Pieces in Chance

by Juli Valenti

  Doing her best to sit up straighter, Drew looked at the men expectantly. They looked a little lost, unsure, and she could have laughed if she wasn’t starting to hurt. Trying to be encouraging, she gave them a little smile and gestured with her hand.

  “I can read your lips if you talk slow,” she told them. It was going to take her some getting used to, speaking without any comprehension of how loud she was or if her words were what she intended. She was going by instinct alone and, going by the nod the second officer gave her, she’d spoken correctly.

  “Dean told us that,” the officer told her, taking a step toward her bed. “I’m Officer Marks, we haven’t met. I’m new in town.”

  Drew had already figured out that much. Chance wasn’t a big place and it was a rarity to not know, either by name or face, someone there. She took a moment to take him in. He looked to be average height for a man, despite the fact that she was lying in a hospital bed – maybe five-nine or so. He looked younger than Officer Carrigan though, somewhere in his twenties, if that. Brown hair cut in a military-style high and tight, along with piercing hazel eyes and strong cheekbones that almost made him look mean. But there was something about him that had the opposite effect on her; if she didn’t know herself better, she’d almost think she found him attractive.

  Shaking her head slowly, she stared at Officer Marks, intrigued by the way his lips moved as he clearly concentrated on getting each word to her. A part of her was surprised they hadn’t resorted to using the handy pen and pad of paper they held in their hands to communicate; instead they allowed her to ‘hear’ the best way she could without making her feel lesser.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Drew, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” She answered with a nod, wishing she’d met him in a different time and place as well. Perhaps they could have talked over coffee, both listening and hearing.

  Stop it, Drew. Dreams and thoughts like that will only depress you. So you can’t hear anymore, get over it. You’re not dead … though not from the lack of trying, she scolded herself, turning her attention to the cop once more.

  “As you know, there was a fire at your house,” he began again and she quirked an eyebrow. Of course she knew that, she’d set the damn thing. “Do you know what started it?”

  For a moment she debated the idea of lying, but she didn’t want to. The truth was that finding a way out, even if by death, had seemed like a better option than what was behind door number two.

  “Yes,” she told them honestly. Neither officer said anything as they stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “A lighter.”

  Mirth played on the policemen’s faces, lightening the mood in the room slightly. That wasn’t the reaction she’d expected, but she appreciated it nonetheless. It was better than stern gazes and anger, along with accusatory glances and harsh condemning words. Why weren’t they looking at her like a criminal? She was and she knew it … She even expected the treatment that would come along with that label.

  “A lighter, Drew,” Officer Carrigan mouthed slowly, though she was unsure if his words came out as a question or a statement. She decided to go with the former, and inclined her head. “Why a lighter?”

  “It makes fire,” she said simply, shrugging. Drew fidgeted, uncomfortable speaking aloud. She’d never admit that she was focusing hard on certain letters, remembering the feel of them and their sounds before making them. The more she was doing it, the more she was realizing she could. It wasn’t easy, and it took a lot of effort, but at least she was getting the hang of it. Realistically she knew very few people in Chance, let alone the US, knew ASL, so she needed to get used to communicating the best she could.

  The shocked look on Carrigan’s face was almost comical. He probably hadn’t expected her to tell the truth so openly, so honestly. Most people when faced with an interrogation from the police, especially when guilty, probably tried to act innocent, and spin a fancy tale of lies. Since she’d already accepted what had happened, and answered his questions easily, simply, she figured it threw him a bit.

  “Well … yes, we’d gathered that, Miss Townsend,” Officer Marks said, his lips still moving slowly, though his expression tighter than before. Too bad, she thought. I liked his smirk. “What we were really asking was if you knew, exactly, how the fire started? Did a candle fall in your room? Did Drew Barrymore show up and concentrate, spontaneously sparking a flame?”

  He’s cute and he likes Firestarter? What a catch. Stop it, Drew, even if you weren’t a criminal now, he’s entirely too old for you. Her mind was going crazy with its thoughts, part of her all but swooning over the man while the other half, more than likely the logical side, was ashamed of herself. Hell, she was only even upright because the handy hospital bed held her up; she had a bandage on her head, her hands, and one of her eyes was swollen. She was beginning to feel twinges of pain each time she shifted and decided the pain medication must be wearing off. That was also probably the reason her mind was making her boy crazy – because boy crazy was one thing she hadn’t been in … forever.

  “Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?” she asked Carrigan, making direct eye contact with him. His eyes were still red and he looked tired, causing Drew to spare a thought to what time and day it was. I should have asked Dean before I sent him away.

  The officer opened his mouth, making it clear he was going to speak and forcing her to break eye contact. “Drew,” he started, taking a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort. “The fire originated in your room and spread outward. The house is still standing, in case you were curious, though there is a lot of damage throughout it. Your room, though, was almost completely destroyed … to be honest, I’m not sure how I was even able to get you out.”

  She flinched, her eyes moving to his bandaged hands. Why had he rescued her? Drew knew that in Chance the fire department was on a volunteer-basis only, but shouldn’t it have been one of them who’d braved the flames?

