by Elicia Hyder
“No!” she screamed.
“Journey!” He shook her shoulders. “Look at me!”
EMTs were clearing the staircase to the second floor. Everyone was shouting.
“Look at me!” he repeated, forcing her face in front of his.
His chocolate brown eyes were terrified.
She knew.
“No!” she bellowed again, so blind with tears that everything was a blur of red and yellow lights. Her knees buckled, and if it weren’t for Curtis’s firm grasp around her, she would’ve melted into a puddle on the concrete.
“He’s alive, but they’ve got to get him to the hospital,” he said. “You have to listen to me. Look at me.”
She blinked and saw the stretcher coming down the stairs. She recognized the worn-out tactical boots that she had never gotten around to replacing.
“Curtis, please,” she begged.
Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to hold her for long, he ushered her through the crowd. She pushed everyone away that moved toward her. When she broke through the police tape, she lunged toward her husband as they carried him to the ambulance. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open. They had stripped off his vest. Blood was everywhere and splattered across his perfect face. She grasped for him, and the emergency workers paused long enough for her to touch his cold chest.
“Marcus!”
“Get her out of here!” someone angrily demanded.
Curtis clotheslined her with his arm as she tried to follow the stretcher. “Stop!” he shouted, digging his fingers into both of her arms. “You can’t go! We’ll follow.” He shook her again. “Journey! We will follow him.”
The ambulance was rolling before they even slammed the doors closed. Journey watched a paramedic straddle Marcus’s legs holding a firm compression on his thigh with all of his body strength. Curtis practically dragged Journey to his SUV and buckled her inside. Her father got into the backseat behind her and put his reassuring hands on her shoulders.
Curtis got in, started the engine, and quickly shut his radio transmitter off. Curtis answered questions for her father the whole 4.3 miles to Emerson Regional Hospital, but she didn’t hear a word that they said.
In her lap, her palms were face up and coated with Marcus’s blood.
21
Sleep
At 9:22 p.m., Journey stumbled out of the front door of the Emerson hospital. Several police cruisers and news vans were parked in the front. Expectant officers and reporters were gathered in small huddles, but she staggered past them through the parking lot. Somewhere behind her, she heard the sound of her name, but she didn’t look back. When she reached the end of the lot, she sank down into the grass beside a newly planted tree that still had stakes tied to its base for support.
Her cell phone was in her hand.
She brought up a blank text message, searched for David’s name, and typed out words she knew she could never say out loud.
Marcus is dead.
Her thumb left a bloody print on the send key.
She stared at the phone for a moment, then hurled it as far as she could into the woods. Her body slumped onto the cold, wet earth as painful sobs erupted from deep inside her.
After some time, Elena stretched out beside her. Without a word, Elena pulled her winter coat open and gathered her sister under its protection from the cold.
· · ·
David paced the room for ten minutes trying to call Journey’s cell phone to no avail. When he couldn’t get an answer on Marcus’s phone either, he called his parents. His mother sounded grave when she answered the phone.
“I was just about to call you,” she said.
David sank down at his kitchen table. “Is it true?”
“Marcus was shot and killed tonight in a shootout in East Emerson,” she confirmed. “That’s all I know.”
His face dropped into the palm of his hand. “I’m on my way,” he said and disconnected the call.
He rose from the table and went to his bedroom. He was cramming clothes and toiletries into a duffel bag when Allie got home after seeing a movie with her friends. When she came in, she halted in the doorway with surprise.
She dropped her purse at the door. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t pause to look at her. “Going to Georgia. My friend Marcus was killed tonight.”
She said nothing. He pulled his suit out of their bedroom closet, and as he stuffed a pair of dress shoes into the bag, she stepped forward. “You’re not going to Georgia,” she protested.
Anger nearly boiled over inside of him, and he turned his fierce gaze on her. “I don’t think I asked for your permission.”
She looked taken back but indignant. She opened her mouth. “David, I won’t—”
He cut her off. “You won’t say another word about it,” he said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but if you don’t understand why I have to go, then maybe you shouldn’t be here when I get back.”
She stumbled back against the wall as he brushed past her. He wanted to feel like a jerk, but he didn’t. There was no time for remorse or apologies.
· · ·
The next couple of days were a foggy mix of disjointed events. People came and went from Journey’s house, bringing food and flowers and insufficient words of condolence. Journey spent most of her time confined to her bedroom, hugging Marcus’s pillow, just to be comforted by his fading scent imprinted in the fabric.
In the chaos that ensued during the invasion of the apartment on West Copeland, Brian Drake had shot her husband twice: once in the shoulder and once in the thigh, shattering his femur and sending shards of bone into his femoral artery. He had bled to death before the ambulance reached the hospital.
Brian had also been shot multiple times. Marcus had succeeded in crippling him with a bullet into his ribcage before Billy Campbell, another officer injured in the shootout, delivered a fatal blow to Brian’s skull. The other shooter, Travis Morgan, also died at the scene. Steven, however, escaped over the balcony into the woods. He was still considered armed and dangerous.
