by J. Bengtsson
“Good night, Emma.”
As I turned back toward the hotel, I held the car keys over my shoulder and clicked the alarm button on.
“Wait – are you locking me in?”
His question projected through the small opening in the window.
“I’m protecting you.”
“Oh, because it really seems like you’re locking me in. Are you at least going to leave the keys?”
“And let you steal my car? I don’t think so.”
“Really, Emma?”
“What? If there’s an emergency, you can still open the doors.”
“And I’ll set off the alarm and get arrested. Remember you promised me earlier today that I wouldn’t go to jail. And what if I need to take a piss?”
“Stick it out the window.” I shrugged, trying to keep the amusement off my face.
“You didn’t give me a big enough crack.” Finn grinned.
“Oh, right.”
“You see where I was going with that?”
“Ah, yes.” I nodded, smiling. “The big dick reference.”
“Just say the word, and all this could be yours,” he said holding his arms to the side.
I pushed the key through the crack. “If you steal my ride, I’ll hunt you down.”
I missed him. How weird was that? A chill rattled my body, and as I went to turn down the air conditioner, I glanced around the room at all the nothingness. Precision tucked sheets, perfectly fluffed pillows, and bleach-white towels double-layered on the rack. Quiet, cold, uninviting. When I’d checked in earlier in the day, I hadn’t noticed its anemic frostiness, but now it was glaringly obvious… this room was as sterile and rigid as I was. How had I become so bland? I never wanted this. When I’d made the decision all those years ago to live my life alone, it didn’t mean I had to bundle myself up into a box and stop feeling. A well of regret bubbled up as sadness enveloped me. Why was I like this? When had the color faded from my world? And what had changed since I’d walked through these doors earlier in the day?
The tiniest little spark had ignited my spirit. It would be easy to say it was Finn who’d awakened me, and in a way he had, but when it came right down to it, I gave the credit to a sparkling, spinning wheel in the sky. As stupid as it sounded, that moment, suspended high above the ground in a rickety basket with the arms of a patient man wrapped around me… I’d seen the light. Sure, I’d been afraid – petrified, even – but that wasn’t the only emotion I’d felt. The pounding heart, the thrill… I felt alive, really, truly alive for the first time since caution had blanketed my potential all those years ago.
Still, I knew my limit, and Finn, with all his sweet, sexy charm, was it. He was the affable guy I avoided at all costs, and for good reason. I could already feel the difference with him and not just on a physical level. Our chemistry was undeniably electric, but that wasn’t what concerned me. No, it was the fact that after only a few hours of knowing him, I’d inexplicably introduced Finn to my real self, flaws and all. And he hadn’t shied away. He even seemed to welcome my quirks. How was that possible? And why was I suddenly feeling so cold and alone without him?
Maybe I should invite him up. It seemed stupid for him to be sleeping in my car when I had a perfectly good couch to crash on. I could control my desires. I’d been doing it all my life. Except Finn radiated heat… hot, sweaty heat. And although I knew he could warm me up, I also knew he had the ability to make me fall hard for him, and that terrified me. I absolutely could not lower my guard around him. No sex with Finn. Ever.
Peering out the window, I wondered what he was doing now. Was he too hot? Did he have enough air? Was he uncomfortable? I imagined those long legs of his folded up against the glove compartment. This was ridiculous. We were adults and could repress our lust for one night so Finn could at least be comfortable. I could just go down there and lay it out for him. Friends. That’s all I’d allow us to be. I’d be clear with my intentions, and let the choice be his of whether that was enough for him. That way he could have a good night’s sleep, I could remain a barren maiden, and the room would instantly warm with his welcome companionship.
With that in mind, I slipped on my shoes and headed back out the door.
Travis, one of Jake’s security guys, was sitting on a chair beside the elevator.
“You pulled the night shift, huh? That sucks,” I said. “You catch any runners?”
“Not yet. We had a few who tried the stairs, but they didn’t get far. Where are you going at two in the morning?”
