Pieces in Chance (4 page)

“Well … yes, we’d gathered that, Miss Townsend,” Officer Marks said, his lips still moving slowly, though his expression tighter than before.
Too bad,
she thought.
I liked his smirk.
“What we were really asking was if you knew, exactly, how the fire started? Did a candle fall in your room? Did Drew Barrymore show up and concentrate, spontaneously sparking a flame?”

He’s cute and he likes
Firestarter
? What a catch. Stop it, Drew, even if you weren’t a criminal now, he’s entirely too old for you.
Her mind was going crazy with its thoughts, part of her all but swooning over the man while the other half, more than likely the logical side, was ashamed of herself. Hell, she was only even upright because the handy hospital bed held her up; she had a bandage on her head, her hands, and one of her eyes was swollen. She was beginning to feel twinges of pain each time she shifted and decided the pain medication must be wearing off. That was also probably the reason her mind was making her boy crazy – because boy crazy was one thing she hadn’t been in … forever.

“Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?” she asked Carrigan, making direct eye contact with him. His eyes were still red and he looked tired, causing Drew to spare a thought to what time and day it was.
I should have asked Dean before I sent him away.

The officer opened his mouth, making it clear he was going to speak and forcing her to break eye contact. “Drew,” he started, taking a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort. “The fire originated in your room and spread outward. The house is still standing, in case you were curious, though there is a lot of damage throughout it. Your room, though, was almost completely destroyed … to be honest, I’m not sure how I was even able to get you out.”

She flinched, her eyes moving to his bandaged hands. Why had he rescued her? Drew knew that in Chance the fire department was on a volunteer-basis only, but shouldn’t it have been one of them who’d braved the flames?

Officer Carrigan moved closer to her, pulling a chair up beside the bed and dropping into it. Leaning forward on his elbows, he rubbed at his face before meeting her gaze once more.

“The firemen were working on putting the fire out, while a couple went inside – looking for you and Dean,” he explained, answering the thoughts she was having without her having to ask. “They found … they found Rick just outside your door, on the ground, and took him outside first.”

Drew shuddered, hating that she didn’t know if her father was still alive. Not that he was her father … The man she’d known, the dad who’d carried her on his shoulders and played dress up with her, had disappeared, leaving the monster she’d so desperately tried to escape. She wanted to ask, blurt out
is he dead
, but she refrained. She knew Carrigan – he would get all the details out when he was ready to share.

“When John told me where they’d found your … dad … I knew it was a big possibility that you were still inside the room. I didn’t think – I stormed past them all and ran to you get you, only to find you face down on the hardwood floor, not moving, flames licking up all around you. Jesus, Drew, your hair was burning, there was smoke everywhere … I didn’t even know if you were still alive…”

Dropping her gaze to the blanket covering her, Drew blinked back tears. The man beside her didn’t look like the officer she’d known almost her entire life. He looked older, more real, and the idea of him risking himself didn’t sit well with her. What if he’d died? What if she’d been the reason his baby girl didn’t have a daddy? Carrigan wasn’t like her father. He was a good man, a good husband, and a fantastic dad. He adored that baby girl, never once had he even tried to hide it. Her heart ached, wishing impossible wishes.

Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her gaze up, finding Officer Marks standing at the end of her bed. She watched as he motioned toward the foot of the mattress and raised an eyebrow, his question clear. At her nod, he sat down, angling toward her.

“What happened?” he asked simply, his face solemn, the tightness in his mouth easing.

Drew sighed. She didn’t want to go into details, didn’t want to analyze her hasty decision, but she knew she had to. So, she explained everything – from dropping Dean’s acceptance at the post office to coming home. Officer Mark’s expression turned angry, his cheeks reddening as she explained her father’s rage as she entered the house, the things he’d yelled at her, and the endless beating she took from him. When she told them about the unbuckling of his pants, the unneeded explanation of threat implied in the action, the younger cop turned almost purple. Watching the emotions flashing across his face was almost too much to bear for her and she faltered.

It felt weird to her. She was replaying everything that happened, only she couldn’t hear what she was saying. It was like watching a moving on mute, the film running through her head, and subtitles translating ... except they were coming from her mouth. Officer Carrigan leaned forward, placing his bandaged hand on her arm, drawing her eyes to him.

“Go on,” he mouthed encouragingly, though the look in his eyes was strained.

“Am I making sense?” She hadn’t meant to ask that, hadn’t meant to let on that it was hard remembering words when she wasn’t hearing them – it was sheer memory that had them coming from her to begin with, she only prayed the things she was saying matched the images in her head. When the older officer nodded, she took a deep breath and started again.

It was harder talking about the mad dash to her room, the utter terror she had felt. Drew told them how she’d set the fire after trying to escape through the barred window, though she left out the prayers she’d uttered. They didn’t need to know that part; that was for her and the God who hadn’t listened.