After two days of being at home, surrounded by everything to do with Marcus, she asked her parents if she and Genna could stay with them for a while. Without hesitation, they helped her pack some essentials, and they drove her and the baby back to their house. She left most of the funeral arrangements to her mother and to the police department, but she did ask that the service be held at Marcus’s grandmother’s church. He would’ve wanted that.
Journey was buried under a mound of covers in the comfort of her childhood bed, when she heard a gentle knock at the door. She didn’t answer. The door creaked slightly and warm light spilled into her dark room.
“Journey?” she heard a deep voice say.
She pressed her eyes closed. “David,” she whispered.
Slowly, he walked into her field of vision and knelt down beside her bed. His fingers gently trailed down her face. She grasped his hand and held it tightly over her eyes as the sobs came again. The edge of the bed sank down under his weight, as he gathered her into his arms and held her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair as she heaved against his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried with her.
She curled her fingers into his shirt and wept uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity. He cradled and rocked her in his arms until her wailing subsided. When she could finally speak again, she stayed nestled under his chin and asked, “What are you doing here?”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I came as soon as I got your message. I’ve been trying to find you for days. This is my third visit here because I didn’t know where you had moved.”
“What about your wife?”
“Oh, she didn’t come,” he said, shaking his head.
“Was she mad?”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah.”
She pulled back and looked at him. His hair was a mess, and he had a perfect three-day-old, five o’clock shadow. Aside from a few lines arou
nd his eyes, he hadn’t changed a bit. She looked into his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He digested the sentence for a moment before finally tracing the outline of her face with his fingertips. “Journey, I should never have left in the first place.”
She dropped her head and sighed.
After a moment, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Come on. Get up. Your mother tells me you haven’t eaten in almost three days.”
She groaned, but he wouldn’t allow her to fall back onto the mattress. “Up, I said,” he repeated, tugging on her arm. He pulled her legs around to the side of the bed and hoisted her up onto her feet.
He took in the full sight of her. “Whoa.” His eyes were wide. “You need a hairbrush. That mess is scary.”
She covered her head with her arms and walked to the dresser. She picked up her brush and yanked it through the tangles in her hair. Finally, she turned back toward him. “Better?” she asked.
He tilted his head to the side. “Not really.” He laughed and took her hand. “But it will have to do. Come on.”
Downstairs, in the living room, everyone looked very surprised to see her. Kara and her mother were there, along with her own parents and Elena and Derek. “Well, I’m glad to see someone got you out of the bed,” Elena said smiling.
Journey pushed her hair away from her face. She looked around the room. “Where’s Genna?” she asked.
“She’s asleep in her pack and play in our room,” her mother replied. “How about some dinner?”
Journey nodded and walked toward the kitchen. She stopped to hug Kara’s mother, Jann. David sat down at the table next to her.
“David, can I fix you a plate?” her mother asked from the stove.
He shook his head. “No ma’am. I already ate with my parents.”
“Are you sure? I made your favorite,” she said.
His eyes lit up. “Sweet potatoes?”
She laughed. “Yes, sir.”
He smiled. “Maybe I’ll have a little bit.”
Journey laughed for the first time in days. Her mother put a plate full of ham, sweet potatoes, green beans, and two rolls on the table in front of her. Journey felt overwhelmed. “You know I can’t eat all this.”
Carol squeezed her shoulder. “Try.”
David ate the bowl of sweet potatoes that her mother made for him and then ate half of Journey’s as well. Kara, Jann, and Elena joined them, and when he started talking about his deployments with the Rangers, Journey’s dad came and sat down also. Journey found it a relief to hear about anything other than the shooting, the funeral, or even about how wonderful Marcus was.
“I think the baby is awake,” Derek said, coming from the guest bathroom down the hallway.
Carol wiped her hands on the dish towel. “Thank you, Derek.”
Journey pushed her chair back. “No, Mom. I want to go get her,” Journey said, turning toward the hallway. She walked down to her parents’ master bedroom and quietly pushed the door open.
Genna was on her back with her hands grabbing onto her feet. She was babbling away as usual. “Mama!” Genna yelped when she saw her.
Journey smiled, reached down, and lifted her out. Journey hadn’t held her daughter in days. She kissed the top of her little head as more tears filled her eyes. “Ma ma ma ma ma,” Genna continued while trying to stuff her fingers into Journey’s mouth.
“I’ve missed you,” Journey said, wiping her eyes on the back of her sweatshirt sleeve. She hugged Genna until she squirmed.
When she carried her back to the kitchen, David stood when she entered. He laughed. “She looks just like you,” he said and laughed. “You know, back in high school when you didn’t have any hair!”
Journey smiled and stopped in front of him. “This is Genna,” she said.
He reached out to take her. “Hi Genna.” He dangled her awkwardly out in front of him. “I’m your Uncle Dave.”
Carol put her arm around Journey’s shoulders.
