by Bromberg, K.
I look up when I hear footsteps. “Talk to me. Please,” I beg. “Tell me she’s okay. Zander’s okay. He’s fucking traumatized. Please.” My voice breaks as tears prick the back of my eyes like pins. I welcome the pain, hold onto it because it’s the only way I can cope right now with all of the unknowns.
“The woman and little boy—”
“Her name is Rylee!” I shout. “She’s not a faceless, nameless victim. She’s my Rylee.” My checkered flag. Oh god! “And Zander. Rylee and Zander. Call them their names. Acknowledge that they’re people with families goddammit!” I fist my hands, desperate to hurt something, break anything, to abate my restlessness. But it won’t help. Nothing will. Except for getting to see them.
I lace my fingers on my neck and pull down, force myself to breathe. I need to calm the fuck down or they’re going to kick me out of here. My chest aches and if I had any doubt before I know for sure now: That woman owns this heart of mine.
Rylee. Hang in there, baby. Be strong. For me. For Zander. Please.
The police office looks at me again and I’m such a fucking mess—so inside my own head—that I forgot he was coming to give me information.
“Rylee and Zander,” he says using their names, “and the suspect are isolated in the backyard.”
“Then go in there and get them the fuck out of there! C’mon! Do your goddamn jobs!” I shout with hands fisted and teeth gritted. My mind is so overwhelmed that the stupidity of my comment doesn’t register until I notice the officer before me glance to the one beside me.
And then I know.
“Has he hurt her?”
Silence.
“A gun?”
Crickets.
“Has he hurt Zander?”
“No.”
No to all of the questions or just the one about Zander? What are they not telling me?
My chest constricts. My world spirals like the tumbling of the car in the wreck. One second. That’s all I allow myself to feel before I shut down. Fuck this. Fuck everyone.
I shove away from them, pace down the sidewalk, and try to wrap my head around all of this. Take a moment. Then I stride back to him, know it won’t do a bit of goddamn good, but ask anyway. “You’ve gotta get me in the house. Right. Fucking. Now!” I demand as a dog starts barking somewhere.
“Sir, keep your voice down. The suspect doesn’t know we’re here and we’re trying to keep it that way. We’ve got tactical in the kitchen to take a shot if need be. We don’t want to escalate the situation.”
And all I hear is that he doesn’t know we’re here. So that means Rylee doesn’t know we’re here. She doesn’t know help is here. And that scares the shit out of me more than anything.
My selfless saint.
“If need be? He has a fucking gun right? What more do you need to know?”
“We’re doing everything we can,” he says in that placating tone I want to rip from his throat.
“No you’re not!” I bark. “Do you have them safe? NO YOU DON’T!”
“Sir, if you can’t settle down, we’re going to have to escort you from the premises.”
Panic rifles through me. I can’t be taken farther away than I already am. I look over at the house and think of earlier today: my welcome kiss with Rylee, my chat with Shane. How could a perfect morning turn into this? How could I leave her to face this alone?
I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head for a beat before looking back at the man in front of me. “Officer…” I glance at his name tag, try to make a connection with him so that he understands how important my next words are. “Officer Destin – Please. You have to let her know we’re out here. Zander’s one of her boys. She’ll do anything—anything—to keep him safe.” The thought terrifies me. Fuck being calm. I grab the front of the his shirt. “Do you understand what I’m saying? She’ll sacrifice herself for one of her boys…so fucking do something now!”
Hands yank me backwards. Voices threaten me. I shrug them off and hold my hands up in an apology. “We’re doing everything we can to—”
“Don’t give me the bullshit line. Don’t stand here. Do something!”
They nod their heads like they get it but they don’t. Not even fucking close. They don’t have a freight train of fear derailing inside of them because the people they care about are in a backyard with a murderer.
Time fucking stretches.
Seconds.
Minutes.
Forever.
It feels like years are being scraped off of my life by a dull knife with each and every passing second. Eventually I’m moved into a tactical van near the front of the house. They say it’s to keep me better apprised of the situation. I know it’s because they can see me about to explode from the unknown and that when I do, I’ll take matters into my own hands and compromise their operation.
My mind races but I can’t focus on a goddamn thing but Rylee and Zander and being stuck inside this tiny truck where I can’t pace and can’t talk. All I can do is sit here with guys in headsets and monitors with white snow, a constant on their screens.
“I’m not letting you take him.”
And then I hear her voice.
My body jolts to attention. Adrenaline pumps through my veins from the goddamn defiance in her voice. She’s all right.
I lean forward and focus on the grainy image that springs to life on the bank of monitors in from of me. I have to fight the sob of relief when I see her, hear her voice, when all I’ve felt for the past however fucking long it’s been is fear.
And the wave of reprieve is short lived because when I’m finally able to tear my eyes from her, there’s only one other thing I can focus on: the gun that is aimed directly at her.
“SPIDERMAN. BATMAN. SUPERMAN. IRONMAN. Spiderman. Batman …” Zander repeats it over and over as he sits balled up in a corner behind me in the backyard. It’s the only thing I can hear over the buzzing in my head right now from the force of the punch. Zander’s hands are over his ears and he rocks back and forth as he chants, withdrawing into himself. Into the world he wants to exist, where there are no bad men wielding guns or fathers holding knives cutting their wives apart.
