The Empty Place at the Table

by Jode Jurgensen John Ellsworth

  "The father of the baby that died?"

  "Dad, I don't know you at all, and I don't know how you're going to take this. The baby didn't die. I lied to you guys about that because I was afraid you'd go back with a gun. Especially you, with the Army stuff and all. It would have got you killed. Maybe her, too."

  "Damn, Lisa, always tell me the truth, daughter. I'm not like that at all. I do smart, not stupid. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "A baby?"

  "A little girl."

  "So what did you and this Javier discuss?"

  "He has my baby. Her name is Elena, and she's three."

  He did the math. "You gave birth when you were thirteen?"

  "Uh-huh. Yes. They do that down there. He has Elena now, and I told him I want her. He said I could have her, but he wants more money from you."

  "How much more?"

  "One million dollars. Just like before except this time you deliver the money to him. He's going to break off from Iggy and take the baby to Ensenada and wait there for you to come with the money."

  "We'll do it. Your grandparents will supply the money in a heartbeat. So what's the first step?"

  Lisa was again crying, this time loud enough that the waitress returned. "You okay, sugar?"

  "I'm okay."

  "She's okay. It's just a hard story. Thank you."

  The waitress left.

  Again, "What's the first step?"

  "That's not everything. Javier is sending someone after mom. He's going to have her killed, so you know he's serious. He's going to have her killed, and my baby dies forty-eight hours later if he doesn't get the money in Ensenada by then."

  "Jesus! Well, how long have you known this?"

  "Since yesterday. I didn't know what to do. These are horrible people, and I don't want my mom or dad getting hurt by them. Then I knew I had to tell you."

  "Tell me what else he said. Everything, Lisa."

  "The man is coming tomorrow. I am to remain in my room and not interfere. If I interfere or tell anyone--"

  "They kill Elena."

  "Worse. He said he would hurt her first!"

  The crying turned to sobbing and Mark went around the table and sat down beside his daughter. He put his arm up around her shoulders and pulled her close. With his free hand, he took her hand in his and held her while she got it all out. After several minutes, it subsided and she was reaching for a napkin to clean up. Mark moved slightly away and withdrew his arm.

  "We're not going to let Javier hurt your baby. I'm going to get her back."

  "What will you do? I know if the man doesn't call Javier to say Mom's dead he will kill Elena. So you can't just have him arrested, Dad."

  "No one said anything about arresting anyone, sweetheart. That's not what we're going to do at all."

  "What will you do?"

  "Pass me your phone."

  She passed him her new phone.

  "Which one of these is Javier's number?"

  "It starts with a six-one."

  "Okay." Mark dialed the number and waited.

  "Dad, what are you doing?"

  "I'm going to tell him I'm on the way with the money. I'm telling him that if he hurts Mom, there will be no money."

  "Dad! He'll hurt my baby!"

  "No, he won't. Just wait."

  Lisa could hear the phone ringing. Finally, a recording answered and invited the caller to leave a message.

  Mark ended the call. "I won't leave a message. I need to talk to him myself. We need to wait a few minutes and I’ll call again. How about dessert?“

  They ordered two desserts and chatted while they slowly ate and had seconds of coffee.

  Then it was time to call again.

  Mark dialed the number for Javier.

  Again, the phone rang and rang. Then a voice came on and said the number was no longer working.

  "Damn!" Mark exclaimed. "Is there any other number for him?"

  "No. That's the only one I have. I don't know what's wrong."

  "All right. First of all, I have to move your mom. Someplace the killer won't look. Then I have to set a trap."

  "Oh, Dad, you know how to do this? Are you sure Elena won't be hurt?"

  "Honey, there are no guarantees about anything. Call Mom on your phone. Tell her to stay inside and lock the doors. Tell her I'm on the way and don't call the police. If they get involved your baby's life expectancy is very short."

  "I'm dialing her now."

  "Hang on."

