Point Blank

by Diane M. Campbell

  She listened patiently. “But while you were at the party, what happened after you got woozy?”

  “I don’t know. It’s one of the gaps, I guess.” I looked down, fiddling with my hands in my lap.

  Mrs. Wilton gently laid her gnarled fingers on top of mine. “Do you have any other memories from the party?” she asked softly.

  “Not much, really. At some point, I noticed Abbi had passed out.”

  “Where was she?”

  “In the living room, collapsed across one of the arm chairs. It’s hardly more than a snapshot in my mind. I don’t remember what led up to it or what happened after.”

  “Why do you think these memories elude you?”

  “Maybe… I was passed out too?”

  “But you said you weren’t drunk like everyone else.”

  “That’s right.” What was it Brock had said outside the bus? Something about a juice that hadn’t worked. “Maybe I was drugged.”

  Mrs. Wilton shook her head. “Oh, how easily mankind succumbs to Lucifer’s snares.” She leaned forward, catching my downcast eyes. “But the good news is, you weren’t drugged ‘enough.’ Your memories remain—they’ve only been in hiding, waiting for the right time.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “When you are ready to trust Him with them.”

  “That just doesn’t make sense, Mrs. Wilton. It’s not like memories have some kind of willpower. How can they decide to stay hidden?”

  “It’s not the memories that have willpower. It’s you.” Her steady eyes pierced through me.

  “But I’ve been trying to remember all along.”

  “Give them to Jesus.”

  Jesus. How could I give anything to Him after He let Mom die? Tears sprang again to my eyes, burning hot as they spilled down my cheeks. “I... I...”

  Mrs. Wilton shifted in her seat to extend an arm over my shoulder. Her other hand laid a hanky on my lap. “There, there, child. Dry your tears. The Lord knows your doubts. He would have you draw near with a sincere heart and the full assurance that faith brings.”

  “But I don’t have faith—not in God.”

  “So, who else would you trust?”

  Who else? I dabbed at my nose with the hanky. “You?”

  “Me?” She pulled back, clutching the collar of her housedress. “Don’t trust only with your eyes, Penny.”

  “I… I’m trying.” Warmth flowed through me. Was Jesus nearby?

  She placed her hand atop my head and began to pray softly. In moments, my eyes grew too heavy to stay open.

  I was back at Tyler’s house on New Year’s Eve.

  “This way.” Brock steered me down the hall with his arm around my waist. My head hung down, bobbing against my chest while he half-carried me. Through the circle of hair that hung around my face, I noticed my shoes were gone though I couldn’t recall removing them.

  Dim light filtered past us from behind. Then he turned through a dark doorway and dumped me, face-down on a bed. The door closed. I rolled my head to the side and pulled my hand up under my shoulder. Push. Get up. But I only managed to shift my elbow.

  Brief flashes of light illuminated the window shade, accompanied by crackling explosions. Fireworks.

  I could hear Brock rummaging in a drawer somewhere behind me.

  “Help me.” I managed the words, though my tongue felt thick.

  “Patience, babe.” Brock chuckled, as if making an inside joke. “We don’t want to hurry this, do we?”

  He reached for my shoulder and rolled me toward him, then drew back the hair that splayed across my face. Cupping my chin in his hand, he leaned close. “That better?” His breath smelled of liquor.

  “What’s wrong with me?” My teeth began to chatter, though the room was warm.

  “Nothing I can’t help you fix.” He smiled, his eyes lecherously wicked as he began to unbutton my blouse.

  “What?” I managed to lift my hands, but they flailed uselessly against his. “Stop.”

  He put his mouth against mine, closing off my protest as his hands continued tugging at my clothes.

  A fist pounded twice on the door.

  “Not now!” Brock pulled away, his voice harsh.

  The door flew open. “Come here, man.” Tyler’s voice emanated panic. He didn’t wait for Brock, but ran back down the hall.

  Brock cocked an eyebrow, unfazed by Tyler’s anxiety. He leaned toward me again. “Don’t go anywhere.” He left the room with a chuckle.

