Jeff Gunhus: Night Chill

Jack Tremont was late. That he would be running so far behind schedule was unthinkable, especially since the two clients waiting for him were his most important. The traffic light ahead of him turned yellow. He thought about running it until he saw a stop sign thrust into the air behind the row of cars to his right.

His Jeep Cherokee, a far cry from the BMW 750 he drove just a few years before, braked easily before the intersection. Still, the school crossing guard shot him a withering look for stopping a foot into the crosswalk. He returned her scowl with a smile but it was wasted. With a look of disgust the guard held up her stop sign in front of his bumper. She stared Jack down as she waved the mass of school kids across the street.

Jack knew the woman, Mrs. Hilder. She was no-nonsense New England and she had little tolerance for the relaxed southern attitude abundant here in western Maryland. All of the kids and half of the adults in Prescott City were scared of her. The parents remembered her as the crossing guard when they were in school and they carried the same fearful awe as their kids did now. One of the parents had admitted to Jack that she still stood up a little straighter each time she saw her coming down the street. Tough as woodpecker lips, the parent had whispered, laughing but glancing around as if the crossing guard would come charging at them any minute. Mrs. Hilder’s stare was enough to convince Jack of the truth of it. He tried to ignore her and watch instead the stream of colorful jackets, cartoon lunch pails, and action hero backpacks parade in front of him, all headed toward a carefree afternoon. No stress. No worries.

Jack took a deep breath and felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself. When would he learn to relax? He and Lauren had moved to Prescott City a year ago for exactly this reason, to undo the mess they had created trying unsuccessfully to balance two high-paced careers while starting a family. To be fair, it had been more his mess than hers. She was an overachiever but always seemed to keep things in balance. He was the workaholic to whom family had become something squeezed into planned increments in a schedule.

The outrageous materialism of living in Orange County, California hadn’t helped matters either. They had chased success so hard that they hardly noticed they were failing every day.

Then the accident happened.

As horrible as it was, in some strange way, Jack realized the accident had probably saved his marriage. Almost two years later he was still paying for this marital help with nightmares and a constant black guilt that clawed in his stomach like a living creature. He bore the suffering without complaint. For what he had done, he knew he deserved worse.

The last of the kids skipped across the street and with one last glare, Mrs. Hilder returned to the sidewalk to let Jack pass. He smiled and gave a little wave.

“C’mon Mrs. Hilder. Give me some love,” he murmured. Nothing doing. The crossing guard’s stern mouth grew more wrinkled as she scowled. Jack shook his head and laughed. “Playing hard to get, huh? Maybe next time.”

A few minutes later he pulled into the pick-up area and saw his important clients hanging out on the swing set next to the head office. They saw him and squealed in delight. Grabbing their matching purple Groovy Girls backpacks, his daughters ran over to him and gave him a huge hug.

“Sorry I’m late girls.”

“Are you late?” Becky asked.

“Yeah, a little,” he smiled. Every day he was away from the business world he was reminded that life didn’t have to be so difficult. In the real world, being five minutes late wasn’t such a big deal. He looked back at his girls piling into the Jeep. “You girls know what today is, don’t you?”

“My birthday. I’m gonna be seven!” Sarah shouted.

“Your birthday’s not for months, silly. And you’re only six.” Becky said, poking her sister in the arm.

Jack twisted around in the front seat and said in a serious voice, “I can’t believe you don’t know what day this is. How could you possibly, possibly forget that today is…” he paused for added drama, “ice cream day!”

The girls screamed and then giggled at their dad. Soon they were lost in an important discussion about the relative coolness of different flavors of ice cream. As Jack edged into the after school traffic he thought that moving to Prescott City was the best thing he had ever done. He actually knew his kids now. Even he and Lauren were starting to feel normal again, as if the worse was finally behind them. Lauren had started to talk about plans years from now, not just weeks and months. It was a subtle change, but its significance hadn’t been lost on him.

Prescott City had been good for the Tremonts. In California they had sped through life, racking up accomplishments and wealth instead of memories and relationships. Here they were all taking notice of life and enjoying it. Besides some periodic consulting work, he’d even taken the time to dabble in writing mysteries. Sure, life was simple here, but he was learning that simple wasn’t the epithet he’d thought it was. Simple was good and he hoped things stayed that way.

Doreen couldn’t breathe. She pressed her tongue between her lips and pushed against the gag over her mouth. Nothing. She couldn’t move it. Mucous blocked her nasal passages and they wouldn’t clear no matter how hard she tried.

Tears flowed down her face and she whimpered from the effort. Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen. On reflex, she bit down and her mouth filled with blood. Then, with a violent snort, the blockage in her nostrils partially cleared and she was able to inhale.

A few breaths and her head cleared enough to allow a different kind of panic to take hold. Her hands were bound behind her back; her legs bent back at an awkward angle in the confined space. Her first thought was that she was in a coffin. Just like in the horror movies she watched. Buried alive. Then she noticed the smells around her. The air reeked of oil and dirt.

Where am I? Oh God, what’s happening to me?

Her head ached. Thoughts churned too fast for her to hold on to anything coherent. She closed her eyes and tried to focus but the world spun around her. She opened her eyes wide, swallowing hard to fight down the urge to vomit. Even in her confusion, she understood the danger. If she threw up while the gag was over her mouth, she would die.

Then the earthquake hit. Everything shook and her body slammed into the metal walls surrounding her. Something dug into her back sending a sharp pain through her body. She tried to twist to the side but it was too tight to move. She was closed in on all sides by the walls, the ceiling only inches from her face. She flexed her arms and legs but the more she strained the more the bindings cut into her skin. Finally the pain was too much to bear and she stopped struggling. The world wasn’t shaking any more.

Maybe it wasn’t an earthquake after all.

She lay there in the dark trying to slow her breathing, trying to understand what had happened to her.

Then she felt it.

Tha-thump…tha-thump…tha-thump.

She recognized the rhythm from a different time. A better time. Laying in the back seat, wrapped up in a blanket, listening to soft country music on the radio as her momma drove home.

Tha-thump…tha-thump…tha—thump.

Tires going down the highway.

Then it all crashed over her. The blond haired man at the hardware store. Being grabbed from behind. Strong hands pressed against her mouth. A bad smell. Like chlorine. Then everything went black.

The seconds it took for the scene to replay in her mind was long enough for her to organize her thoughts. Everything fit together. The sound beneath her. The sudden, jolting movement. The cramped space. The smell. She understood what had happened.