Save Me

by Heidi McLaughlin

  I hold the towel to my face and scream into it, sobbing as my body convulses. My heart aches, my lungs grasp for air, and my head spins. I’ve been living a quiet life and one article has changed that. I should take comfort in knowing he’s behind bars and can never hurt my daughter again, but I don’t because she’s still out there and for all I know she’s doing the hunting for him.

  One article reminds me of the worst time in my life. A time when I made the choice to run so I could protect my daughter from a monster who informed me that my husband was dead a day after I reported him to the authorities.

  The Greyhound bus made a stop and we got off in this small town, which was divided by a highway, and I found a run-down motel that rented rooms by the week. I had enough money for a week before I’d have to find a job. That job came in the form of cashier at the only gas station in town. I took the job because they’d allow me to bring my little girl to work as long as she stayed out of the way.

  She did and I earned enough to continue to pay rent and feed her some healthy food. With my only bills being rent and food, I was able to save enough for us to move from a run-down motel to an apartment where my daughter and I shared a room. It wasn’t until I met Ray that things started to change. I know he took pity on me, the single mom working at a gas station, but he never let on if it bothered him that I was destitute.

  When he asked me, Amy Jones, to marry him I said yes because he was going to provide for my daughter. He was going to protect her when I couldn’t. He was going to give us a house with land and a stable income. All things I couldn’t provide for her.

  But I still love the husband I could never bury, the man who gave me my daughter and made my world so bright. To this day it pains me to know that he was alone when they set him in the ground and that his wife and daughter weren’t there to say good-bye. Someday, I’ll go back and tell him how much I love him. I know he’d be proud of me, knowing I did what I had to do to protect our daughter.

  Pulling the towel away from my face, I toss it in the hamper, and then make an effort to remove the rest of my make-up because it’s the only way I can explain my red eyes. Washing my face with hot water will also give my blotchy skin an excuse.

  I take a deep breath and avoid looking in the mirror. I don’t care to see myself right now. The person staring back is not me. Not anymore. I can feel my world starting to crumble. Ray will never understand the lies I’ve told.

  As I head back downstairs, Chloe and Ray are sitting at the table carrying on a funny conversation. I hate that I wasn’t here to hear the story, but maybe they’ll share with me.

  “Have you been crying?” Ray asks. There’s an undertone to his voice that I can’t describe.

  “You okay, Mom?”

  I smile at Chloe and set my hand on hers. “I’m fine. And no I haven’t been crying. I got soap in my eyes when I was taking off my make-up,” I tell my husband who has grown quite sour this evening.

  We eat dinner in silence and when it’s done, Chloe helps clear the table while I take care of the dishes.

  When Ray puts his hand on my waist, I jump. I don’t mean to, but it’s not like I can tell him that.

  “Amy, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing, Ray. I’m just doing the dishes, you scared me is all.”

  “I called your name a few times before I touched you. I thought maybe you had earphones in.”

  I shake my head and offer him a sweet smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I look at Ray in his pale-green button down and black slacks. His hair is always perfectly styled and his face freshly shaven. I asked him once if he thought about letting his facial hair grow, especially on the weekends, but he said he’d never do that. I miss the feel of stubble against my fingertips and along my cheek. I miss the way I used to be kissed, but I couldn’t ever tell him that.

  “I’m fine, Ray. I promise.”

  “Do you think you could be pregnant?”

  I shake my head sadly and watch his face fall. He’s wanted another child for years, but I’ve been secretly taking the birth control pill since we started dating, fearful that I’d never be able to love another child the way I love Chloe.

  He nods and moves back toward the table. With my back to him I finish washing the dishes. He talks about his day and I respond at the appropriate times.

  “You know our politicians leave something to be desired.”

  “Uh huh.” Please change the subject, Ray. I beg of you. I close my eyes and pray he moves onto the next topic.