“She’s not a football, David,” Kara said. “You look like you’re ready to spiral her across the room.”
He laughed and pulled the baby close to him, balancing her against his shoulder. She played with his beard and giggled when he rubbed his scruffy chin against her cheek. “How old is she now?” he asked.
“Ten months,” Journey answered. “She will be one in February.”
David smiled at her as he bounced Genna in his arms. “You did good.”
“Thanks,” she replied.
Kara and her mother stood up from the table. She walked over and pulled Journey into a tight hug. She was able to rest her chin on the top of Journey’s head. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got to drive Mom home, so we are going to take off. I’m glad to see you out of bed,” she said.
Journey looked up at her. “Thanks for being here.”
Kara winked at her. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Jann hugged Journey goodbye as well. She looked just like Kara, only a foot shorter with more wrinkles and dark auburn hair.
Journey patted her on the back. “Thanks for stopping by, Jann.”
Jann gave her a sad smile. “I’m so sorry for your loss, sweetie.” She squeezed Journey’s hands. “When is the funeral?”
Journey’s mouth fell open. “I have no idea.” She looked around for her mother. “Mom, when’s the funeral?”
Carol stepped toward them. “Visitation is on Thursday evening from four to seven, and the funeral is Friday afternoon at three. Both will be held at First Presbyterian. There will be a processional after the funeral to the Oakdale Cemetery for a graveside service.”
“A processional?” Journey asked confused.
Carol nodded. “The department told me that it’s pretty standard for fallen police officers. There will be police officers there from all over the place.”
Journey forced a smile. “That’s nice.” She felt tears in her eyes again. She didn’t think it was possible for a human being to cry as much as she had that week. “Excuse me. You guys be careful,” she said, walking out of the kitchen and to the back door.
She stepped out on the back deck taking deep breaths and focusing on the mountains instead of the twisting pain in her chest. She wiped her eyes again when she heard the door open behind her. “You still smoke?” David asked, holding out a pack of cigarettes.
She sighed with a little bit of relief. “I do today,” she said, accepting one. He lit it for her, and she sat down on top of the wooden picnic table.
David sat down next to her, stretching his legs out over the seat. Journey hugged her knees to her chest and took a long drag. “I don’t know how to do this, David,” she said, blowing the smoke out slowly.
He looked up at the night sky. “Nobody does, kid,” he said. “No one is meant to go through anything like this.”
She shivered, and he took his coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thanks,” she said.
“No prob,” he replied.
After another beat of silence, she shook her head. “This is my fault.”
He put his feet up on the bench and leaned his elbows on his knees. “You know that’s not true,” he said.
She looked at him. “Do I?” she asked. “Marcus was hell-bent on finding Brian Drake because he threatened me. Hell, the only reason we knew any of the Drakes is because of me.”
He frowned. “Journey, Marcus was hell-bent on catching a criminal because he was a good cop. And Brian Drake was trouble long before and long after you had anything to do with the situation. It has nothing to do with you.”
She wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue.
David leaned slightly toward her. “You saved Marcus,” he said.
She laughed with sarcasm. “Shut up, David.”
“Journey, he was a freaking orphan before he married you. He had his old grandparents until they died and that was all besides a few distant relatives that he had by marriage. I mean, how many family members of Marcus’s have you ever actua
lly met?” He motioned back to the house. “You gave him a family. And I didn’t need to be around for the past few years to know that your family took him in like their own.” He shifted. “And Genna… I can only imagine how much he loved being a dad.”
She closed her eyes and briefly recalled the sight of Marcus with the baby monitor strapped to his utility belt. She smiled through her tears and sighed. “I miss him so much,” she cried.
He put his arm around her shoulders and rested his head against hers. “I know.” He looked down at her. “Wanna hear something funny?”
“Please,” she begged.
He laughed. “Marcus called and cussed me out about a month ago.”
She whirled around and looked at him. “What?”
He nodded. “Yep. It was the day after I called you and said I wasn’t coming.” He held up his hand in the shape of a phone, pressed it to his ear, and began to mimic Marcus’s voice. “David Britton, you’ve been a dumbass for as long as I’ve known you, but this is a new low even for you! If you ever make my wife shed one more mother-fucking-tear over your sorry ass again, I will hunt you down, run you over with my car, and put a bullet into your thick, stupid skull!”
She covered her mouth and laughed. “He did not.”
He held his hands up. “True story.”
She chuckled again. “That does sound like him.”
He laughed. “I was glad I was across the country that day.”
She smiled. It felt good to laugh. She looked over at him. “He loved you,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows, nodded his head, and laughed again. “And hated me at the same time. He told me that too.”
“That’s for sure.” She relaxed a little and stared out over the moonlit horizon. “He took care of me, just like you asked him to.”
He paused. “He told you about that, huh?”
“Yeah, he did.”
He leaned into her shoulder. “Between you and me, Marcus took it too damn far. I never told him he could marry you.”
She sighed. “But he did. And we were really, really happy.”
