I want to scream at him to leave her alone. She doesn’t need the added stress of him questioning her, not when she’s still in shock. But I can scream all I want. He can’t hear me, and it doesn’t look like he would care even if he could. He’s got a story to report, a paycheck to collect.
“How long were you in hiding?” he asks.
“An hour.”
“That’s a long time. How did you feel knowing there was a shooter in the mall?”
“Scared. I thought we were dead.”
“Thank you.” The reporter turns to the camera. “I’m reporting from Haysboro Mall, Chicago, where a shooter went on a rampage three hours ago. So far, eight people are confirmed dead, including the shooter, who shot himself before police arrived. Several other people are listed in critical condition. Reports are still coming in as to how many are injured.”
My entire body turns colder than if I had stood in the coming storm, the wind howling around me inside me and out. Storms. Nothing good ever happens in a storm. The words play in repeat mode in my head.
“Marcus was going there.” My voice is a strained whisper. I want to phone him, to hear his voice, but my body refuses to move, barely able to even breathe.
“Are you sure?” Emma asks.
I nod. “He called this morning and said he had to go to the mall before heading out.”
“But are you sure he went to that mall? He could have gone to a different one.”
“That’s the mall he said he was going to.” My chest tightens as I say the words, as if by doing that it prevents them from being true.
“Phone him, Amber. There’s no point freaking out till you know for sure.”
With a shaky breath, I call him on my phone.
“This is Marcus. You know the drill.” Voice mail.
“I just heard about the mall shooting,” I say. “Give me a call when you get this. Okay?” I press End. “He’s not answering.” I call Chase. He doesn’t answer either.
“Chase. It’s Amber. Have you heard from Marcus lately? He said he was going to Haysboro Mall before leaving for Crossfields and I just heard about the mall shooting and he’s not answering my calls and I don’t know what to do.” I take a deep breath and hang up.
“The latest reports indicate his ex-girlfriend works at the mall,” the male reporter says. “She’s believed to be among the dead. We’ll update you once we know more. Back to you, Janice.”
Janice, the anchor, updates viewers on the current situation and how tragic it is that this happened three days before Christmas. But the way she says it, with a slight smile to her tone, you’d think someone won the lottery.
Emma and I watch the news in openmouthed horror. The house could burn down around us and we wouldn’t notice.
“We have an update,” Janice announces. “Police confirmed that the suspect, Keith Knight, used to be a mall employee and worked as a security guard. Patrick, are you there?”
The TV flashes to the reporter from earlier. Snow and wind assault him, trying to push him off his feet as the storm hits Chicago hard. I glance out the window. It’s not much better outside.
“Yes, I’m here,” he replies. “The police confirmed a few minutes ago that Keith Knight was indeed a mall employee and that his ex-girlfriend is not among the dead. She has a restraining order filed against him but she works at a different mall.” He doesn’t look nonplussed that he’s been releasing half-truths just for the sake of having something to talk about and fill air time, knowing that the country is hanging on to his every word.
“Can the police tell us anything about Keith Knight’s motives?”
“They haven’t made a statement yet.” Patrick moves sideways and stands next to a teenage boy huddled in a winter coat. The boy looks toward the camera in awe. “We have Simon Lukeman here to shed some light on the situation. Simon works in the food court.” The boy nods. “Simon, what do you know about what happened?”
“Keith was fired last week from his job. He never said why, though.”
“Did you know him?”
“We talked a few times. He was kind of quiet. Not the kind of guy you expect to go postal.”
The garage door rumbles opens. Mom’s home. Over an hour early. She strides into the family room and hugs me, something she’s started doing again recently. “It’s really coming down out there. Grandma phoned and said she’s going to stay home. She doesn’t want to deal with the roads. They’re bad now, and they will only get worse.”
She stops talking. “Is something wrong?”
I swallow back the fear that if I say the next words, the truth behind them will become a hundredfold worse. “There’s been a mall shooting. At the same mall Marcus said he was going to before coming here. And I can’t get a hold of him.” My voice cracks with the last sentence, and the fear I tried to swallow is pushed back up with a small sob.
Mom wraps her arms around me and holds me tight, doing her best to keep me together. She doesn’t ask for any details. She doesn’t have to. The number of dead and wounded is on the television for everyone to see.
She tightens her hold on me.
The screen flashes to another reporter interviewing several individuals in the mall at the time of the shooting. Mom gasps. The sound is soft, barely heard above the noise on the TV. I heard it because I’m next to her.
I study the screen to see what she reacted to. All I can see is a tired-looking man standing next to a much older woman. The shooting has taken its toll on everyone. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing.” Mom steps back, fully recovered. “Let me make some calls and see what I can ascertain. Okay?” She gives me a small painted-on smile that makes the Mona Lisa look ready to break out in cheer.
“Okay.”
She returns fifteen minutes later, and shakes her head.
My throat closes, preventing oxygen from reaching my lungs. “What did you find out?”
“The hospitals aren’t releasing any information other than to next of kin.”
