Held Against You

by Season Vining

  “You know, it’s not safe for you to be on your phone while driving,” I say.

  He shrugs.

  “Just the usual text messages. Where am I? Where are you? Threats of death and dismemberment.”

  “The usual,” I repeat, stunned by his casual talk of death.

  “And the one message from my ex.”

  “Natasha?”

  “Yeah. She’s up to something.”

  “Maybe she wants you back,” I say.

  “Maybe, but that’s not happening. Especially now.”

  I don’t know what to think about that statement and I can’t ask him to explain. I won’t. Every word from Samuel seems to have something hidden between the lines. Just once, I wish he’d be straight with me. Though it’s a lot to ask of a thug with trust issues.

  As the sun begins to rise on our left, the sky turns into a palette of mixed violets, pinks, and gold. The highway signs count down the miles to the Mexican border and with each passing one, my anxiety grows. There’s a ball of nervousness that sits heavy in my stomach. It reminds me of the last time I felt this way.

  The building was empty, but I knew he’d still be working. When I turned the corner, my assumption was confirmed by the bit of light shining from beneath his office door. It had been three days of stewing in shock and disbelief, while working up the nerve to confront him. I stood before his door now, the sliver of light painting the toes of my shoes in a golden glow. It felt like there were angry bees and barbed wire in my stomach. I took a deep breath and didn’t bother knocking.

  Dennis sat at his desk, his hands poised above his keyboard as his thick fingers pecked away. The sight of him made a nauseating kind of rage consume my body in flames. He didn’t acknowledge my presence.

  “I know you and your sister are embezzling money,” I blurted out, standing before him.

  Dennis grinned from behind his enormous oak desk. It was a smile I’d seen many times. In any other place, any other circumstance, it meant for me to shut my mouth and disappear. Not this time. Chills pebbled across my scalp and raced down my arms. He tented his fingers together and leaned toward me.

  “How do you think I can afford such lavish things, you ungrateful brat? Your tuition, your car, your fancy computers. There’s no money fairy that pays your AmEx bill every month, Katherine.”

  “I don’t care about any of that stuff. I want you gone. Somewhere far away from my mom, where you can’t hurt her anymore. If you leave, I won’t say a word about the money. If you stay, I’ll go to the cops.”

  My head was swimming and it seemed the calmer Dennis remained, the more frantic I became. He walked to a closet between us and opened it. Sunk into the wall was a safe with a digital keypad. I wrung my sweaty hands as he unlocked the safe and pulled a small hard drive from it.

  “Blackmail, Katherine? You really underestimate me, don’t you? Make no doubt, I always know what goes on in my building. I knew you found out about our side project. I moved all the proof to this.”

  “That’s a CipherShield dual key USB encrypted hard drive.” Dennis raised his eyebrows, probably shocked that I recognized the equipment. “You need two keys to access the information on there.”

  “That’s right,” he said, his fingers absently tracing a chain around his neck.

  If he had one key, that probably meant Marilyn had the other. Defeat drew the breath from my lungs, but I wouldn’t let him win so easily.

  “You’re crooks,” I said lunging toward him for the hard drive.

  He held it high above my head, and pushed me back with a hard smack to the middle of my chest. The pain radiated out to my shoulders as I stumbled into his desk. I grabbed onto the edge to keep from falling over.

  “Crooks are pickpockets and low life burglars,” he answered. “I’m a hero for the common man, simply redistributing wealth from those who won’t even miss it,” Dennis said. “You were stupid to confront me, Katherine. You don’t think things through, just like your mother. Now, you’ve got no proof and no job. You’re fired.” He placed the hard drive back into the safe and I peeked inside seeing he had a couple of thick folders, a small metal box, and a gun.

  “You put my mom in the hospital again, you son of a bitch! I’m going to tell her about this. She’ll finally leave you!”

  Dennis charged me. His skin turned red and a bulging vein divided his forehead. My blood pumped harder, thundering in my ears. He was terrifying and my body trembled in anticipation of what would come.

