by Lucy Lambert
But while he was quiet he also seemed somehow delicate, vulnerable. It all drew me to him.
“I found this old place,” Dash told me. He took me by the hand and we walked to the edge of town.
It was the old Patterson grain mill, the tall granary elevators and storage sheds with a single-level administrative office nearby long-since empty, condemned as a fire hazard before we were born.
They were still out there on the edge of town to this day, silent, empty hulks. No one owned them. No one wanted to pay to tear them down.
Kids from school liked to go there to drink and smoke, and it showed with the sophomoric words and jokes tagged on the walls.
It was late in the fall and the kids had warmer places to loiter in, so we were alone there with nothing but the breeze through the empty fields for company.
“I’ve never been here,” I said.
It was true. My dad strictly forbade it. He told me that the place was ready to collapse on itself. If I went up in one of the elevators I was likely to fall and break my neck.
This was years before my dad’s own accident, but I often thought about what he told me after it.
“You want to turn back?” Dash said.
“No way!” It excited me. I shouldn’t have been there. My dad didn’t want me there. The forbidden nature of it enticed my young mind.
We explored. The silos themselves were locked up tight. People knew kids liked to smoke out there, and they didn’t want an errant ember igniting the dust still inside. But the office had several entry points.
We went in. My heart pounded and I squeezed Dash’s hand. He squeezed mine back.
It was dark in there. We were young and alone and excited. We found a clean corner and kissed, both of us electrified.
We noticed it getting dark out through one of the smudged windows and knew we needed to go.
“I don’t want to go. I like it here, with you,” I said. I recalled the ache in my lips from our inexperienced kissing.
“I like it too, but we should go. Come on, I remember the way.” He took me by the hand again and led me out.
We promised to see each other again the next day. Spend lunch together at school, something like that. But he didn't show at school the next day, or any of the days after.
I went by his house and found the door unlocked. I went inside and it was empty but for a few sticks of furniture. Their old car was gone, too.
My first reaction was that it was my fault they left. His mom must have found out we went to the mill together. Such a dangerous place for kids. And that the best way to keep him safe was for him to stay away from me.
I sighed on my cot, shifting so that the knot in my back loosened a little.
Funny how things work out.
He was still safer away from me.
I put the remote back together. Squeezed the two halves back in, popping the little green circuit board back into place. I even managed to hunt down all three of the AAA batteries.
I pointed the remote at the TV, stretching my arm out through the bars to get it as close to the set as possible.
I pushed the power button.
On the eighth day I saw Dash again.
I sat on my cot, leaning back against the cinder block wall. The TV played that same Fox affiliate, which was the only channel it could pick up.
If I could get out to adjust the rabbit ears, I could probably get a couple others.
But if I could get out of this place it wouldn’t be to adjust the TV.
I recognized his voice.
“No, I’m not interested in answering any more questions,” he said.
My attention, as fuzzy as the snow on the screen, suddenly sharpened. My heart fell over itself in excitement.
I launched up from my cot and pressed myself against the bars. I hardly noticed their cold touch on my skin.
Dash!
He stood on some sort of podium, men and women in suits seated behind him. A stand covered in microphones sat in front of him, reminding me of an old lady’s sewing pincushion.
He looked so different.
“Rest assured,” Dash said, “Beaumont Industries has done well in my absence and will continue outperforming now that I’ve returned. I will answer more of your questions, but right now I ask for some privacy while I take care of some personal matters.”
He wore a dark gray suit. At least I think it was dark gray; with the TV it could have been blue or even black. In any case, it was exquisitely tailored.
He wore his hair short, with a hint of tousle in it. Despite the grainy image, I could see he no longer had any stubble.
He looked almost like a different man. It was no wonder no one could tell who he was as a biker.
Cameras flashed like a dance club strobe. Reporters stood up, clamoring for his attention. He glanced at them and then walked off the stage.
The scene cut to a bottle-blonde woman sitting behind a desk. “That was the scene earlier today in New York in front of the Beaumont Industries building. Errant billionaire Dashiell Beaumont has returned, apparently unharmed and no worse for the wear. The FBI currently has no comment on his sudden and unexpected reappearance. However, insider sources say that Mr. Beaumont was not kidnapped but in fact chose of his own volition to…”
I turned the TV off. I already knew that story, and I didn’t care to hear any speculation from the talking heads. The image faded to a single tiny dot in the middle of the screen which also faded after a moment.
He stopped running, I thought. I sat down on my cot and stared at nothing.
I wondered what he meant by ‘private matters.’ Part of me hoped he meant me. The more rational part figured he meant putting back together a life left in tatters. He had a board to answer to, and shareholders, and mobs of reporters.
I wondered if he even thought about me at all.
I’d begun to lose hope, but seeing Dash brought it back.
I’m going to get out of here, I thought, I’m not giving in. Not now, not ever.
If Dash could find the courage to go back, I could find the will to get out.
Nine days after Sheriff Robert walked me through the station and put me in the cell, he came to see me again.
The door swung open. It squealed a little on its hinges now.
