Captured Again Page 2

  She had him there. That was a total slip-up. He hadn’t meant to address her so familiarly. He ignored her question. Freedom and loss... must’ve been a breakup—or a job? he thought.

  “Freedom from what? Did you break up with your boyfriend?” Officer Rowan held his breath, hoping she would say yes. A girl like this would definitely have a boyfriend.

  “No,” she snapped and began tapping her fingers on the rough, scratched vinyl of the door panel.

  “Oh, so you’re still together? Will he be bailing you out?”

  “No and no.”

  Officer Rowan paused to let that sink in. She’d already said she didn’t break up with her boyfriend, and now no and no to still together, and he’s not bailing her out... Ah, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Maybe I should set my sights on detective, he thought and smiled at his own inside joke.

  “Okay, so did you leave your job?”

  Emma sighed. “No.”

  Damn, Dusty thought, I skipped right over husband. She seems too young to have been married and divorced, but that has to be it... Just my luck.

  “Oh, I’m following you now. You’re celebrating your divorce. Sorry, I’m a little slow tonight,” he said while sneaking another peek at her in his rearview mirror, smiling back at her smugly for finally figuring it out.

  “No! I’m not divorced!” Emma huffed out a breath. “Look, it’s personal. Can we just keep this business? How long before I can leave the station after we get there? I’m hoping my sister will be there to pick me up. I’ve got class first thing in the morning.”

  “Yeah, me too...” he mumbled under his breath.

  Officer Rowan had run her license and tags, but no red flags came up. She couldn’t have just been freed from custody or he would have been alerted by his computer. He’d covered husband, job, and boyfriend. He wondered what was left. Whatever she’d been celebrating—or grieving—she was holding it close to her. He again chose to not answer Emma’s last question. He didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news, and they were pulling into the station now. Someone else could fill her in during processing. He’d had enough of being the bad guy, even if he was just doing his job.

  CHAPTER 3

  Gabby startled awake in the dark. She sat up quietly, listening, trying to find what had awoken her. She looked at the window, surprised to see it was dark outside. She must have slept the entire day through. Guilt pinched her conscience. She knew her boss was getting close to the end of his patience. Dammit, I hope I don’t lose my freakin’ job, she thought.

  That morning she’d gotten up with all intention of going to work. But she’d made the mistake of glancing out the window and seeing her swing dangling in the early morning mist. She’d walked out to sit for just a minute—she had told herself—but minutes had turned into an hour as her mind convinced her she should just call out of work one more day. She was late anyway, and she could just go back to bed and sleep... and dream of Jake.

  A breeze had tickled her toes. She had still been in her pajamas. She hadn’t found the energy to dress for work yet. So she had sat and swayed, not swinging... feeling bared—stripped of all the goodness in her life. She’d shivered uncomfortably. But this was the place she felt closest to Jake. He’d hung the swing the same day they’d moved into their new house, seven years before. It was his special gift to her.

  As she’d sat on her swing that morning, she’d gotten lost in remembering the day Jake hung it, her giggling as he grew tired and sweaty trying to throw the bundle of rope over the lowest limb of their oak tree—which was quite high—and missing over and over again as she’d yelled out, “I’ve seen better throwing in T-ball! You got about as much control as two rabbits on their first date! You couldn’t throw a party! Come on!”

  She’d cracked Jake up with her pitcher repartee, and he’d stopped throwing the rope and started chasing her with it instead. They’d wrestled and he’d tickled her relentlessly until she had finally promised no more heckling. He looped it over on the next throw. When the rope finally made it over the branch and fell back to the ground, she had run to him, thrown her arms around his neck, and kissed his sweaty, grinning face. She’d been so happy she’d have her swing.

  That was a fun and special day. One of many she’d had with Jake.

  Gone now.

