She Found Him

by Cranford, B.

  Except right then her fight or flight mode kicked in. And kicked in hard.

  With the distant echo of the woman’s voice asking if she was okay rattling in her head, Rose dropped her sign. It made a dull kind of thud as it hit the concrete, and she registered that it sounded not much different than the sound of a bat hitting a head.

  Her breath started coming in hard and fast where it had seemingly abandoned her only moments earlier, and she suddenly felt overwhelmingly dizzy.

  “He was being a jerk and I wanted to give him what for!” she cried out, realizing as she said it that she was only explaining part of the story. Which only made her anxiety levels increase, tenfold.

  Waving both hands in a jazzy, uncontrolled motion in front of her, she caught one more glance of startlingly blue eyes and the hint of a concerned smile on the face of her victim, before she turned and ran.

  Leaving her sign—and her dignity—behind.

  Chapter Three

  “She really did just run away, didn’t she?” Sasha asked, picking up the discarded sign and flipping it over.

  The Future is Vegan. Liam could see the neatly lettered words clearly, even though his head still swum from the impact of his pretty assailant’s blows.

  “She really did,” he replied, straightening. He’d been hunched over as if it would lessen the pain of being hit upside the head, and he felt himself sway just a little as the blood moved about his body.

  “I’ve never seen the color drain from someone’s face so quickly. I hope she’s okay.”

  He considered that, thought of the anxious way she’d looked at him, and nodded his agreement. It wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose—he’d known that even before she’d blurted out that she was a pacifist. “Imagine if she’d been trying to hit me,” he wondered, wincing as he lowered the ice-pack he held to his head, inspecting it like he expected to see blood.

  There was none. Transferring it to his other hand, he reached up and began prodding the area that still held the lingering coolness of ice. A small lump was beginning to form, but nothing major.

  Next to him, Sasha squinted at his head, then weighed the sign in her hands. “Who makes a sign out of a baseball bat?”

  Liam shrugged. “Maybe it’s all she had. Pretty resourceful when you think about it.”

  “Um, she had two capable hands, she could’ve just held the damn sign and not, you know, hit you.” Sasha’s face held a touch of contempt, which soon morphed into amusement. “Although, I can’t say I really blame her. I’d probably hit you, too, given half a chance.”

  “Har har,” Liam intoned, tempted to roll his eyes at his younger sister, but worried that he might have another one of those woozy, dizzy spells if he did. Instead, he settled for a time-honored tradition.

  He gave her the finger.

  “Love you too, big brother.”

  Ignoring her saccharine sweet response, he looked around to see if there was any trace of his attacker. The same woman who’d caught his eye and his attention earlier.

  He hadn’t realized she was Babe Ruth in cutoff jeans and chucks. She’d so suddenly turned around—no doubt in response to the drunk dickhead who’d started making lewd comments at some of the women around them—that he hadn’t had the chance to introduce himself instead of acting like a creeper. And now—

  “She’s gone,” Sasha broke in, sounding more business-like than her earlier proclamation of sibling love had. “But she left her weapon behind. We can dust it for prints or go to the local sporting goods store and see who bought a bat in the last week. Maybe she also went by Lowe’s or Home Depot and got duct tape, ropes and extra-large trash bags.” Her face was animated as she talked, like she was gearing up to launch a major investigation into his assault.

  “Or maybe you watch way too many crime documentaries. I’m changing the Netflix password.”

  “You can’t cut me off! It’s my only source of entertainment when we aren’t at work.”

  Choosing to ignore the comment because his head was swimming, he gripped his sister’s arm and led her through the straggling leftovers of the March for Animal Rights toward his van.

  Pupp’s Vet Services was printed on the side, named for Liam’s very first rescue animal—a sweet little mutt that had wandered into his life when he was six and wandered back out when he was seven, never to be heard from again. He’d been distraught at the time, worried for Pupp, but his mom had explained that sometimes old dogs ran away when they knew their life was nearing its end.