  33

  Mark and Lisa got to my house less than ten minutes after Lisa called me and scared me to death. "Mom," she said through her tears, "stay in the house and lock the doors. Dad's driving me. We'll explain." I went around and locked the doors. James wasn't home yet, but he soon would be. Gladys was with me in the family room watching videos while I read. It was one of those nights where we just liked to hang out, make popcorn and hot apple cider, and get sleepy.

  The garage door went up--Lisa's phone was programmed to open it--as I leaned out the door leading down into the garage.

  "What is it?" I called. They came bounding out of the car and up the steps.

  "Does James keep a gun here?"

  "I don't know. Yes, in the attic I think there's one his father had."

  Mark pushed past Lisa and she came up the stairs behind him.

  "Will someone please tell me what's going on? Do I need to hide Gladys?"

  Mark cried out, "Where's the attic? Where would the gun be kept? What would it be in?”

  "His dad's foot locker. Hallway closet, a ladder pulls down."

  Mark was off. Lisa locked the door at the top of the stairs and turned to me. "It's all my fault. I am so sorry to bring this here."

  Whatever trouble we were in, I wasn't going to let Lisa frame it as if she brought it here.

  "You didn't bring something here. We have our daughter back, and her life is what it is. We love you, and we'll take care of whatever--"

  "Found it!" Mark cried down through the attic opening. We had moved into the hallway and were waiting when he yelled. "It's a .45 ACP 1911. Great gun, full magazine. Shells might not even fire, but he won't know that."

  Mark started climbing back down the stairs, the gun stuck inside the back pocket of his jeans. Then he turned to me.

  "Lisa's baby didn't die."

  Shocked, surely I didn't hear things correctly. There was a baby alive?

  "Whose--"

  "I lied, Mom. Elena didn't die. She's three years old."

  "We have a granddaughter? Where is she?"

  "Javier has her."

  "I remember that bastard," I said, his face coming back to my mind. "He's the man who brought me Susannah instead of you. He's a son-of-a-bitch."

  I don't usually swear like that, but Javier was at the top of my shit list. And now he had my granddaughter?

  "That bastard has sent someone to kill you, Mel," Mark said. "He could even be in town already."

  "My God, James!"

  "I think James will be okay. It's you he's after."

  "But why?"

  "Long story short, to get more money out of us."

  "He's selling us Elena."

  Mark added, "But he's killing you first. Or trying to. Luckily, Lisa called me, and I'm all over it. Let's all go into the kitchen and have a seat."

  I knew what he was doing. The family room opened on the street side of the house. The kitchen was on the back side, behind an electronic security fence. The whole place was rigged with cameras and sensors by ADT. I grabbed Gladys and steered her by the shoulders into the kitchen even while she was trying to get away and return to her video. I spoke sharply to her, and she gave it up, shoving my hand away and walking on her own.

  What age does it start? I remember thinking. What age is it where they no longer need you--they think. Then what age is it when you've held on too long, and they don't need you anymore? Lisa was at one end of that age spectrum, Gladys was at the other. Except I wasn't letting anybody go
. Hell, that night I wasn't even letting Mark go. "Stay here in the kitchen with us," I told him when he said he'd be right back, that he was going to check the cameras. He smiled and went ahead, regardless of my worry.

  I needed to be kept busy. I poured more cold apple cider into a saucepan and began heating it. I stood over and watched the bubbles start, thinking. So, I had a granddaughter. "How old is she?" I said over my shoulder to Lisa.

  "Three. She looks just like me. With dark skin, of course."

  "Oh, the father is who?"

  "Javier. I think."

  "Oh, my God."

  "It's all right, Mom. I'm all right. I survived, and now I'm home."

  I couldn't help it; my eyes filled up with tears at the thoughts and pictures in my mind of a younger Lisa being abused by those animals. But then something else happened. It was like when I was shooting myself in the head but didn't. That was the first time I felt that overarching anger in my soul, the kind that's willing to die for the right outcome. That's what I felt as the bubbles increased and the apple cider smell filled the kitchen. In fact, I was mad as hell. The thought of those devils blithely sending someone to kill me, to end my life, all for money. I knew then that if I died, it was going to be for some greater cause than money. It was going to be for my kids and grandkid. Nothing less would take my life.

