Tsunami Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  Donovan scanned the room. The curtains were tightly drawn. Beth’s side of the bed and the two plush chairs were empty. He stiffly rolled out of bed, walked around the footboard, and nearly tripped over her. She was huddled on the floor with her face lifted toward the TV. In the gloom, shadows and light played upon her features, turning the dark circles around her eyes into caves.

  “Beth?” He knelt in front of her. On her cheeks, tears gleamed with reds and blues that projected the sad images. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. He cupped her face in his hands and lowered her head, forcing her gaze off the TV. The pain from the people in the news coverage reflected in her eyes. He wanted to shield her sight, but he couldn’t make her forget the things now imprinted on her memory.

  “Why are you watching this?”

  “I had to know,” she said. Her voice was little more than a breath.

  He could understand that need. While he waited for her to regain consciousness, he had watched the chilling reports. He glanced over his shoulder to see a wide helicopter-view of the parts of the island heavily impacted by the tsunami.

  “It’s not good,” he said. If she wanted to know, it would be better coming from him. “An underwater quake, far out in the ocean, triggered a tsunami. The Tsunami Warning Center experienced glitches of some kind. They weren’t able to detect the quake, and when the tsunami became visible, it was too late. They were hit before they could sound the siren. What happened is unthinkable.”

  “But obviously not impossible.”

  He studied her a moment before adding, “The tsunami was thirty, maybe forty-five feet tall and went about one mile inland. Oahu took the brunt of it. The death toll is estimated to be two thousand, but it’s rising.”

  Beth made a strangled sound from deep in her throat as if she couldn’t breathe. “Why…why am I alive while so many are dead?”

  Donovan shook his head. He wished he had the divine answer to her question. “I don’t know why we’re alive, and they aren’t. Maybe it’s because we’re stronger, smarter, luckier. Or maybe it’s a higher power’s doing. I don’t know why, Beth, but we are. And we can’t take that for granted. We have to keep living for those two thousand and the people they left behind.”

  Beth’s nod was marginal. “For those two thousand people.”

  Her promise to stay alive relieved him. Although she was out of the hospital, she was so damaged from what happened he had been afraid she was slipping away. From herself. From him. From life.

  “I’m going to order food, and then we can go back to bed. Is there anything you feel like you might be up for eating?”

  “Grilled cheese.”

  The simple request made him smile. “One grilled cheese sandwich coming up.”

  She ate one triangle of her sandwich before her stomach refused anymore. He gave her a dose of medication, and she drifted off to sleep.

  ****

  Her screams jarred him awake. She was thrashing so wildly he was afraid she’d reopen the delicate skin over her gunshot wound.

  “Beth?” He carefully straddled her and caught her shoulders.

  Her fight doubled. She thought he was trying to hurt her, kill her. She thought he was one of them. That realization was like a knife to his abdomen.

  “Shit.” He lifted her off the bed, wrapped his arms around her, and held her head to his chest. “Beth, you’re dreaming. Can you hear me?” His lips were next to her ear. “Wake up, baby. Please, wake up. Wake up, wake up.” He repeated his two-worded plea like a chant.

  Her jerks continued.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Please, come back to me. Please, bring her back.

  He stroked her hair. “Listen to my voice. It’s me. It’s me, Donovan.”

  It’s not them. I’m NOT them!

  Her movements lessened until her body went slack in his hold. It felt less like surrender and more like her body gave out, that she had given up.

  “Beth?” He laid her back on the bed.

  Sweat coated her skin. Her face had lost the grimace of fear and now wore a blank mask. She looked at him with glistening eyes.

  “You,” she croaked.

  He sighed. “Me.” Bending forward, he pressed his lips to her sweaty brow.

  “Always you,” she whispered.

  He smoothed away the damp strands of hair from her face. “Always.” He wasn’t merely confirming her words, but promising her he’d always be there for her. Would always come to her rescue if she needed it. Would always wake her up from her nightmares.