  Officer Carrigan moved closer to her, pulling a chair up beside the bed and dropping into it. Leaning forward on his elbows, he rubbed at his face before meeting her gaze once more.

  “The firemen were working on putting the fire out, while a couple went inside – looking for you and Dean,” he explained, answering the thoughts she was having without her having to ask. “They found … they found Rick just outside your door, on the ground, and took him outside first.”

  Drew shuddered, hating that she didn’t know if her father was still alive. Not that he was her father … The man she’d known, the dad who’d carried her on his shoulders and played dress up with her, had disappeared, leaving the monster she’d so desperately tried to escape. She wanted to ask, blurt out is he dead, but she refrained. She knew Carrigan – he would get all the details out when he was ready to share.

  “When John told me where they’d found your … dad … I knew it was a big possibility that you were still inside the room. I didn’t think – I stormed past them all and ran to you get you, only to find you face down on the hardwood floor, not moving, flames licking up all around you. Jesus, Drew, your hair was burning, there was smoke everywhere … I didn’t even know if you were still alive…”

  Dropping her gaze to the blanket covering her, Drew blinked back tears. The man beside her didn’t look like the officer she’d known almost her entire life. He looked older, more real, and the idea of him risking himself didn’t sit well with her. What if he’d died? What if she’d been the reason his baby girl didn’t have a daddy? Carrigan wasn’t like her father. He was a good man, a good husband, and a fantastic dad. He adored that baby girl, never once had he even tried to hide it. Her heart ached, wishing impossible wishes.

  Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her gaze up, finding Officer Marks standing at the end of her bed. She watched as he motioned toward the foot of the mattress and raised an eyebrow, his question clear. At her nod, he sat down, angling toward her.

  “What happened?” he asked simply, his face so
lemn, the tightness in his mouth easing.

  Drew sighed. She didn’t want to go into details, didn’t want to analyze her hasty decision, but she knew she had to. So, she explained everything – from dropping Dean’s acceptance at the post office to coming home. Officer Mark’s expression turned angry, his cheeks reddening as she explained her father’s rage as she entered the house, the things he’d yelled at her, and the endless beating she took from him. When she told them about the unbuckling of his pants, the unneeded explanation of threat implied in the action, the younger cop turned almost purple. Watching the emotions flashing across his face was almost too much to bear for her and she faltered.

  It felt weird to her. She was replaying everything that happened, only she couldn’t hear what she was saying. It was like watching a moving on mute, the film running through her head, and subtitles translating ... except they were coming from her mouth. Officer Carrigan leaned forward, placing his bandaged hand on her arm, drawing her eyes to him.

  “Go on,” he mouthed encouragingly, though the look in his eyes was strained.

  “Am I making sense?” She hadn’t meant to ask that, hadn’t meant to let on that it was hard remembering words when she wasn’t hearing them – it was sheer memory that had them coming from her to begin with, she only prayed the things she was saying matched the images in her head. When the older officer nodded, she took a deep breath and started again.

  It was harder talking about the mad dash to her room, the utter terror she had felt. Drew told them how she’d set the fire after trying to escape through the barred window, though she left out the prayers she’d uttered. They didn’t need to know that part; that was for her and the God who hadn’t listened.

  When she finished, neither officer moved nor spoke. Tears had filled her eyes and she let them fall, resolving that they’d be the last ones she’d allow herself to shed. She couldn’t be this weak, broken girl who was lying in a hospital bed feeling sorry for herself. Despite everything, and whatever punishments may come for her, she wasn’t going to allow the shitty cards she’d been dealt ruin her. Because, if they did, her father and his psychological damage would win.

  Carrigan’s grip tightened on her arm, effectively getting her attention.

  “I’m so sorry, Drew. Sorry for not helping you when the town knew you needed it,” he mouthed slowly and she shrugged.

  “It’s not your fault,” she signed, before shaking her head and repeating herself aloud, though it was clear the cop wasn’t listening to a word she told him.

  “A candle caught the curtains on fire while you were asleep.”

  She must’ve looked confused because he mouthed them again, only slower. Drew shook her head. She understood what he’d said the first time around, but he wasn’t making any sense to her. Had he not listened to her? Had she not said the right words to explain what happened? Maybe she should write them down so there couldn’t be any misunderstandings. She had just admitted to setting her room on fire, her house on fire, and he was telling her a candle set the fire? Drew didn’t even think she owned a candle.

  “Officer Marks?” Carrigan mouthed, turning to face his the younger man and she followed his gaze.

  The man nodded, his face still red, his eyes tight and his mouth drawn in a tight line. Running a hand across his face and to his short hair, he spoke to his partner. She knew he wanted her to understand what he was saying as he still drew his words out, enunciating them slowly so she could read them.

  “Candle. Fire. Curtains.”

  When Carrigan turned to face her again, she waited, realization starting to set in. The men were going to cover for her. She understood why Carrigan would, but the younger officer, Marks … why would he? He didn’t look like the kind of guy to bend the law for anyone, let alone a young girl who’d purposely committed arson. Shifting, she grimaced, her body aching and a sharper pain radiating throughout her body. The older officer caught her expression and stood, pressing the red button on the remote at the side of her bed.