  Mark returned from checking the cameras. "I texted my dad. He's bringing over my guns."

  "Is that safe?"

  "James isn't home yet. He can pull into the garage in his spot, and we'll close the door behind him. I can get my guns and send Dad on his way. No need to worry, it was Dad who taught me to shoot long before I joined the Army. He's strapped and ready for anything."

  "All right."

  "It'll just be a few."

  It was then that I handed out mugs of hot apple cider. Soon we were gathered around the table, my husband's pistol on the table next to Mark, waiting for his father to call and tells us to let him into the garage. We had a long moment then of just being together. It felt right, Mark, me, Lisa and Gladys. It felt like a whole family. Not a happy family, but it felt complete just like we were. Then Marks' father, Charlie, called. He was coming up our street. Mark grabbed the gun and went into the garage. We heard the garage door rattling up and heard a car come roaring inside then the motor shutting off. It was silent, but then a door slammed, and the engine started up again and then shortly after the garage door closed again.

  Mark returned carrying two guns that looked like the ones you see on the SWAT team shows.

  "He went back home. Okay, Mel, let me show you how to operate this weapon."

  He showed me the charging handle, how to set the safety off, point, and squeeze the trigger. Don't pull, squeeze. I was determined and memorized every piece of it. If the man came inside my house, I was fully prepared to shoot him dead.

  Mark said he had called James and told him what was up. He's made him promise not to call the police. James was driving home as fast as possible.

  "I'm going to sit with the video screens," Mark said. If you hear shooting stay in here, point your gun at the door, and shoot anyone you don't recognize."

  "Really? Anyone?"

  "Yes, really. If they make it this far, that will mean they got past me. Then it's up to you, Mel. You must shoot him to save these kids."

  "I will," I said. "And I won't hesitate and ask questions. I'll shoot first."

  "I'm down with that. All right, here I go."

  Mark went into the other room, and the girls and I huddled closer to the kitchen table.

  An hour later, James' Volvo could be heard pulling into the garage. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Now there were two men against one.

  "Hold your fire, Mel! James is coming in. Point your gun at the floor."

  I did as I was told and James came charging in. He immediately took the gun from me and checked the safety. He released the magazine, checked it, and slammed it back into the gun and pulled the charging handle.

  "Locked and loaded!" he exclaimed.

  Mark watched all this. "You've done this before."

  James smiled grimly. "ROTC. University of Illinois. We had summer camp and learned to shoot."

  So, we were set. Two men who loved me, each of them armed, and me safe with my daughters.

  But suddenly I felt a stab of pain for the one who wasn't there. For the empty place at the table.

  Elena. There was one more chair, and it was hers.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I was needed at the studio. I got up and looked downstairs. Both Mark and James were still awake, manning their places at the video screen and the back of the house.

  "I've been roaming the house all night," James told me and kissed me good morning.

  "You must be exhausted."

  "I called the office and told Sylvia to cancel my day. Mark and I are going to trade off today so we can get some sleep."

  Mark came into the kitchen then, where James and I had drifted. I wasn't surprised to see the two girls already there, sharing a Raisin Bran box between them. They were chattering and really getting to know each other, and that gladdened me.

  "I need to go to Chicago," I announced. "How do you guys want to do this?"

  "No Chicago. Not today," Mark barked. "We can't guard you there."

  "Sorry, but I can't miss it. Should I call the police to come?"

  "No."

  I knew why. The man had to be killed. It would never stop otherwise.

  "So what do I do?"

  "I'll ride shotgun with you," Mark said. "The guy is after you. I should be with you. James will stay with the girls."

  "I have school," Gladys announced.

