Breathless (Meadowlarks)

by Ashley Christine

  Dane shoved his phone in to his pocket and held out his hand to me. “Let's go. I need to go somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “Don't worry about it.”

  Oh, hello, Asshole Sullivan. Not nice to have you back.

  Dane dialed a number on his phone, and within two minutes the Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb and he opened the door for me. “Go back to the hotel. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Is it Isaac?”

  “No. I said go back. I will be right there.”

  When I stepped off the elevator and walked toward my room, I pulled the card from my pocket and swiped. The moment the door clicked, my phone rang.

  A blocked number called me and I answered right away.

  “Hello?” I asked, breathy and wondering.

  “Riley,” a choppy electronic voice said. “I have Isaac. Give me four hundred and fifty thousand dollars if you ever want to see him alive again.”

  My heart detached from my body and fell down to the floor, along with my cellphone, and the eventually rest of my body. I looked up, groggily and reached for my phone. Praying the line isn't dead.

  “Hello?” I asked, again.

  “Thought I lost you. Did you hear me correctly?”

  “I did. I don't have that much money. Please, just give me back my son.”

  “Oh,” the voice said, eerily laughing. “Yes, you do.”

  “I want to talk to Isaac! I need to know he's okay!”

  The phone went silent. The caller ends his game. For now.

  I sat up, holding the phone in my hand, terrified to let it go. A moment later it buzzed and a picture message displayed on the screen. The blocked number sent me a photo of Isaac. Holding another cellphone in his hand, displaying the date and time of the photo. The picture was literally taken seconds ago.

  I scanned Isaac's face. He was still wearing the blue shirt and beige shorts. His face was clean, and his eyes weren’t puffy—I guess I was expecting him to look horrified and tied up somewhere in the dark.

  Who the hell has my son?!

  I sat on the floor, leaning against the end of the bed, thinking of the conversation with the caller.

  Four hundred and fifty thousand...what a weird number. Why wouldn't they just say an even five hundred thousand?

  Holy shit.

  My fingers flew all over the screen on my phone as I quickly selected my online banking app. I thumbed in the account number, and password. The screen lagged for a moment, and it made me want to scream.

  “Four hundred and forty-eight thousand...” I whispered. Reading the balance of Isaac's school fund account. I didn’t know what to do now. Was I supposed to call Detective Campbell and tell him about the call? Should I call Dane and tell him?

  Holy shit.

  Dane!

  As expected, he walked through the door, letting himself in with his own key card. He looked flustered, dishevelled and angry. He threw his jacket on the bed, and kicked off his shoes.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, climbing up off the floor.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Ugh, yeah?”

  “Taking care of business.”

  I stepped back from him. “Did you just call me?”

  He furrowed his eyebrows. “No. Why?”

  “Just wondering,” I said, tucking my cellphone into the back pocket of my jeans. I excused myself into the bathroom when I felt my phone vibrate through my jeans. I quickly swiped the screen when I closed the door and leaned against it.

  Blocked ID: Your kid is fine. I just want the money. I'm not going to hurt him, unless you don't pay me. I will contact you in 12 hours with more information.

  I would pay them, I just needed to know when and where.

  Another picture was sent to me following the text message. That time it was of Isaac smiling. He was sitting on a plush white sofa, holding onto a PlayStation remote. The kidnapper was letting him play video games?

  My phone went off when I was still standing in the room with Dane, so it couldn't have been him who called me earlier. I swallowed hard, and walked out of the bathroom.

  “You okay?” Dane asked.

  “Yes,” I answered, truthfully. Feeling a little better knowing that my son was still alive and I had a chance to get him back.

  “Hungry?”

  I nodded.

  His eyes narrowed. “Me too.”

  “I need to call the detective. See if he's heard anything yet.”

  I called Detective Campbell, who told me what I already knew—they hadn’t found anything new. I decided I couldn’t tell him about the call, not until I figured out how I was going to do this.

