by Kira Blakely
I clench my own shaking hands into fists as my side. “Where is my son?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Dash’s mother says, not meeting my gaze “One minute, I was holding him in the garden, we were laughing, he was running… and then he was gone. Some woman was on the property.”
I clasp my hand over my mouth, another over my stomach as it turns. A woman?
“What woman?” Dash asks. “What did she look like?”
“I don’t know. Skinny, but busty,” Mrs. Siegel answers. “Blonde. Your age.”
I clasp my hand tighter over my mouth as I let out a gasp of terror, my knees, finally too weak to sustain me, giving out so that I collapse on the floor.
There’s only one woman I can think of who would like to take my baby away from me.
“Fuck!” Dash punches a wall.
He knows. He knows who it is just as I do.
Remembering I still have Marissa’s picture—that gut- wrenching shot of her in Dash’s uniform coat—I go to fetch it, showing it to Dash’s mother.
“Is this her?” I ask.
She puts down her cup of coffee and holds the picture. She looks back up at me with eyes glazed by shock. “That’s her.”
I collapse on my knees on the carpet.
“She looked a bit familiar,” Mrs. Siegel adds. I bury my face in my hands.
“I don’t know how long she was watching us. I thought she was a friend of yours, Dash.” Mrs. Siegel puts the picture down, staring blankly into the distance. “I thought I knew her. So she picked him up… and I thought it was okay. I thought she was a friend of the family’s!”
I stand, grabbing the picture and shaking it in her face. “You let her take the baby? My baby? Anna, you were supposed to take care of him!”
She just looks at me.
“That’s enough, Janine.” Dash places a warm palm on my shoulder and massages it, half-soothing me and half- tamping me down.
But I can’t stand to be touched right now. I shrug his hand off, whirling to face him and pinning Marissa’s picture to his chest with my fingers.
“Find our son,” I command in a ragged, tearful voice. Storming from the room, I cover my mouth with my hand again. More tears fall, and my chest heaves so hard I can barely breathe. I’m really going to throw up. A million stars crowd into my periphery as I walk. I might pass out.
Marissa has our son.
I’m heading upstairs—I’m not sure why, I feel blind with panic—when I fold at the foot of the stairs, gripping the railing and breaking into bone-racking sobs. The pain in my chest is unbearable.
“Janine!” Dash’s voice floats to me from the kitchen, where we had been trying to listen to his mother’s story of what happened. I can’t bear to look at him. I can’t bear to think or feel anything right now, except an all-consuming coldness, a hatred, a terror. Dash’s hands come down around my shoulders and he pulls me to my feet, wrapping me in his warm, strong arms.
“I can’t, Dash!” I shake my head against his chest and quake as I weep. “We have to find him. What if she hurts him? He’s just a baby… Oh, God.”
“Shh.” Dash presses my head to his chest as he runs his fingers through my hair. “We’ll get Brandon back, I promise. We’ll find Marissa and I swear we’ll make her pay for what she’s done.”
25
Dash
“I’m sorry, Mr. Siegel, but we still haven’t found Marissa Reynolds,” Detective Egbert informs me over the phone. “But, rest assured, we are doing every- thing we can to find her.”
“I don’t want assurances, Detective. I want action!” I shout into the phone. “Find her!”
I hang up the phone then slam my fists on the table in frustration.
Marissa isn’t that smart and her husband isn’t that rich.
How on earth are the police still not able to find her?
Placing my arms on the table, I run my hands through my hair.
That bitch. I should never have been with her. I should have known she wasn’t right in the head. I should have had her locked up in a mental facility.
Janine’s right. This is all my fault and if anything happens to Brandon, I’ll never forgive myself.
I grab fistfuls of my hair.
Please, God, if you’re out there, don’t let anything happen to my little boy.
“What did he say?” Janine wonders as she enters my office, eyes bleak and searching. I know she was lingering and listening. We’ve been clinging to our search efforts like they’re oxygen. It’s the only thing we can possibly do.
