Take Me With You

by Nina G. Jones

  “I…um…I'm concerned. I just needed to talk to you. He's been calling me.”

  Ridgefield sighs and rubs his forehead. “Fucking idiot.” I resent that he calls him that. “Have you told anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Not even your boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then it’s just between us and we keep it that way. You should change your number and make it private. Tell your boyfriend you’d feel safer that way and you’re sick of reporters.”

  “I just thought you should know because of the investigation. It’s fine.”

  He sits back into his chair and sucks his teeth. “You don't want to make him stop? Remind me what's going on here, Vesper. Why are you doing this? I'm glad, but I can't quite ever be at ease. I'm losing a lot of sleep thinking you'll change your mind.”

  I wish I could articulate an answer. I can't even promise him I won't change my mind.

  “Did you ever really know Sam?” I ask.

  He lets out a huff. “At one point I would have said I did. Well, maybe not really knew him, but I understood a part of him. I can honestly say right now, I have no fucking idea who he is.”

  I glance at a picture on his desk. His little family. So perfect. So normal.

  I spot the young boy standing in front of the sheriff with an innocent smile adorning his cherubic face. “Wow, he looks just like Sam when he was little.”

  Ridgefield's face tightens, like I've poked at a sore spot.

  “Yeah, identical,” he laments. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” I ask.

  “Ever really know him.”

  “I think I did. It would be easier if I hadn't. It's hard to betray someone you know.”

  He nods. “Or someone you thought you did.”

  “So what did you want to tell me? Or did you just need reassurances?” I ask.

  “Actually, I wanted to reassure you. This will all be over soon.”

  “What do you mean?” I inquire, a knot of uneasiness bubbling in my stomach.

  “Someone confessed to your kidnapping.”

  “What?” I ask, in complete befuddlement.

  He pulls a file and opens it, placing a picture in front of me. A dark-featured, middle-aged man stares back at me.

  “The Northern Woods Killer,” he states, stabbing his finger onto the center of the decrepit man’s face.

  “But it wasn't him. You know that.” As if the Sheriff needed to be told that.

  “This will make it all go away. So that you don't have to worry about anything coming to haunt us.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “He's a serial rapist and killer. A trucker leaving vics and bodies all over the state. We have him in custody. He’s been linked to twenty-six bodies all over Northern California, and he's confessing to at least fifty.”

  “Why would he? I don't understand.”

  “He's agreed to give us information about additional crimes for a plea. Guys, they sometimes do that, they confess to a bunch of things. Sometimes for notoriety, sometimes to confuse us. But he has a small house that works for the scenario. He doesn’t have friends or family. It’s conceivable he could have had someone locked up and no one would have known. He told a good tale. He knew things only the kidnapper would know.”

  “How?”

  “There's ways when you're questioning…to plant seeds.”

  “But he's innocent.”

  “He's not innocent, Vesper. He killed over two dozen people. Innocent girls who never hurt anyone. The fucker signed a confession saying he took you. We can actually close this case. He'll be in jail until he dies anyway. So everyone can be satisfied this case was closed.”

  “I don't understand. What about the other crimes?”

  “You let me take care of that. There's gonna be some egg on my face, but nothing I can't salvage. Oh and Sam’s place is on the market now. I checked myself. Once it passes hands and new people move in and bring their stuff in, it’ll be impossible to retrieve untainted evidence.”

  That last bit of news stings--the thought of Sam being truly gone. “This doesn't feel right.”

  “This, right there,” he points a finger at me, “is what's going to give me a heart attack.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Vesper, this man is a brutal murderer. He is a danger to society. And the disconcerting truth is, California is rife with these men. It's the Wild West out here sometimes. If I trump a charge on him, it's doing the world a favor.”

  “Have you done that before?”

  “Vesper, I promise you, never. But I'm in an impossible place. We can’t just seem satisfied with no answers. We both have to look like we want someone to pay for this. If we don’t close this case, I can’t keep stopping others from snooping around, finding something I couldn’t hide. And I want us all to move past this. You—” he leans in with a hushed tone. “You didn't want to turn him in. I never forced you.”

  I'm glad I kept the box a secret. Something tells me if I handed it over, it would find its way into an incinerator. Suddenly Sheriff Ridgefield's constant need for reassurance worries me. I'm an inconvenient loose end and maybe Sam's not the only one capable of doing bad things.

  “You're right. This works out perfectly. So we can all move on.”

  “Vesper, I need you to understand. You've saved my family. If you need anything. If you want to leave and start over somewhere, or just need a hand, I have ways of helping.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say, coming to my feet, feeling like the walls of this office are going to move in and crush me.

  Sheriff leans back and crosses his arms holding a sly smirk. “So you’re really planning on never telling me?”

  I pull my purse close to my side. “Telling you what?”

  “How far along are you? You’re not showing, but Katie didn’t show with James until she was six months.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  “You’re protective of Sam. You wouldn’t let the doctors examine you, but they took your blood, urine. Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

  “I promise you. I’m not,” I declare through tremulous lips.

