Hard Focus

by MariaLisa deMora

  Delusional, she reminded herself. She didn’t belong to him, and she was stronger than he gave her credit for. Her father had raised her to believe in herself, and she knew there’d be no rescue from this. If I’m going to get out of here breathing, I have to be smarter than him. He’d asked her for something, and as long as she kept him focused on that instead of Cole, it might give her time to find a way out. “What do you want from me, Jonas?” That’s good, use his name. She knew she’d heard that tactic somewhere in the past, probably from her father as he talked through some situation at work. Personalize him and her, try to make sure he saw her as someone, not a thing that could be used and disposed of. She glanced at the shirt with the red on it again, suddenly convinced the slash of color wasn’t lipstick. The wound on her head and knife in his hand were proof of what Jonas was capable of. Kidnapper, rapist…murderer? What else has he done? “What do you need me to do?”

  “I need you to call my PO and tell him she got it wrong.” He shuffled and hooked his thumb into the waistband of his pants. Something was not right, off, because these weren’t Jonas’ mannerisms. He’d always been confident to the point of being cocky, not off-balance and uncertain. The change went along with his physical appearance, and together told her something significant had happened to drive him to the edge. “Because they’re talking about pulling my probation. I don’t want that. I won’t go back.” He tapped the tip of the blade against the edge of the dresser, and she watched as the sharp knife gouged into the wood with each blow. He ran his other hand through his hair again, gripping the back of his neck as he looked around the room, seeming surprised by what he saw. “I won’t. Never again, you hear me? I’ll die first.”

  She latched onto the potential lifeline he’d given out in the first part of his dialogue, and told him, “I’ll need my phone to call him. I’ll do whatever you need, Jonas. You tell me who to talk to, and I will.”

  Shaking his head, he straightened, his body posture changing again as he adopted a more aggressive bearing. “You’ll tell him about this, though, won’t you? That’ll ruin everything. You can’t, Connie. Don’t make me hurt you.” That last was accompanied by a quick thrust of the blade her direction and Connie found her focus fixed on the tip of the knife. “Don’t do it.”

  Oh, God. It was hard to swallow past the ball of terror in her throat, muscles working to clear the way for gulps of air. I need that phone. “I won’t, Jonas.” She shook her head, keeping her gaze steady on his face. Believe me, please. “You know me. When I tell you I’ll do something, I will. Just tell me what to say and I’ll say it. Only that. Nothing more.”

  “His name is Kent.” He turned and pawed through the items left on the tray, coming up with a cheap cell phone. “He’s an asshole. He’ll try to trip you up. He always tries. Doesn’t matter how good I do, he’s always watching for me to mess up. And if I don’t mess up, he’s looking for ways to make me.”

  His paranoia shook her, so different from the man she’d known. Did I really know him? “I won’t let him.” She cast around for something to reassure him with, coming up with a childish promise. “Cross my heart.”

  “And hope to die?” He laughed, the sound harsh and agonizing to listen to, the hard edges scraping along every nerve in her body. “Don’t wish for things like that. You never know when it’ll happen, do you?”

  The knife flashed in his hand, but she ignored it, staring at his face, holding his gaze trapped. He won’t kill me. Blood pounded in her ears, mimicking the ticking of time passing. He can’t. She prayed she was right. His own arrogance and the invention of a continued relationship between them meant she needed to be breathing for it to be true. But she knew that every moment she was captive in this room, in this house, was another opportunity for bad things to happen. “You won’t kill me, Jonas.” Connie kept her voice even, saturated with certainty. Please believe me. “I know you. When I tell him you’re doing good, it won’t even be a lie, will it? You are.” Push harder. She had to sell him on her honesty. The phone was right there, but she had to convince him to hand it over. She didn’t know what she would do, but having the phone in her hand would be another step closer to freedom. “Anyone can see you’re doing well, aren’t you? So well.”

  He snorted and took another step towards the bed. “I was, until she told him I wasn’t following the rules.” He shoved the phone in her direction then pulled it back abruptly, leaving her reaching into the open air. No. “You were part of the rules, you know?”

