by Matthew Iden
48
Charlotte
Charlotte stopped to listen, wiped her nose. She thought she’d heard something behind her, something new, not the same scream she’d heard before.
Why are you stopping? she asked herself. No sound is good. But she knew the answer. She had stopped because she was tired, because she was scared, because she didn’t know where she was going. It was one thing to decide to run away, it was another to set out with no idea where a path led or what was on the other side of the woods. If there is another side, she almost said out loud, then clamped down on the thought and kicked it out.
Her heart jumped in her throat as she heard a distinct thrashing behind her. Not squirrels or the wind, a steady crashing of feet through the dead leaves. Terror washed through her and she took off running, barely able to make out the path in the twilight, but willing to take the chance she’d trip and fall rather than get run to ground by Sister.
The path sloped ever higher and, as it crested a ridge, the undergrowth began to thin out until only the massive trunks of evergreens and beech trees remained. Everything became a path and she sprang forward, taking advantage of the clear sailing to break into a real run, stretching her stride out as far as she could, flying over the roots and half-buried boulders. Ahead, open sky appeared through the trunks and branches of the trees, signaling the edge of the forest.
But suddenly she gasped as a feeling like a rubber band snapping hit her in the back of her leg. Atrophied from underuse, a muscle spasmed and tore, sending a shiver of pain from the back of her knee to her butt. She cried out and tumbled to the ground, rolling on a soft layer of pine needles that carpeted the floor of the forest.
Behind her, she heard an answering cry, a note of triumph in the voice. Dropping the blanket, she clawed desperately at the roots and the dirt, scrambling to her feet. From the woods, Sister yelled again, calling a name—her name?—but it was garbled and indistinct, a low and guttural sound somehow worse than anything she’d heard to that point, and it spurred her to ignore the pain in her leg and sprint for the edge of the forest.
Stealing a glance behind, she made out a figure shambling from the undergrowth at the base of the slope. The sight gave her the extra surge she needed, and she flew past the last tree . . . barely catching herself at the last possible second from dropping into the swift, but silent, waters of the river forty feet below.
Elliott
Elliott caught the hint of movement at the top of the ridge, just one more vertical outline in a forest full of them. He charged up the hill, calling Cee Cee’s name as he went. His head swam with the visions of his past. A trip to the library. Holding hands as he walked her to her first day of school. The look of surprise when he opened a can of soda with its loud pop.
A smile broke across his face as he saw her, then, silhouetted against the sky, her slim little form weaving and teetering on the edge of the world.
“Hold on, honey,” he called, or thought he did. He reached out a hand. “I’m coming.”
Then his world slowed, pivoted, and crumbled inward as the girl glanced back, then—with a look of both terror and triumph on her face—jumped.
Elliott screamed and raced to the top of the ridge, holding on to a sapling as he stared down into the swirling waters of the Potomac. What little light was left glinted off the lapping edges of the river. The base of the bluff was crowded with snags and branches, mud and leaves. White water frothed, stirred by underwater boulders and the roots of stubborn, sodden trees that hung out over the river. His eyes panned the surface, but saw nothing except the wide, wide river.
Like a fire reaching a flashpoint, the hole in his heart bloomed wide, consuming the tiny bit of life left along the edges. It was, strangely, almost a relief. For eight years, he’d danced without comprehension or understanding on the edge of that hole, fighting the irresistible force pulling him inward. Now, despite the struggle, he felt himself pitching forward, falling into the center of that abyss, and it felt . . . good.
The surface of the water was a concrete slab, but it was the nearly freezing temperature that shocked his system, clearing his head instantly and blowing away the cobwebs of memory. The plunge had sent him deep beneath the water, where his feet sank into the muddy bottom, threatening to trap him there. He kicked desperately to free himself, then fought his way to the surface.
He sucked in a lungful of air as he broke through, bobbing like a cork. Warmth spilled from his body. Elliott flailed in place, trying to get his bearings while the current tugged him downriver and away from the shore. A clot of branches and snags had caught in the eddies and he splashed toward it when he saw, floating twenty feet away, a small brown lump with a profile different than anything else on the water.
“Lacey!” The girl’s name came out as a croak.
He kicked and floundered. Aided by the current, he began to close the gap, but at an achingly slow pace. He called the girl’s name again, and her head moved sluggishly. She moved weakly, trying to paddle away from him.
He kicked harder, drawing from the strength of so many failures, and so much pain. With his heart slamming in his chest, unable to feel his feet or hands, he drew even with the log and put his arm around the little girl. She was so tiny he felt as though his arm would go around her twice.
She cried out and pushed against him.
“It’s okay, honey,” he choked as he held on. “It’s okay. Your mom sent me. Your mom loves you. You’re going to be okay.”
“Who are you?” The voice was weak.
“I’m here to get you back to your mom, honey.”
He didn’t have the strength to say any more. It was all he could do to hold her tightly and kick toward shore with every ounce of his remaining strength. The current fought him like a living thing, and it became clear they weren’t going to make it. Floundering, he snagged the branch of a downed willow tree as they floated past, a desperate gamble to keep from being swept away altogether.
