by Jax Colt
At least I look thin, or maybe that’s just compared to him. Trailing behind him like a lost child through the station, I see how big he’s become. My shadow would fit twice into his. And after what just went down in the interview room, I can’t help imagining how our bodies would fit together, either.
We make our way down the ramp toward the parking lot, and I’m brutally shaken back into reality when I see the place outside the gate where I collapsed. This is no time to be fantasizing about a stupid high school crush. What am I thinking? Jesus, Carrie—sort it out.
The scathing voice in my head drowns out all of the warmth of the blanket. I’m freezing. I have nothing, and April is gone. All of a sudden, I can’t stop the tears from running down my face. I’m silent, at least, so he doesn’t notice. The last thing I need is to seem like a weak victim. I’m strong, and I can get through this. April needs me to get through this. I swear, I’ll find her. As long as I can keep my shit together, and my hands off this man, that is.
He doesn’t see my tears, and I say nothing, the determination flooding me along with another realization. If they’ve been after Jessup for this long, then busting him is sure to matter more than getting April back. Right now, my best friend is a living, breathing piece of bait. The more her safety is threatened the more likely Jessup will react, so it makes sense that they don’t want her found right away. The police and whoever took April are both trying to lure Jessup in, and she’s stuck in the middle.
13
Carrie
Oh, Christ, this is the last thing April needs. I can’t imagine what they’re doing to her. Where is she right now? Is she in pain? So many questions flood my head. The whole situation is a nightmare. Blake is opening the door for me so I hold the blanket around my shoulders and slide into the car. I’m grateful for the gesture today. That stuff used to piss me off, but it’s nice to be cared for. I feel like shit. I’m quiet as he starts the car, and we pull out of the lot. He turns the scanners off, and the vehicle is quiet. I feel myself relax into the wide leather seat.
I have no idea where I’m going or what’s going to happen, but at least I’m safe for now. I can’t get Blake out of my head. The man is a specimen. His hands look huge as he casually directs the car through morning traffic. I notice the sites as we drive by. It’s another world out there. People are heading to work and going on with normal lives as if nothing unusual has happened. For a moment I think about how huge New York City really is. Millions of people are hurting right now, millions are still eating breakfast. People are fighting, and children are dying. All of that is happening, but I just want April to be okay, please make her okay. I wonder if God hears me. It’s been so long since I stopped believing, I wouldn’t know.
Blake says nothing. He’s giving me a moment to myself after all the questions and I’m relieved for the quiet. We’ve got a way to go before we get to his place, so I settle into my own thoughts. I used to believe in God. Until I discovered what it felt like to be a sinner.
It was that June, three months after everything went down in senior year and I was a mess. For the first time ever, I wasn’t making good grades and life felt heavy. Even Blake couldn’t cheer me up. I stopped running track, I stopped going out, and I spent most weekends alone or with April. She wanted me to get counseling, and to go to the police, but I couldn’t.
My parents would’ve been heartbroken. I was sure Dad was going to blame me, and I thought Mom was going to accuse me of lying. Such a ludicrous claim would have made me the center of a community scandal, and there’s no way I was going to let that happen. The stories we hear about victims of crime are all true. You do blame yourself, you do feel ashamed. I did, and I couldn’t get out from under that shame.
My parents had no idea what was wrong with me or why my academic performance was suffering. They confronted me so many times, but there was no way I could give them straight answer. Then I discovered I was pregnant. Very pregnant. I’d missed the signs, and I couldn’t believe it. There was a tiny little human growing inside of me, and I had no idea what to do. It was the worst time of my life. I hated myself, because although I knew what I had to do, every part of me rebelled. I’d always wanted to be a mother, but I was sick thinking about what it would be like to hold his baby. There was no way.
The pressures of the final year were so demanding, it was too much for me. College applications were past due. I was emotionally devastated, and had to find the time to study and attend classes. The night I discovered the pregnancy was the closest I’ve ever been to suicide.
When I found out I was five weeks in, I panicked. You couldn’t have an abortion after six weeks in Iowa, so I had very little time. If it was going to happen, it needed to happen quickly. Knowing that, it took me less than a day to decide to abort. This is what plays in my mind when I look back: that I should have waited longer. But the time wasn’t there, and I wasn’t equipped for the decision to terminate or to be a mother. I was too young. I was scared, and the scandal would have been as relentless as if I had reported the abuse in the first place.
I knew I couldn’t get through a pregnancy without naming the father. If I tried, not only would I have a rapist’s baby, I’d be at the mercy of the community who would react in one of two predictable ways. My options were slim. There would either be a total witch-hunt for the man who ‘should’ be making a decent girl of me. Or, I’d be labeled a slut. There’s something so tacky about an unwed mother in a small town. Even those who make the most honest mistakes are vilified by the locals, whether it’s to their faces or behind their backs. I couldn’t live with the stigma. I couldn’t surrender my future to a child conceived with such hate, and the world felt like it was closing in on me.
