by Coulton, JC
“What about you? Are you still going to your meetings? This isn’t normally something that would get past you Blake...”
Her look is serious. I can’t help feel ashamed, because she’s right. I haven’t been to an AA meeting for a while. Fuck, I hate having this disease. Any response I give her is going to seem suspicious, so I say, “Yes, you’re right, I’ve been meaning to catch up with my sponsor. Work just keeps getting in the way. I’m distracted, Lieutenant, but I’m not going to lose it. I swear.”
There’s not much else she can say. I’m not a child, but we both know what can happen when I go off the edge. The last time I was working a big case, I let the pressure get to me. I snapped while I was interviewing a suspect. My anger is also a problem. I know this.
“I want you to be honest with me Blake. Are you doing ok?”
This is the time I need to tell her to take me off night shift, and ask for help. It’s the main reason I miss meetings, and meetings are what keep me balanced. But I don’t. Instead, I just assure her I’m fine. I ignore the voice in my head. After what happened with Jessup this morning, work needs to be my priority. There’s no better time to get it done than when the station is nearly empty and the thugs are out for the night.
Now that she knows April missed calls from the Caliber office, I’m going to have to go back there. But there’s nothing in my notes about having seen Jessup today, and nothing ever will be.
“Thanks for your concern Lieutenant, but I’m fine. I really am.”
Walking out of her office, I disguise my limp. The pain is still there, but I push it away. More than anything right now, I need to work out. I have some gear in my locker. There’s nothing better than a run to loosen me up when I’m tense like this.
I change quickly and head to the gym. It hurts at first. I should be resting my body, but I need to burn off some steam before I go home to her. After all, the thing I’d really like to be doing right now is phoning Carrie. I picture her, and she’s sitting in my living room looking cute. Carrie James is like a siren—beautiful but dangerous. Until I know what the fuck is going on, I have to keep my hands to myself.
Chapter Five
Carrie
I’ve tried Blake enough times now to seem like a total stalker. I figure he’s screening my calls. I’m mad as hell. I’m supposed to be a valuable witness, but he’s locked me away in his house without any contact with the outside world. He’s treating me like I’m a suspect.
It hurts—not just because I’m not guilty, but it makes me feel I’m a teenage girl again, seeking his attention and approval. Maybe I’m taking what happened this morning out of context. I’m blowing it out of proportion in my mind, but it’s worse that he’s not around to tell me I’m wrong.
I’m cognizant that I’m doing this to myself, but I can’t stop my thoughts from spiraling out of control. I’m angry at him, and just as upset with myself. Shit! That man has me in knots. Again!
Well actually Carrie—you’re doing this to yourself. Those would be April’s words if she were here. April is always so sensible when it comes to giving advice. I don’t know what I’ll do if we don’t get her back. I can’t imagine my life back in Iowa without her and until yesterday, I thought she felt the same way.
There are so many things I realize she didn’t tell me, and now I’m annoyed. For starters, who she was avoiding; and why she was looking for places in New York and didn’t tell me a damn thing? This is big. I can understand if she’s doing it because she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, but we both know I’m not that insecure. At least I hope she knows it.
Reality as I know it has been completely turned upside down. So much about what I used to think about myself—and about April—isn’t true. Like how on earth I decided to lie to the cops. I never thought I’d do that, but I did last night. I lied because I was scared, and because I was after a story.
I have to admit it. Admitting it is the first step. I wanted to check out my lead before Blake got to it. I told him I hid it because I didn’t want to get too dramatic about what I found—which isn’t true. My dream of becoming a reporter is closing in. I feel it in my bones. This could be my chance. And it can give some media attention and public awareness of April’s abduction. I can be the one who follows this through and helps to locate her.
