by Tricia Goyer
“Ally?” Her voice was no more than a squeak. A mix of sadness, worry, and confusion filled her face.
Me . . . she wants advice from me?
Allyson looked around. She lifted her small purse and waved it. She’d been carrying it around all night. It was as if she was on a runaway train—one she didn’t know why she’d gotten on in the first place. But she had no ideas. No answers. “I—I don’t . . .”
Not waiting for her answer, Sondra moved and paced for the alley.
She carried her purse like a clipboard, and her straight-back stance was the same one Allyson had seen her take as she strode into meetings for the Women’s Missionary Union.
“Okay, ladies, follow me,” Sondra called out. “Back door.”
Relief flooded Allyson. Someone with an answer. She didn’t know if it was the right answer, but at least they were moving again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sondra breathed out slowly feeling a little light in the head.
Walking into the tattoo parlor with the lava lamps, the abstract art, the incense smell, and the psychedelic music that was like a low hum in the background took her back to her teen years. Just standing in there she felt young again. Stupid. She remembered how she’d worked so hard to fit in. And where had it got her? In a lot of trouble. Well, not a lot according to the authorities or anything, but she had made choices by following the crowd that she knew better.
Sondra walked with determined steps toward the alley. Being in the tattoo parlor had made her feel eighteen again, which was probably close to Bridget’s age. What would she have done if she’d had a baby then? She shook her head slightly not wanting to picture it. Considering that, she knew Bridget was trying. She knew she cared for her son . . . and the baby was in trouble. That was a mission worth walking down a dark alley for. She just prayed that nothing would jump out at them . . . or rather, no one.
Dear Lord. . . here we go . . . she prayed silently.
She rounded the corner and noticed how disgusting it really was. It was as if the people in these buildings had been dumping their junk there for years. There was old tires, shopping carts filled with who-knows-what, piles of soiled bedding, and garbage bags that had been torn open and scattered—by creatures that she didn’t want to think about.
Graffiti covered the wall, which meant that human creatures had been down that way too. Hopefully they weren’t there now. And . . . she hoped they wouldn’t show up.
Sondra lifted her head slightly as she continued on. The other women followed her tentatively. Even Bridget held back a little, as if wondering if this was the best idea.
Sondra did her best to navigate around trash cans, cardboard boxes . . . foreign, sticky substances . . . She didn’t want to know what that was.
The women were quiet, watchful, as they walked.
A horrible stench rose up the farther they walked. Sondra resisted the urge to cover her nose and mouth. From somewhere in the distance a fireman’s siren blared. Sondra breathed in and out in measured breaths, the same way that she’d learned to do in Lamaze when Zoe was born.
She stepped over a puddle of something-that-wasn’t-rainwater and almost laughed to herself thinking what Mattie Mae Lloyd would think to see her here now. Something else to add to that list for the prayer chain.
Sondra brushed her hair out of her face. She accidentally kicked a small, metal trash can and it made a loud bang, causing her to jump. “Oh!”
She pointed to a pile of trash. “Careful there.”
“Eewww . . .” Allyson said.
She scooted by a shopping cart and tried not to gag. “Don’t touch that.” Sondra pointed out. “It has hair in it.”
A small squeak sounded behind her, and she was sure it came from Allyson. “Oh, wow. Oh, germs. Germs everywhere!” Allyson said in alarm.
Sondra led them along, and finally stopped beside a peeling wooden door with a rusty handle. From the position of the door in relation to the building she guessed that this was the one from the tattoo parlor.
Sondra reached for it and pulled. It moved just an inch or two and stopped. Locked. She wiggled it harder, but nothing worked. It didn’t budge.
Suddenly she wondered what she was doing. She didn’t know anything about this Bones guy. She didn’t know how he’d respond to someone in the alley. She didn’t know what he was hiding behind that curtain. Whatever it was it most likely wasn’t good.
Sondra turned. “This is a bad idea.”
