Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  Marla slammed to a halt next to Pierre. Sophia planted her hands on her hips to make herself look bigger, like Brian had when Marla tried to run them off the road.

  “What are you telling Pierre? What poison are you pouring into his ears?”

  Nadia stood up. “Why would you be so freaked out, Marla, if you hadn’t done something crazy in the first place? Why wouldn’t you assume they’re talking about the kids and vacation plans?”

  Marla hadn’t moved her eyes from Sophia. “Don’t you dare lie about me. Don’t you dare spread your vile filth.” And then she hissed. Spittle dancing over her tongue as air streamed between her lips and teeth.

  Pierre’s eyes widened; confusion painted across his face. “What the…” He moved to get his body between Sophia’s and Marla’s. He fixed his hands on Marla’s shoulders and gave her a shake. “What is wrong with you?” He pointed toward a lounge chair. “Get your things. We’re going home.”

  Marla didn’t move.

  “Get. Your. Things. We’re going home.”

  Marla tried to send Sophia a hate-filled glare around Pierre’s shoulder, but he leaned to the side to block her.

  Marla stomped away.

  Pierre turned toward Sophia. “I thought you were kidding. If I hadn’t seen that—I’m so sorry. I’m at a loss. Here, here, you’re trembling.” He put his hands on Sophia’s arms, they felt warm and supportive. His eyes were pleading with her, but Sophia didn’t understand why. “You’ll feel better when she’s home behind closed doors. I’ll get her out of here.”

  “She was hissing at you again?” Lana was now standing by her side, as they watched the Richards crew scrambling out the gate. Marla turned and flipped Sophia the bird, but Pierre grabbed hold of her arm and wrenched it until she stopped.

  “I have to get out of that house. I’ve got to get my boys somewhere safe. I have no idea what that woman is capable of.” She turned frightened eyes toward her friends. “Now that I’ve outed her to Pierre, she’s going to come after me with a vengeance.” She put her hands on her head. “What did I do?”

  22

  Brian

  Saturday a.m.

  Nutsbe sat back in his chair, tossing a crumpled-up ball of paper into the trash like it was a game-winning basket. “Thorn asked me to do a background check on Nadia’s foreign family connections, since her Dad is Palestinian,” he told Brian who was getting settled in front of a file. “There’s nothing in her call history or her passport history that would suggest that she has any family interaction. I shook her family tree to see if there was any fruit. Nadia’s grandparents are in Gaza. Her father’s brother and two sisters, their families—in-laws and cousins. I looked back at the phone records from the parents to see if there was a connection there. I took the search back to the point where Nadia’s dad had his stroke and couldn’t speak coherently. There’s no communication from that direction. The parents live in upstate New York, and Nadia talks to her American-born mother every Sunday.”

  “We have two clients on this case, remember.” Brian put his finger on the file in front of him. “The AACP thinks we’re putting together a team for them down in Peru. Human Resources gave me some people we’ve worked with in South America, their expertise, and availability.”

  “You don’t think it’s a waste of time?”

  “I think that if we’re taking a paycheck from them, we should be fulfilling our obligations. The teams will still be in place, even if AACP sends other archaeologists in to do the core samples. We’ll need to be able to adapt to new circumstances.”

  “Sophia’s back home,” Nutsbe said. “She’s kissing the boys goodbye. Huh.” He leaned forward and messed with the controls. “Something’s not right.”

  Brian moved around the desk to check the monitor. “The look on her face—”

  “Shell-shocked. I’ve seen that one before.” Nutsbe looked over his shoulder at Brian. “I thought you said she was going to the community pool for a potluck and to spend some time with her kids.”

  “That was the plan.”

  “You think the psycho stalker nut job might have been there giving her grief?”

  Brian pulled out his phone and scrolled through the apps. “Marla’s at home. Wanna look back at her history and see if she was up at the Community Center?”

  Nutsbe pulled up a split screen. While he typed the information in, Brian watched Sophia fling herself onto the couch. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but her gaze was straightforward.

