Scar Tissue

by Patricia Hale

  “Lay it out on the floor.”

  I wrapped a large bath towel around Mike’s head to keep the blood from leaving a trail and we entombed him in the tarp.

  “I’m going to slide him down the stairs,” I told Rhea. “Stand at his feet so you can stop him if I lose my grip. I’ll hold his head.”

  She nodded and stepped backwards onto the stone steps.

  “Hold the rail,” I said. “The last thing we need is for you to fall.”

  Together we slowly and carefully slid Mike’s body down the stairs and over to my waiting car. I opened the rear door. Rhea started to lift his feet.

  “Uh ah,” I said. “No lifting. I can do this.”

  I took Mike’s shoulders in a bear hug, wishing for the upper body strength I didn’t have and slumped him into the cargo space in the back of the Rav. Lifting his feet next I worked him into the small area folding his legs behind him as though he were kneeling. I turned to Rhea who’d been standing off to the side watching.

  “Now we need his bike,” I said.

  The fear or confusion or whatever that had been residing on her face left it as she understood my plan. “I’ll get it.” She disappeared toward the garage and in minutes came around the corner wheeling Mike’s Colnago.

  I took it from her, slipped the front wheel off and laid the bike and tire on top of his body then closed the back door.

  “What’s a common route for him to take? If he’d come home tonight and gone for a ride, where would he go?”

  “I don’t know exactly. He went out Route 9 a lot and picked up route 100. He stayed to the back roads.”

  I nodded. “While I’m gone you have to clean the kitchen, every speck. And I need his uniform including the baton in a trash bag.”

  We went back into the kitchen. There was glass and blood everywhere. Rhea handed me a green leaf bag from the cabinet above the refrigerator. And I stuffed all of Mike’s police issue clothing and the baton into the bag.

  “He’s got plenty of uniforms, right? I mean they won’t miss this.”

  “They’re forever giving them new uniforms. I don’t even know how many he’s got.”

  I handed Rhea his shield and gun. “Put these wherever he keeps them when he gets home. And then get a bucket, fill it with detergent and bleach and clean this kitchen like you’ve never cleaned it before. Every inch.”

  She nodded.

  “Get rid of the glass and the blood. We’ll put the pantry cabinet in the garage when I get back. You can say you knocked it over and Mike put it in there until he had time to fix it. Then scrub the bucket too. Can you do that?”

  She nodded again, staring at the floor. “If it’s too much, do what you can. I’ll finish when I get back.”

  “I can do it. I have a compost pile way out back in the trees. I’ll bury everything under that.”

  “That works,” I said, impressed.

  “What…what are you going to do with him?”

  “He had a cycling accident or got run off the road or hit sand or whatever they want to believe when they find him. You’ll have to call the police later to report him missing, but wait until I get back.”

  I left Rhea filling a bucket at the sink, the steam rising in her face as she stared out the window in front of her. I wanted to know what she was thinking, needed to know where her head was, but we didn’t have time for emotions right now. That would come later.

  I drove out Route 9 passing the Royal Oaks new development and noticed a gravel truck parked beside the hole that would very soon, be an in-ground pool. I pulled into the empty development and shut off the Rav’s headlights. The dirt was raked smooth on the sides and bottom of the dug-out earth. The gravel in the truck was ready to be poured. I remembered the process from when our next-door neighbor’s pool was installed. Amy and I had watched the installation when we were kids, with high hopes of being invited over for a swim. We never were. I turned back to the Rav glad I’d thought to bring a shovel.

  I drove out Route 9 watching for the right spot. Occasionally I passed another car, but they were rare. I took a right onto a narrow dirt road with no street sign because it started with a steep hill and I was hoping it would have as steep a grade going down on the other side. The road narrowed at the crest and as hoped, careened down into an S-curve, steep enough to challenge even the most avid cyclist. There were no houses in sight, just pasture on the left and to my right, a plunging gravel drop. Made to order.

