Possession

by Rene Gutteridge

  Whatever. Vance knew everyone could be bought. The question was, who wanted to purchase him, and why?

  The gray TV screen flickered to life.

  * * *

  Lindy took the downtime she had in the hotel room to sleep. It was fitful, and she wasn’t even sure that she’d really fallen asleep because it seemed she heard the running slapstick jokes of the cartoons. But when she opened her eyes, she felt slightly more rested and her body ached less. Her hand was numb, though. The cuffs were too tight.

  Conner had fallen asleep on the other bed, and she was thankful. The thought of his captivity was almost too much to bear, so she tried instead to figure out how to get out of this mess. How to contact Vance, at the very least, to tell him they were okay.

  But she wasn’t sure for how much longer. She still wasn’t even sure what Erin’s plan was or why she wanted to hold them captive. It was fairly evident she wanted to get back at Vance, but what was her long-term goal? What did she plan to do? Why did she need them?

  She heard footsteps and saw a shadow under the door. It stayed there for a long time. Erin listening, she assumed.

  Soon the door opened and she walked in. She was backlit. Her hair looked windblown and wispy. Lindy couldn’t see her face to gauge her expression.

  Erin threw her keys down on the table and finally closed the door. The drapes were still closed, but she stepped into the lamp’s light. Conner continued to sleep. Erin stood for a long time and observed him. Lindy’s hands balled up. She didn’t even like her looking at him. There was a detached iciness to her gaze.

  “How long are you going to keep us here?” Lindy asked.

  Erin blinked slowly and turned her face toward Lindy.

  “He’s a little boy, Erin. You can’t just keep chaining us up everywhere.”

  “Really.”

  “People are looking for us. You’re not going to be able to keep this up much longer. What is it that you want? Let me help you get it.”

  Erin flopped into the nearby chair, her hands dangling over the sides. She then crossed her legs and smoothed her hair. She rested her head against one hand as she observed Lindy for a moment. “You think Vance is searching for you? at this moment?”

  “Of course he is,” Lindy said. “He will do anything to get us back. You know that. Do you really think you’re going to get away with this?”

  “I do.” She smiled, her expression warming except for the eyes, shimmering like shards of broken glass against pavement. “I will. I am owed this.”

  Lindy sighed, staring at the ceiling. “You know, what you never understood was how much Vance cared for you.” She glanced sideways. The remark startled Erin; she could tell. The catty smile was replaced by a straight line on her lips. “He really did. That was the source of many of our arguments.”

  Erin recovered her smooth expression. “He sure had an awesome way of showing it.”

  “He cared about what happened to you. After you started drinking, he worried endlessly about you. I told him to write you off, but he never would. He kept saying that you were a good cop and that you were just going through some tough times.”

  “He blackmailed me, Lindy. That’s the bottom line. He blackmailed me with that footage.”

  “He could’ve turned you in, Erin. He should’ve. But he didn’t because he believed in you.” Lindy searched her expression, trying to find some kind of humanity there. “Why are you so desperate now?”

  “You’ll never understand. No. Never. You can’t possibly understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “Understand what it’s like to carry the entire family name. I was an only child, and all the expectations were set on top of me.” She stood, went to the window, cracked the drapes open a bit as she peered out. “My father thinks that I moved to Chicago for more of a challenge and that I planned to make it all the way to chief. That’s what he wanted for me. That was his dream for himself, and then it became his dream for me.”

  “Does he know about your drinking?”

  “One drunk knows another. But it’s not discussed.” She let the drapes close and turned to stare at Lindy. “Early on, I didn’t really think this plan would work. A lot had to fall into place.”

  “What if it hadn’t?”

  “You don’t want to know.” She went to the door, checked the lock. “I’m capable of killing people. I killed someone else in Chicago.” She paced the small length of the floor, staring at the carpet as she walked. “A child.”

  Lindy gasped, then covered her mouth.

  “Shocking, right?” Erin asked, pausing a moment to glance at Lindy. Then she continued to pace. “I was pursuing a motorcycle, and I slammed into the back of a car. Killed a three-year-old girl. Annie.” Her voice cracked. “Curly hair. Ringlet curls like baby dolls used to have. I laid her on the concrete and tried to revive her but couldn’t get her heart started.” The small bit of light that was seeping through the crack in the curtains shone against Erin’s teary eyes. “She died right there in my arms, with her mother screaming behind me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lindy whispered.

  “So I don’t have much to lose, as you can see.” Erin sat back down. “I’m below the lowest scum of the earth.”

  “But haven’t you inflicted enough harm?” Lindy chose her words carefully and poured them out with as much compassion as she could feel for this woman. “Let Vance and me help you. What kind of life will you have running from all your mistakes?”

  “I am going to be kicked off the police force and probably put in jail. Whatever life I have on the run, it will be worth never having to see that look on my father’s face again. And he won’t have to have a constant reminder of the enormous disappointment I am to him.”

  A long pause stretched between them. Then Lindy said, “I get that, you know.”

  “Get what?”

  “I’m a constant disappointment to my mother. She didn’t want me to marry a cop. She’d divorced my dad years ago and blamed his career as a cop for all their troubles. When I married Vance, it was like a slap in the face.”

