Grim Judgment

by Jennifer Reinfried

  Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and stood, leaning against his car, face in a grimace of torment, his heart beating wildly. “Please, Emma. I can’t do this without you.”

  “Do what?”

  “Live.”

  Silence. Then, “I’m so sorry, Isaac.” She hung up.

  Despair racked him, and he slumped forward. A buzz from his phone brought wild hope to his throat, but it was just a message from Grant: Tracing it said.

  Isaac tapped the man’s name and hit a green button. Within a moment, the cop’s irritated voice sounded in his ear as he said, “Yeah?”

  “She’s gone. Tell me you got it.”

  A pause, then, “Sorry, kid. Wasn’t enough time. I had to call the station, get one of ours on the task. Not like I can do this from home.”

  Isaac rested his head against the cool steel of the Mercedes. He didn’t say anything, simply experienced frustration and anger. “Forget it. Thanks anyway.” Disconnecting the call, he yanked open the door of the Mercedes and climbed inside. As he started the engine, his phone vibrated. I told you to forget it, dude. Isaac glared at the screen, but felt his heart still at the sight of Emma’s unknown number.

  Her voice washed over him, light and warm, but with a trace of fear still present. “You’re right, Isaac. Meet me in Boston.”

  —-

  Emma lay on her back, uncomfortable on the stiff mattress of a quaint bed and breakfast in Carbondale, Pennsylvania. Tears trickled out of her sore eyes, slowly crawling from the corners and down her temples, soaking silently into the bedspread. She recalled Isaac’s voice, frantic, concerned, pleading. She had cried enough for the past weeks, and lately, no matter how distraught she became, her eyes hadn’t produced much more until now.

  A quick glance at the clock near the bed told her it was nearly seven at night, and that she had spent over an hour staring at her phone, willing herself to call Isaac again, to hear his voice once more. The quick conversation she’d had with him that morning, when she’d told him to meet her in Boston, hadn’t been enough.

  She cursed herself for giving up her location. All she’d wanted was to ensure he was alive and safe. When she’d spoken to Grant after the terror of the roof, he’d informed her Isaac had been carted away for Dr. Wallace to stabilize, then would be sent to one of Vance’s safe houses with the boss himself. Since then, she hadn’t contacted anyone else, destroying and ditching her phone. And now all her hard work getting away from Isaac was lost. She groaned and pushed her palms into her eyes. What were you thinking? The further away you got from him, the safer he was. If Jax finds you...or follows him...

  She sat up on the bed and stretched out first her shoulders, then her neck. An emptiness in her stomach told her it was time to find food, and she grudgingly pulled on a pair of jeans and a white sweater. Before leaving her room, Emma stood and stared at her red-rimmed eyes in the small mirror above the vanity.

  With a sigh, Emma locked the door behind her, patted her pocket to ensure she had cash, then left the premises on foot. The bed and breakfast was within walking distance of a bar named Martini Blues. Entering, she looked around, pleased to find the bar relatively empty. Soft blue lights lined the walls where they met the ceiling, and she ran an admiring gaze along the multitude of electric guitars that hung from pegs. Most had unreadable signatures scribbled on their surfaces in black Sharpie, but a few were blank. The sole bartender, a pretty older woman with blonde hair piled high on her head in a loose knot, smiled at Emma as she sat on a low swiveling stool.

  “Get you something to drink?” she asked, throwing a thick paper coaster and a menu between them.

  Emma considered the bottles behind the bar. She craved a glass of red wine, but settled for a gin and tonic. Isaac’s favorite.

  “I think I’ll do the chicken sandwich,” she added when the server returned.

  “Fries or tots?”

  “Neither. Just the sandwich.”

  The bartender shrugged, then made her way toward the back of the building to put the order in.