  Dane ordered room service for us. An entire roasted chicken, vegetables and baked potatoes.

  I devoured everything he put on my plate. Feeling a new found sense of hope, and needing to energize my body for the sake of getting Isaac back.

  With dinner, came wine. I drank two glasses, and not just a splash. Two full glasses, right down with the chicken into my belly. It warmed me, and I allowed myself to slouch in my chair.

  After dinner I called my parents to check on Scarlett, and then I called Addison to tell her I was still alive and that I was hopeful that we would find Isaac soon—without giving any additional details.

  I pushed my chair back from the small table in my hotel room, and crawled on the bed. Laying down on my side, and grabbing the remote to turn on the TV. The evening news was on, it talked a little about the weather—which had been apparently nice, but I didn't even notice. Then the next segment was of me, speaking into the camera, pleading for the safe return of my son. I looked old, my hair was messy and the bags under my eyes were huge.

  “Please, if anyone has seen my son, or knows where he is, call the police. He needs me, he needs to be home with his family. Isaac, I love you.” My voice flowed from the television, sending goose bumps up my body.

  The news channel had shown a full screen image of the missing poster that was all over Buffalo, and then spanned back to the two news reporters that were sitting at a desk.

  “If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of ten year old Isaac Harrison, please call the Buffalo police department, or 9-1-1,” one of them said. A commercial played after the news segment on Isaac, and I turned away from the TV.

  Dane sat in the chair, still at the table, and glared at me; making me shiver. “Do you want some more wine, Riley?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  He poured some into my glass and got up from his chair to bring it to me. “I'm leaving for Augusta in the morning,” he said, huskily.

  “Oh?” I asked, with a cheek full of wine.

  “I have some business to take care of. But, before I go, I'm going to convince you to sleep with me.”

  I raised an eyebrow and gulped down the wine, it burned on the way down. “What?”

  “No more games, no more teasing. I've been patient long enough.”

  I snorted. “You haven't been patient at all. And you're crazy to think I'm going to have sex with you while my son is God knows where out there!”

  The three glasses of wine had started to make me a tad tipsy, and I can only blame myself. Well-knowing what it would do to me, and just who I was alone in a hotel room with.

  “You need this.” Dane advanced, undoing his shirt button by button. “You need to be comforted. To be touched.”

  “Last time I checked, I didn't. But thanks for the offer.”

  He pulled his shirt off his body, and I bit down on my lip to keep from gaping. When he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, I knew I was going to have to put up more of a fight.

  I crawled backwards up the bed, until I was flush against the headboard.

  “Not really a big enough space to run,” he said, slyly.

  “Don't. Please. I don't want you.”

  “You do. You were dripping the last time I touched you.”

  “Temporary insanity.”


  He chuckled, and rubbed his long erection through the material of his boxers.

  Well, here goes nothing…

  “Here's how this is going to go...” I whispered. “You're going to get into the shower, and wash that amazing thing before I take it into my mouth.” I licked my bottom lip, and Dane's eyes flared emerald.

  He exhaled, and smirked. “As you wish.”

  “Go,” I breathed.

  When he was in the bathroom, and I heard the shower turn on and the sound of the glass door close, I scrambled to put on my shoes and grab my purse.

  I quietly opened the door and bolted down the hallway, running with all might to the stairwell. This time, taking three and four steps at a time. I burst through the hotel door and ran up to the Lincoln parked, as expected, at the curb.

  “Mr. Sullivan said to take me to this address, please.” I held out a tiny piece of paper and I smiled at the driver. I climbed in the car, and he pulled away from the hotel.

  And Dane.

  Oh, shit.

  He's probably losing it right now.

  Good.

  The driver dropped me off in front of a coffee shop, and I smiled and thanked him. When the Lincoln was out of sight I ran down the street and turned the corner, briskly walking into the parking lot of a car rental shop.