  “Was your nightmare about the tsunami?”

  Her head twitched in his hands. “Everything.”

  That one word, spoken on a gasp, told him her nightmare incorporated the terror from the tsunami and Jackson’s men.

  “Will you tell me about it? Any of it?”

  She was quiet for a long time.

  He settled beside her. She won’t tell me a thing. Not now or ever. That realization about tore him in half.

  Then her voice came out of the darkness. “It always starts when the wave hits us, and I lose your hand. I used to see you among the dead, but you’re not dead.” She laid her hand on his chest as if needing to make sure it was true. “I’m trying to get to the surface, but something has my ankle. It’s Jackson Storm, and he’s pulling me into the depths of the ocean. When I get swallowed by the black nothingness, I’m suddenly in that closet. In that closet…”

  She told him about her attempts to get free, about getting shot and her hand stomped on. But she said it all in a detached sort of way. There was no emotion behind any of it. Her words sounded rehearsed. Repeated. And it sank in that what she told him was the bare bones of what happened. She told him what he wanted to know, but she was merely listing the highlights of her captivity while keeping herself, her mind, her entire being away from it.

  At least she told him something, though. He had to take stock in that.

  ****

  As the days went on, Donovan could clearly see the effect her kidnapping had on her. He’d often catch her sitting in bed, on the couch, even in a corner staring off into space. And every little thing made her jump. If room service knocked on the door, if he came into the bedroom while she was curled up on the floor, if the microwave beeped, she’d jerk. Her eyes would go wide and wild. Seeing her like that pained him. He didn’t know what to do to make her feel safe.

  On the third day after her release, he found her sitting in a chair in front of the window. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, and her right hand rested on her left shoulder.

  His eyes lowered to the floor. The gray sling lay there like a snake’s discarded skin. While approaching her, he saw the index finger on her injured hand circling round and round the jagged circle in her flesh.

  “What are you doing?”

  She flinched at his voice. Her gaze ticked to him and then back to the window. “It helps me to know what’s real and what’s not.”

  He squatted next to her. “What do you mean?”

  She kept her eyes straight ahead. “When I touch this scar, I know I got out. I know it because, in that closet, I had a hole here.” Her finger continued to caress the new skin. “There are times when I wake up and think I’m back in that place.”

  His gaze snapped to her face when he heard the wetness in her voice.

  “Sometimes I blink, and I’m there. I see the trashcan in the corner, the air vent with no cover, my blood on the concrete. I have to blink to make it go away. I tried not blinking at all, but that didn’t work. I’ve found I can combat it if I touch this scar. I tell myself, ‘You’re out, you’re out.’” Tears streamed to her jaw. Her voice trembled. “I was making coffee when the kitchen vanished, and I was there. It’s getting better, though.” She looked at him and nodded. “It’s getting better.”

  Donovan swallowed. He took her hand, pulling her finger from scar, and kissed it.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head and then said, “You’re
doing it.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Beth stood, leaned down, and planted a kiss on Donovan’s forehead. She appreciated his presence more than she could voice. Especially in her darkest moments. Whenever she thought she was locked in the dank janitor’s closet, and if her scar trick wasn’t working fast enough, she’d seek Donovan with her eyes. Seeing him would banish any strands of the hallucinations that were still intact. She wanted to tell him that, but the words got stuck in her throat. The kiss was all she could manage.

  The next day, Thorn visited. When Beth saw him, an involuntary smile manifested. It was such a rare thing that it surprised her. Not once during the last few weeks had she cracked a smile. Feeling her facial muscles lift like that felt strange.

  “Beth, you’re looking ravishing.”

  She made a soft sound that could’ve been called a laugh. “I can eat a whole cheeseburger now.”

  “That must be it.” He winked at her.

  With a shake of her head, she excused herself to the bedroom. While closing the door, she heard Donovan say, “That was the first time I’ve seen her smile, and it was for you.”

  “Jealous?” Thorn said. Even from the other side of the door, she could recognize that Thorn was horsing around with Donovan.