She moved toward the street, and she didn’t have to tell Allyson that they needed to get out of there. Ally darted toward the street, as if wanting to get there first.
But it was Bridget, the youngest, the one with the most in the game who rushed forward back toward the door.
“Oh, no, no, no. We need to get to the bottom of this. I have to find my son!” She rushed forward, pounding on the door with her open palm—hard, fast. It was clear she believed that the answer to finding her little boy was on the other side of that door.
“Open this door! Open it—”
There was a loud squeak and the door jerked open. Bridget jumped back, hands in the air. She cried out in fear and Sondra found herself crying out too. All of them did.
A large form filled the doorway. A dark shadow. A man jumped out, carrying a double barrel shot gun. He wore a black leather vest with patches, a black bandana on his head. He was beefy and every inch that wasn’t covered with ink was covered with hair. He bellowed.
“I ain’t got money back here so turn yourselves around—” he bellowed. Then, seeing the women standing there, his look of dominance and terror turned to one of curiosity.
Instead of shrinking back, Bridget smiled and stretched out her arms. “Bones! It’s me, Bridget.”
Before her eyes the Big Bad Wolf turned to Santa Claus. He reached for her, and Bridget threw herself into his arms.
It took all of Bridget’s reach to wrap around his waist. Bones pulled her in tight, and Sondra’s eyes rimmed with tears. This is better than a Hallmark commercial.
Pressed into his leather vest, Bridget’s smile was squished lopsided.
“Bridget? Hey, Baby Girl!” Bone’s voice takes on a fatherly tone.
Bridget’s hand splayed open on his chest and for the first time Sondra noticed that Bridget’s fingernails were painted different colors. Pink, green, black . . . they were all different colors. A lump grew in Sondra’s throat. She was so young, so . . . needy. From the way she allowed herself to fall into Bone’s hug, it was clear that Bridget was just looking for someone to care for her. And in her longing she found herself to be a mom. A mom who didn’t know where her son was.
“What are you doing back here?” Bones asked.
“I’m just here to get Phoenix.” She patted Bone’s chest and then pulled herself back and looked up at him. Taking another step back, Bridget looked around his large frame, as if trying to peek in the door behind him.
“Where is he? Joey said he dropped him off with you . . .”
Sondra peeked in. The walls were painted green and pictures of tattoos were pinned onto the wall. There was a lounging chair and other things set up for tattooing. She guessed it was the penthouse of the tattoo shop.
Bones nodded. “Yeah, yeah, he did.”
Bridget glanced back at the women, and Sondra could see a look of hope in the young mom’s gaze.
“Man, I love that kid,” Bones continued. “Do you ever notice how he snorts when he starts to laugh? He’s adorable, he really is.”
Then, as quickly as he started talk about Phoenix he switched his attention and turned to Sondra. He leaned forward and pointed.
“Have I seen you before?” he snapped.
Sondra’s blood turned to ice water in her veins. She’d been around many guys like him before. She’d allowed herself to go into places where characters like this hung out. She had stories. A library of stories held within. Locked up with a lock and key stronger than the lock that had kept Bone’s back door s
hut.
Of course she couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t tell these ladies that. She couldn’t give it away.
Sondra’s jaw dropped, and she narrowed her gaze. “My husband’s the pastor of First Baptist.” She tried to keep her voice as even as possible. She lowered her head and looked up at him from under her lashes.
“Nah, that’s not it.” He shook his head and then turned back to Bridget as if he’d kept one train of thought the whole time.
Regret filled his face. “I can’t go more than an hour without a smoke. Awful habit. I also know you should not do that around a baby,” he said, trying to explain.
Then, in the next breath, he looked back to Sondra again.
“Bonnaroo?” Bones asked.
Sondra knew of that place. It was a music festival in Tennessee, not too far away. She’d heard stories of the music, the drinking, and the out-of-control fans. She’d never been there and it was a place she definitely didn’t want Zoe to go to.