  With several deep breaths of effort, I rolled toward the edge of the bed, my head swimming. My hands tingled as I worked to sit upright and the effort brought a wave of choking nausea. Leaning over my knees, I spat bile onto the rug and nearly toppled to the floor.

  What was wrong with me? Lifting my head brought on a sudden ache that bored into my left temple. I reached up, and felt the pain pulse and swell. Squinting with a cry, I flopped on my side at the edge of the bed, curling against the pain. Who could help me? Who could even hear? No one. No one but… I breathed a whimper, “Jesus.”

  My mind drifted to black under heavy eyelids.

  An unfamiliar sound, something dragging or scraping, caused me to open my eyes some time later. Had I been asleep? Unconscious? How long? The light level was the same as before, suggesting little time had passed. The fireworks, however, had ceased. Again, the sound, like rough fabric scraping, came from another room down the hall. Sounds of something heavy being shifted. Like furniture on a gritty floor. Hesitantly, I pulled myself up to sit on the edge of the bed again. My limbs seemed a bit more cooperative, though my head still felt heavy and dull, and I shivered from a sweat-induced chill.

  I sucked in my breath at the sound of a door opening, but it was elsewhere in the house. The front door perhaps? No. I didn’t hear the storm door. Maybe a back door then? More scraping noises and then the same door closed.

  Had Brock left?

  I attempted standing. It required all the effort I could muster. My legs were rubbery and my feet felt like stones. Once upright, I sagged against the wall, but managed to keep my knees from buckling. With clumsy hands, I pulled my blouse together attempting a partially-effective tuck into the waistband of my skirt. I drug one foot toward the open doorway and slid along the wall. Again, the headache swelled near my left-temple and drilled into the core of my brain. I stopped to reach up, as if pressure might keep it from exploding. With effort, I managed another dragging step.

  Fumbling to grasp the doorframe with clumsy fingers, I peeked into the hall. A narrow sliver of light from the kitchen was visible at the end of the hall. The rest of the house was dark.

  Then the distant door opened again and I drew back as voices broke the silence.

  “There is no time for that now.” Brock’s voice had a sharp edge.

  “We can’t just leave her here.” Tyler spat the words with a low voice. “It has to be tonight. There’s no other way.”

  “We’ll deal with it tomorrow after the workout, but right now, I’ve gotta get Penny back to the dorms while she’s still under.”

  “This is messed up, man. If anyone finds out—”

  “Ty, get a grip. No one will find out.”

  Brock’s footsteps crossed the kitchen tile and my heart skipped in panic. He was coming to get me. I swallowed and turned back toward the bed, causing my brain to spin. My feet drug as if through deep water. What would he do if he saw I was awake? I reached for the edge of the bed and stumbled, falling in a heap on the floor.

  Brock reached the doorway a moment later. I closed my eyes, wondering what he thought of me lying crumpled on the carpet.

  He rushed over and bent to lift me. “Fell out of bed? Looks like our party ends early tonight, babe.” He turned my face toward him, stroking my cheek with his finger. “A pity, I know. Maybe another time.”

  I feigned unconsciousness as he pulled me upright. Would he notice the shirttails I’d tucked in? Then he’d know I was awake. I didn’t risk opening my eyes.
<
br />   Brock pulled me down the hall as before, my head lolling against my chest. I watched the floor as we passed through the living room and kitchen. It sparkled with bits of glitter. At the back door, he wrapped an arm around my chest in order to back up and turn the knob behind him with his free hand.

  It creaked open and he pulled me through to a wooden platform in the garage. The lights were on and I sensed the exterior overhead door was closed. No chance of running out into the night, even if my body would have cooperated with such an effort. I only hoped he would take me back to the dorm, as he’d said.

  The garage level was a few steps lower than the main level of the house. Wooden stairs followed along the back wall from the platform.

