HAVEN: Beards & Bondage Read online

  “It shouldn't be more than a day now and you should be able to go home. This rain.” It was pouring now. When we reach the house, the gravel drive is already riddled with trickling streams and forest debris.

  “Things will get back to normal around here soon,” I say, trying to reassure Sally.

  “And if it doesn't, I heard Margee Fulton is retiring soon. I've always wanted to be a children’s librarian.”

  “You’d be great at that,” I say, mustering the bit of a smile I have in reserve. “But don't hang up your badge just yet.”

  She thanks me as I climb out of the car.

  When I come in the door, Titus is all over me. He doesn't like change. He also loves the rain. I nudge him back to keep him inside. Their bloodhound, Fox, is awake but not so interested in me or why there’s all this commotion in their home.

  “There’s food warming in the oven,” May-Bell offers. I’m too hungry to pass her invitation up.

  She tries and fails not to laugh at me as I put away two servings of leftover lasagna. “You can finish it off if you want,” she says before she turns back to her book. I remember some sense of manners and leave the last two helpings for Jad.

  After I wash my dishes, I can’t sit down. I can’t sit still. There’s too much running around in my head. I keep seeing Claudia’s damaged face, her torn up feet, her hands. The smell of gunpowder is still in my nose. I grab my camera and snap what I can from their back porch, though I don’t think the forest service will use them. I check and I’m right. Another photog’s images are up on my page already. Doesn’t matter. Formatting these images will give me something else to burn in my mind. Something that isn't blood-soaked or bruised.

  I spend the next three days up at the Tierneys’. I don’t sleep for shit. Despite the fact that I saved Claudia from that son of bitch Smith, his body on my property seems to be fucking with everyone for one reason or another. Still, it’s me who sees the hole I blew in his chest every time I close my eyes. I ignore the fact that the only rest I’ve had for nearly half a week has been the few hours of shuteye I got with Claudia in that hospital bed.

  The murders make the regional news. My mom leaves me a voicemail asking if I know anything about it, but I don’t respond. Instead I’m reminded to call Evelyn and let her know that the Feds might check in on my whereabouts. She tells Meegan and Marcos what happened and they start blowing up my phone. Everyone at The Club is worried about me, but proud of me too. They’ve been following the news online. I stopped a monster. Milligan and Smith are monsters.

  On the third day, May-Bell and I head to town to hit the market. I’ve eaten most of their food and she’s worried cabin fever’s getting the best of me. We take Titus with us. He needs a break too. Everyone I see has kind words and odd congratulations. Apparently Claudia’s added to the myth of my greatness. Some people mention her by name. She feels indebted to me. It’s not true, but there’s no point in arguing. It’ll just draw these conversations out.

  When we stop by the diner to grab some pies May-Bell’s ordered from Connie, Tanner and Lightfoot are enjoying a leisurely lunch at the counter when we walk in. Lightfoot greets me with a smile.

  “Mr. Olsen,” she says. “Just the man we were looking for.” Everyone’s quiet again, but it’s different this time. They are ready for the suits to beat it. The case is closed as far as we’re all concerned. One died and one’s behind bars. There’s not much left to sort out.

  “Come on down here and pay, sweetheart,” Connie says to May-Bell. “How you doing, Shep?”

  “Just fine, Connie,” I say before I turn to Lightfoot. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing at all. We’re heading out today. Sheriff Bingham has your truck waiting for you down at the station and you are free to enter your home.”

  “Is there going to be a trial?” I ask.

  “With this confession and what we were able to collect, I don’t expect there will be. But you never know. Even the red handed turn tail and try to save their own asses,” Lightfoot says with a shrug.

  Tanner waves at Connie and asks for the check. She doesn’t acknowledge him, but drops the bill in front of his plate a few moments later anyway. He smirks then pulls out his wallet. “I’ll need a receipt.”

  “Sure thing,” she says, tight lipped.

  “Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” Tanner collects his change and they leave.

  “Do you mind if we drive by the hospital?” I ask May-Bell as we leave the diner. I take the warm pies out of her hands.

  “Not at all,” May-Bell says. She drops me off. I tell her I’ll be back up to their place to grab Titus as soon as I get my truck. She tells me there’s no rush. I know we’re welcome in their home for as long as I’d like.

  I don’t even make it past the waiting room before Sarah calls out my name. I turn and she’s coming down the hall with a folded piece of paper in her hand.

  “Hey.” She’s a little out of breath. “She’s gone. Left a few hours ago, but she left this for you.”

  I’m processing as I take the note out her hand. Lightfoot and Tanner knew she was gone. They knew I was gonna beat feet over to see her. Giving me the green light even though they knew she was gone was their last fuck you. I blink and look up at Sarah. She’s looking at the note, then she looks up at me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

  “I’m just wondering what it is about you, but at the same time, I know.”

  “We can’t go back, Sarah. You said it yourself. You can’t change for me and I can’t change for you.” It’s heavy talk for a hospital waiting room, but I need my sanity back. All of it.

  “I know we can’t, Shep. I’m just worried. As a friend.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She rolls her eyes, then practically slams her hands on her hips. “I know, Shep. You’re always fine, but I don’t think she is.”

