The Baby Favor

by Chance Carter

  They'd come to hunker down for the storm and brought their suspicions with them. Where they'd bordered on rude in my encounters with them before, now they were downright unfriendly.

  They glared at us, even in our plain clothes, and muttered behind glass rims and bottles. An uneasy hum that drifted just below the rock music pumping from the single speaker in the corner.

  "Let's finish our drinks and get back to the motel," I said. "It's better if we don't cause trouble here." Things had gone really well at the base over the past few days. I didn't need the extra pressure that a negative interaction with the folks of Meek Springs would bring.

  "Hey, isn't that - I'm sure I recognize that kid from somewhere," Whitmore said, and gestured with his beer bottle.

  I followed his line of sight and settled on the blonde kid who'd harassed Chanel in the truck the other day.

  What did she call him? "Timothy," I said. "How do you know him?"

  "Oh, uh, he was at the bar the night we were here. Paula mentioned he was into Chanel," he said. "She said that he'd do anything to have her."

  I sniffed and glugged back my beer. That was all the more reason to get out of here. The last thing I wanted was that ass deciding he'd try to take me on out of some misplaced sense of valor or competition.

  "Finish up, Whitmore. Let's get some sleep," I said, and slurped back my beer. One and done, more than enough. I'd go upstairs and fantasize about Chanel for a while.

  Shit, when had I become this person? I'd always employed a sense of military precision when it came to emotional thoughts. I'd weeded them out - they didn't serve a purpose. Now, I could barely keep myself from picturing her face for longer than five minutes.

  "Right," Jack said, and eyed the blond kid. "I just started on this sucker, though." He clicked the beer bottle.

  "Fine," I said, "I'm going to bathroom. By the time I come out, you'd better have chugged it down."

  "Gotcha."

  I scooted out of the booth and headed for the men's room, past the watching eyes of the men at the bar. Timothy narrowed his set at me, but I ignored him and the rest of them. I clunked into the bathroom and the door swung shut behind me, cutting off the obnoxious rendition of 'I Love Rock n' Roll' by Britney Spears.

  I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and studied myself by the harsh light overhead. Stubble on my chin, though I'd shaved yesterday morning. Dark circles under my eyes. I looked old. Too old to be with a woman Chanel's age. Too old to give her the satisfaction and security she needed in life.

  Too old to protect her the way I should've protected my men.

  I bent over the sink, turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face. I didn't actually need the bathroom, just a break from Whitmore and his idiocy. If he hadn't been the only volunteer to fetch supplies, I might've told him not to come into Meek Springs.

  He was a hurricane of trouble, swirling up shit in his path and splattering it all over the lives of those around him. As teens, I'd dragged him out of fights more than once.

  I dried my hands and left the bathroom behind, making my way to our booth. I stopped halfway there.

  Jack was gone. The men at the bar sniffed and grumbled, but didn't give me any insight.

  He probably went back to the motel without me, the asshole. At least, I wouldn't have to endure his chatter on the walk there.

  I exited the bar, and gathered my coat against the icy wind. Rain poured from the heavens and I hightailed it in the direction of the motel.

  A dull thump and a scream stalled me in my tracks.

  "What the fuck?"

  "Please." That in a choked squeal. "Stop."

  The sound came from just around the corner. I quickened my pace, squinting through the torrent, cold trickling down my spine - nothing to do with the rain, but a sense of foreboding.

  I jogged around the corner and halted, brain working to make sense of the image in front of me.

  Man on the floor. Blonde hair stained pink with blood. Hands up to shield his face. Jack stood over him, fist raised. He raised his gaze and skewered me with it. "I did it for you Lieutenant Commander," he said, then turned and ran.

  "What?" The fuck.

  I sprinted to the guy's side and lowered myself beside him. He let out a groan, one eye puffy and shut, the other searching nothingness. "Who's there?"

  "It's okay, son. You're safe now." Timothy. It was Timothy. "Don't move." I would fucking kill Jack for this. He'd compromised everything. He lost control. But why?

