The year She Fell

by Rasley, Alicia

  I was putting away the cleaning supplies when Ellen finally emerged. She’d showered and washed her hair, and it was drying in soft waves around her face. She looked weary but composed. “Any news?”

  I filled her in on what Theresa said. “There could be a thousand reasons why he was talking about Highway 21,” I pointed out. “But it’s all we have to go on at this point.” I added, “The police could search along there.”

  “No. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Ellen . . .” But there was no changing her mind. She was so seldom stubborn, I didn’t know how to counteract this attitude. “Well, I think maybe before sundown I’ll drive out that way, just see what’s there.” And look for bodies in the ditches, I thought grimly.

  “As long as you’re not followed.”

  A cell phone rang from the pile on the chair we’d made of our purses. It wasn’t mine— mine was a gift from my series producer, and played the For What It’s Worth series theme song. Ellen stared at her purse for just a moment, then ran across the room to grab it.

  I could tell from her expression that it was the boy. The kidnapper. She listened hard for a moment, and then demanded to talk to Tom. There followed a marital argument I really wished I didn’t have to hear. Ellen’s voice was hard as she said, “No, I won’t tell the police about the boy. You know why. I’m not going to have him arrested of a felony when you can make this right with a single name.”

  When it was over, I grabbed the phone out of her hand, located a pen and pad from my purse, and jotted down the incoming number. “What’s that?” I said, showing her what I’d written.

  “Tom’s cell phone. So no help at all. He probably had it in his pocket when he was taken.” She didn’t sound too upset about it.

  I pressed call-back, but got immediately transferred to Tom’s voice mail. The kidnapper must have turned off the phone. I contemplated leaving Tom a message— but what? Tell? Please? Before I go crazy with guilt? “Is he all right?”

  “Yes. Angry. But the boy hasn’t hurt him.”

  “What did he say? The boy? What’s his demand?”

  “Just what I thought. He’ll let Tom go in return for the name of the mother.” Ellen shook her head. “Tom—he couldn’t believe I hadn’t told the police.”

  “I can’t believe it either,” I confessed. “I can’t believe I haven’t told the police. So did he give you any indication where he is?”

  “Tom said there were bars. Like a jail cell.” She sighed meditatively. “He hates being confined, you know. Always has to have a window open. The bars will drive him mad.”

  “Ellen, please stop sounding like a sadist. What are we going to do?”

  “Wait and see what Tom does, I guess.”

  “Ellen . . .” It was, I had to admit, a wail. “Please. Listen to me.”

  “No. Not if you’re going to talk about turning that boy over to the police.”

  I didn’t see how we were going to avoid it. Jackson wasn’t just going to quit asking questions once Tom was freed. And it sounded like Tom was angry enough to tell him the whole thing. What that meant for me and Jackson, I didn’t want to imagine.

  I contemplated telling Ellen that Jackson and I were, well, together. In whatever capacity we were together. But I was afraid she’d stop trusting me. And she needed someone to trust, someone who might be able to rein her in if necessary. Hmm. “Tom said there were bars? Like a jail cell?”

  “Yes. Maybe he’s in some underground site of the water company, inside the dam.”

  “Oh, well, that’s comforting. Millions of gallons of water right there with him.” I remembered something . . . . “Ellen, Jackson said before they opened this new lockup, they used to hold people in the basement of the chief’s house. There was a cell there. It sounded so creepy. They hadn’t used it for years, because they were leasing a cell from the county jail. But I remember he said it was abandoned now, scheduled to be demolished. Out on Route 21.”

  “I know where it is,” Ellen said. She grabbed up her purse, and before I could protest, she was out the door.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I started after her, but hesitated at the door. I remembered the patrol car, and wondered if the police would be watching for us. Her Volvo was anonymous enough, but no one could say that about my Porsche.

  I didn’t know what was worse—leaving Tom to the tender mercies of this angry boy, or setting Ellen up for obstruction of justice charges.

