Alessandra Torre - End of the Innocence

“Sleep. We can talk more in the morning. That helps.” He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and stood, tugging the blankets up around me and removing some extra pillows.

I nodded, closing my eyes as he moved to the side with the doctor, their voices lowered to whispered growls, my mind already falling down through layers of sleep until I hit the bottom and all was dark, deep sleep taking over my body. Downstairs, unbeknownst to me, a small army was assembling.

As a half moon rose over the city, casting its dusky glow equally over all areas, oblivious to zip code, property values, or social standing, dark activity bred. In the large kitchen of Brad De Luca, police officers converged, pouring over a map of the city, pinpointing possible locations while loading up on armor and ammo. Their numbers doubled a normal response, Brad hiring every moonlighting cop available, wanting every presence possible, every warm body that carried a badge to be concentrated on bringing down Julia’s captors. Two hours after the first officer walked into their house, the FBI arrived, and the house swelled to capacity. Plans were discussed, egos clashed, and Martha’s food disappeared, bit by bit, into the mouths of men. Then they disbursed, headed for three possible targets, a sea of black disappearing into the night.

In another part of the city, the security video was burned to a disk, carried to an upstairs office and played for a larger audience, the men watching in silence as the girl opened that door, ran down that hallway, and disappeared from their building. Options were discussed, risks were weighed, and a call was made. Then, cleanup began, starting with the room where she had been kept. The smell of bleach soon filled the air, urgency in the men’s movements, every moment until she was found a desperate race in cover-up. The three-mile perimeter was widened, and word of her escape spread.

Dom Magiano sat on his back porch, cloaked in darkness, listening to the rustle of palm leaves as a cool breeze swept across his skin. He was tired, flaccid muscles limp around old bones, his chest rasping as he inhaled the thick air. The day weighed on him, nothing going as planned, the look on his son’s face haunting him. It was not the first time he had disappointed his son. Disappointment was good for children; it taught them to value that which was taken or withheld from them. But this fight he had taken on, this lesson he had strived to teach his son ... maybe it was not worth the effort. He certainly hadn’t expected her to escape, to fight a grown man in doing so. It should have been simple. An exercise in intimidation, one that would have sent her on her way, a way in the opposite direction of his son. Instead, it ended in failure. He was getting old, unsure of how many fights he had left. Better to save the energy and expel it against a worthy adversary. She was not worth his energy. And, given the recent news from his youngest son, the report of his daughter-in-law’s cancer ... Julia might be needed for grandchildren. They would need to start immediately; he wanted to see new young heirs before he passed.

♦♦♦

While the city moved, Brad sat in a chair by the bed and watched her sleep. His phone, set to vibrate, lay on the dresser next to him, a ticking time bomb, the police instructed to call the moment they discovered anything. They had wanted to question her, the police and FBI insistent, their faces growing red at his refusal. But she had been through enough. She needed sleep, and he didn’t want her to say anything until he knew the full story, liability constantly lurking, like a dormant plague, waiting to infect if given the slightest opening. In the morning, when she woke, they could talk. Then, with an attorney present, she could give the police her statement.

Hours ago, with his kitchen full of black uniforms, he had second-guessed his actions, the call to involve them in this situation. Every face he saw, every cop he paid, he silently examined with distrust. There was corruption in the police department, his family being one of the major parties responsible. But they had been his best chance, the source he felt most comfortable using. He hadn’t wanted to further involve his family, the nagging possibility of their hand in her kidnapping rendering that a risky move.

She shifted in her sleep, a sigh settling over her body, and he stood, his hand in his pockets, moving closer until he stood over her. There he stayed, his eyes memorizing her features, her breath, the flush of her skin as she slept. His enormous relief at her return was foreshadowed by his panic, his concern that something else could happen. The horrific thing about having everything that he ever wanted was the constant fear that it would all disappear.

I woke to a heart-warming familiar scene. Brad’s bed, sunlight streaming through breaks in the curtains, the clatter of pans, and smells of bacon. I rolled over, stretching, wincing as my feet brushed against the sheets, my head welcoming me to the day with a dull roar of pressure. I was naked, the robe tangled around me, my arms freed from it at some point in the night, and I moved it aside, pushing back the covers and walking to the closet, grabbing a long nightshirt and pulling it over my head.