  He’d been gone six weeks. She couldn’t remember the first two weeks at all. It was a blur, a dark spot in her memory. She couldn’t... or wouldn’t go there. All she could say for sure was during that two weeks, she scarcely remembered crawling out of the unquestioning sanctuary of her bed. She didn’t leave the house. She’d watched the empty swing from their bedroom window and thought how lucky she had been; her time with Jake had been a gift. He’d saved her—twice—the first time when she’d had nowhere to go after giving up her baby at age seventeen, an event that had left her alone and homeless. But he’d scooped her up, married her, and helped her build a life, a good life, together.

  Jake saved her again when the family cycle of abuse finally caught up to her and shattered her life—cracking it into fragments. She had tried to hold the pieces together alone, not wanting to hurt Jake, but she wasn’t strong enough. She was the victim of a sociopath, forced to endure sexual abuse in fear of her marriage and her freedom. It was a puzzle she couldn’t put back together again, so she tried to escape it. Escape life. He’d saved her, not just by rushing her to the hospital, where she’d nearly died, but by standing beside her after finding out why she had wanted to die.

  He had stayed with her for five years after that nearly fatal night.

  Gabby had thought once Jake knew she’d been with another man—repeatedly—he wouldn’t want her, regardless of the circumstance. But he had. He had believed the truth and not only stayed in the marriage, but helped her recover.

  She’d wake up nearly every night, for years. Screaming from nightmares of being held captive in a wooden box. She’d awoken countless times swatting and swearing there were spiders in the bed, and too many times to count she’d been so adamant that René was in the room—yelling that she wasn’t asleep; he was there—that she’d convinced Jake, too. He’d jump up and grab his ball bat, searching under the bed, in the closet, the bathroom, before he finally realized Gabby was having a night terror again—eyes wide open but asleep.

  He’d held her. Rocked her back to a peaceful sleep. Never losing his temper, even after so many sleepless nights. And he’d given her space to heal, mentally and physically, supporting her through it all. So patient, never letting her go.

  How could she let him go?

  Gabby hadn’t been able to go to work. She’d dropped down from the swing and slowly walked up the steps leading into the house. She’d made her call to her disappointed boss and crawled back into bed, covering her head to block out the sun shining through her window, and slept through yet another day.

  She shook off her replay of yet another wasted day and looked at the clock. Damn, chick. You did sleep through another day, she thought. It was the middle of the night. I’m definitely dragging your lazy ass to work tomorrow, so get some more shuteye. She dropped her head onto her pillow, forgetting about the noise that had woken her up, and fell instantly back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  Olivia stood silently, chin quivering and hands on hips, in the doorway. She hated seeing Gabby like this. She quietly watched her twin sleep for a moment, standing unnoticed until she could get a handle on her own emotions. Although she too was dealing with her own share of angst, and now trouble with Emma, she had to rein it in for now. This reminded her of the old days, when she had to carry her own burdens alone in silence. But for now, she knew it was best to keep her feelings to herself until Gabby had come to grips. She wanted her back... the old spunky version of Gabby, not this lifeless shadow of her sister that was now curled up in the bed.

  She’d come straight over to check on Gabby after leaving the detention center where she was told she couldn’t post Emma’s bail until morning.
This after an already long day in court, after which she’d tried again to call and check on Gabby with no answer before finally collapsing in bed, looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Now that Emma had dragged her up, she may as well kill two birds with one stone. Gabby hadn’t answered or returned any texts or calls the entire day, and since she was already up and worried about Emma, there was no use trying to sleep again until she’d at least seen Gabby was okay, which apparently she wasn’t.

  In their family, missed and unreturned calls or texts were a sure sign that someone was hiding from the world—depressed. But for Gabby, it was worse than their average bouts of depression. Gabby had suffered a full-blown episode of PTSD when she’d awoken at the hospital after the accident. The doctor said the post-traumatic stress disorder could either disappear or reappear at will. So far it had yet to disappear again, since the accident. Maybe today was the day. She had to get through to Gabby and pull her up and out of this.

  She announced her presence loudly.

  “Gabby... wake up. Emma’s in jail!”