The police will always feel the opposite about press attention. They always do, but it feels like it’s the least I can do for April. She may have been lying to me but I can still speak on her behalf. In fact it’s crazy that I haven’t yet. Fuck the danger. Did Martha Gellhorn worry about being attacked as a war correspondent when she knew it was the right thing to do? No she did not. Did Diane Fossey shy away from protecting the gorillas from poachers? She didn’t either. If I’m going to make anything of myself, I need to use this opportunity. Who knows when I’ll have another chance to shine?
And now I have to add Blake to the already confusing equation. Every move he makes on me sends a mixed signal. After last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was thrown in a cell for obstructing his case, and there’s just as much of a chance that he’ll come home and drive me wild as I beg him to make me come.
I know which one I’d like more, but I’m realizing it’s not all up to me. I want him even more. The thought of his skin against mine sends shivers down my spine. No one has ever accused me like that and gotten away with it. Let alone still have me aching with erotic need the next day. It’s time I clear my head. Usually guys like Blake are a turnoff for me. But with Blake, I can’t keep it together.
I decide to take it easy to the sofa, but before I sit down, I put the photo album back on the shelf. I’m doing what I can to avoid another accusation of being a snoop. I want him to trust me and give me information—not call me out for being an uncooperative witness.
It’s getting late in the day now, and I haven’t seen him since he left early this morning. My guess is he probably has a long day like the rest of the world, and maybe longer as he had to explain why he’s bringing in two day old evidence. Still, I can’t help but think he’s avoiding me. Again, I’m left with too many questions and no answers. He’s either working, and just doesn’t have time to talk to me, or he’s about to come busting in and drag me off to lockup.
God this is a mess. How did I get us into this? I was so wrong about taking April to Caliber. I can’t tell if this whole kidnapping was random, or planned to a tee. Blake may also be right; that this has something to do with Jessup’s associates. Either way, I’m the one who brought April to New York City, so it’s on me. I don’t have the answers to any of this stuff, and I feel like I’m letting April down with every hour that passes. I could cry right now. I can’t avoid the feeling of frustration and worry and anger.
I sink down into the couch again, and pull the blanket high over my head. It’s like a cocoon. I wish I could just disappear, and that none of this was real. I’m acting like an idiot, making wishes like that, but something about being trapped here and unable to do anything, that makes me feel so helpless. I decide to sleep. There’s nothing else to do except think and watch TV, and I want to block these thoughts out.
I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the apartment. The air conditioner is my quiet companion, and there are faint noises coming from the apartment below, but otherwise the place is quiet. I move restlessly from one side to the other. It’s not long before I feel myself start to doze off. There’s nothing anybody can do to me here. At least I’m safe…
I’m having one of those half awake, half asleep dreams. The ones where you know you’re dreaming, but there’s nothing you can do about it. In the dream, the exact opposite of reality is happening. I’m on the phone again. I’m back in the room at the resort after the attack. I’m crying and shaking, but this time I know exactly what to do. I’m as sure as the sky is blue. I call Blake. He picks up and I tell him everything, including the name of my attacker.
He hops into his parents’ car, and he comes for me right away. He’s
caring and kind. Together, we go to the police station. He holds my hand while I tell them everything. My parents don’t factor in my decision. My reputation doesn’t factor in either; in my heart, I’m doing the right thing. He’s there for me. I feel happy in my dream, despite everything that has happened.
The dream fast forwards to the two of us dancing. Blake looks amazing and he’s holding me so gently. We’re moving to a soft beat. I feel he’s about to twirl me around in his arms. People are walking around with tiny glasses of sherry. April is dancing alone. She’s happy and keeps shouting out, “Someone has spiked the punch!” We’re all laughing about the punch, like it’s the funniest thing ever. Next thing I know, I look back at Blake. It’s not him holding me in his arms anymore. It’s my attacker; he’s holding me gently just like Blake would.
We’re in public so, I can’t lash out, but I want to. I want to show him what it feels like to have your clothes ripped and your pants forced down around your ankles. The dream becomes colored by my anger. The walls of the hall we’re dancing in have red spots and everyone looks like they’re hungry. I can feel his arms tighten around me.