  He hadn’t really understood it then, but nearly thirty years later, he finally did.

  Animals were always trying to protect their humans, even from themselves, it would seem. It was a heartbreaking kind of kindness, and one he’d seen several families mourn as they’d come into his clinic to pin “Lost Dog” signs on his bulletin board, ever hopeful for one more lick or one more cuddle.

  Smiling at a couple who called out his name—clients of his, he realized, recognizing their dog several beats before he recognized them—Liam rested his back against the side of the van.

  “Are we all done, you think?” he asked Sasha as she walked over, still holding onto the sign. “The speakers are all finished, and there’s not many people left.”

  Normally he might be enticed to stay a little longer, but his head ached—from the bump still forming but also from thoughts of the woman who gave it to him—and he really just wanted to get home and crash.

  “I’m staying with you tonight,” Sasha announced instead of answering his question. “You might have a concussion.”

  He nodded, knowing that there was no point in arguing. If Sasha said she was staying, she was staying.

  “Let’s get something to eat on the way home. I can’t be bothered cooking and you shouldn’t be allowed near a stove,” Sasha added after he’d acknowledged her with a nod.

  “I can cook.” It was a half-hearted protest, the kind that a man gave because it was expected, and not because he actually thought he could cook.

  He couldn’t. He didn’t.

  “Sure, you can. And the chick that hit a home run using your head in place of a ball is going to be waiting on your doorstep with an apology when we get home,” his sister retorted.

  She wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, he knew that. She’d been a stranger—two stray sightings followed by a couple of swift blows to the head notwithstanding—but damn, why did he suddenly wish that Sasha was right?

  Chapter Four

  Rose slammed the door behind her, leaning up against it.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned, her voice echoing into the kitchen. Her entire body was feeling the lingering embarrassment of her afternoon folly, and she sucked in a deep breath only to let it out with another, “Oh my God.”

  Emphasis on the God, because if He existed, how could He have let her humiliate herself like that?

  “Oh my God,” she repeated one final time for good measure, dropping her face into her hands and trying not to picture the man she’d just belted.

  Trying especially not to picture the way the blue of his polo shirt had stretched across his chest and wrapped around his flexing bicep.

  “Rose?” Kassi, her cousin and her roommate, walked into the kitchen, a wary look on her face. “Oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

  Rose nodded but didn’t lift her head from her hands.

  “What happened?” Her voice held a note of concern, which Rose appreciated—of course she did—while wishing her cousin would just . . . go away.

  “I gotta say, I wasn’t sure what I was about to walk in on.” Concern traded out with amusement, as Kassi continued, “All the ‘Oh my God’-ing. I thought maybe you had a man in here and were banging on our table.”

  That got Rose’s attention. She snapped her head up and glared, her cousin’s thumb cocked toward the small table that was tucked into the corner of the room. “What?”

  “You heard me. I heard the door open, and then next thing I know you’re moaning and calling for y
our Maker. I don’t know how they do things Down Under, but here that’s usually a pretty good sign that you’re getting some.”

  Rose blinked. “You think we do sex different back home?”

  A shrug coupled with wide eyes and pursed lips. “I don’t know. I had no idea until you came to stay that boiling water in the microwave was wrong, so now I’m second guessing everything.”

  “Including sex.”

  “Especially sex.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I’ve learned over the last year or so that a lot of things make no sense. Like the fact that you abbreviate nearly everything. Pressies instead of presents. Arvo instead of afternoon. Sunnies. Footy. Chrissie.” She checked off her fingers, then gave another shrug. “My parents totally screwed me by not bringing me back to visit more often. I can’t keep up with you.”

  “Okay, one, I wouldn’t just come into the kitchen and start sexing up some dude. And two, sex Down Under is the same as sex here. I assume.” She paused, then realized that she didn’t actually know that for a fact herself. She’d been in America for, what? About eighteen months? And the first several had been spent either being ferried around the southern states by her aunt and uncle or learning her job with their business. Which didn’t exactly leave a lot of time for visiting Pound Town. And after that? Well, she hadn’t really met anyone she wanted to take that trip with.