I stood up, expecting Bobby. The little TV played the local Fox affiliate again on its tiny, grainy screen. The sound was also grainy, but understandable.
The sheriff stepped in, minus his hat. He hung one arm of his sunglasses down the neck of his shirt.
“Come to set me free finally?” I said. I tried to sound sarcastic, but it came out more hopeful than I wanted.
I’d only packed enough clothes for a week. It was the second time I’d put on the tee I wore. He needed to let me go or let me do my laundry.
He didn’t speak right away. Instead he grabbed the chair and pulled it up in front of my cell. He didn’t turn it around and sit with it backward, though. That would have been too creepy for me.
“You’ve been giving my boy a lot of hell.”
My heart warmed with pride at the irritation in his voice. “Funny you say that, given he’s free to go about his life while I’m still stuck here. I think we’re well past whatever legal right you have to hold me here.”
He had cold eyes. Cold, considering eyes that he didn’t blink enough. Different from his son’s.
“I’m the one who says what is and isn’t legal around here. Actually, you should be thanking me. I haven’t filed those drunk driving charges yet.”
“My hero,” I said.
I figured he’d been saving himself the trouble of explaining my incarceration to the judge. And also from said judge setting bail for me that I could pay and leave.
He smiled at my sarcasm. “You joke, but you don’t know how right you are. It hurts me, seeing you in there like that. I know Bobby can be difficult. I know this might take a while. But I promise if you cut him some slack I’ll get you out of here. Today, eve
n. I know the food’s no good. Or the entertainment.” He nodded his head back towards the TV and smirked like we shared a private joke.
“It must really suck to be a small town sheriff,” I said, “You know, having to play good cop and bad cop because there isn’t any decent help around.”
Robert leaned back. The cheap chair creaked. “You’re quite the little spitfire. But we both know that mouth of yours only gets you into trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. “You and Bobby keep going on about my mouth. I think maybe you two have a fixation. This isn’t trouble, by the way,” I said, holding up a hand to indicate the cell, “Actually it’s kind of homey. I was thinking about asking you if I could hang some potted plants, maybe a poster. Something tasteful, like a print of Starry Night. Or Rita Hayworth.”
The corner of the sheriff’s mouth twitched. He squeezed handfuls of his khaki slacks on his thighs. “This isn’t funny. This isn’t a game. Do things my way and you get out. Keep making your little jokes and you’ll find out I wasn’t kidding about the orange jumpsuit and the state correctional facility. They don’t have much of a sense of humor there, either. What would your daddy think of you now?”
I bristled at that, my skin prickling. How dare he? “He’d wonder why I hadn’t left this town yet and then say what he always said about you: that you’re a self-important pinhead bully with an IQ smaller than your pistol caliber.”
Robert snorted. He leaned forward with a shark’s grin on his face. “And of your daddy and me, which of us is the dead one?”
I didn’t answer. Robert was smarter than his boy. You couldn’t drive him into an incoherent rage as easily.
We stared at each other until my eyes got itchy but I refused to blink. Behind him, the TV crackled with static, the reporter mentioning something about Dash that I couldn’t make out.
He was the 24-hour news cycle’s current darling.
Gradually, I became aware of a new noise. A low, echoing thrum that grew louder and louder.
It filled the air soon, drowning out the TV, driving out the sound of the occasional car driving past on the road.
We broke our staring contest.
Robert stood up, frowning. He turned towards the door just as it swung open. A deputy, a young guy named Foster, stepped in, his face pinched. He gripped the butt of his pistol nervously.
“Sheriff! It’s out in the parking lot!” he said.
“What is it, boy? Get a grip on yourself!” Robert said.
“It’s… it’s a helicopter! Just landed out in the lot. What do we do?”
Helicopter, I thought, putting a label on that noise. It was rare to see anything but the contrails of jets high in the sky as they flew over on the way east or west.
“Come with me,” Robert said.
He and Foster left. The sound of the helicopter swelled when the door opened and lowered when the door closed.
I stood at the bars, staring at the door, wondering. My heart pounded so hard I could taste a coppery tang at the back of my mouth.
I shifted, trying to get a glimpse through the window of the door to the holding cells. I could see nothing but a patch of drop ceiling with its long, fluorescent light.
I could hear, though. The helicopter quieted and the roar of it lessened to a swishing sound that I associated with the rotors slowly slicing through the air.
And then there was more.
Commotion in the office. Raised voices I couldn’t make out. They came closer and closer.
My eyes hurt, but I didn’t dare blink. Couldn't.
“I most certainly will not…!” Someone said from right outside the door. The sheriff, I thought.
Several people spoke over each other. Then a sudden unexpected silence where I heard nothing but the rush of my breath and the pounding of my heart.
The door opened. The squeal of the hinges made me jump.
Dash appeared, looking the same as he had on TV. Except now concern etched his face.
That concern softened when he saw me. He came over to the cell.
“You’re okay,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He looked me up and down. I could see the quick beat of his pulse in his smooth, clean-shaven throat.
