Kathleen Creighton - Shooting Starr

No, dammit.

Angrily he checked his wristwatch and broke into a run. But he discovered that his legs were weak and his heart rate was already way up there, and after a couple hundred yards he stopped and walked home instead.

“Caty, honey, Jake wants to know if you’re sure you’re ready to do this. Are you sure it’s not too soon?” Eve’s voice on the telephone was full of concern.

In the alcove between the kitchen and dining room where Betty Starr kept her household business clutter-and the household’s only telephone-Caitlyn hitched the chair closer to the desk and said with determined brightness, “I’m okay, really. The headaches are much better. I’m feeling really strong.”

She wasn’t; she’d never felt more fragile. She, who’d always been so confident, so self-assured, now couldn’t trust her own feelings…her own judgment. Ground she’d thought solid under her feet had shifted. She’d never experienced an earthquake, but she thought she now understood why they made people panic and animals stampede.

“The swelling’s almost gone. I look fairly normal-so they tell me. I can’t see any kind of detail yet, just light and dark shapes…silhouettes, sort of. It just started today, after all. But the doctors told me once it started to come back it might happen pretty quickly. That’s why I thought-”

“Caitlyn, that’s such incredible news,” Eve breathed. “You must be six feet off the floor. I’m so happy for you-Jake is, too. And I’ll bet C.J.’s about the happiest man in Georgia.”

Caitlyn planted an elbow amidst the litter of grocery lists and junk mail, receipts, bills and correspondence that covered the desktop and rested her forehead in her hand. The house was empty-Jess working late and Betty gone to a Sunday evening potluck supper at her church-and its quietness seemed a growing pressure in her ears. Like the way it feels to dive into the deep end of the pool, she thought. And that’s what I’m doing-going off the deep end.

But it was too late to turn back now; she’d made her decision for better or worse. Tomorrow Eve would put the first part of the FBI’s plan in motion. In two or three days it should all be over. For better or worse.

“He doesn’t know,” she mumbled, carefully massaging the tender places around healing scar tissue. “I haven’t told him.” Eyes closed, she waited out the shocked silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, in the careful tone of voice usually employed with the mentally deranged, Eve inquired, “Why in the world not? You know he’s taken what happened to you awfully personally-”

She let out an exasperated breath. “Eve, that’s why I can’t tell him. He has this idea that he’s responsible for everything that’s happened-for Mary Kelly getting killed, for me being blind-even though I’ve told him and told him he’s not. And I know-I know-that if he knew what I’m planning to do, he’d do everything in his power to keep me…” She stopped, her voice choked with helpless fury and other emotions less easy to name.

“Maybe he’s right,” Eve said softly. “I know Jake’s not all that comfortable with it, either. There are other ways-”

“No. There aren’t. I know Vasily-you don’t. He’s not stupid, he’s not going to be lured into the open by a decoy. It has to be me. And look-the plan has all sorts of safeguards, they’re not going to let anything happen to me. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Eve said with an unconvincing huff of breath. “Okay, then. So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow for the interview. What time?”

“Late morning should be fine. Jess’ll be at work and Betty drives on Monday for seniors’ meals, so there won’t be anybody around to make a fuss.”

“And C.J.? How are you going to keep him in the dark?”

“It’s okay, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” With an effort Caitlyn kept her voice neutral, her emotions ruthlessly suppressed. “He probably won’t even be here. I heard him tell his mom he’s going back to work. He should be off on a long haul with his truck by then, but if he’s not…”

“If he’s not,” said Eve, “you’ll let me know and we’ll go to plan B. All right, then-if I don’t hear from you otherwise, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Right,” said Caitlyn.

She said her goodbyes and cradled the phone, then sat for a moment while tremors rippled through her stomach. Butterflies, she thought. Nervous anticipation.

She nudged back the chair, rose and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. There she halted while the door whapped back and forth behind her in time with her thumping heart.

The kitchen was awash with light. She was certain she hadn’t turned any on-why would she? She was blind.

Silhouetted against the light, someone was sitting at the kitchen table, holding something-a newspaper. She could hear it rustling. The Sunday paper, of course.

She stood frozen to the spot. Oh, God-C.J.!

There was barely time for her to register that thought before it came to her-the hospital smell, faint, unmistakable. Relief made her knees buckle. She put out a hand to steady herself. “Jess? Is that you?”

“Yeah.” The newspaper rustled; the silhouette turned to face her.

She felt out of breath, as if she’d been running. “I didn’t hear you come in. How…how long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” Jess said.

Caitlyn moved toward the table on feet she couldn’t feel. Her groping hands found the back of a chair, but she didn’t sit down. Magically, her butterflies were gone. She felt instead a strange icy calm. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know your eyesight’s come back,” Jess said quietly. “That’s great. I’m as happy as I can be for you.”

“Thanks-”

“And that you’re about to do something that’d be dangerous for a professional law enforcement person with perfect vision.”

“It’s…something I have to do,” Caitlyn muttered, staring fixedly at the pale-gray shapes that were her hands.

“Yeah,” Jess said in a voice that cracked, “that’s what my husband said when he went off to Iraq. Tell me something-were you going to tell any of us? Momma and me? Or were you just going to sneak off with Eve tomorrow and leave us sitting here in the dark? So to speak.”

Caitlyn gripped the back of the chair and leaned her weight on her hands. Her face felt hot…swollen, and she had to swallow twice before she could answer. “I don’t know. Please don’t think- It’s not because of you. I just…I can’t let C.J. find out. He’d have a fit. He hovers over me like a…like a mother hen with one chick, as my Aunt Lucy would say. He acts as if I’m completely helpless…as if he’s afraid I’ll break. He’s never-”

“Well, of course he does,” Jess interrupted in exasperation. “He’s in love with you!”