  Now, wasn't the time for questions. I put my arm under Timothy's head and shifted him against my chest.

  "Get your hands off him!" A voice roared from the mouth of the alley.

  A group of men stood in the mouth of the alley, soaking wet. They clenched their fists, flexed their muscles.

  "Put him down!"

  "Relax," I said, "I'm here to help."

  "Help? You did this to him. You're a monster," the man, their leader apparent, said. "You and all your unnatural folk up at that base. Get away."

  “No,” I replied. “I didn’t hurt him. Someone needs to call an ambulance, now.” But there wasn’t a hospital here, and the next ambulance would take ages to get here. I studied Timothy’s broken face, his swollen eyelids. God, it looked as if his jaw was broken. Bruising, blood, and Whitmore had done this. He’d done it all.

  One of the men stepped forward, a protester judging by the sign still slung around his neck. Our Town is Not For Rent. “You let him go or –”

  “Or what? You’ll attack me?”

  The men muttered and shifted their feet. They were brave when they were out, marching in numbers, when the rain wasn’t pouring down the backs of their necks, and they didn’t have to see the face of one of the soldiers they hated so much. But now? They were afraid. Especially of what they thought I’d done to Timothy.

  “Listen, the longer we spend here the worse it gets for him. I don’t care if one of you wants to come with me, but we’ve got to get him to a hospital now, and the ambulance isn’t going to get here in time,” I said.

  The men exchanged glances this time. A young guy with short cropped hair and a wickedly sharp nose stepped forward. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Jerry, are you sure?” The guy with the sign asked.

  “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

  I was up, Timothy limp in my arms, and walking before he’d finished the sentence. “This way,” I said, and rounded the corner. We reached the truck still parked outside the motel in the pouring rain. “Open the back door for me.”

  Jerry did as he was told, then helped me feed Timothy onto the back seat. Jerry followed him in and sat down beside the injured kid’s feet.

  I shut the door, then jogged around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. The men had come out of the alley to watch proceedings. They muttered, perhaps they had second thoughts. Or maybe, they realized that a man who’d beat another senseless would have split knuckles or wounds to show for the fight.

  I got in and started the engine. “Direct me to the hospital,” I said.

  “Out of town. It’s in Cregton, half an hour that way,” he replied, and pointed straight ahead.

  I’d have to make that half hour much shorter. Timothy groaned in the back seat. “Try to keep him as still as possible,” I said. We shouldn’t have moved him the first time, but there wasn’t hope if we didn’t try.

  I sped out of town, the rain pelting the windshield, and the buildings of Meek Springs a blur around us. “How’s he doing?” I called, over the torrential downpour. I squinted at the road, switching to high beams.

  “He’s breathing real slow,” Jerry replied. “Real slow. Did you do this to him?”

  “No.”

  “Then who did this? Who did this to him?” Jerry’s voice trembled – Timothy must be his friend. Then again, everyone in the small town was friends.

  I gritted my teeth – I didn’t want to think about who’d done it, though I knew exactly who. “I don’t know,�
�� I lied. “I just found him like that.”

  “You just happened to find him like this,” Jerry said. “You just happened to –”

  “Now’s not the time, kid,” I grunted.

  We raced on through the night toward the hospital, and my insides burned at the thought of what’d happened, at the trouble Whitmore had caused. Why? Why had he attacked the kid? He’d had nothing against him, no reason to fight.

  Timothy had cast a few looks our way, but nothing to justify a beating even if we hadn’t been military men.

  “I did it for you Lieutenant Commander.” The words echoed through my brain, taunting me with confusion and anger. For me? Why would he – unless this was about Chanel, somehow.

  Unless Jack had thought beating Timothy was what I wanted because he’d hit on Chanel. No, surely he couldn’t be that much of a jackass.

  “There,” Jerry yelled, and tapped my left shoulder. “Turn here.”

  I took the road onto the freeway and kicked it into high gear. The military vehicle slid on the wet road, and Jerry let out a tiny yelp.

