The Getaway Car

by Leddy Harper

  “It’s in here?” He shifted the truck into park and pointed through the windshield.

  I stared at the old, wooden garage. “Yeah. The padlock on the front is stuck, so you’ll probably have to cut it off.”

  Talon hopped out of the truck, but I remained seated. He moved to the front and stood with his hands propped on his hips, staring at the weathered building. Then he turned his head to look at me over his shoulder. Instantly, I was reminded of how even before I’d learned his name, I knew what he was thinking without the need of words.

  I shook my head, refusing to get out. Except, that didn’t stop him. He stalked to my side, and before I could think to lock the door, he yanked it open. He had his foot on the step and leaned over me before I had a chance to react. In one swift move, he had my seatbelt off and my wrist trapped in his hand. I didn’t want to leave the safety of the vehicle, and it was obvious Talon knew that. Without warning, he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to the shed.

  “There,” he said without any notion of being out of breath as he set me on my feet. “Now show me how to get in this thing. I’m not going in without you. If something is waiting for me inside, you’ll be the first to greet it.”

  “You seriously think I’d set you up?” I couldn’t believe the audacity of this man.

  “Considering our history? Yeah.”

  I had no idea what he meant by that. Yes, I’d taken off and basically left him with nothing—regardless that I had turned around. Nonetheless, I had never set him up for anything, so it was an odd thing to accuse me of now, and then blame it on our past.

  “Whatever,” I mumbled and stepped closer to the garage that was now mostly covered by brush. I’d lost count of how many nights I’d come out here and just sat in Talon’s getaway car, needing to feel closer to him. I’d curl up in the passenger seat with his blanket and pretend we were on the road together—not running from anything, just living.

  I pointed to the rusted lock. In all honesty, with as rotted as this wood was, it might’ve been faster to kick the door, but Talon already had the bolt cutter in his hand. I glanced between him and the truck, wondering just how long I’d been trapped in my memories for him to have retrieved them and made it back without me ever realizing he’d walked away.

  Talon snapped off the lock, making it look like it had been made of plastic instead of steel, and then opened one side of the double barn-style doors. Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the rotted slats in the ceiling, bathing the space in heat and stifling the air in my lungs.

  The old car was still there, exactly where I had left it. I had parked it in here to keep it safe from the elements and falling leaves from the trees. The next time I’d tried to start it up, it wouldn’t crank. And not too long after that, I couldn’t get the lock off the front of the shed, leaving me to squeeze through an opening in the side. It’d been entombed in here like a piece of lost treasure.

  Talon walked around the car, touching it, peeking through the windows. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought he was checking it out, looking to buy it, rather than inspecting it for problems he could blame on me.

  After circling back around, he regarded the shelves lining the shed. “Just my luck, someone will drive by, see me haul this car out of here, and call the police to report a break-in.” He peered at me over his shoulder. “And since you can’t get ahold of your mom, how will we prove we’re not stealing anything?”

  “Honestly, I doubt anyone will say anything. It’s not like we’re loading up a moving truck.”

  He moved past me and headed to the truck, as if our exchange hadn’t just happened. It took me approximately two seconds to do the same. I didn’t follow him; I just needed to get away from the one thing I both loved and hated with all my heart—his car.

  Standing in the open space next to the shed, I closed my eyes and basked in the sun. One of my favorite things about this place was how the weather managed to warm up beautifully during the day, with just enough of a chill to be comfortable. At night, the temperature dropped, but nothing like it did at home. Gramps used to have a fire pit in the back yard, and I’d spent many evenings dreaming of burning a few logs in it while sitting next to Talon.

  I quickly opened my eyes, unable to go down that road again. It didn’t matter how I used to feel or what idiotic fantasies I’d lose myself in just to make it through the day. This was my reality, and I had to accept it. I turned to the side, finding the lake behind the house. As a child, my parents couldn’t get me out of the water. They used to call me a fish. And when I was here last, I’d spent hours sitting on the dock, lost in the sun gleaming off the surface. Granted, my thoughts were dark during those times, unlike when I was younger.

