Chapter 3
Mary
“Somebody’s here, Brandon. I’m scared,” I whisper into the phone.
“I know you are. Where are you?”
“Under my bed.”
“Just stay there and don’t move. Stay calm.” The breath he blows out is audible. He’s trying to be strong, but his voice trembles with as much fear as mine. “I called my dad. He and the cops are on the way.”
“Okay.” I attempt to cry quietly, not wanting the sobs to alert the stranger in my house to my presence. I’m in my sleep shorts and a tank top, hidden under my bed on the second level. Staring at the slit beneath my comforter and the floor, I’m waiting. The only light is coming from a dim lamp on my nightstand. Since I’m home alone, I didn’t lock my door for the night because I had just gotten out of the shower.
“What’s going on now?”
“More glass breaking. So far, they’re still downstairs.”
“You’re doing well, Mary. Just stay quiet and still.”
Footsteps echo on the stairs, getting louder as they ascend. When they get to the top, a shadow passes, and I almost drop the phone because my hands are shaking so badly. The telltale creak of my parents’ door opening gives me an idea. I’m fast. He can’t catch me.
“He just went into my parents’ bedroom. I’m going to run downstairs.”
“No!” Brandon shouts, and I pull the phone away from my ear to turn the volume down. “Don’t you fucking dare. Stay there. Don’t you move, Mary.”
“Okay. I’ll stay.” Still whispering, but it’s so quiet, I feel like I’m yelling.
A few more minutes pass before the footsteps pad to my room. Black loafers take up my line of vision, and I suck in a breath, dropping the phone. My hand flies up to cover my mouth while Brandon’s voice, muffled, still comes through the earpiece.
“What do we have here?” I’ve heard that smooth, creepy voice before. I can’t place who it belongs to, but he’s been to my house.
My mind is in overdrive, and I freeze for a moment, terrified. I try to crawl out the opposite side, but he seizes my ankles. As I’m pulled from under the bed, the cold wood burns my skin as it stretches. My shaky and sweaty fingertips grip the box spring, and I kick a foot free from his gloved hand.
“Let me go!” I yell.
My foot connects with something, a leg maybe, and he curses. “Bitch.”
He roughly grabs it again, and tugs, hard. My right arm gets caught on a piece of wire from under the bed. With a renewed strength, he pulls, and I scream in pain as the dull metal rips my skin from elbow to wrist. Blood drips onto the floor and I continue to cry. He’s managed to get me all the way out from under the bed. I don’t stop kicking and screaming. My right arm is throbbing, but I still use it to hit as much as I can.
He leans down and growls. “Shut the fuck up.”
I recognize him now. Skinny, tall, pale. My parents’ dealer.
“Chicago PD! Freeze!”
Relief briefly courses through me at the sound of Steve’s voice.
The dealer grabs me in a headlock and I claw at the arm constricting my throat. His other arm rises and without a warning, he shoots his gun. Steve’s body violently jerks, and he stumbles by the landing of the stairs. His eyes find mine and through my tears I see fear on his face. Something I’ve never seen in all the years I’ve known him.
The man pushes me away; my head slams on the nightstand on my way down to the floor.
The dealer turns his gun on me, and images of Brandon’s face flash through my mind while his muffled voice is still yelling through the phone.
Another thundering shot rings in the air, and the dealer’s gun flies across the room. He grabs his shoulder and shouts in pain as the bullet from Steve’s gun rips through his flesh. I watch in horror as Steve’s lifeless body tumbles down the stairs, each thud sending a jolt of nausea through my bones.
Sirens sound outside, and the dealer turns his cold gray eyes on me. “Watch your back, bitch. You’ll pay for this.” Then he shatters the window and jumps outside onto the huge overgrown maple tree next to the house. The same tree I use as a ladder when I sneak out.
I crawl to the top of the stairs and see Steve lying at the bottom—body unmoving and bent in a way you only see in the movies.
* * *
“Miss, it is not advisable that you do this.”
