by Brian Shea
At the same moment, the man on the bed widened his eyes in sudden recognition of the masked person seated before him. He finally connected the dots. He wept silently, choking on the mucus that rolled to the back of his throat. Once again, tears blurred his vision, but this time he didn’t bother to try to clear them. His breath whistled out of his nose, a long soft-noted sigh. Then all resistance faded, and his body went slack. The man on the bed closed his eyes, knowing that he would never open them again.
2
“Are you ready?” Anaya asked.
“If you mean packed, then yes,” Nick said.
“What’s your worry? This is going to be fun.”
“I know, it’s just that I don’t know if we’re interfering. You know it’s been almost six months? Maybe she doesn’t want us to come.”
Anaya giggled. “Are you kidding me? She’s been blowing up my phone all morning long.”
“What about her new family? Maybe they’re not ready for us. Maybe we’re a reminder that she wasn’t always theirs?” Nick questioned.
“Did you feel that way? Were you worried that finding your biological parents would’ve disrupted the family who raised you?”
“No. But then again I was never able to locate them.”
“If you had, do you think your parents would’ve been upset?” Anaya asked.
“I don’t think so. I know that my mom was a bit ambivalent. Maybe she worried that I’d like them better or something.”
“Probably just a mother’s worry. Adopted or not, you were her son. I could see that being unsettling.”
“Yeah I know. That’s the funny thing about being adopted. No matter how much everyone tells you that you belong, there’s always a part that just feels lost,” Nick said.
“My bouncing through the foster care system was definitely different from the stability your parents gave you after adoption. That’s why I pulled some strings to guarantee Mouse would be placed in a family that wouldn’t spit her back after six months,” Anaya said.
Nick stuffed the plastic confines of his suitcase haphazardly without much regard for his clothes. He closed it. The suitcase was at max capacity. Nick placed both hands on the top, leaned forward, and applied the weight of his muscular frame, compressing the contents. He finagled his hand to the zipper and tugged. The pull tab nimbly balanced in his finger dragged the slider around the expanse, following the path of teeth chugging along like the little engine that could.
Secured, Nick stepped back to appreciate his work. He caught Anaya out of the corner of his eye. Her arms were folded, and her head shook. Nick couldn’t tell if it was a look of amazement or admonishment.
Anaya giggled. It was lighthearted and giddy. “For someone who spent the early part of their adult life packing and carrying rucksacks, I am amazed at the struggle that I just witnessed.”
“It was a simpler time,” Nick said, reciprocating the laugh.
Anaya handed him the boarding passes she’d printed for their six o’clock flight. Nick took them and slipped them into his travel bag, a blue Jansport that contained a spare set of clothes, book, and a toothbrush.
“I still can’t believe that you were able to get her placed in Pidgeon, Michigan. Talk about keeping a promise. You’re pretty amazing Ms. Patel.”
“Plus, the Westons are great people. They knew what they were getting into when they took on Mouse. This isn’t their first rodeo,” Anaya said deflecting the compliment.
“I guess I was just nervous. I don’t have much experience with kids besides trying to save them from predators. I hope she still thinks I’m cool,” Nick said.
“I don’t think she ever did. So, you don’t have to worry about that.”
Nick relaxed as Anaya slid her hand across his back. Her fingers lingered over the small lumps of scar tissue on his shoulder, the ever-present reminder of his time overseas. Three rounds from an enemy rifle that had almost cost him his life. His body was a tapestry of almosts.
Her caress stirred him, causing him to turn and face her. Anaya’s deep brown eyes caught the light accentuating the yellow flecks that peppered her pupils. Her beauty gave him pause. She smiled looking up at Nick. Her arms draped around his neck and their lips met.
“Get your head out of your ass Nicholas Lawrence. This is going to be a great trip,” Anaya said as she buried her head into his neck.
“I love when you take charge.”
“God knows you need it. I think you’d still be hemming and hawing on whether to ask me out if I’d left things in your hands,” Anaya said, still pressing her face gently against him.