  Gabby bolted up in the bed, screeching in surprise as her tired blue eyes frantically searched the room for the sudden intrusion. When she saw it was just Olivia, she threw her pillow across the room at her sister. “Dammit, Olivia. You scared the hell out of me. Quit sneaking into my house!”

  Olivia threw the pillow back at her, just as hard. “I knocked and stood there five minutes. I wouldn’t have to use my key and sneak if you’d answer your damn door—or your phone! I knew I’d find you in bed. Get up. Get a shower. Right now, while I’m here.”

  Olivia pulled her long, dark hair back and over to one side and sat down on the edge of Gabby’s bed, stiffly facing her to check for signs she was sick.

  “What? Olivia, it’s almost two in the morning. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow? I do have to work, ya know? What are you doing here so late?” Gabby asked in her normal, although sleepy, voice.

  Doesn’t sound like she’s got a cold, Olivia thought.

  “I said Emma’s in jail,” Olivia answered brusquely. “She’s been drinking and got arrested. And I’ll bet you stayed in bed all weekend and all day today. I tried to call you at work. They said you were sick—again.”

  She looked closer at Gabby, seeing more than one night’s worth of tangles and knots in her unwashed hair... and while she didn’t smell bad—or sick—she didn’t smell good either. It was late; maybe she should let Gabby sleep and just check in the morning to be sure she made it to work. She looked around at Gabby’s usually spotless room, noticing piles of clothes on the floor, a mound of unopened mail on the desk, and shoes haphazardly sprinkled about.

  This is so unlike Gabby, she thought. She’s getting worse—not better. If I leave, nothing is going to change. It’ll be the same thing tomorrow, and she may not make it to work again. Olivia had already spoken with Gabby’s boss weeks ago, and while he’d been very understanding so far about her situation, Gabby couldn’t afford to miss any more work.

  Olivia crossed her arms and cleared her throat. “I’m not moving from this bed, Gabby. You may as well get up and get in the shower. We’ve got to go bail Emma out in a few hours anyway, and I need your help. You need to get up and talk to me... I want you to try harder. If I leave, you’ll go back to sleep, stay in this bed, and probably call in to work again tomorrow.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Olivia. I’m trying here... I’m really trying. I’m living my life, going to work every day—well, almost every day,” she said, breaking eye contact and looking down. “I’m eating again. What more do you want me to do?” Gabby stared at Olivia with a pinched expression while tugging at her T-shirt, straightening the too-big neck to sit right across her too-thin frame. Jake’s shirts were much too big for her.

  Olivia threw up her hands. She had so many things she wanted to say, things Gabby should be doing... people she should be seeing, but per doctor’s orders, Olivia was not allowed to say those things or push her. Gabby was still fragile since the accident. She and Emma had to be careful what they said and how they said it. She couldn’t just outright ask her anything related to after the accident. The doctor said it was best for Gabby if she came to grips with it on her own—in her own time.

  “Well, since you haven’t asked, I’ll just tell you... Emma was drinking tonight and got picked up for driving. There are other people in this family, besides you, dealing with issues, but we’re still living... You’re not living, Gabby. You barely exist. You’re functioning like a robot. You work, then come home and eat and go straight to bed. Why can’t you leave the house for something other than work? Find something you’re interested in doing, or... maybe go visit someone.”

  Gabby stared at her like she’d grown a third eye. Okay, definitely still in a full-blown attack. Enough poking and prodding, Olivia thought. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. She looked around for something to do with her hands, settling on picking at the tiny balls of matted fabric dotted on Gabby’s worn-in blanket, pulling them off with one hand and dropping them into her other hand.

  “Alrighty then. How about let’s just start with one day at a time. Tomorrow, after work, let’s go to a movie. Just the two of us,” Olivia suggested.

  “Olivia, please! I don’t want to go to a movie. And I don’t have time for your definition of living right now. My job keeps me busy enough.”

  “Gabby, just listen to you. You’re hiding behind that job. Just try a little harder, okay? Open your mind to possibilities. I know there’s something we could do together, just to get you out of this house and back in the world again—back to reality.”