  “Marla’s van was at the pool,” Nutsbe said. “She got there a half-hour after Sophia left the house in Lana’s van. She got home about twenty minutes before Sophia did. No way to tell if that’s what upset her. What’s on the wall she’s staring at?”

  “A picture of her sons.”

  A knock sounded at the war room door, then Lynx stuck her head in. “Nutsbe, hate to bother you, but I’m checking to see if you heard from Honey today? He’s supposed to pass on a message from our contact.”

  “He hasn’t called in yet. Communications in his area are kind of squirrely. I’ll give you a call when I hear, if you’d like.”

  “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “Hey, Lynx, can you come here for a second and look at this?” Brian asked.

  Lynx moved up behind the men, leaning between their heads to see the screen. Brian got up and offered her his chair, moving to grab another one for himself.

  “Wow, what happened?” Lynx asked.

  Nutsbe had honed the camera in on Sophia’s face. “We have no idea.”

  Suddenly, Sophia jumped up and screamed.

  Brian’s body jolted with adrenaline.

  “What the heck are you doing here in my house?” a man yelled.

  “Nutsbe, flip to camera E. That sounds like it’s coming from upstairs,” Brian said.

  With a few taps, the image shifted to a split screen to include an image of Sophia’s stairs. They could see two scrawny bare legs at the top.

  Sophia pressed a fist to her chest. “Mr. Rochester, you scared me to death.”

  “Who are you? Why are you in my house?” The elderly man stomped down the stairs, making himself as large as his emaciated body could look. He was wearing blue boxers that hung open, revealing gray hair and soft flesh. “Answer me! Who the heck are you?”

  “How’d he get in? I didn’t get a warning beep,” Brian wondered, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  Sophia stood, wide eyed, shaking her head. Her hands stretched out as if to ward off blows. The other side of the screen showed Mr. Rochester storming his way toward her, grabbing Sophia and throwing her down. He gripped her swim cover-up and shook her until her head bounced on the floor.

  “Holy shit,” Nutsbe said under his breath.

  Brian reached into his pocket for his keys. “I’m heading over.”

  Lynx put her hand out. “Give her a second. Let’s see if she can’t talk her way out of this. You barrel in there now, and she’s going to wonder how you knew to show up.”

  Sophia crab-crawled backward. “Mr. Rochester. I’m Sophia. Please don’t hurt me. I’m Joe’s friend.”

  “How’d you get in my house? What are you trying to steal?” Rochester yelled.

  Sophia had worked her way over to the side chair and used it to pull herself up and hide behind. “Mr. Rochester, Joe sent me to get you. He fell and hurt himself. He wants you to put on the bandage.”

  “Liar!” Rochester’s fists were up. “You came to steal from me. What did you take?”

  Sophia inched her way from one chair to the next.

  “Mr. Rochester, Joe needs you. Let’s go find Joe. Your son? Joe?” Her voice was shaky and pleading.

  Rochester sprang toward Sophia. Sophia ducked and wove, grabbing the front doorknob, yanking the door open until it hit the wall and bounced back in place. But Sophia was already down the front steps, running for her neighbor’s house.

  Rochester locked the door behind her.

  “She’s coming back.
That must be Joe,” Lynx said.

  A younger man tried the door, then rang the bell. “Dad, open up. Dad!” He rang again. When the door popped open, there was Rochester with his blue boxers askew, his junk dangling out. Joe turned toward Sophia. “I’m sorry. I am so embarrassed.” The younger man’s face was red. “This has gotten out of hand. Obviously.” He looked back at Sophia. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again. This has,” he bent his head, “clearly surpassed my ability to deal with.”

  Mr. Rochester had gone back in the house to sit on Sophia’s couch.

  Joe caught Sophia’s eye. “Would you mind stepping out of sight for a second? I’ll get Dad home. I promise this won’t happen again. I’ll find some way…” he trailed off softly.

  Sophia moved behind a tree. And Joe very quietly encouraged his father to head home.

  After the men had left her property, Sophia went inside, shut the door, locked it, and leaned her back against it. Her breathing was ragged. Loud. She labored to get air into her lungs.

  “Do you know what that was about?” Lynx asked.

