Crimson Eve

by Brandilyn Collins

  The baby finally came.

  I wanted so badly to hold her. I kept asking, “Where’s my baby, where’s my baby? Let me hold her!” I tried to push up on my elbows and see what was going on at the bottom of the bed, but the doctor made me lie back down. I think he was afraid I was getting too excited. He gave me some more medication, and I got real tired.

  Then I fell asleep.

  When I woke up, Scott stood beside me, tears streaming down his face. I tried to talk, but my mouth wouldn’t move. My body felt weird and empty. Finally I croaked out, “Where is she?”

  Scott swallowed hard and shook his head. That scared me. Oh, so bad. I lay there in that bed and felt a fear go through me like I’ve never felt before in my life.

  Dr. Hughes nudged Scott away. He took my hand. I looked around but didn’t see Tanya.

  “Carla.” His face looked grim. “I’m so sorry to tell you we lost the baby. She was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, and that apparently choked her as she was coming down the birth canal. We did everything we could to bring her back, but . . . we couldn’t.”

  I stared at him, feeling concrete pour over me.

  No, no, no-no-no-no-no . . .

  Right then something inside me died too.

  It was awhile before I could form any words. I can’t remember what I said. Or what I did. The whole world just went numb. The concrete hardened, and I couldn’t move. Not an inch. Then it poured over my face and shut out everything. All sound, all light. All hope.

  Vaguely, I remember Scott leaving the room. I don’t remember how long I lay there. Tanya came in. I could tell she’d been crying.

  I asked Tanya to see her. My Rebecca. Please, just let me see my baby!

  Tanya tried to talk me out of it. She said it would be too hard for me. I got mad then. Anger rushed me, sending cracks right through all the concrete until it fell away. If I hadn’t been so weak I’d have jumped off that bed and choked her. “She’s my baby and I have to see her!” I screamed and sobbed until the doctor came back. He finally said okay and told Tanya to bring the baby in.

  So Tanya brought Rebecca to me. Tanya was shaking and white-faced. Her eyes were rimmed red. She could barely look at me. She laid Rebecca in my arms and whispered, “Take as long as you need, Carla. I’ll be just outside the door whenever you call me.”

  I waited until she left. Then I looked into my baby’s little face —and died all over again.

  God, You did this, didn’t You? It’s my punishment. How could You have taken her from me?

  She was blue. And so tiny. But she was made perfect. Thin arms, teeny hands, and fingernails like pearly drops of water. Lots of dark hair. The cutest little button nose. And sweet little lips.

  I unwrapped her completely and marveled at her legs, her toes, the funny round stomach. I cried so hard over her, I washed her body in my tears.

  No way could I give her back.

  I never did call Tanya. I cried myself to sleep, holding Rebecca like I would never let go.

  When I woke up, she was gone.

  Just like that. It’s over. All this. All the hurt and fear and pain. And my baby’s gone.

  We had a little ser vice for her at a nearby church. I sat with Scott. He cried all the way through it. My mom didn’t come.

  Now here I am. Back in this ratty house. Empty, unloved. And I feel so old.

  I haven’t been back to school. Who cares? Haven’t talked to any friends, barely even talked to Scott. He keeps calling. I know he’s hurting too. I should hold him, comfort him. He deserves that. But I can’t look into his face, knowing this is all my fault. Knowing that he lost his chance to be a father because God chose to punish me for my sins.

  Mom just says it’s for the best. I wasn’t ready to be a mother anyway. She’s always been such a blessing of help.

  The next day after I got home from the hospital, I turned on the television and saw the news. Mrs. My-Husband had given birth to a healthy baby girl. She and Senator Hanley were so happy, the reporter said. And the state of Washington was celebrating with them.

  You did this too, didn’t You, God? Arranged the timing so perfectly. Gave them their baby almost the same time You took mine. You stuck a knife in me and twisted it.

  Bryson used me up, then kicked me away like a mangy dog. Isn’t it enough for me to see him with his wife and their baby? Why did You have to take mine? Why did Rebecca have to pay — with her life? I’m the one who should have died. Rebecca deserved to live.