When she finished, neither officer moved nor spoke. Tears had filled her eyes and she let them fall, resolving that they’d be the last ones she’d allow herself to shed. She couldn’t be this weak, broken girl who was lying in a hospital bed feeling sorry for herself. Despite everything, and whatever punishments may come for her, she wasn’t going to allow the shitty cards she’d been dealt ruin her. Because, if they did, her father and his psychological damage would win.

Carrigan’s grip tightened on her arm, effectively getting her attention.

“I’m so sorry, Drew. Sorry for not helping you when the town knew you needed it,” he mouthed slowly and she shrugged.

“It’s not your fault
,” she signed, before shaking her head and repeating herself aloud, though it was clear the cop wasn’t listening to a word she told him.

“A candle caught the curtains on fire while you were asleep.”

She must’ve looked confused because he mouthed them again, only slower. Drew shook her head. She understood what he’d said the first time around, but he wasn’t making any sense to her. Had he not listened to her? Had she not said the right words to explain what happened? Maybe she should write them down so there couldn’t be any misunderstandings. She had just admitted to setting her room on fire, her house on fire, and he was telling her a candle set the fire? Drew didn’t even think she
owned
a candle.

“Officer Marks?” Carrigan mouthed, turning to face his the younger man and she followed his gaze.

The man nodded, his face still red, his eyes tight and his mouth drawn in a tight line. Running a hand across his face and to his short hair, he spoke to his partner. She knew he wanted her to understand what he was saying as he still drew his words out, enunciating them slowly so she could read them.

“Candle. Fire. Curtains.”

When Carrigan turned to face her again, she waited, realization starting to set in. The men were going to cover for her. She understood why Carrigan would, but the younger officer, Marks … why would he? He didn’t look like the kind of guy to bend the law for anyone, let alone a young girl who’d purposely committed arson. Shifting, she grimaced, her body aching and a sharper pain radiating throughout her body. The older officer caught her expression and stood, pressing the red button on the remote at the side of her bed.

“Don’t worry about anything, Drew,” he mouthed slowly before gently placing his arm on her shoulder. “You’re safe – we’ll make sure of it. Rest, okay?”

The two men made their way to the door, Carrigan shooting a small, sad smile her way before nodding and leaving. It was Officer Marks who hesitated, turning to face her and their eyes meeting.

“Your father can’t hurt you now, Drew.”

Her betraying eyes filled with unwanted tears again at his words. Not that she was sad that her father died, quite the opposite. More so now that she was actually a murderer
and
an arsonist. Bringing a hurting hand to her face, she angrily wiped the treacherous tears away, wishing the man hadn’t seen them this time. Judging by the softening of his face, he had.

“He had a heart attack. The fire didn’t kill him.”

With that, he inclined his head and left the room, leaving Drew to her thoughts. Luckily she wasn’t alone in her mind for long – a nurse hurried into the room. After checking the monitors and her blood pressure, Jean, the nurse, changed out two bags from her IV stand.

“Liquids,” the woman said, though whether she’d been briefed on her new audio status, Drew wasn’t sure. She watched as she changed out another, smaller bag, and looked at her expectantly when she’d finished. “For the pain.”

Drew nodded and Jean withdrew a small syringe, inserting it directly into the tube leading into her hand. The sensation of it was cold as it entered her, or so it felt, and she snapped her attention back to the nurse.

“Also for the pain, but quicker.”

As the nurse excused herself, Drew could feel the medicine starting to work almost immediately. Her body relaxed and her eyes felt heavy. While she didn’t know what the future was going to hold for her, Drew fell asleep, completely unafraid.

Chapter Three
 

Jensen

The automatic door of the hospital whirled closed behind Jensen Marks as he trailed behind his partner. He was on a mission: get as far away from that hospital room, that girl, as humanly possible.

Jensen prided himself on being a strong, unemotional man. He’d joined the Marines right out of high school, excelled in boot camp and combat training, as well as his occupational specialty schooling; he’d been deployed on two tours in Afghanistan and never once did he have a single nightmare, morose thought, or a lone tear. To him, life, war even, was what it was – it was a path one walked and you could either stroll along or plow through. Nothing good ever came from dwelling on the past. Instead, Jensen lived by the rules of learning from his mistakes, taking the bad in with the good, and processing it to make himself better.

It was his father’s doing – the drive to always be calm and collected. His father had been Colonel before he’d been honorably discharged, and was one of the strongest men he knew.
Toughen up, young soldier
, his father used to say when Jensen was a child, upset over a skinned knee or other injuries. Even now, he heard those words playing over and over in his head.

Not that his family life hadn’t been full of love or hugs, affection, it had been – but it had also been one with no weakness. There’d never been a moment he ever thought he couldn’t do something. He’d always toughen up and move on.