The other women chuckled under their breath, obviously trying to picture that.
“No.” She shook her head again slowly and tried to give him a warning look. He really didn’t need to keep prodding.
“Hmm . . . Could’a sworn—” He bit his fist.
He paused to think for a minute.
Bridget waved her hands in front of his face, trying to snap him out of it.
“Bones! My Baby!?!”
“Anyways,” he continued. “I called Caprice to take him until Joey gets back.”
Bridget stared up at him, disbelieving. She ran her fingers through her hair. There was anger reflected on her face. Anger that was different—even from the anger that she had toward Joey. If steam could come out of Bridget’s ears, Sondra bet it would.
“Caprice Stephens?” Bridget spit out the name. Then she forced a smile and softly pounded Bone’s chests with two fists. “Joey’s ex.” A hard chuckle escaped her lips.
“It’s okay. She don’t smoke.” Bones said, as if his explanation made complete logic. “She’s a nonsmoker.”
Bridget turned and headed down the alley even before Bone’s finished. She walked with quick steps, angry steps. She didn’t even care where she was going and kicked a pile of trash to the side.
“Do you need her address?” Bones called after her.
Bridget paused, and swung around with ferocity. Her hair flipped over her shoulder, and her face was scrunched up with anger. “No, I know where she lives!”
Allyson rushed after Bridget, and then Sondra followed with Izzy by her side.
Sondra turned to look back over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
She stepped carefully as she moved through the mess, and she could feel Bone’s eyes on them as he watched them go.
“You ladies should stay out of alleys, now. There are some unsavory types of fellers who hang out back here,” he called out with concern.
After all these years Sondra had never thought she’d find herself back in a place like this. It was a night of surprises and rediscovery, to be certain. She just hoped that next stop was to discover Phoenix . . . and now that they knew who had him they should have no problem finding the young boy. Right?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bridget stormed up the steps of the ramshackle house and pounded on the door. “Open this door, now!” The wood of the door was unyielding, and she pounded harder.
Pain shot through her knuckles. Pain pierced her heart. If anything happened to Phoenix, she didn’t know what she’d do—how she’d ever forgive herself. She shouldn’t have trusted Joey. This wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed her. He’d been so handsome and so charming when they’d first met. He’d listened as she’d told him about the trouble with her parents. How she never felt she’d ever live up to their standards. He told her he understood. He told her he loved her. And as soon as she found out she was pregnant he was gone—out of the picture.
He’d come back, of course, just long enough to get her hopes up. All she wanted was a happy family like Sean and Ally had. She didn’t want Phoenix to have to grow up without a mom and dad in the home, but now Joey had done this . . . had passed off his responsibility to someone else. And then Bones had passed off sweet Phoenix to Caprice—the person who Joey had started dating after her.
“Open up! Let me in!” Bridget shouted. Ally joined her, helping in the pounding. Sondra and Izzy stood a few steps behind them, providing backup she supposed.
Behind her the cabbie called out. “Hey!”
Bridget turned to see what he wanted.
“Hey, what’s going on, love?” The cabbie walked up to the end of the sidewalk. He stretched out his arms toward them. Behind him the taxi was still running. The light bar on the top of the taxi glowed—one of the few lights on the darkened street. The meter was still running too. “Would someone please . . . communicate with me?” He approached the steps of the house.
All four women stood with Bridget on the porch. Bridget was about to call back to him that they were just going to pick up Phoenix, and then they’d be out of there, but she heard the sound of footsteps and then the door squeaking open. She turned back around.
A disheveled-looking guy dressed in a black undershirt, wearing a worn ball cap opened the door. His eyes were blurry, looking like he had just woke up from a nap. Bridget recognized him immediately. It was Caprice’s new man, Hank.
He leaned against the doorjamb with one hand. “Hey, what’s your problem?”
Bridget crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s Caprice?”
“She went out, man.” He shook his head.