I squint my eyes at the nurse after I sign the Against Medical Advice form. Her brightly colored pink and yellow scrubs do not match the patronizing tone dripping from her words. The other nurse who was present as a witness shakes her head as she walks out.
“I realize that. You’ve already told me seven times.” I snap.
“I’m just doing my job.”
The fingers of my left hand squeeze the bridge of my nose, and I take a deep breath. “I know. And I’m sorry. But you can’t change my mind. Can I please just get my prescriptions so I can go?”
“Fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I don’t even know what time it is. Really late, or really early, depending on how you look at it. I’ve been at the hospital for a few hours. The doctor stitched up my arm and gave me a tetanus shot. I’m lucky there’s not more damage. Steve is still alive and in surgery, though the bullet that hit him grazed his spinal cord, so he’ll probably never be able to walk again.
As soon as the nurse gave me that information, even though she wasn’t supposed to, I asked for my pain medicine and antibiotics. I need to go. I can’t be here when Brandon comes home, which I guess will be soon. I can’t look at his face when he tells me how much he hates me for what I caused. He was about six hours away, and if he got a ride back as soon as it happened, that would put him back here in a couple of hours.
I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done. Brandon told me to stay calm, and I couldn’t even do that. I’m embarrassed that my parents’ lifestyle caused this. Though they’re responsible for their actions, I could have done something, told someone about the illegal drug activity coming in and out of my house.
But I didn’t. Because I’m selfish. I didn’t want to risk separation from Brandon, so I kept my mouth shut. I’ve kept the secret that my parents haven’t lived at home for the past five months. I don’t know where they are. They just left. Left me with no money and a house that the bank will repossess in thirty-four days.
I’ve managed to scrape by with the minimums for water and electricity. All of the money I’ve saved up from bussing tables is down to four hundred and seventeen dollars.
They also left me with their debt, apparently. And their debt walked into my house tonight looking for payment. Their debt shot Steve. Their debt will be looking for payback. ‘Cause it’s not dead. No. Scott Smith didn’t die tonight. But he’s angry, and he’ll seek revenge.
So I have to leave. Staying would risk more damage to the Parker family. If Brandon knew the things I kept from him, the lies I told to keep my secrets safe, and the danger surrounding me, he would be so mad that I didn’t trust him. I’d rather risk his anger than his or his family’s lives, so I’m leaving. Not sure where I’ll go, but I know I just need to be gone.
“Okay. Here’s your stuff.” The nurse returns, going over the medications and wound care instructions.
“Thanks.” I grab everything and walk out of my room.
I turn the corner and jump back out of the way. Elizabeth and Travis are in the waiting room. He’s sleeping on two chairs, and she’s pacing back and forth. I wait until her back is to me and speed walk to the staircase. As soon as the steel door slams, I lean on it and catch my breath.
I have no car, no money, and no phone. The only option available is to walk. Luckily, I arrive back at my house just as the sun is coming up. Police tape surrounds my yard. I dart to the side and follow along it until I reach the back door. Worried someone will catch me, I run to my room and grab my backpack to shove some essentials in it. Any money I’ve saved is hidden in my dresser drawer, so I grab the sock filled with bills and a picture of Brandon and me before I zip up the pack. I start to slide my arms through the straps, careful not to rub against the injured one. At the last minute, I reach under my bed and pull out a shoebox filled with memories. I open it and dump the contents into the backpack.
As I’m about to exit the back door, I make a quick trip to the kitchen and grab a piece of paper and pen out of the junk drawer. It’s a good thing I’m in a rush; otherwise, I would be here all day writing this note to Brandon. When I’m done, I fold it in half and scribble his name on the outside.
I duck and weave through the backyards until I reach the Parker’s house. Hiding behind a bush, I wait for a few minutes to see if there’s any movement inside. Confident that nobody is home, I tiptoe to the porch and slip the note through the mail slot . . . then, I run.
Present Day
Brandon
“Fuck!” I slam my laptop shut and lean down, banging my head on my desk. Where in the hell is she? The lead I thought I had turned out to be a dead end. The same lead I’ve been working on for years, the reason I moved from Chicago to Wisconsin.