  I pulled as tight as I could to the right side, which wasn’t very far without teasing the edge of the cliff. But it was perfect for my needs as long as another car didn’t pull up behind me.

  I shut off the engine, dowsed the lights, put on the leather gloves I’d brought and opened the back door. Working as fast as my lack of strength allowed, I pulled Mike from the car and unrolled him from the tarp. I took the towel off his head trying not to look at his face, the face of my neighbor. The face of an abuser, I reminded myself. Before putting his bike helmet on him I beat it against the rocks near the car, smashing it against the granite with all my strength. When I’d finished, it was worn and scraped and cracked in a couple of places. I loosened the strap and put it on his head, shifting it to one side so that the clip was on his left ear and the helmet covered only the right side of his head. The less beaten side. Slipping my foot beneath him, I rolled him over the edge. It wasn’t a huge drop, thirty feet, maybe a little more. His body somersaulted over the gravel and rocks, bounced off two separate boulders and came to rest close to the bottom.

  Standing at the edge watching him roll, I thought for a minute I was going to be sick. But I couldn’t let my mind grasp the reality of what my body was doing. I just had to get through it. I could feel it later.

  I turned and walked back to the car. Removing the bike, I reattached the front wheel and with the shovel, beat on the bike frame and tires until everything was sufficiently bent, scraped and a few spokes were broken, then I rolled the bike over the edge. It took a couple of turns on its bent wheels, wobbling along like a child learning to ride then it toppled over and slid halfway down the ravine.

  I surveyed my work, feeling like I was in the midst of an out of body experience. Covering up a crime was something I had people arrested for. The moon slipped from behind a cloud and glinted off the handlebars. I looked past them and down to where Mike lay. This was a man, a cop and a husband, soon to be a father. He was also a controlling, abusive asshole, a misogynist who had no ability to care for his pregnant wife let alone a helpless child. But he’d met this end not because he couldn’t care for his family, but because he would physically harm them. “Not anymore, Mike,” I whispered.

  I added the tarp and towel to the trash bag then started the car and backed up until I was on the slope at the base of the S-curve. I hit the gas, braking hard as I neared the gravel along the edge causing the back end of the Rav to fishtail. My heart pounded in my ears. All I needed was to lose control and end up over the side with Mike. I pulled back onto the dirt road then stopped, checking my work in the rear-view mirror. The tire tracks came from the end of the S-curve toward the right side of the road. It was obvious where I’d hit the brake and skidded. Anyone looking at the scene would agree, the visual told the story. A vehicle either intentionally or unintentionally had run Mike off the road at the base of the hill, sending him over the edge. A hit and run. The only alternative was that he’d come off the s-curve too fast and lost control. I’d be content with either.

  At Royal Oaks I doused my headlights and again took the shovel from the back as well as the leaf bag with Mike’s gear. I left my flashlight in the car, no need to draw attention if anyone passed. The moon was on my side tonight. Its radiance was all the light I needed.

  Whoever had left the ladder propped against the side of the hole would pay for that oversight in the morning when the crew returned, but his carelessness was my good luck. I tossed the bag into the would-be pool and climbed down the ladder holding the shovel with one hand. At the
bottom, I dug a hole deep enough to cover the evidence and then added another foot. I threw in the leaf bag, covered it as quickly as I could and flattened the ground on top, hiding any sign of disturbance. Then crossed to the ladder, smoothing the ground with the back of the shovel to erase my footprints. At the top, I looked back. No trace of my having been there. Satisfied, I tossed the shovel in the cargo hold, slipped into the driver’s seat and closed my eyes. Exhaustion took over and I felt the tears coming before they reached my eyes. I squeezed my lids shut. No time for that. I’d done what needed doing. As long as the truth never came out, Rhea and her child would have what so many other women and children in abusive relationships never get…a chance.

  I opened my eyes and started the car. I’d call Rhea when I got home and tell her to call the police and report Mike missing. My cell rang just as I pulled onto the road.