  Erin raised an eyebrow. “You? Seems like you’d be anybody’s perfect child.”

  “Far from it.”

  “Vance thought you hung the moon.”

  “Right.”

  “You were all he’d talk about some nights when we were on patrol. Lindy this and Lindy that. I was a little disappointed when I met you and you weren’t wearing a tiara and glass slippers. I think you were wearing a ponytail and no makeup.”

  Lindy didn’t know what to say. She figured all Vance did was gripe to Erin about her. Conner stirred in the bed but went back to sleep. Her instinct was to wake him up, knowing he wouldn’t sleep tonight. But he looked peaceful. She thought it was funny how motherly instincts never waned.

  “Vance never recovered, you know. From the sniper case.”

  Erin shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. That’s about the time he decided I wasn’t worth his time.”

  “Look, Erin, he was dealing with a lot of pressure at home, and I didn’t help matters. I didn’t understand how stressful the case had been on him.”

  “Like he couldn’t stand in open spaces anymore.”

  Lindy nodded, but she hated that Erin knew that. And those were the kinds of things that had kept them arguing well into the night. What Erin knew. What she didn’t. On and on it went, until all Lindy could focus on was Erin. It had consumed her.

  But her instincts were right. This proved it. Erin was never the innocent woman. She’d had an agenda. Lindy just wished she could’ve believed more in her husband.

  “Well,” Erin said, “it’s been nice chitchatting with you, but we’ve got business to take care of.”

  Lindy’s frustration surged. “Vance is going to find us, Erin. He will do whatever it takes.”

  Erin fingered the small key ring she’d pulled from her pocket. “Vance is in jail, charged with murder. So I wouldn’t count on being saved.”

&nbs
p; 27

  Biggs said he’d be in touch. Vance was returned to his cell. He’d missed lunch and his stomach rumbled with nerves and hunger.

  All he could think about was Lindy and Conner. He wanted so badly to plead with someone, try to convince someone, anyone, that he was innocent and that his wife and child were missing and in danger.

  But there was no one. Not even a cell mate. Just him.

  “Daddy, I found out that you don’t have to kneel. The preacher said you can pray anytime you want. And in your head too. God is a mind reader.”

  Tears dribbled down his cheeks as he thought of all the times he’d brushed Conner off, telling him to stop the embarrassing rituals.

  “It’s not a religion, Daddy. That’s what I keep trying to tell you. It’s like how you and me talk.”

  He noticed his hands. His forearms were braced against his knees and his hands were clasped together, his fingers laced between each other, just like Conner prayed. His little boy uttered many prayers with those hands clasped together. White-knuckled, no less, like he was squeezing the prayer out of every pore in his body. His eyes squinted shut like he might be peering through a bright light to see heaven itself.

  Vance’s stomach rumbled again, and he thought of Lindy and her sandwiches. The Italian beef was his favorite, but she’d never gone wrong on one. He’d never cared for the chicken salad, but he wasn’t a fan of grapes, almonds, and mayo together, so that was probably why.

  What he wouldn’t give for a simple Saturday, outside on a lawn chair, eating a double-decker and watching over his family.

  He was supposed to watch over them. Keep them safe.

  He stared at his hands for a long time, thinking about the wise counsel his son had given him over the past couple of years. One phrase in particular blew through his mind like a gust of wind. He couldn’t remember exactly how it went, but it had something to do with fear and how perfect love casts it away.

  It was all he felt in the pit of his stomach. Absolute fear. Total hopelessness.

  Vance closed his eyes, though he was not accustomed to it. Normally he liked to keep tabs on everything and everyone around him. He’d gone to church once, sat in the back row because even in church he trusted nobody.

  But who was likely to sneak up on him in this jail cell?

  At first, he just focused on the black nothingness that stared back at him in his mind. Disbelief. Numbness. Fatigue. But then something stirred inside him. It was deeper than his heart. Wordless but not meaningless. He wanted to reach for it, wanted it to pass through his soul again, but it left as quickly as it came. It was like a whisper that vanished against any sound.

  He kept his eyes closed, squeezed his hands, hoped for its return. The blackness was filled with utterances. Help. Believe. Need. Save.

  And then another whisper, like a thin veil fluttering against the wind. It caused him to breathe deeply. It felt clean and pure, like a cold-water creek left undiscovered in the middle of the woods.

  Graegan, stand up.

  The words rattled him, yet even as clear as they were, he still could hardly believe he heard them.

  Then a clanging metal sound opened his eyes, and he saw an officer standing at his door. Vance stood, offering his wrists.

  “No need for that,” the officer said, looking sideways at him as he opened the door farther and gestured for him to walk out. Vance obeyed, unsure why protocol wasn’t being followed. The officer pointed him to the left, then followed closely behind him. The clanking sounds of the prison faded against the small words in his soul: I guess prayer does work.

  Vance kept walking, his eyes forward as he’d been instructed. The officer opened a door with a slide of his key card, and another officer escorted him through a second key-guarded door until he was in a hallway that he’d not been in before. He wondered if he was going to the warden. But why wasn’t he in shackles?

