by Leanne Davis
A voice interrupted her. “Luna, dear, how are you? I’m Dr. Salib. I was on duty when you were brought in.” She spoke in a soft, lilting voice but it was soothing and sincere. “Nurse Linda said you were awake. How do you feel now?” Luna’s eyes fluttered open. The woman doctor appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent and perhaps in her mid-fifties. Luna’s eyes filled with tears at the concerned voice of the doctor. She smiled softly. “I’m sure this is a terrible shock.”
Luna nodded her head. “Eight people died?”
She smiled kindly. “Yes. But you and another man saved many others from the same fate from what I hear. You are the heroes of a terribly horrific event.”
Luna turned her head away. “I don’t feel like a hero.”
Dr. Salib nodded. “I know. But you are. And your foot will heal, and you’ll be okay. Your foot was pretty much shattered when you came in. We took you into surgery to pin the metatarsals and a couple phalanges, so you cannot put any weight at all on it for at least six weeks.”
Dr. Salib’s kind, confident tone instantly made Luna believe her. Comfortable with the doctor’s gentle bedside manner, she listened to the aftercare instructions with a wave of relief until the doctor asked, “Are you ready to speak to the detective waiting outside? She’s quite eager to get your statement.”
Fear made Luna’s gut recoil. No! Never! How could she repeat what she saw? Or what she heard? She couldn’t prevent the grisly images from flashing through her mind, but she didn’t want to call them up deliberately. Never! But when she saw the expectant looks of the medical staff, something told her it was important. Feeling cornered, she lied and said simply, “Okay.”
Dr. Salib stood up from the stool she’d been perched on. “Luna, would you like to call your family? Or friends? Nobody was listed in your records.”
“I’m pretty new to the area and I don’t really know anyone around here. Although I have met people, there’s no one I could call about this. My parents aren’t even in the country. They spend every winter in Cabo San Lucas. So, I’m afraid not. No, there is no one I need to call.”
Dr. Salib’s gaze softened with pity and sadness, something Luna instantly recognized and resented. She moved to River’s End to start a new life. She wanted to put down new roots. To start a new business. And lead an entirely new type of life. That wasn’t something to be pitied. It was exciting and new and adventurous. She planned to make new friends. She would soon have an entire crowd of new friends. By this time next year, she’d be an integral part of this town with plenty of close neighbors and friends. She’d already started cultivating them in the six short months since she arrived in town. She joined the community church. She sacrificed two of her Saturdays a month to help deliver sundries, clothing, and food to the local homeless shelters. She donated leftover food from the café. She’d even considered joining the ladies quilting society. Yes. The median age for the members was over sixty, and Luna didn’t know how to quilt, but she figured it would be a good place to begin a new hobby.
She was independent, self-sufficient, and intelligent; she was not anyone to be pitied. She wasn’t a freakish loner. No. She was simply new to town and hadn’t had a chance to become acquainted with the local population, but she absolutely intended to. Like any small town, River’s End was a tight-knit community, and the residents might have been a bit suspicious of new citizens. The woman who previously owned the café had it on the market for two years while she was waiting to retire. The townspeople could have embraced Luna when she bought the restaurant, if only because it allowed the seller to retire while keeping the café open. Luna made some slight changes to its interior and the menu without raising the prices. So, what the hell? How could anyone on the hospital staff feel sorry for her? No, God damn it.
Naturally, she didn’t elaborate on why she did not immediately call her parents, no matter if they were in orbit around the earth or sunning on the Mexican coast. It was odd, no, it was weird that their relationship did not require such news.
They had spent two years with no contact, only to reconnect in the few months before she moved to River’s End. It was tenuous at best. They had never understood her and she in turn didn’t understand them.
“You can send in the detective now.”