  “Hold him still. We’ll be fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

  It took twenty minutes from the time we left to the time we pulled up outside the ER. I yelled for help and men and women in coats rushed out with a stretcher. Nurses too. They lifted Timothy out of the back of the truck, blood smeared the seat.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Jerry asked, and grabbed one of the nurse’s by the arm. “Is he going to be –?”

  “It’s too early to tell,” she replied, then turned to me. “Sir, how did this happen?”

  I was frozen, staring at her, torn between throwing that asshole under the bus and maintaining the integrity of the Navy SEALs. “One of my officers beat him,” I replied.

  Jerry jerked around. “What? You told me you didn’t know.”

  Timothy had already been wheeled into the ER. The nurse remained behind. “I’ll need someone to enter his information into a sheet.”

  “I’ll do it,” Jerry said, still glaring at me, hatred beaming from him. Fuck, this was it, wasn’t it? This was how I’d finally lose my post at the base. Lose everything, and potentially have a young man’s death on my hands.

  “Follow me,” the nurse said.

  “Wait, ma’am? Do you have a phone I can use? I need to call the police and report this incident.” I barely managed to keep my voice from trembling. I had to report what I’d seen. Jack deserved to be behind bars for what he’d done.

  “Right this way,” the nurse said.

  Chapter 19

  Chanel

  Ryan’s vehicle pulled up outside the base at the crack of dawn. Most of the soldiers were already awake and busy going about their business. I’d hardly slept a wink, spending the night obsessing over the storm and the dangers Ryan faced.

  I hovered in the hallway outside his office door, waiting, twisting the spine of my portfolio this way and that. He was all right, he came back, but a sense of foreboding had settled on me last night and I couldn’t rid myself of it.

  Something had gone wrong.

  Dad told me to trust my gut and it hadn’t failed me yet. If something felt wrong, it was bound to be.

  Nerves built, I tapped my foot on the tiles outside his office and grimaced at the gray that surrounded me. Yeah, no wonder the troops here weren’t in high spirits. The interior of the base was the color of clouds and depression.

  I’d only witnessed one color scheme worse than this in my life, and that was at an old age home. Everything was puce or yellow.

  “Come on, come on,” I hissed.

  Angry shouts radiated from the end of the corridor and I remained in place, listening hard now.

  “– Sir?”

  “What do you mean?” That was Ryan, shouting. But he never lost his cool. Not like this.

  I took a single step toward the source of commotion.

  Ryan charged around the corner and toward his office. He spotted me, but didn’t seem to register my presence or the thin smile I sent him.

  Petty Officer Jameson followed him, her mouth drawn into a horizontal slash. “I’m sorry, Sir, he hasn’t been back. I thought you’d return together.”

  What the hell was this about? I backed away from the door, just as Ryan reached it and barreled through into his office without so much as a ‘hey, what’s happening.’ Jameson ducked her head in my direction – oh good, so I wasn’t totally invisible then – and entered right behind him.

  “This is unacceptable,” Ryan said, from inside.

  The draw to enter and find out what the heck had happened was too strong. I teetered on my practical heels, straightened my blouse. I’d chosen something smart but tight for his return to base. A part of me had hoped to entice him again.

  I peeked around the door jamb.

  Jameson stood with her hands behind her back in the classic ‘at ease’ position, though the rod of tension in her shoulders belied how she truly felt.

  “I need you to find out if he’s come back,” Ryan said. “Check his bedroom. I need to organize a call with Commander Shepherd.”

  “Sir? May I ask what’s going on?”

  “Yes,” he said, “unfortunately, I couldn’t reach the base by telephone.”

  “Everything’s down.” Jameson’s voice held that unanswered question.

  “It’s Petty Officer Whitmore,” Ryan said, “he committed aggravated assault last night. Possible assault and battery. Against a civilian.”

  “Christ,” Jameson hissed. “Sorry, Sir.”

  “My sentiments exactly. Please, find him. Check his quarters. Turn his bunk upside if you have to. Find out where he is or where he might be headed.”