  “Where are the keys?” Talon came up behind me, nearly scaring me shitless.

  I slapped my hand over my chest and whipped around to find him, the sun lightening his short hair, the defined lines of his muscles showing through the sleeves of his shirt. I had no idea how much time had passed since I’d turned around to face him, but he stopped the timer when he cleared his throat.

  “Oh. They’re inside. In the kitchen.”

  “If no one lives here, how do you expect to get inside?”

  “There’s a key under—”

  He stepped into me and grabbed my hand, silencing my words on my tongue. “I don’t understand why you keep insisting on me doing things alone. I’m not going into that house without you.”

  I wanted to argue and tell him that I didn’t understand why he presumed I’d do anything to harm him, yet I didn’t exactly have the right to say that. So I kept my mouth shut and walked toward the house with him in tow.

  Just as I remembered, a garden gnome sat wedged between the concrete step and the brick that lined the bottom half of the house. Just looking at it, no one could tell it hid a key inside, and unless you figured out the “code,” no one would find it, either. I pushed in at the right places, twisted when it was necessary, and pulled it apart, revealing a tiny space just big enough for a house key.

  “Here.” I handed it to him, and as I should’ve expected, he didn’t take it.

  I huffed and stomped my way up the three steps to the back door. My chest constricted as I stuck the key into the lock. My throat closed and I couldn’t breathe when I turned the knob. And my hands shook at the realization that the key still worked. Talon hadn’t noticed—or he simply didn’t care—that anxiety had made me its bitch.

  The door creaked open and we walked inside. I didn’t make it two steps before I froze. My feet refused to cooperate and my lungs had completely deflated. This was the last room I was in before I’d gone back to Iowa. It still looked exactly the same—yet entirely different. The glass was gone, no sign of a struggle anywhere to be seen. The recliner had been returned to where it had always been…Gramps’s favorite chair. Looking at it now, it was hard to imagine what it had been like that day.

  Talon broke through my examination of the room when he whispered into my ear, “Are you sure no one lives here?”

  “Yeah, it…” I swallowed my words when I turned away from the living room and caught sight of the kitchen. Empty food wrappers littered the island, cups sat next to the sink, and even from here, I could see the red numbers flashing on the coffee maker—the electricity was on.

  I desperately tried to slow my thoughts long enough to grasp one. Gramps had died, and with my dad having passed many years before, everything had been left to my mom. Uncle Danny had told me so after he took me home from the hospital. That only meant one thing…

  “Mama!” I darted toward the stairs and raced to the top, Talon hot on my heels. But I ignored him. My mom had disappeared and never returned. Which meant… “She’s gotta be here. Mama! Mama, I’m here. Where are you?”

  I tore through the upstairs, slamming doors against the walls as I flung them open. As I passed each room, I began to realize she wasn’t in the house. So I went through the bedrooms again, searching closet
s and dressers for any sign of her presence. By the last one, Talon engulfed me in his arms and sat with me on the unmade bed.

  “Shhh…” The heat of his breath wafted across my damp cheek, alerting me to the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. “She’s not here, Maggie. She’s not here.”

  “Someone is.”

  “It happens in vacant houses. People realize no one is there and won’t be for a while, so they break in and occupy it until they’re caught.”

  At any moment, these criminals could return. That should’ve scared me, yet I was numb to anything other than sadness at the reality that I hadn’t found my mom.

  He stood, bringing me to my feet, and led me to the bedroom door. “Come on. Let’s go find my keys so we can get the car loaded up on the bed of the truck. I’m pretty sure no one will show up as long as we have that thing sitting out front.”

  I nodded and followed him down the stairs, then turned to head into the kitchen. In the drawer next to the fridge, all the way in the very back behind the obscene number of spatulas, were his keys. Honestly, not once had I doubted that they would still be there. For whatever reason, I never questioned someone breaking into the house. And more than likely, had they found them or the car in the shed, neither one would still be here.