Her eyes are bloodshot, burdened by the deep circles of sleep deprivation. She hasn’t slept or eaten. She looks like a ghost, a shell of her former self. I know I look the same. It’s been almost forty-eight hours now. Each hour feels like a year in and of itself.
“No news,” I rasp, wiping my tears as I sit back in my chair. “Not yet.”
Janine slowly approaches my desk. Her voice borders on hysterical as she presses, “What about her house? Her parents’ house? Her friends’ houses? Her husband’s office? Any vacation homes?”
I shake my head. “She isn’t there.”
Janine picks up the picture on my desk, the one she stole from my coat pocket without me noticing and that she showed my mother earlier. It’s not the picture being blasted over the news now—the police chose a picture taken within the past year with a closer view of her face—but it’s the picture Janine can’t stop looking at.
She stares at it long and hard, and I almost want to take it away from her and ask her to just go get some rest, but then her glassy eyes turn to me and she whispers, “What about this apartment?”
I shake my head, placing my hands on the arms of my chair. “She doesn’t live there anymore.”
“Well, she must be somewhere!” Janine shrills, slamming the picture back down. I clench my jaw and exhale. I understand exactly how she feels, so it’s impossible to be angry at her right now. In fact, I’ve never felt closer to her.
Janine drops down into one of the chairs in front of my desk.
“We’ll find her, baby.” I reach for her hand, squeezing it. “We’ll find her and Leon, and then we’ll find Brandon and bring him home.”
“Leon,” she repeats softly. Then her eyebrows crease. “What is it?” I ask curiously.
She touches her chin. “Marissa mentioned at the company party that Leon owned a yacht. What about that?”
I let her hand go, putting mine on top of my desk as I stand up.
“No. I don’t know,” I admit.
“Then you should tell the police.”
I grab my phone but just before I dial Detective Egbert’s number, an idea occurs to me.
“What’s wrong?” Janine asks me, getting out of her chair. “If he was at that party, and he had a yacht, he might have bought one of our security systems,” I say, lifting my finger and moving it back and forth. “And if he did, then I can find him. As soon as I do, I can hop into a boat and…” “I’m coming with you.” Janine steps closer to me. “Janine…”
“You’re not leaving me behind.”
I take a deep breath. She’s been through hell. No. She’s going through hell. She needs to rest. But I can’t deny her this.
“Alright. Let me get that location and we’ll hop into the fastest boat we can find.”
* * *
As the Renegade, Billy’s speedboat, cruises over the ocean at top speed, I grip the steering wheel, my eyes constantly search the horizon for a sign of the Stella Marissa. Warm ocean air pulls through my hair, but I don’t feel a thing. Our surroundings are beautiful—ocean as far as the eye can see
—but I don’t see any of it. All I can think of is Brandon and getting him back.
Can’t this thing go any faster?
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Janine asks.
She’s sitting next to me, clutching the orange lifejacket she has on, her red hair floating in the salty breeze.
I grab
her hand, another knot forming in my stomach as I realize how cold it is.
Isn’t there anything I can say to her to ease her suffering?
I squeeze her hand. “When we get back, we’ll buy that house I promised you. Two if you want.”
“If we get Brandon back safely,” she says. “We will.”
Slowly, she turns her head, our gazes meeting. I pull her to her feet and place my arm around her.
“And one day, the three of us will go sailing.”
She nods against my shoulder. “That would be nice.”
I kiss the side of her forehead. “Everything will be alright. I promise.”
* * *
“That’s it!” I point to the boat on the horizon as I lower the pair of binoculars in my hands, having finally found it. “That’s the Stella Marissa.”
I’ve got you, Marissa.
“Brandon is there,” Janine says, standing beside me. “I think so.”
“I can feel it. He’s so close.”
“Me too.” I grab Janine’s hand. “Let’s go get him back.”
