Don't Close Your Eyes

by Christie Craig

  Mark looked back at the doctors.

  “Are you with the Lakes patient or the Campton patient?”

  “Lakes,” he said.

  “She’s fine,” the doctor said.

  Isabella moved in and away from the man. “They are stitching up her arm and her head.”

  His breath caught. “Head?”

  The man with Isabella spoke up. “The bullet grazed her arm, but when she fell she cut her head.”

  Relief that Annie was okay made Mark’s knees weak. He noticed the way the man with Isabella continued to look at him, and he suddenly remembered being drunk on his ass and knocking on Isabella’s door.

  “I’m sorry about the other night,” he said, leaning against the wall.

  “Yeah,” the man said.

  “Seriously, I’m sorry. I don’t recall your name,” Mark said.

  “Jose Moreno.” He held out his hand as if saying he didn’t hold grudges.

  “Mark Sutton.” They shook hands.

  “Isabella tells me you’re a detective,” he said.

  “Yeah.” Mark realized he needed to start acting like a detective. “Were there police at the apartment?”

  “Yeah,” Isabella answered.

  “Did they catch the shooter?”

  “Not when we left. They were telling everyone to get inside. They were thinking it was just a drive-by. I saw Annie’s phone and purse on the ground. That’s when I called you.”

  His gut clenched. “Were there witnesses?”

  “Yeah,” Isabella replied. “But I heard them tell the police they didn’t see where the shooter went.”

  Jose put his arm around Isabella. “Someone else said they saw a car leaving the parking lot right after that. I don’t know if they got a license plate.”

  “Thanks.” Mark stepped away, intending to call Connor, when he saw an officer walking toward him.

  “You here for the Lakes shooting?” Mark said, flashing his badge.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Other than someone tried to kill her, not much.”

  * * *

  Annie leaned back on the gurney in the emergency room. The whiteness of the walls reminded her of Mark’s house. The smell crawled up her nose. Her head hurt. Her arm hurt. Then Mark walked in and a sharp pain sparked in her heart and settled into a deep emotional ache that hurt more than anything.

  “Hey.” His gaze swallowed her up. Her vision went watery.

  “It’s okay.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

  Then he brushed a few tears off her cheeks. “I’m going to catch who did this.”

  “I did what you said.” Her voice quavered. “I only parked there because another car had pulled up.”

  “I know.” He slipped his hand in hers and squeezed, and glanced at her arm.

  “It’s barely anything.” She swiped at her own tears, trying to be strong. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” But she did. Someone had used her for target practice.

  “Getting shot does that to you.” He half-smiled. “Can you tell what happened?”

  The question reminded her that he was here as a cop, not her boyfriend.

  “Did you recognize the shooter?”

  “No.”

  “Man or a woman?”

  She closed her eyes, but all she could see was her blood on the pavement. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay.” He kept holding her hand, his thumb brushing across her wrist. Did he do this with all the witnesses?

  “Someone else might have seen more than I did.”

  Mark nodded. “I need to leave to speak to the officers at the scene, but there’s an officer outside your door. You’re safe. The doctor said you’d be released tonight. APD is putting you up in a hotel.”

  “A hotel? But I work tomorrow.”

  “No.” His expression turned serious. All cop-like. “Tonight changes everything. Someone tried to kill you. They may have killed your cousin. You’re taking some time off.”

  His words, his tone made it even more real. She could have died tonight.

  He squeezed her hand as if to say good-bye. She tightened her grip.

  Then Annie remembered. “I got a call. Earlier tonight.”

  “From who? Why didn’t—”

  “I didn’t recognize the number. There was static, but they said my name. I called back and no one answered. I’ll show you.” She sat up. “My phone…?”

  “Isabella has it. I’ll get your phone from her and check into the number. Until then, don’t call your mom.”

  Her chin trembled. “She wouldn’t—”

  “I know you don’t want to think she’s involved in this. And for your sake I hope you’re right, but at the very least, she’s with people I think are behind this.”

  The lump in her throat doubled. “Fine.” But it wasn’t. Nothing was fine.

  He exhaled. “I’m sorry. I hate to leave, but I need to get to the scene.”

  His hand was still in hers and it felt so right. She wanted to ask when he’d be back, but was afraid he wouldn’t. “Be careful. If they’ll shoot me, they’ll shoot you.”

  His palm tightened against hers. “Your halo’s showing again.”

  She glanced up into his blue eyes. “So is yours.”

  She remembered him talking about the guilt he felt about his sister and yet, he still worked cases that brought it all back. Maybe he did it to punish himself, but she knew he cared.

  “I don’t have a halo.”

  “Yes, you do. I see it.”

  A flash of emotion crossed his expression. He looked as if he was going to say something, something meaningful, something she could hold on to. Instead he pulled his warm hand from hers and left.

  A cop. Not a boyfriend.

  * * *

  It was after eleven before the doctor gave Annie her walking papers. Because she was leaving for the hotel, she hugged Isabella good-bye. When the hug ended, Annie asked, “Did you talk to Jose?”

