn't the coffee. The stuff at his house was a hundred times better than the crap they made here, but at least it was brown and it was caffeinated and it tasted kind of like the right stuff, more or less.
It wasn't anything on top of his desk. Half of it didn't belong to him anyways, it belonged to the department. It wasn't anything inside the main tray. A few pens, a half-dozen paperclips, and a crappy rubber eraser. Nothing worth losing his mind over. He had several identical pens, since he bought them by the pack-of-twelve. No reason to miss those ones.
He opens the leg drawer. Several dozen file folders greet him, just like he knew they would. What the hell importance would any of these have? Half of them, he was just consulting on them. Reading through the paperwork to see if anything stood out.
Nothing had. There wasn't anything to suggest that he should know anything about a couple of jewelry store thefts. Nothing stood out about the murder of an old woman in her home. It was grisly and gruesome and as cruel as it was to say, it wasn't Meadows' problem.
Sure, the woman hadn't had an enemy in the world. But that didn't mean anything. Every person who came through that front door with a case for them, every person who came in the back door, every body that they had to look at.
It was all sad. But it didn't mean that he was responsible for solving all of it. Not all by himself.
No, this was something else. Something that he'd miss. Something he'd regret not having when he was out of the office. His phone buzzes in his pocket. For an instant he almost reaches for it. It doesn't buzz a second time.
If it's just an alert or a text he'll get it later. If he just keeps this train of thought going, one day soon, it will have to pull into the station, like it or not. And that's what he's going to do.
Keep riding this son of a bitch to the end of the line. He pulls out the third drawer.
A bunch of nothing. Knick-knacs. A bunch of garbage that he's had to accumulate over the years. A bag of straws. A stapler. A few pieces of paper trash that still haven't found their way to the garbage can.
And then, as if it were a message straight from heaven, he sees it, and the thought hits him like a ton of bricks. So hard that he
says it out loud. "Jesus, I'm an idiot. Okay."
His notes. His tape recorder. He was off-duty, but someone had to compile all those reports when he got back. It wasn't hard to figure out who would be responsible for it.
He might as well get a head-start on it while he was away. He'd have plenty of time. There were other things that he might be able to occupy his time with, of course. One other thing in particular, or perhaps more accurately two other people.
But that didn't mean he wouldn't have more than enough time to deal with the paperwork. By itself, that alone would save him plenty of heartache in the end.
He pulls out the Steno pad and slips it into the oversized pockets on his jacket. It barely fits, pulling at the pocket seams, but it does fit nonetheless. The recorder goes into his pants pocket.
The weight lifts off his chest. Thank Christ. Okay. No problem. He's got it all settled. It's almost an afterthought when he pulls the phone out of his pocket to see what had tried to draw his attention away.
A message from Anna. She should be putting Ava down for the night, if the little girl was cooperating. She probably wasn't. He'd been planning to call her after he left, but the distraction had kept him from doing it until now—after all, he hadn't left yet.
He taps to open the message up, and his stomach does a flip in his gut.
'They took Ava.'
He takes a deep breath. Types his response back carefully. Careful not to make any screw-ups. He has to be careful, because his hands are shaking a little.
'Who took her?'
'CPS. They said I was an unfit mother and that I was going to lose custody.'
Josh swears under his breath. There's no question where that notion came from. More specifically, who it came from. Someone that he'd have to give an apology to in a day or two. Someone that would be right there on the stage with him.
Someone who'd busted Meadows's knuckles open with his teeth. He swears again, as the whole situation seems to intensify itself in his head all at once.
'Where are you? I'll be there ASAP.'
He's already in the car, the ignition going, when he gets the return message. It's only a few miles from the station. If he hurries, five minutes. He'll be there in four.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anna's felt panic like this before. It feels like it's the standard for her now. There's nothing strange about it any more. She's completely in control. She's completely in control.
If she repeats it a few more times, it becomes true. That's the rule, after all. She's just got to repeat it a few more times, and it's true. After all, she decides to panic, she can decide to be in control.
She tries to breathe again. Tries to hold it. Nothing's working. It feels like something's sitting on her chest. She should call Linda. She should call Linda. Then she'd be able to get some explanation of what to do next. Linda would tell her how to calm down.
When Josh gets here, they'll figure out what to do about Ava. They'll figure out a next step. Together. Until then, she needs to calm down. She can't let someone see her like this. Especially not Josh.
A laugh escapes her lips, in spite of herself. She claps her lips shut as if that will help. It won't. She'll open them again when the panic needs a release valve. Everything is going to be fine.
It's totally normal, when people are panicking, to have a little giggle like that. Nothing weird about it. She's not weird. She's completely normal. She's just panicked. Nobody would blame her. Someone just took her daughter.
She almost hears it all in Linda's voice, right in her head. She's not doing anything wrong. She's done everything she's supposed to do. She's not unfit. She didn't do anything that endangered her child. Ava was as safe as anyone could possibly make her.
There's nothing else she can do except to try to hold herself steady and get everything in a straight line. Try breathing again.