“-going to let me… What?” The last word came out in a wheeze, much as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

Slowly, patiently, Jess repeated it. “C.J.’s in love with you. Don’t tell me you didn’t know!”

Caitlyn gave her head one quick, dazed shake. She was feeling earthquakes again. As the ground shifted beneath her feet, she pulled the chair out and lowered herself into it.

“You have been blind, haven’t you?” Jess said in a kindly way. “The rest of us knew from day one.” Her tone betrayed a smile. “Right from when he insisted on carryin’ you up those stairs in true Rhett Butler style.”

“Rhett…Butler?” Caitlyn whispered, still disbelieving. “I thought he just felt guilty. Like…I’m this huge responsibility, because he blames himself for what happened.”

“He may very well,” Jess said, nodding, “but believe me, I know my baby brother, and if he feels he’s responsible for you, it’s not because of guilt. It’s because as far as he’s concerned, you are his, honey chil’, and he is not about to let any harm come to you, not if he can help it.”

Caitlyn put both hands over her eyes, but it couldn’t stop what was happening. To her dismay, she had begun to cry. She wept in total silence while images played across the blank screen of her mind: Ari Vasily’s cold black eyes watching her from his seat in the courtroom the way a snake watches a mouse, sensuous lips curved in a cruel smile; Mary Kelly’s sweet face and sad, gentle look; the scars and bruises on her body; Emma’s frightened eyes; the blue September sky over the courthouse steps; dreams of people she loved lying dead in pools of blood.

Other things, too…not images, but sensory impressions even more profound: C.J.’s warmth and arms closing around her; his smell, that unique amalgam of soap and clean clothes, diesel fuel and a familiar aftershave she didn’t know the name of; his deep-throated voice, growly in her ear; I’ve got you…

She drew a quivering sniff and wiped her cheeks with her hands. “Oh, dear,” she said, and this time her voice was soft and purposeful. She cleared her throat and pushed back from the table. “Jess-what time is it?” Wired with a terrible sense of urgency, she didn’t wait for a reply. “Would he be home…do you think? Right now?”

“He was when I drove by. His pickup was in the driveway and the lights were on.” Jess had risen as well. “Why? You want me to call him for you?”

“No-” vaguely Caitlyn shook her head “-not on the phone. I…I have to tell him something. Have to see him. Before-” Before I go. If something goes wrong, if Vasily kills me, I’ll never get to tell him. He’ll never know. I’ll never know…

She didn’t say any of that, but strangely, Jess seemed to understand. She touched Caitlyn’s arm and said gently, “You want me to take you over there?”

“Oh-” relief trembled through her, almost like a sob “-would you? Please.”

“Sure. Just let me get my keys.” Counting heartbeats, Caitlyn listened to the scuffling, jingling noises Jess made, rummaging through her purse. “Okay. You ready?” she asked, and Caitlyn nodded, too choked with fear to speak.

“Are you sure you don’t need a jacket?” Jess asked her as they were going down the steps. Caitlyn shook her head; it wasn’t cold that made her shiver.

The one-mile trip to C.J.’s house seemed to take forever-and was much too short. Bewildered, Caitlyn huddled like a sick sparrow on the front seat with her hands tucked between her knees to stop the shaking and thought about all the reasons she shouldn’t be doing what she was doing. What if he’s not there? What if I’m too late? What if Jess is wrong? What if I’m making a terrible, colossal fool of myself?

She didn’t understand it. She’d never felt so uncertain in all her life, or so scared. She, who’d faced wife beaters and child abusers twice her size, violent men, often armed, with everything from guns to broken beer bottles and most of the time drunk besides. How was it that she should be more afraid of a man with only goodness in his soul, kindness in his heart and gentleness in his hands?

Could be, a voice inside her replied, there’s never been so much at stake before. Could be that you’re afraid to hope…

“Look’s like he’s home,” Jess said. “His pickup’s here.” Tires crunched as she turned onto a graveled driveway. “Want me to come in with you? Need any help finding the door?”

Caitlyn shook her head; she could make out the light-colored door and the steps against the darker building. “As long as the lights don’t go out before I get there, I should be okay,” she said with a wan attempt at humor, taking determined hold of the door handle. “Any obstacles on that grass I’m not seeing?”

“Not a thing. You’re clear all the way. I’ll wait till you’re inside, though, just to be sure.”

Caitlyn nodded and slipped out of the car. Her heart knocked against her rib cage as she started across the gentle grass-covered slope, Jess’s car engine idling softly behind her. And maybe it was the crisp autumn feel of the air, or something about the way it smelled-of hay and drying cornstalks, of burning leaves and pumpkins ripening on the vine-that took her suddenly back to another time…another place…another Caitlyn. A Caitlyn just as apprehensive and uncertain as this one. A very small Caitlyn, picking her way across a leaf-strewn lawn while her daddy’s car idled at the curb, holding the flapping pieces of her Halloween costume together and gathering up the courage to knock on an unfamiliar neighbor’s door.

The memory and the cool October breeze lifted her spirits. Dizzy with nervous excitement, she mounted concrete steps and felt her way across a small front porch. Unable to find a doorbell, she raised her hand and knocked. The sound seemed frail and timid against the heavy wooden door. Would he even hear it? She waited, rocking gently with her own heartbeat, like a boat tied up at a quay.