We idle alongside the yacht and board it via a gangway extended between our two boats. I’m sure they can see us, if Marissa is on this boat and if she really did kidnap Brandon. She must be watching the horizon like a hawk.
The alarm sounds.
Fuck.
I manage to pull Janine on to the boat but, moments later, I hear Marissa’s voice right behind us.
“Darling, we have guests.” I whirl to find her and her husband emerging from below deck, Leon with a trembling gun trained directly onto my chest. Marissa beams at us from behind his shoulder, and it looks as if he’s her puppet. “Really, you didn’t have to come all this way. Especially you, Dash. You could have just called.”
“We’ve been expecting you,” Leon says. “Now drop your weapons.”
I lower my gun and raise my hands, still thinking only of Brandon, even with this asshole pointing his gun at me.
“Where’s my boy?” I ask, voice firm as stone.
“Where’s our baby?” Janine echoes much more shakily, her hands raised alongside mine.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Marissa says. Then she grins. “I would never hurt our precious baby boy, Dash.”
I glare at her. “You’re out of your goddamn—”
“Uh-uh.” Leon waves his gun back and forth to silence me. “We’re the ones who’ll do the talking, I think.”
I look at Marissa. She’ll talk to me. She never could resist me. “What do you want, Marissa?”
“I want what every young mother wants, Dash.” Marissa smiles up at me like a coquette, completely unaware of the fact that she is not a young mother. “Daddy’s head on a stick.”
“Leon,” Janine implores Marissa’s husband. “Please… She’s crazy. Don’t do this.”
Marissa giggles, and Leon shrugs. “I have a happy wife. If my Marissa says that that baby is hers, then that baby is hers. You two are the ones who stole it.”
“Aww.” Marissa smiles at him dreamily. “That’s sweet.” “You’re both sick,” I realize.
“Shut the fuck up, pretty boy!” Leon crowds closer to me. “You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to shoot you. I would if I could.”
“Doubt you could,” I sneer at him. “You don’t have the balls.”
He moves closer, just as I want him to. He nudges my sternum with the barrel of the gun.
“Please,” Janine begs Leon tearfully. “Please don’t.”
Leon’s eyes flick to Janine and he swallows, but then his eyes narrow and he addresses her. “I want you to shut—”
I swing my leg, sweeping both of his out from under him. The gun clatters to the deck. I climb on top of him and punch him. To my surprise, he punches me back, squarely in the jaw. I’m stunned and my stance loosens just a fraction. Leon kicks me off him.
“Dash!” Janine screams.
Leon shambles back on his feet, lip bleeding now. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fight, pretty boy.”
He tries to punch me again, but he’s been exhausted by this assault. I dodge easily, landing my own shot deep into his stomach and sending him reeling back.
Leon collapses back, gasping for breath, his gun close to his head on the floor.
It’s supposed to be a winning move, but Leon goes for the gun. I dive toward my own firearm and feel the sudden hot sting of a bullet sink into my shoulder.
“Dash!” Janine and Marissa scream.
Yes, I’ve been fucking shot. But that doesn’t change anything. My son is still somewhere on this boat.
As Leon splutters at me, my fingers wrap around my gun and squeeze the trigger. A loud crack echoes into the sky over the Atlantic and Leon’s gun flashes away from his hand, skittering across the deck and far from his reach. But it doesn’t matter. His firing hand is crippled as he tumbles to the ground, cupping it in his other hand, sobbing like a woman.
I move over to him and swipe him hard, just once, across the face with my knuckles. He crumbles unconscious easily, and I glower down at his weakness.
I know his type. He’s only here because of his wife. She’s been propping him up the whole way, filling him with steam like a hot air balloon, but one rip was all it took to deflate him. Two rips, if you count my fist.
“No!” Marissa screams as she falls on her knees.
Janine rushes deeper onto the boat as soon as Leon is disabled, dodging around crumbled Marissa easily. I stride behind her to point my gun at Marissa.
She puts her hands up, showing me her palms as she cries. “I don’t know how I got here,” she moans, possibly to herself.