  “Say it. All of it.”

  “I’m saying that just because you’re well enough to walk out of here doesn’t mean you’re well enough to just pick right up where you left off. I’m just saying that when a patient asks me several times for a pen and paper to write a note to the person who saved her life, and she’s in tears when she hands it to me that she is not fine.”

  I don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. I can’t sleep and no one tried to kill me. Claudia lost a lot that night. Peace of mind is only one of them.

  “I don’t know what’s in the note. Like I said, I didn’t read it,” Sarah says.

  “But?”

  “If she wants you to write back, reply, she needs something.”

  I nod. Again, there’s nothing to say.

  “I’ll be around if you want to talk.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sarah touches my hand and then she turns and walks away. I take my time walking back to the station. I don’t want to read the note. Not yet. I find Sally behind the counter. She’s less spooked this time around. She has a smile for me and she has my keys.

  My truck is behind the station and it’s all fucked up. Every inch is covered in finger print dust. The doors, the fender, all over the interior, all over the dash. I might as well burn the thing before I try to clean it. I climb behind the wheel and contemplate heading back to the market to find something to clean all this shit up, but I don’t want the attention driving my bright blue piece of evidence through the center of town. The cleaning supplies up at my place will have to do. I climb behind the wheel. I unfold the note.

  Shep, Sorry for the chicken scratch. My hand is still screwed up. I just wanted to say thank you. I asked if you were coming back because I wanted to thank you again in person and I wanted to say goodbye in person too, but they were pretty insistent about us not seeing each other until they wrapped up the investigation. I doubt I’ll see you again. Clown or no clowns, I’m never leaving the comfort of the city again.

  I thought losing my parents was the wo
rst thing that could happen, but this was much worse. I wouldn’t even be here to write this note if it wasn’t for you. I’m going home. I’m going to pretend work is the perfect distraction until they release my brother’s body and let me lay him to rest.

  I keep telling myself there are people to blame for this and I am not one of those people, but I think it might take the rest of my life for that to really sink in. I’ll save that for my grief counselor or therapist. Whoever you talk to after these things happen. I did think of another way this could have been worse. The scenario involves you not being home that night. And also, you could have missed twice. Anyway. Thank you, a hundred thousand times.

  Love always, and I mean always. I’m naming a child or a really cute dog after you.

  Claudia

  P.S. Tanner and Lightfoot are dicks. I hope they didn’t give you too hard of a time.

  I scan the piece of paper again. Read it three and four more times. Her number doesn’t magically appear. There isn’t an email address or a website. No breadcrumbs to her cottage in the woods. Or her loft in the city. Sarah is right about a lot of things when it comes to me, but she doesn’t know Claudia Cade. She is a fighter. She doesn’t need me at all. She will be just fine.

  Four

  Claudia

  Week One

  I realize I’ve been sitting on the edge of my couch staring at the fire escape for at least an hour when Liz comes through my apartment door. I know I look like shit. My head, my hand, and my foot are still bandaged up. My eye is less swollen, but it's still bruised as hell. My bosses at Kleinman’s have given me an extended leave. Purchasing women’s apparel for a major chain requires a lot of travel and a lot of face to face. They don't want me to scare away potential vendors with my mangled skin and broken body, but none of that matters. I can't bring myself to leave my small loft.

  Liz is busy with her own life, but she is the first person I have the hospital contact. Hers is the only number I save in the stupid burner phone the Feds gave me a few days after they casually mention that everything from our campsite is to be used as evidence. Including my phone. And my brother.

  Liz is all I have left.

  I'm grateful, but I hope nothing makes it so I have to pay her back. Not like this.

  “Hey pretty girl,” she says in her usual bright cheery way. I blink a few times, focus on her face. “I have your favorite. Jerk chicken from Miss Rica.”

  “Thank you,” I manage to say. My throat is perpetually raw these days.

  “And I have your mail. This was outside.” She holds up a small brown box from Amazon.

  “That should be my phone.”

  “Oh good.” She sets the food on the coffee table and hands me the box before she starts to peel off her trench coat.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem. There are drinks in the fridge from last night. I'll grab us those,” she says. “What else can I get you?”

  “A time machine.” I had no idea tears can just leak out of your eyes like this, but since I got home I've almost stopped wiping my face. There’s no point. I can’t stop crying.

  “Oh honey.” I realize Liz is looking at me. I'm staring at the gold heart necklace hanging on her chest, the one I got her from work. She turns and heads for the kitchen. I turn back toward the TV. It's still off. I can't remember what I was planning to watch.

  “Here.” Liz hands me a paper towel, just barely dampened with water.

  “Thank you.” I wipe my eyes and my raw cheeks. I try to breathe normally. I can’t, but the coolness of the paper towel makes my face feel better.

  “I'm going to stay for a while,” she says as she sits and starts distributing the chicken and rice.

  “You don't have to.” Liz has a real job, corporate litigation. I know her free time is precious.

  “But I want to,” she says. “Plus, we have at least two seasons of the Great French Baking Competition to watch.”

