Misplaced Innocence

by Veronica Morneaux

  Her voice was flat, as emotionless as Jared had ever heard her sound. A flutter of panic settled inside of him. “What do you mean, a matter of time?”

  “Just a matter of time before they find out where you are. That I was seen with you. Where your house is, what you used to do, how to get to us.” The urgency was rising in her voice, and she was trying desperately to rein in all the things that were beginning to spin out of her control. “It’s like, take Bill, for instance. Everyone out here is just so Goddamned trusting. No one would ever think that maybe it’s not anyone’s business where I am or who I am or what I do. The worst thing that happens out here is that two silly women have an argument and it’s all anyone can talk about! In the real world, it’s not –” Charisma broke off abruptly. She’d already said more than she had meant to, her voice rising to an alarming volume. Frustration swelled within her and unbidden tears cluttered her vision, her fan of dark lashes fluttering in a valiant effort to keep them back. She didn’t like being pitied or feeling helpless and she wasn’t going to let Jared see her as another weakling woman.

  Jared wanted to address her concerns, be able to settle her, but he couldn’t find the words to say. He didn’t even seem to have access to half of the information he would need to come to a solid conclusion about what was going on. “Maybe it’s nothing,” he finally offered lamely.

  “No, no,” Charisma whipped her head back and forth, “It’s definitely something. It’s definitely something. There are things I need from the house. I can’t just leave my things there.” She was composing a list in her head of all her irreplaceables, trying to establish how much time it would take her to collect them all, how long it would take her to get out of Carlton, to drive away and never, ever look back.

  Jared reached out then to touch her leg. He threw her another concerned look and Charisma had the sinking feeling that leaving Carlton wouldn’t be as easy as she wanted it to be. There would be no way she could leave and not look back. It would be impossible to forget Jared’s crooked grin and his gentle touches. And what about Scruffy? She absolutely had to take Scruffy with her wherever she went. She raised a hand to her hair yanking at the strands. She could cut it. Color it. Shave it off and get a wig, anything, anything if it meant she would be overlooked.

  She didn’t say anything to him. Just let his hand rest on her leg.

  “It’s going to be fine, Charisma. We’ll sort this out, no problem.”

  “Yeah. No problem,” she scoffed. “I should have never left the house this morning. I should have never come to stay with you. I should have gotten that first phone call and left Arizona as fast as I could.”

  There was an emptiness to her voice, an aching chasm it opened that left Jared saddened for her, that made him want to be able to fix everything had gone wrong for her.

  He couldn’t find the words she needed to hear, and he wasn’t even sure she would recognize them when she heard. He heaved a deep sigh and abandoned his search for the thing to say, accepted his inadequacy. Charisma settled into her seat and leaned against the car; she pressed her face to the window and let the sun soak into her, a prisoner to the car, to her life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Charisma paced the floor near her window. She couldn’t seem to stop. Part of her wanted to swing the curtains wide open, see what there was to see outside. When the curtains were closed she imagined there was someone right on the other side, listening to her breathe, knowing exactly where she was. The other part of her, the part she heeded to because it made the most sense, told her no one could see in, and if the curtains were open she would just be faced with the possibility that there was someone out there, watching her; someone she couldn’t see. At least with the curtains pulled tightly closed she had the pretense of protection.

  She’d been in her room since they had gotten home from the grocery store. Jared had stopped in twice to check on her, making up excuses about what she had in mind for dinner and if she was feeling alright. She told him she wasn’t hungry. That wasn’t actually the case. The case was, she was so far removed from food she couldn’t even imagine why she would need to eat anything. Instead, she had watched the sunset from inside, watched her room sink into a darker and darker gloom. Now there was only the artificial light of the overhead light, a dull star in her life.

  She paused in her trek and settled on the edge of the bed. Scruffy had long since stopped trying to keep pace with her, and now had even lost interest in following Charisma with her eyes. She lay curled on the bed, breathing deeply with her head nestled into Charisma’s pillow. The mattress was soft beneath her. She raised a hand to her mouth and stifled a yawn.

  She’d been over it and over it. There was no other answer. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay in Carlton with all this going on. It really would be only a matter of time before she was found. And then what? Then being here at Jared’s was the last place she should be. She leaned over and pulled Scruffy toward her. This would be the best time. The dead of night. No one would be watching for her. She wouldn’t need to explain herself to Jared.

  She lied back on the bed, just for a moment, she told herself. Every bone in her body was exhausted. Even her soul was tired. She’d spent hours trying to come up with a better plan. But there was no better plan. This was as good as it was going to get.

  She let the bed absorb her weight for a few minutes, sank as deeply as she could into it, thought briefly about just closing her eyes and waiting for sleep. It would just be one more day here. She entertained the idea for just a moment, and then she was dragging herself out of bed and moving through the room, collecting her things. Jared had gone to bed already, she had waited for it all afternoon. Now the house was quiet. Now was the time to go.