  “Hello?”

  “Britt?” It was Rhea. “I’m in labor.”

  Twenty-Six

  “I’m ten minutes away,” I said to Rhea. “Call the station, ask them if anyone’s seen Mike. Tell them he went for a bike ride and left his phone at home and that you’re in labor.”

  Rhea didn’t answer.

  “Rhea…”

  “Yeah, sorry, contraction.”

  “Can you hold on until I get there?”

  “Yes.” Her breathing was fast and shallow. “Where’s…what did you do with…”

  “Don’t worry about that now. Call the station and tell them they need to find Mike. Tell them your neighbor’s taking you to the hospital. Then leave a note on the kitchen counter for Mike.”

  “Okay.”

  I pushed END and called Griff.

  “Hey, where are you? I just got home.”

  “Rhea’s in labor. I’m taking her to the hospital.” I left out that I’d been out of the house for the past three hours, making it sound like I already had Rhea in the car and we were on our way. Omission is a gray area.

  “Where’s Mike?”

  “Out on his bike.”

  “In the dark?”

  “He left a while ago, but forgot to take his phone.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  “No, but I’ll stay with her until he gets to the hospital. She left a note for him in the kitchen. He’ll come when he gets home.”

  “Okay, do what you need to. Tell Rhea good luck. I hope it goes smoothly for her.”

  “I will…hey Griff?

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, honey. See you soon.”

  I ended the call wondering if he’d still say that if he knew how I’d spent the last three hours. I’d done things tonight I’d never believed I was capable of. I’d saved a woman and child and if caught, I’d go to prison. Was I a hero or a criminal? Griff and I both had a passion for justice. It was the path we took that differed.

  When I pulled into Rhea’s driveway, she was doubled over at the bottom of the stairs, her hand clenched around the railing. A bag sat at her feet.

  “Let’s go,” I said jumping out of the car and hurrying toward her.

  “My hospital bag, Britt. Will you get it?”

  I slung the bag over my shoulder and we moved slowly to the car. I opened the passenger door while she leaned on the hood and breathed through another contraction.

  “How fast are they coming?”

  “About four minutes apart.”

  “Shit, let’s go.”

  She stared straight ahead out of the windshield, taking long, deep breaths and made no comment about my running yellow lights and weaving in and out of lanes on route 295.

  “How’s the kitchen? Do you need me to go back and finish?”

  She shook her head exhaling a long slow breath. “Spotless. Except for the pantry cabinet. I couldn’t move it. I’m sure all that scrubbing is what started this.”

  “Did you call the police station?”

  “Yes. I told them that I was in labor and that you were taking me to the hospital. I said Mike was out on his bike without his phone and that if any of them heard from him to let him know.”

  I nodded. “Good.”

  “Britt, what did you do with…”

  “He’s in a gully on a dirt road off Route 100.”

  Rhea closed her eyes and shivered. I didn’t know if her reaction was a result of the physical pain she was in or the image of Mike I’d just given her.

  “I threw the bike in with him after I bent it up.”

  She looked at me and blinked back tears, but didn’t speak.

  I had to remember that this was a guy she’d loved at some point in her life. To me, he was nothing but a man undeserving of the title, but to her he’d meant something once upon a time.”

  “It looks like he either lost control and ran off the road or a hit and run,” I said softening my tone.

  “Would running off the road be enough to kill him?” She asked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

  “The gulley is at the base of a long, steep S-curve. He’d have been going very fast coming down the hill. Yeah, I think a fall like that could kill someone.”

  The medical center came into view and the only sound for the rest of the drive was Rhea’s slow and steady breathing. I pulled the Rav into a parking space in the emergency lot, had a moment of déjà vu, and ran through the electronic doors to grab a wheel chair from a collection lined up like grocery carts.

  Rhea sank into the chair, I dropped her hospital bag on her lap and together we rolled into the ER. I have to admit I was glad that I was the one doing the pushing…of the chair that is.