  “I was?” She shook her head, hand dropping to the bed. What does he mean? “Not that I’m aware of, but whatever you need, Jonas.” Keep him talking and keep him calm, she heard her father say. Always give them what they want, as long as they’ve got the upper hand.

  “Yeah. You were the court-appointed supervision.” He grinned suddenly, the broad spread of his mouth looking malevolent, dangerous. “I know people, and once I met you, I realized you were the answer to everything.”

  “What do you mean?” She reached for the phone again, and he dropped it into her outstretched palm. Her hands were so slippery with sweat she nearly dropped it, cradling it to her chest. Yes, she thought, followed immediately by, Now what? She couldn’t just dial the police, Jonas would never stand by and allow that. He’d already said he wouldn’t go back to jail, and if he saw her as the reason for that threat coming to roost, she didn’t know what he might do.

  Not privy to her internal debate, Jonas continued their conversation. “You’re on the papers. It’s why I need you to go with me so much so she won’t get suspicious.”

  She stared at him in shock. “But you didn’t even know me when that happened.” She’d run the timeline in her head a hundred times, and knew she was right. They’d met, but that was all. Had scarcely exchanged numbers.

  “I knew enough. Knew when I met you that it was a good match. You were strong, see? Strong and sure of yourself. Not like her. Afterwards I learned she’d been protected her whole life, her brothers watching out for her. Just like every other bitch out there. Made me right to want to strip that from her. I made her see what it was like for the rest of us who had to make their own way. You though?” He scoffed and twisted to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning in as if he were going to kiss her. Repulsed at the idea, Connie drew away instinctively. He scowled, his brows drawing together sharply, and she slowed her shift away but managed to avoid the caress, skin pebbling with goose bumps at the thought of his mouth on her. “You were too strong to make me feel that way. That’s why you were a good match.”

  “When you met me, when you first approached me, you didn’t know that, though, did you? You had no idea about me then.”

  “So? You’re pretty. Then we hung out, but you didn’t take any crap. There was a guy who backed into you, stepped on your foot.” Connie wracked her brain, but couldn’t remember the interaction, one of a thousand over the years of dancing in crowded clubs. “He tried to tell you to watch yourself and you shut him down.” There was admiration in his tone and he smiled at her, that awful, unnatural expression resurfacing. “I knew. That’s all it took, and I knew.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s to understand.” He reached for her face, dragging the ragged edges of his bitten nails down her cheek, scoring tiny scratches in her skin. The warped caress stung and burned, and Connie gasped in pain. His eyes changed, pupils dilating as he did it a second time, going back over already roughened skin.

  “Don’t.” Connie jerked away, and he lifted his top lip, bottom bowing in another one of his hideous smiles.

  “See? Even now, you can’t stop yourself.” He tipped his head to one side and looked down at the hand he had propped on the bed. She followed his gaze and saw the knife in his hand, fingers white around the handle. “I hold all the cards, and you won’t let me do a thing past what you’re willing to take.” She moved and the chain rattled. Without shifting his eyes, he snorted and said, “Except that, but you couldn’t argue then.”
He jerked and sat upright, startling a cry out of her at his abrupt movement. “Call him.”

  “I-I—” She cleared her throat and looked at the phone. There was a bright red Emergency Call button at the corner of the screen and her thumb hovered over it for a moment. “I don’t know the number.” Jonas rattled off a string of digits she assumed made up his PO’s number. “Okay.” Lifting the phone, she stared at his face, focusing on the tip of his ear as being the least dangerous. Everything was dangerous, sure, but if she could ride the edge of being aggressive enough to keep his violent tendencies in check without angering him irrevocably, she might get out of this alive. He could kill me. The knowledge chilled her and solidified her desire to get away. He really has gone crazy, she thought just before the ringing call connected, giving her a series of options. She pushed the one for the queue to talk to a real person.