  I don’t argue because I don’t really want to be alone. I grab my blanket out of the corner of the couch. I wrap myself up while she finishes with the food and grabs the drinks. My hand throbs like crazy, but I manage to grip the remotes and find Liz’s favorite baking competition show.

  “Ooh, it’s Tarts and Pies week. This is gonna be good.” She flashes me a bright smile. I try to smile back, but mostly I just slow blink and think about how tired my eyes are.

  I force some food down, listen to Liz’s comments on whose crusts look the best in her opinion. She gets a text.

  “It’s Brooklyn.”

  “How is she?” I ask. I have a soft spot for her little sister.

  “Still wild,” she says with a smirk.

  “You’re still jealous.”

  “Of course I am,” she laughs. “I should be worried that her flighty ass isn’t going to pass the bar, but of course she is.”

  “The kid’s just smart. She can’t help it.”

  “She’s like the anti-Elle Woods. No effort, all results. She says ‘tell Claudia I say feel better and I love her.’”

  My chest tightens and another huge tear comes. My blanket works just fine as a tissue this time. “Tell her the same,” I say around the lump in my throat.

  Liz puts down her phone and picks up the brown box on the table. “You want me to open this?”

  I stare for a moment. “Yeah. It’s been nice not having a phone for a while though.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I watch this poor woman burn the fuck out of a pie crust as Liz asks me the appropriate questions so she can activate my phone. By the time everything is finished backing up, we’ve moved on to the bread portion of the competition.

  “Yikes,” Liz says under her breath.

  “What?”

  “Just a lot of alerts. I’m guessing you haven’t been checking your computer either.”

  “No. I told Lara to call me on the burner if it was important,” I say. “And I can't really say anything until the Feds complete their investigation.” I might be making that up. Maybe not. It's a good enough excuse.

  “Okay. Let’s see. We’ll ignore the emails for now. Tons of text. Most of them are from Jason. Um yeah…He texted like ten minutes ago. Do you want me to respond to him?”

  Liz and Jason aren't close. For the first time I'm grateful for that. She tolerates him for me, and just barely. When I left the hospital the nurse who checked me out told me only to take on as much as I can handle. Step one is stop crying. Step two will be facing people who will ask me an endless stream of questions. People like my boyfriend.

  “Let me see.” I hold out my bandaged hand and take my new phone. Those red dots with numbers in the double and triple digits cover the screen. I’m not checking Facebook. Liz posted something for me and Miles’s best friend, Owen, is handling things with their medical school friends.

  There are so many voicemails, but I can’t listen. I look at the texts. The previews are all the same, a hundred different versions of I just heard. OMG, Are you okay? So sorry to hear about Miles. I look at the texts from Jason. His are the most recent, and really, the most urgent.

  I ran into Brooklyn.

  She said you’re back.

  Are you back?

  Why didn't you call me?

  Something in my stomach sinks. It feels like acceptance. I can't hide from everyone, even if I want to. Still my gut is telling me to lie. I can’t deal with any level of his shit right now.

  I just got back this morning.

  The cops still have all my stuff.

  Including my phone.

  Fuck. I'm coming over.

  I want to tell him to stay home. Or stay at the office. Or just tell him to go to one of his usual haunts with his buddies because I'm sure the Mets are playing. He doesn't need to see me like this. I don't need to answer his questions. He's never even met Miles. And I am fine. I'm here. I'm alive. There's nothing to talk about. Suddenly I'm nauseous and my chest hurts in a different way than it's been hurting for the last thirteen d
ays.

  I text okay.

  I silence all my alerts and put my phone on the coffee table. I shove more chicken in my mouth. My throat’s so dry I have to drink something before I choke. Still, the food helps.

  “You okay?” Liz asks. She's carefully looking at my face and then she looks at my hands. I feel like I'm shaking, but I’m not.

  “Just hungry. I should have eaten earlier.”

  She smiles and pats my knee. “Get those nutrients in, boo boo.”

  I finish my dinner. I have more water. A sweet South Asian man with no hair and thick glasses wins the bread challenge. The youngest contestant, a mousy white girl who definitely had some skills is sent home. Next up is cakes. I wait.

  My heart freezes when the buzzer goes off.

  “You expecting anyone?” Liz asks, confused.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s Jason.”

  She stands and starts for the door. “I'll buzz him in...if you want.”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  She makes her way over to the intercom and hits the button. “Hey, it's Liz. Come on up.”

  “Thanks.” I can hear it in his voice. He’s pissed. Instantly I think of the man who saved me. I think of Shep Olsen. Every time I think of Jason, I think of Shep. I’m not sure why. But I count the seconds I know it’ll take Jason to ride the elevator up to my floor and I think of Shep sitting next to my bed. I think about his fingers touching mine.

  Liz flicks the locks and starts cleaning up the remains of our dinner. She knows what comes next.

  Jason opens the door. I turn around, but I don't get up. Liz is already sliding on her jacket.

  “Claudia,” he says in a way that instantly makes me regret answering his text. I know what I look like. Step one: stop crying. Step two: heal so people stop looking at you the way Jason is currently looking at me.