But his feet were numb, and it felt like claws were being plunged into his arms and shoulders. The shore, tantalizingly close, seemed an impossible target. His mouth filled with river water as he called for help, a desperate, last-ditch effort that his brain, coldly analytical, told him was ridiculously unlikely. Only if Amy or Dave had been following directly behind him would there be a ghost of a chance. His hand slipped on the branch.
Daddy, the voice whispered in his head. Try anyway.
“Cee Cee?”
Try.
With legs like lead and his heart near bursting, he let go of the willow branch and plunged toward the shore. The Potomac’s bitter water splashed over them both, and he sloshed his way forward in a clumsy paddle.
“Kick, Lacey! Kick!” he choked. The current—constant, inexorable—swept them perilously far off their line of approach. In only a minute, they were yards downstream from the rocks Elliott had aimed for.
“Harder!” he yelled, and they splashed together for the shore. A swift running channel was coming up, he could see, a bottleneck where branches and leaves were being swept away by the frothing torrent. They were going to lose to the endless swell of water.
This is the way it happened.
Elliott Nash, a drunk and a failure, having already ruined his own life, tried helping a mother and redeeming himself in the process. Struggling to overcome his own judgmental and unforgiving nature, he managed to come within an arm’s length of succeeding, only to fall short of the courage to make it a reality, drowning not only himself but a young girl in the process—
“No!”
Elliott pushed himself, reduced to only two functions: keeping his head above water and pumping his legs. Burning needles were piercing his thighs and shoulders, and he’d long since lost feeling in his hands. Only when he slammed his feet into the muddy ground of the shore did he realize they’d made it. With their arms around each other, they stumbled over the slimy river stone and sandy beach until they finally collapsed to the ground in a shivering heap
.
“Hang in there, Lacey,” Elliott tried to say through chattering teeth. “Your mom’s not far behind.”
The little girl raised her head. “Sir?”
“Call me Elliott, honey,” he said automatically. “What is it?”
“My name isn’t Lacey.”
Amy
“Mom?” the girl cried, the terror in her voice heartbreaking. “Mom?”
“Lacey! I’m here, honey,” Amy shouted.
“Mom, help me—” Reston tightened her grip on Lacey’s throat, choking off the rest of the words.
Amy stopped short, holding her hands out in supplication. “Oh my god! Don’t! Please, don’t!”
“Why not?” Reston asked. “Why shouldn’t I? So she can join you, instead? So your family can be reunited and you can go back to ruining her life? So she can grow up and someday destroy her own daughter?”
“Hurting her won’t help.”
“I’ve never hurt any of them,” Reston said, looking down at the top of Lacey’s head. “I’ve only ever wanted to free them of the burdens of their parents. Of parents like you.”
“Please,” Amy said, searching for something to say, something to form a connection with this woman. “I know your childhood was terrible, that you went through the kind of trauma that no one should. And I know you think you’re helping these children. But can’t you see I’ve come this far because I love my daughter? I didn’t abandon her. I’m here for her.”
“You expect to be rewarded for doing what any mother should?” Reston asked, her voice almost curious. “Where was your sense of duty before?”
“I don’t want a reward. Just a chance,” Amy said. “I’ve made terrible choices, I know that. But that doesn’t mean I can’t carve out a new path for both of us. I can make amends. But only if you let her go.”
For a thin moment, it seemed as though Reston’s grip loosened on Lacey’s neck. Then her face hardened. “You already had your opportunity as a mother. And you wasted it.”
“Kim.” A bright white light suddenly lit Reston’s face from over Amy’s shoulder. “Let her go.”
Reston blinked at the harsh glare, then laughed. “Late again, David? Sure you don’t want to hide in the tree and leave me to clean up the mess again?”
“I had to save myself that day,” Dave said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, too, Kim. Or save the others. And I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”
“Happened to me?” she screeched. “What happened to me, David? What exactly do you think happened while I listened to our mother murder our brothers and sisters?”
“Something no child should go through,” he said, his voice gruff. “Which is why you need to stop. Right here, right now. Let Lacey go. Let the others go. It’s time to give these kids back their lives.”
“Give them back to their sick, abusive, ignorant families? Return them to their alcoholic and drug-addicted parents?” Reston spat. “No, Brother. I’m not going to do that. I’m not giving them back to people like her.”
“You stole her,” Amy shouted. A primal, instinctive anger surged through her. “You took my child.”
“Of course I did. I saved her from you and the rest of the terrible parents out there. I gave her a life. I gave her a family worthy of the name. What did you ever do for her?”
“I’m her mother.”
“You gave birth to her, but ‘mother’? No. The word is nothing but a label. You don’t deserve her.”
“No, I don’t. And neither do you.”
“Are you sure? Should we ask her?” Reston asked, loosening her grip on Lacey. “If I let you go, would you really rather be with your drug-addict mother? Or me? Who hurt you more, Tina? Who loves you more?”
Lacey struggled, crying. “You’re not my mother. You’re not my sister!”
“But who is this woman to you, Tina?” Reston said, giving her a shake. “This addict who left you a dozen times to fend for yourself? Who sent you away to that terrible foster family?”