  “We need to trust each other if we are going to pull this off,” he says, leaning forward. “You understand if a child comes out of this, and it looks like Sam with those fucking eyes or the blood work doesn’t match with this Northern Woods fella, this could bite us in the ass. Like I said, there are ways we can take care of things. Quietly.”

  “There is no baby,” I insist through a clenched teeth, rage bubbling in me at the thought that our dead baby is such a convenience to him.

  My gut twirls with a feeling of dread that I'm not sure why I didn't feel sooner around this man. Maybe it's the uniform he wears, the one that tells us all that he's one of the good guys. Just like how Sam's mask told me he wasn't. But sometimes those costumes deceive us. Sometimes the man in the police uniform wants you dead. Sometimes the man in the ski mask saves your life. I don't think Ridgefield ever intended to see me alive. I knew who he was. He doesn’t trust me. And unlike Sam, I have no motive in Andrew's mind to keep the secret.

  The present danger is in the sheriff, not Sam. So I choose to say something that isn’t just a shallow reassurance. It shouldn’t be true. I’m supposed to be moving on. In fact, as I prepare my words, my throat gets heavy and clogged and it almost pains me to say it. But it shouldn't hurt so much if it's just another lie.

  “You want to know why I won't tell?” I ask, leaning my hands onto Ridgefield’s desk.

  He gives me a subtle nod.

  “Because Sam is mine.”

  Tahoe is next week. I've been doing my best to give this life a try. Sam's box sits there like a twisted version of a comfort blanket, assuring me he still exists. Whenever Carter is not home, I go out to the park, library, anywhere away from the phone so I am not tempted by his random calls.

  I can feel it growing slowly around me, like ivy. This new life trying to take root and
rebuild itself over me. I can't be her again, the girl before all this, but maybe I can smother everything that happened and find a place where I can exist here.

  I left the sheriff's office a month ago with news that someone else would be taking the fall for Sam's crime. That guy was plastered all over the news shortly after. A press conference was held. I watched it with Carter as he held my hand. But I pulled it away and left the room. I couldn't watch the lies. I couldn't sit there while Carter thought that was the man who had me.

  But if I can just stay away from the temptation of him, the way an alcoholic stays away from bars and liquor stores, maybe I'll think of him less. Maybe I'll forget.

  On this morning, Carter seems in a rush to get out the door. He's got a lot to take care of this week before we leave. I turn on morning news and I can't escape Sam. His brother is right there on the screen: Sheriff Ridgefield announces his run for mayor of Sacramento.

  They talk about how he's taking advantage of his recent success in my case and the Northern Woods Killer.

  I snicker at the TV.

  “What is it?” Carter asks as he puts on his watch.

  “Oh just that the sheriff is running for mayor.”

  “Why's that strange?”

  “I don't know why. I just find it funny they consider me a success story. They didn't find me. He let me go. I don’t know how he saved face telling the world it was The Night Prowler who took me if it was this guy. Not to mention that means that Night Prowler guy is still out there. A convenient fact everyone seems to forget.”

  “If?” Carter asks.

  “I’m just saying, I don’t think the Sheriff comes out looking as sparkling as he thinks.”

  “But they put the asshole who took you away for life, right?” he says, kissing me on the top of my head.

  “Yeah.”

  He glances over at the TV. “You don’t like that guy, do you?”

  I shrug.

  “You okay?” He's being thoughtful, but I can tell his mind is already out the door. Understandable.

  “I'm fine.”

  “Okay. I'll see you tonight.” It's actually comforting he takes my word for it.

  Carter's gone within a minute and I start the shower to get ready for my day of avoidance. But now Sam's on the top of my mind, so that no matter where I go, he'll be there.

  You'd think the shame would keep Andrew Hunter-Ridgefield from running for office. But no, this is exactly why he wanted this. It wasn't to protect Sam, it was so his own ambitions wouldn't be sidetracked. He stands up on the podium, with his little family and his expensive suit, and he claims that he cares about people. Well I have a box with 82 lives—homes that were broken into, people terrorized and violated—that prove otherwise. But I am just as guilty. I could go to the FBI. All the scenarios run through my mind when the phone rings. It's too early for Sam. Unless this is a new strategy since I'm gone all day now. Or maybe Carter is calling because he forgot something. I have to answer.

  When I do, I know within seconds it's him.

  “I have your box.” I pause for a response I know I won't hear.

  “Your brother is the big winner in all this. Did you see on the news? He's running for mayor.”

  Nothing.

  “Is this ever going to stop? You don't want me, Sam. I wouldn't be here if you did.”

  I hang up before I can say anything else stupid and I get ready as quickly as I can so I can go somewhere he can't reach me.

  I spend my day in the library, flipping through pages that don't interest me. I'm restless today, full of secrets and emotions I can't let out. I have to do the opposite of what I feel urged to do. So I decide to stop by and surprise Carter for lunch. He's a TA and usually in the TA lounge between classes, so I drive over there but don't see him. Someone tells me he's in one of the lecture halls, wrapping up a class.

  I find the hall; a door is propped open. I walk towards it and hear his voice conversing with another. She's emotional. I stop before they can see me and peek just over the corner. A strawberry blond with feathered hair and big glasses stands in front of him. She's bracing her books across her chest. That's all I can gather before I have to hide behind the doorway.