  Emma sipped at her drink through a thin black straw. As she waited for her food to arrive, she glanced around the dark bar. She noticed for the first time that soft music was playing from a vintage-looking jukebox in one corner, although the wires that were hooked up to it, leading to small speakers on the ceiling, gave away the fact that it truly wasn’t an authentic memento from an earlier era. Emma couldn’t make out the song that was playing with the volume as low as it was, but she didn’t care: louder music would have made it impossible for her to hear the person behind her approaching.

  Her stomach clenched, but she forced herself to relax as a man in a blue polo and grey slacks sat on the stool immediately next to her. She ignored his entrance, which was coupled with a waft of light, pleasant aftershave, and continued sipping her drink, eyes on the slowly melting ice within.

  “Buy you a drink?” the man said.

  “Thanks, already have one.”

  He laughed. “Well, I mean after that.”

  Emma looked up at him and her sharp retort faltered. Cool, green, deep set eyes hung behind black framed glasses. Alex smiled, and she nearly leapt off of her stool.

  No. No. Calm down. Not Alex. He looked similar, but his hair was longer, light brown and layered. It just looked darker in the dim bar. His build was bigger, too; he was much more muscular than Alex or even Shawn had been. He stared at her, curiosity the expression foremost on his face. She swallowed and looked away. “I’m good.”

  “You alone?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You look alone.”

  Emma rolled her eyes in an overly exaggerated manner. “Well, I’m not.”

  “Uh huh. Let me guess. Your boyfriend will be here any minute?” His words were taunting, but his eyes held laughter. She couldn’t tell if he was considering her with a friendly or intimidating gaze.

  “Something like that.” She finished her drink with a loud slurp of her straw.

  The man waved down the woman behind the bar, then signaled at the empty glass. The server nodded and began making a new gin and tonic. Emma sighed.

  “I’m Charlie.” He held out his hand.

  She considered just standing up and leaving before she turned to face him. “Emma. Thanks for the new drink.” They shook.

  Charlie was looking at her with an odd expression she couldn’t place. “Pleasure. You live around here?”

  “Nope. You?”

  “Nope.” He grinned, and Emma made out small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

  “What are you doing in town, then?” she asked.

  “Passing through. On business.”

  “Hmm.” Emma nodded. She turned to the approaching bartender, who informed her that the sandwich she ordered would be up any moment now.

  “What about you?” Charlie asked her. He rested one elbow on the surface of the bar, head tilted slightly. It was only then that Emma realized how hungry his eyes looked.

  “Visiting family.” She took a small swallow of her drink, then pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans, pressing the side button as she did so. The small front screen lit up, illuminating her face. She pretended to study it, then looked at Charlie. “Sorry, gotta take this. Be right back.” Emma hopped off her stool and made her way to the bar’s entrance, phone to her ear as if she were answering a call.

  Creep. She began to walk toward the bed and breakfast - and her freshly stolen car - phone back in her pocket. She’d only made it a few yards when she felt a hand grip her forearm.

  “Keep walking,” Charlie said in a much lower voice than he’d used in the bar.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Emma groaned, although her stomach performed a flip, shooting adrenaline through her body as it did.

  “Shut it.” He forcefully led her by the arm along the side of the bar, then to the back, where two large dumpsters sat in the dim light of a single bare bulb near the bar’s back door. A chain link fence separated the land from a s
parse woods.

  “Please leave me alone.” Emma’s heart rammed into her chest.

  Charlie didn’t respond. He shoved her against the building and pressed himself against her, his breath hot. Emma immediately brought her knee up between his legs, but he was faster, easily blocking her attack with a thigh. He pinned her hands with a forceful grip on both wrists and, for the first time since the night on the roof, she feared for her life.

  “Scream and I cut you,” he rasped, as if he’d read her mind’s next move.

  “Just stop.” Her eyes were wide but unseeing as she felt his left hand release her arm, but it was instantly trapped with his knee as he ran his fingers along the front of her sweater.

  “Stop!” she said, louder.