  “One of her neighborhood stressors. The old guy lives next door. Alzheimer’s. He gets confused,” Nutsbe replied.

  Lynx shifted toward Brian. “A lot?”

  “Almost daily, it seems.”

  She flicked a worried glance toward Brian. “Does she normally leave her door unlocked?”

  Brian had his focus on Sophia as she moved around her house checking the doors. “I don’t think so. Nutsbe, let’s go back and review the tapes.”

  “Brian, she’s not okay,” Lynx pointed out. “Look at her coloring. Her eyes. She’s visibly shaking. She’s like a hurt animal trying to find somewhere to hide and lick her wounds.”

  “I’m heading over. I just need to know how the guy got in, so I can fix the glitch in the monitoring system.” Brian said.

  “Here we go.” Nutsbe stopped the fast reverse on the video. “Look, Lana pulls up. She goes to the door and rings the bell. Sophia gets the door. She goes in. There’s the neighbor. He walked from his yard to Sophia’s while the van was in front of the sensor.”

  “Yeah, I monitored that this morning. I didn’t pan out for the whole yard.” Brian said.

  “Sophia comes out with the boys and is getting them into the van, moves around to the passenger seat and buckles up. Lana comes out. She didn’t check the door. I’m guessing Lana didn’t lock it behind her. Scrolling forward… Here we go. Van’s gone, old man in blue boxers goes right in the front door.”

  “Switch to the interior. What does he do next?” Lynx asked.

  “Locks the door, goes up the stairs,” Nutsbe narrated. “We don’t have warrants for visuals of any space but the office and exterior. We were allowed audio in her bedroom, but other than that we can’t tell what’s happening upstairs. Luckily, her open floor plan means that, with the right placement, we have a pretty good view of everything on the first floor.”

  “I’m taking a few more cameras with me today. I need one pointing at the Florida room, and I want one over in that corner between the office and the living room. There’s a blind spot Rochester slid into that didn’t make me happy.”

  “Incoming.” Nutsbe pointed at the red light flashing at the bottom corner of his screen. He tapped it and watched as Sophia moved hesitantly toward the house phone on her desk. She put her hand on the receiver. Paused. It rang again and her whole body jerked. She lifted the receiver slowly to her ear. They all listened as five staccato beeps sounded, then the line went dead.

  Brian could feel his heartbeat at his temples, and the side of his neck. His body sensed a threat and ramped up to meet it with violent force. He held his breath. Was Sophia about to give information to the caller that would further compromise her? Put her at risk for being labelled a traitor? A terrorist? An ISIS sympathizer? It would ruin not only her life, but her kids’ lives. People’s memories were long with crimes like this.

  Sophia’s cell rang. And rang. And rang. She stood with it in her hand. It stopped, and she put it down on the desk. She grabbed at her hair and pulled.

  “What is that, Lynx? Is that part of a seizure?”

  “Why did I do it? Why?” Sophia screeched at the ceiling camera, as if she knew it was there. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? Why?” She reached over to her desk, picking up a file and flinging it across the room, making papers flutter across the floor. She turned to her bookcase and pulled textbook after textbook off the shelf, throwing them with all her might, strewing them around the room. She was crying. Screaming.

  “Not a seizure. She’s melting down. We need to get over there.” Lynx stood and put her hand on Brian’s shoulder. “I’m coming with you.”

  They raced for the deck and Brian’s car. His tires squealed around the turns as Lynx pulled her seatbelt across her lap. Brian’s foot was lead on the gas pedal as he raced toward the highway ramp.

  Lynx’s phone buzzed.

  “Nutsbe here. Sophia’s on the move.”

  “What? Okay. I’m putting you on speaker. Can you give us a direction?”

  “She’s heading out of her neighborhood now. She was looking pretty effing determined as she headed out the door. Right on Pemberley. I’m guessing she’s headed for the highway. I have you up on the screen. If she keeps calm enough to stay at the speed limit, and you guys keep up your present speed, my computer says you’ll catch her in less than ten minutes.”

  “Copy that.” Brian checked his speedometer to make sure he wasn’t going to get pulled over and arrested for reckless driving. He’d be no help to Sophia in a jail cell. “What happened? Any clue where she’s headed?”

