Ideal Image: Snapshot, #2

by Freya Barker

  I grin. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, counselor.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she says smugly, curling up beside me.

  LONG AFTER STACIE’S gone to bed—after a heavy make out session on the couch with the evening news drowning out the soft moans and groans—I’m still staring up at the ceiling, wide-awake.

  So many things are vying for attention in my mind and I just can’t seem to shut it down. The past month or so has completely thrown my life into a tailspin.

  I may be a slick and smooth operator when it comes to my work, but not so much in my personal life. Much more quiet and unassuming, and most definitely not a priority. That has changed. I’m almost concerned at how little I care about the files I brought home that are still lying unopened on the dining room table. I’ve always been the consummate professional, but my focus has definitely shifted to the two females down the hall from me.

  I love Anastasia. I’ve known that since the first time she actually kissed me. Whatever I felt before was amplified by the fact that she was unattainable, a fantasy that was far beyond my reach, but the reality of her is so much more.

  It’s a weird experience, being in love. It’s both terrifying and awesome. All-encompassing in a way that makes you forget yourself, and liberating in a way that allows you to be yourself. It’s like your entire being is exposed and unguarded to this one person, which is scary as fuck, except you’re getting the same in response, and that is a beautiful feeling.

  A soft click and a rustle alerts me, and I squint to look down the dark hallway.

  My first reaction is that Stacie has come looking for me, which I would welcome, but the much shorter shadow coming this way tells me it’s her daughter. I wait until she’s almost at the front door, where she’s more visible by the streetlights outside, before I speak.

  “Mak?” I whisper carefully, but it still makes her jump.

  “Nick? I thought you’d be sleeping,” she says, whipping around, making it clear she’d not only been thinking it, but she’d counted on it.

  “What are you doing?”

  The pause is heavy as I see a myriad of emotions play out on her face before she settles on resigned.

  “Becca is outside and I can’t get my window open.”

  “What?” I try not to raise my voice as I swing my legs over the side of the couch and grab for my jeans. “Wait,” I tell her when she starts turning the locks on the door. “You don’t know what’s out there. I’ll look.”

  “You’re gonna scare her.” Mak turns her back to the door, blocking it.

  “Honey,” I plead as I tug a shirt over my head. “I promise she’s got nothing to worry about from me.”

  “Duh, I know that,” she says, rolling her eyes with attitude. “But Becca doesn’t know you.”

  It’s probably not the right moment to smile, but Mak’s words make me do just that.

  “Then you’ll just have to vouch for me,” I insist, gently taking Mak by the upper arms and moving her to the side, before I turn the locks and carefully open the door.

  The night air is crisp, bordering on cold and it’s quiet. The only thing I hear is the rush of the river.

  Mak tries to squeeze past me, but I grab her hand at the last minute and hold on tight.

  “Stick by me, honey. Don’t want you going off on your own.”

  Her only response is a tightening of her little hand around my fingers, and a slight tug to follow her, down the steps and around the side of the house. It’s much darker here than it is out front and it’s difficult to even make out the trees on the edge of the property.

  “Becca?” Mak whisper calls for her friend, who is nowhere to be seen. At least not until a shadow that looked to be part of the tree line suddenly starts moving toward us. I quickly tug Mak behind me, trying to identify who it is first.

  “H-hi...,” a very bedraggled, pale and wide-eyed Becca whispers back.

  STACIE

  Not sure what wakes me up, but when I sit up in bed, I can feel a cold draft against my skin.

  I grab the old, flannel men’s shirt I use as a housecoat, and pull open the bedroom door. I notice right away Mak’s door is still closed, but the cold seems to be coming from down the hall. I’m surprised to find the front door open and the couch empty. Shoving my feet in a pair of flip-flops I left by the door, I slip outside, tugging my shirt closed against the cold.

  “Nick?” I call out, making my way down the steps.