  They sat like that for minutes while she listened to bad renditions of good songs. Connie felt floaty, as if she were untethered somehow. The entire situation seemed surreal and she wondered for a moment if this was a bad dream, hoping it was something she could awaken from and be surprised at how real it had seemed. She shifted and the manacle dug into her ankle, biting at her skin. Not dreaming.

  Jonas was patient and obviously had spent time waiting to talk to whoever was going to pick up the phone—Connie had already forgotten the name the recording had said, information lost in the fear of making a mistake—and Jonas tried to start a dozen conversations with her. Right or wrong, Connie ignored him as she would have before, focusing on the task at hand without allowing distractions.

  Finally, the quality of the call changed and she heard a click. Then a man’s low voice recited, “What’s your name, please?” sounding bored.

  “My name’s Connie Rowe, but I’m calling for Jonas Thompson.” How do I make him know? There were no obvious ways to direct the conversation to a place where she could tell this stranger he was her only lifeline. I should have thought of something. Instead of planning what to do, she’d listened to the hold music and tried to stay calm. I’ve screwed it all up.

  The tapping of keys marked another few seconds passing, then he asked, “The nature of your call, please.”

  “I…uh, need to tell you how well he’s doing. He said Audrey Stewart made a complaint. I’m supposed to tell you she got it wrong. All wrong.” Connie dug into her memory, trying to find the exact words Jonas had used. “I’m trying to make it right. He said I could make it right.”

  Silence, then the voice changed, alertness sharpening the tone until it pierced through her ears. “Miss Rowe, are you in danger?”

  Oh my God, it worked. Heart pounding, she swallowed and quickly responded, trying to mask the real meaning of her words with a repeat of Jonas’ lines for her. “Yes, that’s what I need to tell you. Just that she got it wrong.”

  “Is Thompson there with you?”

  Yes, he is. Help me, please. The screams in her head never made it past her lips. Connie kept her voice steady and prayed the man would ask questions she could answer without Jonas catching on. “He doesn’t need to go back. He’s doing well. I’m trying to make it right.” She didn’t know what secret phrase would tell him exactly where she was, so she stuck to the tiny script Jonas had laid out for her. “Can you take care of that for me?”

  “Miss Rowe, I’ve got his address. Can you tell me if that’s where you are?”

  Yes. That was the right question. “Yes, that’s exactly right.” She stumbled in her delivery, but Jonas didn’t react. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Okay, I’ve got the info.” His voice moved away from the phone, and he called someone’s name urgently, then she heard him say, “Get the cops there. Jonas Thompson is holding a woman. I’m on the phone with her.” Louder, he asked, “Miss Rowe, are you injured?”

  Shocked at his ingenuity, she tried to craft a coherent answer. “That would be perfect. Yes, it’s been quite a headache for him.”

  “Roll an ambulance, too,” he said to whoever he was talking to. “Stay on the phone with me, ma’am. Long as you can. I’m here. Is there anyone else in the home? Is the child there?”

  “How nice.” She smiled and nodded at Jonas who stared at her, impatience twisting his features. Brows drawn together again, his face was dark. Just another few seconds. “She is a lovely little girl. I can’t wait to see her again.” Please, God, let this work.

  “Come on, Connie.” Jonas held his hand out. “Wrap it up.”

  “Is that Thompson?” The man’s voice gained more urgency. “Tell him I want to talk to him.”

  “Are you sure? That seems like a lot to ask.” Connie felt her lips tremble and pressed them together tightly. “It would be greatly appreciated, but I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “Connie.” Jonas shifted on the bed, balancing the tang of the knife on his leg. He started digging in his pocket, finally coming with a small bundle of keys. He placed them on the covers between them. “Thank you.”

  “Yes. Let me talk to him.”

  The combination of the man’s insistence against the bizarreness of Jonas thanking her had Connie speechless. She held out the phone, studiously not looking at the keys she hoped were for the shackle around her ankle. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “My PO? Why?” Jonas reached for the phone just as Connie heard the first faint wail of police sirens in the distance. “Hello?”

