Hawk

by Abigail Graham

  The window!

  If she could get out the window, then she could climb onto the porch roof and slide down to the street. She could run, or at least get to her bike. The window wasn’t far. It took all she had to ignore the pain in her tailbone and flaring ankle to drag herself towards the window. She had her hand on the windowsill, she just had to grab it and pull herself up.

  Almost there.

  With a grunt of effort, she pulled and the hot, humid night air met her face. Another second.

  Grayson’s hand twisted around in her hair.

  Jennifer’s shriek burned her throat. Her scalp burned as Grayson yanked her back into the room. His other hand closed around her throat. Wrenched to her feet, Grayson shoved her onto the bed hard enough to push the mattress off the box spring. He was on top of her. His knee pinned her back, and his fist ripped hair from her scalp as he pushed her face down into the bed.

  The comforter smothered all the air. She couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t stop screaming. It felt like her lungs would burn themselves up and burst out of her throat. Her heart beat so fast it was just a buzz in her chest. It felt like dying, like an ice pick was ramming through her chest.

  “Shut up, you goddamn bitch,” Grayson snarled. “Hold still.”

  Go with him. Cooperate. If he took her outside, then someone would see or hear them. She could get loose and run away. He pulled her onto her feet and backhanded her. Pain exploded from her jaw and the world went all tilty-turny again and he pulled her towards the broken door by the hair.

  The lights went out.

  Grayson froze. Jennifer went stone still, holding his wrist in her hands, trying to stop the ripping at her scalp.

  Grayson let go of her and turned towards the direction of another person moving in the house. The pain in her tailbone screamed as she hit the floor, crushing everything else out until she gathered herself up enough to scramble into the closet.

  Grayson struggled with another man.

  As if it could keep her safe, Jennifer wrapped herself in one of Franklin’s old shirts. The other man escaped Grayson’s grip. He spun around and his kick to Grayson’s back sent him against the wall.

  Grayson produced an automatic pistol from under his coat. The stranger pointed and the gun flew from Grayson’s hand. A knife stuck his palm. Blood sprayed on the white plaster wall. Grayson howled and grabbed at his hand, then bull rushed the stranger, who put his hands on Grayson’s shoulders and rolled right over him, adding force to the charge that sent Grayson into the wall.

  Plaster cracked in a ragged spider web where Grayson’s head connected with the wall. Grayson stumbled against the other wall, his face a bloody mask from a big cut on his forehead and his broken nose. Black blood gushed from his misshapen nose and hung from his jaw in thick streams. He looked like a demon when his lips pulled back in fury.

  Grayson threw himself at the stranger, who caught his arm by the wrist and elbow. The sound was almost as awful as Grayson’s scream, like someone taking a handful of wet rotten wood and just cracking it with all their might. Bent at all the wrong angles, Grayson’s arm went limp and he stumbled into the window. His head went through it before he stopped to reach for his fallen gun. The stranger was already moving.

  He brought the old window sash down on Grayson’s head, pulled it up, and brought it down again. Grayson went still and slumped to the floor. The stranger calmly picked up the gun, checked it, and slipped it into his belt behind his back. Grayson’s chest rose and fell in slow motion.

  Jennifer was somewhere else. Her head was throbbing, her back was a red hot column of pain, and she must have twisted her ankle again, but all that was distant, raw information she couldn’t process.

  It wasn’t Grayson’s hand she felt on her hair, it was Elliot’s. She fell into the past. The smell of Everclear and cheap fruit punch on Elliot’s breath filled her nostrils. He forced her down on the bed, angrily yanked on her hair as she squirmed and struggled and tried to peel his hands away but he yanked her jeans down. The buttons scraped over her skin as he tore at her underwear and threw his weight on her. His hand worked against her back as he undid his fly. Elliot’s voice in her ear. Shut up. You’ll like it.

  “Jennifer?”

  “Franklin?” she croaked.

  Franklin came in the room, screaming at his brother. What are you doing? Leave her alone!

  “No, it’s me. I’ve got you.”

  Her chest hurt more than her back, her heart tightened so hard it would explode. She was sure she was dying.

  Every word was a struggle. “I’m h-having a heart attack.”

  He picked her up like she weighed nothing at all, and shoved the dresser out of the way with a hard kick. Her head hurt. Was her nose bleeding?

  She was burning up, but she shivered like she’d dropped into a pool of ice water. Jennifer clawed at the fabric and held on for dear life.

  Her room was trashed, the furniture destroyed, her bed torn up, and someone was picking her up, but that wasn’t real, that wasn’t there. She was seventeen years old and she would always be seventeen years old. There was nowhere else, only hurtful hands on her skin, bruising her arms and legs, the scrape of Elliot’s nails as he raked them over her skin and tore at her clothes, but this time there was no Franklin, no one to fix it, no one to make it go away.

  “He’s here,” she moaned. “He’s here. He’s here.”

  “There’s no one but me. I know you’re scared. Focus on my voice. You’re going to be okay.”

  “I’m having a heart attack.” Her throat felt like it was full of sand and she couldn’t swallow.

  “It’s going to pass.”

  “My purse. I need my purse. Get my purse.”