  He grabbed the ring and crossed the room to the door. Without a glance over his shoulder, he left. And I about crumpled to the floor. I was torn apart, broken, in ruins after searching the rooms upstairs, and he knew it. Yet he didn’t bother to even look at me before he left me by myself. The old Talon, the one from the gas station, never would’ve done that.

  And that’s when I realized I was utterly alone.

  I managed to stumble out the door and down the steps, the entire time, keeping my blurry focus on the lake. My dad was gone, my mom had long since left, Gramps had passed away…and all this time, I’d held out hope that I’d find Talon and no longer feel so isolated. Regardless of my epiphany this morning, I couldn’t ignore the reality that stared me down.

  Somehow, I’d fooled myself into believing I hadn’t been broken.

  When in all actuality, I had fallen apart years ago.

  Still, I’d trusted that Talon would come along and put me back together again.

  I was the modern-day Humpty damn Dumpty.

  I put one foot in front of the other, the grass crunching under my shoes on the way to the dock. And as soon as I stepped onto the first wooden plank, I pulled the hoodie over my head, tossing it to the ground. There was no rhyme or reason as to why that was the only article of clothing I removed, and when I reached the end, I stepped off in my tennis shoes, jeans, and tank top. I allowed the weight of it all to carry me to the bottom, no longer caring to be alone in the world for another minute.

  Talon

  I had to be honest—I didn’t think my 442 would still be here. And it added yet another layer of confusion where Maggie was concerned. I’d spent two days believing she was innocent, and then four years convinced she was some kind of professional scam artist. And now, after only a day and a half, I had no idea what to think.

  The fact that she hadn’t sold it for parts left my head spinning. And if I allowed myself to think too much about her motives, or question why she hadn’t done what any other criminal would do, I began to soften where she was concerned. I couldn’t let that happen. Regardless of her reasons—which might’ve even been legitimate—I didn’t care to go down that road with her again. Whether her intentions had been good or bad, it didn’t change the outcome. And for that, I refused to let her back in.

  So, I did the only thing I could to keep my mind off her.

  I worked on getting the 442 on the bed of the tow truck.

  Less than five minutes in, and movement on the dock caught my eye. I turned toward the lake in time to see Maggie remove her jacket and absentmindedly drop it behind her. Not sure what she was doing, I watched and waited. She didn’t slow her gait as she moved down the wooden path, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. My feet began to move before I even knew what was happening. Walking normally as if taking a stroll down the street, she headed for the end. I picked up my pace, my heart pounding unforgivingly in my chest.

  Time shifted into first gear, and everything seemed to unravel like it was in slow motion. My steps felt sluggish, like I was in quicksand; my pulse echoed in my ears, and my throat tightened until I couldn’t even swallow. And still, Maggie continued her plight toward the edge. It was eerie if nothing else. The way she stared straight ahead, as if looking at something miles away. Not once did she glance down at her feet, or even the water.

  And then she took the final step.

  She didn’t jump. There was no hesitation or moment of doubt. She just walked straight off the end, as if she expected to walk on the lake’s surface—the entire time, her focus never wavering from somewhere in the distance.

  By the time I made it to her, she was gone. There was barely a ripple on the murky pool, let alone air bubbles to indicate where she was. It was November, and although the Florida sun did a great job warming the day, I wasn’t sure it had sufficiently heated the water enough for a swim.

  I jumped in without consideration for the frigid temperatures, frantic and already short of breath. Luckily, I managed to find her on the first try and pulled her by the arm toward safety. She fought me all the way up. Not bothering to find the ladder, I hauled her to the shore, which had been overtaken by weeds. There was more than likely bugs and insects—as well as snakes—hiding in there, but I didn’t let that stop me. I already had to contend with Maggie’s feistiness, so a bear could’ve been lurking in the grass and it wouldn’t have fazed me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? What were you doing jumping into the lake like that?” I dragged her into the yard and held onto her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “The water is cold and you’re in your clothes.”