Nick chuckled softly. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
He smiled and pushed her silky black hair across her bronzed shoulder. Leaning in, he kissed the warmth of her exposed neck, tasting a hint of the cocoa butter lotion she moisturized herself with each morning.
Anaya gave a coy smile. An urgency lay just beneath the surface of her playfulness. “I was going to wait, but I figure now is as good a time as any.”
“Wait for what?” Nick asked.
Anaya released her gentle embrace and stepped back from him.
Nick watched as she walked out of their bedroom. He’d abandoned his apartment after his near fatal encounter, and the two took a leap of faith, making the decision to move in together. Life moved a little faster when you were older. They had found a small ranch-styled home near the picturesque downtown area of Georgetown. The bedroom was a work in progress and much of their stuff was still in boxes. He surveyed his new life and smiled.
She returned a short time later with her hands behind her back. Anaya had a wide grin that seemed to spread wide beyond the boundaries of her face.
Nick panicked and looked at his watch, trying without success to match the date to some significant event. “Did I forget some anniversary?”
Anaya swayed with her head cocked, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. “No. Not yet.”
“Well you’ve got me stumped,” Nick said defeatedly.
“The master investigator can’t read my facial clues? I’m shocked,” Anaya said sarcastically.
Nick watched as Anaya closed the distance slowly. He could tell she really enjoyed tormenting him. He shook his head in mock frustration. Anaya stepped close and revealed her hands. In them lay a small wrapped gift. The shiny silver paper framed by the sepia of her palms.
Nick cocked an eyebrow of suspicion. “Oh boy.” Nick sighed.
Anaya said nothing. She waited eagerly, rocking back and forth in anticipation as Nick tore through the silver wrapping paper.
Nick looked down at the white 5x7 frame in his hand. He squinted, peering down at the black and white image encased beneath the thin layer of glass.
His jaw went slack, and he looked up at the woman standing in front of him. The yellow flecks in her eyes seemed to dance as they welled up with tears. Nick felt a warmth spread over his cheeks. His eyes blurred, and a smile stretched. He dropped down on his knees and hugged Anaya tightly around her waist. Nick pulled her into him, pressing his lips against her stomach.
“How far along?” Nick asked.
“The doctor said eight weeks.”
“When did you find out?”
“Last week,” Anaya said.
“Last week?” Nick asked pulling back and looking up into Anaya’s eyes, still wet with tears.
“I knew something was off, and so I took a home pregnancy test. I wanted to be sure before I told you. So, I went to the doctor,” Anaya paused exhaling deeply. “I was so worried. I didn’t know how you were going to react. Things were moving fast, and this just puts us into overdrive.”
Nick slumped to the ground, looking at the picture again. His eyes traced the grainy lines that defined the life that was growing inside the woman before him.
“This is the best day of my life.” Nick’s voice cracked as he spoke. The sound of it caught him off guard.
Anaya wiped her face and looked down at Nick with a seriousness
he didn’t normally see. “I don’t want you to feel trapped. It’s still just us. No need to run off and get married.”
“Married. We should—I mean when. We’ve—um—never really talked about—,” Nick mumbled almost incoherently.
Anaya pressed her finger against his lips, silencing him.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure everything out in due time. Right now, we’ve got to get ready for our flight,” Anaya whispered.
“Flight. Can you travel? Did you ask the doctor?” Nick asked. He felt lost and immediately overwhelmed. Two feelings that Nick was unaccustomed to.
“Yes, I asked, and he said it’s fine. Nothing to worry about this early in the pregnancy.”
“Do we know if it’s a boy or girl?” Nick asked.
“That’s at next month’s visit,” Anaya said rubbing his head.
“I’m so excited. I should call someone. Maybe Declan or Jones?”
“How about we wait? The doctor said it’s best to hold off until we get past the first trimester. You’ll have to hold on for about one more month,” Anaya said, patting Nick’s head. “Do you think you can do that?”
“Maybe we could tell Mouse?” Nick said.
“Okay, only Mouse. I never realized how bad you are at keeping secrets.” Anaya smiled and reached out her hands.
