Pieces in Chance

by Juli Valenti

  When Dana died, something changed. The young girl became withdrawn, quiet, and was no longer the social butterfly she’d been. Soon after that, her wardrobe altered suddenly – gone were tank tops and cheerleading skirts, replaced with long-sleeved shirts and baggy jeans. Unfortunately, it had taken the community a while to discover what was going on. Hell, it wasn’t until a very public display had been made that everyone was clued in.

  From what Jensen heard, Drew was out with her father during the Saturday farmer’s market when she said something he didn’t like – only to be promptly backhanded in front of everyone. A grown man, someone who was supposed to be her caretaker, her protector, had backhanded the young woman … in front of witnesses. Even more shocking: not a single person stepped up to intervene. Not the wood worker who’d been selling his wares, nor even his own colleagues.

  To be honest, it flat out pissed Jensen off. Women, of any age, weren’t punching bags for frustration or anger. They were not to be assaulted under any circumstanced – they never ‘ask’ for it, regardless of the words said or actions taken. The fact that not a goddamned person in all of Chance confronted Mr. Townsend still made his blood boil. It was the cause of the first argument he’d gotten in with Carrigan – the lack of action taken by Chance Police Department infuriated him. Surely they had enough witnesses to put Rick Townsend away, or at the very least get the girl out of the situation. But, Carrigan had merely shaken his head sadly – their children’s services department was full to the brink with cases, many younger than Drew, and there was no funding for an almost seventeen-year-old girl with a piece-of-shit abusive father. Not without firsthand eyewitness testimony.

  Instead, days turned into months, months turning into even longer, and as each day passed, more and more damage was done to Drew. Makeup began covering bruises, though it could be seen, doing very little to cover the injuries to her face. And still, no one said anything.

  “Fucking ignorant, backwoods, redneck pieces of shi-” he started cursing, stopping abruptly when some of the passerby stopped to look at him. “Sorry.”

  It almost hurt to apologize to the faces glancing at him in concern, curiosity. You could have fucking stopped that, he all but screamed at them, settling for yelling in his head. The anger he felt was so unlike him, usually levelheaded and stable. What was it about that girl?

  Perching on the nearby bench, Jensen sat, his head cradled in his hands, elbows on his knees. He took a few deep breaths, hoping they would calm him some. His mind had other ideas, though, images of Drew taking him over.

  Even in the hospital, bruised, bandaged, and burned, she was still beautiful. The remaining hair she had, which wasn’t burned by the fire, covered in gauze, or shaved by the hospital, was still bright red, almost unreal. Its sharp contrast with the white bandage wrapped around her temples and ears was striking. Her face was bruised, one side so swollen she could barely open her eyes, but … God, her eyes. They were the color of honey, brown without the deep darkness of chocolate.

  Jensen pinched his brows, trying to get the pain he’d seen in them out of his thoughts. Pain, physical and emotional, colored her gaze as she’d looked at him and he swore in those moments he could feel everything she was. His heart hurt meeting her eyes – some need in him demanded he scoop her up, hold her, tell her he’d protect her as no one else had … except maybe her brother.

  “You make my sister cry, I’ll make you regret it. Just because she can’t hear you, doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand. Remember that,” the younger man had warned them before leaving the hospital room.

  If the idea of the young Townsend threatening him hadn’t been so surprising, it would have been laughable. Especially since he had no intentions on hurting her. True, he had to do his job, had to ask her questions that would pain and plague her, but he wasn’t out to make life worse than it already had been on her.

  It had been a different kind of interrogation, though. Jensen had never communicated with someone who couldn’t hear before. He’d never thought much about the way his lips formed words, or how fast or slow he spoke. With Drew, he’d been focusing hard, making sure she got every syllable he intended on giving her. Carrigan had debated the idea of getting a writing pad and trading notes, but Jensen just couldn’t bring himself to do it. The young, brave woman deserved better than that.