  Happy seventeenth birthday, Carla. Happy, happy rest of your life.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  After Leslie’s call, Carla’s quiet hideaway turned into Grand Central Station. She received two more calls in a row. Each time, robot-like, she picked up the phone and waited for the person on the other end to speak. But her mind was somewhere else. Her mind dragged itself through the muddy, soul-griming day of her baby’s birth — and death. All her present movements, her thoughts and words, were carried out in the shadowed haze of the past.

  The first caller was Chief Edwards, insisting that she contact Spokane police to pick her up for safety. “No!” Carla didn’t even try to hide her irritation. “Don’t you understand I don’t know who I can trust? Hasn’t Leslie told you that?”

  “All right, I’ll come myself, then. You trust me, don’t you?”

  “Chief, I can’t. I have . . . to talk to someone. I have to set some things straight.”

  “That’s fine, but in the meantime I’m concerned for your safety.”

  “My safety.” Carla’s voice withered. “It doesn’t matter now. Besides, you can’t make me come with you. I’m not a ‘missing person’ anymore. I’m here of my own free will, and you can’t make me do anything!”

  “Okay, I hear you.” Chief’s voice sounded worn but calm —and for that calmness Carla wanted to smack him. Didn’t he understand that what little was left of her life was about to come undone?

  Chief cleared his throat. “Tell you what, though. I’m going to check up on you regularly. If you change your mind, I’ll be there. You have your conversation with Ms. Evans. But understand, this Thornby has now allegedly attacked the car salesman who helped you, and Spokane police are looking for him. You will need to come on record with what you know.”

  What she knew. That had once frightened her more than anything. Now the terror lay in what she didn’t know. What Tanya Evans was going to tell her.

  The second call nearly knocked her flat.

  Tanya Evans.

  Carla smashed the receiver against her ear, elbow digging into the mattress. At first no words would come. She could hear Tanya’s breathing, cars whooshing in the background. Could in some inexplicable way feel the hurtle of this woman toward her on the freeway, their two lives careening into each other as they had all those years ago.

  “You remember who I am?” Tanya sounded as wary and tired as Carla.

  “Yes.”

  Tanya’s voice cracked. “I have thought of you every day since I last saw you. Not one day has passed. Not one . . .”

  So many things Carla wanted to say, so many questions. Not the main one that plagued her — she couldn’t begin to form those aching, desperate words. But — why now? Was Tanya driven here only because her own life was in danger? Was this meeting, some sixteen years late, not chosen, merely compelled?

  “Someone told you?” Carla whispered. “About me and . . . him?”

  Tanya sighed. “Yes. Dr. Hughes knew. He told me who the father was.”

  Dr. Hughes knew? Carla had never guessed that. Why did he have to know?

  Suddenly she understood. All of it — the whole, dark, horrible plan. Of course the doctor had to know. Tanya wasn’t the one so close to Bryson Hanley. Dr. Hughes was . . .

  The horrifying question begged to be asked, but Carla couldn’t do it. Not over the phone. She and Tanya needed to look into each other’s eyes. “How far away are you?”

  “Not too far. I think less than a
n hour.”

  An hour.

  Carla hung up the phone and fell back on the bed, pressed under the weight of an impossible wish. That the next hour, however terrible her imaginings, would stretch out all the way into eternity. Because once she heard the truth, if her newfound dread came true, she could never, ever go back. And what would become of her then?

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Leslie arrived at the hotel at six o’clock. She parked her yellow VW bug around back and scurried inside, bearing a bag of food from Java Joint — a roast beef sandwich, chips, and one of Bailey’s biggie lattes. Bailey had made it extra hot, praying aloud it would get to Carla without cooling too much. The woman had cried tears of relief when she heard Carla had been found.

  S-Man had hung around Java Joint all day, working on Starfire and hoping to hear news of Carla. When Leslie whisked in with her information, chomping at the bit to jump in her car and go, he’d been adamant about driving with her.

  “No, Ted.” Leslie turned to him at the counter, trying to rein in her adrenaline as Bailey made the sandwich. “You can’t, really. There are . . . things that are going to be discussed in private. I don’t even know what they are. Big, bad things. Woman things.”