  The acoustics of the lecture hall make it easy to gather most of the conversation, even from the top tier.

  “I don't understand…you said this would be temporary. It's been almost two months, Carter.”

  “You don't understand. She's been through a lot.”

  “So that makes this okay? Just be honest with me. Do you love me?”

  “Of course.”

  “But not more than her.”

  “Can you please understand the position I'm in? We were engaged before she was taken away. It's all very confusing.”

  “Well, it is for me too. One day, I'm practically living in your place. You're telling me you love me and how you can finally see a future with someone else, and then the next you get a phone call and tell me I have to pack my things. That she's back and you have to make sure she's okay. That was all you were going to do. Make sure she was okay. But now she's living there, and you are going on vacations—” She stops to sob.

  “I'm not the kind of person who leaves someone when they're down.”

  “So what? It's your responsibility to take care of her forever? You keep saying she's not well, but she doesn't want to go to therapy. You say this is just something you have to do, but—I don't even have to ask if you are having sex. I can't keep waiting. Just let me go,” she begs.

  “I can't tell you to leave. I still care about you.”

  “You have to make a choice. Either you start a new life with me, or you just take care of someone who I'm not even sure loves you anymore. But I won't keep waiting here, sleeping alone at night while you try to fuck her pain away. It's sick, this whole thing.”

  That's about all I can take before I turn and rush out of the building, tossing the lunch in the garbage as I wipe away tears. None of this has ever felt real. Because it wasn't. I kept telling myself I could make it more real than the life I left behind, but now I know it's not possible. Because Carter is faking it too. We're faking it for each other. We think that the other needs us. But we're holding on to an illusion.

  I've only ever felt so completely desired by one person. This world found a way to move on without me. I was dead. Coming back has only thrown it off kilter. We all keep trying to find our balance, but it wobbles on its axis like a top spinning on its fragile tip, waiting to topple over.

  My mother did her duty, she got me to adulthood and she's ready to get back to the life she stepped away from.

  Johnny is thriving without me. And even if my mother would let me, I'm not the girl who can take care of him anymore. Not the way I once could. I can barely do it for myself.

  And Carter, sweet Carter. I don't blame him. I'm not angry with him. He deserves someone who would cry and beg for him like that. Not someone who answers the phone to her kidnapper. Who protects the man who disrupted our lives. Not someone who has to try so hard to love him.

  Ever since I returned, I have felt unsettled. Always uneasy. I'm not safe. And the only way I can feel at ease again is to go back towards the flames. Go into the fiery building and let it overtake me. I might turn to ash, but at least I won't live in fear of being burnt.

  I may have a purpose. But it's not here anymore. It may not be a happy one. But my story doesn't happen here. It happens with Sam. Sheriff Ridgefield might think this is over, but this isn't over until I say it is.

  I run into the apartment I share with Carter and grab a pen and paper.

  Dear Carter,

  I can't thank you enough for the love and support you have shown me. Before and after I was taken. You deserve a life full of love and devotion. And I can't do this. I have to leave. I have to start somewhere else. Maybe one day I'll come back and we'll see each other. But you should move on. Take someone else to Tahoe. It's not my place anymore. I'll be fine. I just need to go my own way f
or a while. Please don't look for me. I'll be back when I'm ready. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything.

  Love,

  Vesper

  I grab my bags, Sam's box shoved safely at the bottom of one, and try to find something real.

  I've been sitting in this diner for about two hours. I'm on my fourth cup of coffee and my runny eggs sit there, cold. I have to eat them. I don't have a job and all I have to live on are the savings I had before I left, money intended for nursing school tuition, and some money my mother, well really my stepdad, threw my way to help me get on my feet. It's enough to last me a few months, but letting this nutrition sit on the plate is foolish. I try to will myself to take a bite, but I can't. I'm closer to him. I can feel it.

  “Need a refill?” the waitress asks. She's been patient with me taking up this table. But that's what people do in diners, right? They either come for a quick meal, or respite from something, a place they can come to sit for a cheap escape.

  “Sure.” I reach for the cup to hand it to her, but it's shaky. I've had too much caffeine and I'll keep on drinking. I feel resolute to do something, but it's one of two somethings and one is the one I want, the other is the one I should. We can go back to the quiet mornings under the California sun, when I'd read him books. Or the afternoons in the water, but this time it could be the beach instead of the lake. At night we could listen to music. Our world would be quiet, it would be just us and it wouldn't be so loud and full. And he could do what he wanted with me, because I'd let him. I'd let him devour every inch of me like I was the sweetest thing. Like I was the only thing that could curb his hunger.

  Or I could do what the lives represented in the box in my bag demand—find him, ring his doorbell at night and when he answers, shoot him in the face. I'll walk away the way he does: into the night. There will be no discernible motive. No reason for the police to trace his murder to me.

  Then I'll dump the box and the gun in the ocean. I'll find a motel and because I will have killed the only reason I had left to live, I'll take a bunch of pills and go to sleep.