  Without putting her down, he grabbed the strap.The purse dangled from his hand as he carried her through the open front door.

  “Faisal, pick us up on the back street. Move.”

  Who was Faisal? Why were all these people in Franklin’s bedroom?

  A dark car rolled up. He lowered Jennifer into the back seat and crawled in beside her and slipped off his mask.

  “I’ve got you,” said Jacob.

  She grabbed his hand and squeezed. Her chest hurt.

  “I’m dying,” she whimpered. “I’m gonna die. I don’t wanna die.”

  “You’re not dying. Look at me.”

  She looked at him.

  “That was then. This is now. It’s just a memory. It can’t hurt you right now.”

  She shook her head. “He’s here.”

  “It’s just us.”

  The driver pulled away from the house.

  “Mrs. Carmody…“ She couldn’t manage more than a whimper.

  “The police are coming,” the driver said. He had a strange accent.

  “Jennifer, look at me. You’re not breathing. I need you to breath. With me, okay? In, out.”

  In, out.

  In, out.

  Her chest didn’t hurt so much now, but it was still hard to breathe. Every motion and jolt of the car made her clench up again. He put something cool on her forehead.

  “I’m cold.”

  “I know it feels that way, but you’re burning up. You’re safe here. Just look at me and breathe.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe. Keep breathing. In, out.”

  12.

  “Clear the house.”

  Jacob’s voice resonated clear through her muddled mind.

  Other dark haired and olive-skinned men busied themselves with various activities around the house. Jennifer put her arms around Jacob’s neck and pulled close to him as she met their gaze.

  “Who are those people?”

  “My friends. They work for me. Faisal, you heard me. Everyone out.”

  The driver nodded. Faisal spoke to the other men in another language that sounded like Arabic. The way Jacob effortlessly carried her up the stairs gave her a sense of floating. The world passed under her until he lowered her onto a
huge four-poster bed and pulled up a heavy blanket. She grabbed at its edge, tucking it under her chin.

  Jennifer yelped when Jacob sat next to her and the bedsprings gave under his weight. She curled up in a ball and her chest tightened.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Why did you bring me here? What’s going on?”

  “You’re hurt. You have a cut on your head and I need to ice up your jaw. It’s going to bruise. I’m going to have Faisal help me. It’ll be just us.”

  His friend entered the room with a first aid kit he deposited on the bed. Jacob peeled back Jennifer’s hair and she winced at the sting of antiseptic on her scalp.

  “You bled a lot, but I don’t think it’ll scar. Here, hold this.”

  He held a cold pack on the spot where Grayson hit the side of her head. The pain dimmed as panic took over. Jacob gathered more pillows and placed them under her head before lifting her calf. She reflexively pulled her leg out of his grasp.

  “I need to see your ankle. That’s all.”

  She nodded, forcing herself to relax. The swollen joint was tender, and Jennifer forgot how much it hurt until he touched it. She winced as the pain tore up her leg.

  “We’re going to have to splint it.”

  Faisal returned with an inflatable sprint. Jacob carefully covered her ankle, keenly aware each touch each time she groaned in pain until it was secure. Jacob balanced an ice pack on the splint before examining her arm.

  The scrape from the other morning was mostly scabbed over, but he cleaned and bandaged any open cuts. Jacob found more pillows to elevate her hurt ankle, then took checked her pulse from her wrist.

  “Go get my pills and a glass of water,” he said to Faisal.

  Jennifer rose up on shaking elbows. “What pills?”

  He gently nudged her back down by her shoulder. “It’s a mild sedative to help with panic attacks.”

  “You have panic attacks?”

  “Sometimes,” he nodded.

  When his friend came back, Jacob showed her the pill bottle with his name on and shook one out into her cupped hand, and then offered a big glass of water. She took a small sip and swallowed the pill, then collapsed into the pillows.

  “Drink more.”

  She scowled and sat upright long enough to drain the glass, and then finally relaxed. Her head still hurt but she didn’t feel so dizzy, and the pain in her chest had faded to a cold burn.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I heard someone was breaking into your house.”

  Her head was heavy. When she moved, it felt like her skull was packed with rubber.

  “I feel weird.”

  “Just relax, and go to sleep.”

  “I’m not tired,” she lied, but she couldn’t stifle the yawn.

  “Yes, you are. It’s okay. You’re safe, now. If you need anything, just call.”

  “Where’s my purse?”

  “I have it. I’ll bring it up. Just don’t shoot me.”

  She blinked. “How did you know I had a gun in there?”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Just get some sleep.”

  Jacob reached for the light switch.

  “Leave it on.”

  He looked back and nodded, and stepped out, pulling the door behind him.

  “Leave it open a little.”

  He stopped the door just before it shut, and Jennifer let out a slow sigh. She curled up on the bed, pulling the heavy weight of the ice pack on her ankle towards her.

  The room was richly appointed, all antiques, designed and put together by someone trying to emulate what the house would have actually looked like in its prime. They did a remarkable job. Everything was all dark reds and browns and earth tones, very dark and cozy feeling. There was even a fireplace.