The elevator door opened and I stepped in. “None of your business.” I smiled. “And I’ll be back soon, with a friend. You better not say a word.”
“You insult me.” Travis grinned. “I’m a professional.”
“I know that. I’m just asking you to be a quiet professional.”
The glowing light emanating from inside my car told me Finn was still awake. I crept up slowly, determined to give his heart a little extra excitement.
Bang. Bang. Bang. I transformed my voice into a menacing growl as I smacked my hands on the hood of the car.
“Holy shit!” Finn screamed, shooting up in his seat, his eyes awash in fear and confusion, and it took him a moment to recognize that it was me staring at him through the slats of the window.
“It’s just me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I laughed.
“Oh, my god! What the hell? That wasn’t funny. I almost shit my pants. I’m not kidding.”
Okay, that was a stupid move – the poor guy. But then my eyes narrowed in on the phone in his hand, or more precisely, the picture on the screen, and I lost all sympathy for him. Apparently Finn was looking at a picture of me: a close-up of my eyes, magnified in full color, from the selfie we’d taken.
“I was just… uh…,” Finn stumbled over his words as he desperately tried to find the power button. It was so easy under normal circumstances, but now, when his life seemed to depend on it, Finn hopelessly fumbled with his device until it finally, and mercifully, went black.
“Please tell me you weren’t rubbing it out in my car?” I asked. Grossly enough, I was almost flattered.
“No, I … no.”
“Relax, I’m kidding. Your hands are in the safe zone. What were you doing with my picture anyway?”
“I was looking at it. What do you think I was doing? And don’t say spanking the monkey because I wasn’t. If there is one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you don’t like messes – oh and you seem to be a bloodhound when it comes to germs and bodily functions, so the last thing I was going to do was jack off in your car.”
“Do you like my eyes, Finn?” I teased, batting my lashes for him.
“Shut up. Leave me alone. I haven’t forgiven you yet. You scared the living hell out of me,” he said, exhaling with relief.
“Sorry. Let me make it up to you?”
“Let me guess – you’re going to get me Super Bowl tickets?”
“No. But I probably could.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
We stared at one another in amusement.
“How would you like to trade your current digs for the comforts of my hotel couch?”
Grabbing his backpack, Finn was out the door in a split second and jogging for the entrance to the hotel.
“You coming?” he called over his shoulder. I laughed as I ran up to him and snagged my keys out of his hand. Finn playfully grabbed me and pulled me in tight to his body. It had been his signature move all night, and I was digging his aggressiveness. Breathing heavily, we took in one another with the same intensity that had surprised me earlier in the night. The two of us together were smoldering, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. This was a different level of lust, something I’d never experienced. I had to be exceedingly careful tonight, or Finn would steal my heart right out from under me. I pushed him away.
“There are rules to my offer. Despite our little make-out sessions, Finn, I have no intention of sleeping with you, so if
you come upstairs with me, tonight will be entirely platonic.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” He grinned.
“Finn?” I narrowed my eyes in warning.
“What?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” He protested.
“All hopeful. I promise, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“Relax. I’ll take what I can get. I don’t mean to complain about your first offer, but your gearshift kept going up my ass.”
Laughing, I aimed my keys at the car and locked it.
“You’re not going to roll up the windows?”
“Nah, I need to air it out,” I replied, crinkling my nose in a display of disgust.
“Again, no jizz was expelled into your vehicle tonight. Let it go.”
“So sensitive. Anyway, I just want to reiterate once more, in case you weren’t listening the first time: when I said couch, I meant it. That golden ticket of yours did not include sex with the bearer. Are we clear?”
“Can I at least kiss you?” he asked, playfully hovering his lips over mine without actually making contact. A slight tremor fluttered through me. Finn’s presence was driving me wild. I was making a huge goddamn mistake.
“I think we need to keep it professional.”
“Professional?” Finn sized me up. “There’s not one damn thing that’s professional about what’s going on between us.”