The problem is that in Zander’s world, they are one in the same.
I notice all of this in the split second after I’m punched in the face, my body flinging and twisting from the impact to see my sweet boy shrinking into himself. Time stands still then begins to move in slow motion. The pain in my cheek and eye does nothing to abate the fear in my heart as I look up to meet the eyes of the man that’s been a constant presence in my life over the past few weeks. His hat and dark glasses have been knocked off and it hits me.
I know this man.
I’ve seen him before.
He’s the man who gave me the creeps in the Target parking lot. He’s the man from the dark blue sedan parked outside of The House and my house, following me. Without his hat and sunglasses I can see Zander in him. I know why he seemed so familiar in the parking lot that day. He has the same color eyes, the same features; his hair is longer and a bit darker, but the resemblance is unmistakable.
My eyes skim over the matte black metal of the pistol he has pointed at me and then to his eyes—dark pools of unemotional blackness—that are flickering back and forth from me to Zander and his incessant chanting of superheroes in the background.
“What did you do to him?” he shouts at me angling the gun over to Zander and then back to me. “Why’s he doing that? Answer me!”
Stay calm, Rylee. Stay calm, Rylee.
“He—he’s scared.” You did this to him, I want to scream at him. You did this, you useless piece of murdering sack of shit, but all I do is repeat myself, trying to hide my fear and keep myself from stuttering. I try to focus on the pounding of my heart, counting the beats thumping in my ears to keep me calm. I can feel the rivulets of sweat trickle between my shoulder blades and breasts. I can smell the fear and my stomach revolts, knowing it’s mine that I smell—mixed with his.
That he’s scared too.
Think, Ry. Think. I need to keep him calm but protect Zander, and I have no clue how to do that. The unfettered fear I feel is scattering my thoughts, robbing me of coherency. Of what in the hell I should do, because I know he’s murdered before. Murdered the mother of his child, his wife no less.
What’s going to stop him from murdering me?
He has nothing to lose.
And that more than anything scares the shit out of me.
I force a swallow, my eyes flicking all over the backyard. I see his camera and fake press pass on the ground by the gate. I see my cell phone in the edge of the grass, where it scattered when he hit me, and I immediately think of Colton.
I instantly grab on to the hope that he heard me, knows we’re in trouble, will call for help—because if he didn’t, I have no chance at protecting Zander against this madman. Of protecting myself.
My tears sting, and the swelling in my eye from where he ambushed me, hurts like a bitch. My hands are shaking and my breath hitches in fear, while the increased volume of Zander’s chant is adding a heightened level of stress to the whole situation.
It’s the only sound I can hear in the early morning silence—the chants of a little boy knowing he has no hope left. And with each passing moment, the whispered words get louder and louder as if he’s trying to drown out the sound of his dad’s voice.
“Wh—what do you want?” I finally ask over Zander’s voice, sensing his grasp on reality is long gone. And I don’t know how to rationalize with a crazy person.
He steps toward me, his eyes running down the length of my body, and even though my nerves are already on high alert, the look in his dead eyes when he scrapes them back up causes new ones to hum. Warning bells go off and my stomach squeezes violently—so much so that I have to fight the nausea that threatens.
He reaches the gun out, and I freeze as he runs the tip of it up and down the side of my cheek. The cold of the steel, the hard reality of the metal on my flesh and what it represents, causes the blood in my veins to turn to ice.
“You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you, Rylee.” The way he says my name, as if he’s fucking it with his tongue, has me gagging. In an instant he has my cheeks squeezed tightly in his hands, his face inches from mine. Tears start streaming down my face. I want to be tough. I want to tell him to fuck off and die. I want to scream for Zander to run and get help. I want to plead with God, with anyone, for help. I want to tell Colton I love him. But I can’t because none of that is possible right now. My knees are shaking, my teeth are trying to chatter inside of his grip. Everything I am—my future, my possibilities, my next breath—is at this man’s whim.
He comes in closer so I can feel his breath feather over my lips as his fingers dig deeper into the sides of my cheeks, and I can’t help the cry of fear that falls from my lips. “The question is, Rylee … exactly how far would you go to protect one of your boys?”
“Fuck you.” The garbled words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, anger removing the filter between my head and mouth. And before I can blink, his fist slams into my abdomen, and I’m propelled backwards. I land with a thud against the concrete patio, my shoulders and head hitting the wood fence behind me.
The terror consuming my body overshadows pain from the blow. I’ve landed near Zander so I scramble as quickly as I can over to his side and pull him into me, trying to protect him in any way I can. I know he’s behind me, can feel the heavy presence of the gun I know is pointed at me, but I rock Zander.
“It’s okay, Zand. He’s not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let him hurt you,” I tell him in a hushed voice, but Zander doesn’t stop rocking, doesn’t stop chanting, and I’m so petrified right now I start chanting for the superheroes with him as we sit in a backyard built on hope and what I fear will soon be marred with violence.
