The Estranged

by JG Koratzanis

  “Anyone? Anyone,” he said. The answer never left Heather’s lips. Nor Kelsey’s.

  “Listen, I’m not looking to cause a scene or anything,” he said. A catcher’s mitt of a hand reached into his breast pocket. When the barrel of the Glock pressed into Heather’s temple, instant clarity shot through her faster than the round could have discharged from the chamber.

  “Grace!” Heather screamed. “I thought it was her car,” she said.

  Baz smiled. “Really? Do I look that fuckin’ stupid to you?” His elevated volume and divebomb pitch gnarled her hands and forced her bladder to squeeze out a few more drops. Cars honked, and drivers yelled. Kelsey’s eyes remained shut.

  Baz stood up, pointed his weapon skywards and squeezed off a round. It echoed throughout the steel girders of the overhead highway and silenced the protesting motorists.

  “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I was askin’ you if you think I’m fuckin’ stupid. What’s your final answer? Clock’s a-tickin’.”

  “No, no, no, no. You’re not stupid. I am. I heard my boyfriend, sorry, my ex-boyfriend has been hanging around Grace’s and I just wanted to see if it was true,” she said.

  Baz slipped the weapon back into his jacket. “You’re Heather? Sweet. Nice to finally meet your acquaintance.”

  The return to cordiality boiled the acids in her stomach.

  “Yeah, he’s been around. He’s not the brightest bulb in the bunch, I’ll tells you that. What the fuck you want with a loser like him anyway? You seem like a pretty girl. You fucked up in the head or something and don’t like to aim too high?”

  The tear fell from her eyelid as she closed. Of all the people in the world to call her out on her actions, it’s this mobster, in the middle of an intersection, with nowhere to go.

  “Listen, ladies. I’m sure you mean well, but it’s time to move on. Like I said, he’s not right in the head. Someone like him might hurt you if you turned up somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

  Heather let out a long breath.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll stay away. You won’t see me or my friend ever again.”

  His smile stretched his mustache and exposed the empty patches between hairs.

  “That’s good. But if I find out you’re tailing me again, I’ll be the one to hurt you. And that’s a fuckin’ promise, lady.” Spittle dotted Heather’s face as he finished.

  “You should get that window fixed. It’s raining, you know?”

  Baz ambled back to his car. Heather remained frozen as the Mercedes sped away.

  PART THREE

  DAYLIGHT DIES

  CHAPTER 10

  DUSK

  I

  Heather sat by Rick’s bedside and read the unending political protests, funny baby videos and breakfast meal statuses in her social media feed. She saw everything and nothing at the same time as friends and family forgot how incredibly insignificant their lives are and continued their meaningless debates over issues that tore families apart since the beginning of time; politics, religion, music, and sex. And today, it meant that much less to her as she searched her mind for an answer.

  Why?

  It was my fault, not his, he mustered though his Dilaudid miasma.

  “Don’t blame him,” Rick said. “I brought this on myself,” was the last thing he said before the medication eased him back into painless rest.

  Why?

  The obvious answer was clear. Though Rick might not cop to it, she knew. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he did the right thing by Chase. He thought. The not so obvious answer eluded comprehension. Illumination wouldn’t come. There was only one place to find the truth if Rick wouldn’t provide it. And it was an answer she was terrified to discover. The man she once knew, once loved, became someone she feared. Now more than ever.

  Heather reached over to Rick and held his IV pierced hand. She tried not to squeeze but did anyway. She didn’t want Rick to think, if he was still somewhat awake, that she left.

  “How is it not his fault? He did this to you, you big dummy,” she wept.

  Rick winced as he tried to smile. The bandages wrapped a bit too tightly around his head and covered his eye refused to shift as he smiled. Heather watched the tape tug at his cheek.

  “Can I get you anything, teddy bear?” she said.

  He pointed one finger from her grasp and ticked it back and forth.

  “I’m good,” he coughed. She smiled back at him.