  She palmed the keys, not willing to try them yet, not with Jonas right here. She listened to the one-sided conversation, and it sounded as if the man on the phone was repeating all the right things, keeping Jonas on the phone and engaged. Away from me. The sirens had cut off before they got too loud, and she wasn’t certain Jonas even noticed them. He was staring down at the comforter, tracing the stitching with the tip of the knife, picking at threads that were loosening, the blade making tiny “ting” noises each time he clipped through the fibers. He was destroying the comforter without even realizing what he was doing, so focused was he on the man speaking into his ear.

  Loud static blared outside, then an amplified voice echoed through the house. “Jonas Thompson.”

  He lifted his head and stared directly at her, phone still held to his ear. “What did you do?” She could hear shouts from the phone’s speaker before he stood and threw it sidearm at the wall, plastic and electronics splintering and exploding from the impact. Connie flinched and curled in on herself when he roared, “What did you do?”

  The male voice boomed from outside, commanding in tone. “Jonas Thompson, we need to talk to you.”

  With stuttering movements, he stood and swiveled towards the front of the house, head cocked to one side. With one eye on Jonas, Connie worked the keys through her fingers silently, feeling the edges. Two of the keys seemed to be the same, while the third was slightly larger, thicker. Jonas took a step away from the bed, and she held her leg still, kept the chain from rattling as she slid her body closer, bending her knee while she reached for the shackle. He was at the bedroom door by the time she got her fingers on the metal ring, seeking a space that would accommodate any of the keys in her hand.

  “Jonas, we just want to talk.”

  The door creaked as it opened, a noise she recognized. It was something he’d joked about, saying he wouldn’t oil it because the sound would alert him if she was trying to get away. Get away. Connie shook, fumbling as she dug her fingernail into the opening she found in the metal ring. I’ve got to get away. The key slotted into place, and she gasped in relief when it turned easily, a metallic snick of sound accompanying the movement as the contraption opened wide, releasing her.

  “Is Miss Rowe with you? Is she okay, Jonas?”

  He turned and looked at her, a comical expression of surprise on his face, heavy brows pulling together in confusion. She realized his question previously had been for the nameless man on the phone, never grasping she’d been the one to give him away. Comprehension dawned across his face, chased by the dark shadows of anger. Her st
omach dipped and she started to shake, trembling fingers dropping the keys to the floor. It took him only two long strides to be within grabbing distance, and slow to react, Connie tried to scramble away too late. She lost her balance and fell on her stomach, then clutched fruitlessly at the covers as she was drawn towards him across the bed by his grip on her bare ankle.

  “Please, Jonas. Let me go.” He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her arm behind her back, lifting and yanking until she was upright and dancing on her toes to get away from the pain. “Oww, that hurts. Jesus. Stop it. Jonas.”

  His grip eased slightly. “It was you.”

  “Jonas, come talk to us.” The voice outside was relentless, droning on and on with demands she knew Jonas would never answer.

  “It was you.” He shouted in her ear, fingers tight around her wrist again. She tried to pull away and was yanked back with bruising force as he laid his forearm across her throat. “It was you.”

  “Jonas.” More projected words from the loudspeaker, ignored by Jonas as if it were no more irritating than a gnat.

  Blood pounded in her ears, the resonating thud blocking out much of what he said next. She only caught pieces, but it was enough to send her into a panic. “…weak women aren’t worth…why you were different…why would you do that…” I’ve got to get free. Connie used her nails on his arm, cutting bloody furrows through his skin. She felt a deep chill along her side, followed by white heat and brilliant pain that pushed far inside, like a running cramp that burrowed under her ribs. Breath rattled in her lungs, prevented from escaping, darkness edging into her vision and blurring it. Sweet relief as his grip relaxed and she drew the deepest breath she could, fighting to pull in air against the pain that stuck with her, grinding into her bones on that side.

  “Jonas, we don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Now the voice was coaxing, ready to bargain for any response at all.

  “Too late for that,” he muttered, and she heard the words with clarity, understanding finally what the pain was. She felt along her side and found the heavy handle jutting from her skin, like a body alteration she hadn’t remembered asking for. Oh my God. “Far too late.”