So why was this getting to him? Why was that poor girl, looking so broken and defeated lying in that hospital bed, affecting him the way she was?

Jensen found himself in Chance by, well, chance. He’d wanted to be somewhere quiet after leaving the military, somewhere he could relax while still doing his duty as an officer of the law. So, he did what any logical man in his position would do … He closed his eyes and pointed to a map, letting fate choose his surroundings. Of course, if he’d been thinking clearly, he probably would’ve set the damn thing up in his favor instead of landing on a small nothing of a town, in the middle of nowhere, with less than a few thousand inhabitants. Still, he’d made a decision and stuck to it.

After about two months, he’d finally gotten comfortable and was actually pleased he with his choice. He liked the ‘everybody knows your name’
Cheers
-like feeling he got when he walked down the street and the quietness of the quaint little place. Jensen slowly became familiar with the surroundings, the people; it was a good life.

He’d heard stories about the Townsend family since he’d arrived. Dana, the mother, from what he was told, had been the apple of the town’s eye, the Mother Theresa of Chance. She helped keep the homeless homed, the hungry fed, and the poor going. All anyone could talk about was how great she was and what a travesty her loss had left in the town. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and Jensen asked Carrigan what happened to her. His partner had explained she’d died from advanced breast cancer rather suddenly, leaving Mr. Townsend alone to raise their two children – twins Dean and Drew.

Mr. Townsend worked on and off at the local auto shop, keeping himself busy with long days and hard labor. As many good things the town folk had to say about Mrs. Townsend, they had little to none to say about the mister. It was rumored he was often drunk, stumbling around the streets and yelling at anyone who looked at him – not that Jensen had seen any of that, and he’d looked.

The son, Dean, was common talk around the town. Apparently the young girls thought he was a looker and his football accomplishments, as well as academic feats, were impressive. What really threw Jensen, though, were the nightmarish stories he’d heard about the final member of the Townsend family. The daughter, Drew.

Apparently Drew was beautiful, a spitting image of her mother, with a similar temperament. She had once been popular, a cheerleader, and active member of the community. It had seemed, for a long time, that she would walk in the same selfless shoes as Dana, always volunteering her time with a smile and never a complaint to be heard. But, like most hopeful and promising stories, a monkey wrench had been thrown into the mix.

When Dana died, something changed. The young girl became withdrawn, quiet, and was no longer the social butterfly she’d been. Soon after that, her wardrobe altered suddenly – gone were tank tops and cheerleading skirts, replaced with long-sleeved shirts and baggy jeans. Unfortunately, it had taken the community a while to discover what was going on. Hell, it wasn’t until a very public display had been made that everyone was clued in.

From what Jensen heard, Drew was out with her father during the Saturday farmer’s market when she said something he didn’t like – only to be promptly backhanded in front of everyone. A grown man, someone who was supposed to be her caretaker, her protector, had backhanded the young woman … in front of witnesses. Even more shocking: not a single person stepped up to intervene. Not the wood worker who’d been selling his wares, nor even his own colleagues.

To be honest, it flat out pissed Jensen off. Women, of any age, weren’t punching bags for frustration or anger. They were not to be assaulted under any circumstanced – they never ‘ask’ for it, regardless of the words said or actions taken. The fact that not a goddamned person in all of Chance confronted Mr. Townsend still made his blood boil. It was the cause of the first argument he’d gotten in with Carrigan – the lack of action taken by Chance Police Department infuriated him. Surely they had enough witnesses to put Rick Townsend away, or at the very least get the girl out of the situation. But, Carrigan had merely shaken his head sadly – their children’s services department was full to the brink with cases, many younger than Drew, and there was no funding for an almost seventeen-year-old girl with a piece-of-shit abusive father. Not without firsthand eyewitness testimony.

Instead, days turned into months, months turning into even longer, and as each day passed, more and more damage was done to Drew. Makeup began covering bruises, though it could be seen, doing very little to cover the injuries to her face. And still, no one said anything.

“Fucking ignorant, backwoods, redneck pieces of shi-” he started cursing, stopping abruptly when some of the passerby stopped to look at him. “Sorry.”

It almost hurt to apologize to the faces glancing at him in concern, curiosity.
You could have fucking stopped that
, he all but screamed at them, settling for yelling in his head. The anger he felt was so unlike him, usually levelheaded and stable. What was it about
that
girl?

Perching on the nearby bench, Jensen sat, his head cradled in his hands, elbows on his knees. He took a few deep breaths, hoping they would calm him some. His mind had other ideas, though, images of Drew taking him over.