Dr. Salib squeezed Luna’s hand and left her side before a stern-faced, blonde detective entered. She saw sympathy in her gaze too, but also a cool, detached quality. Luna prepared her mind for her questions but was not expecting the methods of interrogation. The way the officer worded the questions and even how she asked them didn’t give any credence to Luna’s account of the events. It intimidated Luna into feeling she was somehow at fault, but it also reassured her. She believed this woman could handle the investigation completely by the book, and nothing would be screwed up by careless errors or procedures. When Luna finished her account of what happened and after she answered many questions, the detective said, “Your story matches that of other victims and witnesses. Including Jacob Starr’s.”
Luna startled at the revelation. That was the only moment when the detective let her guard down and addressed Luna with compassion. Nodding, Luna said, “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Castellanos. We’ll be in touch soon if we need anything more from you. I wish you a speedy recovery.” Turning on her heel, the detective left, and Luna winced when a sinking blackness washed over her. Alone in the hospital room, she felt trapped. Left on her own. Abandoned. She longed to reach out to someone, anyone, but her pride and shame at being alone kept her quiet. She would not wallow in a pity party. Closing her eyes as fresh tears filled them, she hoped sleep would take her into a soft darkness of peace. She was so tired of reliving the café shooting and enduring the subsequent suffocating solitude.
****
Jacob sat up on the hospital bed. He allowed the staff to check him over although he knew he was fine, at least, physically speaking. He lacked the energy and mental stamina to argue or try to be difficult. Besides, it was too important and they all wanted to help by doing something. He waited for them to check his body for wounds and they treated a few minor scrapes from the shooter’s fingernails. He was surprised to see a couple of scratches on his neck and arm. He never felt them. He predicted he’d be called a hero. He’d already been told that by many familiar with the case. He agreed to a formal interview but first, he had to get the all clear from the medical team. He only wanted to see his family. His hand was being shaken more often than a politician’s. Everyone uttered a solemn and profound, “thank you,” which was repeated ad nauseum. Along with, “What you did saved so many lives. You ended the killing spree.”
More handshakes and backslaps. Hugs. Tears. From the cops to the paramedics who brought in the shooting victims and dead bodies. And the staff also praised him. In a matter of moments, Jacob heard his name circulating as fast as the shooter’s. Lester Zandinsky. The idiot had his ID on him? What was he, suicidal? That was his game plan? No one knew yet.
Finally, Jacob had a moment to himself, and he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, leaning forward to bury his face into his hands. He’d already scrubbed his hands three times in the bathroom, trying to wash off the girl’s blood—God! Please let her still be alive—as well as the remnant traces of Lester Zandinsky. Any part of that man, any cell from him, had to be washed off Jacob’s body and his clothes. He agreed to let the cops have his clothing for evidence. He intended to burn the blood splattered items before he would let them near his skin again. He wore borrowed scrubs and wondered, rather grimly, if rape victims felt the way he did now. These feelings were overpowering: an obsessive urge to scrub his flesh right off, like a snake shedding its skin, the desire to burn any residual items that touched the perpetrator, the need to scrub himself free of an evil he never knew existed, until now. Not unless you witnessed it or suffered from it could you know how to proceed to the next moment. There was no perception of forever anymore, not with the newfound knowledge of the evil capacity of some peopl
e.
Shuddering, his eyes filled with tears. The deafening quiet settled over his body like a fog, a harsh weight for him to bear.
He heard scuffles before the drape around his bed was jerked back. He heard a cry. His mother. She all but screamed when she found him. “Jacob!” Rushing toward him as she shrieked his name, Jacob could only respond by hopping to his feet and accepting her body against his as she launched herself at him. “Jacob. Oh, God. Jacob!” she cried out happily. Next came Brianna. Without any warning, she flung herself onto his body, finding room beside his mother, but forcing his mom to move to accommodate her. Brianna cried. Hailey cried. And Jacob cried.
Behind them by the curtain stood Finn and Joey. They were gray and pale as they stared at the scene with obvious concern and genuine sympathy. No one judged Jacob or seemed surprised by his crying.