Nick nodded, taking her outstretched hands, allowing her to assist him up from the floor. Bad at keeping secrets, he thought. A pang of guilt struck him, knowing Anaya had no idea how wrong she was.
3
The temperature had dropped over the night and sealed the windows in icy fractals that, under other circumstances, might’ve been considered beautiful. Not so pretty when you’re running late and can’t see out your window.
Izzy Martinez had spent the last ten minutes letting her silver Elantra defrost. She’d forgotten to put her wiper blades up the night before and they were frozen in place to the front windshield. Izzy went back in to warm herself and make a cup of coffee for the road. She had an early meeting in New Haven. There had been whispers that she would be taking the lead on a major investigation. Her heart rate accelerated at the thought. She’d been involved with big cases, but never led a team. She exhaled the anticipation, her breath visible as she exited the warmth of her modest condo.
Armed with the knowledge that icy roads would make for a slower than normal commute, she decided to leave earlier than usual. Izzy stepped carefully, gingerly navigating the slick walkway out to the parking lot. She cradled her favorite stainless steel mug as she entered the car.
The windshield didn’t look much better than it had before. She rummaged under the seats looking for the scraper, mad at herself for not cleaning her car at the end of the season. Her house was tidy, but the Hyundai not so much. She blew a sigh of relief at finding the mitten covered grip. Izzy looked at the dash display. The outside temperature was a balmy 18 degrees Fahrenheit. She took a long draw from the travel mug and allowed the hot liquid to add a barrier of internal warmth before stepping back into the cold.
“I should’ve stayed in Texas with Nick,” Izzy said aloud. Great, now I’m talking to myself, she thought. One of the many signs of insanity.
The thought of Nick made her stop, hand on the door handle. The last time she’d talked to him was almost six months ago. It may as well have been forever. Why now? Why at the butt crack of dawn in the tundra of an unprecedented early onset of a formidable New England winter?
She let the thought of Nick dissipate as she pushed the door open. A fierce wind swept in forcefully, nearly slamming the door into her face. She won the battle against the gale and buried her face in the high zippered collar of her fleece-lined parka. The FBI spent lots of money on useless gadgetry but seemed to come up short when it came to cold weather gear. The cold air penetrated the layers of clothing within seconds of Izzy’s exit from the car. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably as she scraped like a madwoman at the ice. Bits of cold shards sprayed into her face, causing her to take on a frenzied look.
Satisfied that the window was cleared enough to drive, she climbed back into the car. Seated and shivering, Izzy pressed her fingers against the vents allowing the warm air to thaw their rigidity. A few minutes passed before mobility returned. It was at times like these that she kicked herself for not taking an assignment in Florida.
She gripped the steering wheel and began backing out of her parking space. She could see the fluffy white tail of her cat, Mr. Tippins, wag his goodbye. He was always perched on the couch set against the window. Sadly, he was the only male to stick around in her life.
Izzy made her way out of her condo complex and toward the nearby entrance ramp to I-91 South.
The entrance ramp had a slight incline and the weathered tires of the Elantra slipped on the black ice before regaining their purchase with a dry patch of asphalt. The slight skidding reminded her that she was overdue for snow tires. Izzy made a mental note to schedule an appointment with the tire shop once she got into the office.
She was right to leave early. It wasn’t long before she was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic moving at a snail’s pace. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour, but it appeared that other commuters had the same idea to beat the rush hour. Her mind drifted as she sat idling behind a never-ending line of brake lights. Her thoughts were of Nick.
Izzy took out her cell phone. A couple taps on the screen and she was staring at Nick’s number. Too early to call. To text or not to text, that is the question. She’d faced this internal battle too many times to count in the last few months. Her stubborn nature had always won out.
Today, maybe due to the cold or early morning fatigue, or a combination of the two, she caved.
The screen glowed and was brighter in the comparative darkness of the early morning. She looked down at the blinking curser taunting her to begin tapping her message. What do you say to someone you love but haven’t spoken to in half a year?