  Ted placed his hands on Leslie’s shoulders, concern creasing his features. “I can’t let you go alone. I didn’t last time.”

  “I know.” Leslie reached up and stroked his cheek. Odd, how naturally that came — as if she’d done it dozens of times. “But now it’s different. Chief Edwards knows where we’ll be. He’ll be checking on us. If we ended up needing police, they’d be there in minutes.”

  Ted’s eyes locked with hers. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t take no for an answer. An unreadable expression moved across his face, then was gone, replaced by the look of a long put-off decision finally made. He gave a slow nod. “Leslie, it’s about time you and I go out to dinner. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

  Whoa. Hadn’t expected that right now. But somehow it felt right.

  Leslie gave him a lopsided smile. “You got it.”

  Ted hugged her long and hard before she left, and she hung there, pressed against his chest, gauging the feel of it. Bailey bustled about, pretending not to notice.

  During the drive to Spokane, Leslie relived the comforting feel of Ted’s arms around her. Funny. When she pictured his face, the image of Frank West — who’d been in her dreams for so many months — sort of blurred.

  Thoughts of Ted bounced to Carla . . . Tanya . . . And somebody else, although Leslie had no idea who. Some powerful, faceless presence who pulled the strings of this puppet show. Chief Edwards apparently knew, after talking to Carla. Clearly, Leslie was the least informed of all. A pretty lousy situation for a reporter.

  Logistics pulled her attention. Leslie picked up her cell phone. First, a call to Paige to let her know Carla was okay, and that Leslie didn’t know when she’d be home. Then a call to a friend who lived in a little rented house in Spokane Valley. Katy helped care for her mom, who had breast cancer, and often slept at her parents’ home. Leslie wanted to move Carla to Katy’s house. It would be a more comfortable place for Carla and Tanya to meet. Plus they’d have access to a kitchen, be able to make dinner.

  “Sure,” Katy told her. “I’m with Mom now and won’t be coming home tonight anyway. You know where I hide the key.”

  Plans in place, Leslie called Tanya, giving her directions to Katy’s house. It wasn’t far from the freeway and would be an easy find.

  Now at the door to Carla’s hotel room, Leslie held the latte in one hand and stuck the bag of food under her arm so she could knock. “It’s me!”

  Carla whisked back the door, pulled her inside, then closed and rebolted as if monsters awaited in the hall.

  The room pulsed with . . . something. Fear. Oppression. Grief.

  They looked at each other.

  Carla was a wreck. Mascara smeared, limping, bags under her eyes, clothes disheveled. But none of that compared to the world-weariness on her face. It was a change no mere twenty-four hours could make. Leslie felt in her gut what she’d only recently understood. She didn’t know this woman at all. No matter their seeing each other almost daily at Java Joint, no matter that they would recognize each other’s voice in a crowd. Leslie could not remember one time they’d really talked, one time when Carla had said anything of significance about her private life, her dreams, her childhood.

  Sadness welled in Leslie’s chest — for what, she couldn’t quite define. Then, just as suddenly, anger bubbled. Despite Carla’s obvious vulnerability, Leslie didn’t know whether to hug her or slug her for the fear she’d caused.

  Leslie thrust the bag of food toward Carla. “Here. Bailey made you a sandwich.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” Carla took it from her hand.

  Leslie walked farther into the room, set the coffee down on the dresser. “She made you a latte too. Extra hot. It’s still warm.”

  Carla hobbled to the first bed and set down the food bag, then to the dresser to pick up the coffee. She grasped it with both hands, as if pulling comfort from an old friend. She took a sip and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, they were misty.

  Never had Leslie seen Carla anywhere close to tears.

  Leslie touched her arm. “Come on, I’m getting you out of here. I have a house where we can go.”

  Fear radiated over Carla’s face. “I don’t want to go out. What if Thornby’s around? He’s out there somewhere. Besides, Brandon’s bringing my suitcase.”