His mom started to calm, and she leaned back and stared up at him. Touching his face, she appeared to be testing to make sure he was truly in front of her, unscathed and intact. All of him. “I’m sorry. We heard about the shooting. It was broadcast everywhere, and everyone was talking about it. And then we heard your name. Someone said Jacob and I thought the worst… I thought…”
She started to cry hysterically again so Jacob set Brianna aside. She let him, and they shared a long, mutual look as he took his mom into a bear hug. “I’m okay, Mom. I’m fine, in fact. Hero of the day.”
Hailey sniffled and shook her head but didn’t look up. He understood why. First, he’d shown up alive after five years. And now, something like this happens? His mom was facing her fears of his death all over again.
“It’s okay, Mom. This time, I didn’t cause it,” he whispered into her ear.
Her shoulders trembled as she released a weary, moment-shattering laugh. “Oh, Jacob Starr, I can’t lose you ever again. Once, then twice, and a third time was too many. I can’t—”
“You didn’t. I’m fine. For once, I was the one who improved a situation. Maybe that’s a first for me.”
Hailey released him and leaned back so she could look up at him. Her hand touched his cheek. “I was so scared.”
He took her hand. “So was I, actually. But I’m really okay. Maybe it could compensate for a few of the lives I destroyed, huh?” he said in her ear for no one else to hear.
Brianna heard him, however, and glanced up, her expression serious. “You know that was the past. You’re another Hercules. You must know that, right? You’ve beat the odds of post-addiction. You are a rarity and your recovery and clean living are an anomaly. I’m just glad others can finally see what Mom and I both know about you.”
He smiled, and she smiled back, saying, “Of course, I looked up the statistics on rehab success rates, so you don’t need to argue with me since I’m right.”
His crazy, smart sister. Yes, she always had all the facts to support her angle.
Joey stepped forward, and silence filled the small space.
“What you did was very brave,” Joey said, his gaze solid but cool as he offered his hand to shake Jacob’s.
Where Joey was concerned, the burden of Jacob’s sorrow and regret always felt like it would break him. Jacob rarely made eye contact with him. He knew who was in the wrong. As always. As usual. It was Jacob.
Except for this time. This time, Jacob was in the right.
He shook Joey’s hand and turned to Finn, who also praised him with a half-hug.
“So, have you been released already?”
“I think so. I’ve been cleared, and my health is not in any jeopardy. I had a long talk with the detective in charge as well as many other people. I’m pretty exhausted. I’m not sure I can handle much more. Being a hero is really hard work.”
And that was true. Utter exhaustion followed the amped up adrenaline.
“You’re still coming out of shock.”
“It’s odd to contemplate what I should do now. Right now? What do I do? Just go home and what?”
“I think it’s a common sentiment after witnessing such a random, senseless tragedy. And you shouldn’t be alone tonight. I want you to come home with us,” Hailey said quietly.
Jacob nodded and stifled the instant resentment. He wondered if she just wanted to monitor him so he didn’t shoot more heroin into his veins. Biting his cheek, he tried to avoid a sarcastic retort. It was his family’s right. They had to monitor him. His behavior could slip up and he could easily revert to the selfish user, the screwed-up addict he’d been for too many years. Who could blame them? The damage he caused wasn’t only to himself, but to them. Sometimes, he wished he could be free of the stigma and perceived need for monitoring him. Free of their suspicion. Free of their distrust and deep-seated lack of faith in him. Even though he deserved it all. They were right about it. Not him.
He took the bag his mom brought over with fresh clothes and changed from the borrowed hospital scrubs. After he put the clean clothes on, he let his mom take his arm, and his family surrounded him. He stopped dead when they stepped into the foyer and several people turned to watch him.
