by Jette Harris
Now, Remington stood by the door. He fidgeted uncharacteristically, as if eager to leave.
“We’ll, be OK.” Heather settled underneath her blanket. “I’ll call you as soon as anything happens.”
Tech stood so he could show them out. Steyer clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We should see you tomorrow, Friday at the—”
His phone buzzed again.
“Friday at the latest. One moment.” He held up a finger and answered, “Steyer here.”
The voice on the other line was short and direct. “Put Heather on the phone.”
It couldn’t be.
But Heather recognized the tone, however faint. She stared, wide-eyed. Steyer gestured for Remington to lock the door. Remington obeyed, then pulled out his own phone and stepped into the kitchen.
Steyer cleared his throat. “I’m afraid—”
“Don’t lie.”
Steyer paused. Heather could see the cogs turning in his mind.
“I don’t believe that’s a good idea.”
Heather strained to hear his reply, but all he could make out was “fuck.” Steyer glanced at her. She beckoned him over.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered.
Steyer sighed. “One moment,” he said into the phone.
“I’ll call back.”
Heather’s heart was already racing at a pace Dr. Scarrott would not approve. She sat up slowly, more because she didn’t want to move than for the pain she was experiencing. Steyer sat next to her and set the phone on the coffee table before them. Tech took the arm chair. In the kitchen, Remington was speaking in a low, quick voice.
Byron sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking paralyzed.
Steyer’s phone buzzed again. Heather reached for it, but Steyer held up a finger.
“We should only need ninety seconds, two minutes at the most. Longer is better, but if you start to get upset, just hang up... I’ll put it on speaker.”
“He’s not gonna like that.”
Steyer tapped Accept and turned on speakerphone. At first, there was only silence.
“Hello?” Heather asked.
The caller released a breath as if he had been holding it. “How’s my Rabbit?”
Her hand flew to her chest. She could feel the uneven skin through her shirt. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to hear your voice… Am I on speakerphone?”
“Yes.”
“Turn it off.”
“No. There’s nothing you can say I don’t want them to hear.” Her face burned; It was a bold lie.
Rhodes chuckled. “Is your grandpa there, Rabbit?”
Heather’s throat grew tight. She glanced up at Tech.
“Remember the time I buried my face between your legs unt—”
Heather snatched the phone and fumbled with the buttons. It gave a hollow beep as she hit the End button. “Shit, I didn’t mean to do that.” Her voice pitched.
“That’s OK.” Steyer reached for the phone. It began to ring again. “You don’t have to—”
Heather answered it and pressed it to her ear. “What? What do you want?” Her tone was hostile, trembling as tears threatened to escape.
“I wanted to know… how you are.” He said it as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “I heard you had a few injuries.”
She took a deep breath and spoke slowly, buying as much time as she could. “You… you broke my clavicle, three ribs, fractured my wrist, gave me no less than and perhaps more than five concussions…” She sniffled. “And I tried to jump off the roof of the hospital.”
“Do you still feel like jumping? They would have put you on something.”
“Ye—No, that hasn’t gone away. That’s why they won’t…” She glanced up at Byron, who stared at her with anxious eyes. “They won’t leave me alone.”
“I’m sure that’s what they told you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He chuckled. The sound sent a shudder down her spine. She clenched her teeth. A movement in the kitchen made her look up. Remington gestured for her to keep going, mouthing, We’re close.
“Did you know Monica was pregnant?” she blurted. Everyone in the room appeared to be blown back.
“Mm. She said as much, but I didn’t believe her.”
“I’d be hiding in a hole about now if I were you. As far away as I could get.”
He laughed. “It wasn’t mine. Nice try, though.”
“How could you possibly be so sure?”
“I…” The line fell silent for a moment. “It’s not possible.”
“Really?” she scoffed. “You’ve been neutered? I’m shocked.”
Steyer reached into his pocket to pull out a notebook and pen.
“There’s no reason for that to shock you,” Rhodes said.
“Most guys treat their ability to breed as a matter of pride—”
“I’m not most guys.”
“And you also seemed really excited at the prospect.”
He fell silent. Steyer flipped a page and scribbled a note, holding it up to her. Heather took a deep breath.
“She was just a kid, Avery. We were all just kids.”
“You are not a fucking child, Heather.” Rhodes’s voice was low and vicious. Steyer must be on the right path.
“I’m not? I—” The thought hit her, bringing tears to her eyes. “I curled up in the fucking bathtub, crying for my parents!” It hurt her throat to squeeze it out. “And Monica? How could you even look at her? She looked like she was eight years old!”
“Stop!”
It was so loud, Heather yanked the phone from her ear. Everyone stared with wide eyes. After a pause, she heard him chuckle again.
“I get it. That was good. Ritchie told you to say that.”
Heather whipped her head to stare at Steyer. How could he possibly know that?
“He’s a sharp one. Knows how to push my buttons. Like you. Just like you. You two are a dangerous team. Ritchie and the Rabbit.”
