Misplaced Innocence (20 page)

She was out again, but she wasn’t sure for how long. This time when she awoke it was for real. A sense of dread filled her. Her stomach had coiled into a tight knot and her head ached with the kind of throb she’d never had the misfortune of feeling. It was too dark to focus on anything, but the bumping, the noise…it sounded like a car. She rolled onto her back, inching her way around, trying to figure out how much space she had. She tried to find taillights; maybe she could kick them out. She tried to find wires to pull, but there was no such luck. She was certainly in some sort of vehicle, but she was sequestered away from anything she might be able to get a hold of. No trunk release. Nothing.

A cry of frustration welled up inside of her. But even that was an exercise in futility. The sodden gag prevented everything but the smallest of sickly moans to escape. She flailed around a few minutes longer, cracking her head on something solid and feeling the overwhelming urge to wretch up whatever was left in her stomach. It was everything she had always hoped it wouldn’t be and thought it might come to. This had been what she was trying to avoid when she had driven the hell out of New Jersey and to a place she was certain little else existed except a never-ending peace. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes. Charisma let herself fall apart for just a moment. Then she took a deep breath, counted to twenty, and tried to get a grip.

There was no guarantee about how much time she had. She had no idea where they were heading or when they would stop. She needed a plan. She needed to be prepared.
 

They continued on down the road, every new bump a wicked jar for her poor body. She tried to feel the direction, willed herself to come up with a way out of her restraints, out of the metal box, somewhere else.

Somewhere else more pleasant. Somewhere like Jared’s bed. She felt the tears coming again and swallowed hard, trying to force them back. She absolutely refused to let this get the best of her. She’d been through too much to just lay down and die.

Time passed. She couldn’t keep track of the hours or miles. The dull sound of the road became a reassuring constant that threatened to lull her to sleep. She resisted the impulse. Everything hinged on her being aware, being ready. She was awake when they stopped. Maybe there would be a moment. A glimpse. Anything that could help her out of this mess. She wanted to know she’d done everything humanly possible when all was said and done, and somehow she doubted that would be possible if she were sleeping. The tires crunched on gravel, spraying rocks that splattered the underside of her jail cell, and the movement came to a sudden and unnerving end. She could hear the opening and closing of metal doors, the muffled voices of men. Her stomach clenched. Not that she had expected it to be anything but men. She waited for the sound of the back to swing open. To see the glare of outside lights and the outline of men.

But they never came. Their voices faded to nothing more than an echo in her memory and she was alone in the still van.
 

~*~

Jared woke early. Bright light streamed in through his windows. Once he got past the actual waking up, this was his favorite part of the day. He loved the color of the light, warm and fresh, a brand new glow to bask the day in. He threw his arms up over his head and had a long stretch. His night had been long. Definitely not restful. The epitome of not restful. He was sleeping in the same bed Charisma had graced just days before thinking of all the things they should have done and could still do and yet, somehow, he was still alone in his room, greeting the coveted early morning light solo.

The house was quiet, but it was always quiet in the mornings. He yawned as he flipped the sheet away from his body and swung out of bed. Maybe a cold shower would help him transition away from Charisma and into the cold brutality of the day. Certainly, this day would be more difficult than some.

Once he’d brushed his teeth he felt almost like a living human being again. The shower was running, and he peeled off his boxers and stepped into the cool spray. Not that cold showers were at the top of his list for the most enjoyable event ever, but sometimes, they were just a hard fact of life. Cold shower. Regroup. Move on with life.
 

If only things were that simple. A shiver snaked its way down his body. The shower would be quick. Even he couldn’t stand extended torture.
 

He wrapped a towel around his waist and drip dried while shaving. The razor moved quickly over his face, the scrape of blade on stubble. A splash of water and a little bit of aftershave and he was ready for the day. He pulled on his old blue jeans and a faded blue t-shirt. His hair was still damp when he padded out into the hallway and into the rest of the house.
 

It was still quiet. Jared frowned. Maybe Charisma hadn’t been sleeping well either. She was usually up with the sun, camped out in front of a window and using the sunlight to its fullest advantage. When he was lucky he would catch her in the middle of her work, her head tipped to one side and her mouth pursed into the sweetest shape of concentration he had seen. Her hand was steady and moved in sweeping gestures, then small articulate ones. He was fascinated by it. She never seemed to second guess the directions, the shape. Everything happened at once, as if the entire thing were already mapped out in detail in her brain.
 

She wasn’t in her usual spot in the living room. The house was still dark, save the light from the windows, and achingly quiet. He couldn’t even hear the familiar jingle of Scruffy’s tags.

He started a pot of coffee and then moved back down the hall toward Charisma’s room. Just to check in on her, he told himself. There was nothing else to it. Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t feverish.
 

He had almost convinced himself that it wasn’t because he hadn’t seen her heart shaped face in eight hours and that he was just worried she had become deathly ill when he reached her door. He raised his hand to knock, and then decided against it. If she really weren’t feeling well, he didn’t want to disturb her sleep. He let his hand fall to the doorknob, twisted it gently pushed the door open.

He expected to be greeted by Scruffy’s wet nose, the wag of her tail. At the very least, the sound of her heavy snores and the shape of Charisma loosely disguised beneath a sheet.

But the room was as empty and quiet as the rest of the house. The bed was made, it looked untouched. Jared frowned again. He couldn’t imagine her leaving the house. Not after yesterday. She’d been bent for hours. He swung the door wide, but there was no sign of her. The closet doors were closed, the bureau was stoic. It looked like he could have imagined Charisma entirely. The past few weeks had been nothing but a figment of his creation.
 

