Stevan Mena - Transience

He checked behind the door and moved through the living room, past Rebecca’s artwork still laid out on the table. He stepped over the broken bowl of melted ice cream and entered the kitchen. It was tossed — broken glass, chairs and table upended. There was blood on the floor, the phone ripped from the wall, smashed into pieces.

His expression grew desperate, intense. He glanced at a picture of Laura and Rebecca up on the refrigerator, afraid his victory would be counterbalanced by failure and misery. Once again, his job had taken precedence over protecting those he loved.

Yes, he loved them. And for a moment he regretted ever taking that file from Leonard, involving Laura and Rebecca in his investigation. He’d led the killer right to their door.

Angelina was saved, thanks to Rebecca. There was zero doubt about that now. But at what price? What sacrifice? Jack felt the oppressive force of evil working its malevolence on his small section of the universe. What horror lied in wait? Please, not them , please don’t save one and sacrifice the other.

The thoughts caused Jack to stagger, he had to brace himself along the wall. He made a fist and threw a shadow punch at it in slow motion, wanting so much to hit it hard — holding back, grinding his teeth in bitterness. He made a promise to himself, right then and there, that before he shuffled off this confusing mortal coil, he’d spend the remainder of his days making peace with Robert. He would leave the past behind, empty himself of all the anger and pain, like a wounded airplane dumps fuel when it knows it’s going down.

He inhaled after a long silence, his lungs wheezed. Then he heard a soft moan, a woman’s voice. His entire being perked up. Laura? He stepped silently around the corner, the kitchen emptied into a laundry area.

He found Laura on her side, her limbs still bound tightly. Jack knelt down and peeled the blood soaked hair from her eyes, making sure she saw him, his look warning her to stay quiet and remain calm.

Her eyes opened wide upon recognizing him. He made a shush gesture with his finger, waiting until she nodded in understanding. She did, and he removed the gag.

“Where?” Jack whispered.

“Upstairs.”

Jack nodded. He felt around the wire bindings that held her wrists together. He found the notch that looped around but couldn’t get it to twist loose. He motioned to Laura that he was going to lean her forward. She complied, and he went to work, prying her bindings apart with the adrenaline of three men, nearly cutting through his own fingers in the process.

Laura wriggled and pulled her hands free.

“Can you move?”

Laura said nothing — she shot to her feet, pushing past him, pure maternal instinct. Jack chased her down and gripped her mid torso just as she reached the bottom of the staircase. He held her firmly in place. He looked into her eyes again, focusing her.

“Let me.”

“He’s going to kill her—”

“I won’t let that happen. Is he armed?”

“My kitchen knife.” Laura’s eyes crossed, the pain in her head making her woozy. Jack touched her cheek.

“Okay, I need you to stay here. Police are on their way right now, just get safe, let me handle this.”

Laura again tried to claw her way past him, but he held her back. “Laura, please. Do as I say.”

Laura stopped fighting him. Jack held her a second longer. You’re alive ! He wanted to kiss her right there. Never again would he bottle up every emotion. He was going to let it all out from now on, consequences be damned. He was going to live.

Just before he could kiss her, she kissed him, right on the lips, no pretense. It was quick, it was emotional, and it empowered him with courage and strength. He felt invincible. He didn’t have to say the words. She knew.

Jack headed up the staircase, gun barrel pointed up in the air. He didn’t want to be startled and shoot out of reflex and risk hitting Rebecca.

He reached the top and craned his neck to peer around the corner, checking the upstairs hallway. Empty.

His adrenaline-fueled, nervous mind observed every detail of the hallway. The red thick-threaded carpet, the light fixture in the ceiling, the alignment of the three doors, the window at the end, the rain outside still hammering away relentlessly, the musty aroma of old wood, the pronounced smell of Rebecca’s paint supplies — every one of his senses on high alert. He took a few steps before he heard the sweetest sound in the world.

Rebecca’s whimpering . She’s alive.

He maneuvered himself next to Rebecca’s door, which was open just a sliver. He was able to peer inside, but couldn’t determine their whereabouts. He listened, careful to silence his own breathing. Michael was speaking, but Jack couldn’t make out what he was saying. He prepared himself, took a breath, and opened the door.

Michael sat on the bed, Rebecca on his lap, as if reading her a bedtime story. Jack looked closely and spotted the blade just below Rebecca’s chin, resting on her pulsing artery. One false move and he could slit her throat faster than Jack could even pull the trigger.

Rebecca seemed dazed, she looked up at Jack as if paralyzed, her face red. He noticed smears of blood on her cheek and around her mouth, which seemed swollen. He’d struck her!

Michael’s eyes found Jack in the doorway. He grinned. Jack took him in head to toe. He was a good looking man. Of course he is. How easily he could have lured these young girls to their doom unwittingly . Only by slicing open his handsome head and examining his brain could you have spotted the defects in workmanship. A perfect front.

“You’re right,” Michael said, “there he is. How did you know he’d come? You’re just full of surprises.”

“Let her go,” Jack’s voice was calm, controlled. Michael responded by tightening the blade under her chin threateningly.

“I don’t like guns.” Michael pressed the blade even more, drawing a small amount of blood. He pumped his eyebrows, impatiently eyeing Jack’s gun. “Now.”

“Don’t be afraid, Rebecca,” Jack said with certainty. He complied and tossed his gun across the floor. Rebecca stared back, immobile, helpless.

Michael leaned around to get a look at Rebecca’s face. “We’re old friends, Rebecca and I, she told me.” Michael stood up as he spoke, keeping Rebecca in front of him. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca? Or whoever you think you are…” Michael circled the blade by his ear, implying to Jack that she must be crazy. He lodged the blade back under her chin and tightened his grip on her hair.

“Don’t do this,” Jack pleaded.

“Why not? You already caught the killer.” He was holding the sharp edge of the knife very tight, Rebecca had to go up onto her toes to relieve some of the pressure of the blade.

“Jack…” Rebecca said in a sad whisper, as if it was already too late, resigned to her fate. Jack stared into her teary eyes, keeping her focused on him.

“Rebecca, look at me, keep your eyes on me.”

Rebecca began to squirm, making it hard for Michael to keep his grip.

“Don’t,” Michael warned.

“Let her go, Michael.”

“She said you’d come. You knew I’d be here today. This was inevitable.”

Jack knew Michael’s next move was to slit her throat, then shoot him dead. He had to think fast. He spotted Laura in his peripheral vision at the top of the stairs.

“Stay there Laura!” Jack shouted. Jack took a step into the room towards Michael.

“Back!” Michael shouted.

Jack held up his empty hands. “It’s over, just let the girl go.” Michael’s face became an odd rotation of emotions, disturbing and twisted.