  So instead I paced about the house with a dust rag, viciously swiping at the stair rail and the piano top and the mantelpiece. I was fretting too much to do more than cut streaks through the accumulated dust. And when I heard a car drive up, I dropped the rag like it was radioactive and ran to the front door.

  But it wasn’t Ellen cruising up the driveway in the dying light. It was Jackson.

  Only a few hours ago, I would have been thrilled to see him. I would have run into his arms and kissed him.

  Then that’s what I should do, I told myself. So I did. I ran down the steps towards him. He looked up from locking his car door, and smiled. I detected a bit of relief in his expression as he opened up his arms. I came up against him, bumping his chest with my shoulder, breathing in his solidity and warmth. I raised my face and kissed him—so bold, I was. Too bold? No. We’d just spent a night together. It wasn’t too bold to kiss him.

  He was being too bold, however. Breathless, I pulled away. “Tongue in front of the neighbors? And the taxpayers? I don’t think so, Jackson.”

  He grinned, just a moment, then sobered. I did too, instantly, letting shame for forgetting filter my expression. “I almost forgot about Tom. Just for a second there.”

  “That’s okay. Glad I can still distract you from what’s important.” He took my hand and led me up the steps. “Not much turning up in the caves. Got more volunteers looking around in the hills above there. Don’t worry. All they know is that someone’s missing, not that it might be a kidnapping. Any ransom calls?”

  “No.” That was true. He hadn’t asked for a ransom. “My sister Theresa called. That’s about it.”

  “The nun?”

  “Yeah. But she’s not acting like a nun. She’s up in Webster County now. I hope she stays there for the time being—it’s hectic enough already, and she can’t really do anything.” I thought I’d captured it pretty well—a little worried, but calm with the calm that came from having no control at all. As we walked back into the house, Jackson twined our fingers as we used to when we were just kids. It felt so familiar and so right, I almost forgot that twenty years and this new issue came between us.

  “How’s Ellen doing?”

  “She couldn’t stand it. She took the car and went looking around. I tried to stop her, but she just left.” I was acting, not lying. There’s a difference. “It’s been more than an hour. Maybe she stopped to get something to eat.” I sighed. “Just as well. We were driving each other nuts with worry. I’m no help at all.”

  Jack looked around the empty parlor as if he could wish her back. “I’d feel better if she stayed put. In case we need to ask her something. And the search party could find something at any time.”

  That gave me a chill. What if they came across Ellen’s car and found her with the kidnapper and Tom? But the search was concentrating on the cave area, and that was all the way across town from Route 21. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon. She was just so anxious. We’ve both been pretty much useless this afternoon.”

  “We’ll bring the search party in at dusk, you know. It’s too risky to have civilians climbing about in the hills in the dark. End up losing a few searchers that way.”

  Another chill. It hadn’t occurred to me that volunteers would be conducting the search, but of course, even with the sheriff’s department added, our little town wouldn’t have enough police officers to cover the woods. And it was all for nothing, because Ellen—and I—knew very well where Tom was. I had to tell Ellen about this. The volunteers would be experienced—hiker
s were always getting lost and needing rescue up in the mountains—but still, I didn’t think Ellen would want to put them at risk of falling into a ravine or encountering a bobcat.

  I clung to her promise that in twenty-four hours, she would tell Jackson what she suspected. That was only about another eighteen hours, much of which the searchers would spend home in their bed.

  “Let me make you some coffee,” I said, leading him back to the kitchen.

  “I take it this is not the time for a return engagement, this time in your bed.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at him. He meant it. He wanted it. He was on duty, here on official business, and he still wanted it—upstairs in the bed where we’d passed several heated, hushed nights so long ago.

  And—oh, amazing—I wanted it too, wanted to forget about Ellen and Tom and whatever was going on with Mother and Theresa. Wanted just to give in as if lovemaking was all that the moment demanded.