  “I’ve got control now.” In a quick motion, he pulled her off balance, using a leg to trip her feet. She landed on her back painfully, the cold ground hard and solid underneath her. Charlie squeezed her legs together with his and slid her hands above her head. He was strong, much stronger than she was, and no matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t get out of his grip, couldn’t get anything freed. Tears of fear and frustration fell from her eyes.

  “That’s it.” He shoved his free hand underneath her sweater and fondled her breasts. “You can’t do shit. Just be quiet and let me finish.”

  She stared into his hard gaze, feeling an odd sense of calm wash over her. “Please. Please stop.”

  Charlie hesitated in his groping and looked her in the eyes. “You don’t want me to. Do you?” This close, he looked even less like Alex.

  “Stop.” She stared into her attacker’s eyes. “Don’t hurt me, please.”

  “You want this. Admit it.” He squeezed her breast painfully, then proceeded to tear her sweater over her head. Tossing it aside, he looked down along her exposed torso with a sincere greed.

  Serenity came across her, and she almost smiled. She felt her mind struggling with the fact that maybe she did want him, maybe she should let him continue, and she blinked furiously. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “You want me to fuck you,” Charlie continued. “You want me to hurt you.”

  No I don’t. “Yes...” Emma found herself saying. Wait, yes I do. No. I can’t...How is he doing this? I can’t think straight...what the hell is he doing to me? A horrific thought flashed through her mind then, quick as a spark: He’s going to rape me, and I’m going to let him.

  True fear flew up her throat and escaped in a sob. Charlie chuckled and started tugging at the button on her jeans.

  “Get the hell off of her,” a voice growled.

  Charlie froze, a snarl stuck on his lips. When he twisted to look behind him, Emma saw the female bartender standing in the open doorway of the bar’s back entrance, a large pistol aimed at Charlie’s back.

  “I said get off of her. Now. Cops are already on their way.”

  “You’re not going to shoot me.” Charlie tightened his grip on Emma’s wrists.

  “I will if you don’t—”

  “You’re not going to shoot me.”

  “No. Of course I am. Am not.”

  Emma’s confusion froze her struggles. What the fuck?

  Charlie spoke again, repeating himself a third time. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

  Confusion washed over the bartender’s face, and she looked at the gun in her hand, silent.

  When Charlie turned back to Emma, an awful grin on his face, she let out a loud scream.

  “Fucking dammit, I told you not to scream. I hate that goddamn noise.” He slid one hand down to her crotch and squeezed hard.

  Tears sprung to Emma’s eyes, and she yanked her arms down with all the force she could muster. Her right arm broke free of his grasp. Before Charlie could react, she swung her arm to the side, her elbow connecting just below his left eye.

  “Fuck!” Charlie released his hold from between her legs, his hand rising to his face. He balled the other into a fist and pulled it back, but before he could hurt her, the bartender brought the butt of her pistol into the back of his skull.

  Charlie faltered, which was enough for Emma. She twisted her hips then thrust them upward, tipping him to the side in his confusion. Finally free, she rolled away from him and scrambled toward the bartender, fingers clawing through the dirt, ignoring the rough stones as they scratched her bare torso.

  Once she made it to where the armed bartender stood, Emma rose to her feet, legs trembling. Turning, she saw Charlie standing as well, a good two yards away.

  His eyes snapped to the bartender. “You’re not going to shoot me.” His hands raised up in front of him, dirty from the ground.

  “The fuck I’m not.” The bartender took aim and squeezed the trigger, but at her words, Charlie flung himself to the left, against the building. The bullet missed entirely, and before she could shoot him again, he sprinted away and around the corner.

  Emma wasted no time as she reached out, grabbed the pistol, and chased after Charlie. Shirtless, she rounded the bar in time to see him back out of a parking stall. She raised the weapon and fired it, grinning as a bullet hole appeared in the side of his back bumper.

  He threw his car into drive and it slammed forward, tires screeching.

  Emma fired another round, and this time, a large hole appeared in the back window. Charlie swerved.