  The officer said, “Sit here. They’ll call your name in a second.”

  “What’s going on?” Vance asked, noticing one young man sitting on the bench.

  “You don’t know?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You posted bail.”

  “That’s impossible. It’s a hundred-thousand-dollar bail.”

  “Graegan. Vance Graegan.”

  The officer shrugged and nodded toward the woman who sat behind a wall with a square box for a window. “I guess you know some pretty powerful people, then.”

  The officer turned, and Vance walked to the window.

  The woman didn’t acknowledge him but seemed to know he was there. Her bored-looking eyes drifted over some paperwork that she was reading line by line. “You Vance Graegan?” she finally asked, still not glancing up.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Your bail has been posted. You must appear on your appointed court date, or the city has the right to return you to jail. Do you understand?”

  Vance wanted to ask if there might be a mistake, but he figured he should just take this opportunity and run. Literally. He knew mistakes could happen. Twice he’d helped track down fugitives who’d been mistakenly released from jail. He signed the papers she slid through the window.

  She smacked her lips together and shook her head. “You don’t look rich.”

  “I’m not,” Vance said. He shoved the papers back to her.

  She left her desk momentarily and returned with a paper sack. “Here’s your stuff. We’ve included a complimentary white T-shirt since your shirt was confiscated by the police.”

  The paper sack rattled loudly as she handed it to him.

  “There’s a changing room down the hall, right before the exit. Please put your prison-issued uniform and shoes in the large basket in the corner of that room. Have a nice day.”

  Vance took uncertain steps as his rubber-soled flip-flops slapped against the concrete floor. He found the room easily and quickly changed. His jeans were like comfort food, but the white T-shirt was thin and about a size too small.

  Minor things to worry about. Right now he just needed to hightail it out of there. He fingered through his wallet. He had about forty dollars cash and his credit cards were still there.

  An officer opened the door for him, like he was leaving the Marriott or something. The bright sunlight assaulted him, and he raised his arm for shade.

  As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a slick, dark luxury car idling nearby, its windows black as night and reflecting the sun’s rays. Its headlights seemed to stare him down.

  He stood at the curb, figuring out what he should do. How to get home. He needed his car to try to find Lindy. And his phone was dead. He was going to have to recharge that. He thought he’d call Mr. Biggs, see about having his private investigator help him out.

  Thought after thought raced through his head, so many that they seemed to spill right out of his ears.

  The door to the black car opened, and an older gentleman with a white goatee, white dress shirt, and silver tie beckoned him. “Vance Graegan.” It wasn’t a question. This man knew who he was.

  “Yes?”

  “Get in the car.”

  “Why?”

  The man didn’t answer. He slipped back into the car, under the cover of the black-tinted windows.

  Vance clenched his teeth and made a smooth walk toward the car. Whoever was in there had to know who they were messing with.

  He took a private breath and opened the car door.

  28

  “You’ve looked better.”

  Vance stooped, peering into a car that was nearly foggy with odor spray. The seats were leather. The floor mats spotless.

  “Joan?” Vance wasn’t sure whom he expected to be in the car, but it certainly wasn’t his mother-in-law.

  “Get in, get in. You’re letting all the air freshener out.”

  Vance climbed in and was suddenly very aware of how tight his shirt was. He pulled it over his belly a little.

  Joan lifted a critical eyebrow. “I see
jail time hasn’t improved you.”

  “What is going on? You posted bail for me?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why? You’re the one that called the police on me.”

  “That’s true as well.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “No reason you should. You were never as bright as Linda. I told her that, you know, the day before your wedding. I told her you’d always be trying to keep up with her.”

  Vance looked out the window, biting his tongue. He really just wanted to bite her head off. “Look, I realize I’ve never been your favorite person. But right now I’ve got to find Lindy and Conner. They’re in a lot of danger.”

  “Oh yes. We will. You will.” She leaned forward. The emotion she always tried to hide glistened mildly in her eyes. “Arnold, to the hotel, please.”

  “A hotel? Joan, listen to me. They are in danger. Erin is very dangerous. She’s lost her mind. I need to go home, get my car, try to track them down.”

  “You can’t go home. It’s a crime scene. I mean, technically you can, but you shouldn’t.”

  Vance clutched his jeans at the knees. Frustration was building as it always did when he was around Joan, but it was doubled this time. He tried to calm himself. It wasn’t going to help to get mad at Joan. It never did. She was a cool, emotionless woman who was unfazed by harsh words. Mostly her own.

  She cracked the window of the car and poked a couple of fingers out. “They didn’t let you bathe, dear?”

  “Erin visited me at the jail,” Vance finally said.

  This caught Joan’s attention. She looked at him.

  “She has Lindy and Conner. She’s planning on fleeing to Mexico. But I don’t know what she’s capable of. She’s already killed Karen. And Joe. Joe double-crossed her. But Karen just got in her way.”

  Joan’s default expression of unending disgust changed. She looked worried. “Arnold, please hurry.”

  “Two minutes out,” he replied.

  “Why did you post bail for me?” Vance asked.

  “I did more than that,” she said smoothly. “I hired Conrad Biggs too, or didn’t you notice?”