“I’ve come to take my son.” If I thought his voice was cold before, his tone now matches the steel of his gun.
“No,” I tell him, the waver in my voice betraying the confidence of what I want to say.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with?” he growls, pointing the gun into my back, its hard nose digging deep between my shoulder blades. “It’s time to step away from my son.”
I squeeze my hands into fists to quit their shaking so Zander doesn’t know how scared I am. I don’t want his father to realize it either. I force a swallow as Zander’s sobs start racking through his body, and if I didn’t already know, I know now with such clarity—with a cold sweat breaking over my skin and fear in my heart—that I can’t let his father take him. That I’ll protect him with everything I have because no one else could before.
The muzzle in my back digs deeper, and I bite back a yelp of pain as tears freely flow down my cheeks. I begin to worry my bottom lip between my teeth, because in a moment I’m going to stand up. And when I turn around I have to show him I’m not scared of him. I have to put on the performance of a lifetime in order to save this little boy.
“Now!” he shouts at me, my body jumping as his voice cuts through the constant hum of Zander’s chanting.
I lean my mouth down by Zander’s ear and try to still him as he rocks, hoping that my words get to him—break through the world he’s transported his mind to—in order to save himself from the fear and memories of his father.
“Zander, listen to me,” I tell him. “I’m not going to let him take you. I promise. The superheroes are coming. They’re coming okay? I’m gonna stand now but when I say Batman I want you to run as fast as you can into the house okay? Batman.”
I just finish my words when I feel the gun leave my shoulder blades but feel his boot connect with my left side. I groan in pain as I absorb the impact, tensing my arms around Zander as we push harder into the fence we’re cornered against.
“Get the fuck up, Rylee.”
“Batman, okay?” I say again, gritting my teeth as I breathe through the pain and force myself to rise on wobbly legs. I take a deep breath and turn to face him.
“You’re a tough cookie!” He sneers at me. “I like my women tough.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and force evenness in my tone that I hope I can maintain. “I’m not letting you take him.”
He laughs out loud, raises his face up to the sky, before looking back at me, and I wonder if I just missed my one chance to tell Zander to go. To run. My heart twists at the thought. “Now, I really don’t think you’re in the position to be telling me what exactly I can and cannot be doing. Right?”
My head races for things to say. Ways to calm down the nerves I can see are starting to overtake him with each passing second. But all the same, I need this time. The longer I have, the more likely help might be coming. “There’s a yard full of press out front. How are you going to leave with him?”
He laughs again and I know the sound will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. “That’s where you’re wrong. They all left with your hotshot boyfriend and followed him.” He steps closer and raises the gun to my face. “It’s just you, and me, and Z-man over there. So what do you have to say to that, huh?”
I swear all of the blood in my body drains to my feet because I have to struggle to remain focused on standing as the dizziness assaults me. After a moment, I manage to steady myself, to see through the blackness clouding my vision, and try to figure out what to do next.
The only thought I can come up with is to distract him somehow, lunge for the weapon, and scream at Zander to run.
But how?
When?
We stand for what seems like forever—a silent standoff where it’s more than evident who holds all the power in this forced relationship. As time stretches I see his hands starting to shake, his facial muscles twitching, and the sweat beading, all while the sound of Zander’s escalating chants continue to add more pressure to the unstable situation.
“Shut him the fuck up!” he screa
ms at me as his eyes flicker all over the yard like a trapped animal unsure of its next move.
I startle when I hear a noise behind Zander’s dad. My heart leaps in my chest as the next door neighbor’s dog barks viciously through the fence. Zander’s father twists at the sound, the gun moving with him. I act on instinct, not allowing myself to think of the consequences.
“BATMAN!” I scream at the same time I lunge at Zander’s father. I collide into him, the harsh impact of my athletic frame against his knocks all thoughts from my head, except for one, I hope Zander heard me. That I got through to him and he’s running to save himself because I just sealed my fate if I’m not successful.
The sound is deafening.
The crack of the gun going off.
The jerk of his body from its recoil.
My scream, a primal sound I hear but don’t even recognize as my own. Then it stops. The wind is knocked out of me as we slam to the ground. I’m momentarily stunned—my body, my mind, my heart—as I land on top of him, before I try to struggle to get away. I have to get the gun, I have to make sure Zander is gone.
I push up off the vile man beneath me, still struggling. My only thought is get the gun, get the gun, get the gun, and my hands slip in the slickness beneath me. I shove backwards as panic and pain radiate through me. I land with a thud on my ass, the force jolting all the way up my spine and snapping my mind out of the shock it’s in.
I lose focus on the man, as I look at the blood on my trembling hands. I take in the blood covering my T-shirt with Ricky’s team’s mascot printed on the front. My mind scrambles to think, frantically searches its recesses for what I’m supposed to be doing because the sight—so much blood—is making me dizzy.
I’m confused.
I’m scared.
Dizzy.
My world goes black.
“PLEASE, BABY, PLEASE WAKE UP.”
Colton? My head is foggy as I hear his voice and smell him near. I try to figure out what exactly is going on. My eyelids feel so heavy, but I can’t open them just yet.