  Tempted. Oh, great. Get back with my adolescent love, and adolescent hormones come back with a vengeance. That’s exactly what I’d hoped, but this was an inconvenient time to be restored fully-fledged to sexuality.

  Ellen could be back any minute.

  I turned in the doorway and wound my arms around his waist. Felt the gun at his hip and knew a moment of disorientation. But Jackson was the safest man in the world—for me, anyway. I closed my eyes and kissed him.

  Only dimly, I heard something outside. But Jackson’s instincts were more finely attuned, and he gently released me. “Coffee, you said.”

  By the time Ellen walked in, I had the filter in the coffeemaker, and Jackson sitting at the table.

  “Jackson. You’re here. Is there news?” Ellen must have seen his patrol car out front, because she had prepared her expression. She did a good job. I could see the guilt behind the mask of concern, but that’s because I was a professional actress. She would fool anyone else, probably. She flicked me a quick glance, and I read it to mean she’d discovered nothing too terrible on her visit to the old jail.

  “No news. The search party hasn’t found anything new. Going home for the night.”

  He was studying her closely. Too closely. I thought a diversion was in order, and slammed a cabinet door. “Ellen, you take cream, right? Jack?”

  “Just the coffee. So, Ellen, did you see anything while you were driving about?”

  Ellen shook her head as she took a seat across from him. “No. I don’t even know what I was looking for. I drove by the motel and saw Tom’s car. And just drove around town, looking for anything unusual. But of course, I didn’t see anything that gave me any clue at all.” She paused and looked up at him challengingly. Good touch. “I know you’re going to say just to let you do your job and not interfere.”

  Jackson took the cup I offered and set it down on the oak table. “I don’t want you getting into any danger. And someone should be here to monitor the phone. But if it makes you feel less helpless driving around, that’s okay with me.”

  He said this in a mild tone that seemed to soothe Ellen. But it had me on alert. I couldn’t explain why, but I could sense that he was . . . aware. Wary.

  I sat down beside Ellen and took her hand. “No reason to do that now, honey, because it’s going to be dark soon. And you need to rest.”

  “Not a chance,” Ellen said with an attempt at a smile.

  “I’ve got some valium. I’ll give you one.” I glanced over at Jackson, letting guilt shine in my eyes. More diversion. “Oops. I guess that constitutes illegal transfer of narcotics or something.”

  “What? I didn’t hear anything about narcotics.” Jackson finished his coffee and rose. “I’ll be monitoring things tonight, and come back in the morning. Ellen, let me know if you think of anything that might be relevant, about your husband’s associates or work.”

  He nodded towards the door, and I left Ellen to clean up the dishes and trailed him out on to the porch. I thought he wanted to, well, you know, kiss again. But he had his serious face on, the cop face, and I started to worry.

  “She seems to be taking this in stride.”

  It didn’t sound admiring. “Well, she’s sort of been through it before. Only then it was in a war zone and it was a year before he escaped. So she’s not the sort to panic.”

  “Right.” Jack stopped the steps and looked back. “Tell me what she’s hiding.”

  “Hiding?” My voice came out a squeak. I lowered it. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she’s not telling me something. This disagreement they had and him staying at the motel. Her driving around town. I’m getting strange vibrations from this.”

  The best defense is a good offense. “Strange vibrations? Now that’s great evidence.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a cop, not a judge. And my intuition is telling me she’s not telling everything she knows.”

  “Of course she is.” I tried to infuse my voice with certainty. “Why wouldn’t she? She wants Tom back.”

  “How do we know that? Just because usually wives want their husbands back? But this isn’t your usual kidnapping. There’s no ransom call, no note. And whenever something’s unusual, we look to the family.”

  It was time for a stronger reaction. “Jackson, I know you’re all cynical because you’ve seen so much crime and degradation. But there’s no reason to think this is a family situation. My sister wants him back. And if you’re implying she had something to do with him being taken, well—” Outrage wasn’t hard to muster. “You’re wrong.”

