Alessandra Torre - End of the Innocence

His face tightened. He cleared his throat. “How is that possible? You lost her?”

“We’re working on it.”

“You’re proving why you have never gained status in this town. Track her down before she is found. My son has half the town out looking.” He hung up the phone without waiting for a response, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes, waiting for the peace of sleep, peace that would not come for quite some time.  The open window brought a blast of warmth, gentle fingers of heat that washed over his tired skin, doing nothing to loosen the stress lodged in the deep lines of his face.

♦♦♦

Night fell and the search for Julia Campbell continued, police reluctantly joining the hunt. Brad paced, an emotional storm on the edge of destruction. Martha cooked dishes no one would eat, and Stevie and Ben watched silently. News channels picked up the story on the police scanner, and the phone rang incessantly, until the point that Brad ripped it out of the wall. Then they appeared, white decaled vans, cheery faces plastered over their sides, inching down the street until they lined both sides of it. Curtains moved, neighbors watched, and everyone held their breath.

At ten o’clock, the girls left, Olivia driving her and Becca in circles through town, scanning the streets for Julia, silence and tension filling her Jeep. The Campbells returned to the hotel, watching the evening news and sat together, hands gripped, heads bowed, and hoped for a miracle.

Fourteen miles away, another group, men of a hardened nature, set up a three-mile perimeter around the showroom, bringing in dogs and starting an organized block by block search, intent on my recapture, the blood of their cohort setting fire to their hunt. Just inside that perimeter, I woke to mosquitoes, the sting of their bites prickling the skin on my arms and neck. I sat up, slapping my forearm and glanced around, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I peeked around the edge of the dumpster. An empty parking lot, street lights illuminating spots of the bare asphalt. I stood, and my legs and back instantly screamed in protest.

In the distance, I heard a dog bark, and the tire crunch of a nearby car. The sound kicked my adrenaline back into gear. How long I had been asleep? I eased around the edge of the dumpster, glancing around quickly, my feet starting a silent bitch-fest, their raw bottoms readjusting to the rough gravel/pavement combination. I sent a silent prayer upward, thankful for the dark shadows that the dusk granted, then took off running, heading farther in the direction of quiet.

Running had always helped me to clear my mind. Thoughts seemed to fall into place best when my body was occupied. I settled into a rhythm, trying to conserve energy, breathing shallowly and attempting to ignore the pain signals my body was shooting to my brain. My head, thankfully, had lost its piercing pain, settling into a dull throb that was somewhat bearable. I ran—redirecting any intelligent thought to try and figure out what the hell was going on.

I could see no reason to kidnap me. Was I being held for ransom? The wedding held off until Brad paid some exorbitant amount? I had so little information to go on. When I had first waked up, tied to a chair and blindfolded, I had heard men talking. Multiple men. They had been waiting for something. For me to wake up? I had probably knocked myself out in my attempt to escape from the chair, the wound on the back of my skull evidence to support that. Then I had reawakened, with that man on top of me ... was that why I was taken? To be raped by a stranger? That seemed even less likely.

I took a deep breath, lengthening my strides in an attempt to change the muscles worked. Twice I had to hide, headlights reflecting off nearby items, warning me in advance of approaching cars. I used that time to breathe, crouched into a tiny ball, comfortable in the darkness, my confidence increasing the farther I ran. The streets were changing, becoming more commercial in nature. I passed a few homeless men, their eyes watching me closely, one reaching out for me as I passed, his fingers grasping empty air, my steps moving me away from him. I cut over one street, avoiding the main road and taking a side street, the hum of traffic giving me a burst of confidence. My eyes examined the back of closed business, doctor’s offices, accounting firms, an auto parts store. I was moving closer to suburbia, the sidewalk less cracked, gravel transitioning to landscaped area. Everything closed. Then, ahead, I saw the glow of lights. A pharmacy, its bright red sign visible from the back road. I came to a stop, trying to make a decision.

It was the first place worth stopping at, the first commercial business I had come to, where the public moved freely in and out, where I could walk in and ask to use a phone. But wouldn’t that also make it the first place they would look for me? Maybe I should continue, put another mile between them and me. I exhaled deeply, my throat dry, starving again for liquid. The pharmacy would have something for my feet. Maybe even shoes, not that I had any money to pay for it. But they might cover me until Brad arrived.

I walked, studying the store as I approached from the back. My body yearned to burst inside, dramatically collapse on the floor, and have all matters of liquids, ointments, and comfort thrust upon me with helpful, eager hands. But something felt off, so I picked up the pace and continued running. Ahead I saw decorative lighting and prayed for a residential street.

Given the distance I had run, the odds were finally in my favor. A ten-minute jog past the pharmacy delivered me into suburbia. It was practically Wisteria Lane, minivans and manicured lawns on either side as I stood in the middle of a gravel-free road. I nearly wept, running forward and sinking to my knees on soft grass, the purr of a sprinkler treating me with a spray of cool water. I stumbled to my feet, running with the sprinkler’s movement, the glorious arch of liquid cooling my overheated body, water running down my face, my tongue outstretched. I slowed to a walk, the cushion of grass heaven to my abused feet, and then sank to the grass, lying on my back and waiting for the curtain of water to make its sweep over me once again.

Peace. Safety. A splash of cool water, the taste of it somewhat metallic. The tick of a sprinkler head as it moved on. A moment of glorious relaxation, the plush grass beneath me, the tickle of blades against my arms. The lull of sleep interrupted by a new blast of water, as the arc made its way back around.