  “She will never leave me!” he shouted. Spittle flew from his mouth and landed on my cheek.

  I flinched backward over his desk and knocked pens and papers to the ground while the edge cut into my back. I was used to his rage, although it was usually a silent kind made of cold glares and calculated movements. This was something new to me, but something my mother knew all too well.

  Like flipping a switch, his snarling face evened out and became neutral as he hovered over me. Dennis seemed to regain control of his emotions and straightened his posture. He tugged on the lapels of his jacket and brushed imaginary dust from his sleeves.

  “Callista already knows.”

  “No.” The word escaped my lips on a wheezing exhale.

  “Yes, Katherine. Unlike yourself, your mother knows how to appreciate the finer things in life, no matter how she comes by them. Now get out of my office.”

  In that moment, hatred and betrayal consumed me. The thoughts of this poisonous man and all the ways he destroyed my mother forced any self-preservation from my brain.

  “If I have to take her against her will, I’ll do it. You won’t have her as your punching bag anymore, you piece of shit. Don’t expect to find her at home when you get there!” I shouted and turned toward the door.

  I heard his heavy footsteps coming and knew I’d made a mistake. I was alone in this building and he was a violent man. I’d pushed his buttons and now I’d pay the price.

  I screamed when he caught up with me. I knew there was no one to hear me.

  Dennis’ arm came around my middle and he threw me to the ground. I landed with an oomph, and before I could move, his leather loafer came down on my throat. Panicked, my hands clawed and pushed at his leg, but it wouldn’t budge. I fought hard for air as my watery eyes begged him to stop.

  “You bitches never learn,” he spat.

  Too many thoughts ran through my head, at the forefront was survival. My chest felt like it was caving in, my lungs burned as I abandoned his leg and searched the carpet around me for any kind of weapon. Darkness began to creep into my vision, closing in around the edges like a shutter. When my fingers landed on an ink pen, I wrapped them tight around it and stabbed the pen into his calf. Dennis screamed and fell to the ground cursing.

  I sucked in deep lungfuls of air as he yanked the pen from his leg, blood spilling out over his fingers. Relief washed over me like an ice bath jolting me back to life, piece by piece. White lights danced before my eyes as I blinked the tears away.

  Dennis got to his feet and limped toward the safe, his determination outweighing any pain. My head was spinning as I used the desk to pull myself up.

  Dennis turned, the gun from the safe clutched in his bloody hands and pointed at me. I moved backward, tripping over a chair, my hands held up in surrender.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Dennis.”

  “I’ll say you tried to kill me,” he threatened. “I’ll spin it so it’s self-defense.”

  There was a gleam in his frenzied eyes, something that told me he had no qualms about pulling the trigger and ending my life. Without thought, I lunged at him, wrapping my hands around his and pushing the gun toward the ceiling. He was so much stronger than me, I knew I needed to gain an advantage. I kicked Dennis in the crotch as hard as I could. He dropped to his knees, both of our hands still struggling with the gun. Finally, I charged him, toppling him backward and landing on top of him. The loud bang rang in my ears as the vibration rocked my chest.

  I pushed a
way from him as blood began to seep out of his chest, staining his starched shirt. He took two more breaths before leaving this world. They were the longest two breaths of my life.

  After we enter the border town, we turn onto the highway that leads to the port of entry. I reach down and grab Samuel’s hand out of his lap and don’t let go. His gaze briefly drops to our entwined fingers and he curls his over the back of my hand. The warmth of his skin makes me feel safe and grounded.

  There are only a few vehicles in each lane at this hour. We pass under a large white arc and pull to a stop behind a rusty car.

  “My contact said to stay in the far left lane, and to keep ourselves turned left as much as possible without being suspicious.” I nod silently. “Put your game face on, Mrs. Turner. Once we get through this, we need a green light up there and we’re home free.”

