Sanguine Moon

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  No!

  “Jasmine.”

  “What do you mean? What? Mini?” My lungs constrict. I grab my chest. My pulse thunders in the vein in my neck as my mind pictures that little white coffin.

  Oh fudge. Not now.

  An officer starts speaking. I can see his lips moving, but I can’t hear anything past the wheezing in my lungs. I try to drag in more air. My vision flickers. There’s a sea of swaying bodies crowding around me, and I feel like I need to punch my way free. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Air. Not enough air.

  I never leave the house without an inhaler in my backpack, but my arms won’t co-operate with the shoulder straps. I’m trapped. I sway on the couch and feel hands on my shoulders.

  “Step back.”

  “Give her air.”

  “She’s having an asthma attack,” Mom screams.

  Dad’s calm tone fills my ears. I look toward the sound and try to focus on his face. He shoves my inhaler between my lips and orders me to take a puff. One pump, two pumps, three …

  Cool air rushes down my windpipe as my lungs release and open. Gasping, I close my eyes and center my energy on simply breathing. Stay calm. Take a breath—do it again.

  “Are you all right?” Mom’s cool fingers press against my cheeks. “Look at me.” The high-pitched frequency of her tone makes me wince. She’s just lost one child—somehow—and now she’s panicking over her other.

  “Sorry,” I gasp. Dad holds up my inhaler again, but I push his hand away. If I have too many puffs, it will make me dizzy, and I need to focus on what the hell has happened to Mini. She’s only two years old—just a baby. Oh my God. They wouldn’t, would they?

  I take my inhaler from Dad and decide I need more. I hold my breath letting the Ventolin do it’s work. Dad is still kneeling at my feet, and I notice he’s holding my other hand.

  “Your mother was carjacked coming home from daycare.”

  “How?” I look across to see she’s crying silently beside me.

  “She stopped for gas. Two hooded men pushed her to the ground, grabbed her keys and stole the car. The police are sure they didn’t know Mini was inside. It sometimes happens,” he explains in a calm voice. He tells me the police are confident our car will be found with Mini safely inside it in a shopping center parking lot. This kind of thing has happened before, and once the car thieves realize they have an extra passenger, their joy ride loses its appeal.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. This really can’t be a coincidence. But what do I tell them? I wish I hadn’t thrown that picture away.

  Oh God, this is all my fault.

  “What if they don’t find the car?” My chest is tightening up again. I try not to panic so my lungs will continue to function. The look on the nearest detective gives nothing away.

  “We have our teams on it. Don’t worry. We’ll bring your sister home safely. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Leaning back against the couch, I close my eyes. Maybe this isn’t Enzo’s doing. Maybe this really is just a carjacking gone wrong. Surely. Oh please. Poor little Mini. I pull the shopping bag off the floor and let the fluffy reindeer and snowman fall into my lap. When Mom sees them, she starts howling loudly and mumbles something about kind big sisters.

  Dad moves to rub her back, and then the man with the notebook is back with his questions. Mom didn’t get a clear look at either of the men because it happened so quickly. They’re trying to trigger her memory of any small detail that might help them catch these sugarplum heads!

  “What can I do?” I can’t sit around here doing nothing. “Can I drive around … looking … something?”

  The police within hearing all shake their heads. The search is in their hands, and they’d rather I didn’t get in the way. Dad suggests I make Mom some coffee as it’s going to be a long night.

  By the time the late news airs, we’re crowded around the TV. The police have released the footage from the gas station security video, and it plays out like a horror movie. Recognizing Mom on the late news is creepy. I’m so used to watching terrible things happen to somebody else—never people I know. It’s a nightmare.

  The scene unfolds exactly as Mom described to the cops. Two men approach her, shove her to the ground with bone-crunching force, wrestle the keys from her fist, and speed away with my little sister. I’m in tears by the end of the short clip from the relief that it wasn’t either of the two thugs who kidnapped me last year, or Enzo’s goons that hang out near school. Maybe this really is a freaky accident and has nothing to do with me.