  Shifting a little on the bed, she tucked the blankets up around her chin and turned her head to lean on the ice pack, so she didn’t have to grasp it in her hand.

  The only personal touch was a picture on the far wall. Four people posed in a photo probably taken at the JC Penny on Commerce Street before it closed. A man that looked like a leaner Jacob next to a tall woman with raven black hair, and seated in front of them was a skinny teenage Jacob and his little sister on his lap.

  Sleep rolled over her like a wave.

  Jennifer awoke still cocooned in blankets. The ice pack on her chin was gone, but a fresh one rested on her ankle. Light poured in through a gap in the heavy curtains, slashing across the bed over to the door.

  “Hello?”

  Barely thirty seconds after she spoke, Jacob opened the door and took a halting step in.

  “Jennifer? Can I come in?”

  Jennifer nodded, and pushed herself up until she could sit up against the headboard.

  “Did you kill Grayson?”

  “Not that I know of. He’s in the hospital. That’s the first thing you ask me?”

  She shrugged. “Are we in the Dean house?”

  “My house. Yes. This is my bedroom.”

  “Where’d you sleep?”

  “Downstairs,” he shrugged.

  She rubbed her temples. “Oh. I feel funny.”

  “I gave you one of my anxiety pills last night. I’m a little heavier than you are, so they probably have more of an effect.”

  “Last night?” She yawned. “What time is it?”

  “About one in the afternoon.”

  “Shit!” she barked.

  He snapped back, startled. “What?”

  “I need to call my sister.”

  She swung her legs off the bed, and yelped when her heel touched the floor and she yelped and pulled her foot back up.

  “You need to stay off that for a day or so.”

  Jennifer shook her head, and pushed her hair away from her face, causing the bandage to pull on the skin. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I can’t think.”

  “Take a minute to breathe and clear your head. I’ll get you something to eat.”

  He was gone before she could protest. She gingerly tried to stand up, but the sharp pain from her ankle made clearly stated she wouldn’t walk for days. Now both her ankles would trouble her. Hopefully this one was just a simple sprain.

  The scent of something sweet cooking wafted through the room from downstairs. Jacob came back with a silver tray a few minutes later. Jennifer snorted at the extravagance until he set the tray with pancakes and orange juice on her lap.

  He sat at the foot of the bed as she picked up a fork in her trembling hands and began tearing her food into bits.

  Jacob threw a handful of pills in his mouth and downed a glass of milk, wiping his upper lip on the back of his wrist. Jennifer felt a strange chill spread through her.

  “How did you know I like pancakes?”

  He looked genuinely confused. “Everyone likes pancakes.”

  It had to be the drug he gave her. She shook her head. “Jacob, don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not-“

  “You’re not a math teacher. Okay, dealing with a punchy eighteen year old is one thing, but you beat down Grayson like he was a child. I’ve never seen anyone move like that in my entire life.”

  “I study tae kwon do as a hobby. I started when-“

  “I said don’t lie to me,” she snapped. “I want the truth.”

  He looked at the floor. “It was just a hobby. Started when I was sixteen. I did two years of TKD before I joined the Army. I was already good. I got better.”

  “You were in the Army?”

  He nodded. “I joined up and was deployed to Iraq. My uncle spent my college fund and I didn’t have anywhere to go. I wanted to be part of something. I was in the shit for about two months when we ran over a bomb. Flipped the Humvee over and set it on fire. There were two survivors. Then they started shooting at us.”

  “They who?”

  “Local group that ran the town where we were on patrol. They took me prisoner. I don’t know what happened to…
” he trailed off. “I was taken. I was pretty banged up. It got worse from there. They patched me up so they could torture me.”

  Jennifer swallowed.

  “Tortured you how?”

  “They cut me. My cellmate was a doctor, or I’d be dead. He patched me up. I think they did it in purpose. He had information they wanted and it was too valuable to risk killing him for it. He talked to me while he worked on me. Told me things.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  He sighed. “The doc worked for the Ba’ath party. He came into possession of account numbers and access codes. Anyway, I was there for about nine months. They were going to start in on my face. That’s where this came from,” he drew his finger down his cheek.

  “Oh my God.” Jennifer could almost feel the knife.

  “I lucked out there. They bombed the compound. The Air Force, I mean. It was a British unit that actually found me. I was in the hospital for another two months before I was sent home. They did their best to patch me up, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Can I show you?”

  Jennifer nodded.

  Jacob stood up, took a deep breath, and pulled off his shirt by the collar. The shocking sight almost caused her to dump the plate of food on the floor.

  His entire body was covered in scars. There was a smooth, tight scar across his entire stomach, probably a burn, but there were others. Dozens criss-crossed each other in silvery ridges on his chest and back, and he touched a crater that puckered his right shoulder.

  “I took a bullet after the explosion. It went right through. If it hit the bone they’d probably have cut off my arm.”

  She swallowed. “Do those hurt?”

  “Every day.”

  He pulled the shirt back on and tucked the hem around his waist.

  She had an overwhelming urge to reach out to him, but kept her hands still.

  He looked away. “Not pretty, I know.”

  “When I ran off, it wasn’t that. I have problems with people touching me. I got scared.”