  She moved as quietly as she could. Imagining that each step and touch would be her last in the home. Everything went in the duffle bag. On top of it all she tossed her sketchbook and pencils. She left the door to the room open. Scruffy padded down the hall behind her. In the kitchen Charisma stopped to write the briefest of notes to Jared. She was afraid he would walk in and find her leaving. A shudder slipped through her. She didn’t want to have to explain herself to him. She didn’t want to hear what she was sure he had to say. She didn’t need to be protected. She didn’t need anyone to leave in a dismal wake. The less time she was here, the betterShe made her way into the kitchen, pausing to run her hand along the doorjamb, and fought the sudden strong urge to go back to the room she’d begun to think of as hers. She wanted to stop in Jared’s room and watch him sleeping. Charisma took a deep breath and steeled herself against those things, forcing herself to get a move on. She abandoned the note on the kitchen table. Then she and Scruffy were outside and hurrying to her truck. She hoped it would start on the first try, that the fan in Jared’s room would hide the sound of the engine coughing to life. Charisma said a little prayer of thanks that they had taken the time to park the truck out of sight of the house, hidden behind a long disused work shop. She tossed the bag into the truck, Scruffy bounding up behind it. Then she was in the cab and the engine was rumbling and she was saying a prayer of thanks that her truck was so old she didn’t have to worry about running lights.

  When they were out of the driveway and safely on the road, Charisma flipped on the lights and sped toward her house. There was something eerie about the road this time of night. There was no one out there who could see her were something to happen, not even street lights to help guide her way. She squinted, trying to make better sense of the road, and yawned again. It was going to be a long night, a long life at this rate.

  She pulled into the driveway, her heart beating faster. In the inky darkness the house looked scarier than she remembered. She gave Scruffy a quick scratch behind the ears and swung the door open. “Be right back, girl.” She slammed the door shut behind her, wondered briefly if she should have taken care to make less noise. A shiver moved through her and she picked up her pace. The sooner she got what she needed, the sooner she could get o
ut of here.

  She found the lock in the dark and slipped the key in. Of course, thanks to Jared, she had several keys and several locks to go through before there was the comforting sound of the door swinging open. It took several precious moments before the task was complete. The house was dark, and she was afraid to turn on the light. A tingle swept through her and she felt like a stranger in her own house. She knew exactly what she needed and where it was. She had gone over the exact route she would take to collect her things.

  That plan was quickly abandoned though. Charisma took a few steps into the house, heading toward the bookshelf in the living room where the one photo album she had was kept. She knew the way by heart, and expected to find her way easily across the room.

  Then she slammed into the coffee table. There was a sharp intake of breath and she grabbed her knee, biting back a curse. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the house. The renegade coffee table was the least of her problems. Her things were everywhere. The bookshelf was tipped over; the coffee table was on its side. The sofa was halfway across the room.

  Charisma’s heart sank. She stared dumbly at the disaster that had been her home, looking suspiciously as though a tornado had touched down and swept through. She shouldn’t have come back at all. She should have left a note for Jared asking him to pick up a few of her things. She would always know where they were. Maybe one day she could have made it back for them.

  She was sifting through the pile of books on the floor, looking for her favorite photo album. It was one she had made for her mother one mother’s day. Exclusively mother and daughter. Their first art show. The small, wimpy little purple ribbon Charisma had cherished until it had become all but tattered. She found it partially hidden beneath a stack of sketch books and a case of CDs she never had the opportunity to listen to.

  Panic was welling up inside of her, seeping out down through her chest and into her limbs. Even her breath was coming more quickly. There was an alarming tingle that swept down the back of her neck. She cradled the photo album to her body, spun away from the debris that had once been her life and made her way back outside. The sooner she got out of Carlton the better off she would be, the better off everyone would be, really.

  The darkness rose up to greet her, engulfed her. Charisma could make out the vague shape of her truck and she ran toward it. Her heart was beginning to resume its normal rhythm by the time she made it to the driver’s side door. Inside, Scruffy was barking, her teeth fully exposed. “Shush, Scruff,” she murmured as she reached for the door to the cab. “It’s only me.”

  But she never got a hold of the handle. She was yanked backwards, off her feet, the photo album flying from her grasp and landing in the dry dirt by the truck. Hands grasped either side of her arms, fingers biting down in a harsh grip. She twisted in the hold, her feet coming out from beneath her, kicking at the empty air in front of her. She couldn’t budge from the grip. In one last ditch effort she lunged as far forward as she could, sending both her and her captor off balance and the two of the plummeting toward the ground.

  In the dark, she was spared from watching the ground rush up to meet her. Instead, she was unprepared for the crash of her body on the ground. Dirt and gravel and brush buried deeply into her skin, but she relished the discomfort; it sprang her into action. She was clawing and kicking and inching along in the dirt. Her shirt had come up, exposing the tender skin of her back and abdomen to the rake of pebbles and ground. But there seemed to be no escape. The more she moved the tighter the grip got. The more she squirmed, the less space she had to work with.

  There was a rough growl of displeasure from the body above her and it suddenly occurred to Charisma that she had one tool she hadn’t used yet. She took in a sharp breath, the air whistling through her mouth and down into her lungs. She opened her mouth to scream, but he must have felt it coming, known the sudden cessation of movement meant she was redirecting her energy to something that would be more effective. Hardly a whisper of her scream had torn from her mouth when a hand was over her mouth. It cut the sound short, the bitter taste of leather against her tongue. And then there was something else, something soft and sickeningly sweet smelling.

