Stolen (8 page)

The house is dark when I open my eyes. I fell asleep
again? Mom must know that I would have come here, but still, she must be
freaking out. I have to go home and face this head-on. Like it or not, my life
has completely changed in the course of minutes, and now I know there’s no
going back.

I can’t, no, I won’t, let my family or Rogan be hurt
because of me. Whatever I have to do, I will do. What choice do I have now
anyway?

Before I lift my head, I say goodbye to Rogan from his
lap. I can’t see his face right now or I’ll start crying and maybe never stop.
This might be the last time I see him like this, where he still loves me. “I
have to go now. Thank you for taking care of me and being here for me. I love
you so much. I’m sorry, for everything,” I say, even though he won’t understand
the full extent of my apology.

I push up and stand on my feet. Feeling lightheaded, I
lean on the wall for a moment until the sensation passes. With my head down, I
turn and grab the door handle, opening it and preparing to step over the
threshold when arms pull me back and around to come face to face with pleading
eyes and a worried expression.

He keeps his promise, even though I know it’s killing
him, and he doesn’t ask any questions. Instead, he tilts my head up with his
fingers under my chin and softly grazes his thumb across my lower lip. I roll
my eyes closed and wait for his lips to touch mine. When they do, I inwardly
sigh, a contented breath, relishing this moment; perhaps the last moment I’ll
ever feel this way with anyone, unconditionally loved and desired.

I walk out the door and walk what feels like The Green
Mile—the walk to my execution.

Before I step into the house, I try to calm my
drifting thoughts and remind myself that whatever happens next isn’t my fault,
but that whatever I’m asked to do, I’ll do to protect my family. I feel like
I’ve aged ten years in less than a day. Oh, how I wish I could just keep up my
vow to do the dishes more often.

Life’s a bitch.

I’m surprised to see Bruce still sitting in the family
room. Did he stay the whole time I was gone? I highly doubt that; he probably
just got back or something.

I close the door softly, needing as many seconds as I
can get before I face this. I pad quietly toward where Bruce, and now I notice
mom and Cass are sitting too, and clear my throat. Two pairs of tired,
tear-stained eyes turn and focus on me, followed by a set of gentle, comforting
eyes. I’m quickly growing desperate for the serenity his eyes bring me.

He rises, and with open arms walks toward me. Just
before he attempts to hug me, he raises his brows, silently asking if it’s
okay. I answer by walking into his open arms, breathing in the scent of strong
but pleasant cologne. I had planned to have to be strong right away, but Bruce
is helping me feel like it’s okay if I’m not because I’m not alone. Mom and
Cass seem to have checked out, but at least he’s here for me. I shouldn’t have
judged him so harshly before, but it’s too late to take that back now.

I don’t pull away from him immediately, and he doesn’t
seem to mind; he keeps holding me, soon beginning to rock me from side to side,
not saying anything in words, but speaking volumes in actions. I know he won’t
leave me to deal with this alone.

He eases me out of our hug, keeping one arm around my
shoulder, leaning in to whisper into my ear, “I know why you had to bail, but
you worried me half to death . . . and your mom and sister.” He adds, “Please
don’t do that again. I know you don’t know me, but I’m here for you. I won’t
stop being here for you, okay?”

An uneasy, foreboding feeling washes over me, as if it
was just confirmed that my world has been irrevocably altered. With a pain in
my gut at this realization, I nod in understanding. Good or bad, things will
never be the same.

With his arm still on my shoulder, we walk into the
family room. Instead of sitting back in the chair, he sits us both down on the
loveseat, moving his arm off my body, but keeping it close to my leg, as if he
knows I need to feel the close proximity to a caring, comforting person.

He looks between my family and me, then begins
speaking directly to me. “We’re so happy you’re back. Your mom received a text
from Rogan that you were at his house, but, unfortunately, for a little while
anyway, it’s probably best you don’t bring him into this like that again. It’s
not safe.”

Rogan had let mom know I was with him and safe? I
should have known he would do that, keeping her from worrying, taking care of
me like always. I miss him already.

I hear Bruce clear his throat loudly, snapping me back
to this dreadful chat. I nod, already accepting that as a given. He seems
pleased with the fact that he doesn’t have to convince me to stay away. I am
not so pleased, but I love Rogan too much to take any chances.