“We got him.” Remington’s voice was low, but there was palpable relief in the room.
Heather sagged with a sigh. “You’re right. We are.”
“I may have to do something about that.”
“Not if I kill you first, you son of a bitch.”
“Oh, but you’ve said that before, Little Rabbit.”
Heather closed her eyes. The tears slid down her cheeks. Her body was shaking. She had. She said that after he had killed Z. Then he had offered her the knife and showed her where to drive it in. “I won’t hesitate this time,” she whispered.
“You can hang up now,” Steyer said.
“I am going to fuck your world.”
“Oh, Rabbit…” Rhodes sighed. “You already have.”
He hung up. Heather stared fixedly before her for what felt like a long time. Remington unlocked the door.
“We got an address,” he said.
“Not Sydney Lancaster’s?”
“Nope. Let’s go.”
Heather held out Steyer’s phone without looking up at him. “He’s not gonna be there.”
Remington had known Heather was right, but still clung to hope as he followed the GPS to the address dispatch had given them. It led them to a middle school. A barricade at the end of the lane blocked the empty parking lot, and an armored SWAT vehicle blocked the lane. Patrol vehicles, blue lights flashing, extended to either side of it. A helicopter swept overhead.
Steyer cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on the oh shit handle. He always cleared his throat when he heard helicopters.
“You OK?” Remington pulled in behind the nearest cruiser.
“Yep. Pop the trunk.” Steyer climbed out and paused, face down, hands on his hips. When Remington climbed out and shut his door, Steyer headed to the trunk. His face was impassive as he strapped on a bullet-proof vest. He glanced at Remington, who had been wearing his the entire time.
“What’s on your mind?”
“This is
just for show.” Steyer knocked on the vest, over his heart. “If the Phoenix wanted to kill us, this wouldn’t stop him.”
A shudder ran up Remington’s spine. Steyer pulled the trunk closed and they hustled toward the lane. For all the patrol cars, only a few officers were in sight, but the fully-armored SWAT team were milling around at the barricade. A silver Camry sat before it. All four doors, trunk, and hood gaped open.
“Well,” Remington said, “at least he didn’t lie about Sydney getting her car back”
After Remington and Steyer ran out, Heather sat in a stunned silence for several minutes. Tech watched her with a hand over his mouth, then ran it over his face and retreated upstairs. Byron took a deep breath and sat on the couch next to her.
“Do you need anything?”
She shook her head.
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“No.”
“Don’t you need to eat so you can take medicine or something?”
“Jamal—” Her voice came out hard, but she checked herself and sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
He swallowed hard and glanced upstairs to make sure Tech wasn’t eves-dropping. “I’m worried about you.”
She nodded. “There’s a lot to be worried about right now.”
“You wanna put a movie on? We can watch whatever you want to watch.”
Moving slowly, she came to life and pushed herself off the couch. Byron leaned back so she could pass.
“I need to make dinner,” she muttered.
Byron shot to his feet. “I can help. I mean, not with pork, but I can cut vegetables.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She plucked a scrunchie off the key holder and grunted as she raised her arms to put her hair back.
“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” he chuckled. He confiscated the scrunchie, raked her hair back and up, and laced it through. Her hair was oily, thin, and brittle, not at all what he had imagined it would feel when he dreamed of her.
You didn’t really imagine her a hostage, either. “How tight? One more?”
“That should be fine. Want anything?”
“I’m supposed to be takin’ care of you.”
She cracked a smile. His chest flooded with relief as he saw a trace of her old self. “You’re supposed to be guarding the house. Let me take care of the inhabitants.”
“At least let me lift things for you.”
She scowled, but it faded quickly. “OK, you can be my sous.”
“Your Sue?”
“My sous. My sous chef.”
“Oh. OK. I was worried for a second you were callin’ me a girl.”
She laughed. “No, you don’t quite qualify.” She opened the fridge and browsed the contents. “Not that that matters much…”
Byron’s smile faltered. It sounded like something Thrace had said:
That doesn’t matter much.
What, that I’m not gay?
Deciding—Decisions change, often.
Byron’s face burned. What would Heather think of that conversation and the events that preceded it?
“OK, let’s do this: carrots and celery, bottom drawer.”
He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the bags. She opened a cabinet and knelt to pull out an onion and a bag of potatoes. She wrinkled her nose and pinched a few.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to order a pizza?”
She snorted. “Dr… My doctor told me to avoid super-fatty foods. If I gain too much weight too fast, I could have a heart attack.”
She said it so casually, Byron thought she was joking at first. He straightened and stared at her. Although he had seen it when he had first picked her up, he hadn’t been close enough until tonight. She hid her body under baggy clothes, but the bones of her elbows and wrists protruded under her skin. He could count each bone in her neck.
“Gotcha…” he breathed.
She dumped a few potatoes by the sink. “Wash these please? Then wash and peel the carrots.”