  And then there was nothing. There was just darkness. And Charisma stilled.

  ~*~

  She woke slowly. It was dark. Dark and bumpy. She tried to figure out how that might happen, but there was too much clogging her mind. Too much fog. She blinked, thinking that might help; it didn’t. She raised a hand to her face. Or tried to. A sharp pain in her shoulder and a wicked rub on her wrist brought her crashing back into the present. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her feet – she did an experimental twist to make sure – were also tied together. The soggy, choking, feeling in her mouth must be a gag. And this was her life. It was enough to make her cry. She cursed herself one more time for going back to the house, and then settled into the overwhelming darkness.

  She was out again, but she wasn’t sure for how long. This time when she awoke it was for real. A sense of dread filled her. Her stomach had coiled into a tight knot and her head ached with the kind of throb she’d never had the misfortune of feeling. It was too dark to focus on anything, but the bumping, the noise…it sounded like a car. She rolled onto her back, inching her way around, trying to figure out how much space she had. She tried to find taillights; maybe she could kick them out. She tried to find wires to pull, but there was no such luck. She was certainly in some sort of vehicle, but she was sequestered away from anything she might be able to get a hold of. No trunk release. Nothing.

  A cry of frustration welled up inside of her. But even that was an exercise in futility. The sodden gag prevented everything but the smallest of sickly moans to escape. She flailed around a few minutes longer, cracking her head on something solid and feeling the overwhelming urge to wretch up whatever was left in her stomach. It was everything she had always hoped it wouldn’t be and thought it might come to. This had been what she was trying to avoid when she had driven the hell out of New Jersey and to a place she was certain little else existed except a never-ending peace. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes. Charisma let herself fall apart for just a moment. Then she took a deep breath, counted to twenty, and tried to get a grip.

  There was no guarantee about how much time she had. She had no idea where they were heading or when they would stop. She needed a plan. She needed to be prepared.

  They continued on down the road, every new bump a wicked jar for her poor body. She tried to feel the direction, willed herself to come up with a way out of her restraints, out of the metal box, somewhere else.

  Somewhere else more pleasant. Somewhere like Jared’s bed. She felt the tears coming again and swallowed hard, trying to force them back. She absolutely refused to let this get the best of her. She’d been through too much to just lay down and die.

  Time passed. She couldn’t keep track of the hours or miles. The dull sound of the road became a reassuring constant that threatened to lull her to sleep. She resisted the impulse. Everything hinged on her being aware, being ready. She was awake when they stopped. Maybe there would be a moment. A glimpse. Anything that could help her out of this mess. She wanted to know she’d done everything humanly possible when all was said and done, and somehow she doubted that would be possible if she were sleeping. The tires crunched on gravel, spraying rocks that splattered the underside of her jail cell, and the movement came to a sudden and unnerving end. She could hear the opening and closing of metal doors, the muffled voices of men. Her stomach clenched. Not that she had expected it to be anything but men. She waited for the sound of the back to swing open. To see the glare of outside lights and the outline of men.

  But they never came. Their voices faded to nothing more than an echo in her memory and she was alone in the still van.

  ~*~

  Jared woke early. Bright light streamed in through his windows. Once he got past the actual waking up, this was his favorite part of the day. He loved the color of
the light, warm and fresh, a brand new glow to bask the day in. He threw his arms up over his head and had a long stretch. His night had been long. Definitely not restful. The epitome of not restful. He was sleeping in the same bed Charisma had graced just days before thinking of all the things they should have done and could still do and yet, somehow, he was still alone in his room, greeting the coveted early morning light solo.

  The house was quiet, but it was always quiet in the mornings. He yawned as he flipped the sheet away from his body and swung out of bed. Maybe a cold shower would help him transition away from Charisma and into the cold brutality of the day. Certainly, this day would be more difficult than some.

  Once he’d brushed his teeth he felt almost like a living human being again. The shower was running, and he peeled off his boxers and stepped into the cool spray. Not that cold showers were at the top of his list for the most enjoyable event ever, but sometimes, they were just a hard fact of life. Cold shower. Regroup. Move on with life.

  If only things were that simple. A shiver snaked its way down his body. The shower would be quick. Even he couldn’t stand extended torture.

  He wrapped a towel around his waist and drip dried while shaving. The razor moved quickly over his face, the scrape of blade on stubble. A splash of water and a little bit of aftershave and he was ready for the day. He pulled on his old blue jeans and a faded blue t-shirt. His hair was still damp when he padded out into the hallway and into the rest of the house.

  It was still quiet. Jared frowned. Maybe Charisma hadn’t been sleeping well either. She was usually up with the sun, camped out in front of a window and using the sunlight to its fullest advantage. When he was lucky he would catch her in the middle of her work, her head tipped to one side and her mouth pursed into the sweetest shape of concentration he had seen. Her hand was steady and moved in sweeping gestures, then small articulate ones. He was fascinated by it. She never seemed to second guess the directions, the shape. Everything happened at once, as if the entire thing were already mapped out in detail in her brain.