Except Marcus’s next of kin doesn’t care what happens to him. Never have. Never will. The only reason the surgeon updated me on Marcus’s condition after he was shot two weeks ago was because Chase told him Marcus’s parents don’t give a damn, and I gave a heartfelt speech that convinced the surgeon I was more family to Marcus than his parents ever were.
But that won’t work this time.
I drop onto the couch and stare at the TV. I vaguely hear Emma tell me she has to leave, and I’m to call her once I know anything. I nod, the movement robotic, my attention glued to the screen.
Chapter Six
Amber
Seven p.m. It’s two hours later than Marcus expected to be here and still no word. I’ve tried his cell phone a few more times, but each time I get his voice mail.
Chase hasn’t returned my call, either. What if he was with Marcus when Marcus went to the mall? What if they were hurt or killed? Marcus’s mother would never know to call me, and neither would Chase’s parents.
A million questions hammer against the inside of my skull. My heart was starting to heal after Trent’s death, but it won’t take much to leave it permanently damaged if something’s happened to Marcus.
I stare out the window, watching for his car, hoping that he didn’t end up at the mall this afternoon. Hoping he’s been delayed because of the weather. Hoping he’ll drive up at any second, ready to tell me another lame math joke.
Mom approaches from behind. Her footsteps are quiet, but her reflection in the window gives her away. She doesn’t say or do anything. She watches me, at a loss as to how to comfort me. At a loss as to the right words to say. God, why does this keep happening to me? Why is it every time I love someone, they’re ripped away? Please, God…please let him be okay.
I don’t know if that will help. I don’t believe in God. Not after Trent and Michael were torn from my life and I barely survived. Not after learning how Marcus’s stepfather touched Marcus in a way that is so wrong, and raped
and murdered Marcus’s brother. What kind of God would let those things happen, and to kids no less?
Mom sits next to me and strokes my hair, like she used to when I was sick or scared. Back before she became too wrapped up in her career, and back before she struggled with alcoholism. But things have changed, for both of us. Now she’s the mom I remember. I lean against her and let her blanket me in her arms, wishing she could simply hug my problems away.
We stay this way for several long minutes, neither of us saying anything. I continue watching out the window; she continues stroking my hair. My cell phone plays a tune, but it’s not the one Marcus programmed to let me know when he’s calling.
I check the number. Chase. My palms grow clammy. I can’t answer it. What if he’s calling to tell me Marcus was at the mall and is in critical condition or dead?
But if I don’t answer it, I’ll never know, a voice in my head reminds me.
“Have you heard from him?” I whisper past the growing lump in my throat.
“No.” Chase’s voice is no less broken than mine. “I was hoping he was with you.”
I slouch back on the couch. Mom heads for the kitchen. “He should be here by now. He said he had a few things to do and he had to go to the mall, and he’d be here in a few hours. He should have been here two hours ago.”
“You’re positive he went to Haysboro. Maybe he went somewhere else?”
“He said he was going to that mall. My mom called the nearby hospitals to see if he was admitted, but they’re not giving out any information unless you’re family. Do you…do you think you can call his mom and see if she knows anything?”
Chase releases a long slow breath, which sounds like wind trapped in a tunnel. “I could try, I guess, but I’m not promising anything. I’ll call you back once I’ve talked to her, okay?”
“Okay.”
He hangs up and I go back to staring out the window. It feels like forever before he calls back, when in reality it’s been ten minutes.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“Frank answered.” Chase’s tone, a mix of disgust and defeat, warns me I’m not going to like what he has to say.
“Frank? I thought he was in jail.”
“He was. He made bail.”
And is now free to hurt another boy.
My fist clenches around the phone at the thought of what must be going through Marcus’s mind, knowing his stepfather isn’t in jail. I can’t believe he never told me. “So? What did he say?”
“He said if I’m so desperate to locate Marcus, I should phone the hospitals myself.”
Hope kicks at the fear consuming me, but not enough to drive it away. “So that means Marcus wasn’t at the mall. Right? He wouldn’t have said that if the cops had told him Marcus was among the dead or injured.”
“I’m not too sure, Amber. Normally the hospital or cops would contact the family. But since Frank was charged for causing bodily harm to Marcus, maybe they decided not to contact his next of kin.”
“Which means if he’s dead or unable to tell anyone anything, we’ll never know.” The reality of the situation weighs down on me further, like a collapsed building pinning me to the ground.
“And maybe he wasn’t even at the mall,” Chase adds.
“Maybe, but if not, then why isn’t he already here?” Because the roads are getting bad.
Mom walks into the living room as I end the call with Chase. “I take it that wasn’t Marcus.”
“No. It was his best friend. He hasn’t heard anything either.”
She gives me a sad smile. This wasn’t how we were supposed to spend Christmas. It’ll be hard enough as it is with Michael and Trent gone. I’m not sure I have enough strength to get through it if something happened to Marcus, too.
“Do you need anything?” she asks.
I shake my head. Other than being in Marcus’s arms again, there is nothing I need.
“I’m going to have a shower, then. Dinner’s in the oven.” Though from the way she’s looking at me, it’s clear she knows I can’t eat anything until I find out where he is.