  “Shut up, jackass. But seriously, it was nice seeing her happy for once.” There was a pause before he said, “She’s different. She’s jumpy all the time, she stares at nothing for hours, and hardly talks to me.”

  “Beth…” Thorn sighed.

  In just saying her name, Beth felt all his sorrow. It grasped her throat like a hand. Tears pressed against her eyes. Her chest was heavy as if a rope was around her middle and someone was squeezing it tighter and tighter.

  “She isn’t just a survivor of a kidnapping or a tsunami,” Thorn said. “She’s both. And not separately either but at the same fucking time. That’s more than anyone could handle at once. Considering, I think she’s handling this well.”

  “I miss her.” Donovan’s words jabbed her in the heart.

  “Look around, Donovan. She’s here. That’s more than many people can say.”

  “I know.” Donovan’s voice was barely audible through the door.

  “And, Donovan, she is going to be different. She may forever be changed by this, but even if that’s so, will you still love her?”

  “Always.”

  Always…it was what he had said after he had lured her out of her first nightmare. Since then, she’d had an average of two nightmares a night, and he had been there to comfort her after each one.

  She backed away from the door and retreated into the bathroom where she cried into a towel. Her hot breath suffocated her, but she didn’t pull the towel from her face. Her weeping rocked her shoulders. The terry cloth dampened from her tears and warmed against her cheeks.

  How could she not see she was hurting Donovan? She didn’t mean to, of course. Everyone had their own way of coping after experiencing trauma. Withdrawing into herself was a defense mechanism.

  Donovan said he missed her, and she missed the woman she used to be, too. Days ago, she had resigned herself to the fact she’d never be that kickass woman again, the one who rescued Donovan from his wrecked car and ventured into a house armed with a shovel to help him. Now, while sitting on the bathtub’s ledge, she felt her returning. She had on her purple boxing gloves. The scar across her chest was visible. Determination burned in her eyes.

  Beth smiled at her. Long time, no see. Except, that wasn’t true. Fighter Beth had been there when she made her escape attempts and was slowly dying from blood loss. In fact, she was never far beneath the surface of Beth’s skin. Now, Fighter Beth had come back to help Victim Beth get strong—mentally and physically. She couldn’t stay scared and weak forever. If she did, she could lose the man she loved.

  She wet a face towel to mop the stickiness from her cheeks. Then she met her reflection in the mirror and looked into her eyes, past the dark shadows and red lightning bolts. “You went through something horrible,” she told herself. “And then you went through something even more horrible. You have every right to be changed and scared, but you do not have the right to be a bad wife. Enough is enough! If you sink into depression, if you let PTSD take over, Jackson will win. Pull it together! Heal and fight back! If not for you, then for Donovan.”

  She knew she wouldn’t be able to end her nightmares or stop herself from jumping at random noises, but she could be more open. Didn’t all the shrinks say it was best to talk about the bad, the gruesome? If she kept it bottled up inside, she’d eventually explode, and that explosion could take out Donovan.

  “You are Beth Kennedy Goldwyn, a self-defense instructor. You have survived quite a few disasters and have been face to face with criminals. You may not be such a bad-ass right now, but you’ll get there. Over time. Starting today.”

  The determination reflecting back at her from her eyes was new. All she used to see before was heavy despair. A fire—albeit a small one that would need daily kindling—now filled the emptiness inside her.

  She took out her makeup bag and applied some cover-up to the circles under her eyes. When she was done, she looked less like the walking dead. Not wanting to overdo it, she skipped the blush. If she came out with rosy cheeks, neither of them would be fooled. Makeup wasn’t the best tool to bring herself back swinging, she knew that, except it made her look healthier and that should count for something.

  Feeling a fraction stronger, despite her injuries, she joined Donovan and Thorn in the living room. The first thing she did was give Donovan a smile. By the way he smiled back, she knew it meant the world to him.