“While you were gone, I talked to my partner at the
station. She said the lab didn’t find any prints on the letter, but I kind of
expected that. They’re running the handwriting through analysis to see if there
are any hits in our system to other similar cases; it’ll take a little time to
do that, but we’ll keep our fingers crossed. In the meantime, we’ve had your
mom describe the man who dropped the letter off to a sketch artist and we’re
going to see if we can get any hits from that. We don’t want to release it to
the public just yet, but if we end up with a lot of dead ends, we will.

“We’re trying to keep this as quiet as possible right
now. That’s why my division got involved; we deal with cases that need a high
level of discretion and the police can’t always guarantee that.” He pauses to
gage my expression. I tell him I’m fine and to continue. I want this done as
quickly as possible.

“Well, for right now there are some things I want to
go over with you to make sure we’re on the same page. I also want to show you
the sketch and see if maybe you recognize the man, then I have to get back and
see what I can come up with; hopefully I can catch this guy before he does any
more than he already has.

“This is going to be hard to do, I know, but staying
away from Rogan right now is necessary for his safety. I can’t say this will
guarantee his safety, but if this stalker is watching you, and I don’t mean to
scare you, but he probably is, it’ll be best if he believes you’re heeding his
warning. Do you understand this? And can you abide by it?”

 I nod. I can’t speak or the waterworks will
start. My heart is hurting so badly right now I want to rip it out so I won’t
have to feel it anymore.

He doesn’t seem to trust my resolve, but continues
anyway. “I’m going to have a patrol car drive by his house periodically just to
check on him, okay? We’ll do everything we can to make sure he’s safe, I
promise you that, but right now, the best thing to do is for you to stay away
from him.

“I can’t even imagine how this must be hurting you,
but we won’t stop working this case,
I
won’t stop working this case,
until I catch the bastard, and hopefully that will be soon and life can go on
as it did before. Stay with me, Jess, okay? Just have a little faith and stay
with me. You’ll get through this, and I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

I’m lost in his eyes and take his words as a small
answer from the Cosmos; I can’t escape the demon who is now following me, who
has now crept into my dreams, but at least someone is here irrefutably to keep
it from living in my dreams forever, I hope, anyway.

 I’m overwhelmed with grief, anger, sadness,
exhaustion, and feelings I can’t name. Maybe there are no names for them.

I throw myself into his arms and cry. I’m like lichen
on the side of a rock, clinging to the only solid thing I can find. This should
be my family, but I can’t explain what it is about Bruce, I just feel safer
with him right now. I wish he didn’t have to leave. How funny is it that, only
hours ago, I was ready to kick him to the curb for interfering, and now I wish
he would stay? Maybe this is just displaced emotion over losing Rogan. Whatever
it is, I can say definitively that I don’t care.

Time passes; I can’t say how much, but I become aware
that I should probably let him go, should probably have let him go a while ago.
I shift away from him and dip my head down. Feelings of embarrassment are
rising to the surface, and I feel pretty damn stupid for my meltdown in front
of a complete stranger, clinging to that very same stranger.

I’m such an idiot!

“Jess, look at me.” His voice is soothing and
mesmerizing in a way, making me obey his command without hesitation.

 “I have to go now, but I’m going to give you my
cell number. You can call me anytime or text, which is what you’re probably
more used to, right?” he asks with a laughter to his tone, clearly playing
toward the fact that at sixteen no one calls anyone anymore.

This manages to cause a small snicker to escape me.
There’s something about him that eases all my emotions out of me; I don’t know
yet if that’s a good thing.

He stretches his hand, palm side up, for my phone. I
shift my hips and stretch out my legs so I can retrieve it from my pants pocket
and place it in his hand. He dials in his number with my phone and in a few
seconds, his is ringing.

“There, now you can contact me whenever you need to,
and don’t worry if it’s late; I’m not much of a sleeper. Comes with the trade,
I guess. After so many years of being woken up by the phone with someone
telling me I have to come into the station, I think now I just stay awake so
I’m ready when it rings. Funny thing, though, is that it doesn’t ring in the
middle of the night that often anymore. Can’t break the habit, though,” he
admits with a shrug.  

I stand with him when he does, noticing for the first
time that we’re alone. When did mom and Cass leave? I look up to Bruce and see
him looking blankly at the vacant spots on the sofa, seemingly wondering the
same thing. They probably bailed when I started balling like a baby.

I feel his hand on the small of my back guiding me
into the kitchen where mom and Cass’s voices are traveling. His hand falls away
when we step into the kitchen and the room goes silent. I’m suddenly on
display, and I hate it. I look to Bruce for support; he smiles at me and nods
in reassurance. I paint on a smile and look at mom and Cass, trying to feign
calmness; they seem to need it more than I do, which is saying a lot since I
feel like I’m about ready to pass out from this sudden burden.