  I shuddered. Whitmore beat up a civilian last night? In Meek Springs. God, if this didn’t bring down the wrath of the town on the base, nothing else would. What the hell happened last night?

  Jameson shuttled out of the office and down the hall without a backward glance. Off to track down Jack.

  I’d been up all night and there hadn’t been any other vehicles to or from the base. We were shut down here, as they were in town. Curiosity got the better of me and I rapped on the jamb. “Lieutenant Commander?”

  “Come in,” he said, without looking up from his laptop. “Close the door behind you, please.”

  I did as I was told, then went to the desk, hovering beside the chair. “What happened, Ryan?” I asked. “I was worried about you.”

  He typed furiously, his fingers bolting over the keys. “That fucking bastard, Jack,” he grunted. “He beat up –”

  “A civilian,” I said.

  “Not just any civilian,” Ryan replied, and tapped enter with a flourish. He met my gaze, and the anger there actually made me take a step back. I’d never seen him like this before. He looked ready to rip things apart. I didn’t envy Whitmore.

  “What? Who did he hurt?”

  “Timothy.”

  “Huh?” I blinked three times in rapid succession. “Timothy? Timothy? Blond – hair?” I gestured at my head with the portfolio. “That Timothy?”

  “Yes, the kid who likes you,” Ryan replied.

  “Oh my God.” I sank into the chair in front of the desk, knees shaking. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s in the hospital. I drove him there last night after I found him bloodied and bruised in the alley next to the bar.”

  “You two were at the bar when it happened? Did a fight break out?” Try as I might I couldn’t picture Timothy picking a fight with two soldiers. He just wasn’t the type. He had the bravado of twenty college football players, but he wasn’t a dumbass. He knew when he was out of his depth.

  “No,” Ryan said. “Jack beat him up in an alley outside of the bar. I believe the attack was unprovoked.”

  “But how do you know it was Jack?”

  Ryan hesitated and focused on the laptop screen instead of me. He ground his teeth. “Because I saw him run away from Timothy’s body.”

&nbs
p; “Body?” I squeaked. “What are you saying? Is Timothy dead?”

  “No,” Ryan said, “thank Christ. He’s alive. He’s in Cregton General, but he’s in a coma thanks to that fucking idiot.”

  “I don’t understand why Jack would do this,” I said, and shook my head. “I mean, what’s going to happen now?”

  “Assuming we can find him, he’s going to be arrested and courtmartialed and put in fucking military prison.” Ryan hadn’t stopped shivering since he entered the office. I’d never seen him this tense, not that I’d known him all that long.

  Timothy. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Timothy in a coma because a Navy SEAL attacked him. He was lucky he was alive. Whitmore was trained to kill. “But why?”

  “I don’t – It’s something to do with me,” Ryan said. “He’s doing this to discredit me somehow. Look, I didn’t want to mention it, but, yeah he told me he did it for me seconds before he ran off.”

  “He did it for you?”

  “Yeah, and he spent most of the night trying to talk to me about you,” Ryan said.

  How could this be happening? Did Jack have a death wish? Did he believe that this would hurt Ryan, rather than himself? “This is ridiculous. Surely, he can’t be that crazy. He can’t seriously think that he’ll get away with this.”

  “I can’t fathom what he’s thinking right now. I can’t believe this happened. He wasn’t even drunk. I know he wasn’t. We only had a drink a piece.”

  “And he’s just gone now? He’s disappeared?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Ryan replied, “he’s gone.”

  That horrible sensation twirled around in my gut. This wasn’t over and it wouldn’t be until Jack was behind bars. If he did it, he had to believe that he’d get away with it somehow. “Did anyone else see him do it?” I asked. “Any of the other townies?”

  “No. They only saw me standing over Timothy’s body. And then I drove him over to the hospital. I didn’t think the ambulance would get to Meek Springs in time.”

  He was right about that. Once, mom suffered from appendicitis and she almost died because the ambulance took their sweet time getting into town. Dad went ballistic and drove her out himself. I stayed behind and held down the fort as he insisted I was the only one strong enough to do it.