Her thumb hovered briefly in its last moment of resistance before beginning an assaultive fury of the digital keyboard. Izzy’s thoughts poured out onto the screen like prisoners released prior to a death sentence.
Why didn’t you choose me? Why did you let me walk away? I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me you love me. I can’t wait anymore. I’ll say it if you’re too weak. I love you! Her mind shouted the words, but her thumb nimbly navigated the keyboard delivering a veiled conveyance of her thoughts. Her thumb stopped moving. It hovered again, this time above the send button like it had many times before. She would not erase the words. This time would be different. At least if she sent it her mind would be at ease.
She heard it before she saw it. The crunch of metal. It sounded like an explosion. Jolted from her thoughts Izzy looked up, dropping her phone as the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler filled her view, blinding her.
The massive front end of the truck collided with the Jersey barrier. The concrete stopped the truck, but the impact swung the trailer portion hard. The bang of the truck’s initial crash gave way to a loud creaking noise as the jackknifed trailer shot up into the air and over the short wall of the concrete partition. The approaching rectangular container hung in the air as if deciding which way to fall. It seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Izzy could read the words Tommy D’s Plumbing Supplies shrink wrapped on the ribbed siding of the metallic box. The momentary pause ended and the towering mass hurtled downward, toward her.
Izzy looked for an avenue to escape. She was boxed in, the concrete barrier to her left and pinned on the other three sides by commuters. She gunned the accelerator. Her bald tires spun hard on the icy road causing her to fish tail. She spun into the car on her right. Her Elantra pressed hard into a Prius. Wedged together, both vehicles were no longer able to move. Other drivers began reacting to the impending collision. Horns blared, and a mad game of bumper cars ensued.
The bright light of the eighteen-wheeler suddenly disappeared, and Izzy was encased in the loomin
g shadow of the falling trailer. Izzy was slammed facedown into the passenger seat. Unable to move, a searing pain radiated from the center of her back. Her feet tingled and then suddenly felt as if they were on fire. Her face pressed between the soft upholstery and the hard metal of the roof. She tasted blood. Izzy quickly found that she was only able to take short breaths as an immense weight pressed down hard.
Enveloped in a shroud of fear. Trapped in the dark, the only glimmer of light came from the flickering cellphone screen mocking her with the unsent message to Nick.
With each exhale, the crushed metal of the roof cinched tighter, making every breath in shallower than the one before. The pain in her legs was initially excruciating. And then the agony was replaced by a nothingness.
The nothingness was bad. Izzy inhaled some of the blood that was trickling into her mouth, causing her to cough. The metal of the roof dug into her neck.
Izzy tried wiggling her hand free. Nothing. Her hands did not respond to command. She felt nothing below the neck. This was bad, really bad.
She blinked her left eye rapidly as blood from an unseen wound leaked into the corner. Izzy closed it, trying, without success, to keep the blood out.
Her breathing became more ragged and desperate. Izzy’s right eye began to close. She fought to stay awake, willing herself to live.
4
Anaya gave her infectious giggle. “Are you already eating for two?”
“I’m just trying to show my support of the airport food industry. I can’t pass up a soft pretzel opportunity,” Nick said as he popped a salty bite into his mouth. “I know, I’m weak. It’s my kryptonite.”
“I now understand why you’ve never complained about all your job-related travels. It’s because you’ve been having an affair with Auntie Annie.”
“Guilty as charged.” Nick grinned, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter.
A three-toned chime rang out over the public announcement system. A reminder to notify police if a bag is left unattended. It was the third time he’d heard it in a very short period of time. Nick knew that broadcasts like these weren’t a deterrent to a serious attack. He’d seen the commitment first hand of those on that path. These messages served a different purpose that few in the population realized. They were designed to give travelers the impression of safety. It was psychologically calming to think that everyone in earshot of the message would vigilantly identify a threat. It also gave the masses the sense that they had some power to stop it. Sadly, Nick knew the reality and so to him that loud, repetitive mantra of the TSA announcement just added annoyance, interrupting the salty deliciousness of his last bite of pretzel.