  “And you know that because—she’s a Wakefield? Rich? A minister?”

  “Because she’s my sister,” I said forcefully. He was leaning on the porch rail, and I pushed right up against him, getting in his face. “Because she’s Ellen, and she’s one of the kindest people I know. And you know that too.”

  He moved forward, just an inch, enough to make me back off. “I know I sense something. And I always trust my hunches.”

  His eyes were hard, and his grip too, when he raised his hands to my shoulders. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned towards him and touched his mouth with mine. Just a touch, but I felt it shiver through him, and through me too. “Jack,” I whispered.

  But then he pushed me away, gently, but firmly. “Don’t do it, Laura. Don’t try to distract me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You are. I know you. Maybe no one else would notice, but I do. You’re not being straight with me.”

  I took a step down so I was on the solid pavement of the driveway. But I kept my hand on the rail beside him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure you do. You’re keeping secrets from me. And you’re using what I feel for you to keep me in the dark.”

  It was true, and yet it wasn’t. What I wanted to do with him, I’d want to do anyway . . . but I could hardly deny, to myself anyway, that I’d taken advantage of the moment to distract him from his suspicions. But it backfired. He was more suspicious than ever, and angry at me besides. “I feel the same way you do. Don’t you know that?”

  “No. I know you wanted me last night because you thought you could trust me not to hurt you. And you were right. But that was using me too, only you were honest about it. Making yourself whole again, maybe for someone else. I went along with it. Don’t ask me why.” He walked past me towards his car, but stopped a few feet away. The evening sun was golden on his hair, but shadowed his eyes. “I’m not going along with this. You owe me the truth, and you know it. Call me when you’re ready to be honest. Or maybe once again your family is going to keep up from being together.”

  He waited, but I couldn’t respond. So I watched him drive away, and had to fight back the urge to cry. We almost had it back . . . and now this. He blamed my family for breaking us up before, when Mother had taken me away and annulled our marriage. And once again, I was blaming my own weakness, the loyalty that made me support my sister even when I didn’t agree with her, the sympathy for that poor boy who considered himself abandoned by those who shou
ld have loved him most. And I blamed my own fear of trusting Jackson, no matter how worthy of trust he was. To trust him would be . . . to love him. And that scared me most of all.

  Ellen paced across the kitchen as she told me about seeing her husband tense and unharmed in a dusty cell, the boy Brian hovering defiantly in the outer chamber. He couldn’t believe that she had come alone, without the police. Tom couldn’t believe it either. “He was so angry.”

  “Well, you had to expect that. What did Brian say?”

  “That Tom just had to tell him the truth. That’s all. And he’d let him go.”

  “Did he threaten you? Did he say he’d hurt Tom if you went to the police?”

  Ellen shook her head. “I don’t think he’s violent. I can’t think he’s violent.”

  That didn’t comfort me. “Ellen, is Tom going to forgive you?”

  “I don’t know.” She drifted up the stairs, looking back at me, her eyes troubled. “There has to be a reason, something terrible, that he won’t tell the truth. And whatever it is—maybe I won’t forgive him.”

  I gave Ellen a couple valium and got her settled in her bed. When I checked on her a half hour later, she was sleeping fitfully. But at least her eyes were closed and her hands were still. I couldn’t sleep yet, so I roamed about the big old house, finally settling in again at Daddy’s desk, looking through the drawers for comforting little treasures—his old fountain pen, now dried beyond repair; a magnifying glass; a sketching charcoal, worn to an inch-long nub.

  Finally I fell asleep on the couch with Letterman on softly, and woke up when the sunlight drifted in and Ellen came down.

  “We have to figure out who the mother is,” she said, standing in the doorway. “Help me think this through. It has to be someone I know, or Tom wouldn’t be so resistant to telling me.”

  So over coffee and toast, the cordless phone between us on the oak table, we sifted through the memories of that year long ago, when Tom and Ellen broke up and then married, and Tom’s two children were conceived.