  “She deserves her fucking hearing,” he mumbled to himself. “She deserves a loving father who didn’t beat the shit out of her. What the fuck is this world coming to?”

  “As you know, there was a fire at your house last night,” Carrigan had asked. “Do you know what started it?”

  “Yes,” she told them. “A lighter.”

  Jensen didn’t know whether to laugh or curse, remembering her words and explanation to his partner’s question. Never before, when speaking with a suspect of any crime, had one answered so truthfully, so honestly, that it startled him. Usually people tried to make up stories, anything, to rectify their choices – to make the decisions they’d made okay. Not Drew, though. Instead she’d answered without hesitation, clearly at ease with any punishment they may have doled out.

  Realistically, he knew she should get in some sort of trouble. Every fiber of his being as a police officer, every military training and nuance he’d ever picked up, demanded that he arrest her for arson and attempted murder. Hell, as much as it pained him, she was guilty. She had set that fire, with the sole purpose of setting the house ablaze with everyone in it. What he wasn’t so certain of was her end goal – had she intended to kill her father? Or herself?

  The look that had blanketed her face when he’d told her of her father’s demise told her it was more the latter than the former. She didn’t want to be a murderer, didn’t want to be responsible for taking someone else’s life, regardless of the damnable things he’d done to her. No, she’d wanted to take her own life; she took the only escape she’d seen, even if it had meant depriving the world of what she would have to offer.

  Unfortunately, Jensen wasn’t sure he could blame her. She was a small girl, not in height – she was probably around five-foot-five or so, if her twin was any indication – but in weight. Maybe a hundred pounds, soaking wet? It was clear she hadn’t eaten a full meal in God knew how long, and even without the visible damage to her, that would have been enough to make him grit his teeth.

  If it had been him in that house with her? He would have probably landed in jail himself, except not for starting a fire. After the second blow, if Rick had even gotten a first, he would have found a baseball bat and beat the asshole’s knees before turning his attention to more delicate regions.

  So, looking at the fragile, beautiful, broken girl on the bed, he’d gone along with Carrigan’s plan – they’d concoct a story to keep her out of trouble. There was no doubt the city of Chance would be on board; the fire department, the EMTs, the doctors … there wasn’t a single person who would raise voice for the piece of shit that had been Rick Townsend. Not much of a surprise, though, when none had spoken up for the girl before shit had gotten out of hand.

  Without even realizing it, Jensen found himself back inside the hospital, right outside Drew’s room. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that his feet had led him back inside. His plan had been to run, to escape back to his home and drink a few beers, hoping to forget the entire day and the girl. Apparently his feet had different ideas.

  Peeking in, he caught sight of her, lying motionless in bed. Her face was turned toward the door, to him, except her eyes were closed. The monitors beeped softly in the room, and he stepped inside. He knew part of what he was doing was creepy, spying on a young woman while she slept, but he couldn’t help it.

  Pulling the chair up to her bedside, Jensen allowed himself to sink into it. Elbows on his knees, his head dropped into his hands. Seeing her again, resting the peaceful sleep of safety, tugged at his heart. He couldn’t decide which was harder – her awake, pain and mistrust written across her face, or the Drew
resting, dreaming, lost in a world where dreams wouldn’t hurt her.

  Not for the first time since meeting Drew Townsend, he wished he had a time machine, one that could send them back with the knowledge they had now. He’d rescue her from the troubled hell she’d lived for far too long. He’d ensure that nothing bad would happen to her. He’d keep her safe.

  She’s sixteen, Marks. Get your shit together.

  Trying to gather some semblance of dignity, he stood, the chart hanging from the end of the bed catching his attention. Curious, he picked it up and flipped through the pages, wincing at the medical terminology determining how bad her injuries really were. On the final sheet of paper, he found her personal information.