  I was only two minutes into driving away in my new rental—a black minivan—when Dane's number appeared on my phone. I ignored it. He called back, again and again. Each time I pressed the button to disregard his incessant call.

  I checked the rear view mirror every couple of minutes, fully expecting to see a Lincoln, but I didn’t. I rented a van, thinking Dane would never suspect me of driving this. Then again, he's got enough money to bribe anyone into telling them what I've rented.

  Damn, didn't think of that.

  I pushed my foot harder down on the gas, and got far away from Buffalo. I was just outside of Sheridan when Addison called me, I answered using the speakerphone.

  “Riley, where are you?”

  “Umm, I'm not in Buffalo anymore. Why?”

  “Well, that arrogant asshole, Dane, called Alex. And Alex called me.”

  Oh, shit.

  “He told Alex he was with you. Then you left. Where are you going? Is it Isaac? Do you know where he is?”

  “Addy, I was with Dane. Not like you think. But, I need to go to Maine. I'm going to bring Isaac home. I promise.”

  “He's in Maine?” she asked, her voice breathy.

  “I don't know. You just have to trust me, please, Addy. I'm all he's got...”

  Noise scratched through the phone, and I heard random muffled voices.

  “Hello? Addy, are you there?”

  “Riley...” Alex's voice rumbled softly though my ear, sending me spiralling—I haven't heard his voice in days. “Fuck. Just tell me you're okay.”

  I breathed quietly, almost not at all. “I'm okay. I'm going to bring Isaac home. Trust me, please.”

  “I do. I love you.”

  “I—I...I love you, Alex. It's always been you.”

  “Let me help you. Please, Ry...I need to fucking do something!” He said, exasperated, and it made my heart ache.

  “I can't. I will call you later tonight. Promise.”

  I ended the call without saying goodbye, I couldn’t listen to his voice anymore. I was so hard on him at the rodeo when he told me he had lost Isaac. I know he didn't ignore him, or do it intentionally—I was just so freaking insane at that moment. An emotion one can't describe unless you've actually felt it for yourself.

  I pushed the pedal down again, and drove straight for the airport. According to the travel app on my phone, I had less than twenty-five minutes to get there, buy a ticket and not miss the fucking plane.

  Chapter Eleven

  That was positively the longest flight of my life. Well, flights, considering there was one stop before I landed in Maine. I rented another car—err, minivan. Who would have thought I would be behind the wheel of one of these someday? I was surprised at how comfortable it drove.

  The teller at Bangor Bank of Commerce looked at me like I had asked for $448,000 in Yiddish. She blinked a few times, probably never having heard for such a crazy amount of money.

  “You'll need to speak to the branch manager, Ms. Harrison. As we're just about to close. I'm sorry.”

  “Okay, get 'em.” I smiled, impatiently.

  Rose, as her name placard displayed, rushed off and gently knocked on an office before she quietly entered and closed the door behind her.

  I tapped my nails, which were now all but nubs from my chewing them relentlessly from anxiety, on the counter. I smiled, sweetly, at the security guard and when I saw him blush I knew I was in the clear—that I hadn’t stood here this entire time looking like a crazy person asking for ransom money.

  Rose returned with a man, who looked younger than me. Far too young to be a branch manager, but nonetheless, that could play out in my favour.

  “Ms. Harrison, sorry for the wait. I'm Zack; how can I help you today?”

  “Zack,” I said, surprised but happy with the informality. “I need to withdraw a large sum of money from my bank account.”

  “If you could step into my office, we can settle everything in there.” He motioned toward the door he came out of with Rose.

  I smiled, nodded my head, thanked Rose, and followed Zack into his office.

  “How large, Ms. Harrison?”

  “Riley,” I said, pointing to myself. “The entire balance of this account, please.”

  I slid a piece of paper across his oak desk, and he picked it up, gazing at it for a beat. Then, he quickly typed a few keys into his computer and smiled at me.

  “Okay, I'll just need your identification, and how would you like the bills?”