My parents didn’t know about any of this, of course. They weren’t like April’s parents. She wanted me to talk to her mom, but I was positive the information would get back to them somehow, and then it’d all be over. I just wanted to forget everything that happened and not talk about it anymore. Ever.
Thank God April supported me every step of the way. She was the only one I confided in when I found out I was pregnant, and she was the one who went with me to the clinic for the consultation. She knew it was a big deal for me to be considering an abortion, but bless her, she didn’t ask many questions and she was everything I needed.
I had to go to the clinic twice before the procedure. There were more regulations than either of us thought possible. Part of being so young meant my guardians had to be notified, so we fudged the address and somehow managed to keep it all a secret. It was heart-wrenching. I love children, and that solemn final trip to the clinic on the day I had the procedure was grim. I knew I was doing the worst thing ever, but there was also no way I could do anything else. No way.
The day of the termination, April drove me in her car. We had both skipped classes, and even though I was doing the opposite of motherhood and what it usually means to be a woman, I felt like I was an adult for the first time in my life. That was until the moment we pulled in to the driveway of the clinic, and three women brandishing Right to Life signs leapt up from their plastic seats. One of them was young, and she had her baby strapped to her chest in a harness. I nearly vomited with the thought of what I was doing. I knew this was wrong, and they were so aggressive it scared me. I shrank away from the windows and resisted the urge to hide.
April was telling me it was okay, but all I could do was cry as they thrust the signs against the windows of her car. Their messages were the ones already going through my head—baby killer, stone cold murderer, and so on. Despite that, we drove on. Clinic security was stationed inside the gates, so the protestors couldn’t follow us, but the damage was done. I was being punished, and from then on I tried not to think about God.
Blake reaches over to the dash and turns on the heater. The warmth of it breaks me out of my thoughts. Whenever those memories come up, I push them away. It’s not helpful to focus on the past. I’ve worked so hard to try and move on.
/> “So, tell me about your nephew.”
Blake glances over, and I can see he’s been deep in thought, too.
“George is a legend, he’s seven, and Brenda, my sister, is doing a great job raising him. His dad bailed early on, so he’s pretty close with his mom.”
I’m interested now, and I tilt my body more toward him in the comfy passenger seat.
“Does he play sports or video games?”
Blake laughs. “Yeah, it’s usually one of the two, but this kid is special. He skateboards, he just learned to surf, and he’s nuts about Xbox. He could either end up being the captain of the football team or a math nerd. It astounds me.”
There’s real pride in his voice, and it warms my heart. Being in a space this small with him feels intimate, and I see that he’s more than just a no-nonsense, get things done type of guy. I like him for it, and as we pull into the supermarket parking lot, I start to feel better.
14
Blake
She’s finally starting to unwind. I tell myself I should be keeping notes on the progress of my witness. But who am I kidding? I’ve been watching her like a hawk from the moment I saw her, and it has nothing to do with keeping witness notes. I’ve done my fair share of tough assignments in this job, but this is hard in a different way. Sticking like glue to the woman who got away.
She was the first one to break me back then, and it sucked. One moment I’m getting up the courage to ask her out, and the next she leaves for the entire summer and comes back acting like I’m the fucking invisible man. Christ, we were good friends. It was a waste. I have no idea what I did or didn’t do. She just never called again. Fucking women. This is why they have a bad reputation. This is why we need a manual. Things break on the inside, and we don’t even know they need repairing before they chew us out or take off.
Not long after it went sour with Carrie, my mom finally snapped. She caught Dad spending money on unsavory pussy and left him. Well, she left us all, really. Brenda and I had to deal with his rages after that. The Wiley old bastard made sure he didn’t take it too far because he needed us. Without Mom in the picture, he had no one to pick on. He didn’t want to be alone with his resentments and pain. I wish we’d had the courage to leave earlier, but we needed to hit rock bottom before we saw there was another way.
Change is like that. Sometimes shit needs to get utterly unbearable. For me, that was when he started targeting Brenda. I was big enough and stupid enough by then to handle myself, but there was nothing she could do. He’d always pick a fight with her when I wasn’t home. Cowardly old fool. She could manage him to a point, but the day finally came when he was too stoned on pain meds and too drunk on cheap scotch to stop himself from leeching all over her. It was disgusting. I walked in, and she was frozen. He had her up against the wall and was sniffing her like a dog.
There he was, in the midst of a binge, likely in complete black-out, inhaling the freshly showered scent of his teenage daughter. The bastard had his knee in her crotch, and when I saw the look on her face I just snapped and knocked him out. He was so wasted he probably didn’t feel it, but we were gone long before he woke up. I pawned some of the jewelry my mom left, the TV and stereo, and took all the money from his wallet, but that was all we had. I was too ashamed to tell anyone, and Brenda was too shaken to do anything but pack a bag. We took his car and started driving, and that was that.