  “Yeah? Well, you go do them, then. I’m staying here until I can sort myself out.” Gabby looked into Olivia’s eyes, imploring her to just leave. She slumped back down into her pillow, half burying her face. “I... I... don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t seem to focus on any one thought, Olivia. As soon as I grab onto something, it rolls away from me and I can’t find it again... I feel like my mind is nothing but dusty corners,” she answered, her voice snagging as she forced back unexpected emotion. “I’m just broken, Olivia.” She sucked in a huge breath, fighting back tears.

  This is as far as it’s ever gone. She needs to cry, Olivia thought. Maybe that would help.

  “You’re not broken, Gabby. You’re just still hurting. You need more time. You can’t give up yet,” Olivia said, starting to feel like she was finally making some progress in getting Gabby to talk—maybe about the accident or maybe about the six months she’d been terrorized by the insidious René, both subjects the doctor felt were the cause of her PTSD.

  Gabby had never opened up about either of those things, at least as far as Olivia knew. Other than sharing a few times in their survivor support group, which Gabby had stopped attending after the accident, she had never filled in the gaps of what all had happened with René—or what happened the night of the accident.

  “You know I’m here for you. When you’re ready, I’ll listen,” Olivia said.

  Gabby rolled over in the bed, her thick hair lying in tangled clumps across the pillow, and buried her face. Olivia knew her well enough to know if she was rolling over—not cussing and threatening—then she must be going to either shut down again or let it out. She just needed a tiny push. Better out than in...

  Olivia fidgeted, scooting over to get closer to Gabby, trying to see if she was crying. She softened her voice to a whisper. “Gabby, do you still feel responsible for that accident—responsible for Jake?”

  Gabby’s shoulders started to shake. She was crying. Olivia looked at her watch, then kicked off her shoes and climbed in, wrapping her lean body against the back of Gabby’s. They still fit perfectly together—two perfectly matched bookends.

  Olivia put her arm around Gabby and squeezed her, burying her breath in Gabby’s hair. She wanted Gabby to feel how close she was, to know she’d never let her go. She would just have to hold her so tight that all of her broken piec
es would stick together until Gabby made it through this. No matter how mad Gabby got, or how hard she tried to push her away in her pain, they were in this together, and unlike the last time they went through hell and back, where they had both hid the horrible truth from each other and drifted apart, they would go through this together, as many times as it took to finally get Gabby to the other side.

  CHAPTER 5

  EMMA sat on one side of the cell, on the bare concrete floor with her dress stretched to pull over her legs—little did that cover—and her arms wrapped around her knees. Trying to keep her eyes averted from her three cellmates, who glared at her from the cold metal bunks, she willed herself to stop shivering. She didn’t want them to think she was afraid. She wasn’t. She was just very anxious... and cold. She guiltily wondered if Rickey knew where she was yet. How am I gonna explain this to him?

  Emma matched their glares. She wanted to let them know she wasn’t intimidated. She tried to act cool, as if this wasn’t her first time in a jail cell. None of the three spoke to her, and there was at least that to be thankful for. One looked like a tired hooker—at least she dresses like one anyway—and seemed happy to just have an empty bed for the night.

  The other two looked like junkies, and they were on one bunk together, sitting Indian-style with their backs to the wall. It was obvious who the leader was and who was the follower just by looking at them. While they were both small, one looked weak and used up, her arms covered with sores and her hair thin and brittle. The other woman had a tough and gritty look to her—scary even—and if she had sores on her arms, they couldn’t be seen for all the ink. She was covered in tattoos.

  The stink was overwhelming. Emma tried to breathe through her mouth while her brain couldn’t help but work to dissect the smells around her: sweat, alcohol, vomit, and worse... human urine and feces. There was no way to get away from it. On her walk to her assigned cell, she’d peeked into several others and noticed everyone was on the bunks—thus, she chose the floor, even though two bunks remained empty and were probably warmer just based on gravity—warmer air goes up.