  I look past the guard and see a two-light system. Cars that are given a green light, proceed on and disappear into Mexico. Those given a red light are being pulled over.

  “What’s a red light mean?”

  “The truck triggers a pressure plate as you drive through the inspection lane. If the light is green, you’re good. If the light is red, you have to sit through a secondary inspection. That could be trouble for us.”

  We creep forward as the car in front of us shows their papers. The officer glances in their car and waves them through. They get a green light. We pull forward again, stopping and rolling down the window. I remind myself to breath as I catch a glimpse of the cameras pointed in our direction. My chest feels tight and my palm sweats against Samuel’s. He gives me a little squeeze.

  “Good morning,” Samuel says. His demeanor is light and casual. He even pulls out that rarely seen smile, punctuated by dimples on each side.

  The officer nods. He’s an older man with a round, childlike face and broad shoulders. His uniform buttons pull tight across his belly.

  “I need to see both of your passports.”

  “Sure,” Samuel says. “Honey?”

  He stares in my direction awkwardly until I realize he’s talking to me. I dig through my new purse and hand him my passport. He places his on top and hands them over to the officer. I’m beginning to feel nauseated.

  “What’s your destination? How long will you be staying?” the officer asks while studying Samuel’s passport.

  “We’re headed to Baja for vacation,” he answers.

  Something in the cool tone of Samuel’s voice snaps me out of my panic. He needs me to be present and convincing. I blow out a slow breath and paste on a smile.

  “It’s our first vacation in three years!” I gush. The officer hands one passport over. Samuel looks to me and I shrug like there’s nothing but vacation on my brain.

  “We’ll be staying two weeks,” Samuel adds.

  “Just long enough for me to spend all his money,” I tease.

  The officer chuckles to himself. He opens my passport and eyes my photo and information, leaning down to get a good look inside the car. Samuel looks furious at the invasion, but stays calm.

  Thinking quickly, I unbuckle my seatbelt and kneel on my seat. I place both palms on Samuel’s thigh and lean across him, wedging myself between his chest and the steering wheel.

  “There,” I say, “is that better? I know the picture is awful. Those never come out very flattering do they?”

  He looks back at my passport. “No, I guess not. Though, yours is just fine.”

  “Well, thanks,” I say, smiling and biting my bottom lip.

  “What happened to your cheek?” he asks.

  “That? Oh, my two year old threw a fit when I tried to wash her My Little Pony blanket.”

  He laughs at me again. “I know what you mean. It’s Dora, the Explorer in our house. You look familiar. Are you famous or something?”

  I can feel Samuel suck in a breath and hold it. I curl my fingers around his thigh.

  “Oh, no. I just have one of those generic faces.”

  I reach one hand out, strongly suggesting he return the passport.

  “Hmm,” he says, “I don’t think that’s true, but I can’t place it.” He shrugs and drops the document in my empty hand. “Have a good vacation,” he says.

  I slide back into my seat and wave. “Thanks. We certainly will.”

  The officer sends us through and Samuel rolls up the window. We start to move forward, eyes glued to that light. Please be green. Please be green. Green!

  “Yes!”

  I celebrate by pumping my fist in the air and doing the “green light dance.” Samuel actually laughs and the air inside the truck feels so much lighter. Just before we make it past the light, I hear a commotion of honking horns and screeching tires.

  “Shit!” Samuel shouts.

  I turn and see two officers sprinting in our direction, guns drawn. I look back to Samuel and can tell he’s debating whether to make a run for it. Their shouts surround us and I know we’re done for when he throws it in park and lifts his hands in surrender.

  17. HIM

  We’re both placed in handcuffs and dragged inside, through dimly lit hallways, past countless rooms, until we reach a set of large double doors. Inside is a metal table, two chairs on each side. One wall is mirrored and I know that it’s two-way glass. The windowless room’s cinderblock walls are painted a muddy gray with white ceiling tiles and concrete floors, perfect for washing away evidence of previous interrogations. There’s a large clock above the mirror and a tiny camera in the corner. The smell of bleach burns the back of my throat. Kat and I are placed next to each other on one side of the table and left alone.