  “Ted Lawson,” he tsks as I fight back the tears. “Hopefully he’s put away for life.”

  “Or gets the death penalty,” I mutter under my breath. Shutting off the water, I excuse myself to retreat back to the bathroom where I empty the contents of my stomach.

  I’M A FAN of flying and jumping out of airplanes. What I’m not a fan of is walking through the airport in handcuffs, but that’s what Cara had to do to make this an official prisoner transport. Of course it doesn’t help that EJ is asking, very loudly, why I have to be handcuffed and why he can’t wear some, too. The only benefit is that people are steering clear of me and offering sympathy to Ryley because they’re all assuming I’m her fugitive husband.

  Being a “fugitive” means we don’t have to sit and wait with everyone else. The first class lounge is very nice, and even with it being my first time in here, I find that I could get used to something like this. Being in the Navy doesn’t exactly pad the pocketbook—therefore, if it takes handcuffs to get into the first class lounge, so be it. Unfortunately, when we get on the plane we’ll be in coach like everyone else, except we have the luxury of getting on first. You know, dangerous criminal and all.

  I have to say, Ryley isn’t playing the role of doting wife to me right now; she’s chasing EJ around. Cara is talking with security, and I’m sitting on a leather chair with my coat wrapped around my hands trying to figure out how to pick up the glass of water the hostess sat down on the table for me. Mind you, she should’ve never given a criminal a glass, but that’s beside the point. I’m thirsty and the water is mocking me.

  As soon as our flight is called, Cara is at my side, being dutiful. She walks me toward the gate, flashes her badge and our papers amongst the whispers, and escorts me onto the plane. Ryley and EJ are sitting across from us, with us all being in the first row of coach.

  “Let me see your hands,” Cara says as I lift them toward her. After this, you can bet your ass I’ll be following every law mandated because being unable to use my hands is not my cup of tea. As soon as Cara unlocks the cuffs, I instinctively rub my wrist. Even though they weren’t tight, the metal still rubbed against my skin causing an irritation.

  “How long’s the flight?”

  “Under three hours,” Cara replies while scrolling through her phone. “When we land, Jensen will be there waiting for Ryley and EJ. You and I will get into a black town car and meet them at the Clarke’s.”

  I frown at the realization that we’ve had to go through so much trouble to get me back to San Diego. I should’ve just taken the bus, which is how I ended up in Seattle to begin with. The security is so much less strict, and they’re not paying attention once you show them your military ID.

  The plane starts to fill and I keep my hands under my coat so as to not cause a panic. The passengers need to think I’m still under Cara’s control. They need to feel safe, and if that means hiding my hands, giving them the illusion I have cuffs on, so be it. The last thing people need is fear when they get on a plane. People can’t help but stare, even the few eyes I’ve made contact with as they’ve come down the aisle has them questioning what I’m doing on the plane and whether I’ll be causing a ruckus.

  There’s some mumbling as people walk by and Cara makes sure to have her badge around her neck, so everyone can see it. I hate that I’m making them uncomfortable. I look over to Ryley, who is watching me, to see an expression
of pity. I don’t need it, but I know it’s inevitable. She turns away and whispers something in EJ’s ear. The next thing I know he’s coming over and sitting down next to me and showing me his iPad. Maybe Ryley feels that if people see me with EJ, they’ll soften. Thing is, Ryley doesn’t know how comfortable she’s just made me by having him sit next to me.

  Aside from a few comments behind us, the flight goes off without a hitch. Once again, I’m escorted off first and the people in first class whisper as I walk by with my jacket covering my once again cuffed hands out in front of me. I know they’re pissed they’re still sitting down, and if my situation were different I wouldn’t care, but these people have no idea what I’m going through and it pisses me off that they feel they can pass judgement on me. If it weren’t for guys like me, these people wouldn’t be so careless with their freedom.