  “What are you doing?” Brock asked as he shifted me around in order to start backing down the stairs. He sounded annoyed. Panic seized me until I realized he was talking to Tyler, who was crouched on the floor below the platform holding the edge of a blue plastic tarp. On the floor at his knee, Abbi Maxwell lay with open, expressionless eyes and her complexion grey in the dim light.

  Tyler shifted his gaze upward at Brock’s question. His eyes locked with mine. Shock registered and his brows raised. He tossed the tarp over Abbi’s still form. “She’s awake,” he yelled. “I thought you said she was out cold.”

  Brock grunted in surprise, and cinched his arm against my chest with crushing force. Then he released and shoved me away with his free hand against my back.

  I was flung to the railing, and lurched over it, bending at the waist while my arms hung useless, as if reaching for the tarp that covered Abbi below me. I flailed against the balusters while my feet scraped the platform, unable to gain a foothold.

  Then I saw Abbi’s feet extending from the far end of the tarp, and a strong sense of premonition washed over me. I’d seen this before.

  Bare feet on concrete.

  Lance leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watched Hope, who sat beside Penny’s bed patting her hand and chatting in soft tones. Though Penny remained unresponsive, her vitals had stayed stable since the surgery. Most inexplicable was her most recent neurology report, which continued to show high activity in the memory centers of her brain.

  “You breezed right through your surgery,” Hope said. “Soon you’ll be waking up and I know everything’s going to be just fine.”

  Though Lance might not have characterized Penny’s surgery as a “breeze,” Hope’s soothing tone made him smile.

  They had talked while Penny was still in the surgical recovery room. Hope described the details of Penny’s costumed escape, and it gave him a greater appreciation for his daughter’s quirky new friend. She had been a real blessing when Penny needed it most.

  He wasn’t aware whether Penny had any close friends at school. It bothered him to know so little of her life at college. Though she had been the one to pull away, he’d also been at fault. So lost in grief after Marla’s passing that he had let his only child slip farther and farther away.

  They’d both lost too much. He prayed he’d get another chance once Penny recovered and all the mess with the murdered girl was sorted out.

  He pulled away from the doorframe to straighten his back. “I have a question for you, Hope.”

  “Yes?” She twisted to peer over her shoulder with her arm on the back of the chair.

  “Maybe Sergeant Clemens already talked to you about this, but did Penny say anything to you about a missing girl at her college?”

  “Oh yeah.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “She said some investigators wanted to talk with her, but she didn’t have any information to give them.”

  “Did she mention anything about an altercation with this girl on the night of the New Year’s Eve party?”

  Hope’s brows rose. “She did. She said Brock had accused her of being in a fight. He implied that it had something to do with the girl’s disappearance.” She drummed her fingers a couple times on the chair back. “I’m pretty sure that was the final straw—the reason Penny broke it off with him.”

  “So, she didn’t fight with the girl?”

  “No. She was really emphatic about that.”

  “Did you tell Sergeant Clemens this?”

  “I did, and I think he’s talked with the investigators in Arizona about it too.”

  Relieved, Lance nodded. “That’s good to know. Did Penny say anything else?”

  “Not really. We were mainly focused on getting her disguise together.” Hope turned back and patted Penny’s hand. “I know it’s been a bumpy road, but the doctors say you’re progressing really well. When you wake up, I think everything’s going to come together for you. I probably won’t even have to bring you any pie.”

  Pie? Lance tilted his head, wondering at the comment, but footsteps approaching in the hallway caught his attention. He leaned out the door and saw Dr. Matheson march toward him, her open lab coat revealing a two-toned light blue dress that perfectly suited her complexion.

  She held up her tablet with a smile and called out, “It’s all good news, Doctor Doyle.”

  He backed out the door to face her. “Please, I wish you would call me Lance.”

  She stopped in front of him. “All right. And you can call me Amelia.”

  Amelia. With her accent, it sounded almost musical.

  She raised her brows. “So, are you interested in the newest MRI results?”

  Lance blinked. “Huh? Oh yes, of course.”