The sprinkler was on its third sweep when the yard was flooded with light, painful fluorescent beams that caused my eyes to squeeze tight in an automatic reflex. I sat up, the sprinkler choosing that moment to hit me full force in the face, a pelt of water that had me momentarily blinded and coughing, the water catching me unprepared in my throat. I staggered to my feet, my hand wiping my face, my eyes blinking widely as my contacts attempted to find their place on my eyeballs. I held up my hands and froze when a commanding voice spoke from the directions of the lights.

“You’ve come to the wrong neighborhood if you want to get drunk and cause trouble. You’ve got sixty seconds to get off my lawn and out of this area, or I’m calling the cops.” It was a woman’s voice, strong and throaty, and I stepped forward, my contacts finally cooperating, my vision coming into focus. Steely blue eyes framed by a mess of red curls with a look that let me know my sixty seconds had begun.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please. I need to use a phone.” I sank to my knees before her, clasping my hands together and staring into her eyes, the dramatic pose entirely fitting, given the circumstances.

She surveyed me, her eyes traveling over my wet t-shirt, pajamas, and bare feet. She glanced out at the street, then back to me, studying my eyes intently. “You drunk?”

I shook my head. “No.”

She pointed to a swing on the front porch. “You can use my phone, but stay on the porch.” She started to head inside, and I stood, a smile crossing my face.

“Ma’am?” I called out, trying to catch her before the door swung behind her. She turned, eyeing me with a question in her glance.

“Do you mind turning the porch light off? I won’t do anything wrong, I swear.” I glanced over my shoulder, hating the bright lights that illuminated me on the dark street, a beacon to anyone on the hunt.

She gave me another long look, reached a hand over and flipped a switch, darkness settling back over the yard. I breathed a sigh of relief, waiting until the door shut before I moved to the swing.

If there was a heaven, it was something like that moment. I felt, for the first time since leaving my home, safe. Crickets chirped softly, the sprinkler purred before me, and a soft breeze danced gently on my wet skin. I glanced down, noting some red stains on the wet of my shirt and reached over, gingerly fingering the bandage on my shoulder, then carefully moved my hands to the back of my head, my fingers coming away red, the skin sore. I sighed, leaning back in the darkness and pushed lightly with my toe, starting the swing’s movement.

The front door opened and the woman appeared, a bottle of water and a phone in hand.  “Here,” she said tartly, handing out both. “I watched you from the window. You don’t have to drink from the sprinkler. I’m pretty sure that water isn’t fit for consumption.”

I smiled gratefully, setting the water down and using the cordless phone with both hands, my fingers shaking in their eagerness. I dialed Brad’s cell, pressing the numbers deliberately, then held the trembling phone to my ear, biting my lower lip to keep the tears at bay.

The moment I heard his voice, the tremor in it, the knowledge that he was as close to breaking as I was, my dam broke. I sobbed, unable to speak, my words unintelligible in the flood of tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

His voice broke, saying my name repeatedly, asking me over and over if I was okay.

“Yes,” I gasped, hiccupping on the word. “I’m okay. I need you to come get me.”

Behind his voice I heard the slam of a door, the roar of his car.

“Where? Where are you?”

I sniffed, a loud, phlegm-filled sob, and looked at the woman before me, her eyes watching with a mixture of concern and curiosity. I move the receiver away from my mouth. “What’s your address?”

She gave it to me, waiting as I repeated it to Brad, then offered a few reference points, which I also passed on.

“I know the area. I can be there in ten minutes. Julia, baby, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. I’ll talk to you when you get here.” I hung up, passing the phone to the woman, smiling through my tears. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“You okay?”

I nodded tightly, trying to keep my emotions contained, a wave of happiness and relief spilling into me, and I smiled, tears running down my face. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m good.”

She didn’t ask me anything else, just sat next to me on the swing. We sat there in the dark, my eyes fixed on the street, my ears listening for the sound of Brad’s engine. I wondered, for a quick moment, if I should have called the police instead. But all I had thought of during my run was Brad. He would know whom to call; he would know what to do. Who was safe, and who was our foe. The swing rocked, the crickets chirped, and my tears fell, a constant flood down already-wet cheeks. Then I heard the sound, a squeak of tires on a turn, the acceleration of a heavy foot on the gas, and his car flew into view, my feet already in motion, flying down the steps, across the grass and into his arms, my face burying in his neck, sobs wracking my body. His hands ran over me, checking me for injuries, and he pulled away when he found my shoulder, then head wound, my body flinching at his touch. The concern in his eyes tugged at my heart.

“What happened? Do you need a doctor?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. I want to go home.”

His face grimaced, smiling in a way that broke my heart, and pulled me to him again. “Of course, baby. Let’s go.”

His strong arms. They lifted underneath my thighs and hugged my wet body to his. Unnecessary, not needed for the five steps to his car, yet he carried me. His neck smelled of sweat and cologne, the sharp rub of his jaw telling me that he had shaved. For the wedding. My heart broke for a brief moment. Then, we bent as one and he settled me, soft as a baby, into the passenger seat, his mouth brushing over my lips gently. Dark brown eyes, wetter than I’ve ever seen them, vulnerability mixed with a shot of relief, doused with love, met mine, and we did nothing but stare at each other for a moment. Then he shut the door softly, and I watched him, through tinted glass, take a few steps back into the yard, speaking to the woman with the red hair. He pulled out his wallet, they had a few minutes of discussion, then he handed her something. I leaned back in the seat, reclining it slightly, and closed my eyes.