Bruce speaks first. “So, Cass, Beth, I’m heading out
now, but Jess and I have talked, and I think we’re good for now. I’ll call you
when I know anything, and in the meantime just try not to worry too much.
Easier said than done, I’m aware, but I’m here now. You’re not alone in this.”

“Are we supposed to just wait around then for you to
call? Is it safe to even leave the house?” Mom chimes in with little civility.

I glare at her, furious that she’s treating him like
this when he’s trying to help. I force myself to breathe and stay calm. It’s
not her fault that she feels like a prisoner in her own home—it’s mine. She
deserves to be mad, but not at him.

“I’m not going to tell you, Beth, that you’re
perfectly safe out in the world right now, but so long as you’re smart about
things, be aware of your surroundings and those around you, try not to go out
at night if you can avoid it; I think you’ll be okay. The important thing right
now is to keep Jess safe. She’s the one he wants, and we just need to do what
we can to be conscious of ourselves right now.”

Breaths are coming fast and hard. Why did he have to
say that I’m the one this freak job wants? I know I am, but did he really have
to lay it all out like that?

Oh my God! I’m going to faint! I can’t breathe! I
can’t breathe. Oh my God, I can’t breathe!

Everything around me is blurring, but the look on
mom’s and Cass’s face is terrifyingly clear; they’re afraid of me. Then, as I’m
falling, I see the care and comfort on Bruce’s face. I smell familiar cologne
and feel strong, familiar arms wrap around me, and it’s into those arms that I
fall. Protecting me from the hard, cold, kitchen tile is the first of many
times that Bruce will protect me.

 Finally I can breathe.

Present
day . . .

“Jess, can you hear me?”

“Bruce?” I clear my throat and try again; I could
barely understand what I just said. “Bruce, is that you?”

“Here, Jess, I have some water for you to drink.”

I hate it when people always want to give you water,
like water is the magical cure for everything. Oh, her cat just died; give her
water. Oh, she gained five pounds; give her water. Oh, she’s going into labor;
give her water. Although, my throat is burning, so maybe I won’t complain this
one time over someone bringing me water.

“Jess, can you hear me?”

Why does Bruce keep asking me that? Of course, I can
hear him.

My head still hurts, so I whisper my response, “Of
course I can hear you. Where are mom and Cass?” My eyes don’t want to open,
despite my valiant efforts, but things seem off. I don’t hear mom or Cass. I
feel colder than I remember feeling before I fainted. Bruce’s voice isn’t as
deep and his cologne smells different; not bad, but different.

“Jess, just relax. You fainted, so Rachel and I
brought you back to my apartment until you woke up. You’ve been out for a few
hours now. We didn’t know who to call. I’m sorry.”

No wonder his voice sounds different; it’s not Bruce.
Wait. It’s not Bruce! Who the hell is it then? My eyes find the motivation they
need to open and along with it, my body springs up from wherever I’m lying. My
eyes are darting all around for something familiar, but I don’t know this
place, I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know—

Wait, I know that face. Kyle? I reach a shaky arm out
and touch his cheek to see if he’s really here. He’s solid and warm and his
eyes are so, well, I don’t know what his eyes are, but they’re here, they’re
beautiful, and they’re looking directly at me. I haven’t pulled my hand away
yet, and he hasn’t pushed it away. Why is he being so nice to me? I must have
freaked him out.

With that thought, I pull my hand back. What have I
done? What must he think of me? How did I end up in his apartment? I clear my
throat and ask him how I got here.

“Well, I was on my way back to campus when I realized
I had the charger for your laptop. Do you remember being at the coffee shop
with Rachel and me? We used your computer to do some research for a paper for
class.”

I vaguely remember that, so I nod in agreement. I’m
sure this will all come back to me at some point . . . I hope.

He seems skeptical that I know anything he’s talking
about, but, much to my appreciation, continues without pushing. “Okay, so
anyway, I headed back hoping I’d catch you guys before you left, and just as I
got to you, you passed out. I caught you, and Rachel and I waited to see if you
would come to, but you didn’t, so we brought you back here.

“I would have called someone, but I didn’t know who,
and Rachel said the only number she has is yours. We couldn’t find your phone,
so we figured since you were talking in your sleep and that you never did hit
the concrete, we didn’t need to take you to the hospital. How are you feeling
now? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“I was talking in my sleep?” Yes, I know that’s a
strange thing to dwell on, but my mortification level can’t stand to go much
higher; if I said anything even slightly embarrassing, I need to know.

