Kayla

 

“Oh, poor baby.” I glance in the rear-view as we drive along the highway, wondering what the hell is the matter with me, wondering what strain of madness has possessed me to throw caution down the gutter and risk my son’s life like this. Surely any confrontation with Connor is going to be easier to handle than a sick child without a doctor. Surely any confrontation with Connor will make more sense than putting Cormac’s life at such severe risk. Connor is a monster, but a mother who allows her son to cough himself to death is more of a monster.

 

I turn on my cellphone, go to my maps application, and find the nearest hospital. Cormac’s coughing has become like the shaky rattling of a pea in a tin can, his chest vibrating, his face twisted in pain. It started only a few miles back and I’m not going to ignore it. My chest feels like it’s been cracked down the middle every time he coughs; his shudders are my shudders.

 

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, turning from the highway toward a town in Utah. I follow the road signs to the hospital, each moment that passes with me stuck in traffic or looking at directions a moment wasted. Finally, the hospital comes into view, a squat gray building pouring yellow light into the dusk’s bruising purple.

 

I pull into the parking lot, as close to the main entrance as I can get, and then grab Cormac from the back of the car. He feels warm in my arms, sweat beading his skin. I try and keep my composure as I walk toward the hospital—I don’t want to panic and drop him—but then he lets out a cough which is so heart-rending, I just can’t. I sprint for the main entrance, almost leap through the automatic doors, and jog to the front desk. The lady with curly hair and painted nails—each one painted a different color—looks up at me with a bored expression on her face.

 

“How can I help you?” she asks.

 

“My baby,” I whisper. I didn’t realize just how badly I was panicking until I heard my own voice. “Please, help him.”

 

“That cough sounds awful,” the woman says, her voice and face softening. “Let me get you a doctor.”

 

Luckily this particular town in Utah isn’t as busy as other emergency rooms might be. It’s just me and Cormac, a man with a graze down the left side of his face who blandly watches TV, and an older lady, wearing so much makeup she could be anywhere between fifty or seventy, with her arm in a cast. I sit on the edge of a seat holding Cormac close to me, whispering words that I hope will comfort him. I kiss him on the cheek over and over, hoping to give him some of my strength.

 

Then the doctor walks out, a Middle Eastern man with a friendly smile and long hair tied back in a bun. He nods to me. “Hello, would you like to come with me?”

 

The next hour or so is a whirlwind of tests and procedures similar to the ones he underwent before, only a few days ago—has it really just been days?—resulting in the doctor telling me that they’re going to need to keep him under observation for a few hours while they monitor this infection. “But please don’t worry,” he says. “It’s nothing serious. Your previous doctor was right. The infection receded, but now it’s trying to spread again. We’ll give him the medicine required to beat it back for real this time. If you’d like to sit in the waiting room while he gets some rest?”

 

We’re standing in the monitoring center surrounded by other children. “Is it safe here?” I ask him.

 

He narrows his eyes at me. “Safe? Well, yes, of course.”

 

“You have security guards?”

 

He smiles, nodding. “Of course. And look at this, state of the art.” He points to Cormac’s leg, his foot looped with a piece of what looks like white string. “This is a security device. If this is not properly removed before the child is picked up, an alarm goes off, alerting the hospital. It’s state of the art.”

 

“Show me,” I say, because maybe this man is one of Connor’s; maybe this is all some elaborate trick.

 

He hesitates, looks at me for a few moments, and then goes to an empty cot and tugs on the string. All at once an alarm cuts through the hospital, waking several of the children. He quickly replaces it and returns to me. “Do you see? He is safe. I promise you.”

 

I go into the waiting room and get myself a coffee with the trucker’s money. The last thing I need to do tonight is fall asleep. I watch an episode of Friends and then an episode of The Big Bang Theory with the volume turned down, reading the subtitles. And then I return to Cormac, peering through the glass to make sure he’s okay. Not only do they have the security tag, but they also lock the door.

 

I go outside with my now-cold cup of coffee and look over the parking lot, the sun long set, moonlight bouncing off the car windows, giving the lot an illusion of a dappled pool of water. And then, shifting through the watery light, a head sitting on a body at least seven feet tall, heading toward Xander’s car. He walks right up to the car and peers into the window, scratches his head, touches his hip—a gun, maybe—and then walks back across the lot to another car. He gets in, sitting behind the wheel, drumming his fingertips on the dashboard. It’s too dark for me to make out any details, but there’s no mistaking it.

 

Connor’s man has found me.

