by A. M. Myers
“Hey, Dad. You about home? You’re never going to believe the phone call I just got from a customer.”
“Lincoln,” he says again and the pain in his voice catches my attention as my heart rate quickens.
Something’s not right, a voice in my head screams and my hand shakes as I press the button again.
“You okay, Dad?”
Please say yes.
Please say yes.
Please say yes.
“Not exactly, kid,” his voice echoes through the office and I suck in a breath, a roaring sound filling my ears. “The plane went down.”
I collapse back into my chair, my mind recalling every image I’ve ever seen of a small plane crash as I stare out of the window like somehow, I might catch him landing on the runway instead of trapped in a mangled metal box.
“What do you mean it went down?” I whisper, holding the microphone close to my lips. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I had just come over the mountain when all the gauges started going crazy and I couldn’t stop it. She went down hard.”
I run through the mechanics of the plane in my mind, trying to figure out what could have possibly failed but it’s impossible to think with my heart hammering in my chest and each breath punching out of my chest. Looking down at the microphone in my hand, I realize I need to get him some help. Nodding, I turn toward the desk and grab a pen.
“Give me your coordinates, Dad, and I’ll get help out to you.”
He rattles off some coordinates and I scribble them down before grabbing the phone and dialing nine-one-one. I relay all the information to the operator before setting the phone down and grabbing the microphone again.
“Okay, Dad. Help is on the way.”
“Listen to me, Linc,” he says, his voice growing weaker and chills blanket my skin. “They’re not going to make it in time.”
I recoil, staring down at the microphone in my hand with wide eyes before I press the button. “What are you talking about? They’re coming right now. You’ve just got to hang on.”
“I need you to listen, son. I’m losing a lot of blood and I’m pretty sure I nicked an artery in my leg. The crash site is fifteen miles out of town, at least. This is a body recovery, not a rescue.”
“Don’t say that,” I hiss, tears burning my eyes. “Just hang on.”
“Lincoln,” he whispers, his voice trailing off at the end and my heart seizes.
“Dad!”
“I’m still here.” His voice is even weaker than before and it hits me all at once, crashing down on me like an avalanche that this is the last time I’m ever going to speak to my father. Tears slips down my cheeks and I rest my head in my hand, struggling to breathe. I’m not ready for this. I’m only fifteen – how the hell am I supposed to go on without my dad? And Mom… Oh, God. I have to call Mom and tell her what’s happening.
“Do me a favor, Kid?” he asks and I nod.
“Yeah, Dad. Anything.”
“Take care of your mom and sisters for me, okay? You’re all they have left now and they need you.”
A sob rips its way through my lips and I pound my fist into the desk. Why? Why is this happening to him? To our family?
“I will. I promise.” My voice cracks and I flick a few tears off my face.
“And tell them all how much I love them. If there was anyway out of this, I would be there with you all.”
“I’ll tell them.”
“Good. It’s time to be the man I’ve been raising you to be. I know it’s not fair but you’ve already made me so proud, Lincoln. This is just the hand we’ve been dealt and I know I can count on you to step up.”
“I won’t let you down.”
The silence stretches between us and my chest feels tight, my mind screaming as I wait for him to respond to me.
“I know you won’t. You’re a good kid and an even better son. Never forget how much I love you.”
“I love you, too, Dad,” I whisper, praying for more time but the only response is a haunting static.
Chapter One
Tatum
A crash echoes through the empty streets and my heart slams into my ribs as I squint into the darkness, searching for any sign of danger. I quicken my steps when I find nothing. I would much prefer if the danger just jumped out at me because then, I could deal with it. The unknown drives me crazy. Ducking my head, I press onward and flex my fingers around the can of pepper spray in my hand. My pulse pounds in my ears and I suck in a breath, reminding myself that I only have one more block to go. One more block and I’ll be home, safe and sound… or as safe as you can be in this part of town. There was a time, before I ever lived here, that this neighborhood was a desired place to live but drugs and crime started creeping in and everyone else left, dropping the property value. The only people left are the folks like me who can’t afford to move anywhere else.
Thunder rumbles in the distance and I smile, lifting my face to the sky to breathe in the scent of rain temporarily masking the stench of stale beer and cigarettes that usually lingers in the air. A breeze blows through my hair and I consider opening the windows as soon as I get home so the fresh rain smell can fill my little apartment. I wouldn’t even entertain the idea if I didn’t live on the third floor of my building. Plus, the landlord hasn’t fixed the fire escapes yet so anyone that tries to climb it will go crashing to their death before they reach me.
A car alarm wails behind me and I jump as I glance over my shoulder, my pulse spiking. The dark street at my back only intensifies the sense of foreboding that I’ve been carrying around all night. God, why can’t I shake this feeling? My mother’s voice pierces through my thoughts, once again nagging me to pack up and move somewhere safer. That’s easy for her to say, though. Apartments in a nice part of town cost money and with the two jobs I already have, I’m barely making it. I just have to keep telling myself that someday all this struggle will pay off. I will finally save enough money to go to school and become a nurse, someday I’ll make enough money to buy a house in a better part of town and then, all the shit I’m going through now will be a distant memory.
