“You need your strength, Zoe,” Mom chastises me softly.
“Why? What’s the point?” I ask, wondering in my mind what the point to this situation is, to what happened to Dana and even what’s the point of life?
“Detective Andrews called earlier. They would like you to come down to the station.”
“Why?”
“They need you to make a formal statement.”
I nod and take another bite of the food in front of me. A sandwich. I couldn’t even taste what it was before.
“That’s good. Keep eating, and get changed for me. I’ll be back in a little while to see if you’re ready.”
“Okay.” I watch Mom leave the room and quickly move the food away from me, not touching it again.
I don’t want to remember last night. Not ever again. I want to believe it never happened. I want to go to MAY and see Dana sitting in there, reading a book and having a drink. I want to go up to her and give her a hug and tell her how glad I am that she’s alive. I want to have never met Joel. I wish he didn’t exist. I wish I knew why he did something so awful. Was it to hurt me? What have I ever done to him that’s so awful? What had Dana done to him?
“Zoe, how are you doing in there?” Mom calls out through my closed door and it snaps me away from my thoughts.
“Just be a sec, Mom.” I get up and chuck on the nearest clothing to me. Jeans and a hoody. I don’t notice that my hoody is dirty. It doesn’t seem important what I wear.
The next minute Mom walks in and assesses me. “You can’t wear that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Zoe—”
“Let’s just get this over with, please, Mom,” I snap at her.
She bites her tongue on her argument and nods at me. We walk down the stairs and I briefly wonder what outside looks like now. Is there still blood there? Are police still collecting evidence? Or is it already back to normal? Can you even tell someone had died out there?
I shudder just thinking about it and quickly follow Mom out the front door. Hopefully, I’ll never have to go out there ever again.
***
I give my statement to a detective; it’s worse than I thought it was going to be. I burst into tears straight away and everything that I say afterwards sounds more like a high-pitched wail. I don’t want to cry. I want to be strong and brave, but I can’t do it. The sadness is overwhelming and seeing the pity in the detective’s eyes just makes me feel worse. Finally Mom pulls me away and we’re done. On the way out, we walk into a detective that Mom seems to know. I realize he’s in charge of the investigation, but I have no memory of seeing him last night.
“How is it going?” Mom tentatively asks him.
“He isn’t talking at the moment. We’ve been at it for twelve hours straight, but he won’t break.”
“He won’t say why he did it?” Again more tears come and I wipe at my eyes, feeling like they are just going to be permanently red and swollen from this.
“No, but don’t worry, we’ll get him talking.” He speaks kindly to me; yet I can hear the threat behind those words.
I have no doubt that Joel won’t have any choice other than to speak soon. However, will the detective ask the right questions? Will I hear about the reason why Joel did it? Will he ask him about his dreams? Did he even have a dream or was he trying to admit to me that night of his plans to me?
“Can I talk to him?” I ask, surprising myself because I didn’t realize I was going to ask it until I did.
“What?” Mom blurts out, gripping my arm painfully. “No, there is no way you’re going anywhere near that monster.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the detective says carefully, his eyes assessing me.
“Please? I just want to ask him why he did it.”
“We’ll get that out of him soon, don’t worry.”
“I need to hear it from him. I need to hear if he was playing me all along, if he always planned on doing that. I need to hear if this was all just some sick, stupid game to him,” I cry.
I wipe my eyes, seeing the detective giving me a calculating look now.
“It’s not exactly protocol, but we’ve allowed victims to confront perps at their request previously. Are you sure this is something you want to do? You might not like the answers you hear or you might not hear any answers at all,” the detective warns.
“You can’t be serious. She is not going to see him!” Mom’s grip becomes bruising, but I ignore her.
“I know. I need to do this,” I say. Thankfully, I sound stronger.
The detective leads me away from Mom, who is fuming. I know she’s holding onto her anger because, otherwise, she’ll feel nothing except grief. I need to find my anger, too, because it’s the only way I’ll be able to confront Joel without breaking down.
I focus inwards, trying to lock up the grief inside and, by the time I’m standing outside a room that has ‘Interrogation Room 2’ written on the door, I feel better.
“You sure about this?” the detective asks again, his hand hovering over the door handle.
“Yes.”
He opens the door and I look into the small room, seeing Joel sitting in a chair, in front of a desk, handcuffed. He doesn’t look up and I’m glad. It gives me more time to compose myself.
I harden my features, not wanting him to see the pain he purposely inflicted on me, and I step inside the room, the detective coming up behind me.
I gaze over Joel. His head is down so I can’t see his face. His shoulders are slumped and he’s only wearing a t-shirt, no sweater, so I can see his arms have bruises over them. I notice the handcuffs have reddened his wrists into welts where he’s most likely tried to get them off him.
Looking over his arms makes me feel sick because those arms were around me at one point and I wanted them there. How can I have gotten so close to a murderer? Someone who was trying to kill my best friend?
I stop once I’ve reached the table and decide I don’t want to sit down. I want to stand over him. I want him to feel intimidated by me.