  Even with adrenaline coursing through my veins, I couldn’t ignore the chill cutting through my body every time a breeze ran through my wet shirt. She felt it, too. Her teeth rattled together and her lips had begun to turn blue. The change in her coloring highlighted a scar I hadn’t noticed that ran down the right side of her cheek, past her jawline. It stood out against her ghostly skin. It was darker than her lips—more purple. I couldn’t help but question if it had been there before, or if she’d sustained it after our night in Mississippi.

  Regardless, this was not the time to ask.

  She slapped her palms against my chest and attempted to shove me away. Except I wouldn’t budge, which only pissed her off more. She contorted her body to push and twist, trying to escape my hold, the entire time screaming for me to let her go. Finally, I released her when we reached the house.

  “Don’t pretend like you give a shit, Talon.” Deep sadness clung to her voice when she pushed the door open and walked inside. She had been upset a few minutes ago after realizing her mother wasn’t here; still, the way she directed her hatred at me made it seem as if she believed it was all my fault.

  Ignoring her, I quickly grabbed a blanket off a chair, unfolded it, and attempted to wrap it around her shivering body. I should’ve known she wouldn’t even make that easy for me. Maggie’s erratic actions should’ve worried me, yet they only left me irritated.

  “I don’t understand,” she continued, almost in tears.

  “Well, that makes two of us.”

  Seconds away from tossing the blanket at her, I decided to try one more time to turn her around. I grabbed her upper arm, not even attempting to be gentle, and swung her in a semi-circle until she faced away from me. Her wet hair, that had clung to her shirt and skin, whipped to one side.

  And I froze.

  On the back of her left shoulder was a tattoo, but not of just any design. What looked to be a realistic depiction of a bird’s claws dug into the muscle just above her shoulder blade. The shading was unbelievable, making it look like they had ripped part of her skin off. And when I moved her hair out of the way, I
found the same pattern on the right side, too. The two weren’t identical, which only created a more convincing picture.

  As soon as I ran my fingertip over it, she stepped away and turned around. I moved closer, still unable to speak, and noticed that more ink peeked out from beneath her shirt just above her collarbone on both sides. Just one nail, dug into the flesh like the others. Putting the full image together, a massive bird captured her on either side of her neck. I was in awe of the talent it had taken to make it look so lifelike and three dimensional. Not only that, I was stunned by what it could’ve possibly meant.

  “Maggie…” My voice gave out, making her name sound desperate on my lips.

  She didn’t care. She ripped the blanket out of my hand and draped it over her shoulders, covering the artwork that had stolen my attention—as well as my breath. I wanted to say so much, ask the questions that riddled my mind, yet I couldn’t do anything other than watch her leave the room. I didn’t have a clue where she was going, and for some reason, my feet refused to follow her. I simply stood there, letting her walk away from me, all the while, my every thought revolving around her tattoo.

  Snapping out of it, I stormed out the back door, stomping my way to the truck. The cold cut through me, and I desperately needed to change clothes. Except we were running out of daylight and I needed to get my car hooked to the wench. So rather than think about the wet clothes clinging to my skin or the cool weather surrounding me, I focused on the task at hand, hoping to get it done before dusk.

  It shouldn’t have taken as long as it did, but it wasn’t an easy task to do while shivering every time a breeze blew past. Luckily, I managed to get it done and the door to the shed closed without any further incident.

  I contemplated leaving the truck where it was, in front of the garage. It was in the rear corner of the lot and away from view of the road, which would keep neighbors from questioning who was here. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t keep the people who’d been staying at the house from coming home. And in the end, I decided that was more important than not getting noticed. If need be, I was sure Maggie could have her uncle explain the situation if anyone bothered to report a suspicious vehicle.