I listen to her go upstairs and walk toward the garage door. If I leave now, I’ll be gone before she can stop me. I chew my lip, thinking of the consequences. Marcus is the reckless one, not me. At least he was, according to Chase, until recently.
Until he met me.
I’ve always been the one unwilling to take risks. But this is Marcus. The guy I love, and there is nothing more important to me than making sure he’s safe.
I’m about to call the state police first, to see if any accidents have been reported, when the irritating sound of Jingle Bells fills the foyer, reminding me once again it’s almost Christmas.
I race to the front door and swing it open. Marcus is standing in the doorway.
A smile slides on to his face. “Golden rule of deriving. Never trust any result proven after eleven p.m.”
A choked sound escapes my lips and I fling myself at him, not even bothering to laugh at his lame math joke like I normally would. Before he can say anything else, my mouth is on his, tasting him, making sure he’s not a dream, making sure I’m not asleep on the couch, waiting for him to show up. His lips are cold. I keep kissing them, eager to warm them up.
Marcus doesn’t hesitate kissing me back. His good arm, strong and steady, pulls me closer until we’re almost one. The freezing wind wraps around us, but neither of us cares as our tongues continue their desperate dance. If it weren’t for his injured shoulder, I’d jump up and wrap my legs around his hips.
He’s alive. I can’t believe he’s alive. All I want is for him to bury himself deep in me and show me how alive he really is, how alive I am. That, and have him distract me from everything I want to forget, everything I’d rather not think about.
But we can’t.
Because my mom is in the house. That thought alone is enough to sober me up. I pull away, without an enthusiastic response from either my body or Marcus. But if we don’t stop this now, who knows what my mom will walk in on.
Marcus picks up his duffel bag and steps into the house. I shut the door. “Where were you? I thought you had been involved in the mall shooting.”
His eyebrows furrow together as he slides his bag to the floor. “What mall shooting?”
“A man entered Haysboro Mall this afternoon and started shooting. Eight people are dead and a lot more are wounded.” My voice breaks when I realize how close Marcus came to being part of that statistic. “I tried calling you on your cell but you weren’t answering, and Chase had no idea where you were either. He even tried calling your mom, but Frank answered the phone and wouldn’t tell him anything.” The words are falling so fast, I don’t know if he understands anything I’m saying. But that doesn’t matter, as long as he’s here with me and not in the morgue or alone in a hospital.
“I didn’t know,” he murmurs, his gaze taking in my face as though he thought he’d never see it again. He wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumb, his touch full of love. “It must have happened after I left.”
I reach up and cover his hand with my mine. “So what happened to you?”
“There was a major accident on the interstate and traffic was rerouted.”
My insides clench into a tight ball at how close I came to losing him. Even though he wasn’t involved in the shooting or the accident, he could have easily been in either place at the wrong time.
As if sensing my fear, he strokes my cheek. “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m like a cat with nine lives.”
That might be so, but he’s rapidly going through all nine of them. Who knows how many he has left.
“We need to warm you up,” I whisper. Please don’t take any more risks. I’m not sure I can handle it if anything else happens to you.
Herbed chicken cutlets stuffed with ham and provolone cheese tease the air with their delicious aroma. Mom finished making the dinner Emma and I started, before we got caught up in mall-shooti
ng drama.
I stand glued to the spot, torn between leading Marcus to the bathroom and warming him up in the shower, versus tending to dinner.
As much as I want to be the one helping him warm up, it’s too risky. Mom won’t appreciate my having shower sex with my boyfriend.
As it is, I need to figure a way for us to be together tonight. Mom has prepared the guest room for him, and although she might not have said the words, the look on her face was quite clear—he and I are not sleeping together. I doubt the argument that he helps with my nightmares will hold much weight with her. But after the last couple of hours, the nightmares are going to be unbearable unless I know he’s safe with me. Like I’m safe when I’m in his arms.
“Why don’t you warm up in the shower?” My gaze drops to his lips.
He leans in. “Are you joining me?” His low voice is a soft brush against my cheek.
A door upstairs opens then clicks shut.
I step away from him, instantly missing the intimate contact between us. “I’m making dinner.”
His lips curve into a beautiful smile that holds much meaning. Later is what it’s saying. Later I’ll make love to you because you mean everything to me.
Not wanting to leave him, still amazed he’s alive, I thread my fingers with his and lead him upstairs.
“You made it,” Mom says, sounding relieved as we reach the top step.
“Yes, ma’am. I got rerouted because of an accident on the interstate.”
“Well, I’m glad you arrived safely. Amber, why don’t you get Marcus settled and I’ll finish making dinner.”
“Okay, but I’m going to show him where to shower first,” I say.
She continues past and smiles at me with a subtle reminder that’s lost on Marcus but not on me. I’m to help him get settled, nothing more. She no doubt thought we were going upstairs so I could show him my room.
I lead him to the bathroom, and I’m about to leave when he tugs me into the room. I can tell Marcus doesn’t notice how large the room is or that the white towels are fluffy. Nor does he notice the coordinating royal blue and white accessories. The only thing he notices is me. His eyes haven’t left me since he pulled me into the space.
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