  “You will be,” she said. “Can you please tell me what happened?”

  Rick gently shook his head.

  “Is it because you can’t remember?”

  Again, his finger went side to side.

  “You don’t want to tell me?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he groaned. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she smiled. His breath slowed, steadied into slumber, as she kissed him again. “Get some rest, teddy bear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Heather had heard and seen enough. The young boy from Cromwell was dead, just as she hoped. From the ashes, arose a monster. A monster, who attacked the one person in his life that would never give up on him. She knew what happened though Rick wouldn’t relent. And knowing this happened because Rick told him what happened at Gary’s party so long ago, burned her soul with an inferno’s rage. Ever since she plunged the knife into his back, and through his heart, nothing remained the same. There were too many nights Heather lay awake and drown in the riptide of the certainty of her decision. It was right for her, it was supposed to be right for him. And now—

  The concrete exterior of the hospital disappeared under the pallid skies as Mother Nature rained down the darkness Heather refused to release. The PAT-PAT-PAT of the raindrops against the blood red awning, sidewalks, and double-parked cars along Ninety-Second Street were like bass drums in her head. Her denim jacket and jeans drank in the water with an unquenchable thirst and weighted them against her flesh like a suit of lead. She craned her face to the heavens and allowed the cold wet to wash her pain away.

  II

  Water rushed down the windshield as he peered at her from across the street. The headlights of the blacked-out, ‘97 Honda Civic illuminated Ninety-Second Street with the lumen of a votive candle as he chewed his nails down to the quip. Droplets of blood smeared across his lips as he ignored the burning needles with each nibble.

  Every night, he lay awake, head swirling, heart thundering as he tried to understand why she walked away from him. They were destined to be together forever. How could she not realize that? And no one, not even Rick, should get in the way.

  But he did what he needed to, built his life, his purpose up to where she wouldn’t, couldn’t deny him any longer. He pulled the black hood over his head and rolled up the window. Now was the time. Today was the day he would win Heather’s love again.

  It had been nearly two years since he touched her, spoke to her, witnessed the amazing light of heaven in her eyes. Heat radiated from his chest when he considered what had to be done for them to remain together forever. In that magnificent world where pain and hope end, and love and joy remain forever.

  He left the car running as his hand twitched at the door handle. A thrust shoulder against the stubborn door and the hinges groaned their disapproval. His eyes flickered back and forth as he patted around his waist. A smile curled his lips as he remembered what he needed to ensure her acceptance laying in the center pocket of his sweatshirt. His pulse quickened, his fingers played an imaginary piano at his sides as he watched her standing there, her face to God as she allowed the rain to envelop her.

  The downpour mixed with thick perspiration as his boots thudded against asphalt and splashed puddles. Fists clenched and swayed in opposition to his footfalls. The din of rain subdued to the rush of blood in his ears.

  She continued towards Seventh Avenue. The Dyker Beach Golf Course on the other side of the street, burned out bulbs shadowed the entrances, or exits depending on one’s point of view
, spilled foreboding shadows of complete black across the sidewalk.

  Lightning cracked across the night sky and the clouds unleashed a deluge of wet fury, as if nature, or God, knew of his intent and only mustered falling water instead of a plague of locusts to stop him. Stifling air sucked into his lungs as he watched Heather quicken her pace towards the street corner.

  His lumbering gait increased into a clodhopping as he cursed himself for not wearing sneakers instead. The thud resounded over the rain, thunder and pounding in his head.

  Heather stopped at the intersection and eased her head sideways. He halted in his tracks as he trembled at the idea that she might have heard his Clydesdale approach. This night was supposed to be a surprise. Her knight in shining armor, or bone-soaked hooded sweatshirt and jeans, ready to whisk her away to Camelot.

  She turned around and gawked. They remained frozen, silent as the flash flood roared at their feet into the sewer drain.

  “Heather?”

  She collapsed to the sidewalk as the clang of flashlight to skull blackened her vision.