  She tapped the screen and pointed to a series of brain scans. “You already know the intracranial pressure is holding steady within a normal range and these scans show the affected area is already responding to the reduced pressure. There are no signs of axonal injury or other complications. She was fortunate to be here to get immediate attention when the aneurysm ruptured.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t call it fortunate, Doctor. I mean, Amelia.”

  “Oh?”

  “No, I think God has a way of putting us right where we need to be, right when we need to be there.” He stole another look into her eyes. “And He places the right people in our path when we need them too.”

  She smiled and held his gaze. “Well, Lance, I didn’t realize you were so spiritually-tuned, but I do heartily agree.”

  Lance smiled as she passed him through the doorway and approached Penny’s bedside. He followed, standing behind Hope’s chair while Amelia gently lifted one of Penny’s eyelids and flicked a small light across her eyes. Then she listened briefly to her heart and lungs with a stethoscope.

  She leaned down, placing her hand gently against Penny’s bruised cheek. “Penny? Can you hear me? This is Doctor Matheson. You had a little excitement earlier today, but everything is under control now. Keep up the good work of healing and resting. You have people looking forward to seeing you well again.”

  Lance smiled at Amelia’s gentle care for his daughter.

  After she left to continue her rounds, Hope got up from her chair beside Penny’s bed. “You seem very tired, Mr. Doyle. Could I get you something? Coffee, maybe?”

  “You’re right. I am tired. I haven’t been home since yesterday and didn’t have a chance to bring a change of clothes.”

  “Why don’t you let me watch over Penny while you drive home and get the things you need? I’ll be heading back to Barrett later tonight, but I can stick around until you get back and I’ll call you if anything comes up while you’re gone.”

  Though he felt reluctant, it made sense. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  They exchanged phone numbers and shortly after, Lance was in his car, headed down the pass toward Clearmont under a blue sky.

  An hour later, as he pulled into his driveway, Brock came to mind again but there was no sign of him or his vehicle. Relieved, Lance carried mail in from the box and laid it on the counter. He stood in the kitchen, silence enveloping him as it had so many other days since Penny left.

  Hominess was reserved for places where life happened. This house was a place where time had stood s
till for the past four years. So many untouched rooms, existing only as places where Marla’s sense of décor and orderliness kept her memory close. If he and Penny were going to have a chance to patch the brokenness in their relationship, things around the house would have to change.

  He found a backpack in a closet and began to load it with toiletries and clothes. Penny could waken at any time. He would ask Amelia about a transfer to Mercy Medical as soon as possible after that. It would be helpful to have her close to home during the remaining weeks of her recovery.

  And once she was home… He bit his lip and dared to project his hopes toward the future. Once home, Penny would need to take time off from school for physical therapy and other transitional support. It would be a chance for him to work on mending their relationship. As she grew stronger, perhaps they’d find ways to spruce up the house. Rearrange the furniture or repaint. Anything that would help rebuild their family bond. Anything to keep her at home for a little while longer.

  Would Penny even consider such a thing? He allowed himself to entertain the thought as he took a quick shower, finished packing his overnight bag and began the long drive back up the canyon.

  The sight of Abbi Maxwell’s feet extending out from under the tarp covering her still body hit me like a jolt of lightning—singeing itself into the core of my being and setting many other disturbing memories in sharp relief. It explained the dizzy tunnel vision I’d experienced upon seeing the garage mechanic’s feet sticking out from under the car in Dalton. The lecherous look of the station attendant on the previous night also came to mind because it matched the look in Brock’s eyes when he hovered over me on New Year’s Eve.

  Mrs. Wilton was right. The memories had always been there. I had just closed my mind, unwilling to revisit them.

  Until now. Finally, I was ready to face what I’d witnessed, and when I did, I opened my eyes and found I had laid my head in Mrs. Wilton’s lap holding her hanky to my face. With a sigh, I sat up and dabbed my eyes.

  Mrs. Wilton tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, Penny. Do you remember New Year’s Eve now?