“Do you want to go back to the car?” I asked, like a parent scolding a child.
“No.”
“Then behave.”
“Fine.”
He held on a moment longer before loosening his grip and allowing me to roll out of his embrace. I led him through the lobby and up the elevator.
“What floor?” he asked.
“The top.”
“Uh huh.” He nodded, grinning.
Travis looked up when the door opened, but I didn’t make eye contact. I knew he was smirking inside, so I didn’t need to add fuel to the fire. I saw Finn’s confused reaction to the security guy, and when we were far enough away, he asked, “What’s with the guy at the elevator?”
Not knowing how to respond, I just ignored the question.
“Do you know him?” Finn continued, pressing for answers.
“He’s security.”
“For what?”
“Musicians staying at the hotel, I guess.”
“On this floor?” Finn asked, looking around with interest. “Like who?”
“I don’t… you know, anyway, you can put your stuff down over there.”
He shot me a quizzical look, but didn’t press. Another question I’d left hanging. He had to be confused as hell. I needed to tell him about Jake, but for some reason, I’d always found it an awkward conversation to have. “Hi my name is Emma, and my brother is Jake McKallister… yes, THAT Jake McKallister.” Although at the same time, the longer I waited, the weirder it would get for the both of us.
“This is an expensive room on a nurse’s salary,” Finn said, fishing for clues. “Don’t you think?”
I shrugged.
“I mean, before Richie and I decided to camp out on his friend’s floor, we’d checked into renting a hotel room. One of these suite-style abodes was a couple grand for the weekend.”
“Oh, yeah? Huh.”
“Come on, Emma. What are you hiding from me?”
I ignored his question and pointed at the couch. “Your bed.”
“Awesome,” he nodded. “Would you mind if I showered first?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
13
Emma, 2004: Remember Me
The phone call came one day shy of five weeks. I was in the kitchen with Quinn and Grace when it happened. A few minutes before the ringing began, Mom had entered with Kyle. Although nowhere near the woman she was before the kidnapping, Mom was at least making an effort to show some emotion toward the rest of her children.
“Mommy!” Grace cried out, excitedly jumping from her chair and throwing herself onto our mother’s wilted body. My sister had been struggling for weeks now with the lack of attention. I did my best to cuddle and soothe her when the situation demanded, which honestly felt like a lot for a kid her age. Although, to be fair, I wasn’t exactly the snuggly type to begin with, and I found myself pushing her away when she got too needy. Still, I wanted this so badly for Grace. All she craved was a little loving. My stomach tightened as the scene played out in front of me, and I silently prayed my mother would show her even the slightest bit of interest. To her credit, she bent down and hugged her youngest child.
“Oh, Mommy, Mommy, I missed you,” Grace said, cooing as she burrowed herself in deeper. Tears immediately filled my mother’s eyes. At least she seemed to understand her neglectful behavior was horribly impacting the lives of her other children. Grace lifted her arms, begging to be held, but that was where Mom drew the line.
“No,” she whispered. “Mommy doesn’t have the strength to pick you up right now. Go sit back down.”
I watched her pat Grace’s head and then turn away. Confusion and hurt skipped across my sister’s face, freezing my heart. I grabbed her hand and led her back to the table. By the time Grace climbed into her chair, tears were rolling down her face. I worried about my sister. How could she ever mature into a strong, secure woman without the support of the one person she needed most?
Quinn caught my eye and rolled his. I smiled sympathetically in his direction, and he groaned before dramatically burying his head in his outstretched arm. Six years old and he was quickly becoming as jaded as the rest of us. Mom glanced in his direction, studied him a moment, and visibly winced. I wondered if Quinn registered the visceral reaction his resemblance to Jake was inciting in the rest of us. Did he read it as something it wasn’t?