I’m not going to get away without a fight, so I start to kick at his ankles and shins. The ends of my shoes are pointed and capped with little brass triangles mounted over the leather, but he doesn’t even seem to feel it. His breath stinks and I feel sick. Blake is nowhere around. The music is getting louder. When I try to call for help, no one can hear me. I hate this. I hate that he’s holding me, so I thrash around, trying to break free with one arm. I get out of his grip, and with a roar I wake myself up again.
I nearly scream as I sit up on the couch. Thank God I woke up. There’s never been a clearer message in a dream for me. The message is there’s no point trying Blake again. No point because he’s not in my corner. I need to do something for April. This time I’m not going to be a victim. I’m not waiting for someone who doesn’t show up. If Blake was going to help me, he would have picked up the phone by now.
I get up and my legs feel weak. The emotion overcomes me and I stifle a sob before rushing in to Heather and George’s bathroom. I splash water on my face and pull myself together. Sometimes, the universe shows me exactly what I need to see. If I still believed in God, this would be a message from him showing me the way. But I don’t believe. Instead, I’ve learned to believe in resilience, taking matters into my own hands, and ultimately, being accountable to myself.
Whether Blake and the police will do their best for April remains to be seen. I have to do something, instead of sit around Blake’s place, driving myself crazy. I leave the bathroom for the kitchen, and put the kettle on. It’s time for caffeine and some action.
The dream is long gone and there’s a new focus. I’m feeling ready to take on April’s cause. I take the stairs on my way to the upstairs phone. It’s still on the couch where I left it. I pick it up and move through the dialed numbers to get to the one I phoned this morning. I press redial and wait as it rings. It keeps ringing; no one answers. There’s not even an answering service. Who the hell doesn’t have voicemail? Something is up here.
I try the other number and it’s the same deal. I call the operator and ask her to check that the lines are working. They both are. They’re just not answering. It’s late afternoon on a work day, so these may be private homes, owned by people at work. Either that or they recognize this number and don’t want trouble. If that’s the case it would be funny. In one week, I’ve gone from being a damned good news researcher to someone who no one wants to talk to.
Chapter Six
Carrie
Trying to get whoever is on the other end of those two phone numbers is a fail so far. Shit! I head back down stairs again. The kettle is whistling, but I can’t find the coffee anywhere. I grumble now that I have to settling for a black tea.
No one can usually get between Carrie James and her coffee. It’s just a drink and I’m probably addicted, but I don’t care. I love it. It’s my routine, and I don’t have many comforts left right now.
I let the teabag start to infuse, and make my way over to the laptop on the table. It’s time to try plan B. The laptop is not Blake’s. It must be Brenda’s, but I’m past caring. I have to listen to my instincts—and although everything in my body wants Blake Anderson’s skin on mine, nothing in my mind trusts him.
I’m doing what I can for April now. Step one is checking out who these numbers belong too. I do a reverse lookup on the white pages. When it turns up nothing, I type in the address for one of those private lookup databases we have access to at the TV station. Sure enough, one of the numbers is a New York City phone number, but the owner is not listed. The other number is listed to an Erica Morgan in Brooklyn.
The phone number is in an individual’s name—not a business—yet the database is showing a business line with a fax and several extensions attached to the main number. How confusing. Normally it’s easier to locate people, and I wonder why all these walls are up. If it’s a realtor trying to rent out an apartment, or a guy calling April to hook up, they’d probably want their numbers to be accessible.
I sit down and sip my tea. This is why the Police have special resources. Right now I wish I was a cop. To find out more about who’s been calling April, I need access to their databases. Blake must have passwords. Suddenly, I’m wishing he was in my corner again, putting more effort into finding April, doing things the way I would, with all the resources he has. It’s my pipe dream, but a girl can hope.
I start to think of the questions he had for me when we ate at the diner. It dawns on me that he couldn’t have known some of the things he raised unless he was already trolling my Facebook page. We’re not social media friends—not yet anyway—so I deduce he’s been checking up on me. It also means he can check up on April.