  His truck is not parked out front, and for a moment I think he’s left, but then I remember: he drove us back to Dolores in my SUV. His truck should still be at the office. He also would never leave the door wide open, unless he was somewhere near.

  Unable to see where I’m putting my feet, I carefully make my way around to the side of the house. With the light from the streetlamp behind me, it’s virtually impossible to see anything when I stare into the inky darkness in front of me.

  I’m about to turn around and head back in, when a body slams into me and a pair of arms band around my body.

  NICK

  “It’s okay,” I tell Becca, who looks like she’s about to run back into the trees.

  To make myself less threatening, I crouch down on one knee, bringing me to almost eye level with the girl. Mak steps up beside me and puts her hand on my shoulder. The touch is likely for her own security, but it has a similar effect on Becca, telling her I can be trusted.

  The girl is visibly shivering, and I have to restrain myself not to wrap my arms around her small body and warm her. Her face is dirty, and streaked with tears, her bright red hair is a wild tangle and her knobby knees look scraped.

  “It’s okay,” I repeat, softening my tone even more.

  “H-he...h-he...” Her eyes dart around us as she tries to speak, her teeth chattering from cold or perhaps fear. “He k-k-killed h-her...”

  Before I even have a chance to open my arms for her, Becca flings her little body against me, nearly knocking me to my ass. I manage to stay upright and wrap an arm around the quietly sobbing girl, while reaching for Mak beside me with the other.

  So many questions I want to ask. Who is he? Is she talking about her mother? Where has she been? But instead, I concentrate on calming her as best as I can and getting both girls safely inside the house.

  But before I can move, Mak breaks free from my hold and takes off. I jump to my feet, lift Becca up in my arms and run after her.

  STACIE

  “How are you holding up?”

  I turn around from the kitchen sink to find Nick right behind me. Beyond him, I can just see Drew sitting on the coffee table, facing Becca, who is cowered in the corner of the couch, my daughter right beside her like a little sentry.

  “How are they holding up?” I return with a nod in the girls’ direction.

  I almost had a heart attack when Mak slammed into me outside. I had no idea she was even out there. I barely opened my mouth to question her when I could make out Nick approaching holding Becca in his arms. I can’t tell you how relieved I felt at seeing her. I’d been telling myself all night that she was off somewhere with her family, like Drew suggested, but I never really believed it.

  The next half hour had been heart-wrenching as we waited for Drew to get here from Macos, listening to Becca’s incoherent sobbing, and Mak’s sympathetic tears. The moment he walked in, however, both girls seemed to calm down. I’d been keeping a stiff upper lip, trying hard not to show how shaken I was for fear it would just scare the kids more. But when Drew sat down with the girls, and Nick kept vigilance beside Mak on the couch, I came into the kitchen. Purportedly to make a pot of coffee, but in reality I needed space to have a mini breakdown.

  “They’re doing fine. Who knew our sheriff had a way with kids.”

  He cups my face in his large hands and brushes at my wet cheeks with his thumbs. I grab onto his wrists for security.

  “Has she said anything?”

  “He’s got the patience of a saint. For now
he’s simply building rapport, asking about her likes and dislikes, school, anything but what he’s gotta be itching to know.”

  “He’s waiting for CPS to get here, I’m sure,” I offer. It’s the first thing Drew mentioned doing on his way here. I know Nick had talked to him about Becca, and he’d been waiting for an excuse to call someone in.

  “I just called Ben,” Nick says softly.

  “I never even thought of that,” I admit, feeling guilty.

  “I wouldn’t have either, if Drew hadn’t asked who made the girls feel safe. Mak didn’t even hesitate; she named Ben instantly. I figured she needs to feel as safe as possible right now, so I called. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

  I can’t hold back the tears. He didn’t overstep—he stepped in. For my daughter—for me. If anyone had asked me in that moment who made me feel safe, I wouldn’t have hesitated; I would’ve answered with Nick.

