Wrecked and Yours

by James, CeeCee

  “Shh. It’s okay.”

  She peeked through her fingers.

  Doug stood behind her, pistol in hand.

  She rolled and crawled toward Archer. The dog didn’t move. “Archer?” she whispered. She gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “Archer? Please?” The dog’s eyes remained closed but his tail gave a small thump of a wag. “Sweet boy, you’re going to be okay.” She stroked his fur softly, looking for any signs of blood. He lifted his head and rested it on her knee.

  Behind her, she heard a sound of dragging. She looked up to see Doug fastening Dane’s legs together with duct tape. “The police are on their way.” Doug said. “Jason called them as soon as he hung up with me.”

  “He called you first?”

  “He knew I was closer.”

  Miranda kissed Archer and moved his head to rest on his paws. She staggered to her feet, pausing for a second as her head boomed. Nausea squeezed her stomach. After a moment, the sensations subsided. She walked over to the man on the ground. Doug pressed a towel into the wound on his chest.

  “Is he alive?” she asked.

  Doug grimly nodded.

  She stared at Dane’s face, his nose smashed and bloody.

  “What the?” Her body began to tremble, from the pain or the shock, she wasn’t sure.

  “Go sit down, Miranda.” Doug said, still holding pressure to Dane’s gunshot wound. “I can’t catch you if you pass out.”

  She pulled out one of the stools and looked around the kitchen. Her phone lay in pieces on the floor. Utensils were scattered. There was blood splattered across the white countertop.

  Sirens screamed. Red and blue lights flashed through the window. A moment later, two officers appeared at the busted door, their guns drawn. They walked in carefully, demanding everyone put their hands in the air.

  Doug raised his hands. “The guy on the floor is the intruder. I shot him.” He spoke calmly, but his eyes were wide and wild.

  “Lie on the ground,” one of the police officers commanded Doug.

  “He saved me!” Miranda protested.

  “I’m holding pressure on the bullet wound,” Doug stated as he eased back.

  “On the ground, now.”

  Doug lay prone on the floor with his hands behind his head. One of the officers quickly pulled his hands behind his back to secure him. Doug grimaced at the jerk of his arm.

  “What are you doing? He’s the one that rescued me!” Miranda pivoted from one officer to the other.

  The other officer talked into his shoulder mic, giving the code for an ambulance. He lifted the towel to look at Dane’s wound, before applying firm pressure with his hands.

  “Just sit tight. We’re coming into a hostile situation with a gun.”

  Two ambulances arrived minutes later. One set of paramedics went to work on Dane. The other paramedics checked Miranda. Across the room, she could see them load Dane onto a stretcher. Doug stood now, rubbing the red lines on his wrists where the handcuffs had been removed.

  “Follow the light,” the paramedic said, shining his flashlight in her eyes.

  “Where’s Archer?” she asked, trying to pull away.

  “Don’t move. Does your neck hurt?”

  “Where’s my dog?” Miranda cried.

  “I’ve got him. Let them look you over,” Doug called.

  She relaxed then, and let them continue their examination. “I suggest you go to the hospital to be further evaluated,” the paramedic said.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Doug added.

  “She might have a concussion. You’ll need to wake her up every two hours.”

  “I’m not going to be getting any sleep tonight anyway.” Doug answered.

  “If she has any changes, or if you have difficulty waking her, bring her in immediately or call for emergency services,” the paramedic said as he packed his bag.

  Doug nodded, and then dialed his phone for his friend who was a farmhouse veterinarian.

  Miranda sat on the floor with Archer and stroked his fur. The dog was more alert, but Miranda coaxed him to lie still. He thumped his tail as she rubbed his neck.

  It wasn’t long before the veterinarian arrived. He quickly set down his bag and checked Archer over for injuries.

  “He’s looking bruised but okay, but I think it’s best if I bring him home to monitor him,” the vet said as he pulled the stethoscope from his ears.

  Miranda watched him load Archer up with tears in her eyes.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Doug said. “Just a precaution. Though why you take precautions with the dog and not yourself, I don’t understand.”

  After another hour of taking statements, the officers began trailing back to their cars. “I want you down at the station first thing in the morning,” one of them said to Doug. As they walked out, Doug followed, and attempted to shut the splintered door back on its hinges.

  The house was silent.

  “You don’t have to stay here. I can set my phone alarm to wake me,” Miranda said, holding a bag of ice to her face.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you are stubborn?”

  “All the time.”

  She used Doug’s phone to call Jason, but the phone immediately went to voice mail. “What does that mean? Is he okay?”

  “He’s on his way here. The coverage is spotty.”

  Clenching the phone with frustration, she made like she was going to throw it. “The one time I need reassurance. I need to know he’s okay.”

  Doug slumped on the couch. “He probably feels the same way, Miranda. Even more.”

  Miranda wrapped her arms around herself and hung her head. “This is my fault. I really screwed up, Doug.”

  He squinted at her, bleary-eyed. “Let’s just try and get some rest.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven Present Day

  A truck skidded to a stop in the driveway, and Miranda jerked awake. She’d no idea she’d even fallen asleep. Doug was already in the kitchen watching as Jason left his truck door open to run inside.