He seems just as confused by my question at first, but
then I see his mischievous side take over and I brace myself for the teasing
soon to follow. “Well, I wouldn’t say it was anything R-rated, but it was
entertaining nonetheless.”

My mouth is hanging open as I watch his turn up in a
smile and, even though I knew he was going to have a smart-ass comment, I
hadn’t expected that. What a jerk; but I smile anyway and shake my head at his
jab. “Thanks a lot, jackass. You’ve made me feel so much better,” I scold,
while punching him in the arm. “So, where is Rachel?”

I’m looking around the room, but I don’t see any signs
of her. In doing so, though, I’m able to survey my surroundings. I’m in the
living room, on a comfortable, fairly new looking charcoal gray sofa, and while
this is obviously a guy’s apartment, it doesn’t scream college bachelor pad.
There are no pictures of naked women plastered on the walls, no signs of empty
beer bottles scattered around, and the floor is actually clean.

“She had a class to go to, so I told her I’d watch you
until she got back. She just left, so she won’t be back for a while, though. I
hope you don’t mind staying here with me while she’s gone?” The sincerity is
back in his voice, and when I meet his gaze, the same depth of emotion is there
as well. He’s genuinely worried about me, and while I should feel great over
this, it just makes me want to run. Speaking of running, what time is it
anyway?

I look around for a clock, but the only one I see is
the watch on his wrist. I could probably just ask him the time, but pulling at
his arm so the watch is closer to my face, seems an appropriate avenue to go
down. I should probably verify that I didn’t actually hit my head. My brain seems
to be in shambles, making me act like a total fruitcake.

Too late to care now.

Oh my God, it’s already seven o’clock in the evening.
Mom and Cass are probably scared to death right now. I need to call them before
they send the police out searching for me. I wish I could say I was joking over
that possibility, but I wouldn’t put it past Bruce.

I feel around in my jeans pocket, but come up
empty-handed for my phone. I begin frantically searching the nearby floor for
my bag. A moment later I notice Kyle standing in front of me holding my bag. I
smile up at him as he hands it to me, and I begin rummaging through it; still
no luck.

I’m beyond frustrated. I throw my bag, not caring
where it lands, and caring even less when it hits the ground and the contents
come cascading out like water over a fall. It deserved it. I don’t know why it
did; it’s not as if it lost my phone on purpose, but hey, I’m mad and it’s the
only thing tangible I have to be mad at. Only when I see what those contents
consist of do I begin to care; pens, notebooks, flash drive, but also tampons
and a random condom. I mentally slap my head—hard. I can’t believe that condom
is in there.

When I started college, mom decided I should always
have protection with me. Even though I told her adamantly that I wasn’t going
to be in need of any for some time, she kept pushing the subject. After an
awkward, embarrassing talk over my non-need for said condom, I thought she had
let it go, apparently not. She had slipped it into my bag when I wasn’t looking.
Some protection that would have provided if I had needed it, not knowing it was
there. Peace of mind was all she was after, I guess; her parental duty marked
off for that day. 

I’m staring at it right now as if I’ve never seen one
and have no idea where it came from, although, that’s partly true. I don’t
necessarily know where it came from. That won’t help much right now, though,
with the conundrum of figuring out how to be both nonchalant about it, but also
not come off as if that’s just the last one from the whole box I normally carry
and have already used.

Maybe I can play it off as it being one of his. Yeah,
that’s a brilliant idea; it’s his, but just happened to fall out of my bag. Oh,
this day just keeps getting better and better.

Like a blind fool, I can’t seem to take my eyes off
it, staring at it as if hoping I’m not actually seeing it, that maybe it’s just
some sort of mirage; or maybe it’s because I don’t want to see the expression
on Kyle’s face. If I was the betting kind, I think I would have to go with that
theory.

I put my big girl pants on for once since I’ve met him
and, while still avoiding eye contact, what can I say, my big girl pants don’t
fit that well, move myself to the pile on the floor. I begin the task of
putting everything back into the bag; I might as well act as if this wasn’t the
huge deal it has escalated to in my head.

He sits on the floor next to me and begins handing me
my things, avoiding the tampons and having no chance with the condom; that was
the first thing I shoved back into my bag, although why that took precedence
over a tampon, I can’t say. I imagine that’s creeping him out more than a
condom would have. Too late to care now, I isolated what I deemed the main
problem and took care of it; to hell with any tampon unease he may be feeling
right now.