“You kidnapped my son,” I remind her.
“Remember how you said that you thought I was better?” She places her hands on her chest and nods, eyes shimmering. She doesn’t seem to fear the gun at all, and I suppose it’s because she knows I’m not going to fire it as long as she’s in the defensive position. “I did get better,” she goes on, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself. “But then you came back to town… and all my progress just disappeared.” She shakes her head at herself and whispers, “Maybe everything will be okay.”
I keep my gun pointed at her, unflinching. “Probably not for you.” She kidnapped my son. It’s difficult for me to feel anything but hate for her now.
Marissa dissolves into deep sobs on the floor, and I turn around at the sound of Janine’s approaching footfalls on the deck.
“Dash!” she cries, her eyes wide as she rushes to me, still without Brandon. “I can’t open the door!”
“Oh, fuck.” I place a hand on my head and massage my sorely exercised brow muscle. “It’s the security system.”
“Can you disable it?”
“I’ll try,” I tell her. “Tie these two up.”
Janine goes for a coil of rope on a bench. I tuck the gun into my pants as I hunt for the mainframe of the security system, which is certainly in the cockpit.
I’m tapping through all the override codes, the screens flashing from red to green, red to green, until I hear Janine call my name. I was so deep in that monitor, I almost forgot everything around me, solely focused on springing the last lock on the last door on this damn yacht.
“Yeah?” I call back down to her.
As soon as I see her, a crushing weight is alleviated from my chest. She’s holding Brandon in her arms. Her face is streaked in tears, her mouth wide in a smile. “I got him, baby! I got him!”
She’s at a distance, but Brandon looks okay. He’s clinging to Janice’s neck and crying, but she’s crying too. Before she can make it to me, she slows her pace and bows to her knees, cradling him and weeping with gratitude. My heart aches at the sight. I should never have let Marissa back into our lives, even for one second. I knew when she looked at me in that hotel restaurant that she still wasn’t right in the head.
I stride to them, my own heart overflowing with joy—to see Brandon again, and to see Janine happy again—I bow and wrap
my arms around them both. Tears snake from my eyes as well. I can’t hold them back.
Janine twists to press her body against mine, and now we both hold Brandon as one, as if we’re one entity. And, in so many ways, we are. “Oh, Dash, he’s okay!” she cries against my chest.
“He looks fine.” I press a kiss to my son’s forehead. “Everything’s alright.”
Janine sniffles against my chest and I plant a soulful kiss into her hair.
Our worst nightmare is over.
26
Janine
July 2022
Everything seems like a dream.
Standing at the porch of our new log cabin home on the shores of Lake Michigan, I watch as Brandon and Dash run around the lawn under the moonlight and the glow of care- fully placed garden lamps. Brandon’s German Shepherd, Wolf, runs with them, his tail wagging.
It seems like only yesterday that he was a puppy chewing on this and that. It seems like only yesterday that Brandon was a baby, crawling across the floor. Now they’re both all grown up.
Well, Brandon still has a lot of growing to do, but he’s no longer a baby. He’s starting to read and write now, which Dash and I have been teaching him ourselves. He’ll be in kindergarten soon. Sometimes, when I talk to him, he holds himself with the maturity of another adult.
Then he’ll mention that Dad’s job would be even better if rocket boosters could get involved, and I remember that, for just a few more years, he is still a baby.
I let them play a little longer and then usher Brandon inside for bedtime. I watch him brush his teeth. He changes into pajamas and then I tuck him into bed after reading him a story and planting a kiss on the top of his head.
“Good night, sweetheart. I love you.” I always tell him this. I can’t even hold it in.
“Good night, Mommy. Love you too.” My heart gives up a little throb every time I hear it.
Brandon turns on his side and I smooth my hands down his tiny back and then turn off the lamp. I walk towards the door, petting Wolf as I pass him.
“Good night, Brandon,” Dash calls from the doorway, leaning on the frame with his hands in his pockets.