  Jensen is waiting at the baggage carousel when we finally make it down there. EJ races out of Ryley’s grip and into his grandfather’s arms. Watching them … hell, watching any child hugging a parent or otherwise, chokes me up.

  I feel my resolve slipping, my determination wavering. I know I have to fight, but fighting thin air is tiresome. I want a reward, a nugget of information which tells me that Penny and Claire are alive. That’s all I need to get me to the next stage.

  Jensen gives me a hug. It’s nice even though I don’t know him well. We’ve met maybe a handful of times. Carole, I know better but the hug is welcoming nonetheless.

  “Shall we get home?” he asks, focusing on Ryley and EJ. I can’t imagine how he feels about everything. I know he and Evan were, and maybe still are, close. He was there for Evan and Nate when their dad died, and once Ryley followed Evan to Coronado, Jensen and Carole did, too. But now that they’re back living in Washington, I can’t imagine how lonely he must feel. Even though he hasn’t lost his family, I’m sure it feels like it when you can’t drive over and see them on a Sunday afternoon.

  Jensen piles our luggage onto a cart with the assistance of EJ, while I stand here looking like fucking scum for not helping. It’d be nice to have some semblance of an identity by the time I leave. It’d be nice to belong again.

  As Cara said, there’s a black town car waiting for us. It’s not Federal or military issued so she must’ve rented it for us. It’s something I’ll have to pay her back for, when I can.

  We both climb in the backseat and take off, driving faster than normal, but living up to the pretenses that everyone has about the Feds. It’s funny and I find myself laughing at the absurdity of this whole situation.

  I’m a decorated member of the United States Navy and because they won’t acknowledge that they made a mistake, Rask and myself have to live like illegal aliens. Worse really for me since Rask lives on base—at least they’re acknowledging his existence, even if he can’t do anything. I’m just a blimp on their radar and they’re just waiting to take me out.

  “Do you think they’ll kill me before I uncover the truth?”

  “What’s the truth?” Cara asks as she uncuffs me.

  “I don’t know.” Shrugging, I direct my gaze out the window. The familiar scenery lulls me into a false sense of security. This place has the answers, but I don’t want to be here, not without my family.

  “The truth is out there, we just have to find it. Someone has the answers we’re looking for.”

  “Probably Lawson,” Cara says.

  “He’s going to die.”

  Cara sighs and crosses her legs. “You can’t talk like that if you want me to take you to see him.”

  Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the window. The sun feels good as its warmth radiates through.

  “The other day you told me about Penny filing a police report. I want to go interview the officer who took it.”

  When I look over at Cara, she’s on her phone—always working.

  “He’s dead,” I reply coldly, and meet her gaze so she knows I’m not giving her the run around.

  “How?”

  “Massive heart attack.”

  “Well shit,” Cara mumbles.

  “Yup, my thoughts exactly. I thought maybe he gave Penny some direction on what to do, or gave her a number to call.”

  When we pull into the Clarke’s, Cara and I immediately get into Nate’s car. Carole arranged for it to be picked up from base so Cara could drive it since technically she’s off duty.

  Our first stop is my old house. Cara wants to look around; I really want to stay in the car, except I can’t.

  “Here, you need this.” She hands me a badge, which has the name Duke Riggs on it. “It’ll be easier to get information.”

  “Makes sense.” We both get out of the car and I find that I have to give myself a little pep as I walk up the steps. It may not be my name, but for right now it gives me an identity. Now I can’t screw up and give her the wrong name.

  “Can I help you?” the small-framed woman asks us. She doesn’t look familiar and I don’t believe she’s the same woman who lived here six months ago.

  Cara flashes her badge and the woman’s eyes go wide.

  “I’m SA Hughes and this is SA Riggs. We’re with the FBI,” she says as the woman’s face pales. I guess I’d be shitting bricks if the FBI came knocking on my door, too.

  “Ma’am, we have reason to believe that a crime took place in this house approximately six years ago. How long have you lived here?”