In, one. Hold. Out, two. Hold. Everything that's happened these past few days has all been her fault. She'd brought all of this down on her head, on her parents' heads. On Josh's head.
She has to start counting again. In, one. Hold. Out, two. Wait. In, three. Hold. Nobody would be mad at her, would they? Josh isn't mad at her. He's going to be here any second.
"Fuck." Her hands are shaking. She closes her eyes.
Start again. In, one. Hold. Out, two. Wait. In, three. Hold. Out, four. Wait. In, five.
Her shoulders start relaxing. Her mind starts to slow. A shiver runs down her spine as the tension in her body starts to slip a little bit. She starts to relax. Her mind keeps slowing down until she can finally grab onto individual thoughts and hold them in her head. In, nine. Out, ten.
The door ringer goes off. She buzzes Josh in without a second thought. He's right on time. Only a few minutes since she texted. He must have left in a hurry. If he's feeling any amount of concern, though—and she knows he is—then he probably would have left in a hurry.
She unlocks the door and leaves it open an inch or two for him. The open door digs its claws into the back of her mind. She shouldn't leave the door open.
Anna ignores it. There's no time for anxiety right now. She's got to keep herself under control, now. She's got to make sure that everything is alright. That she's being smart.
She's got to look like she's got herself under control when Josh arrives. He'll figure out what to do, and she'll have plenty of time to figure out what to do next when he gets there.
Deep breath in. Hold, two three four. Good. Her head's slowing down even more. She's backing off the edge. It's getting easier, now. It's getting easier to feel like a human being.
Anna can hear the footsteps outside. Josh coming up the stairs. Coming down the hall. For a moment the fear threatens to overtake her again. The sheer, raw panic. What if she's wrong? What if it's someone else?
She takes a long step back to the door and pushes it shut with her shoulder, with all her strength. Then she puts her eye to the peephole.
Detective Meadows stands on the landing. He looks a little breathless from the rapid walk up the steps.
"Is everything okay in there?"
He shouldn't raise his voice. It's in the evening. If someone has to work early in the morning, they might be just going to sleep.
Anna lets out the breath she doesn't realize she's been holding. That doesn't stop the burning feeling in her chest, though. Doesn't help her to have her breath back under control. Her heart has jumped back up to a million beats a minute, and she can feel her pulse pounding in her neck.
"Sorry, one second," she says. She opens the door. Josh is standing there. His eyebrows have a deep furrow of worry between them.
"What happened?"
Anna steps away from the door and lets him inside. He follows her in. His hands are in his pockets, but he looks anything but casual with the way that his shoulders are raised high, the look of concern practically stapled to his face.
"I don't know. I was there, and then a minute later, they were—"
"Slow down, Anna. Sit down. You want me to get you some water?"
She knows how wild she's feeling. She needs to slow down. He wasn't here. He can't know what happened unless she tells him. Simple and easy.
Water, though? She can get her own water. She could just step right over to the fridge, and… she takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes. She tries to put all her effort into calming down for a fraction of a second. Everything else can come back from that, but right now she's got to get away from the brink.
"A water sounds really good right now."
She settles into the couch. She can't afford to let her nerves show. She's got to look normal for Josh. She's got to look like she's in control of herself, somehow.
He opens up the fridge. Anna keeps a half-dozen or so bottles in there, chilling. They should all be cold. He grabs one and pulls it out.
"Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?"
"No," Anna answers. Her voice sounds wrong. She should be in control of herself. She should be
able to decide how her voice sounds. But she sounds nervous and panicked and just as bad as she must have the first time they'd met. Maybe worse.
At least that time, she'd had time to, you know. To figure it out. This time she was just… Jesus. Slow down. A laugh escapes her lips, and Anna claps her hands around her mouth.
"I'm sorry."
Josh looks worried. She's worrying him. She shouldn't be letting him worry. She needs to get herself under control, before things go wrong. Before he loses interest in her, before he leaves her, too.
"Don't be sorry, Anna. Just. Take your time, okay? Tell me what happened. Where were you?"
"I was, I was, I was—" she tries to get the words out, but they won't come. She closes her eyes. Tears threaten to start coming, too, along with the giggles. Then she'll be a real God damn mess. "I was at my parent's apartment. We were eating. Ava was having a nap."
"Okay. Good. Don't freak out. We're going to get through this, okay? What happened next?"
"Uh. Knock at the door. My mom. My mom. Shit. My mom answered the door, and there was a lady at the door. Dark suit, and a badge, and she said she was from Child protective services and they were taking custody of Ava until—"
The dam broke and she started sobbing. She shouldn't have been crying. She should have been telling Josh everything he needed to know, in order to help. But that wasn't what she was doing. She was just crying, and she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Josh Meadows isn't a Detective any more. Not really. Not for another couple of days, anyways. And right now? Not at all. He's a man who's made a lot of mistakes in his life. And he's probably going to make another one.
One that you don't unmake easily. So he grips the back of the couch tightly. It's not the sort of thing that people come back from, deciding to beat the ever-loving hell out of the Mayor's son, out of a Congressman's son, and doing it twice.