  The worst part is seeing Mom crawling on all fours, scrambling to get to her feet to pursue them even though the effort is futile. As the men speed off, she collapses on the concrete, and even without any sound, I can tell she’s screaming. My emotional pit is a raging storm-tossed sea that’s trying to spill out of me.

  As the helpline number runs across the bottom of the screen, I send up a prayer someone will have seen something to help the police bring Mini home. However, each hour that ticks past feels more desolate than the previous one.

  Dad sends me to my room around midnight. He promises to wake me if there’s any update on Mini’s whereabouts. My fingers twitch as I contemplate calling Rocks. He loves that kid and will be as devastated as we are, but I just asked him to stay away and give me time to get over us. Pulling him back in so soon isn’t right.

  I dig around in my bookshelf and place the white business card on my quilt. I eye it gingerly, trying not to touch it. Surely Enzo is not involved—surely. But if it’s the Vipers, then maybe he knows how to help. An hour later, I shove it back inside a book and stare at the ceiling. I feel sick to the bone.

  I wake with a jerk still in my jeans from yesterday. Blinking, I look around my room and my stomach churns. My sister is missing and I’m sleeping! How could I? Jumping out of bed, I race down the hall. Mom and Dad’s bed is untouched, confirming what I already know. Stumbling down the stairs, I find them both in the TV room glued to the news.

  When I look to Dad, he shakes his head and looks at the carpet. After the turmoil of last year, I realized I know my parents better than I thought. I’m betting he feels as though he’s let Mini down by not finding her, or at least joining the search.

  Walking over, I rub his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” Tears build at the corner of his eye until he blinks them away. His hand covers mine, but he doesn’t say a word.

  I take a seat next to Mom, alarmed to see she’s aged overnight. Her usual perfect, crisp appearance is ruffled to say the least. Her hair isn’t done, and she too is still in yesterday’s dress, but it’s her eyes that worry me—they’re blank. Empty. Lost.

  My hand wraps around hers and gives a gentle squeeze. “The police will find her,” I promise.

  I can’t sit here and do nothing. Moving to the kitchen, I start a fresh pot of coffee. My stomach turns at the thought of putting food into it, but my gut tells me we all need to eat. Sugar. I might be able to handle sugar. Heating a pan, I decide on French toast, and lose myself in its preparation.

  I carry the laden tray and place it on the coffee table before my folks. Mom starts crying and the sight of her anguish makes me wish I hadn’t bothered. I never realized how much I rely on their strength. How safe and secure it makes me feel in this world. Seeing them frayed at the edges and barely holding on is something I pray I never have to witness again.

  We nibble and pick at my offerings in silence, and Mom eventually drinks a whole glass of juice. The house is never this quiet in the mornings. It’s eerie. My mind wanders to where poor little Mini is and if she’s okay. Is she still strapped in her car seat with a wet diaper, crying, cold and alone? Or worse? I wince. I cannot afford to think that way. I want to mention the picture, but the words don’t seem to form. How do I even start?

  The phone ringing loudly causes me to spill my orange juice. Mom would normally rush to get a wet cloth but sits comatose, hardly even noticing. Dad moves faster than Rocks can flip, but the on
e-sided conversation only adds to my nausea.

  “Thank you, Detective Williams. We’ll be here.”

  His face crumbles as he disconnects. Mom leans forward and covers hers with her hands, but I want confirmation.

  “What?”

  “No leads. Nothing.” He slumps into his armchair and closes his eyes.

  “I’m going out to look for her.”

  That statement gets a response from both of them. They don’t want me looking for car thieves or getting involved. If only they knew. I argue that more people searching for Mini would give us a better chance at finding Mom’s abandoned car. Mom begs me to go to school where she knows I’ll be safe.

  “Please, sweetheart, I can’t bear the thought of losing you as well. Please. Just go to class. Be safe.”

  “I’m not going to school when my sister is missing!”