A light flashed in his face. A photo op? It took him a moment to realize what was going on. He saw a local news station van parked out front. There were several reporters who turned toward him and after a moment, one said, “That’s the guy who tackled the shooter! That’s him! That’s Jacob Starr!”
That fast, Jacob became the center of a media storm.
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.
Chapter Seven
JACOB WOKE UP THE next morning to a stiff, sore body. Jarred from his epic leap through the air and the now famous tackle that took down the gunman, he groaned at the early rays of sunlight that filled the room. He’d already held a press conference for some reporters and even tolerated an interview with two other news anchors, but everything was surreal now. Like it never even happened. In a matter of moments, he had become the most legendary hero of the valley.
His stomach twisted when he remembered seeing all of the bodies. And the blood. The bodily tissue. The poor souls who never had a chance to exit the café. No one else, including the media, could hope to understand, despite all of their stupid, probing details to get the scoop, what it was like. You had to live through a trauma like that and even then, no words could ever begin to explain it.
Of course, like most shootings across the United States, it set off a news media frenzy. First, their hunger for salacious details and morbid descriptions were paramount. The news of Jacob’s heroic intervention without any gun of his own in confronting a well-armed shooter, along with every single detail about the shooter that anyone could dig up, were front page news. Jacob’s image and interviews were suddenly thrust into the public domain. So was the awful man who murdered eight innocent bystanders. The young mother who died got plenty of attention and was most often reported. That set off a fresh round of live gun control debates. The political stooges lobbed their inane banter back and forth, as always. The usual nasty confrontations of sanity versus insanity and both sides using this incident to prove their points, regardless of which side of it they were on. Sometimes, real facts were cited, others, not so much.
Jacob didn’t know or care about any of that. Living it, however, was another story. For that, he failed to find the words or even a policy that could begin to categorize it.
All he knew was someone chose to wait for an ordinary dinner hour in an ordinary café to create an indelible scene of mass murder and random violence, something that Jacob never could have predicted would happen in his lifetime.
He sighed and flipped the bedcovers off. Dwelling on it, obsessing over it, and letting his emotions flow unchecked wasn’t the best way to deal with this. He had to stay busy and focused. Staying sober was the only way. He pulled socks onto his feet and went into the bathroom to clean up. Preparing for a new day as the newest hero of River’s End was something he never could have predicted he’d be doing.
When he entered the kitchen, Joey and his mom were spea
king in low tones. Joey lovingly stroked her and held her close to him, comforting her. He glanced up when Jacob entered and let her go at once. “How are you?”
Jacob glanced at his mom. “I’m holding up.” He grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Probably doing better than you are, Mom. I’m sorry to put you through this.”
“Oh, Jacob. It’s not your fault. That makes all the difference. Don’t forget that, okay?”
He glanced Joey’s way, and Joey nodded. “Your mom’s right.”
Just then, Silas ran in from the living room. “Hey! Guess what? You’re on TV!”
Hailey glanced wearily at Silas. “You weren’t supposed to be watching it,” she scolded him gently.
Joey walked over and picked up Silas in his arms. “You are way too curious. Just like a cat.” He smiled at Silas. “So, what did you see?”
Jacob was never sure how to act with Silas when Joey was around. It got a little awkward at times with his mom or sister watching them, but Joey? After the colossal resentment Joey unveiled at his return? Jacob felt awkward and wrong around Joey no matter what he said or did. He became uncomfortably tongue-tied whenever Joey saw him interact with Silas.
Silas not only had a big, loving family here, but also in Everett. Everyone came together to raise and nurture him; they all cherished him and hoped to enrich his life, despite their own shortcomings. Jacob, on the other hand, had ultimately rebuffed him. He abandoned him.
For Silas, Jacob was more like a big brother. Joey, meanwhile, was his dad.
This left them with the tricky dilemma of two men who both wanted to be Silas’s dad and now had to share the role. Joey had the advantage of all the respect and history since Silas believed Joey was his dad. Jacob only had legal and biological claims.