Bridget bit her lower lip. The tension building within her had eased as they’d pulled up. Phoenix had seemed within arm’s reach, but now the agony came back in a wave.
“Went out where?” Her throat felt tight and she pushed the words out.
His eyes were only half-open. “She didn’t say. Who are you?”
Ally leaned forward. “We are here to pick up baby Phoenix, my nephew.”
“My son!” Bridget’s knees grew soft.
Hank wiped his nose and just stared at them, acting as if they were images on a television show he was watching. Bridget balled up her fists, about to come unglued.
“Ah, right, right, right. Your baby has been screaming his lungs out. Yeah.”
Bridget’s hard quickened its beat. “What, what do you mean? Why? Is he okay? What happened?”
Allyson leaned forward next to Bridget. Bridget found comfort in her nearness. “Where did she go?” Allyson demanded.
Hank’s eyes widened. “I told you, I don’t know.”
Bridget pointed at him. “Let me in there. Let me in . . .” She rushed him, fury raging within her. He was thin and didn’t look very steady on his feet. She was sure she could rush past him. Sure she could knock him down. She lowered her shoulder slightly, ready to plow him over.
Bridget tried to burst past him into the house.
“Let me in!” Hank was stronger than he looked, pushing her back with more force than she expected.
Allyson’s grip pulled her back gently. Bridget stumbled back, and she practically ran into Cabbie. He strode up like a Knight from the Roundtable, but instead of wearing a suit of armor he wore a dark blue polo shirt and his brown fedora hat.
Cabbie moved past Bridget with a determination she didn’t expect. “Let me handle this, girls. Let me handle this.” He approached and looked Hank up and down.
“Ha, ha, ha. You . . .” Cabbie jutted out his chin and stretched out his hands toward him. “Look at you. You pathetic primitive. You leech on society. You, that represents everything that’s wrong with the American economy.” He wagged his finger, emphasizing each word.
Hank looked down at himself, as if trying to figure out what those words meant.
Sondra looked at Bridget and lifted her eyebrows, as if she was also trying to figure out what this had to do with anything. Bridget just stood there, thankful to have him—someone—sticking up for he
r. And waiting to see how it was all going to play out.
Cabbie motioned to Hank again, continuing. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Listen closely. In three seconds you’re—”
Hank didn’t let him finish. Instead the door slammed shut.
Cabbie’s head jerked back in surprise.
Bridget didn’t know what to think, what to do. Did that just happen? Did Hank just have the nerve to slam the door on them?
The cabbie stepped back up to the door, knocking on it again with his knuckles. From behind him she saw that the back of his neck was red, and she assumed that his face was the same color.
“Hey open the door!” Cabbie called out. “I don’t like that.” He pounded harder. “Would you please open the door?”
Would you please? She couldn’t help but snicker. He had to be British for sure. This was no fake accent to get a better tip. She tried to imagine what Bones would be saying, would be doing. He wouldn’t be saying, “Would you please.”
The words barely rolled out of Cabbie’s mouth when the door swung open and a punch came from nowhere. A sharp right hook, right to Cabbie’s nose.
The sound of fist on face was loud, and Cabbie’s head jerked back, and then he stumbled backward. All four of them rushed to him. Bridget grasped his back, trying to push him forward so he wouldn’t tumble, and realizing he smelled of Old Spice and gasoline.
The door slammed shut again, and she heard a lock clicking shut. They had no choice. They weren’t going to get any help from Hank. Bridget knew there was only one person who could help her now . . . Bones.
Hank had said Phoenix had been crying. He hardly ever cried. He was such a good baby. He was such a sweet baby . . . was he okay? Where had Caprice taken him? Did she have his car seat? Was he safe?
They turned and hurried to the taxi. “We need to go get Bones. We need to bring him here . . . he’s the only one who can help. Can we hurry?” Bridget pleaded, turning to the taxi driver. That’s when she saw it . . . blood on the hand that covered his nose.