  He’s getting away. Emma ran forward, shooting until the pistol was empty and she was watching his tail lights recede into darkness.

  She stood staring at the spot they had disappeared, dirty chest heaving, listening as faint sirens rapidly grew closer. Turning, she saw the bartender walking toward her. Emma whirled around and took off running, heading in the direction of the bed and breakfast. Ignoring the bartender’s cry she sprinted down the street. Even though her heart screamed that she should go after Charlie, she knew it was imperative to get her things and escape. Pack up and run. Drive through the night. Get to Boston. Get to Isaac.

  Chapter Ten

  THEN

  1983

  I should have known better. I should have opened my eyes wider to what was happening around me. I should have slowed down, appreciated what I had, but I didn’t, and I will never forgive myself.

  I had been dating June - that was the name of the black-haired girl with the orange sucker - for six and a half months when it happened. She and I had really hit it off the night we ran into each other at that bar. After the band had finished and the place closed up, we stood outside in the chill of the spring air while she sucked on a cigarette. When I finally got home that night, I had her number in my pocket, written in her swirly handwriting on a torn piece of napkin.

  Two long, long days went by before I worked up the courage to call her. I had gone shopping for groceries as a surprise to my mother, saying the record store had forgotten to give me my last paycheck for cover. Then I began to look around town for a place to live. Mom helped, and went with me to look at a few apartments until I settled on one not far from her house. For only a couple hundred bucks a month, I’d finally have a little area of my own. It had one decently sized bedroom, a small bathroom, a kitchen and living room, and it was perfect. I signed the contract and was told I could move in the first of June.

  God, I hate that name.

  Sorry, back on track. Speaking of June, as I said before, I called her that second day after we’d officially met. Our first date was at a nice Chinese restaurant in town that was only half full. Conversation flowed easily between us. We both loved the same types of music and bands, both wanted to eventually get out of Colorado Springs and do something bigger with our lives, and both enjoyed reading, although she didn’t partake in my love of science fiction as much as I’d hoped. June had graduated six semesters ahead of her class and immediately started working with her father. She said she liked her job, which was interning at a scientific research lab that I’d never heard of here in town. There was something about this pretty girl with a vast intelligence that stirred up something I hadn’t felt
before in my stomach.

  I don’t remember what either of us ordered that night, or if it was even good. I don’t remember how much the bill was. But I remember the feel of her lips when she kissed me.

  We were huddled in light coats, walking to her place. She’d been giggling at something goofy I’d said, and turned to face me. We stood on the corner of her block, illuminated by a streetlight right above us. The night, although chilly, still had a certain warmth to it for me, which intensified as she smiled up at me. She was a couple of inches shorter. Her face was flushed slightly from being in the cool air, and her eyes glittered mischievously.

  “I had a good time tonight, Bruce.”

  “Me, too. Maybe we can get together again sometime.” I grinned.

  “I hope so. I’d like that.”

  She took my hand and moved forward slightly, until her body was against mine. Being a lust-filled young man in my early twenties who had barely gotten laid often enough to count on ten fingers, I somehow kept my cool.

  “Maybe this weekend?” she purred.

  “Well,” I said, struggling to keep my voice solid, “I’m sure I could find some time Saturday to take you out again.”

  June smiled. “It’s a date.” She lifted her face and placed her lips against mine. They were so soft. We kissed only briefly before she pulled away, bade me goodnight with an impish grin, and walked away. I watched her go for a moment before I realized a stirring in my groin had intensified, and I looked down with horror at a certain issue that was quickly becoming difficult to hide. Embarrassed, I turned and made my way back home, the cold thankfully helping the problem before I walked through my front door.

  Mom was up, nose buried in a book, draped along the couch in the living room. “Hey, you.” She smiled up at me.

  “Hey. I thought you were going out with your friend. That Sally?”

  She stood and stretched. “She called earlier and told me she hadn’t been feeling well, so we rescheduled.”

  “Oh, that sucks.” I moved to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of lukewarm tap water.