CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX – HAYLEY
The first thing I knew about was the shouting. I woke with the noise intruding on my dreams. It wove its way into my mind and slowly brought me to awareness of where I was.
I’m in the boiler room. In the warehouse. I’m trapped.
I lay on my side, head aching, too tired to sit up. I listened to the shouts. They were close and they sounded angry. I filtered the information carefully, trying to understand what it was all about. It concerned me.
“The bitch stays here!”
Silence. Swearing. Then,
“I told you! We’re not takin’ no for an answer.”
I sat up. Whoever was out there was on the phone, clearly, since I could only hear half the conversation. And they were arguing heatedly.
“No!” they shouted again. This time, whoever was on the other side was speaking loudly-enough for me to hear a slight burr of their speech.
Beckett?
I sighed. It was a faint noise from a barely-heard voice. But the pitch sounded right. I was sure it was him.
Beckett is going to save me.
I leaned back against the wall, looking up at the distant roof. Sighed. It was wishful thinking: a child’s wish for a handsome prince to sweep her off her feet, her knight in shining armor, ready to rescue her at all costs.
Well, he looked like a handsome prince alright. So I guess I don’t blame myself for buying into the whole saga.
I smiled. I had been lucky. The whole fairytale prince story had actually come true for me. It had almost worked out that way.
Beckett. Thoughts flooded my mind, making it difficult to breathe. My heart ached. Our time together in bed, that night. His kisses. Laughing together at breakfast, trying to grab the newspaper from him.
I loved him, I realized, my heart aching like a bullet was already lodged there. I loved him so much. Now I would never have a chance to live that, to tell him that every night, to say it in the morning as the sun rose and we woke up beside each other.
I felt a tear run down my cheek. Hot and wet, it ran down to drip from my chin, soon joined by another on the other side. The conversation had disappeared from outside, though I could hear raised voices elsewhere now, in some other part of this vast warehouse space.
Beckett, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “Please, please, don’t come here.”
I said it aloud, wishing I could say it to him, stop him from doing it. Whatever was going to happen to me, I couldn’t bear him being shot because he’d tried to save me. There were five of them in here—five that I knew about. The two from the car, the boss man, and two others whose voices I heard but whom I had not yet seen. If he came here, he could not come here alone.
And he won’t bring the police. He can’t risk it. They’d ask too many questions. I sighed. Leaned back against the wall. Closed my eyes.
Whatever happens, keep him safe.
I didn’t want to cause his death. I wouldn’t get out of here anyway.
I looked up at the roof. was resigned to the place, actually. The light filtering through the high window gap was pale now, dust floating in the shafts of it. The quality of the daylight told me it was probably early in the evening. My watch said five minutes past five.
It’s not like anyone is going to hurt me, I told myself reassuringly. They promised. They said that I’d be alive and safe, or I’d be dead. I watched the drifting dust-motes, feeling a strange sense of peace descend on me.
I wonder what having a child would have been like. Pity I never got the chance to do that. It would have been nice, I think.
I closed my eyes again, imagining what that would be like. In my mind, I looked down at a baby, cradled against my chest. My son looked up at me, his eyes the uncertain gray of the newly-born, a bloom on them suggesting they would be his father’s green.
My son. My son and Beckett’s son.
It was a beautiful dream. Beckett was opposite me on the bed, and he reached out to look at our son, his long fingers tender as he stroked the small bundle. He’s beautiful, Beckett’s voice said in my mind. He’s beautiful.
“Hey!”
A shout outside the door broke my reverie.
“Hey yourself,” a voice grumbled. “I told you to do something.”
“Okay,” the first voice grunted, sounding resigned. “I’ll fetch the bitch.”
I heard a bang, as if something had been knocked over, then someone cursed and I heard a key, sliding into the lock. I tensed. Pushed myself against the wall. Breathed in a deep breath.
Resignation was easy when it was theoretical. Now, I was facing my death. I was sure of it: something about the set of his shoulders, the down-tilt of his head, the tightness of the flesh around his eyes. He looked like a man who had been given an order and must do it, even though he did not wish to. His eyes on me had a mixed look of wistful regret and gritty determination that seemed to say: I’m sorry. I have my orders—it’s not personal.
The man walked in and grabbed at me and I twisted away, kicked out at his shin. Screamed and ran toward the opposite side of the room. Made a sprint for the door.
Someone standing at the door walked into me and knocked me backward.
I screamed, desperation in my voice mixing with a terrible sadness. I clawed at the man’s knees. A booted foot kicked my chin and I spat blood and lay where I was, sobbing and sobbing.
I had wanted to be dignified. Wanted to be a lady, calm and serene. Walking to my death like a martyr. But at the end, I found I couldn’t. I wanted so terribly badly to live.
“Beckett,” I sobbed, clawing at the ground. My voice was hoarse and it was a whisper, edging around the blood from my swollen lip. But it was the word that filled my mind, my heart and all my thoughts. “Beckett!”
“Oh please, will you quit sayin’ that?” the man said. It was the man who had hauled me out of the trunk of the car, who had sat with me in the back, his boot on my spine to stop me from escaping. “It’s jarring on my nerves.”
I laughed. He wanted me to care about that, when he was going to shoot me? Incredulity mixed with wonder at the fact that he really did care; that he didn’t want to kill.
My last thought, as he hauled me into the small, dark, dank space of the boiler-room, was: they don’t tell you about that in the movies.
“Stand there,” he said. His voice was shaking. He pushed me against the wall. Stepped back. “For God’s sakes, close your eyes.”
I closed them. At the end, I felt sorry for him. I straightened my back, drew in a deep breath, hoping that I would remember what it smelled like. Wanting to take in all of life in that instant, to remember it in whatever it was that came after.
The last thing to cross my mind was: I wonder if they have roadways in Heaven?