  III

  “Good news. The periorbital hematoma has settled quite nice. The bad news, the abrasions and lacerations will most likely scar and take some care to make them as invisible as possible. If you’re concerned with reconstructive rhinoplasty, my good friend, Doctor Corvo, is the best in the city.”

  “Hey. It’s an improvement. At least you have a good reason to look as dumb as you already do,” Jackie said. Rick glanced out the window and watched the rain pat against the glass. Mother Nature had not let up in several days. What should have been Hurricane Bertha, whittled down into a ceaseless tropical depression, as a cold front blasted down from the North. Rick blamed the humidity and weening of pain medications to his increased discomfort. He shifted in the Hill-Rom and cleared his throat.

  “Doctor Campos? Can you recommend a no-so-good insane asylum for my friend here?”

  Campos grinned and turned towards the door. “You’ll be discharged in the next few days. We’re confident that your concussion is mild enough to let you get back to your everyday life. No driving or operating heavy machinery. Follow up with your regular physician when you get home. Visiting hours are almost over. Good night.” The doctor pulled the door closed as he exited.

  “So, I’m guessing this isn’t what you meant by a summer vacation,” Jackie said. “What really happened?”

  Rick eased back into the bed and lowered the headrest. “I got what I deserved. I hurt him. He hurt back. That’s it,” Rick said.

  “This? Don’t tell me this was about that night at Gary’s.”

  Rick turned away.

  “This isn’t getting even! This is just wrong!”

  “What’s just wrong?” a man said from the doorway. Neither had noticed it open, nor the two men standing in it.

  “Can I help you?” Rick said as the two men stepped closer to the bed.

  “Not really. I was hoping I could help you,” the man said. His gold badge hung above his flat belly. Rick considered him a bit of a caricature as his wide shoulders and broad chest exaggerated its girth against his short stature. His thick neck was borderline comical. And his shaved head didn’t hide his balding.

  “Who are you?”

  The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Me? I’m sorry, I thought I introduced myself. I’m Detective Lynch. My partner here’s Detective Villalobos. How are you feeling this evening? Better?”

  Rick folded his arms about his chest as Jackie stepped back towards the windows.

  “What’s this about?”

  Lynch grinned. It appeared forced, practiced. He snapped his gum.

  “Someone’s inquisitive. Isn’t he Villa?”

  Villalobos nodded.

  “You want to tell him or should I,” Lynch said. Jackie cleared his throat and stepped around the detectives. Villalobos sidestepped in front of him.

  “Mr. Kelly? Feel free to stay. This pertains to both of you. If that’s Okay?” Lynch added. Jackie remained still.

  “Stay, relax,” Villalobos said. “We’ll only be a moment. No one’s in trouble here.”

  “Chilean,” Rick said. The detectives shot him a glance. Lynch’s smile faded.

  “That’s very astute of you, Rick— Valenz, is it? Are you as well?”

  Rick nodded. Villalobos handed Lynch a manila folder.

  “Lynch, is it,” Rick mocked. “Can we cut to the chase? I’m not—”

  “Chase? Excellent choice of words. Can I ask when was the last time you were with him?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a while.”

  “Visiting hours are now over. We hope you enjoyed your stay at Victory Memorial. Visiting hours will resume tomorrow at Eight AM.” The announcement clicked out. Jackie gestured to Villalobos.

  “Just a few more minutes. Please,” he said. Fingernails made their way to Jackie’s teeth.

  “How long would you consider a while, Rick? A month? A week? A few days,” Lynch said. He sat at Rick’s bedside and opened the folder. Page by page, he flipped through. Rick remained silent.

  “I’m sorry. I almost forgot you sustained a concussion. I’ll help you along. I did say I was here to help you, didn’t I?”

  “You’re pretty into yourself, wouldn’t you say, Lynch,” Rick smiled. Lynch didn’t. “All this I, I, I talk. You sure you’re here for me?”

  Lynch glowered.