  Name: Scarlet Drew Townsend

  Height: 5 foot 5 inches

  Weight: 97 pounds

  Hair color: Red

  Eye color: Brown

  Date of Birth: October 2, 1997

  Allergies: Penicillin

  Jensen hadn’t known that Drew was her middle name rather than her first, but what really caught his gaze was her date of birth. October second. Tomorrow, he thought, immediately frustrated that her birthday would be spent in the confines of a silent, cold hospital bedroom. She should have been spending her seventeenth birthday with friends, partying and getting into trouble. He should be called out to tell them not to drink and drive, to keep the noise down. Instead, she was going to be stuck there, battered and shaken.

  Really, what are you going to do about it, Marks? You have no ties to this girl – what do you care how her birthday is spent? He couldn’t answer his own thoughts, but he couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut. Memories of the haunted Muslim girls he’d seen, the ones whose eyes pleaded for a better future, ran rampant in his mind, fueling him further. He wanted to do something special for her, make her smile. Maybe if he could get her to smile, a true, happy smile, some of the darkness would disappear … even for only a moment.

  Well … I guess we’re gonna do this. But what?

  An idea bloomed in his thoughts and Jensen walked out of the hospital room on a mission much different than his original exit.

  Chapter Four

  Jensen

  One thing his father instilled in him was either go big or go home. Jensen could have kicked himself for that quality at the moment. He’d known when he’d made his plans that it was going to take some time, but he’d seriously underestimated just how much.

  Now he was running on twenty-six hours with no sleep, still moving like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to get everything perfect. Every once in a while, he’d feel like giving up, to go get some rest, but images of Drew would flash through his mind, keeping him going.

  Jensen still couldn’t explain or even understand why he was doing what he was, for a girl he didn’t know. But he’d decided he’d dwell on that fact later. He didn’t have much time.

  With the help of Dean, who he’d flagged down on his way out of the hospital, as well as Carrigan, everything was going just the way he wanted. Of course, Drew’s brother had been skeptical, asking him the same questions he’d been asking himself, and Jensen had answered him truthfully.

  “I don’t know,” he’d said simply, shrugging as he removed his shoulder rig and locked it in the trunk safe of his car. If he hadn’t been having a conversation with the young man, he would have sagged with relief at the weight lifted from him. It had been awhile since he’d worn his holster for so long and his muscles were out of shape, if the ache in them was any indication. “What I do know is your sister is in there, beat to hell, and you did shit to stop it. Don’t look at me like that – I know you got put in a shitty position. You either helped her and made it even worse for her, or did nothing and let it go on.”

  The look on the Townsend kid’s face almost made Jensen regret his words, but he didn’t apologize for them. They were the truth, regardless of the fact that neither wanted them to be. And the kid really had been in a bad spot, he got it, really he did. But it didn’t make the consequences easier to stomach.

  “I…” Dean started, only to stop and shake his head. “I didn’t know what to do. The police wouldn’t do shit, even though they knew what was going on. Fuck, sorry, freak, the whole town knew.”

  Jensen nodded. “I understand, really. I just don’t like it any better than you do.” Grabbing the box from the trunk, he pushed it toward him, before grabbing the remaining bags and shutting the lid. “So, since we can’t change it, we’re going to fix it, starting today. That girl,” he said, motioning toward the hospital, “isn’t going to wake up to the bleakness she’s used to. I’ll be damned before I see that happen.” Though God only knows why I care so damned much, he added silently.

  The young man made a bob of agreement and turned toward the door, following Jensen, only to come to a halt when he did.

  “By the way, man, happy birthday. And I’m sorry your dad’s dead … but I’m not.”

  Dean half smiled. “Thank you. And I’m not all that sorry either … more sorry that the dad I knew died a long time ago. He wasn’t always such a piece of shit.”

  Jensen didn’t believe that, though he was sure the words were truth. It wasn’t always black and white when deciding how someone turned out, he knew that. He’d seen it before. People who’d always lived on the right side of the law, snapping one day and killing entire families; people everyone thought were good until they blew up banks and ran cars through buildings. With Rick Townsend, though, he could never picture him as anything but what he’d been – an abuser. A power-starved, worthless asshole who took out his anger on a defenseless girl and got better than he deserved in the end. Karma and justice must’ve been on a vacation when the man had a heart attack.