After Mom’s heartless declaration of Jake’s unconfirmed death, Quinn had changed, and although I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, the difference in him troubled me. It was as if he’d grown up overnight, and I feared his quick upbringing wasn’t going to serve him well in the future. Still, his newfound maturity certainly made things easier on me. Quinn was becoming more self-sufficient every day and seemed to understand that the new house rules did not favor him. He no longer sought attention, having perhaps learned that there was none to be had. The innocence that once shone bright on his adorable little face seemed shaken. It was clear to me that his stoic exterior was all for show. With Quinn, more than any of my other traumatized siblings, I cursed myself for not having the emotional maturity to soothe him. Maybe it was his resemblance to Jake that made me want to save him; or maybe, just maybe, he was the only one of us that could actually be saved.
“Is there any extra food for Kyle?” Mom asked.
Refusing to make eye contact with her, I nodded and grabbed the bag of bread I’d bought earlier at the store.
“I’ll make it,” she said, her hands trembling as she reached for the loaf.
“It’s okay, I’ll do it,” I answered in a clipped tone. The last thing I wanted was my mother’s help. It was too little, too late. I understood she was struggling, and I wanted to feel sympathy for her, but I just couldn’t. My anger toward her ran too deep.
“Emma, I got it,” she said, grazing my hand. I startled at her touch. It had been so long since I’d felt it. We stared at each other a moment, and the pain in her eyes gave me pause.
“Okay.” I stepped away and slumped back down in my chair beside Quinn and Grace.
While Kyle stared down at his bare feet, Mom wordlessly prepared his lunch. Gone was the wild, attention-seeking brat I loved to hate; in his place was a kid I hardly recognized. With his shaved head and oversized clothing, he looked more like the survivor of an apocalypse than a Southern California skater boy. Sadness seeped from his every pore. Looking at him reminded me of all we’d lost.
Mom motioned for Kyle to sit, and he obeyed robotically. She placed his lunch before him, and he just stared down at the food. “Eat,�
� Mom instructed, and again he followed orders. After Kyle’s excruciating cry for help last week, Mom had spent that entire night in his room with him. I didn’t know what was happening in there, but when the door finally opened the next day, a blurry-eyed Kyle made his way to the bathroom and washed the blood and filth off his depleted body. Mom shaved the remnants of his chopped hair away, patched him up, and forced food into his belly.
It was at least a start. Maybe Kyle could actually be revived. And maybe Mom was ready to resume being a mother. Hell, why stop there? It was my fantasy world, after all. Maybe Keith would get clean, and maybe Dad would stop his agonizing investigative work, and maybe, just maybe, Jake would find his way home. A lump formed in my throat. That was a lot of damn maybes.
Mom retreated to her perch at the kitchen island and leafed through a pathetically small folder of leads that the missing child hotline had brought in. The first two weeks after his disappearance, the folder had been brimming with possible clues; but now, over a month later, there was next to nothing left. The organized searches had been called off. The reporters were few and far between. Even the hotline had virtually dried up. People were beginning to forget about Jake, like he’d never existed. His disappearance, once a hot media topic throughout America, now generated nothing more than an occasional blurb in the local paper. To their credit, the FBI was still actively working the case, but the hordes of agents who’d once filled our home had been reduced to a trickle.
The ringing of the phone pierced through the steely quiet of the kitchen, startling Mom. She glanced up at me, as if I were expected to pick up the call, so I averted my eyes. I hated answering the phone now. It was always someone I didn’t want to talk to: intrusive reporters, nosy neighbors, or freeloaders attempting to benefit from our tragedy. Mom let it ring once, twice; and then, realizing that I wasn’t going to answer, walked over and scooped up the receiver.
“Hello?”
I could tell by the impatient look on her face that no one was on the other side. “Hello!” she repeated, and appeared ready to hang up when something caught her attention, and the expression on her face transformed. She held the phone out, possibly to check the number, and when she did, I could hear coughing on the other end of the line. Not a normal cough, like one would have with a common cold, but a wet, gurgling, coughing-up-a-lung-type cough.