  “Don’t worry about anything, Drew,” he mouthed slowly before gently placing his arm on her shoulder. “You’re safe – we’ll make sure of it. Rest, okay?”

  The two men made their way to the door, Carrigan shooting a small, sad smile her way before nodding and leaving. It was Officer Marks who hesitated, turning to face her and their eyes meeting.

  “Your father can’t hurt you now, Drew.”

  Her betraying eyes filled with unwanted tears again at his words. Not that she was sad that her father died, quite the opposite. More so now that she was actually a murderer and an arsonist. Bringing a hurting hand to her face, she angrily wiped the treacherous tears away, wishing the man hadn’t seen them this time. Judging by the softening of his face, he had.

  “He had a heart attack. The fire didn’t kill him.”

  With that, he inclined his head and left the room, leaving Drew to her thoughts. Luckily she wasn’t alone in her mind for long – a nurse hurried into the room. After checking the monitors and her blood pressure, Jean, the nurse, changed out two bags from her IV stand.

  “Liquids,” the woman said, though whether she’d been briefed on her new audio status, Drew wasn’t sure. She watched as she changed out another, smaller bag, and looked at her expectantly when she’d finished. “For the pain.”

  Drew nodded and Jean withdrew a small syringe, inserting it directly into the tube leading into her hand. The sensation of it was cold as it entered her, or so it felt, and she snapped her attention back to the nurse.

  “Also for the pain, but quicker.”

  As the nurse excused herself, Drew could feel the medicine starting to work almost immediately. Her body relaxed and her eyes felt heavy. While she didn’t know what the future was going to hold for her, Drew fell asleep, completely unafraid.

  Chapter Three

  Jensen

  The automatic door of the hospital whirled closed behind Jensen Marks as he trailed behind his partner. He was on a mission: get as far away from that hospital room, that girl, as humanly possible.

  Jensen prided himself on being a strong, unemotional man. He’d joined the Marines right out of high school, excelled in boot camp and combat training, as well as his occupational specialty schooling; he’d been deployed on two tours in Afghanistan and never once did he have a single nightmare, morose thought, or a lone tear. To him, life, war even, was what it was – it was a path one walked and you could either stroll along or plow through. Nothing good ever came from dwelling on the past. Instead, Jensen lived by the rules of learning from his mistakes, taking the bad in with the good, and processing it to make himself better.

  It was his father’s doing – the drive to always be calm and collected. His father had been Colonel before he’d been honorably discharged, and was one of the strongest men he knew. Toughen up, young soldier, his father used to say when Jensen was a child, upset over a skinned knee or other injuries. Even now, he heard those words playing over and over in his head.

  Not that his family life hadn’t been full of love or hugs, affection, it had been – but it had also been one with no weakness. There’d never been a moment he ever thought he couldn’t do something. He’d always toughen up and move on.

  So why was this getting to him? Why was that poor girl, looking so broken and defeated lying in that hospital bed, affecting him the way she was?

  Jensen found himself in Chance by, well, chance. He’d wanted to be somewhere quiet after leaving the military, somewhere he could relax while still doing his duty as an officer of the law. So, he did what any logical man in his position would do … He closed his eyes and pointed to a map, letting fate choose his surroundings. Of course, if he’d been thinking clearly, he probably would’ve set the damn thing up in his favor instead of landing on a small nothing of a town, in the middle of nowhere, with less than a few thousand inhabitants. Still, he’d made a decision and stuck to it.

  After about two months, he’d finally gotten comfortable and was ac
tually pleased he with his choice. He liked the ‘everybody knows your name’ Cheers-like feeling he got when he walked down the street and the quietness of the quaint little place. Jensen slowly became familiar with the surroundings, the people; it was a good life.

  He’d heard stories about the Townsend family since he’d arrived. Dana, the mother, from what he was told, had been the apple of the town’s eye, the Mother Theresa of Chance. She helped keep the homeless homed, the hungry fed, and the poor going. All anyone could talk about was how great she was and what a travesty her loss had left in the town. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and Jensen asked Carrigan what happened to her. His partner had explained she’d died from advanced breast cancer rather suddenly, leaving Mr. Townsend alone to raise their two children – twins Dean and Drew.

  Mr. Townsend worked on and off at the local auto shop, keeping himself busy with long days and hard labor. As many good things the town folk had to say about Mrs. Townsend, they had little to none to say about the mister. It was rumored he was often drunk, stumbling around the streets and yelling at anyone who looked at him – not that Jensen had seen any of that, and he’d looked.

  The son, Dean, was common talk around the town. Apparently the young girls thought he was a looker and his football accomplishments, as well as academic feats, were impressive. What really threw Jensen, though, were the nightmarish stories he’d heard about the final member of the Townsend family. The daughter, Drew.

  Apparently Drew was beautiful, a spitting image of her mother, with a similar temperament. She had once been popular, a cheerleader, and active member of the community. It had seemed, for a long time, that she would walk in the same selfless shoes as Dana, always volunteering her time with a smile and never a complaint to be heard. But, like most hopeful and promising stories, a monkey wrench had been thrown into the mix.