A Running Heart

by Kendra Vasquez

  When he faced forward, she released a breath she hadn’t known she held.

  “Nice walk,” he said. “No bats tonight.”

  “Must be full from the bug buffet last night, too fat to leave their holes. Where are you staying?”

  “Not sure. I didn’t get the time to look around.”

  “Hmm . . . I don’t think there’s much in the area.” Her eyes squinted as she traced a mental layout of their neighborhood. “Nothing close at all. You might as well take the couch in our apartment.” She didn’t want him having to camp in his truck. He was practically Amanda’s big brother, right? “And don’t let it fool you. That sofa pulls out into a nice, spacious twin.”

  “A twin?” He chuckled, the depth of the sound igniting her system. “All right, I’m sold.”

  In the parking lot, he abandoned her side. She finally felt cooled but also fought off a brush of loss.

  He’d wanted to grab a few things from his truck. She’d told him she’d leave the apartment door unlocked and bailed. He seemed to possess unnatural control over her body’s normally well-tempered desires.

  Amanda, whatever you’re doing, I hope it’s important.

  ~ ~ ~

  Amanda plodded her way through traffic, barely gobbling up distance along the southbound lanes of Broadway. There were too many traffic lights, which left her too many opportunities for random thoughts. Her old friend, Ryan, had breezed into her mental foreground and drug out memories.

  Back in Bayfield, her younger self used to tell him everything, whether she’d planned to or not. It was only at the end of a school day she could truly be herself when she worked with her hands in the shop beside him. He should’ve stopped her. He knew she took the hands-on approach. Couldn’t he have warned her a little better that day in her dad’s old shop? Say something like if you keep this up, you’re bound to kill someone. Had he ever had any idea things would go so wrong after what she told him that day?

  “Hey.” Amanda tossed her school bag on a steel bench.

  Ryan kept his hands in the engine as he peeked around the hood. He nodded at the rim and tire sets on the shop’s floor. “Those need a balance.”

  Amanda put her hands on her hips. “What? No, ‘hi, Amanda,’ no ‘how was your day?’”

  He shrugged as he went back to tightening a bolt. “You’re going to tell me all about it anyway. Why waste the breath?”

  She huffed and headed for the steel locker where she stepped into baggy blue coveralls. “Where’s Dad?”

  Ryan nodded toward the back. “In his office, drowning in paperwork.”

  “Good. So get this, after gym class finished and the girls went to change clothes, they were shocked to find the heels on their shoes had been sawed off.”

  The ratchet in Ryan’s hand stopped clicking. “What?” His arms crossed with the ratchet in one hand as she passed by, rolling a wheel to the machine against the wall. “Amanda?”

  “Hey, I had shop class then.”

  “The whole time?”

  She lifted the tire to her knee and rolled it up her thigh, sliding it onto a shaft sticking out from the side of the machine. “Well.” She grunted. “Most of it.”

  “Amanda, what were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?”

  “Oh, please.” As the wheel spun, her face darkened. “If only you’d heard what they said about me. They didn’t know I was there and said stuff like, ‘No wonder her mom left when her daughter’s a cross-dresser.’ Another said, ‘She should get the sex change already.’ It just kept going in between the laughs.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Amanda . . .”

  “Relax. No one suspects me. Remember? I’m all better. That high-heel-wearing psychiatrist fixed me up. Everyone says I’m happy and carefree.”

  “You sure about that?”

  She shrugged as she tapped a balancing weight onto the wheel. Ryan sighed and returned to the engine. To no one in particular, she continued, “Because those girls can’t turn a wrench, according to them, I’m not supposed to either. All we’re supposed to do is look pretty and flirt.” She flipped her ponytail.

  From inside the engine compartment Ryan’s voice reached her. “You can’t let them get to you. Keep doing stuff like this, and someone might get hurt. What would happen if your dad found out?”

  “He won’t.” She re-spun the wheel. “Princesses wouldn’t dare attack others.” She pulled the tire off the machine.

  “Still, you should be careful.”

  “I will. So—”

  “You will what?” Her dad asked as he stepped into the shop.

  Ryan mumbled, “Finish those tires some time tonight.”

  Amanda held back her grateful smile and instead dropped a glare on Ryan.

  “Is she talking your ear off again?”

  “When isn’t she?”

  Her dad turned to her, giving her a warm smile. “How was your day, Princess?”

  She shrugged. “Full of school.”

  He gave her a kiss on her forehead then walked over to Ryan to discuss hold-overs.

  By the time her dad left, Amanda was done with another tire. She rolled it back. To Ryan, she said, “Thank you.”

  “Always in the middle.” He shook his head. “Why do you tell me this stuff?”

  “If I can’t talk to you, who can I tell?”

  Chapter 6

  Amanda cut off her memory film track. She pulled into Jay’s driveway, alongside his maroon Land Rover. She couldn’t talk to Uncle Jay or be herself around him. But she needed to learn what Uncle Jay knew. It was time for her to slip into the role of innocent niece Amanda.

  Walking the stone path through a mowed lawn, Amanda eyed Uncle Jay’s skinny two-story townhouse complete with fake stone walls and a pair of white, ribbed columns supporting the front stoop. It looked like all the others in his HOA neighborhood.