  “Not at all.” I smile at him through my tears. “It’s perfect.”

  He bends down and brushes a kiss over my lips, briefly leaning his forehead against mine, before straightening up.

  “How about that coffee?” he asks. “I don’t think we’ll be doing much sleeping anyway.”

  I start pulling down mugs from the cupboard when something occurs to me.

  “What was Becca’s answer?”

  “To what?” Nick’s expression is puzzled.

  “Who makes Becca feel safe?” I turn my head to see sadness in Nick’s eyes.

  “No one. She said no one.”

  I swallow hard. The poor little thing. I wish I could...

  “We’re going to change that, if it’s the last thing we do,” I find myself stating firmly, throwing a challenging look at Nick, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to argue. A slight tilt at the corner of his mouth and a sharp nod of acknowledgement tells me he’s on board. Good. Because with or without his help, that little girl will learn what it feels like to be cared for.

  “WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM,” Drew says as he walks into the kitchen.

  Ben finally left with Mak when the social worker from CPS showed at about three this morning. It hadn’t been easy to convince Mak to leave her friend, but when exhaustion set in, and she could barely keep her eyes open anymore, Ben simply lifted her off the couch and took her.

  Not that he’d been thrilled about leaving, he’d wanted me to come as well, but one look at Becca was enough to make him realize I was needed here. That was not an understatement either.

  Drew had taken off earlier with one of his deputies to have a closer look at the trailer, and Becca had clung to me since he left. Ben freaked her out at first, with his menacing looks, but she watched him interact with Mak and that calmed her down. Then when the social worker walked in and started asking her questions, she completely dismissed the woman and would only make eye contact with Nick or me. He had thrown up as mediator and with Becca safely tucked under his arm, coaxed her into answering the woman’s questions.

  I’m back in the kitchen, taking a sanity break in this clusterfuck of a night, when the sheriff walks in.

  “What kind of problem?” I ask, in the same quiet tone he used.

  “I’m going to have to question the little girl,” he says solemnly. “We found her mother dead on the floor of the bathroom. Brutally beaten.” I clap my hands over my mouth to hold back any noise. I’m not an idiot, I knew this was a possibility, but part of me hoped... “That’s not all,” Drew whispers, and I catch Nick’s questioning glance over the sheriff’s shoulder. I give him a sharp shake, to which he closes his eyes. “It looks like the girl was there. Was a lot of blood on the floor, and some of it was trampled through the house—by little feet. I fucking hate this, but I have to get as much information as I can from her, Stacie.”

  He looks pained, and I’m sure he hates it as much as he claims, but I also know how important it is in any investigation, to move as fast as possible.

  “Give me ten minutes to try and get some food into her, while you go distract that battle-ax from CPS. Put in a good word for me, because I want Becca to stay here with us. Then I’ll help you tell her.”

  I turn back to my pancakes, my knees shaking, as I dismiss him.

  I’ve been in this situation before, present when a child is informed of a parent’s passing, but goddammit if it doesn’t rip me apart every fucking time. I was only a little older when I was told I would never see my parents again, and every time I see another child’s devastation, my own becomes as sharp as the moment I heard those words coming at me.

  So I need a goddamn minute.

  SHE SAW.

  The little bitch saw and took off.

  I should’ve taken care of her, but I was too freaked out and bailed.

  It’s all that damn cunt’s fault.

  I caught her with her hands in my fucking pockets. Cracked my eyes and there she was, sitting on the ground beside the bed, fishing my wallet from my jeans. Said she just needed a few bucks to give her brat some school money, but I could see the shaking of her hands and the wild look of need in her eyes. She needed a fix.

  I didn’t think, I reacted, grabbing the lamp from the nightstand and hitting her over the head with it. Crazy bitch didn’t even go down, despite the gash that opened up on the side of her head. She held on tight to the wallet and started crab walking toward the bathroom door.