  Dad gives me a look. He’s never one to use the evil eye—usually that’s Mom’s territory—so I heed his warning. I sense he doesn’t want his barely coping wife upset by anything else. Thinking from their perspective, I’m instantly sorry for raising my voice.

  “School? Really?”

  She nods her head. “We might be called to the station again. I just … yes, go. Please.” She sighs. “We’ll call you the second we hear anything.”

  My heart wants me to fight this ludicrous idea, but my head tells me not to add to her stress levels. In truth, I wouldn’t know where to begin looking for abandoned cars, but the thought of school makes me feel like a traitor to my sister.

  At school, I race down the corridor to my locker and almost tear the door off trying to open it. If that picture is connected to Mini, then they might have left me another clue. Disappointment floods my system, followed quickly by relief when I find it exactly as I left it yesterday.

  Principal Skenner calls me to the office first thing. His kind words and gentle tone make it hard not to cry. He says he wants me to focus on my studies today, but if it’s too much to come and see him, his door is always open. I tell him my phone will not be switched to silent and will be in my hand during all classes, and if he can’t make that happen with the teaching staff, then I’m spending the day in the library.

  The girls are my support crew. They keep the other inquisitive students—eager to get up close to someone whose parent appeared on the late news—at a distance. It’s surreal. I don’t want to be famous for having lost my little sister, but their callous actions slowly morph my despair into anger.

  Last class for the day is English. If I can survive this, I’m free. Parker stops by my desk and confirms the ugly whispers I’ve tried to ignore all day in the halls.

  “Sorry about Mini, Con. She was a cute kid.”

  I’m out of my chair the second I hear my worst nightmare spoken aloud.

  “WAS?” I scream. Tiff grabs hold of my belt to prevent me doing something I’ll regret later when my parents get a call from the principal.

  His eyes dart from me, to Tiff, to the rest of the room. The school cell grapevine is probably going ballistic. I’m giving the vultures gossip to feed on, but my sister is coming home. There is no ‘was’ about it.

  “Sorry, you know what I mean,” he mutters before retreating to the back of the classroom. I grab my books and head to the office. I’m done.

  By the time I get to my car, I can’t control my emotions another second. Tears flow freely down my cheeks. Was. It echoes in my head. What if they don’t find her? What if it’s too late already? I lean against the car with my face buried in my folded arms.

  A throat clearing behind me causes me to wipe my eyes on the sleeves of my hoodie. If anyone snaps a pic on a cell phone of the big sister losing it, I will not be held responsible for what I’ll do next.

  “What the hell?” My lungs start to constrict. Before I go into another full-blown panic asthma attack, I dump my backpack on the hood and starting digging for my inhaler. My eyes don’t leave the two suited men standing behind my car.

  “Come with us,” the sandy haired one commands. He steps back and indicates to a massive gleaming SUV by the gate.

  “Today is not the day to mess with me. No!”

  “I think we can change your mind.” The Rambo wannabe slips a hand into his suit jacket and throws a ball at me. On instinct, my hand flies up to catch it, and then the bottom falls out of my emotional pit. It’s not a ball, but a tiny pink and purple shoe. I know this shoe. The Velcro never sticks right and Mini always pulls it off.

  My throat closes over, and I sway on my feet as dark spots appear in my vision.

  Mini needs me.

  The moment the thought enters my head, I upend my backpack on the ground. The inhaler is a beacon on cloudy day. Grabbing it, I pump three times until my lungs start to function. Standing up, my fists curl at my sides. They will pay in blood if anything has happened to her.

  “Take me to my sister, you sick bastards.”

  16. Accounting

  “Tell your parents you’re hitting the mall with Tiffany,” he instructs, sitting next to me in the back of the SUV. Rambo is driving. My fingers fumble across the screen—numb. How much do these strange men know about me and my family? I eventually type the short text, grateful that he didn’t insist I call my folks. Dad would know something was wrong the instant he heard my voice. It only takes a second for him to reply.

  Don’t be late.

  His message guts me. I wanted him to demand I come straight home, but at the same time, I need to find out where they took my sister. I just don’t want to do it alone.