He moved out of the bedroom and back toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee was already permeating the air, bringing with it a growl in his stomach. He was pulling a coffee mug out of the cupboard when the piece of paper caught his eye. It was perched on the edge of the table. He took a step closer and scooped it up. Her handwriting was just as intentional as her artwork. No hesitations. Just a sweeping script that explained she had to leave because she couldn’t stay. That she had already been there too long and it was too dangerous for her not to go.
 

He could see the faintest quiver in the thin paper, and realized the tremble was coming from his own hand. He had known this was coming, that she would try and convince them both that she needed to leave. He’d been structuring all his arguments and imagining all the ones he knew she would present him with. But in all his considerations, she had at least given him the courtesy of a face to face conversation where he could have a say. Beneath the tremble and little anger settled in the pit of his stomach. Anger and disbelief.

The paper crumpled in his hand. She had to be exaggerating this whole thing. Maybe it was just a coincidence. There was no reason to jump to conclusions about what might have happened. And now she had run off, rashly, without thinking or considering any alternatives. Alternatives he could have helped her with! She was going to stop by her house and pick up some things. Then she would be gone. She left her thanks. She even wished things had been different. And then there was her signature at the bottom, the embodiment of all the things she was.

He sighed and put the coffee mug down on the counter. If he was lucky maybe he could catch her at her place and change her mind. If he couldn’t, maybe he could at least convince her that she needed some company. He just knew he had to try.

~*~

The drive to Charisma’s was uneventful. When he pulled into her drive he could see her truck still parked out front. He wasn’t too late after all. He didn’t even know where she was planning on going driving that thing. It wasn’t going to make it very far.
 

Scruffy bounced up when he pulled into the space next to the truck, pressing her face against the passenger side window, leaving nose smear marks Jackson Pollack would have been proud of.
 
She must have been just ahead of him. She wouldn’t leave Scruffy in the car long, not with the day already growing warm despite the early hour.

He was reciting the list of all the reasons Charisma should stay when he tried to front door. It didn’t surprise him that it was locked. He knocked hard on the door. No answer. “Charisma, it’s me. I got your note.” He shouted for good measure. Who knew where that woman was. He wasn’t about to be attacked with a pot again. You could say what you wanted about him, but he learned relatively quickly. “We should talk about this–”

He frowned. He hadn’t even started his day yet, and he’d done nothing but frown. He shook his head and made his way around the house. The stupid blankets she had felt compelled to hang from every window hindered his plan to locate her through the glass. He supposed that had been her objective. He was thinking about breaking in when he rounded the final corner of her house. Her bedroom, he knew. Suddenly, he stumbled over the window screen, banging awkwardly into the side of the house.
 

The window was open. Wide open. His frown deepened. This was definitely not right. He pushed the curtain away to get a good look inside. The room was empty. Quiet. In an embarrassingly ungainly move that left him wishing he were 25, he swung up and over and into the bedroom, trying to make the smallest thump possible.
 

He wanted to call out for Charisma. But now he wasn’t sure she was here alone. He tried to think of all the reasons the window to her bedroom would be wide open, the screen abandoned on the ground below. He couldn’t come up with a single good one. Not one that made him think calling out for her would be a wise idea.

He hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the room before he realized that there was more wrong with her house than just an open window. Her closet was open, clothing on the floor. He moved out into the hallway, snagging a heavy pot from the bedside table. He had a sneaking suspicion pots and pans were distributed evenly throughout the house. They had turned out to be a more than adequate weapon. Everything was too quiet. The bathroom door was open, the light off, the shower curtain in a puddle in the bathtub. The kitchen loomed before him. He almost didn’t want to see what it held.
 

The cupboards were open. Boxes of spaghetti and cereal were tossed on the floor. The living room was the worst. It had been totally ransacked. The sofa was crooked, stuffing spilled out from the ineffective mattress. Books littered the floor. The coffee table was tipped over. Even one poor potted plant hadn’t made it through unscathed.
 

He swept through the house again. Panic making his step faster. This time, once he’d been through each room the first time he called for her, flinging open doors, and stepping over the stuffed animals in the office that had been thrown to the floor.
 

A deep worry etched its way into him. She wasn’t in the house. She wasn’t in the house and she didn’t know where she could be. He unlocked the deadbolts and pulled open the front door. He closed it behind him, not bothering with the locks. It was pretty clear that ship had already sailed.

Scruffy was watching him expectantly. Her tail was moving and her tongue was lolling out of her mouth. A new sinking feeling came over Jared. He had no idea how long ago Charisma had come here. He knew she wouldn’t leave Scruffy in the car. Not for more than a minute or two. Certainly not in the rising heat of the morning. Who knew how long she had sat in the car waiting. Charisma could be on the property, she could be long gone. Frustration swept over him. He made his way to the driver’s side door.

He was wondering if the door was locked when he stepped on the photo album. He bent down to pick it up and caught the glint of car keys in the sun. This is where it had happened. He picked up the keys. Fuck the crime scene. You couldn’t leave a dog in a car indefinitely. He picked up the photo album too, because it was hers and because it had meant enough to her for her to come back here. To risk this happening.

He went around to the other side of the car. At least he could try to preserve some foot prints. Of course, it had been nothing but dry for weeks and the likelihood of a footprint was somewhere close to nonexistent.

He pulled open the passenger door and Scruffy leapt out. He ushered her into his car and pulled out the cell phone from his console. First he dialed the police. Then he dialed Bill. Then, with skepticism and a sense of failure he dialed Charisma’s, but was greeted with only her sweet voice saying she couldn’t reach the phone just then.
 

After waiting for what seemed an eternity, Charisma heard the click of a latch and the backdoor of the van swung open. She blinked as light blinded her and turned her head to avoid the overly bright, artificial beam that was being shined directly in her eyes. She felt the thick hand of a man grab her roughly by the face and she squirmed as he tried to tie a black length of fabric across her eyes.