  "Not today, honey," her dad said. "You and Lisa are staying with me today. Don't worry, we'll make it fun. Like pizza for lunch kind of fun."

  "Mommy, what's wrong?" Gladys wanted to know. "How come everyone's here?"

  "We're having a family meeting," I told her. "Mommy and Mark are going to Mommy's studio while Daddy stays with you and Lisa. Is that okay?"

  "Works for me, Mommy," said Gladys.

  I couldn't help but laugh. I wondered where they got that stuff. TV, that's all it could be.

  At 7:30 a.m. Mark and I went into the garage and climbed into his pickup. He was openly carrying his rifle and had the handgun stuck inside the waistband of his jeans. He had scanned the video screens for anyone nearby and saw nothing unusual. So we raised the garage door and started backing out.

  At just that moment, Lisa came bursting out the front door, running for my truck window.

  I rolled down the glass.

  "He's a Mexican, and his name is Ishmael. He cut off the heads of some police officers. I heard him bragging about it to Iggy."

  "Thank you, Lisa, but why are you out here? You could have told me inside."

  "I--I--just love you and want you to be safe."

  At which moment, Mark gunned the engine and waved Lisa back. We watched her turn and go back inside the house. While we were having our moment, Lisa and me, Mark was scanning the streets and shadows around us, looking for whatever might be lurking.

  Then we were backed out, pulled forward, and moving down the street. When we made a left turn at the far end, I noticed a car come from our right and slow down to let us go first at the stop sign. Mark watched the car in his rearview mirror. Then he turned randomly off on a side street.

  The car followed us. I turned to look.

  "It's a black car. Something Japanese, I'm thinking."

  "Honda Accord," Mark said, and I was surprised at how fast he'd gotten to know all the cars since returning from Afghanistan. But that was Mark: he lived and breathed guns and cars. It was just who he was.

  We turned right at the first corner then right again until we were heading back toward the main road. The Accord followed us exactly, making no effort to disguise that it was following.

  "I'm going to stop and go back and question this guy," Mark said. He slammed on the brakes and jumped out of
his side. Back behind him the Accord slowed then suddenly began backing away at high speed. Something was definitely up. Mark ran back to the truck, jumped in, and turned around to chase after the car.

  By the time we got back to the corner, the black car was gone. We had no idea which way to turn, so Mark backed up again, and we headed back to the main road.

  "I can only assume that was him," Mark said.

  "Them," I corrected him. "I definitely saw two heads in the Accord."

  Mark looked over at me. "Sure?"

  "Positive."

  "All right, then."

  We hurried up to the stoplight and made a left then a right onto the main road to Chicago. Our speed picked up and almost instantly we were hemmed in on all sides and behind by aggressive, in-bound Chicago traffic.

  "Watch the mirrors," Mark said. "I'll take the windshield."

  Twenty minutes later we bypassed Winnetka and continued south. I had been watching the mirrors, making sure the black car wasn't around.

  "You know what could have happened?" Mark asked. "There could be more than one car. A second car could be following us on our bumper right now, and we'd never know it. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me at all."

  "You think he brought more than just himself?"

  "I don't know that he brought them. These cartel people are connected everywhere. Lining up a few more warm bodies to help him track and kill you would be easy for him. Luckily for us, these aren't the most sophisticated killers in the world. But the flip side is, they have no fear. They'll gladly take a bullet to impress the cartel chiefs. That's what we're dealing with today."

  I couldn't think of anything to say in reply. The whole insane thing was more than I could comprehend. I'm a quiet woman, haven't known any violence in my life, and the idea that someone was out to kill me was just a little absurd. Why? Because I hadn't done anything. I had paid them for Lisa. And I was willing to pay them now for Elena. So where did this killing me come from? It made no sense, and I was having a hard time accepting that that's really what they wanted.

  Until we hit the Chicago city limits.

  Then everything changed.

  34

  We were stopped at a red light, and I know, for me at least, I was feeling a little better being back in the city where there were lots of people around.