  The nurse at the desk took one look at Rhea and relieved me of my transport duties. “You stay here and register her,” she said to me. “I’ll take her up to delivery. This girl’s ready to go.”

  I’m not sure how she knew just by looking at her face, but I wasn’t going to argue. “I’ll try to reach Mike,” I told Rhea as the nurse wheeled her away.

  I registered her as well as I could, without having all her personal information and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.

  “Third floor,” she said.

  At the nurses’ station, I gave them Mike’s name and phone number reiterating the ‘out for a bike ride’ story.

  “Got a minute?” A nurse asked as I stepped inside Rhea’s room.

  “Sure.” I followed her into the hallway.

  What’s up with her face?”

  I looked at my feet and then back at the nurse. “You’ll have to take that up with her husband when he gets here.”

  “Don’t think we won’t,” she said. “It’s not only my job. It’s my mission when they come in like that.”

  I nodded, knowing it was a moot point and walked past her into Rhea’s room. She was propped up against starched white sheets. Her hair fanned out wildly around her head and her face was wet with sweat. A doctor had checked the baby’s progress on making its exit, or entrance, depending on your perspective.

  “Won’t be long,” she smiled as she passed me at the doorway. “Did you reach her husband?”

  “Not yet. I’ll keep trying.”

  She nodded and disappeared into the next room.

  “Hey,” I said standing beside the bed and taking Rhea’s hand.

  She gave me a squeeze in acknowledgement but kept focused on the nurse on the other side of the bed who was helping her regulate her breathing.

  All of a sudden, she let out a yell and squeezed my fingers until I thought they might break. And just as I was about to match her with a screech of my own, she relaxed her grip.

  “Jeez,” I said.

  The nurse shot me a dirty look. “Are you her support person?”

  “Ah, I guess so.”

  “Then act like one.”

  I wanted to say that I’d done more to support Rhea and her baby than she could imagine, but I mumbled, “Sorry,” instead, and pulled the green vinyl chair up to the bedside. Never letting go of Rhea’s hand.
/>
  After another half hour of contractions, the doctor returned confirming it was time to push. They repositioned Rhea into a sitting posture and bent her legs at the knees. The doctor draped a sheet over her legs and took a seat front and center.

  “Let’s bring this baby into the world,” she said with a smile.

  Rhea groaned and the end game began.

  I stayed at the head of the bed, wiping Rhea’s face with a cool cloth as gently as I could, given her bruised and swollen skin. I thought about Griff and wondered if we’d ever be in a similar situation as the one I was in with Rhea now. He was ready to take our relationship to the next level. For me, moving into the house together was enough, but a year from now? Six months? Never say never.

  “Your baby’s crowning,” the doctor said. “It won’t be long. A few more good pushes.”

  She was right. On the fourth push Rhea’s daughter emerged, coming from the warmth and safety of the womb into a world of no guarantees. The doctor laid the tiny, slippery, waxy-coated child on her mother’s stomach. Rhea gathered her daughter into her arms and nestled the newborn’s head against her neck, covering the baby’s cheek with kisses and tears. Watching this moment between mother and child I thought for the first time…maybe. I kissed Rhea on the top of her head and walked into the hallway letting the nurses do their thing and giving Rhea time with her daughter without an audience.

  Griff answered his phone on the first ring.

  “It’s a girl,” I said.

  “That’s great. How’s Rhea?”

  “She’s good. It was amazing to watch.”

  “Did Mike get there?”

  My stomach clenched. “No, I still haven’t been able to reach him. Do you want to run next door? See if his bike’s there?”

  “Sure. I’ll call you back.”

  I hit the END button feeling a little guilty for sending Griff on what I knew to be a fruitless errand, but I had to play this to a tee. What came next sent my heart knocking against my ribs. I took a breath and called the police station. After explaining who I was and where I was, I told the desk clerk that Mike still hadn’t been located.