I’m getting frustrated, but I’m not ready to give up. Plan C would be trying to guess a password, but that’s too hard. I won’t even try. It might also be illegal, so I give up that idea. Part of me thinks I should just go to Caliber and see Jessup. Even if he’s a little creepy, it makes sense that he would make it a priority to find April.
Maybe he would haul ass if he hears exactly what happened directly from me. The Police may be working their angle, trying to entrap him with some elaborate plan that might take months if they follow due process. I try Blake again on the downstairs phone line; there’s still no answer. This isolation is driving me insane.
By now I’m certain he’s avoiding me, and I hate him for it. He’s turned into exactly what he said he didn’t want to be—a power-tripping, game-playing asshole with authority. I wonder if he even gives a shit that I’m stuck here in limbo, or if this is supposed to be punishment. I feel like calling the station and telling his boss I’m getting no help. I feel like leaving. That would show him.
It’s not like I’m going anywhere yet, but that man needs to start showing me some respect—as the woman he just slept with, and as a witness. I deserve more than this push and pull craziness. God! I feel like breaking something, but I’m an invited guest in a place with a kid. I feel like drinking, but that would leave me foggy-headed with a headache.
If there were a whole cake or a bucket of ice cream here, I could eat that. I already checked, and there isn’t. I’ve been sleeping too much to have another nap. I think again about reading a book or watching TV. I remember what my mum used to say when I was bored as a kid. Do something. Write something. Go outside.
That’s it! I may not be able to go outside, but I can make something. Words are my art. I pull over the laptop, and settle myself in the chair to start crafting a story. It will probably never make it to air. Still, there’s a chance it could end up on the KCRG website. Not many people are able to provide a firsthand account of a kidnapping and get it published. And it’s about April—an Iowa local who’s kidnapped in the big, bad city of New York. It’s certain to capture some attention.
This is what I should have been working on all along! I decide I need
to email the editor now and see if he can save a place on tomorrow’s home page. Readers will love it. They will care, because it’s April. If I’m lucky, they might even get a local affiliate camera crew down here to cover the story. That’ll show Blake for leaving me here alone like I can’t contribute.
I open a new word document and start typing a draft. A surge of energy rushes through me as the words begin to flow.
Police Use Underhanded Stall Tactics and Endanger Innocent Iowa Tourist
In New York this week, Police have shocked citizens by prioritizing the capture of an alleged criminal over the rescue of a young Iowan girl. Miss April Lee, twenty-five, of Cedar Rapids, was kidnapped from the Time Square area of New York City central district at approximately three forty-five on Sunday morning. There were multiple masked assailants who used weapons to forcibly remove her from the street as she made her way home with fellow Iowan tourist, Miss Carrie James.
In what has been called a brutal attack, the two were beaten and threatened, before Miss James was able to escape and make it to New York’s 43rd Street Police precinct to seek assistance. She sustained choking and head injuries during the attack and reports that April was knocked unconscious before being removed from the scene in the trunk of a black sedan.
More shocking than the assault has been the response offered by the staff and Detectives of the NYPD. They have not only failed to devote a competent lead investigator, but have used April Lee as bait. The powers that be are clearly motivated by factors other than the safe return of a young tourist and the reason for this? Family connections. While April Lee may be a simple Iowan veterinary nurse, one of her remote family members is alleged to be involved in some yet unproved dealings within the criminal underworld.
Jessup Lee has never been formally charged or even recently questioned, but is suspected of being involved in a trafficking and prostitution ring. However, these allegations have provided weak justification for Police actions, which have left all parties asking for explanations. In particular, the gagging of the prime witness Miss James has shocked the Press association. As a researcher and reporter for KCRG, she has tried to invoke her right to free speech, but was instead imprisoned in the home of one of the Department’s Detectives pending development of the bait and trap operation.