After all contents of my traitorous bag are back in
place, Kyle and I both stay on the floor, leaning against the sofa in silence.
This isn’t bad, though; in fact it’s reassuring, calming, and much too
comfortable.

 I need to leave . . . now!

I push myself up to my feet, bringing my bag up with
me. I’m not going to run away this time, but for so many different reasons I
can’t linger here anymore. For one thing, I don’t know where my phone is, which
leaves me unable to call home, I’m sure Kyle has a phone I could use, but
that’s beside the point. This is a perfectly valid reason to have to bail, I
mean, leave. For another actually valid reason, Kyle is comfortable in a way
Rogan was comfortable, and I just can’t handle that. Not now, not ever
probably.

 I do owe him something, though, some sort of
explanation or at least gratitude for taking care of me. I clear my suddenly
dry throat, wishing desperately for more water, and begin what I hope will be
an acceptable way to end this night. “Look, Kyle, I appreciate your help today,
but I have to leave, and I think it would be best if I stay away from you
altogether. I’m sure this seems strange to you, but it’s just something I have
to do, and I would appreciate it if you don’t ask why. I just can—“

“Who’s Rogan?” he asks so matter-of-factly that
between his question and the sound of Rogan’s name being said aloud, the room,
and my world, begin another ride on an out of control merry-go-round. I’m going
to be sick.

“Oh my God, Jess, I’m so sorry.” He quickly apologizes
after seeing my reaction. “I never should have asked; it’s just that you said
his name a lot while you were out and I, well, I just was curious, but it isn’t
my place.” He’s pacing the room, making the dizziness in my head so much worse
the longer I watch him.

“Please, will you stop moving?” I beg as I fall onto
the sofa.

He immediately freezes.

 I force myself to hold it together, force myself
to look at him, biting my lip so hard to stop the trembling, but instantly
regret it when I see the pity in his eyes. I snap my head to my lap and the
wringing hands resting there; my hands, the hands that belong to me; me, who
has brought nothing but sorrow and pain to all those who know me, but I hate
the pity. I’ve seen it too often; never did I expect to see it in him, though.
I thought my life had changed and I was going to move on, finally, but I guess
that was too much to ask for, too much to hope for.

I remind myself that I deserve this, every horrible
dripping ounce of it. This is my punishment; I guess I just needed a reminder.

In two long strides, he’s sitting beside me, pulling
me into a tight embrace. I don’t know why, but I fall into it. I know I don’t
deserve this, this comfort, but my body is shaking so badly that I’ll
rationalize this as him keeping me steady.

I don’t cry. It’s not easy, far from it, in fact, but
that’s something I know I don’t deserve. I have to hold on to this pain, bury
it with all the pain so comfortably settled inside my mind.

Damn everything! Damn everyone! Damn the Cosmos for
all the breaths I’ve had to breathe and am still forced to breathe even now!

I feel his hand making soft circles on my back and up
and down my arm. I exhale deeply, but inhale slightly; I’ve learned to do that
when necessary. I haven’t taken a deep breath since that day, the day my new
life began, and for the most part, it isn’t that difficult. I breathe enough to
stay alive, a task I would be more than willing to stop if I was convinced my
body wouldn’t betray me by taking a deep breath.

There are things about this moment that seem to be
temporarily softening the edges of the shards of pain lodged deep inside, like
the feel of being in his arms, the smell of his cologne, the hushed words of
reassurances, and the vibrations I feel in his chest from those spoken words. I
miss this feeling. I miss this connection with someone.

The room is silent now. I know I should move, but I
seem to be frozen in place, frozen to his chest, conforming to his body. This
is wrong. This feeling beginning to burn in my belly is especially wrong. I
can’t do this. I can’t do this to him; bring him into my world, a world I would
give anything to claw my way out of, and what about Rachel? Oh my God, Rachel,
but the burning; I can’t stop the burning, not that I want to exactly.

The burning in my belly is starting to catch up with
the rest of my body. I feel it tingling inside, heating my veins, pushing up on
my now sensitive skin from the inside. I feel clammy, my lips inexplicably part,
gasping a defiant breath, my knees begin mimicking my heart, trembling down to
my toes. Beginning to shake terribly all over from the sensory overload, I
bring my hand flat to his chest, leaving it there unmoving, feeling his racing
heart as much as I’m feeling mine.