  “I’ll call Brandon. We’ll be a lot closer to where he is, anyway. Look, it’ll be better. You and Tanya can have more room to . . . talk.”

  Carla’s eyes locked with hers. Then she nodded, as if too tired to fight. “Okay.”

  Leslie carried the coffee, going slowly as Carla limped down the hall beside her, eyes darting in all directions. Carla’s fingers gripped her purse and the bag of food as if they might rocket away. At the door, she hung back until Leslie checked the parking lot. Once inside Leslie’s VW, she slid far down in the passenger seat. Leslie could hear her strained breathing.

  “You okay?” Leslie started the engine. “It’ll only be ten minutes or so.”

  Carla nodded.

  On the freeway, Leslie called Brandon, then Chief Edwards. She gave both of them the phone number and address of Katy’s house. He would be alerting Spokane Valley police to do drive-bys.

  “Do you see a black Durango?” Carla’s words squeezed out.

  Leslie checked the side and rearview mirrors. “No.”

  Carla pulled in a shuddering breath, brought both hands to her face. “I’m so scared.”

  Questions crowded Leslie’s head. Where even to start? “This Thornby. Where did he come from?”

  Carla’s voice came muffled through her fingers. “He posed as a client. Said he wanted to buy the Edna San estate. I met him there. He pulled a gun on me.”

  Whoa. Leslie threw her a glance. “How’d you get away?”

  “I pepper-sprayed him. Got him good too. He turned into a slobbering idiot.”

  “Oh.”

  How terrifying. But the description was so Carla. Leslie couldn’t help but giggle.

  Carla gave her a shocked look, then managed a raw laugh. “Well, he was. You should have seen him.”

  “I believe you.”

  They fell silent. Carla’s head swiveled as she checked out her window, then peered into her visor mirror to check behind them.

  “Carla, are you praying about all this?” The question popped from Leslie’s mouth, surprising her. Definitely not something she’d have asked before last March.

  Carla focused on her lap. “God and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

  Oh. “Well, maybe you should be.”

  A shrug. “I’m in so deep now, Leslie, even God couldn’t get me out.”

  The excuse sounded familiar. “He may not whisk you out of the situation, but He’ll help you through it. It’s like . . . like stumbling aro
und in a dark room. You’d turn on the light, right? You’d still be in the room, but at least you could see where you’re going.”

  No response.

  Their exit approached. Leslie veered off and turned right. Up four blocks, another right —and they pulled into Katy’s driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac. “Stay here for a minute, okay?” Leslie slid out of the car, walked around to the right rear of the house, and pulled the hidden key from beneath a loose brick at the edge of the small patio. She unlocked the back door that led into the kitchen. Once the door was open, Leslie replaced the key, then walked through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the garage. She hit the button for the door. As it slid up, she ducked out and got back into the car to drive it inside.

  “We made it.” Carla sounded as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

  Leslie laid a hand on her arm. “Yeah, we made it. You’re gonna be okay, Carla. At least . . . you’re not alone anymore.”

  She took the food bag and coffee into the kitchen. “Now we can microwave this for you.” Leslie held up the biggie cup. “You go into the living room, put your foot up on the couch. I’ll bring the food to you. And I want to ice that ankle.”

  Carla did as she was told. Fifteen minutes later, ice in a zipped plastic bag against her ankle, the latte mostly finished, Carla lay propped against pillows on a couch by the front living room window, staring toward the entryway. Face pale. Waiting. Tension crackled from her very stillness. As if she knew Tanya’s information would change her life forever.

  “Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?” Leslie asked.

  “I can’t. Not now.”

  At Carla’s insistence, Leslie walked through the house’s rooms. Katy’s place had an open floor plan, its small tiled entry area separated from the living room on its right by a four-foot-long, waist-high wall. On the left side of the entryway, as one entered through the front door, was a coat closet. Straight off the living room lay the kitchen, the two areas divided by a long eating counter lined with four stools on the kitchen side. A left turn from the entryway led to three bedrooms —a master suite on the rear of the house, and two smaller rooms, sharing a bath between them, on the front. Beyond the two smaller bedrooms was the door leading to the garage.