  Jason tried to open the front door, but it was jammed. Doug walked over to help him. Instead, Jason shouldered it down.

  Miranda stood up. Her hand reached out to grab the back of the couch as her head spun woozily.

  His eyes searched the room for her, and in a second he was by her side.

  “Jason!”

  He grabbed her in his arms and held her tighter than he ever had before. He didn’t speak, and she felt the tremors in his muscles.

  “I’ll let myself out,” Doug said, heading for the door.

  Jason turned red-rimmed eyes towards him. “I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll talk later.” Doug raised his hand in goodbye, before attempting to shut the shattered door behind him. It bounced open in the crooked frame. He gave up and headed for his house.

  Jason cradled Miranda’s head against his shoulder. She could tell he was trying to be gentle, even as adrenaline caused his shaking arms to pull her in tighter.

  “Thank God you’re here!” She burst into tears and buried her face in his chest. She said more, but it was muffled, He didn’t allow her to pull away to give her room to speak.

  He rocked her for a minute, before lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the couch. Carefully, he sat her on his lap, stroking her back as her tears poured out.

  Gradually, she began to calm. She sat up and wiped her eyes, conscious to lean her head so that her hair fell over the swollen side of her face. His eyes were filled with pain as she pulled away. He brushed the hair from her bruised cheek.

  Lines deepened on the sides of his mouth as his anger stirred.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  Miranda pressed her lips together. “He’s in the hospital right now. Doug shot him.”

  “Who did this?”

  “It was Dane.”

  Jason’s eyes were wild. “He’s a dead man. I swear he is.” Then, turning to her. “Why
did you go downstairs when I told you to go out the window?”

  “I… I heard Archer—”

  “He’s a dog, Miranda. I love him, but he’s a dog. His job was to protect you, and give you time to get away!” The anger caused his arms to tremble and he struggled to control it. “Do you know what that was like? To hear you go downstairs while I begged you to stop? Screamed at you to stop? To hear you shriek in pain?”

  “Jason, I’m so sorry.”

  His trembling shook him harder and he resisted the urge to shake her, too, in his frustration at the memory. “How could you do that to me?”

  She fell back onto his chest crying again. The front of his shirt wet with her tears. It wasn’t enough. She had no idea the terror he’d gone through helpless on the other end of the phone.

  He gave a strangled sob then, wrangled from the depths of a place he swore he’d never revisit. He heard it before he knew what it was, and knowing it infuriated him even more. Another one followed, wrenched out as if by a knife blade.

  “Miranda.” He gritted his teeth to hold them back. She shifted in his arms, knocking a cup of coffee over from the end table, and now he was the one being folded into her shoulder, being comforted as the sobs wrenched out of him again and again. “My mother, Miranda.” He saw himself, eight years old wearing Star Wars pajamas, walking into the living room of his apartment. And there was his mom sitting on the flowered easy chair. The room was dark, just the pale slice of the streetlight coming through the window and across her body. Just enough light to see.

  Pill bottles line up like ghostly toy soldiers along the end table. The glint of a knife in her hands.

  “No!” Jason cried out, still caught in the memory. His mom stared past him and, with a grace as though she were about to perform on a piano, she opened her veins with a long slash from wrist to elbow.

  The blood was everywhere. He ran over and tried to hold the wound closed, even as she waved him away.

  “Jason…” His mom’s pupils were dilated black.

  “Mom! Mom! What did you do?”

  Blood pumped into his hands. He frantically looked for the phone. “Oh, Mom, why did you do this,” he moaned, trying to squeeze the wound tight even as his hands became sticky.

  “You called the cops on me, son.”

  The blood dripped to the floor. There was nothing to bind the wound. He couldn’t let go to find a phone. “Help!” he screamed, his adult voice echoing the words he cried out as a child.

  “Jason.” Miranda stroked his back. “Jason, you’re okay. It’s okay.”

  Her voice jarred him from the flashback. He lifted his head to face her, dazed.

  Her lip trembled. “I’m so sorry I did this. I’m so sorry I put you there again.”

  The spilled coffee puddle caught his eye. The coffee dripped from the table and on to the rug in steady drips like blood.

  He shuddered at the sight. Roughly, he pushed off her and grabbed the towel to mop up the spill. He scrubbed the floor longer than needed, so he didn’t have to look her in the face.

  “So now you know my secret.” His voice was husky. “I ratted out my own mother because she kept crawling back and begging for meth from the man who beat her. When he broke her arm I swore I’d never let it happen again.” His face burned red with shame. “And it killed her.” He balled up the towel and threw it on the table.

  Miranda watched with her hands over her nose and mouth. “Babe, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Jason walked into the kitchen, leaving behind an icy wall.

  His sudden change in behavior threw Miranda. She stood up to follow him, feeling caught in slow motion from his rejection.

  “Jason?” Her fingers touched his hand briefly, then more firmly to get his attention. “What’s going on? Please let me in.”