Even in the hospital, bruised, bandaged, and burned, she was still beautiful. The remaining hair she had, which wasn’t burned by the fire, covered in gauze, or shaved by the hospital, was still bright red, almost unreal. Its sharp contrast with the white bandage wrapped around her temples and ears was striking. Her face was bruised, one side so swollen she could barely open her eyes, but … God, her eyes. They were the color of honey, brown without the deep darkness of chocolate.

Jensen pinched his brows, trying to get the pain he’d seen in them out of his thoughts. Pain, physical and emotional, colored her gaze as she’d looked at him and he swore in those moments he could feel everything she was. His heart hurt meeting her eyes – some need in him demanded he scoop her up, hold her, tell her he’d protect her as no one else had … except maybe her brother.

“You make my sister cry, I’ll make you regret it. Just because she can’t hear you, doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand. Remember that,
” the younger man had warned them before leaving the hospital room.

If the idea of the young Townsend threatening him hadn’t been so surprising, it would have been laughable. Especially since he had no intentions on hurting her. True, he had to do his job, had to ask her questions that would pain and plague her, but he wasn’t out to make life worse than it already had been on her.

It had been a different kind of interrogation, though. Jensen had never communicated with someone who couldn’t hear before. He’d never thought much about the way his lips formed words, or how fast or slow he spoke. With Drew, he’d been focusing hard, making sure she got every syllable he intended on giving her. Carrigan had debated the idea of getting a writing pad and trading notes, but Jensen just couldn’t bring himself to do it. The young, brave woman deserved better than that.

“She deserves her fucking hearing,” he mumbled to himself. “She deserves a loving father who didn’t beat the shit out of her. What the fuck is this world coming to?”

“As you know, there was a fire at your house last night,” Carrigan had asked. “Do you know what started it?”

“Yes,” she told them. “A lighter.”

Jensen didn’t know whether to laugh or curse, remembering her words and explanation to his partner’s question. Never before, when speaking with a suspect of any crime, had one answered so truthfully, so honestly, that it startled him. Usually people tried to make up stories, anything, to rectify their choices – to make the decisions they’d made okay. Not Drew, though. Instead she’d answered without hesitation, clearly at ease with any punishment they may have doled out.

Realistically, he knew she should get in some sort of trouble. Every fiber of his being as a police officer, every military training and nuance he’d ever picked up, demanded that he arrest her for arson and attempted murder. Hell, as much as it pained him, she was guilty. She
had
set that fire, with the sole purpose of setting the house ablaze with everyone in it. What he wasn’t so certain of was her end goal – had she intended to kill her father? Or herself?

The look that had blanketed her face when he’d told her of her father’s demise told her it was more the latter than the former. She didn’t want to be a murderer, didn’t want to be responsible for taking someone else’s life, regardless of the damnable things he’d done to her. No, she’d wanted to take her own life; she took the only escape she’d seen, even if it had meant depriving the world of what she would have to offer.

Unfortunately, Jensen wasn’t sure he could blame her. She was a small girl, not in height – she was probably around five-foot-five or so, if her twin was any indication – but in weight. Maybe a hundred pounds, soaking wet? It was clear she hadn’t eaten a full meal in God knew how long, and even without the visible damage to her, that would have been enough to make him grit his teeth.

If it had been him in that house with her? He would have probably landed in jail himself, except not for starting a fire. After the second blow, if Rick had even gotten a first, he would have found a baseball bat and beat the asshole’s knees before turning his attention to more delicate regions.

So, looking at the fragile, beautiful, broken girl on the bed, he’d gone along with Carrigan’s plan – they’d concoct a story to keep her out of trouble. There was no doubt the city of Chance would be on board; the fire department, the EMTs, the doctors … there wasn’t a single person who would raise voice for the piece of shit that had been Rick Townsend. Not much of a surprise, though, when none had spoken up for the girl before shit had gotten out of hand.

Without even realizing it, Jensen found himself back inside the hospital, right outside Drew’s room. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that his feet had led him back inside. His plan had been to run, to escape back to his home and drink a few beers, hoping to forget the entire day and the girl. Apparently his feet had different ideas.

Peeking in, he caught sight of her, lying motionless in bed. Her face was turned toward the door, to him, except her eyes were closed. The monitors beeped softly in the room, and he stepped inside. He knew part of what he was doing was creepy, spying on a young woman while she slept, but he couldn’t help it.

Pulling the chair up to her bedside, Jensen allowed himself to sink into it. Elbows on his knees, his head dropped into his hands. Seeing her again, resting the peaceful sleep of safety, tugged at his heart. He couldn’t decide which was harder – her awake, pain and mistrust written across her face, or the Drew resting, dreaming, lost in a world where dreams wouldn’t hurt her.

Not for the first time since meeting Drew Townsend, he wished he had a time machine, one that could send them back with the knowledge they had now. He’d rescue her from the troubled hell she’d lived for far too long. He’d ensure that nothing bad would happen to her. He’d keep her safe.