  Shaking himself from the dark path his thoughts were on, he allowed his feet to move, leading them back into the hospital and to Drew’s room. After speaking with some of the nurses, he’d arranged for her to be moved for a couple hours, as long as they could stall for him to execute his plan without causing suspicion. He wasn’t sure what excuse they’d told her, taking her bed and all to another room, but he was grateful. Sure, one of them, Jean he thought her name was, had given him a sidelong look, clearly wondering what the hell a grown man was doing for a young girl, but he didn’t care.

  Besides, at twenty-three, it wasn’t like he was some old Hugh Hefner of a man. Six years wasn’t that big of a difference … not that he was seeing Drew like that. You dirty fucking liar, he scolded himself. She’s sixteen. Not anymore, she’s seventeen, asshat. Besides, I’m just doing something nice for a beautiful woman who hasn’t had nice in a long time. The voice in the back of his head scoffed. Sure you are, Officer.

  Wishing he could do something to shut his brain up, he got to work, placing the bags on the floor and laying out the tools he’d brought with him. Tape, ribbons, a hammer – though he was sure the hospital would have a conniption fit if he nailed anything down – and some scissors, along with various sizes of paper and markers. In the box Dean had carried in was a small helium tank and six bags of balloons and more ribbon.

  Pointing to the tank, he looked at Dean. “You know how to work that thing?” When he nodded the affirmative, Jensen smiled. “Good. Blow up as many as you possibly can. I’ll tie ‘em off and we’ll tape them around the room.”

  The two set to task, working like a well-oiled machine. It wasn’t long before each balloon was inflated, the room looking like a carnival had exploded in it. Smiling at their handy work, a knock on the doorjamb startled Jensen and he turned, finding Carrigan standing in the entry way with another large box.

  “Marks, Dean,” the older officer said in greeting, before placing the box on the small food tray, arranging it so it didn’t topple over. “Marks, wanna explain why Eve demanded I bring this to you?”

  Jensen couldn’t help but grin. He’d called Eve’s Floral before picking up the balloons and decorations, demanding every rose they had in the place. Eve informed him they didn’t have that m
any, asking if he had any other preference for flowers. When he’d told her who they were for, their purpose, the elderly woman had gasped on the other line and told him she’d send as many pretty blooms as she could. Glancing into the box, he found she’d made good on her word. Roses, daisies, lilies, a whole bunch of other flowers Jensen didn’t know the names to, lay inside, along with a couple teddy bears, vases of different shapes, and a box of chocolates.

  “It’s Drew’s birthday,” he told his partner, simply. The man stared at him oddly and Jensen stood his ground. That was as good a reason as any, so why was Carrigan looking at him like he’d lost his marbles? Because you have … slightly.

  “Okay….” Carrigan’s gaze moved to Dean. “When I picked that box up, my missus made me take some bags too – wanna come help me unload em, kid?”

  The two left and Jensen spared a thought as to what Mrs. Carrigan could have sent – he’d figured that Eve would call around to some of the other women in town, and it seemed he was right.

  Getting to work, he arranged some of the flowers in their vases, setting them on every open space he could find – the window sill, the side table. The rest he pulled their petals off, tossing them to the floor, covering the ugly tile and making it burst with color. When Carrigan and Dean came back, they went through the bags together, finding streamers and get well cards from the kids of Chance.

  Finally finished, the room looked nothing like the dull, lifeless hospital room it had once been. Balloons were tied to everything they could be, flowers brightening the room. Jensen almost felt giddy, excited. He wouldn’t admit aloud that he couldn’t wait for Drew to see it. He wanted to see that smile he knew was inside her, the one that would put the light they’d brought in the room to shame.

  Jean, the nurse who’d looked at him funny, entered the room, a large pink box in her hands. He arched an eyebrow as she placed it on the couch.