Brad met me on the stairs, his critical eyes on my bare feet, a frown settling over his features, and I spoke before he could.

“I’m done being babied. I ran for miles on these feet ... I can walk myself downstairs.”

“You should be in bed. I’ll have Martha bring up food.”

“Move. I need normality right now. Don’t think I can’t kick your ass.” He grinned at my tone, jogging up a few steps and planting a kiss on my lips.

“Fine. I’m glad to see your spark back.  Breakfast is ready if you are hungry.”

I shoved him gently over and moved down the stairs, a smile spreading over my face. I am alive. I am home. I am with Brad. I left the stairwell, moving into the kitchen, surprised to see a strange face seated at the table.

“Good morning,” I said uncertainly, giving Martha a hug and accepting the plate she directed me to.

Brad spoke. “Julia, this is Doctor Barnes. You met him last night. He’s just here for a follow-up examination. He’s also signed confidentiality papers, so please continue to speak freely in front of him.”

“May I eat first?” I eyed my plate—bacon, sausage, hash browns, and eggs dancing yummy in front of me.

“Of course,” the doctor spoke, pulling a chair out for me. “Observation is part of the exam, so if you don’t mind, I’ll watch you closely.”

I blushed. “That’s fine.”

Brad sat across from me, his face serious. “The police want to question you this morning. Before they do, I’d like to walk through with you what happened. An attorney will be with you during the questioning, but it’ll help if you go through it with me a few times first.”

I shrugged, shoveling food into my mouth with a fork, too hungry to care about the matter of appearances. “Okay. But I won’t be much help.”

“Start from the beginning.”

I did, starting from the moment I heard my vehicle’s alarm, explaining the cloth over my mouth, waking in the chair, my subsequent blackout. The doctor interrupted a few times, asking about my body’s response—how I had felt upon waking each time. I tried to answer as truthfully as possible, much of my memories vague, my head aching as I pushed it. He re-examined the back of my head, the wound, his touch eliciting a cry from me that had Brad shooting to his feet.

“This wound indicates a strong impact; she must have fallen back onto concrete. She’s lucky ... her concussion could have killed her. We’ll need to keep her under close observation for a few days, and I’d like to get a CT and MRI this afternoon, if the police are done with her by then.”

Brad nodded, his eyes on me. “Then what happened? When you woke up the second time?”

I hesitated, his eyes catching on and sharpening in response. I saw his hands clench and I frowned. “I can’t tell you this if you are going to freak out about it.”

“Tell me,” he gritted out.

“I woke up, untied, on a bed of some sorts—a thin one. A man was in between my legs, and my sweats and panties were off.” Brad swore, pain on his face, and I reached out to him. “Like I said last night - nothing happened, Brad. Let me talk.” He nodded, his eyes on mine. “I waited and tried not to move, tried to pretend to be asleep, or unconscious, or whatever it was that I had been. When I saw an opening, I took it.”

“Took what? What do you mean?”

“I put him in a triangle chokehold. Like Ben taught me.” I looked down, moving my food on my plate.

“You’re shitting me.” His voice held a mixture of pride and dismay, and I looked up to find him running a hand over his mouth, his eyes dark.

“No. I held it—” My voice broke, my eyes staying on Brad, watching the flicker in his as I spoke. “For a long time, but not too long, after he passed out. I counted. Three minutes.”

“Three minutes,” he said quietly. “That’s it?”

“Yes. Then I ran. I ran, and I hid, and I ran again. I stopped once, behind a building, and slept between a dumpster and a fence for a bit ... until dark. Then I ran again, and I got to the house that you picked me up from.”

“Three minutes,” Brad repeated, frowning slightly, a question in his eyes, his knowledge not as great in the area of jujitsu as my own.

“Four minutes is terminal. Just three minutes... he’d have regained consciousness.”

Brad’s eyes darkened across the table.