Fixing Perfect (19 page)

“I told you I had a feeling.”

“I think you had prior knowledge. Unfortunately, that's all I have on you at the moment, but I swear, Albrecht, I'll be watching you.”

 

 

 

 

14

 

Becca squatted by the door with her thumb in her mouth and watched Jake. He crouched next to her mattress, bent tight like a ball, and scraped the hole with the handle of her toothbrush. He'd already broken his in half. But the hole was huge now, big enough that she could have crawled through it, if there was anywhere to go. But there wasn't. Instead, bits of wood stopped her. When Becca first ran into all that wood, she'd thrown her toothbrush at Jake and cried.

Jake had tried to break the strips. He'd tried kicking them. He'd said a couple words that made Becca look over her shoulder, waiting for someone to yell at him. No one did, of course. Mr. Bird hadn't been there since the night before, and her stomach rumbled.

Something snapped, and with another string of words, Jake flopped onto his back on the mattress, two more bits of toothbrush handle in his hands.

Becca popped her thumb out for a minute. “Are you gonna give up?”

“No, I'm not gonna give up.” He stood up, glared at the wall for a few minutes, pushed the mattress back in place, shoved her pillow over the dust and pushed the sheets over it. Now it just looked like a messy bed. And it looked like he was giving up after all.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Stop whining.” He sat down on his mattress and jerked his hand at her. “You don't have to listen for a while, OK? I'm gonna think.”

She got up and stood in the middle of the room, watching him. He put his knees up, and leaned his arms on them with his head tipped back against the wall.

She stepped closer. “Can we pray?”

“What good's that gonna do?”

“God always answers. He loves us.” That's what her mommy and daddy always told her. Just because praying made her feel bad didn't mean Jesus wasn't listening. He probably felt bad for her, too.

“Yeah, yeah. But we're still stuck in this dungeon, and nobody's helping us get out.”

“We should pray anyway.”

Jake shrugged and got up. “Go ahead. I'm gonna look in the bathroom again. Hey, get me the end of your toothbrush. Not the brush part, the other part. Maybe I can use that. Maybe I can dig through the wood with it. That wood's all splintery.”

Becca hunkered down and felt along the wall until she grabbed the bit of plastic. The unbroken end had worn down, and the broken end was twisted. But it had a few sharp points. They might be able to do something with it.

She took it to the bathroom. “Here. I gotta go.”

“OK.” Jake left the bathroom and let her do what she needed to. After she washed her hands, she opened the door.

Mr. Bird had come in.

Becca plopped down on her mattress and stuck her thumb back in her mouth. What if he looked behind her pillow? What if he already knew what they were doing? What if he decided to check their toothbrushes to see if they'd been brushing their teeth?

And what if he'd caught Jake with the end of her toothbrush? She looked at Jake.

He stared up at Mr. Bird. His hands were behind his back, and he looked like he expected Mr. Bird to hit him. But Mr. Bird didn't seem interested in Jake at all.

He held out a couple sandwiches and boxes of milk with straws already in them. “You want some lunch?”

She nodded. She didn't mention not having had any breakfast, and neither did Jake.

“Listen, kids. Things are changing. I talked to both your parents—”

Jake made a face like he didn't believe anything Mr. Bird said.

“Well, your mom, anyway, and they might be coming to get you sooner than I thought. We're gonna get you two fixed up for them.”

“Fixed up?” Jake put his sandwich down on the floor and stared up at Mr. Bird.

“Yeah. Haircuts, and some new clothes. Stuff like that.” Mr. Bird reached down and stroked Becca's messy head. “I'm going to put something in your hair to make it not so tangled. It'll turn it black but that's OK. That'll go away.”

“No.” Jake stood up.

“What?” Mr. Bird looked mean when he turned to Jake.

“No, you're not gonna dye her hair.”

“No, you're right, I'm not. It's for the tangles.”

“You're lying.” Jake glared up at Mr. Bird like he wanted to punch him. His hands made tight fists that he pressed to his sides. “You're planning to dye her hair just like you did to Lehanie, but I'm not gonna let you.”

“Like you could do anything.” Mr. Bird shook his head. “Stupid kid.”

Becca gasped, and Mr. Bird's hand pressed down on the top of her head.

“Your hair's as bad as Becca's,” Mr. Bird went on. “It's all tangled. I'm gonna have to do something about that, too.”

“Give me a brush and I'll take care of both of us.”

Mr. Bird laughed. It didn't sound nice, like when Becca's daddy laughed. It sounded like the kid on the bus who made fun of Becca's brother when he cried.

Mr. Bird didn't say anything else. He left them in the room again, and Becca heard the sound of the lock. Jake didn't even try the door after he left. Mr. Bird never forgot, never made a mistake about that lock.