  “Fine. You don’t want to play nice? Let’s not play nice. We know Chase did this to you. He’s angry, he’s violent and he’s only getting worse. We’ve been watching him for the last year. Take a look.”

  Lynch dropped the open folder between Rick’s legs. Photographs of Chase meeting with an imposing, bald man in a leather jacket on the left, Chase exiting a broken gate of an impound yard on the right. Rick glanced away and swept the folder away with a flick of the wrist.

  “There’s more. Not interested?”

  Rick folded his arms and stared at Jackie who remained motionless.

  “There’s a pair of plain-clothes cops on their way to his apartment now. Help us help you. Help us stop him. He’s not who you thought he is.”

  Rick’s turmoil made its way to his bloodshot eyes and fell. He shook his head.

  “When was the last time you heard from Heather?” Villalobos said. Rick and Jackie’s gaze darted to him.

  “A Mrs. Beatrice Donnington, Heather’s friend, called a missing person’s report.”

  “What do you mean,” Jackie gawked.

  “Heather’s last known whereabouts was here. Four days ago. She hasn’t reported for work, social media accounts, friends or family.”

  Jackie bit his nails as Rick sat upright.

  “No way. There’s no way Chase did anything to her. No way whatsoever,” Rick shuddered. Jackie jumped to his feet.

  “What? How do you know he didn’t do something to her? Look at what he did to you!”

  Lynch grinned.

  “Shut up, Jackie. He didn’t do anything to me. He wouldn’t do anything to her either,” he snapped.

  “Then what? She didn’t just up and leave.”

  Rick eased back into the bed and lowered the headrest. Eyes flickered behind closed lids as he searched.

  “He didn’t do it. Just find her. Please,” Rick muttered.

  CHAPTER 11

  NIGHT

  I

  The malodorous stench of bile, urine, and decay filled the cramped space as Heather wrestled the restraints that cut into her wrist. Her head jerked back and forth as each gasping breath filled her lungs with fire. Her eyelids batted against the cloth, or handkerchief tightly wrapped around her head. Nothing but the hint of light permeated the red hue. She fought the knot in her throat and screamed. The hoarseness of her voice reminded her that this wasn’t the first day. Lips split as they opened wide. She jerked back into the chair. It wouldn’t budge. Her body trembled as realization dawned on her.

  She thought about her clothing. Did anyone else?

&nbs
p; Her jeans— they were black. She wore her black jeans when she was—

  With Rick. She was with Rick. In the hospital. He was—

  “Chase,” she screamed. “Don’t you fucking do this to me! If you ever really loved me, you’d let me out of here!”

  She waited for the response that never came. Silence consumed her ears. Silence so loud it hurt. Her head loomed as she allowed the confusion and emotion burst forth from her eyes and heart.

  “Please. I’m begging you. I just want to go home,” she whimpered. The rasp of a clearing throat rattled behind her. Her foot involuntarily tapped in rapid-fire succession as she hushed herself once more. Her breath halted as she heard the clomp of heavy footfalls making their way towards her.

  She heard his breath. It sounded thick, labored, ill. If there was any illness he might have suffered from, mental was the only one that came to mind.

  He finally snapped. Drugs? Brainwashing? This was never the man she loved. This was not the man she knew. Whoever he was now, she was—

  “Please, Chase. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  Something cold and wet pressed against her lips. There was the faint smell of soap— dish detergent, on the foam that dripped down her chin. She sucked on it and drank, not knowing, not caring if there was anything else other than hydrated relief.

  “Slowly,” he whispered. “You’ll get sick. I don’t want you to get sick. I love you.”

  Her head jerked back, and she coughed. Salty phlegm and iron dotted her taste buds. There was an affect to his voice, though only whispered, she detected it. It almost sounded like two voices in one. Like he was trying to disguise something.

  “Why are you doing this if you love me,” she pleaded.

  The sponged left her lips and she heard him walk away. The hint of aftershave, like stagnant Nivea, clung to the air.