Twelve years. It’s been twelve years since the night my dad was shot. Since I last talked to Mary. Her scared voice still gives me nightmares. I had never been more terrified in my life than when I heard those shots ring out over the phone. I wish I hadn’t been gone that night, but my high school baseball team was playing a championship game a state away. It’s not like I ever thought something like that would happen.
Failure echoes in my head because I can’t do this anymore. My parents have called in every favor, and I’ve done everything I can to find her. She went to the hospital that night but checked herself out right away. She escaped before even giving her statement. And since then, she’s been a ghost. Even as a cop, my resources and connections haven’t been able to locate her. Dread fills my gut when I pick up the phone.
“Son.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Good to hear from you. What’s up?”
I take a deep breath before I ask the one thing I swore I never would. “I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“I want to come back to Chicago.”
Silence fills the line, and I know what he’s thinking. I’ve given up.
“You’re done up there?” he asks cautiously.
“Yeah.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I need to accept the fact that she’s gone.” I lower my voice. “I can’t keep living like this. I’m thirty years old, Dad. I’ve been a cop for too long to know the outcome of a twelve-year-old missing person case.” He does, too. He still looks into things every once in a while, just not obsessively like I do.
He clears his throat after a brief moment. “Whatever you want. I’ll make some calls and get back to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not giving up.” I may be a grown man but having the support of my dad means the world to me.
Barely able to get the word out, I croak out, “Sure,” before pressing end on my cell.
It definitely feels like giving up. But I don’t know what else I can do. Twelve years is a long time to look for someone. Even though the guy who shot my dad, Scott Smith, is in jail, he has a powerful reach. He’s been adamant that he doesn’t know where she is. I refuse to believe she would leave me like that, so I don’t believe him.
I told myself that I’d never stop looking until I found an answer, but at this point, I have to be done. I’ve lived a life with only one purpose since that dreaded night. To find my Mary. But there comes a point when you have to lay your cards down and fold.
We were best friends. No, it was more than that. And we both knew it, even though we never talked about it. Damn, how I wish she had known how I really felt about her. I knew she had a shitty life. I was knocked cold when I found out what she was actually living with. Who her parents really were. How she pulled the wool over my eyes is beyond me.
And I miss her. Selfishly, I want to find her for my own benefit. She always made everything so easy. I just fucking want her. The last time I saw her was as a teenager. I knew I wanted her then, but now? Now I know my life isn’t complete without her. Any woman who’s tried a relationship with me has failed miserably. Mostly because I won’t let them in. They’re not her . . . nobody can ever be her.
Sighing, I scrub my hands down my face and push to my feet. I get to my bedroom and grab the one framed picture I have of us. Mary was on my back, and we had just won a three-legged race. Her tall, slender body wrapped around mine, clinging to me. I liked that, her arms surrounding me. I fucking miss that. Her dark brown hair flows from the breeze, and those piercing green eyes that always hid more than she ever let on shine.
I contemplate putting the picture away but decide against it and set it on the dresser again. I want to remember her. To see her beautiful face every day.
* * *
“You’re leaving, man? What the fuck?” My partner, Juan Martinez, punches me in the shoulder. We’ve been friends since high school and both ended up at the same law enforcement center somehow.
“I told you that I applied. Didn’t think I’d be accepted this fast. And definitely didn’t think I’d pass, but I did. So yeah, I’m leaving.”
“Fuck, man. Detective Parker. You deserve it.” He sits across from me at his desk and raises his hand. “It’s been a good run.”
“It has.” I reach up, and we give each other a fist bump. “But all good things must come to an end. It’s time for me to go back home.”
“You found her?” His voice is hopeful. He knows who I’m looking for. Since we went to the same school, he knows the story.
“Nah. Another dead end.” I try to blow it off like my heart isn’t tearing.
“Shit,” he whistles.
“Yeah.”
We work in companionable silence for a while until it’s time to go home. At the end of my day, I go to my empty apartment. Always empty, always lonely. Since I only have a couple of weeks left before I move back to Chicago, I start packing. It’s time to move on. I think.