“Why did you kill her?” I demand, making his head snap up at hearing my voice.
“Zoe? Is that you?” His eyes squint at me, as if seeing me is hard to do. Like I have the sun shining behind me, blocking my face from him.
“Who the hell do you think I am? In fact, who the hell are you?” I resist punching him in the face, although my hands turn to fists.
“I’m so sorry—”
“Save it, I’m not here to hear your apologies. I want to know why and you are going to tell me.” Inside my heart stops beating altogether and I have a feeling I might pass out soon, but I refuse to show Joel any weakness.
Joel watches me and it makes me feel dirty. I want to scrub his look off me. I want to scratch his eyes out.
“He told me I had to,” he says quietly.
“Who told you?” the detective asks. I glance at him. I swear if he were a dog, his ears would have just perked upwards.
Joel doesn’t answer and I repeat the question.
“The man in my dreams,” he answers.
While the detective groans out the words ‘insanity plea,’ I watch Joel’s face carefully.
I know he probably is crazy. I mean, what right minded person could kill someone, especially someone as sweet and innocent as Dana. Yet, my instincts are telling me that he’s telling the truth, at least his own truth.
“What did he say to you?” I ask, ignoring the curses under the detective’s breath.
Joel gazes at me again and I grip my nails into the palm of my hand to resist slapping him. I have no doubt it’ll make me feel better and that the detective would probably turn away so he doesn’t see it. However, I need the answers to these questions, I need this closure.
“He said you had dreams, too, and one day you and some other people would join forces to do horrible things. He said you needed to be stopped, and in the future I screw up, too. I made a mistake and I need to be the one to correct it. Th
at it’s my punishment.”
His words cloud my brain and I can’t understand them. What is he talking about?
“Bullshit. Come on, Ms. Holloway, this is over.” The detective touches my back gently, but I don’t move.
“I’m not lying. I had the dreams before I met you and they wouldn’t go away. Every night, I would have this conversation and then I would see myself shooting you. I couldn’t stop myself, I’m sorry. I tried so hard. I did. I didn’t want to hurt you. I like you, Zoe. I never wanted to hurt you.”
I let the detective lead me to the door and, while he unlocks it, I turn back to Joel.
“So you weren’t aiming at Dana, but at me?”
He nods and looks down, his eyes finally unable to look at me any longer.
“So if Dana hadn’t been there, she would be alive now?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer and I don’t need him to. Dana was never meant to be killed, but because of me, she was. I should have done more to stop that party, anything would have been better than the nothing I did.
The detective walks me back out into the corridor where Mom is waiting for me. She reaches out and pulls me into a hug just as my tears burst through. I can’t control them any longer.
“WHERE IS HE?” someone shouts from down the corridor. I recognize that voice.
I turn and see Drew storming in, rage all over his face and body. His pants still have blood all over them; he has yet to change or shower. He does have a new t-shirt on since he had taken his off to try and stop Dana’s bleeding. It looks like one of Frank’s old shirts. Mom must have given him one. She never gave anything of his away.
“Now hang on son just a min—” The detective I’ve been with moves quickly towards Drew.
“I will kill that asshole. Just let me at him!” Drew tries to get past us, but the detective holds strong and pulls him to a stop. Another cop rushes up to them and, with the two of them, they move him off to the side and force him to sit down in a chair.
“Just try and calm down a bit here. I can’t let you at him. I know you’re hurting, but he’s going to be charged with murder. He is going to go away for a long time. It’s not your job to take justice into your own hands, son.”
Drew collapses at those words, as though his anger is the only thing holding him up straight and now exhaustion is trying to take over.
“Why? Why did he take her from me? I love her so much. She’s all I have. We only just got engaged, we were going to get married. Why did he do this?”
Drew then burst into tears and I look away from him. I can’t be here right now. I can’t do this anymore.
Mom leaves me to go to Drew where she embraces him. They’re both crying now.
I turn away, run out of the corridor and rush outside. Cold air hits me hard, but I don’t care. It’s like a slap to my face and I need it. I breathe the air in deeply and slowly, starting to feel myself grow calmer.
I take one deep breath, two deep breaths, three deep breaths.
My heart rate starts to slow down and the haze that seems to have taken over my eyes starts to clear. Again, time leaves me and I don’t know how long I’m outside. The thin hoody I’m wearing is beginning to feel as though I’m wearing nothing at all, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t go back into that police station.
Dana. How could this have happened? How could I not have seen more in my dream? How did I not know it was her that would die? Drew said they had just gotten engaged. Had he proposed on their Sunday away? Why hadn’t she just told me? And Joel, is he really crazy? Did he really have a dream like that? Is he telling the truth?
His explanation about his dream floats into my mind and I know it’s crazy of me to even contemplate it. I won’t be doing anything horrible in this world. I won’t join a group with other people to do any horrible things. I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to get out of bed ever again. I just want to go back to my room, get under the covers and sleep forever. I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to face this world without Dana.