  “We’ve gone totally off topic here,” Kassi said suddenly. “Differences in sex aside, you were moaning like a porn star when you walked in and I want to know why.”

  Head falling back against the door she still somehow leaned on for support, Rose sighed. “It was nothing.” She tried to say it dismissively, like it wasn’t the thing she’d wake up in the middle of the night sweating over, fifty years in the future. “Just, you know”—she swept a hand out, hoping to brush the whole topic away—“something that happened today. No biggie.”

  “Oh, but I think it was a biggie, actually.” Kassi’s eyes narrowed. They were the same eyes that Rose looked at in the mirror every day—a shade of brown-gold that seemed to run in their family—and Rose shifted under the weight of her cousin’s knowing gaze. “Spill it.”

  “I’m, I–I, I’m not . . . It was nothing.” Rose winced. Should she explain what happened to Kassi and hope that maybe it would lessen some of the embarrassment?

  A problem shared is a problem halved, right?

  “Look, cuz. I know we didn’t know each other all that well when you moved over here, what with the whole growing up on different continents thing, but come on, give a girl some credit. We’ve been roomies for a year and a half now. It’s not ‘nothing’ so spill it.”

  Dropping her head to her hands again, Rose muttered another, “Oh my God,” then made a face at Kassi.

  “You really need to stop saying that and just fucking tell me what happened.” Kassi came to stand right in front of her, crossing her arms with an impatient look on her face.

  “Okay, so . . . I thought I was going to tell a man off for making some seriously shitty remarks, but instead I hit a different man on the head with my sign—”

  “The baseball bat sign? Ouch.”

  “—twice. Two times, Kas. I panicked and, like, turned back around. It was like I was lining up for a second shot at him or something. Anyway, I hit him, and then—God, and then I basically just ran away.”

  Kassi scoffed out a laugh. “You ran away? For real?”

  “It was the worst. Like, seriously. He was cradling his head, and his arms were . . .” She trailed off, realizing what she’d been about to admit.

  “His arms were?” Kassi asked, clearly sensing that there was something Rose wasn’t saying.

  “Nothing. His arms were nothing. I hit him. I panicked and babbled, because panicking and babbling is apparently what I do best, then I dropped the sign and left.”

  Not bothering to stifle her laugh, Kassi pointed at Rose with an accusatory finger. “You fled the scene of the crime! A hit and run. You’re a criminal, just like your convict ancestors. Wait until I tell Mom and Dad about this—you can kiss your career as ‘Fiscal Manager’ goodbye.” Kassi rolled her eyes at Rose’s official job title, then slapped her hands to her face in a superb show of horror and concern. “All those women and kids you’ve helped through the non-profit . . . admit it, it was nothing more than a cover for your life of crime.”

  Laughing even through her extreme discomfort, Rose threw up her middle finger. “I’m bloody good at my job and even Aunt Jessie said so. I think her exact words were ‘the best employee this charity has ever had,’ so bite me.”

  “Eh, Mom’s a soft touch. Or she’s in cahoots with you. It’s probably an Australian thing, right? She never fully came over to the dark side, even when she got her American citizenship.”

  Narrowing her eyes, but smiling because she loved Kassi and would absolutely miss her when she left to go back to Australia, Rose steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I didn’t mean to hit him, I swear. It was an accident. Unfortunate timing or whatever. A mistake.”

  “But you ran away. That speaks to a guilty conscience. You subconsciously hit him on purpose.”

  “Don’t be an arsehole. I didn’t hit him on purpose, consciously or subconsciously. And I know I should have stayed to see if he was okay, but I . . .” Her voice trailed off, and a fresh wave of regret hit her hard. Maybe I should’ve stayed to make sure he was okay. “Bugger it all, I feel like such a dick.”

