Stand

by Becky Johnson

  With my pajamas on, Kitty curled up on my lap, and Max lying next to me on the sofa, I settled in to watch Last of the Mohicans, an oldie but goodie.

  The story of Hawkeye and Cora could not keep my attention. I kept thinking about Emily and the other murdered girls. I felt compelled to do something to help. Maybe by helping others I could find some peace myself.

  When the last of the credits drifted by I still didn’t have an answer and that gnawing urge to take a stand against all the bad, all the Pheares and Georgia’s of the world, settled deeper inside.

  When I turned out the light and went to sleep the question of what I could do to make a difference still circled my mind.

  Chapter 5

  I ran through the woods. Branches snagged my hair and scratched my arms. I could hear branches break behind me, signaling danger. My pursuer was growing close. I twisted, turned, and changed direction as I ran. I charged through the bushes and trees, legs pumping. My lungs burned. The pursuer was closing in. I burst through the trees and found myself on the edge of a high cliff. My arms swung as I fought for balance and I tried to backpedal. I turned to face the monster, and heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking behind me. I screamed and lost my balance.

  I woke safe in bed as I fell to my death in my dream. I should be used to this. It was a relatively mild dream compared to recent ones. Still my hands shook and my body was filmed with sweat. I had to take several deep breaths before I pulled myself out of bed and pushed through my morning routine on shaky legs. My dream hadn’t woken me until almost seven. For me, these days, that was sleeping in.

  There was no time for writing, research, or thinking today. I was scheduled to meet Moshe by nine. Before long I was at the gym and parking. I admit to feeling a little distracted as I walked into the gym and began my warm up. My thoughts were about choices. About the choices I had made so far, and the choices I would need to make. My choice to bring justice to twenty-three murdered girls had brought me to this place. I had survived, but I was paralyzed by my own fear. I lived regimented, focused, cloistered. It was no life. My choice now was simple. Accept it and admit defeat, or stand up for myself and move past it. I hit the heavy bag in front of me with more force. My arms sang every time I made contact with the bag as my body tried to calm my mind. On the next punch the bag didn’t travel as far. The change shocked me out of my zone.

  I looked up to see Skeet bracing the bag for me.

  “You looked like you needed some help.”

  “I … yeah, I guess I was a little lost, there.” I laughed a bit awkwardly. With someone there watching so closely, my next few punches were weaker, less impassioned.

  I was glad when Moshe called us both over to the mat. It saved me from the need to explain myself to Skeet.

  “I want you to work some more on ground defense, and knife defense.” Moshe ordered. That was it. No hello, no explanation. That was Moshe. When he wants you to do something, you obey. He has a commanding presence. Just like our self-defense practice the other day, I laid down on the mat and Skeet attacked me. Moshe had us run through it over and over until I did it perfectly every single time. When we were finished with the ground defense our normal session time was up. I started to pack up.

  “Where are you going?” I looked over at Moshe. His face was stern and uncompromising. I glanced over at Skeet, but he was looking at Moshe. Like the two of them had a plan. Like they knew what was going to happen when I was just guessing. I moved back onto the mat.

  “Good, knife defense.”

  Skeet grabbed one of the sparring knives. It was made of solid rubber, eight inches long. So far I had done very little with weapons.

  Moshe pointed at me, “watch.”

  I watched. He and Skeet ran through a variety of defensive maneuvers. Observing the two of them spar was incredible and made my efforts seem like the actions of a ridiculous amateur. They ran through the maneuvers fast, then slow. They broke it down move by move, and then repeated it fast again. Then it was my turn. My stomach clenched. I would have been okay with it taking a little longer to get to my turn.

  Skeet and I faced each other on the mat.

  The gym was full now, or full for Joe’s Gym anyway. Moshe had more things to do than babysit me. He walked off to do his rounds and left Skeet and I to practice.

  Skeet took me through the steps: lean away, block and punch, grab, twist, kick, and disarm. Skeet stood in front of me with the knife in his left hand and his right hand holding my left shoulder. Okay Char. Lean away from the knife, right arm pushes the knife away while my left throws a punch. Right hand on his knife hand, then twist out to the side, kick to the gut, pinch the thumb so his grip loosens, and disarm. We ran through that sequence again and again. After several repetitions I started talking.

  Skeet and I are friends, but we have never been the sort of friends that share with each other. But once my mouth opened up, I couldn’t shut it. I talked about being afraid, about my nightmares; I told him my routines for waking up or going into the home. I talked about wanting to do something different to feel strong and to find a way through the fear. In the midst of the training and going through the defense sequence repeatedly, I talked. Skeet didn’t seem fazed by my verbal vomit, he just corrected my movements when they were wrong and kept going. Since he was listening, I kept talking. I told him about discovering the volunteer organizations that search for missing people.

  Finally Skeet interjected.

  “Find Me. That’s a good organization.”

  I was so shocked that he spoke I forgot to twist out of his way and ended up flat on my back. I don’t think Skeet had ever said so many words in a row to me. I couldn’t believe he had actually been listening, and was stunned that he actually knew about the missing person organizations. I don’t know which surprised me the most, but I was shocked enough to stop talking.