  Her uncle held a phone to his ear when he answered the door. With pleated khakis and black silk, button-down shirt, he looked ready for a photo shoot as opposed to writing a book. He smiled and waved her inside. She followed him past the untouched living room with its black leather sofa, white throw pillows, and onyx table, white chessboard etched into it. The ivory carpet beckoned the dirt and grime covering Amanda’s uniform. Keeping the greatest distance she could, she continued down a hallway to her left.

  There, on the right wall, a black eye wreathed with white riveted her in place. The poster had the power to grab her brakes ever since she was fifteen.

  In the upper right corner of the newsprint sketch, two men crouched behind a hill of boulders. In the shadows near them, a third man lay prostrate, face down. But the trio couldn’t hold the viewer’s eyes for long since their gazes focused on the demon in the foreground. The black hound, with its vicious snarl alight, had ragged white streaks racing down its thick neck and more flamed along the back of its head. The lifted front paws, ready to leap, proved as wide as Amanda’s head. That dog had started out a puppy, maybe one of the most adorable, playful-sort ever. What caused it to turn into a horrifying, hate-driven being?

  She heard Jay loose a deep laugh from a room down the hall. Among the spies of the phosphorous beast, she knew which one the artist meant to be Sherlock Holmes. Uncle Jay had pointed out the influence of Holmes’ creator on his own career of writing mystery novels.

  Quitting the tan-colored hallway, she took a couple steps down into Jay’s writing cave with its dark wood interior. She went to the brown barrel chair in the corner. When it swallowed her in its comfort, she climbed out and unloaded a hard-backed, upholstered chair of its books on criminal procedure and history of crime. The voice on the other side of the phone rang alarm bells in her head.

  “Okay, we’ll discuss it later. My niece just got here. All right, ‘bye.” Turning of
f his phone, Jay stepped behind his desk. The phone was deposited between a laptop and a tape recorder. He scribbled a couple notes then peered up. “Hey there, little girl.” He smiled.

  “Hi,” she beamed. “Can I ask who that was on the phone? He sounded familiar.”

  “Oh, sure. You should remember him. George Hayes, my agent?”

  A mental picture formed of a stout, nervous man, nowhere near the build of her attacker. “Oh yeah, that’s right.” Geez, who was she going to suspect next, the mailman?

  “So,” Jay started as he settled into his leather chair and closed his laptop. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “What about last night?” He asked as he scribbled another note.

  “Huh? Oh, that.” She lifted a hand and acted like she brushed the subject away. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. You know how customers are these days. They wish they could take their mechanics with them for emergencies.” She smiled.

  He laughed. “Yeah, there are times. I’m glad you can take what happened so lightly. A brave niece, I have. Two brave nieces in fact.” He winked.

  Moving along, she tried to maintain her appearance of taking things lightly. “How’s your new book coming along? Is it the next in the insurance agent turned investigator series?”

  He nodded with a glance at the papers on his desk. “I know that’s not why you came here.” Well, she’d tried. He set his pen down then sat back and rested one leg on top the other. His foot started a rocking movement. “Tell me about it.”

  Her heartbeat quickened, and her lungs took quick breaths. She spilled, “So, uh, you know Rebbie is taking this psychology class, right? And I’ve been flipping through her books. And, well, Uncle?” Say it already. “Do you know anything about repressed memories?”

  His foot stilled. His emerald eyes didn’t blink. They were intense, searching her face as she tried for a blank expression. She shifted in her chair. Her hands gripped the seat pad. Finally, he looked away as he tugged at his lip. “Isn’t that an interesting question.” His hand lowered and he wrapped both around his knee. “What brought this on?”

  Yes, what had brought this on, Amanda? She searched her lie bank. “It’s like this. I’ve been having these . . . well, I’m not sure if I can call them flashbacks. They don’t make sense with my other memories, right? But it led me to realize something. Uncle Jay, why did Dad and I leave Bayfield? I should be able to remember. Uncle Jay, Dad brought me to you and decided we weren’t going back.”

  Jay released his knee and coughed. “Wouldn’t this be better discussed with him?”

  “I don’t want to upset him. Uncle Jay, please, what do you remember?”

  He leaned forward. “What does it matter now?”

  “So you do know something.” She grew tense. What did he know?

  “I didn’t say that. Look, your dad was very vague on the details. He just asked me to keep you busy as he wrapped things up. I’ll admit it bothered me, sort of became a splinter in my mind, when he asked me not to talk about your last week there. And the way you left . . . I mean, he must’ve left a dust cloud he tore you out of there so fast. Amanda, you really can’t remember?”

  Her eyes dropped as she shook her head.

  “How terrible. Not knowing a part of your life is like not knowing a part of yourself.”

  She lifted her gaze, eyes narrowed. “I know who I am.” A murderer. It still scraped her raw in her mental voice.

  He raised an eyebrow before he sat back. “Of course you do.”

  It was time to try another course. She smiled and sweetened her voice. “Uncle Jay, one thing I can never forget was how nice you were.” He nodded.