  “Yeah.” Isabella sighed. “He was upset that I didn’t tell him. But he says it wasn’t my fault, and he never would’ve left me for it.”

  “He loves you.” Annie smiled.

  “Yeah. What about you and the hot detective?”

  “I don’t think…” Annie let her words drop off and her heart and hope dropped with it.

  “Don’t give up. If you could’ve only seen how scared he was when he got here.”

  Annie nodded, but she couldn’t believe it. Plus, Mark might’ve been drunk when he talked about the white picket fence, but he was right. She wanted marriage and family.

  * * *

  Annie had a police escort to the hotel. He even walked her to her room. Before he left he assured her that he or another officer would be parked outside. Shutting the door, she sat on the hotel bed, stared at the other empty bed, and felt lonelier than ever.

  And scared.

  What if the person who’d tried to kill her came here? What if they got past the officer?

  She got up to make sure she’d locked the door. She had.

  With no toothbrush, no pajamas, no one to lean on, she rinsed her mouth out, pulled her bra off, and crawled into one of the beds. She’d slept some in the emergency room, but now sleep evaded her. She was still staring at the ceiling, worrying about her mom, about Fran, when someone knocked on the door.

  She shot up, her heart pounding.

  “Annie. It’s Mark.” The voice whispered through the door and went right to her heart.

  She let him in. He had one of her suitcases. “Isabella packed it for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He shut the door. “You okay?”

  No. “Barely hurts.”

  “Wait till tomorrow.”

  “Something to look forward to,” she said with a slight laugh. “The scar on your leg is a bullet wound?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who shot you?”

  He grinned. “The devil.�
� When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. “It was Halloween. They wore costumes to rob the jewelry stores.”

  He looked at the door, as if to leave. Please don’t go. “Did you get anything?”

  “The man who called the ambulance didn’t see the guy. Another neighbor saw a small dark-colored car racing out of the parking lot. So nothing there either. But the number that called you belongs to a Jimmy Birch. Lives in Burnett, Texas. You know him?”

  “No,” she said.

  “We got an address on him and had a patrol car go by there. No one was home. You sure the caller said your name?”

  “Yes, and it was a woman.”

  “I’ll look into it tomorrow. We did find a bullet. It’s being tested.”

  He sat on the extra bed. He looked tired. His hair was a little mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

  “You mind if I camp here for the night? To sleep.”

  Relieved, she smiled. “I’ve heard you tell me that before.”

  He smiled. She’d missed seeing it. Other than when he was drunk, she hadn’t seen that crooked grin in a while.

  “That time wasn’t on me. Besides, this is different. You can’t have sex after you’ve been shot.”

  She grinned. “Doctor told you that, huh?”

  “No.” His smile widened. “It’s in the official police handbook.”

  They laughed. When the laughter stopped, it got awkward again.

  She rolled the suitcase into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Isabella had packed her new two-piece pink pajama set. Annie decided to sleep in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt instead.

  When she came out, Mark, fully clothed, was reclined on the bed.

  She crawled into her bed.

  “Lights out?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  Lights went out. Dark silence followed. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen.

  She heard the slight rumble of the mattress shifting and glanced over.

  Through the dark, she saw him on his side looking at her.

  “I’m sorry about showing up drunk. I don’t remember everything, but what I remember I’m ashamed of.”

  “Other than being drunk, you didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.”

  They stared at each other in the darkness. He exhaled and asked, “Do you think anyone abused you when you were a kid?”

  His question hurt. She understood why he’d think it. “No. I know you believe my mom is a monster, but she’s not. She loved me and so did my dad.”

  “Good,” he said. “I couldn’t handle thinking someone hurt you.”

  The way he said it brushed across her heart. Why did he act like he cared when he was the one to push her away? In the distance, someone slammed a hotel room door.

  He readjusted his pillow. “How did you know those kids were being abused?”

  She lifted up on her elbow. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  She sat up. “Tell me what?”

  He sat up and turned on the lamp. Light flooded the room. It felt too harsh. “Three of the kids you reported to CPS have since been removed from their homes. You were right—they were being abused.”

  Annie fisted the sheet into her hands. Their faces flashed in her heart. Lucy. Jamie. Tommy. Brittani. She’d forced herself to stop thinking of them because it hurt too much, because it made her question herself.

  A lump, too big for her throat, formed between her tonsils. Anger, resentment, fury boiled inside her. “How long did they suffer before someone helped them? And which one wasn’t removed?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll find out if it’s important to you.”

  She grabbed a pillow and punched it. “I wanted to be wrong.”

  He came and sat beside her. His arm came around her shoulders. She leaned into him and cried. Not for herself, but those precious kids. The kids she’d tried to help and failed.

  Why hadn’t she kept insisting? Made someone believe her?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  After a few minutes, she pulled herself together. “No one believed me.”

  “They do now.” His hand stayed on her shoulder. “What made you suspect this?”

  “Their eyes.” She teared up again. “They were hurting and not just physically.” A realization hit. “In the picture Fran had the same look. Wounded.” She put her hand over her lips, and leaned against his arm again.