  I blinked, knowing I've heard these words before in many a Hollywood movie, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how it was usually answered.

  “What would you suggest?” I asked, timidly, while opening my wallet and handing him my driver's license and Social Security card.

  “Well,” he said, leaning over his chair to check out the size of my purse. “You don't have a big enough purse for anything less than hundreds.”

  Oh, shit!

  I knew I was forgetting something on my way to pick up ransom money for my kidnapped child—I thought to myself—a bag big enough for his entire school fund, to hand over to the criminal that stole him from me!

  Duh.

  “That'll do.”

  I sank down so far into the seat of the minivan, hiding myself from the outside world, all while clutching for dear life onto my purse that theoretically held my son's life in it. Carefully bundled in strips of banker's paper. How was that that easy? I almost expected a S.W.A.T. team to drop from the sky and surround me on all sides.

  “Girl, you watch way too many movies,” I whispered to myself and slid the messenger-style purse off my shoulder to carefully tuck it in front of the seat beside me. I drove to Milestone Avenue and parked on the street, five houses away from my parents’. Right behind a line of cars that must be guests at a neighbouring party.

  Good.

  If Dane manages to find out I've flown here and rented another car, he shouldn't suspect a random minivan in a parade of other vehicles. I hope not, anyway.

  I crept up the lawn of my parents’ house, and toed around the back to let myself in.

  The house was in darkness, as expected since it was now after ten at night. Finding my keys in my purse, somewhere under all the Benjamin's, I unlocked the back door. Quickly punching in the alarm code to reset it after my entrance.

  I pulled off my shoes and carried them upstairs, silently tip-toeing on the pads of my feet. My heart dropped from my chest when I walked in Scarlett's make-shift fairy fantasy. Scarlett was sleeping in her little pink canopied bed, knees tucked under her belly, with her little bottom stuck right up in the air.

  She breathed softly, and I knelt beside the bed to watc
h her sleep. Tears flowed from my eyes, and I tried not to let my sniffling wake her. My fingers touched the soft curls of her dark hair, and I had to pull away as my heart just couldn’t take another second.

  She looked so much like Isaac did as a baby, and yet, so much like Alex. Her delicate cheeks had an adorable dimple when she smiled, just like Alex's, and his blue eyes rang out so loudly against her black hair—she's going to break a lot of hearts, I know it. A true sleeping beauty.

  “I love you, so much, Scarlett,” I whispered and leaned in to kiss her warm cheek. “We'll all be together again, very soon. Mommy promises.”

  I held my breath when I walked past the bedroom my parents were sleeping in. Dad was snoring, and mom was sprawled out with her arm thrown over him. I smiled at the sight, and made my way back out of the house.

  I spent almost an hour sitting and watching Scarlett sleep. When I checked my watch it was almost midnight—it had almost been twelve hours.

  At 12:04 AM my phone rang, and I coiled down again in the seat of the minivan to answer the call. Shielding the light from the screen.

  “Hello?” I asked, even though I knew who it was.

  “Riley. Have you got the money yet?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I want to talk to my son.”

  The electronic voice responded, “You're his mother, you should know he's sleeping at this hour. Since you have a flight or two ahead of you, get yourself to the airport and buy a ticket to Augusta. You're coming back to Maine.”

  “You really don't give me a lot of time. What if I can't book a flight right away?”

  “Do what you gotta do. When you get to Maine, find 687 East Torrance Street, and wait for my call.”

  I held my breath. “Okay.”

  “Oh, and Riley?” The caller said. “Don't try anything stupid.”

  Now that is a line I've heard before, and I've got the Hollywood reply this time.

  “I won't.”

  The GPS alerted me that I had arrived at my destination, and I drove by, glancing in a blink at the bold brick building with large windows shooting right up to the sky. It's an older Augusta building, no doubt, but it's very rich and modern at the same time. People were walking in and out of the doors, with briefcases and trays of coffee, and paperwork.