  She tipped her chair back and gazed at the ceiling. “You took me to the aquarium. I wasn’t expecting the tigers. Not many cities can boast having cats of prey in the middle of all those fish tanks. But I was right about the fish smell.” She crinkled her nose then smiled. “The puffy sea anemones were my favorite.” She dropped her eyes back to him. “Thank you.”

  He returned her smile. “I had just as much fun spoiling you.”

  “Uncle Jay, can you think of anyone who might know something about what happened back then, who can help me like you did, so long ago? You’re right. Something is missing, and I can’t remember.”

  Hard flint glittered in his green eyes. He closed them and sighed. “I’m sorry, Amanda.”

  She nodded. “Right.”

  He stood up. “But I’ll be happy to take you to the aquarium again.”

  She offered a gentler smile.

  “However, tonight, how about I just grill you up some dinner?”

  She recalled an image of his hybrid propane-charcoal grill attached to an outdoor kitchen under an oak overhang. She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m meeting an old friend. He just got in from Bayfield.”

  “And what occasions his visit?”

  “He wanted to make sure I was all right after the attack. As if a phone call couldn’t work, huh?”

  “Anyone I know?” he asked as they headed out of the room.

  “Probably not.”

  He nodded. “This Saturday then?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks, Uncle Jay.”

  After a brief hug and a short walk, she found herself back inside her Jeep staring at her glove box.

  Like being jolted, she finally reached and unlatched its door. Returning to her seat, she clicked on the dome light and gazed at the front of the paper. A cartoon image of a blue sedan accompanied the typed message. She re-read what she’d already memorized.

  Dear Ms. Hudson, my automotive technician,

  Saying thank you isn’t enough.

  Inside you’ll find the killer stuff.

  She dragged a finger against the sticker seal. The seal had remained untouched until the card was placed in her hand by the receptionist earlier in the day. She’d told Amanda she’d found it in the pile of key bags for service’s early-bird drop-offs.

  With an unsteady breath and a quickened heartbeat, Amanda unfolded the paper.

  It would seem

  You made her scream.

  I am aware

  Of what you dared.

  Watching you

  Is all I do.

  What you read

  You best heed.

  Turn yourself in

  Or it’s the end.

  She remained in Jay’s driveway, churning on possibilities. Even if Uncle Jay wouldn’t give her a name, maybe she could get a face.

  She started her Wrangler, implementing her plan for a quick stop at work.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ryan stood at the passenger door of his truck while Rebecca climbed the stairs. With the arrival of evening, not much could be seen of her form, but he could imagine enough from what he’d seen previously. Jeans would outline the soft curve of her hips and trace her lean thighs.

  Rebecca Hudson? The main things striking him as familiar were those illuminated gray eyes. Back then, Amanda’s cousin had been just that.

  But when he’d waited at her front door this evening, she’d brushed him off. Those smiling gray eyes had drifted from his face, but her figure had sustained him from the loss of her dazzling, alert gaze. Her hair started light brown but went to a darker shade where it brushed her shoulders and had curtained her face when she’d went for her shoes. His hand had itched to draw the hair away from her face, needing to see those lips again. And then . . . he paused. When they had talked about her tendency to stumble into things, or people, on her walks, she’d displayed a quick wit. Of course, his attention to dialogue was lost to the night when she’d nearly fallen into his arms, soft and cool like a breeze off a mountain’s peak.

  He unlocked the truck’s door and grabbed his worn hiking pack. A
s he swung it over his shoulder, he spotted Amanda’s Wrangler whipping into the parking lot. She got her bag, locked up, and headed straight for the stairs without a glance to her surroundings.

  His thoughts immediately realigned. Amanda was the one who needed him, even if she wouldn’t admit it. He’d come to tell her what she didn’t know. But before he told her, he needed to find out if and what she remembered. If mention of Danielle’s death got him any sort of reaction, he’d tell her the rest of the story and make a quick exit.

  As he climbed the steps to the door that had been left ajar, he started to make out what two raised voices said from the other side.

  Amanda’s words joined him in the night air. “You invited him? To stay here? What were you thinking?”

  Rebecca’s honeyed voice answered, “I was thinking he was your closest friend. You told me he made such a difference in your life. Amanda, you want him to sleep in his truck?”

  “Any place but here is fine with me.”

  “You always said he was like your big brother how you could tell him anything and everything. And now you’re going to kick him out?”

  “I used to tell him everything, Rebbie. That was five years ago. This isn’t the best time for him to crash here.”

  That was his cue. He pushed at the door. As it swung open, the two who were arguing about his living arrangements stepped back and stared at him.

  “Amanda, why don’t you tell us all how you really feel?” He grinned.

  Chapter 7

  Amanda rolled her sky-blue eyes. “Right.” She left them for the kitchen.

  “Well,” Rebecca started. “I think that about does it for me.”

  Ryan met her soft gray gaze.

  She glanced around the living room then gestured toward the couch. “Uh, I put a couple blankets out for you. I think, being a mechanic, you can figure out how to pull out the bed. Have a good night you two.” She elevated her voice for Amanda’s sake, “Keep the fighting to a dull roar, okay?”