  She could’ve stopped it right there. Could’ve dropped my fucking wallet and walked away, but her need for a fix was bigger. She left me no fucking choice.

  Skank damn near broke my foot when I stuck it in the door she was trying to slam in my face. That only pissed me off more.

  She never let go of my wallet. Not even when I’d broken the skin on my knuckles against her teeth, or cracked her skull against the bathtub. I knew she was fucking dead before I let her body slip from my hold, but her hand still held my wallet in a death grip. Stupid crazy bitch.

  I had to bend her fingers back to get at it. All covered in blood, I stuck it under the tap, looking at my face in the mirror over the sink. Freaked me the fuck out, when it took me a minute to recognize the guy in my reflection.

  Sonofabitch.

  It wasn’t until I was pulling on my shoes that I remembered the damn wallet on the side of the sink. I tried not to look at the mess on the floor as I stepped over the threshold—and that’s when I saw her.

  The door into the narrow hallway was open a crack and I could see the flash of red hair whipping by. By the time I got through the door, I could hear the storm door slam.

  Instead of going after her, I grabbed my stuff, wiped my fingerprints off as much as I could remember, jumped in my truck and took off.

  Back to Albuquerque to make my weekly meeting with my parole officer.

  I’ll get her later.

  CHAPTER 20

  Nick

  This is fucking brutal.

  I’m not sure if it’s a protective instinct or the serious lack of sleep that is making me want to whale on our good sheriff, but the only thing holding me back is that Becca doesn’t need more violence in her life.

  The girl is wedged between Stacie and myself, a choice she voiced when she was asked where she’d be most comfortable. At this point, the social worker is merely here as observer, because it’s clear that the girl is barely hanging on.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’,” Drew drawls, leaning forward and tapping his index finger on the top of Becca’s dirty sneaker. A seemingly innocuous touch, but still establishing a connection and conveying the message without being invasive.

  He just told her they found her mother dead, and although she already knew, or at least suspected, I imagine hearing it confirmed makes it so much more real.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  The little girl stiffens beside me, and I notice Stacie bending down to talk softly in her ear. Becca gives Drew a little nod.

  “Were you at home?” Another little nod. “In your bedroom?” Drew keeps guessing, and she gives him anoth
er nod. “Were you sleeping?” This time he gets a shake and an answer.

  “Getting dressed. For school.”

  “Of course,” Drew answers easily, while scribbling on a notepad. “Do you have an alarm or did someone wake you?”

  “Jay’s alarm. It’s loud.”

  “Who’s Jay?”

  “My brother. He has to get up first, ‘cause he goes to school in Cortez, so he gets the alarm clock.”

  That’s more than she’s said all night. Drew is distracting her with details, and it seems to be working, but eventually the hard questions will come.

  “That makes sense,” Drew answers her, nodding in understanding. “So you were up, I guess your brother was up, and was anyone else up? Who else was in your house?”

  “Momma...and h-him.”

  Fear pours off her in thick waves, cloying the air. Stacie feels it too, because she pulls the girl on her lap and I wrap my arms around them both.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you here,” I promise, looking her in the eye.

  “So your Momma woke up as well?” Becca turns her watery gaze back to Drew, who skillfully avoids talking about him, and nods.

  “I think when Jay left. He slammed the screen door. Momma came into my room.”

  “To see if you were up?”

  “No,” she replies, shaking her head. “She was looking for my piggy bank.”

  “Why?”

  “Money.” The matter-of-fact way she says that, accompanied by a shoulder shrug, gets me steamed. “That’s why I always carry it with me in my backpack.”

  I can’t even begin to express how furious that makes me, but I see the same anger reflected in Stacie’s eyes, over the top of Becca’s head.

  “She was mad,” the little girl continues. “Went back in her bedroom and that’s when I heard him.”

  “Is he your momma’s boyfriend?” Drew probes, and she shrugs her shoulders again.

  “One of ‘em, but the others don’t usually sleep over.”