“I thought you were gone,” I said.
I couldn’t quite believe that he stood there in front of me. I wondered if this was the same way people felt when they met a celebrity. Someone only seen on a screen suddenly real and life-sized right there. Surreal, some might say.
“I came back,” he replied.
Questions flooded my mind. Desires. I wanted to hold him against me, lock my wrists together behind him so he couldn’t get away.
If for some reason this was a highly realistic dream, I didn’t want to wake up.
We didn’t have the time for any of that, though. The sheriff came in, followed by a tall, thin man in a black suit with an equally black leather briefcase in one hand.
“This isn’t how we do things here,” the sheriff said.
Dash turned. “Let her out. Now.”
The sheriff found some steel for his spine and stood up straight, his chest puffed out. “No. I don’t care how much money you have. You can’t tell me how to treat my own prisoner.”
“Mr. Chase?” Dash said, turning to the other man.
Mr. Chase, the black-suited man, put his briefcase on the desk and popped the clasps. He pulled out a sheet of paper, scanned it quickly, then handed it to the sheriff.
Robert took it. He read it more slowly. His face got redder and redder. “I don’t care what this says.”
“Maybe not,” Dash said, “But if you don’t, I’m going to make life very difficult for you. Don’t you remember when I promised you that? I told you if you came after us it wouldn’t turn out well.”
Robert’s eye narrowed in sudden recognition. “You! That biker! I don’t believe this.”
Dash shrugged. “Believe it, or don’t. There’ll be plenty of reporters wanting to talk to you soon about it, I think. That’s the whole ‘not able to show your face in town again’ part of my promise.”
His face went from red to white. “Reporters?”
“Let her out,” Dash said.
The sheriff grabbed a key ring on his duty belt. He fumbled with it until he produced the correct key, which he then used to open my cell. He stepped back.
I stepped out and threw my arms around Dash’s neck. His arms went around my waist and my feet left the ground.
I breathed in the smell of him. He even smelled expensive, with his aftershave. I became conscious that I’d just spent more than a week in a cell with limited washroom privileges.
“Sorry,” I said, “I, uh, I wasn’t expecting you,” I whispered, my lips right next to his ear.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Now let’s get out of here.”
Both of reluctantly let go. I started for the door. Dash didn’t. He went into my cell. He grabbed the duffel that contained my clothes and held it up. “We can’t forget these. Nothing good ever comes of that.”
“You’re never going to let me forget about that, are you?” I said.
He shook his head. “Let’s get out of here. Before the press arrives.”
Robert paled again. I suppressed the urge to gloat.
I followed Dash to the door. Mr. Chase walked behind us. He cleared his throat. “Sir? We should stay within city limits until this matter is completely cleared up. Just to make certain that the sheriff can’t accuse Ms. Granger of absconding.”
His voice was just as crisp as his suit.
Dash nodded, “Yes, that’s fine. Ellie, Mr. Chase is my lawyer. He has enough degrees and certifications and letters after his name to cover the side of a barn. Don’t worry. How long is this going to take?”
We walked back through the office and out into the parking lot. The helicopter, a sleek black predatory-looking thing, rested in the lot. Big block letters spelled out BEAUMONT on the side.
Mr. Chase, still behind us, took a breath. “Thi
s has to be the flimsiest case I’ve ever seen. There are filing errors everywhere, mishandling in nearly every aspect. Not to mention unwarranted incarceration and abuse. There won’t be any difficulties in getting the charges dropped completely. And I believe that Ms. Granger could easily sue the sheriff’s department.”
Dash nodded. “But how long?”
Mr. Chase sighed. “One day to push all the paperwork through, sir.”
“Thank you,” Dash said. He looked at me as though to say, Lawyers, or, why say it in two words when you can say it in twenty?
“Should I call a car for you, sir?” Chase asked.
“No. I think we can walk. And I think that Ellie would enjoy the fresh air.”
It was my turn to sigh. Outside, finally! I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on my face. I felt light enough to fly.
“As you wish, of course,” Mr. Chase said, “I would suggest you leave the area of the station shortly, however. As you said, the press is on the way.”
“You’re right,” Dash said.
We watched Mr. Chase climb back into the helicopter. The pilot got out and closed the door for him, then climbed back into the cockpit. The rotors whirled faster and faster.
I laughed. I loved the feeling of the wind washing over us, ruffling my hair and tugging at Dash’s suit jacket.
It took off and flew away, the sun winking against its sleek sides.
I turned to Dash. He took my hand.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
Chapter 25
DASH
“You should let me carry that,” Ellie said.
“Why?” I replied. I shifted the strap of the duffel bag on my shoulder. I held Ellie’s hand.
We walked down a side street on our way to Ellie’s house. Elm Road, I think it was called. Mostly empty houses watched us from blank windows. We were three blocks away from the police station.
The helicopter could still be heard in the distance if I listened closely.
“Because you look ridiculous holding it. That bag has to be twenty years old, covered in grime and mud from the foyer, and you’re letting it rub against that suit!” she said.