Byron hunted for a peeler as Heather pulled a chef’s knife from a block by the stove. He pretended he didn’t notice when she stared at it for a moment before going to work on the onions. Resisting the urge to comfort her as she sniffled and tears streamed down her cheeks, he washed the potatoes. When he set them on her cutting board, she attacked them, hewing them with a fervor that filled him with concern for her fingers.
“Heather…”
She didn’t respond, but continued to chop the veg and heap them into a Pyrex dish.
“Heather.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. She jerked around, holding the knife before her. The tip scraped the front of his shirt. He jumped back, grabbing and twisting her wrist. She opened her mouth in a silent cry of pain, and the knife clattered to the ground. Byron released her and held up his hands.
“Whoa, Heather… Whoa.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and ran a hand into her hair.
“Everything OK in here?” Tech asked.
Byron spun around to find him peering in from the bottom of the stairs.
“We’re good!” He ducked down to pick up the knife and set it on the counter as if he had dropped it by accident.
“On-Onions,” Heather squeezed out with an unconvincing sniffle.
“H’OK…” He nodded. “I’m puttin’ on M*A*S*H in here. We’ll watch the next episodes once that’s cooking.”
She nodded and turned back toward the counter. Byron waited for Tech to sit down before moving to her side.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small, tight voice. “I just… spent the last month…” She seemed to have trouble breathing and shook her head. “Everything feels like an attack sometimes.”
“It’s OK.” He reached out to touch her arm, but decided against it and placed his hand on the counter. She placed her hand over his and leaned against his chest.
Heart racing, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Is this OK?”
“Yes.”
He expected her to pull away after a few seconds, to step back and continue with dinner, but she didn’t move. He could feel her breathing, deep, labored breaths, could feel her bones against her skin.
She is so broken…
Byron’s face burned with shame. Steyer was right; It was selfish to love her right now, selfish to dream of her, to think of her as he had been thinking of her.
“Want me to finish this up for you?” he finally asked, releasing her.
She sighed and pulled away. “I’m good now.” She gave him a soft, wet smile and squeezed his arm. Warmth rushed through him.
“OK… but I’ll do the knife work. You can peel the carrots.”
8
07 June
Wednesday
Byron started awake, wondering how someone could be knocking on his bedroom door. After a disoriented moment, he realized he was lying on Heather’s couch, not his own bed, covered in a blanket he didn’t remember having when he fell asleep. He groaned and checked his watch. It was almost ten o’clock. He jumped to his feet.
Did they leave you to sleep?
Another knock, but neither Tech nor Heather emerged to answer. Byron straightened his disheveled uniform and clipped on his duty belt before checking out the window. A vaguely familiar well-groomed black man stood on the porch. Byron scraped his name from the back of his memory as he opened the door.
“Dr. Magee?”
The Cheatham Hill principal looked slightly surprised. He studied Byron with a critical eye. “Good morning, officer. I was hoping I could speak with Miss Stokes.”
A protective indignation rose in Byron’s chest. It’s been a week, and now you want to speak with her? Dr. Magee must have seen it in his face, because he raised his chin. Byron had heard Dr. Magee was a hard-ass who liked to crack bad jokes, but also let the students choose the songs to play over the PA on Fridays.
“I’ll let her know. See if she’s willing… See if she’s feeling well enough for company.” Byron hesitated befo
re stepping back and holding the door open. “Come on in and have a seat.”
Dr. Magee stepped inside and looked around. When he opted for the kitchen chair still sitting by the door, Byron decided he wasn’t so bad.
The door at the top of the stairs opened and Tech looked down at them. “You changin’ the guard?”
“No, sir,” Byron replied. “It’s Principal Magee… for Heather.”
“I should probably get dressed then.” The old man disappeared, the door closing again.
Dr. Magee cleared his throat, but he didn’t look as contemptuous as he did on the porch. He looked anxious. “I’ve been… I’ve come to inform Miss Stokes of a memorial ceremony… for her classmates this Saturday.”
“You drew the short straw, huh?”
“Excuse me?” The contempt returned.
Byron cleared his throat. “Heather’s been known. Kyle Suddreth told her last week.”
Dr. Magee blinked a few times. “Has she said whether or not she plans to attend?”
“She mentioned it like she was, but I don’t think it’s occurred to her that she has a choice.”
“Of course she has a choice.”
“You don’t understand: Having a choice is a… an unfamiliar concept to her right now.”
Dr. Magee opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was an “Ah.”
Byron nodded and gestured toward the stairs. “I’ll go get her.”
Despite the oppressive heat, Heather wore an oversized set of flannel pajamas. She sat on the edge of her bed like she hadn’t decided whether to face the world or go back to sleep. Byron was torn between thinking she looked adorable or like a hot mess.
“Is something wrong?” was her first intelligible sentence.
“It’s a diplomatic mission, I think.”
“Hm.” She turned toward her bedside table and tipped a pill bottle. “He didn’t happen to bring coffee and donuts as a peace offering, did he?”
“I’m afraid not.”