I haven’t left Brenda’s side since, but she’s been complaining about it for years. She’d had boyfriends, and for a while, I thought it might work out for her and George’s dad, but it didn’t. She decided to keep the baby anyway, and that’s when I knew I had to put down the booze. I was working at a bar to help us pay rent on our shitty place, so while she grew a baby, I grew some balls and got sober in AA. It was the fucking hardest thing I’ve ever done. Admitting all the shit I’ve done. All the reasons I drank. I didn’t do it for me, though. I did it for her. Eventually, when I realized it wasn’t so hard, I stuck to it for a different reason.
There we were, brother and sister, doing Lamaze classes together. That was over seven years ago, and George is the best thing that ever happened to her. And me, too, to be honest. I love that kid, but he’s only got eyes for his mother. We found our current apartment just after I finished rookie training. It’s in Brooklyn, but it’s big enough for all of us, and the rent is fixed, which is almost unheard of. We have a floor each and share a kitchen.
Brenda and I make sure we’re nothing like our parents. There’s food in the house. George does his homework. There’s no TV before dinner, and he’s in bed by nine. I think Brenda’s lonely, but she’d never admit it. When George is awake, they’re like glue, talking every minute and any other time she’s not at work or doing chores. It must be hard, but she never complains. She’s an incredible mother, so patient and loving.
I could never do it. Never give myself so entirely to a little human. That requires one hundred percent sacrifice, and I just don’t have it in me. I’m sure of it. I struggle to stay stuck to one carwash, let alone a child. Not only that, but with my genes, any kids of mine would become raging alcoholics. There’s nothing like a generation of drinkers to set you up for a life of misery. I couldn’t put a kid through that shit. I just hope to God the gene skipped George. I watch him sometimes, the way he wants things so intensely, and it worries me. Who knows what will happen. I just gotta let the kid work it out for himself, and make sure he knows I’m here if he needs me.
Even though it’s the last thing on my list, something makes me turn and ask Carrie, “Do you want kids one day?”
She seems to have settled into her own thoughts, and looks a little shocked that I brought it up.
“Why do you ask?”
I don’t really know the answer to her question, so I fudge it.
“Well, you’ll probably run into George a lot, so I thought I’d better warn you that he’s a talker. He’ll ask you endless questions. Questions to infinity.”
She laughs, and her face changes totally. I think I love her in that moment, and I can’t believe how this woman is affecting me.
“Oh right…to infinity,” she says in a mock serious tone that brings me back to my senses. “I forgot about infinity. It’s the number that trumps all numbers. I’ll make sure George has his fair share of question and answer time, but I used to babysit, remember? I’m pretty sure I can deal with a curious kid.”
She doesn’t answer my initial question about kids, but it doesn’t matter. It’s clearly a sore spot because the brief slice of humor I saw has retreated back inside that shell. Either that or she’s just exhausted and starving.
“How about I buy us burger?” I ask. She doesn’t look like a stick figure, but I didn’t even consider that she could be a vegetarian, or gluten free. There’s always a risk in offering meat these day. I don’t want to seem like a caveman, but I’m starving, and all I want is to wrap my chops around a cheeseburger before I hit the sack.
I need not have worried. The look on her face is priceless, almost joyous, and I’m glad. I like a women I can eat with. Plus, there’s a burger place right next to the supermarket. It’ll be fast and easy. At this time of day, it won’t be busy, so we can slip in there before I stock up on groceries. She’s going to need supplies at my place. Brenda will lend her clothes, but there’s no way she’s using my toothbrush or going without one. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy, let alone my star witness, and I have a special budget the Lieutenant approved to make sure she gets what she needs and stays safe.
I pull into a parking spot outside the burger joint, and Carrie looks pretty bedraggled. I figure she’s not up for going inside, so I offer to get the burgers for us. She shakes her head.
“I’ll come. It’s not like it’s black tie.”
She ditches the blanket in the back seat of the car, and we head into the old-fashioned place together, toward the wall of booths. It’s one of those sixties-style diners, with a jukebox and everything. I don’t know what song
is playing, and neither could the teenager behind the counter I’m sure, but I’m not picky about ambiance when I’m hungry. Not with burgers that are as amazing as this place makes them.
We walk quickly but not before I notice those legs. Jesus, she’s covered in scrapes, but they still look amazing. I have another inappropriate thought. This is getting ludicrous. There’s no way she can’t know what I’m thinking. The energy was so intense back at the station I thought I was going to grab her right there in the interview room. I can just imagine the look on Lieutenant Jacobs’s face if she finds out I have feelings for the one person who can help us bring down Jessup Lee.
It’s not just about ego for Jacobs, either. She used to work on the special victims unit, handling solely the cases involving sex workers. She never talks about it, but every day would have been a cluster-fuck of grief. Most of them were women, many of them prostitutes who’ve been treated like shit and used until they were broken. Something goes out of their eyes after a certain amount of time. I can’t explain it, but it’s like every fucking John takes away a small piece of their soul. Busting Jessup’s ring isn’t about notoriety, it’s about stopping the abuse of innocents, and I know Jacobs would be furious if she could read my mischievous mind.
The question is, do I really give a fuck what my boss thinks right now? The answer is a resounding… No.
15