Carol Clark - Hitched

Jack ran ahead in hot pursuit of Tyler while Regan raced after Shauna.

She’s a fast runner, Regan thought. I wish I didn’t have these boots on. But Shauna had the heavy bag. There must be some goodies in there, Regan mused, pushing her body as hard as she could.

People out for a Sunday morning in the park were astonished to see the wild chase of Shauna and Tyler happening right before their eyes. Many scurried away in fear, others took out their cameras.

With a burst of speed, Regan ran across the road full of bicyclists and joggers, caught up with Shauna, threw her arms around her from behind, and they both stumbled to the ground. Regan firmly placed her knee on Shauna’s back. Panting, she grabbed the bag that had fallen to the ground and unzipped it.

It was filled with magnificent sparkling jewelry.

“Were you going to sell this on the street in Santa Fe?” Regan asked sarcastically.

Shauna didn’t answer.

“Regan!” Jack called. He was approaching fast with two police officers. “We’ve got the groom. Now we have a pair of bracelets for the bride.”

“Allow me,” Regan said, as she took the handcuffs from Jack and snapped them on Shauna’s tiny wrists.

When Joyce started to regain consciousness, it didn’t take long for her to realize she was not at home sweet home. It wasn’t a bad dream-she was in the same dingy, creepy room she’d found herself in the night before. And she felt as if she’d been asleep for a very long time.

The old lady was sitting in a chair, her head nodding, her hands folded. She was wearing a pair of old black pants covered with animal hair, sneakers, and a brown ratty cardigan. Dogs were stretched out everywhere.

Joyce had a tremendous headache and she was thirsty. She tried to sit up, but the pain across her forehead got worse. I feel so weak, she thought, as she lay back down. One of the dogs lying at her feet woofed halfheartedly then put his head back down.

The old lady’s eyes flew open. She hoisted herself out of the chair and moved toward Joyce.

Joyce felt herself shrink back.

“Good morning,” the woman rasped. “I’m so glad you’re awake! But you had a good night’s rest. That’s so important. Now we can talk. My name is Hattie.”

“I’m Joyce.”

“I’m going to take good care of you. You got some lump there on your forehead. It’s what they call an egg!” Hattie started to cackle, waving her hands with glee. “My dogs, Porgy, Ginger, Pang, and Thor, have been worried about you. You were out cold last night. They all wanted to lick your face when you fell down the steps. Now how about breakfast?”

“My head hurts. I’d better get home.”

Hattie’s face turned dark. “Absolutely not! You have to let me nurse you back to health! My best friend just died. I should have helped her get better. I should have! Now I have to help you.”

“But I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not!” Hattie insisted. “You just said your head hurt.”

Joyce decided to try and placate her. “I’m kind of thirsty,” she said. “Could I please have a glass of water?”

“The water’s kind of rusty. It needs to be boiled. Problem with these old pipes. Why don’t I make you a nice cup of tea?”

“Okay.”

Joyce tried to sit up again, but the effort was too much. “Is my purse around here?”

“Huh?”

“My purse.”

“I didn’t see no purse.”

“It has my cell phone in it.”

“I haven’t heard anything ringing.”

“Could I use your phone?”

“I don’t have a phone. When you got nobody to call, you don’t need a phone.”

“You say that I fell right outside. Would you mind looking to see if my purse is on the ground? It’s black and has a shoulder strap.”

Hattie shrugged. She went over to the front door, which faced the steps that ran up the side of the building to street level, and opened it. A couple of leaves had blown down and landed outside the door, but that was it. Hattie quickly ascended a couple of the steps, turned her head, and peered out. Everything was calm and quiet. Just as quickly she went back inside. She shut the door and locked it. “Nope. No purse. Somebody probably stole it.”

This is crazy, Joyce thought. I’ve got to get out of here. I believe her story. She didn’t kidnap me. I drank too much and got myself into this mess. She’s nothing but a good Samaritan who’s a little nuts. At least I hope that’s all she is. But I’ve got to go home.

Hattie turned on the kettle. A few minutes later she brought Joyce a steaming cup of hot herbal tea. “This will make you feel better,” she said. Her weathered face wore an intense expression. She grabbed a pillow and shoved it down behind Joyce’s head.

Joyce sat up and slowly took a sip of the hot brew. If I weren’t so thirsty, she thought, I’d never drink this. Some of these herbal teas taste awful. As she sipped, she wondered if anyone was looking for her. Francis was who knows where, her mother was on a cruise, but at least Cindy must be worried. I’ve got to let her know I’m okay. All of a sudden a dog started barking ferociously. But it wasn’t one of the four dogs in the room.

“Shut up!” Hattie yelled. “My friend’s dog is in the bedroom. I don’t know what to do with him. He’s big and a little mean. He doesn’t get along with the other dogs.”

“Is he throwing himself against the door?” Joyce asked as a loud thumping noise shook the apartment.

“Yup,” Hattie said. “He hasn’t been feeling good. I think he’s sad that his master died. I’m sad, too. But I don’t know what to do! And he won’t eat his food.”

When Joyce’s eyes started to droop again, she realized she’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t be so tired, she thought. This nutcase must have laced the tea with drugs. Luckily, I didn’t drink too much of it. She put the cup down and fell back asleep.

Tom Belfiore lived on the west side of lower Manhattan in Battery Park City. On weekend mornings he loved to take his Irish setter out for a bout of fresh air and exercise. Sometimes he and Greeny went all the way up to Central Park and joined other New Yorkers, with or without dogs, who enjoyed running around the reservoir. Sometimes Tom stayed in the downtown area where he lived, choosing to run along the Esplanade in Battery Park where he could enjoy the sight of boats floating by and the Statue of Liberty in the distance. Along the eastern bank of the Hudson River there were grassy open fields, picnic tables, and watery coves. For man and dog alike, it was a great place to experience nature.

A new dog run at Kowsky Plaza even had water fountains for dogs to splash in and mounds for them to jump over. That was Greeny’s favorite.

This Sunday morning Tom opted to stay downtown. A young and attractive ad salesman for a sports magazine, he enjoyed the outdoors as much as his dog. But taking Greeny for a walk or run in Manhattan was always an experience. The adventurous mutt loved to sniff out and explore every nook and cranny in his path.

Today was no exception.

After spending time at the dog run, they wandered north, ambling through Tribeca, SoHo, and Greenwich Village, almost all the way to the Meatpacking District. They turned down one of the little side streets off Washington, and were heading back over toward the river. Greeny had his nose down, slowly examining every inch of pavement. He led Tom over toward the curb, then suddenly dove between two parked cars. Such rapid movement usually meant he had spotted a much smaller creature and felt confident enough to give chase.

“Come on, Greeny,” Tom urged. “Let’s go.”

But Greeny’s head was down. Something had caught his attention. He was straining the leash as he attempted to make his way under one of the cars.