  He shook his head, the words choked in behind the knot in his throat. Miranda pulled at his hand and then his shoulder, to force him to look at her. His eyes shut briefly and then opened. Cupping her face with his hand, he used his thumb to trace the edge of the bruise forming on her cheek.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “I can’t do this, Miranda!” he yelled, making her jump. Slamming his fist on the counter, he reacted to the storm brewing inside himself. “I can’t let you in.” He hung his head and took a deep breath. Still without looking at her he muttered, “Every time I care about someone, they die.”

  He grabbed his truck keys off the counter.

  “Where are you going?” Miranda pulled at his shirt.

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I tried, Miranda. I tried.” She watched him, filled with surreal shock. He can’t be walking out.

  At the door he paused. “I’ll have one of the guys stop by and fix this.” And then he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight Present Day

  “So now I know how it feels to be the one left behind, huh, ol’ boy?” Miranda stepped passed Archer where he lay sprawled out by the newly fixed door. Archer’s tail thumped against the hardwood floor. Miranda balanced a can filled with paint in her hand as she stretched to reach the trim boards along the top of the door. Drops of paint had splattered her shorts and the top of one leg.

  Jason had been gone a week. After she’d replaced her phone, she’d tried texting him. As far as she could tell the messages hadn’t been read yet.

  She knew she should give him space. But she also knew that time could widen the chasm between them even more, once the guilt set in. Sometimes it just felt like it would be easier to start over, rather than go back and dig through all those emotions again. She should know.

  Her phone rang. Miranda dropped the brush in the can, and nearly tripped on Archer in her race to answer it.

  “Hello?

  “Hi, Sis. Just calling to see how you are doing.” Cassie sounded extra chipper, obviously working the “Cheer-big-sister-up” strategy.

  “Checking on me? I’m supposed to be checking on you. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing great. They said I’ll be ready to come home in another week.”

  “That’s awesome, Cassie. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks. Hey, the next time you come up—Leif, just set that there—can you bring my guitar? I want to try and play it again.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “What’s going on with the criminal? Is he dead yet?”

  “Gah! Cassie. No, he’s not dead. He’s been arrested, though. There’s going to be a court case.” Miranda paused. “I’m actually one of the lesser charges against him. I guess they’ve been looking for him for a while.”

  “What a scum bag. I’ll never forgive Doug for his crappy aim.”

  “He’s not too happy about it, either.” Miranda shook her head, remembering how Susan had smacked her husband’s arm for saying something similar.

  “So, have you heard from Jason?” Cassie asked.

  “No. You?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Miranda sighed. “It is what it is. Hopefully he’ll figure it out and give me a chance to make it better.”

  “It’s not your fault. I swear, you’ve got some frigging complex or something, always thinking that you’re responsible for everyone else's choices.”

  “It sure feels that way sometimes.”

  “You’ve got to get over yourself. You’re important and all, but you’re not the center of our universe,” Cassie lectured.

  “Awesome pep talk, Sis.”

  Cassie laughed. “Just a dose of truth, Miranda.”

  “Whatever. Let me get back to my painting.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Chickee.” She hung up the phone, feeling slightly lighter than she had in days.

  ***

  Word quickly spread in a small town. On her first day back to work, Claudia marched up and gave her a big hug. “Jason taking care of you?”

  “Jason is�
��working on things.”

  Claudia stared at her, trying to decipher those words. “Well, you come right over and stay at my place. Your house is just too darn big for you to rattle around in alone. At least for now.”

  Miranda smiled. “I’m okay, Claudia. I’ve got Archer to protect me.”

  Claudia checked out the side of her face. Miranda had used two layers of foundation and cover-up to hide the bruises, but they still vaguely showed. “That son-of-a—”

  “Nice to see you back today, Miranda.” Dr. Howard walked into the reception area. “How are you doing?”

  “Good, thanks. Nice to be back. Keeps my mind off of all the craziness.”

  “You need a break, just let us know.” He clapped her on the shoulder and returned to his office.

  “Girl, when you are feeling better, I am going to take you out,” Claudia promised.

  “No more karaoke.” Miranda’s eyes flickered at the memory.

  “Oh, no, this new place is the bomb. And I’ve got just the guy for you. Hot and young. He’s my trainer at the gym.” She waggled her eyebrows, making Miranda very afraid.

  A patient straggled out from the back of the dental office. Claudia turned to greet him. “Hello there, Mr. Carter. Six teeth done today I see. What insurance are we billing today?”

  The man numbly slurred a reply while Claudia nodded. “How about the insurance card then?”

  He handed it over and then winked at Miranda. He mumbled a sentence at Miranda, and she raised her eyebrows back in response.

  “Sorry, Mr. Carter. I didn’t quite catch that.” Miranda smiled back, before grabbing the paperwork from Claudia and taking it to the back room.

  A minute later, Claudia joined her, laughing. “I think he was asking you what your plans were for Friday night.”

  “Probably wants me to play nurse. Working that injury angle.”

  “Well, I guess he can always be the back up plan.” Claudia patted her arm, “If Mr. Trainer doesn’t work out.”

  Miranda wrinkled her nose. “At this point, the only male I want in my life is Archer.”

  ***