  “Um …” She stalls before shrugging.

  “You’re not sure how long you’ve lived here?”

  She drops her head, giving it a slight shake. When she glances at us, fear is written all over her face.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Is there a reason for you to be?” Cara returns the question.

  “Shit. Look, I’m not supposed to be here, okay? I met him at bar and his wife is out of town. Fuck,” she says as things start turning frantic.

  “I see. Well, why don’t you go on home?”

  She nods. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” She grabs her purse and bolts down the stairs without shutting the door. We wait until she’s down the street before stepping in.

  “Well that was easy.” Cara pulls on some gloves, then hands me a matching pair. “Put these on before you touch anything. I don’t have to tell you how important it is that you put everything back in its place.”

  “I know this is my house, but what am I looking for?”

  Cara lifts the corner of a painting off the wall. “Anything that looks familiar, and also in places where you hid shit.”

  I take off up the stairs, pulling my gloves on as I do. I had various hiding spots throughout the house for many things: money, guns, and passports. My job was dangerous, and the last thing I wanted was for people to show up at my front door and find anything untoward.

  I pause at what would’ve been Claire’s room and rest my hand on the doorknob, but don’t enter. I’m not sure I can bring myself to go in there yet. Instead I go into the bathroom where the remnants from last night’s rendezvous are still present. This guy’s a fucking douche for cheating on his wife.

  Getting down on my knees, I open the cabinet doors under the sink. Much to my surprise there’s only towels under there, making it easy for me to pull them out.

  In the back corner there’s a small hole. Using the tip of a hairbrush I found on the counter, I lift up the piece of plywood and take a deep breath. When I look, I can’t contain my excitement and let out a, “Yeehaw.”

  Sitting there nice and pretty, covered in a layer of dust is my Glock 19, along with the ammo that I need. I pick her up and use the towel that’s on the floor to clean her off. She hasn’t been fired in so long, I’ll have to take her to the gun range and if Cara lets me keep my new identification, I’ll be able to do just that.

  Putting everything back the way I found it, I shake off the clump of dust and put that in the garbage. No one will check there for anything suspicious anyway.

  Next, I go into what would’ve been min
e and Penny’s bedroom and head right to the closet. My side was always the left, so I look on the right, where Penny kept her shoe rack. The rack in here looks like it’s the same, but it probably isn’t. I move the two boxes that are in the way of where I need to be and get back down on my knees. I pull at the carpet, but it doesn’t budge.

  “Fuck,” I say. I continue to run my hands along the edge where the wall meets the carpet, but nothing comes lose.

  “Does this look familiar?” Cara says from behind me. I turn to see a red box with a red ribbon. I gave this box to Penny for our first Christmas and she used it to put things she wanted to keep in there.

  “Penny had a box like that,” I say as I reach for it. It’s not heavy, but there’s definitely stuff in there.

  Taking a deep breath, I lift the lid and immediately fight back the onslaught of tears. Inside, staring back at me is a picture of Penny, Claire, and me days before I deployed. The next picture is just Claire along with most of the pile. When I get to the last one, there’s a face and it’s circled in red marker or crayon. When I flip it over, I almost lose the contents of my stomach at what I’m reading.

  ‘If you’re finding this and I’m not here, this man is responsible. His name is Ted Lawson.’

  Cara must see my turmoil because she takes the picture from me. “Lawson,” she says, and I nod. “Where’s this taken?”

  “I took it. I remember the day. We were outside playing and this car pulled up. He got out and looked around. He watched us for a few minutes until I said something. He never answered and I snapped the picture. I took it to security to find out who he was, but no one remembered seeing him. I meant to follow up—”

  “But you deployed?”

  “Within twenty-four hours.”

  “We need to find your wife.”

  I look at Cara, a mixture of confusion and frustration running through my mind. “Lawson has people on the outside. They’re probably searching for her,” she says, increasing my anxiety.