  “I’m sorry they didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I doubted you. Even if I doubted you only a few minutes.”

  She sat up. “How did you find out?”

  “I went to see the cop who arrested you for breaking the restraining order. He told me that a caseworker on that case had called him looking for information. She told him they were having to remove the child.”

  “Lucy.” As she said the girl’s name, she remembered the sad look in her eyes, the emotional weight on her tiny shoulders.

  “I went to see the caseworker.”

  She looked up. Their eyes met. And held.

  He pulled his arm from around her. “You okay now?”

  “Yeah.”

  He went back to his bed. “Lights out?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  The sound of them both reclining filled the dark hotel room. Then came the silence. She could hear him breathe. Hear herself breathe.

  “I don’t remember my father,” he said, almost a whisper. “I was a few months old when he left. It was just Mom and me. She worked two jobs. Waitressed during the day, and sang in a band at night. She’d wanted to be country western singer. I spent more time with a neighbor than her. She wasn’t the greatest mom. Most of her days off, she’d date. But I knew she loved me.”

  Annie had no idea why he’d decided to tell her this, but she held on to his every word.

  “When she didn’t have a date, she’d play the guitar and sing to me. One Saturday morning she took me to a yard sale. I saw a saxophone. I begged her to buy it for me. She did. I loved playing that thing. She loved hearing me play, so I kept practicing. I wanted her to be proud of me.” He paused. “When I was nine, I entered into a talent show and I won a two-hundred-dollar prize. We went to an amusement park. I still remember that day. The cotton candy. The hot dogs. Her laughing.”

  He stopped talking again. “Then Mom met Logan. I was ten. At first, he treated me nice. She got pregnant. We moved in with him. It was a nice three-bedroom house, even had a picket fence. I got a baby sister.” She heard the hurt in his voice.

  “What was your sister’s name?” Silence followed and she didn’t think he was going to answer.

  “Casey.” Several seconds passed before he continued. “Mom quit work and stayed home with us. Shortly after that, Logan got hurt at work. He lost his job, started drinking more. He was a mean drunk. He’d come home from the bar and they’d fight. I’d get between them. He somehow knew not to hit me.”

  Mark inhaled and it sounded like pain. “Mom got a job, he kept drinking. I took care of Casey. My sister counted on me for things. When she’d wet the bed at night, she’d sneak into my room so Logan wouldn’t get mad about her waking them up. The next morning I’d wash the sheets so no one would know.”

  She heard him swallow. “She was scared of her own dad. He’d never hit her—Mom took all that. But he’d yell and throw things, and she’d cry. I got into the school band and when my bandleader heard me play, he got me some gigs playing a song or two in various bands. Mom would take me and she’d get a babysitter for Casey. Mom was so proud of me. We shared the love of music. Logan hated that she spent so much time with me, but he sure didn’t mind taking the money I made.”

  He drew in air that sounded raw.

  “When I was fifteen, a friend of mine had a party. His parents were out of town. He had beer and girls staying there.” Mark drew in a quick breath. “Casey asked me not to go. Asked who’d protect her from her daddy.”

  She sat up. “You were a teenager, Mark.”

 
“Mom got called in to work. They were low on money. When she got home, he was high on something. He said Casey had gone out to play and hadn’t come back.” Mark draped an arm over his face. “They found her the next day. He’d dumped her body in one of those garbage bins. He finally talked. Said he told her to get him a beer, and she dropped it. He got mad, and the drugs and the alcohol made him lose it.”

  Annie fisted the sheet in her hand.

  “He killed her because she dropped his beer. Then he threw her away.” His voice shook. “Mom killed herself the next day. I was so angry at Logan, but I was angrier at Mom. She left me.”

  Annie gasped then got up and went to sit beside him. He kept his arm over his face.

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t move. She put her hand on his chest.

  “I went to foster care for two years.” His voice grew hoarse. “I learned to depend on myself. Got passed around a lot. At eighteen I left. Renting a room in someone’s house. I worked two jobs and went to college. I became a cop to stop the Logans of the world. I do okay. Some days I do great. Until it’s a kid and then…it all comes back. The anger. The guilt. If I get drunk enough, I can forget.”

  Annie stood and went around to the other side and crawled in bed with him. He kept one arm over his eyes, she put her head on his shoulder and listened to his heart beat, felt his chest shift up, then down.

  “I lived in that house with a white picket fence and two kids. A mom and a so-called dad. And it wasn’t pretty. So there it is. I’ve told you everything. But I don’t think I can forgive. Not them, or myself.”

  “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything to be forgiven,” she said.

  “I already hurt you, Annie. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  He pulled her closer. They lay there, neither of them said another word. It was just them. In the dark. The pain of the past. And an unknown future.

  When Annie woke up the next morning, Mark was gone.

  * * *

  Mark held the phone close to his ear. “Ms. Birch, I’m Detective Sutton with the Anniston Police Department. Your husband’s number came up in an investigation. Can you tell me where he is?”

  “Did you say Anniston?” Ms. Birch sounded half asleep.

  “Yes ma’am.”