“I don’t care what she did before,” Lacey said, sobbing. “It doesn’t matter. She’s my mom. I love her.”
Reston’s face suddenly twisted, full of hate. She yanked back on Lacey’s neck so hard her eyes bulged from their sockets. Amy screamed and ran toward them.
A shot rang out—flat, muted by the surrounding trees, but unmistakable. Reston stumbled back with a shriek and crumpled to the ground. Amy raced forward and swept Lacey into her arms, trying hard not to crush the thin body, the little bag of bones, in her embrace.
Dave ran to his sister’s side, his gun raised; then he holstered it and knelt beside her. She moaned, a wail that rose and fell, like her chest, in time to her erratic breathing. Her arm traced manic half circles in the air, and her heels beat a tattoo of pain on the ground. Dave fumbled for her hand, trying to calm her, speaking to her quietly until the motions slowed.
She raised her head weakly. “Tina?”
Lacey pulled away from her mother’s grasp. “No, honey,” Amy whispered, “don’t. You don’t owe her anything.”
“Mom,” Lacey said, looking up at her. “I have to.”
Reluctantly, Amy let her go, and the girl walked over and knelt by the woman. “Yes, Sister?”
The dark eyes, gleaming dully, locked with hers. “Why?”
“She’s my mom,” Lacey said, her voice small. “She deserves another chance.”
“She’ll . . . damage you, Tina. Like my mother did to me.”
“No, she won’t. She didn’t come all this way just to do it all over again.” Lacey glanced back at her mother. “I know we’re both afraid of pain, Sister. But no one’s going to hurt us now. Either of us.”
The woman scrabbled for Lacey’s hand. “I did this for you, Tina. For all of you.”
Lacey swallowed. “I know, Sister.”
Reston let go of the girl’s hand, and her head sank to the ground. Her breathing grew ragged and fluttering. “I . . . should’ve . . . helped them.”
Dave bowed his head. Behind him, Amy drew Lacey away and they held each other as the distant sound of sirens wove in and out of the night air.
49
Elliott
“I better get going. The a.m. shift is still going to be there in the morning.” Dave Cargill stood and stretched, the vertebrae in his back popping audibly.
Elliott pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”
Two days had passed since the ordeal at the house. Amy and Lacey were on the futon, sitting close but not touching. Scattered on the coffee table were soy packets, chopsticks, and the devastated remains of a Chinese takeout meal, a makeshift dinner that had started awkwardly, then warmed up as suppressed appetites had kicked in. They’d stuck to safe, mundane subjects and made small talk on a topic that all of them but Dave had previously given up on—the future.
“Dave,” Amy called, and he turned from the door. She surprised them both by vaulting the table and giving him a hug. “Thank you for everything. And I’m so sorry.”
He smiled sadly. “You’re welcome, Amy. Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
“Please.” She gave him an impish smile. “I think we all have a connection now.”
“If you say so,” he said with a laugh. He looked over her shoulder toward the futon. “Good night, Lacey. I’m glad you’re home.”
The girl looked back at him, her face wavering between different emotions. Her eyes were glistening. “Thank you, Mr. Dave. I’m sorry you had to . . . had to . . .”
“That’s okay, honey,” Dave said quietly. “I’m just glad you and your mom are together now.”
Amy returned to the couch and knelt by Lacey, taking both her hands in one of hers and speaking to her in low tones. The two men stepped outside, their breath steaming in the air.
“They’re going to need a lot of time,” Dave said after a moment.
“Time and love. I think they have plenty of both.” Elliott put his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the
cold. “How is the girl?”
“She’s still in the hospital for observation and treatment for hypothermia, but one of the detectives told me she’ll probably be released soon. Remarkable kid.”
“She is. Do we know anything about her?”
“Her real name is Alex Martinez. Her parents abandoned her as a toddler, and she was raised by foster parents for about as long as she can remember. Kim—” Dave coughed, went quiet, then started again. “The theory is that Kim simply took a liking to her one day after looking through old records and decided she needed to be ‘rescued,’ even through by all accounts she’s a foster system success story. Her foster parents have been in the hospital with her twenty-four seven since we brought her back.”
“What about the other kids?”
“They’ll be reunited with their foster or biological parents as circumstances dictate, I guess. No one knows what the hell to do. Who’s ever seen something like this before?”
They stood and watched the cars roll by, the red lights winking as they passed to the end of the block before fading away.
“You’re on suspended duty?” Elliott asked finally.
“Any event involving the discharge of a weapon,” Dave said, shrugging. “They’ll judge it justified, have me watch video for a few weeks. At least it’s full pay.”
“Followed by psych profiles and surveys.”
“Naturally.” The words dropped between them, and they let the silence rest for a moment. He coughed. “There’s just no way to make sense of it, is there?”
“No,” Elliott said. “Your sister was . . . broken, Dave. We’ll never know exactly how she processed the horror she witnessed the day your mother snapped, but I think I can say that what she went through would’ve damaged any of us.”
“I think about that,” Dave said softly. “What if I hadn’t run into the woods that day? What if I’d hidden behind a door or down in the cellar instead of in the woods? Or even just run down the road and stopped Kim before she saw . . . what she saw?”