Hopefully.
Relief surges through me as my apartment building comes into view and I jog over to the door, eager to get inside and collapse into a heap on my bed. When I reach the door, I duck inside and check my mailbox before turning for the stairs. I take them two at a time, always keeping an eye on my surroundings as I march down the hallway with my head held high. One of the first things I learned when I moved here was that if you looked scared, people would only mess with you more so even when I’m feeling weak, I keep my head up and try to look as badass as I wish I felt. The light above me flickers as I stop at my door and jam my key into the first deadbolt and I blow out a breath, sending up a silent prayer to God or whatever deity is watching out for me that I don’t get killed tonight. A shiver twists down my spine and I shake my head as I move to unlock the second deadbolt. Maybe my mother is right. What good will my sacrifices do if I don’t live long enough to realize my dream?
Once inside, I shut the door and relock both deadbolts before securing the chain and turning with a sigh, letting the sense of security wash over me. I drop my keys onto the table with a clank and survey my small apartment, making sure everything is exactly as I left it earlier. There’s a bowl next to the sink from my breakfast and the small pile of bills are stacked neatly on the dining room table – so far, so good. A blanket is strewn over the back of the couch from where I was watching a movie last night and as I scan over to the TV, I stop. The curtains are open and for the life of me, I can’t remember if I left them closed or not. Squinting my eyes closed, I picture the living room last night as I got ready for bed but I still can’t recall what position the curtains were in. My heart races as I scan the apartment again but it’s silent and I shake my head as I blow out a breath.
This is ridiculous.
I’m a grown woman but I still play this stupid game that Mom made my twin brot
her, Theo, and I play every time we came back to wherever we were staying at the time. I can’t help it, though. After all these years, she’s trained me to notice every little thing and be hyper focused on my surroundings. In some ways, it’s nice, especially as a woman living alone but right now, when I’m so tired I could just fall over right here and I can’t remember how I left the damn curtains, it’s a damn inconvenience.
Sighing, I push off the door and drag my tired body to the bedroom, still focused on everything around me no matter how stupid I think it is. In my bedroom, I plop down on the mattress and kick my shoes off, groaning at the ache that radiates up my calves. When my friend, Mia, called me yesterday and asked me to cover her shift at the diner, I jumped at the opportunity to make some more money but after sixteen hours on my feet, I’m not sure that it’s worth it. It’s not unusual to get home from a shift with every part of my body aching and sometimes, it feels like I’m killing myself and not getting anywhere.
Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I pull up my bank account and let out a pained groan when I see the measly balance in my savings account. I doubt it’s even enough to buy the books I would need for one year of classes. Sighing, I go back to the home screen and open my messages before firing off one to my mom to let her know I made it home safe and sound. It’s just past two in the morning so she won’t get it until she wakes up but it will put her mind at ease and save me a sunrise visit from her when all I want to do is fall face first in this bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
Pushing myself to my feet, I toss my phone back on the bed and amble over to the window before pushing it up just enough to let the scent of rain fill the room. Closing my eyes, I breathe it in for a moment before stripping out of my uniform and tossing it in the hamper. I grab the XXL t-shirt off the chair in the corner and slip it over my head before crawling into bed. Grabbing my phone off the mattress, I plug it in and set it on the table next to my bed before opening the drawer and laying my fingers on the cold metal of my pistol. Just knowing it’s there if I need it makes me feel more secure and I close the drawer again as I fluff up my pillow and lie down. The world goes dark as I pull the comforter up over my head and close my eyes, sleep already luring me into its warm embrace.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
I shoot up, flinging the blanket back as I stare down the dark hallway, every hair on my arm raised. My hand reaches for the pistol mindlessly as I suck in a breath and remind myself that it’s probably Lonnie, the old drunk that lives down the hall. He’s always going to the wrong door and when his key doesn’t work, he’ll make a ruckus until someone points him in the right direction. Another round of pounding reverberates through the apartment and I open the drawer, grabbing the gun, as I push the covers off my legs. Nothing good can come from someone pounding on your door at two in the morning – even if it is just Lonnie. I slip out of bed just as the person at my door knocks again and I set the pistol down on the bed as I grab a pair of mesh shorts and slip them on. Once I’m dressed, I grab the gun again and creep down the hallway, my heart pounding and my body poised to strike at a moment’s notice.
A few feet from the door, my steps slow and I creep forward on tippy toes, trying to make as little noise as possible. When I reach the door, I glance in the peephole and my hand shakes as I watch the man in a suit on the other side who is clearly not Lonnie. He doesn’t seem threatening but Mom always taught us that you can never be too careful. A nice suit could make the devil look like a saint.
“What do you want?” I yell through the door, my grip firm on the gun and my finger hovering over the trigger.
“I need to speak to Miss Tatum Carter.”
I shake my head. “Not at two in the morning you don’t.”