  I hear Kat sniffle next to me, but can’t bring myself to look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “I know. Sa–”

  “Don’t say anything, Liz, they can hear us,” I warn.

  I see tears create a dotted pattern on the lap of her dress. I want to comfort her and tell her it’s okay. But I won’t lie to her anymore. We sit for six minutes with only the ticking wall clock as company.

  The lock clicks on the door and a uniformed guard comes in with another man in a cheap suit. He’s got black hair, gray at the temples, and a nose that’s too large for his face. There’s a coffee stain on his tie, and the crease in his imitation leather belt shows that he’s gained weight recently, having to move to the next hole. His walk is meant to be intimidating, but it looks practiced and stilted. He carries a single sheet of paper with a mugshot and two words printed largely across the top, Katherine Percle.

  “Miss Percle, so glad to see you’re alive and well.” The man sneers from across the table.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Elizabeth Turner.”

  “I see,” he says, spinning the mug shot of Kat to face us. “So, this is not you?”

  “Of course not,” she answers innocently. I’m surprised at her convincing performance.

  “This is ridiculous,” I say calmly. “Don’t we get a lawyer?”

  “Are you guilty of something?” He humphs and tugs at his collar.

  I suppress the urge to jump from my chair and break his nose with my forehead. As if sensing my hostility, the man straightens up, runs his skinny fingers down his necktie, and removes the smirk from his lips.

  “My name is Mr. Foreman. I am Operating Director of the DeConcini Port of Entry. This photo has been distributed to every border crossing since you skipped bail. I’ve had it on the wall in my office for five weeks now. I’ve seen it day in and day out, memorizing everything there is to know about it.” He slaps his hand over the paper, keeping his eyes on Kat. “Katherine Percle, wanted for the murder of Dennis Brady. Vanished January 29. Brown hair, blue eyes, five feet three inches tall, one hundred twenty-six pounds. You expect me to believe that this,” he points to the photo again, “is not you?”

  “Yes, because it’s the truth. That’s not me. I can see the resemblance, but that girl is what, twenty? I’m thirty next month. I’m flattered, bu
t you’re mistaken.”

  Foreman frowns and shakes his head.

  “Who are you?” he asks me.

  “Lucas Turner.”

  “I know what your passport says, but who are you really?”

  “Lucas Turner,” I answer again.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. The graying hair at his temples juts out like feathers on a bird.

  “Our entire network was shut down this morning for an upgrade and our I.T. department is working on expediting that. I’m sure we’ll get all the answers we need once our system gets back up and running.”

  “Sir, you’ve made a terrible mistake. We’re just going on vacation,” Kat pleads.

  “Fine!” Foreman yells, slamming his hand onto the table. “You want to play games? You want to keep up this little charade you’ve got going? We’ll see how you do once I separate you.” He motions for the guard to come forward. “Bring her to holding room three. I’ll keep Mr. Turner here with me.”

  I see Kat stiffen next to me and hear a tiny whimper escape her lips. I finally meet her eyes and cringe at what I find there—desperation, hopelessness. The guard pulls Kat through the door and when it closes I feel suffocated and exposed, a wriggling worm on a big fucking hook. I know he’s toying with us, trying to catch us in a lie.

  “You know, you’ll go to prison for aiding and abetting,” Foreman says.

  “I know you think my wife is that girl, but you’re wrong.”

  “We’ll see,” he says sneering. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Then, I’ll go ask your wife,” he emphasizes the word wife by using those obnoxious air quotes, “the same questions. If your answers match, I may be more inclined to believe you.”

  “Great, let’s get started,” I say.

  Foreman pulls a ballpoint pen from his inner jacket pocket and begins his questioning.

  “Do you have children?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are their names?” he asks, tilting his head and waiting for my answer.