  “I thought you would’ve gone home already,” she said to Thorn.

  “No. I’ve been…” He glanced at Donovan before continuing. “Helping with search and rescue and cleanup.”

  Flashes of the destruction blinded her—the pink door with white flowers and the young woman with the glass protruding from her chest.

  Beneath the table, she pinched the skin on her thigh until the images faded.

  “That’s good,” she managed.

  She struggled to join the conversation. Every once in a while, she inserted a comment, but all she wanted to do was take another nap. When Thorn mentioned Jackson’s man who was apprehended, her ears perked up.

  “He’s not saying a word about why he was in that building or why Beth was there. He’s not even bothering to lie to say he went there for shelter.”

  “Jackson trained him,” Beth said.

  Donovan and Thorn looked at her with wide eyes. They were startled by her voice, her words.

  She met their stares. “He won’t say a word. Not even if you torture him.”

  “Well, he doesn’t need to,” Thorn told her. “We have enough evidence against him. Plus, with your testimony and mine, he’ll get a maximum sentence.”

  She hadn’t thought about testifying. She had mistakenly thought it was over, but it was far from over. Years from now, he’d be on trial, and she’d have to relive every horrible moment while recounting them to the judge and jury. The pain would resurface. The nightmares, if they diminished, would return in full force.

  For the next few years, she’d be dreading the day she’d have to appear in court, sit in front of dozens of eyes, and swear an oath to say the truth and nothing but the truth. But the truth was too hard. The worst part was he’d be sitting a few yards away. Watching her. Grinning at her. Knowing what he did, what they all did. And he would still cling to his “not guilty” defense because it’d be all he had left.

  What about her? What did she have left? The hope he’d rot in prison? Face electrocution? She didn’t want any of that. She just wanted it to be over.

  “It would’ve been better if he had been killed,” she said without a drop of mercy.

  Donovan and Thorn peered at each other. “That’s what we said,” Donovan admitted. “But, at least, he’s the last of the four we have to worry about.”

 
Beth’s eyes widened. Her breath caught in her chest. The world turned to black. One word repeated over and over in her mind.

  Four.

  The men involved in her kidnapping blurred through her mind one by one.

  Not four.

  “Five,” she said.

  “What?”

  She tore her gaze from the black world consuming her. “There weren’t four. There were five.”

  The looks on their faces confirmed her panic. They were shocked. Worse than that were the flickers of fear flashing across their faces.

  “Are you sure?” Thorn’s hands were clenched into fists atop the table. His jaw was ticking.

  “I had names for them,” she said. “Broken Nose was the man I kicked in the face. DB was the man I beat to death with my belt buckle. Screw Face was the man I stabbed in the face with a screw. Two-by-Four was the man with wide shoulders.”

  “And we got them,” Thorn reassured her.

  She shook her head. “You missed Mr. Gun. I called him that because he always had a gun in his hand. He was the one calling the shots. He was the one who shot me, who stomped on my hand. He was the worst one of them all.”

  She looked from Donovan to Thorn. They appeared as defeated as she felt.

  “Five,” she repeated. “Not four.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  One got away. That infuriated Donovan. And it wasn’t even a weak link but the mastermind behind Beth’s kidnapping and torture. How could that have happened? He had seen Mr. Gun with his own eyes. The man took a piss in front of him, for God sakes! How could they have missed him? His vanishing trick boggled Donovan’s mind. Maybe Mr. Gun knew Donovan and Thorn were on the adjacent roof and snuck out the back, leaving his pathetic team to take the fall. The better question was how they were going to find him?

  “And you think there’s a chance he could still be here,” he asked Thorn.

  Beth was the one who answered. “I told you. Jackson trained these men. Mr. Gun isn’t going to give up. I mean, did Jackson? When we were in San Francisco, he hunted us down to our hotel room and waited until we returned. Mr. Gun will wait for the perfect opportunity. He doesn’t want me alone. He wants us. And when he can get us together, he’ll strike. You can count on that.”