  “Hey. Hey now.” Kassi stepped forward and wrapped her in an awkward but warm embrace. “Hows about you step away from the”—Rose shuffled away from the door so that Kassi’s arms could lock around her properly, then dropped her head to her cousin’s shoulder. “There you go. I’m sorry I teased. I know you wouldn’t hit him or anyone else on purpose. I mean, you practically make me move into a new bedroom every few days because you don’t want to kill spiders. I can’t imagine you’re suddenly engaging in grievous bodily harm for shits and giggles.”

  “If I was, some random stranger sure wouldn’t be my first choice of victim.”

  “No, I know. That wanker”—Kassi winked at her use of the Aussie word—“who was responsible for making you go crazy and quit your job would definitely be top of the list.”

  Rose shuddered dramatically at the reminder, though Kassi wasn’t wrong. “I feel like a baseball bat to his head might’ve been too nice for him, though.” For the man who’d been key to her leaving her home.

  “Preach it, sister. Cousin. Whatever. Meanwhile, about today . . . look for your silver lining.”

  “Silver lining?”

  Kassi nodded, her voice cajoling. “Yeah, every situation has one. Yours is that, after today, you never have to see your victim again.”

  Ha. Famous last words.

  Chapter Five

  Rose half-walked, half-stumbled into the kitchen the next morning to find Kassi sitting at the table, staring into her mug of coffee like it held the answer to everything.

  “Morning,” she mumbled, tilting her lips in an approximation of a smile that Kassi acknowledged with a roll of her eyes. Her cousin was not a morning person, and although Rose wasn’t either, she was at least mildly functional. Kassi was . . . not.

  It was better to just ignore Kassi until she engaged, unless you wanted to be on the receiving end of some attitude.

  Except Rose needed help, as per usual. Holding up two tops, she asked, “Which one?”

  “Do we really have to go through this every morning?” Kassi shook her head. “I’m going to start laying your clothes out for you before bed.”

  “You’re hilarious,” Rose intoned, lifting one shirt, then the other and giving Kassi a look that said, you decide. When Kassi pointed at one, Rose dropped the other over the back of a chair and finished getting dressed. “Any good deaths this morning?”

  Kassi slid the newspaper over the table toward Rose silently. “I didn’t look yet. Seemed like a lot of effort.”r />
  “Question,” Rose started, a thought that had been plaguing her since the night before popping back up as she flipped through to the obituaries page.

  “Answer.”

  “What do we think the chances of someone dying from, say, a baseball bat to the head are? Blunt force trauma?” Rose scanned the deaths, silently hoping that she wasn’t an inadvertent murderer, and pausing when she got to one with a photo. “Oh, sad. This one is a bride who died on her honeymoon.”

  “That’s one way to avoid marriage, I guess.”

  “Kas.” Rose shook her head. “What do you have against marriage?”

  Her answer was a shrug. “Nothing, I guess. And I doubt you’ll find your victim listed in the deaths today.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. If you did enough damage to do him in, it’s more likely to be in there tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.”

  Rose considered that, mentally scrolling through everything she’d learned from her favorite crime novels and true crime TV shows. “You’re right. It takes time to get these notices in the actual paper. Maybe if he’d carked it on the scene . . .”

  “Carked it. Classic.”

  “I’ll just have to keep looking, then.” Just in case. She might need to flee the country early, after all.

  “You say that like we don’t read the obits every morning.”

  Rose smirked at her cousin. “True. But now we have a reason to look at them.”

  “You mean aside from inspiration for when we write our own murder mystery?” Kassi cocked an eyebrow and Rose nodded along, not mentioning her little secret—the seventy-five thousand word, almost-finished manuscript currently sitting on her laptop.

  She just had to decide how to end it. Which, given her track record at making decisions, should only take the rest of her time in America. At least.

  “You really want to write with me?” Rose asked, a twinge of guilt over going it alone making her want to confess. They might have talked for months about writing something together, but that hadn’t stopped Rose from working on her own story when she’d found she didn’t have much to do outside of working at the non-profit and binge-watching old episodes of CSI.