  Skeet offered a hand, pulled me back up onto my feet and got back into fighting position. I just stood staring.

  “Wait, wait, wait. You know about these organizations? How? Have you worked with them?”

  Skeet just shrugged. Shrugged! Like it didn’t matter. I’m still mad at him about that. Despite pestering him for answers, Skeet didn’t say another word. He just took me through the motions of the knife defense. When we finished and said goodbye I was still trying to get him to tell me more.

  ______

  When I got home the first thing I did, after greeting Max and Kitty of course, was get online and look up the Find Me organization. I filled out a volunteer application. By the time I finished, it was after one and my growling stomach announced that I hadn’t eaten anything since this morning. I made a sandwich and ate it as I got Max ready to go outside for his bathroom break.

  With Max’s bladder relieved and my stomach filled, I sat down to write. I wrote more than I had in a while. My writing was better, more focused than it had been.

  After a quick dinner and another fresh air break outside for Max, I returned to writing. My story was utter fantasy, very different from my usual writing. I started it as a way to mentally escape, but I think the storyline was developing nicely. By ten that night I had written over thirty pages. I was tired and ready for bed. It had been a long few days, and self-defense training this morning was brutal. However, I was anxious to see how my volunteer application was going. Considering it had only been submitted for a few hours the thought that I might have heard back was a little crazy. I checked my e-mail anyway. Nothing from the Find Me organization, but there was another e-mail from Premier93GL.

  Hi Charlotte,

  Thank you so much for your reply. I was wondering how you came by your inspiration. How do you come up with your stories?

  #1 Fan

  Odd. I should forward the e-mail to my agent and let her handle it. She always took care of strange fan mail. But I was already sitting there. It was just as easy for me to send a quick response. Response sent, I shut down my laptop and went to bed.

  ______
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br />   The next few days were all the same. I got up, I wrote. I checked my e-mail obsessively. I trained and drove Skeet crazy with my questions. I managed to master the knife defense and disarm him with regularity. I had lunch with Kathy and Tammy. I played with my nephew and took care of Max and Kitty. All in all, it was a normal week. Okay, slight correction, if it wasn’t for my obsessive tendencies regarding checking my e-mail, it would have been a normal week.

  Finally, a week after I sent in my application, I had a response from Find Me. It was an e-mail from Erin Sanders, director of volunteer services. She wanted to set up a phone interview. I replied, telling her I had availability that afternoon and the following day. I hit send. I did a little dance through my house with Max jumping and barking around me. I was shocked at myself. I hadn’t danced in a long time.

  ______

  My phone rang at three twenty-three that afternoon. I was in the middle of writing. When the phone rang I jumped to answer it. It was Erin from Find Me. I guess they need a lot of volunteers because the interview part only lasted a few minutes. After that Erin filled me in on the volunteer requirements.

  “As a volunteer you can chose how many cases you want to be involved in. Basically we do research. Families ask us for help. As a part of the acceptance process they fill out releases for police reports and a personal history questionnaire regarding the missing person. Your job is to try and fill in the blanks. We also participate in physical searches, when appropriate. You will send the information you find back to your agency contact, which will be me. Do you have any questions?”

  “Uh … I don’t think so. I’m good.” Research was one thing I knew I could do.

  “Great, I will send you a case shortly. Thanks for your help. Feel free to call me if you have any questions.”

  We hung up. I sat for a moment, stunned. I didn’t expect that to happen so quickly. Just like with my girls, I was going to help find the missing. My hand reached over to cover the ‘E’ tattoo on my arm without conscious thought. This was right. This felt like what I was meant to do, for myself and maybe a little bit for Emily. When the reality sank in I pulled out my happy dance again and bounced around.

  I was in such a good mood I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. I called Tammy and asked her to come over. We had so much fun that night. We ate, laughed, and enjoyed a nice glass of wine.

  When I said goodbye to her at about ten I felt better than I had in months. When I checked my e-mail and saw one from Erin with the subject line Barnes, J. I felt practically euphoric. My first case. I fell into bed at about eleven-thirty and slept dreamless.

  Chapter 6

  I woke the next morning with my mind almost entirely set on Barnes, J. I felt focused. My mind was clear and my heart felt light. My morning training went so well, even Moshe commented on how I was doing and he doesn’t give out compliments lightly.

  The only downfall to my morning was Jack. He was at the gym. I sensed his eyes focused upon me, like he wanted something. We walked out of the gym together. He gazed at me with that intense look in his eyes and started to say something. Then he stopped. After a long pause, he sighed and looked away.

  “See you later, Jack.” I managed. He nodded. We got in our cars and went our separate ways. For someone that I once felt completely comfortable with, it’s amazing how awkward everything between us had become.

  By ten thirty that morning I was back home. After taking Max out for a walk I settled in my office with my laptop and a notebook. I was ready to start my research for Find Me. The e-mail attachment Erin sent was only twelve pages long. That didn’t seem very much for a summary of a person’s life.

  I read through the packet twice before using my notebook to take down the highlights.

  On April 9, 2009, forty-two year old James Barnes disappeared, leaving behind a wife and two children in Alexandria, Virginia. He was a junior partner at a big Washington D.C. law firm: Johnson, Lewes, and Ferguson. He left for lunch at twelve-thirty and never came back.