“Please,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’m from the Baton Rouge Police Department and it’s urgent that I speak to Miss Carter.”
Sinking my teeth into my lip, I take a step back and look around before sucking in a breath before moving back to the door.
“Let me see your badge,” I order as I peer through the peephole again and he holds a badge and his ID up to the glass. I inspect it for a moment before stepping away from the door and setting the gun down on the table, away from me but still within reach. I unlock the deadbolt but leave the chain in place as I crack the door open and peer up at him.
“Let me see that badge again,” I say and he presents it to me. It may seem ridiculous but it was only a few months ago that a man dressed up as a police officer to gain access to the apartments of a few of my neighbors. He raped them and left them for dead.
“What do you want?” I ask when I’m done inspecting his ID and he slips it back into his pocket.
“Miss Carter, I presume?” he asks and I nod. “I’m Detective Rodriguez. Do you mind if I come in and speak to you for a moment?”
“About?”
“I would really prefer to speak to you about that inside, ma’am.”
I study him for another moment before nodding and closing the door to release the chain. When I open it again, he steps inside and scans the room, his gaze lingering on the pistol on the table before he turns to me with a quirked brow.
“It’s registered,” I assure him.
“You always keep it on the kitchen table?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’m a single woman living in one of the worst areas of town. It’s never far from me. Besides, you’re the one pounding on my door at two in the morning.”
“I do apologize for that. The subject is… sensitive and I needed to speak to you before anyone else did.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “Well, now you’re worrying me. What’s going on?”
“Please,” he says, gesturing to the table. “Have a seat.”
He sits at the head of the rectangular table and I choose the chair adjacent to him as he sets a folder down on the table. Sighing, he pulls a photo out of the folder and sets it down in front of me.
“Do you recognize this car?”
I nod, staring down at the dependable little Nissan she loves – now a mangled mess. “Yes, it’s my mother’s. What happened?”
Worry twists in my gut and it only gets worse when Detective Rodriguez looks uneasy. “At eleven fifty-three this evening, I was called to the scene of a hit and run accident involving this vehicle. When I arrived, they were loading a woman into the ambulance. They rushed her to the hospital and after all attempts to revive her, she was pronounced dead at twelve thirty-six a.m.”
“Are-are you telling me my mother is dead?” I stutter, pressing a hand against my chest in an attempt to restart my stalled heart. A roaring sound fills my ears and my mind blanks as I wait for his answer. An answer that I somehow already know – like I can feel it deep down in my gut – but I can’t believe it. Not until he says the words.
“That’s the reason I’m here, ma’am. We need you to identify the body.”
All the air rushes out of me and I nod. “Oh.”
Detective Rodriguez pulls another photo out and places it face down on the table in front of me. “I know this is a difficult time for you, Miss Carter, but the sooner we confirm that it is your mother, the sooner we can shift our focus to figuring out what really happened.”
The room spins as I stare at him, trying to process what he just said. How the hell am I supposed to do this? It can’t be true. Not my mother. She’s the strongest, bravest person I’ve ever met so there’s no way she was taken out by a simple car accident. It’s not possible. This doesn’t feel real. Like any moment, I’ll wake up and be back in my bed, under the covers. I set my shaking hand down on the table, my heart jumping into my throat as I try to convince myself to flip the photo over. My mind is screaming to do it but my hand won’t move as it desperately tries to save me from discovering the truth.
Lightning streaks across the sky as I reach forward and gently turn the photo over as the world around me fades out of focus. A sob lodges in my throat and I st
are down at the photo of my beautiful mother, laid out on a metal autopsy table with a pale blue sheet pulled up over her chest. Tears spill down my cheeks and the sob that I was barely holding back tears through my lips. Detective Rodriguez lays his hand on top of mine and another sob rips through me. He doesn’t need me to say anything because the sound of my cries is all the evidence we both need. It’s my mother lying on that cold metal table in a morgue somewhere across town and in her death, she’s taking a chunk of my soul with her.
* * * *
My stomach sinks like a stone and my feet are rooted to the concrete as I sit on a park bench across from the Baton Rouge Police Department, staring up at the formidable building that holds answers. Answers that I’m not even sure I want.
“Ready to go?” Theo asks, sitting down next to me on the bench and I shrug my shoulders.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“We’ll go in whenever you’re ready, T,” he assures me and I turn to him with a raised brow.
“How the hell are you being so damn strong right now?”
He shakes his head. “I think I’m just in shock.”
Turning back to the building, I nod. Shock is a good word for how this feels. Theo is stationed in Charleston with the Navy and after Detective Rodriguez left my apartment two days ago, I called him in tears. After five hours and several calls to his chief, he was on the road to help me process all of this and bury our mother. But none of it feels real.
“It doesn’t seem possible…” I muse and Theo turns to me.
“What doesn’t?”
“The car accident. I mean, this is the same woman who has a gun conveniently hidden in every room of her house, the one who built a panic room out of her bedroom closet, she made us train in at least three different martial arts, made us run drills for every disaster scenario and a car accident is what kills her? It doesn’t fit.”