 

I return to the waiting room, heart thumping in my chest, and then check my voicemail messages. There are two from Xander. “Come back, Kayla. Goddamn, I’m sorry for being such a jerk. Sometimes a man has a drink and he forgets who he is. Just come back here and I’ll keep you safe.” There’s a beep, and then the next one plays. “I shot that piece of shit in the leg. He’s wounded, but he’s not dead. Wherever you are, it ain’t as safe as with me. Come back, Kayla.”

 

I also have twenty-nine missed calls from him. I hover over the call back button, indecisive for a moment, but then I press it. There’s no reason for hesitation now. I thought I would be safer alone but clearly that isn’t the case. I need somebody. I need backup. I’m not going to be able to fight that man out there on my own. And where am I going to run to if he found me here? That’s if I even get a chance to run. He’ll just wait out there, watch for me to make a dash for it, and then chase me down. By this time tomorrow I’ll be tied to a chair with Connor holding my baby, taunting me with him.

 

“Kayla?” His voice is sharp, sober. “Hello?”

 

“Xander,” I whisper. “Hi. It’s been a little while.”

 

“A few days,” he agrees. “But we’ve only known each other for two. Crazy what a little fuckin’ can do to time.”

 

“Wow.” I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. For the first time since I left him. “Is that really how you’d categorize us?”

 

“No, it’s not. But we can mess around with categories later. Right now I need to know where you are and what your situation is. I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. I found Connor. He said he had you, but the bastard lied. What’re you doin’? What the fuck are you thinkin’?”

 

“Thinking,” I repeat. “I don’t know anymore. All I know is I want to keep Cormac safe, and right now being out here alone doesn’t seem like the best way to do that.”

 

I explain to him about the man outside.

 

“Okay. Shit. Utah? Goddamn. I’m getting on my bike now. Let’s just be glad you made shitty time, Kayla. It’ll take me five or six hours, hard riding, but I’ll be there. In the meantime, don’t go outside for anything. He won’t come inside to get you, unless he’s a fuckin’ idiot. Get yourself a weapon. Get ready to fight if it comes to it. And don’t leave Cormac’s side.”

 

“All right.” I walk through the hospital to the observation room, kneeling near the glass and keeping my eyes on him. Then I reach into my handbag and take out the pepper spray. “Hurry up, please.”

 

“I will,” he promises. He hangs up.

 

I’ve been kneeling here for about an hour, body aching, when somebody kneels down next to me. I turn, meeting eyes with the tallest, widest man I have ever seen. Tattoos cover his face, making it difficult for me to read his expression. When he smiles, that problem goes away. He flashes canine teeth and his eyes twinkle. “Hello,” he says. “How are you this evening, Kayla?”

 

“Get away from me!” I hiss, jumping to my feet and taking a step back.

 

He spreads his hands and shrugs. “I’m not going to hurt you here. That’d be a big mistake. And if you want the truth of it, I don’t want to hurt you at all.” He winces slightly as he moves. He’s wearing a black shirt and black pants, but here and there the black turns to a shade of dark red, blood-red. Is he injured? “I want to offer you a deal. Connor wants to offer you a deal, I should say. If you and the little fella come with me back to Denver, he’ll put you up in a nice apartment and only visit you once every couple of months. He’ll never force himself on you, he’ll never ask anything of you, and at any point you can end the arrangement.”

 

“A prisoner,” I mutter. “A toy to be picked up and used whenever he feels like it.”

 

“No.” He shakes his head seriously. “This is the real deal. I know the boss and he don’t make deals for the sake of it. He means this. You’ll never have to fuck him or anything like that. A free apartment, a life for your kid. How can you turn that down and call yourself a good mother?” He scratches his chin. There’s something deadly in that movement, the shifting of his giant’s muscles. “If it was me I’d marry you and be done with it. I don’t get all this romancing shit. But the boss is a sweet guy. Everybody says that.”

 

“Then nobody really knows him,” I say, stroking my pepper spray. “Because the last thing Connor is, is a sweet guy.”

 

“Well.” The man shrugs. “I’m leaving now. I’ll see you soon. If you’re not out by morning or if I spot any police, I’ll be forced to come in here and kill you. I really don’t want to do that. I don’t like killing women, or children, actually.”

 

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks to the end of the hallway, and then turns around and smiles at me. “Remember,” he says. “Be outside come sunrise.”

 

He whistles as he rounds the corner, his whistling getting quieter and quieter until it’s replaced by the sound of my breathing. I turn back to the glass, pressing my nose against it, staring at Cormac as his chest rises and falls softly. He’ll be better soon, the doctor promised, but that still doesn’t stop my mind from overflowing with harrowing images.

 

I have to stay strong. Soon, Xander will be here. Soon, we’ll both be safe.

 

I hope.