  The report on him consisted of four pages of personal history completed by the family and the official police report. It seems the police felt Mr. James Barnes abandoned his family, that his personal life was too much, so he ran away. I guess they figured he was on a beach somewhere with a twenty-one year old in a string bikini. What I found odd was how little information the report contained. It was clear neither the police nor his family knew much about Mr. Barnes. It struck me as sad. I decided to call him Jimmy and think of him as a good friend.

  My initial questions were easily answered with the information available. Jimmy had been married to his wife Jeannie, a full time mother and part time interior designer, for fourteen years. The two girls were aged nine and twelve when he went missing. There was no major debt. According to his wife and friends he was happy with his job and his marriage was solid. His coworkers and neighbors all spoke well of him. There didn’t seem to be any reason for him to run. I couldn’t see any reason that anyone would kill him.

  The growling of my stomach distracted me from the words on the screen. When I looked at the clock I was shocked. It was four-thirty. The day had flown by without me even realizing it.

  I put the research aside for the night and resumed my normal routine. The familiarity was soothing. I am well aware of my obsessive tendencies and try to curb them where possible. Right now, however, the desire for order and neat habits gave me a sense of stability.

  I didn’t get a breakthrough on Jimmy’s case until two days later, during training at the gym. Ever since my incident of verbal vomit with Skeet, I have continued talking during my training. It’s extremely therapeutic. At this point Skeet knew as much about the case as I did. It was a Wednesday morning. I had finished my heavy bag and speed bag work. Moshe had me jump rope and run the obstacle course that was set up along one side of the gym. I was ready to go. We ran through previous maneuvers before we began the newest defense tactic, which was learning to respond to an attack from behind. Moshe and Skeet ran through several different holds and breaks. After they broke it down step by step and showed it to me a few more times, it was my turn.

  My first few attempts were a little rough. Skeet does not go easy on me. Moshe called out instructions.

  “Charlotte, do not ever let them get you to the ground. Stay on your feet.”

  When Moshe was satisfied I understood the basics he left me with Skeet. As we practiced the moves, I talked about my Find Me case.

  “I don’t know where to go next. I mean, I don’t even know what questions to ask. I feel like there are too many blanks to fill in. As far as I can see there is no reason for James Barnes to run, or for someone to hurt him. I don’t get it.”

  Skeet sighed. I think I was frustrating him.

  “You are thinking too big. Focus. Look at the last twenty-four hours before he disappeared.”

  I stood there with my mouth open. “That’s good advice. That’s really good. How did you know that?”

  He didn’t answer me. He moved back behind me and wrapped his arm around my neck. “Again.”

  ______

  When I got home I didn’t follow my normal routine. I went straight to my laptop and started researching James Barnes. There was surprisingly little information about his last twenty-four hours. I cleared all the pictures from one wall in my office. I had done this before with twenty-three murdered girls. When I research the visual presentation helps. I stretched a piece of yarn across the wall. On the left side I hung a piece of paper that noted the time and date, twelve-thirty p.m. April 8, 2009. On the right side I hung a piece of paper with twelve-thirty p.m. April 9, 2009. The last twenty hours of Jimmy’s life, as far as I was aware of. I wrote when he left for work and when he arrived. The rest was a wide open question. There was nothing else to add. It was time to research. I decided to start by talking to Erin. I didn’t have all the contact numbers I needed to retrace his last day. I hoped she had them.

  I opened my e-mail, sent a quick note to Eri
n, and checked my inbox. I had another from Premiere93GL.

  I was definitely going to let my agent handle this. I opened it, fully intending to forward it to my agent.

  Dear Charlotte,

  Did killing Lawrence Pheares inspire you? I truly hope so. I, personally, have found his death very inspiring.

  Thinking of you,

  Georgia

  Chapter 7

  The mocking words on the screen made my blood run cold. I froze. Georgia, the woman behind the curtain. I suspected that Georgia Layeen had partnered with Lawrence Pheares on his killing spree –perhaps even that she was the dominant partner. She had just contacted me, threatened me. My mind wasn’t processing. It just kept circling the same thought, like water around a drain.

  Georgia had found me.

  My heart pounded in my chest and static filled my ears. My vision tunneled on the name typed at the end of the e-mail, Georgia, my own personal nightmare. I sat frozen for a minute and then my chest squeezed as reality hit. Georgia had found me. Suddenly, I bolted out of my chair.

  “Max.” He came running. Together we went to my nightstand and took out the .38 concealed in the drawer there. With the loaded gun in hand we went to every window and door in my home and double checked every lock. I looked inside each closet and behind the shower curtain. It wasn’t paranoia, it was a precaution. My monster was staring out from my computer screen. After I was sure everything was secure, I retreated to my bedroom and called Jack.

  ______

  When my doorbell rang at seven thirteen p.m., I was calmer. I fully intended to be rational and detached when I spoke with Jack. I walked calmly to the door. I opened the door intending to politely thank Jack for coming and apologize for taking his time. I swung open the door, started to say hello, and burst into tears.