  A blindfold is tied around my eyes, and the dark tint of the windows won’t allow other motorists to see. The thug beside me takes my cell and backpack but gives me my inhaler when I ask for it. Channeling Rocks, I try to use my senses as Rocks does to work out where they’re taking me, but I’m too on edge. These men are professionals. My father—fudge no—Enzo would never tolerate anything less. My mental slip-up has my heart skip a beat. He will never be a father to me.

  The longer we drive, the more my hands shake, and I have to concentrate on breathing. The memory of the last road trip I did bound and gagged causes me to sweat. I can almost smell the stale, moldy bag that was over my head. The car slows, possibly exiting a freeway, and after a dozen stops and starts, a motor grinds above us. We drive forward a few feet before it sounds again, and I’m guessing the car is inside a building. The urge to scream is overwhelming, but I know nobody will hear. For Mini’s sake, I have to stay calm—my panic will not free her. The horror of what happened the last time I was kidnapped and panicked comes flooding back to me. Rocks got hurt—almost killed. I will stay calm and do what I’m told.

  I’m pulled from the car, but they don’t remove the blindfold. The cool air reeks of strong, bitter coffee, and my nose wrinkles in disgust. Not a word is spoken as I’m led this way and that, but when the second door clicks locked behind me, the blindfold is removed.

  I squint as my eyes adjust to the harsh, fluorescent lighting. Enzo is seated on a soft, leather couch sipping a steaming cup of coffee. “I’m disappointed.”

  “Where’s my sister?”

  “You should’ve obeyed me, dear girl. Now look at what you’re putting your parents through.” His stare stops my heart. For the first time since I came face-to-face with Enzo, I’m scared of what he’s really capable of.

  “What do you want?”

  “I told you.”

  “Remind me.” His glare hardens. “Please.”

  “You will work for me three days a week until your sister is finished taking care of our competitors.” He sips his coffee and indicates for me to take a seat next to him.

  I obey. “What can I possibly do for you?”

  “Count money. Some of my associates occasionally succumb to temptation.” He sighs. “And finding a replacement is a headache I do not need. It was your sister’s job and now it’s yours.”

  Each time he says the word sister, I think of Mini. I will do whatever it takes to ge
t her back. Enzo and I are the only ones in the room. It’s an office with two doors, and on each of the four walls, there is a large rectangular window covered with venetian blinds. His heavy oak desk dominates the middle of the space, and we’re sitting off to one side on the lush, cream couch. Enzo informs me his men will pick me up three days a week—Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings—and bring me here to bundle up his takings. He explains that I will be in a room with his revenue, a counting machine and his books. Once it’s counted, bundled, and bagged, his men will return me to my car—simple.

  “What about my sister? I’m taking her home.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not an option. I gave you my trust, and you let me down. Now you must earn it back.”

  “What does that mean?” I lock my fingers together on my lap to prevent them from shaking. My questions are probably annoying him, but I want to be crystal clear on the situation. The stakes are too high for a misunderstanding.

  “She stays until I know you can be trusted to obey me.”

  “No! No, you can’t,” I plead. My anger slowly bubbles to the surface. How dare he involve her? “She’s just a baby,” I snarl. My emotions don’t know which way is up lately. “I swear I will do whatever you ask. I swear.” Then, I think of that crime show Mom watches. They always demand to see the hostage no matter what. “I want to see her. I will not do a thing for you until I know she is alive and well.” I swallow the lump in my throat that negotiating with this evil man gives me.

  This time when Enzo smiles it does reach his eyes. “So much like your mother.” Standing up, he walks to the window closest to the couch and beckons me to follow. It’s double-glazed with the venetians in between the two pieces of glass. He slowly twists a knob, opening the blinds.

  Mini is standing in a white, wooden crib, screaming her lungs out, but I can’t hear a single peep. The room must have amazing soundproofing because I know how loud those little lungs can wail—as do our neighbors. As long as I live, I’ll never forget the look of misery on my sister’s face. My fingers slide down the glass. She’s so close but so untouchable.