I don’t want to face the fact that Dana died yesterday because she was with me. Joel might have pulled the trigger, but I’m the one who had a two week warning of this happening. I might as well have loaded the gun for Joel and put Dana in the line of fire.
I’m so busy focusing on my thoughts that I don’t notice a white van pull up behind me. I don’t hear the sliding door open. I don’t notice two men dressed all in black leaning out the now open side door.
It’s too late to scream when a damp cloth is held against my mouth. Too late to run away when strong, unmovable arms close around my own arms and stomach. It’s too late to do anything because, in the few seconds it takes to grab me, I’m already inside the van and feel us driving away as I try to struggle free.
Has someone witnessed me being taken? Is someone trying to help me?
I continue to kick and scream as much as I can, however, I soon start to feel dizzy. My eyes begin to sting. My arms and legs get heavy. My eyes shut without my permission.
What’s happening? What’s going on? Who are these people and what do they want with me? Am I going to die?
None of my questions are going to get an answer anytime soon. I fall into unconsciousness within minutes of being taken.
WILL PARKER
Chapter Eight – The Hunger
Phoenix, Arizona
Thursday, April 5th
I’m running for my life with two packets of original flavored chips firmly grasped in my left hand while my right hand shoots into the air, trying to propel myself forward. My legs slap the ground hard each time I plant them. My forehead has sweat running down it and the wind helps keep me cool as it whips past me.
Behind, a man chases me, his thumping feet telling just how close he is. I only dare look behind once to see the overweight man still running after me. Looking at him, you wouldn’t have thought he is even able to jog. Instead, he comes at me with alarming speed and, rather than his heavy stature looking like it might hinder him, it now just makes him look more menacing.
He’s yelling something, though I can’t catch what it is. Listening to his verbal abuse isn’t something I decide is worth doing. Instead, I stay focused on the path in front of me and happy to avoid any people I pass as they give me wild looks. No one tries to stop me.
I’m rounding a corner when I run into someone solid. We collide and fall down hard to the ground. He has a briefcase in his hands that hits the cement road, slams open upon impact and his papers fly everywhere.
“You idiot!” The suit pushes me off him angrily.
I find the two packets of chips have been squashed and are scattered all over the pavement in front of me. I look back and see the man that has been chasing me hasn’t given up yet. He’s still coming for me. He has anger and determination covering his face, although he looks like he might pass out soon, too. His breathing is rushed and his face is now the color of a fire fighter’s truck.
I push off the ground and speed off down the side street, hearing new calls from the suit I crashed into. He doesn’t sound too happy, but I doubt he’ll chase me since his paperwork is flying down the street.
Ten minutes of solid running later, I finally feel safe enough to look back.
No one is there.
I slow down to a walk as I catch my breath and wonder where else I can get some food. I haven’t eaten in two days. Soon, I’ll be too weak to run. I can’t go to the local homeless shelter for food because I’m too young and they ask too many questions. They always want to place me with a new family. I do fine on my own, I don’t need family. I ran away from my family when I was fourteen-years-old. Mom was killed when I was only two so I had been placed with the only other family I had, my Aunt.
At first, it had been fine, but soon after my Uncle Sid came back from the war, he would have fits of panic and anger. I was always on the receiving end. Then, the fits turned into pure rage and they started to happen every night. Aunt Lesley conveniently developed a severe drinking problem
around the same time. It meant she didn’t notice all the bruises I would have the next day.
I didn’t need family, I had me. I have lived on the streets for the last two years. I know what streets are safe to go down at night and where to steer clear of. I know where a safe place to sleep is and where I should avoid. My only problem is food. At first, it was easy to steal. I was a kid and if I did get caught, they just felt bad for me. Now, though, I just look like a bratty teenager needing to be taught a lesson.
Feeling coolness soaking into my knee, I look down at my pants as I walk. There is another hole in them. I had stolen these from a second hand clothes shop. They always have the worst security so it’s easy to steal from there. You can never have too many layers of clothing in winter. My first winter, I nearly froze to death. The only reason I survived was Gavin. He’s the only person I trust. Despite the thirty or so years in age difference, Gavin is a good friend to me. He is my one and only friend.
As I continue walking, I see the shops all closing up for the day. The wind is starting to become freezing and I almost wish I had a coat to keep warm. Almost. Generally, if you have something warm enough worth stealing, then it gets stolen. It’s better to stay cold and keep the clothes you have.
I round the corner and keep walking. I usually stay near the city. It makes for easier food. If I’m not able to get anything tomorrow, I’ll have to break into one of the homes on the outside of the city and raid their fridge. You get more food that way, but it’s worse if you get caught. I heard a story of a guy that was shot dead because the owner came home and freaked out. The guy only had an apple in his hand.
I finally arrive at the abandoned lot that many homeless people call home these days. The builders had gone on strike and work stopped when they were only halfway done. There used to be security keeping people out, but the company went bankrupt and the site closed. Now, we call it home.
I move to a mound of dirt towards the back of the lot, look around and make sure no one is watching. It’s already dark and hard to see.
Taken By Surprise (Taken Trilogy Book 1) Page 7