  “She finished throwing all the books on that shelf. She was standing in the middle of the room yelling shit in a foreign language—Turkish, I’m guessing. Then she grabbed her purse and ran out the door. She only stopped to make sure the door locked behind her. Other than that, she’s in tornado mode. Ruh-roh. Marla’s on the move.”

  “Is she chasing Sophia?” Lynx asked.

  “Wait for it… Nope. She turned left on Pemberley. Hang in there, you’re making progress. She’s on the southern entrance ramp. I’m not sure how you’re going to explain how you happened to show up at wherever you’re heading. But Lynx’s presence can be a good cover, you’re driving your friend to X Y or Z…”

  “Nutsbe? What are you seeing?” Lynx held her phone between Brian and her.

  “She’s on Route 1. I was looking at what’s up the road to see where she might be going. Keep on moving…”

  The air crackled in Brian’s car. Both operatives were silent as Brian wove through traffic, trying to make better time.

  “Okay, she’s pulled into a parking lot and parked. I’m texting you the address, Lynx.”

  “What is it?” Brian asked. “Please tell me it’s her therapist’s office.”

  “Nope. It’s a gun shop.”

  23

  Sophia

  Saturday p.m.

  Sophia sat in her minivan, giving herself as much time as she needed to compose herself. She wasn’t sure this was going to work. She knew from watching the news that there were some restrictions on gun ownership. You couldn’t have been found guilty of a federal crime, and you weren’t supposed to have a mental health condition. But Sophia thought that her case probably hadn’t been reported. She’d never done harm to herself or others. She’d never been institutionalized. She’d never been deemed a risk by the courts. So if she didn’t walk in acting like a maniac, there shouldn’t be any reason that she wouldn’t pass a background check, and that she couldn’t buy a gun today.

  Sophia pulled down her visor and looked in the mirror. She pulled her purse over and dug out a brush. She had yanked her hair earlier, and now she looked half-crazed. She smoothed the long strands into a quick ponytail. She was just an easygoing girl who’d heard too many stories on the news and wanted to protect herself. Gun people liked that, didn’t they? They thought everyone should be armed and ready.
She pulled out a lipstick, colored in her full lips, and inspected her handiwork. She rubbed a little lipstick onto her finger and then onto her cheeks.

  Gathering her purse, she exited, smoothing her clothes into place. Would they care that she was in a swimsuit cover up and flip-flops? Would she stand out? Did she look out of place? She watched as another woman, similarly clad pulled the heavy door open and walked into the shop. Okay, good. Sophia gave herself a shake, squared her shoulders and made her way up to the counter.

  “Hello.” A man with a wooly beard and a prominent limp made his way over to her. “What can I do for you?”

  There was a constant pop-pop-pop coming from somewhere in the back. Sophia sent a worried glance in that direction.

  “We have a practice range behind the shop.” The man leaned an elbow on the counter and waited.

  “Do you offer classes here too?”

  “Watcha lookin’ for?” he asked in return.

  “I’m a single mom, and I don’t live in the best of neighborhoods. I want to buy a gun to protect me and my kids. And I want to know how to keep my kids from getting hurt by getting hold of it. I also need to learn how to shoot it and hit my target. Do I need a license for that?”

  “Concealed carry class will give you a lot of what you need. A gun basics class would be good too. We teach those here.” He pushed a brochure her way. “As far as the gun goes, first, we need to talk fire power. How many bullets do you want to shoot to take someone down?”

  “One won’t do it?” Sophia asked, a tremor in her voice. She cleared her throat, hoping that would take care of it. But truth be told, she was terrified about what she was doing. About the ramifications.

  “With a .45 caliber, hollow point bullet, it’s a one and done. ‘Course, you’ve got to get that bullet where it belongs.”

  “Hollow point?”

  He pulled a small cardboard box from a shelf and fished out a bullet. “Round tip,” he said. “It goes in the front, out the back, and keeps flying. Could go through your wall, through your neighbor’s wall. Through someone on the other side. It’s fine for range shooting. It ain’t the best for home security.”