Jake sat back down and put his head on his knees. After a minute, he looked up. “You better eat,” he said. “And drink all your milk.”

“OK.” She took a bite. “Aren't you gonna eat?”

“Yeah.” Jake ate his sandwich is three bites and gulped down his milk. He threw the carton in the corner, on top of all the other stinky trash and went back to his mattress. He didn't sit down, though. Instead, he knelt on the concrete floor and started pulling at the edge of his mattress.

“Do you want me help you move it?” Becca asked. “What are you doing? Are you gonna try to dig another hole over there?”

“No. Be quiet. I'm trying to rip it open.” Jake leaned down and bit the striped cover. Over and over, he'd bite, jerk his head, ripping the fabric. After a few minutes, he made a long hole in the cover. After that, he ripped at it with his hands.

“Why are you doing that?” Becca finished her sandwich and went to stand next to him.

“‘Cuz I was thinking. There's stuff inside mattresses. Springs and wires and stuff. If I can get some of them out, we can dig with them.”

“And you can hide the hole just like we did with the hole in the wall.”

“Right.”

She sat down to watch. He pulled out lots of fluffy stuff that wouldn't help anybody, and finally made a noise that let her know he'd found what he wanted.

But no matter how hard he pulled, or how he tried to twist the pieces inside his mattress, he couldn't get anything to come out. Everything was all wound together, tight.

When Jake threw himself down on the mattress and put his arm over his eyes, Becca climbed up next to him. She wriggled around until she could stroke his hair. He didn't push her hand away.

“I'm gonna pray now.”

“OK.” Jake's voice sounded funny.

“God, I'm scared. I think Jake is scared, too, even though he won't say it. Can You help us, please?”

Jake didn't say anything else, and Becca went on stroking his head for a long time.

 



 

Since his phone had gone dead in the three days he'd been incarcerated, Sam first went home to plug it in. Then he headed to Robin's. He found her in the garden in back of the house. She leaned over the wall that separated her grandmother's property from the street and looked out at the harbor. From that position, she could probably only see the tops of the sailboat masts, and maybe a hint of blue-gray and choppy white, but as much as she loved the ocean, it might be enough.

Something about the way she was standing, with her crutches dropped to her sides and her elbows atop the wall, her shoulders hunched as she stared out to sea, caught at Sam's heart. She was beautiful. He'd always known that. Now, his heart knew something more.

And he didn't want to acknowledge it. Because if he did, if he let himself realize how much she meant to him, he wouldn't be able to protect her. Hadn't he failed the last time someone's life depended on him? He wasn't about to set Robin up for him to let her down.

He shook his head. He couldn't think that way. Yes, his partner had died because Sam hadn't been quick enough, but Sam hadn't been the one to point the gun. And he wasn't the one targeting Robin. Just the one who wanted to keep her safe.

Still, a small part of him believed that if he gave in to his heart, he'd put her in danger.

Robin turned, shrieked his name, and grabbed for her crutches. While she scrabbled for them, he was across the tiny patio, and his arms were around her.

So much for not giving in to his heart.

“Oh, Sam, you're—you're
here
. They let you out? I mean, they don't think you're the one who—”

He brushed his lips across her hair. She smelled like the wind. “They still do. At least, Detective Macias does. He said he'll be watching me.”

“What?” She leaned back, resting her weight against his arms. It felt so right. “How can he possibly think you're guilty? He's crazy.”

“Unfortunately, he's the police.” He held her closer, pulling her head to his chest, careful to let her keep her balance. “Looks like I'm the one who has to prove I'm innocent, and I can't do that going home alone every night. Any chance your grandmother will let me stay here at night? I can even stay on the second floor with her, if she's suspicious—” He stopped his own words. Why wouldn't she be suspicious? And of far more than Sam having designs on her granddaughter.

He helped Robin gather her crutches, which had clattered to the floor when he grabbed her, and held the door. He fetched them both sodas and jerked his head toward her bedroom. “If we go in your room and shut the door, is your grandmother going to come after me with a shotgun?”

“I doubt it.” Robin shoved the door open. “An ax, maybe.”

Sam stopped walking.

“I'm kidding. Honestly, I don't think she sees me as a normal human being sometimes. I don't know if it's that business where parents can't believe their children are really old enough, or if my crutches have blinded her.”

“They can do that.” They might have blinded Sam. But then again, he often didn't notice them. They were a bit like a favorite pair of jeans, intrinsically a part of her, something she always wore, but not especially important.

He waited for her to hoist herself onto her bed and parked himself as far away as he could get. That meant the folding chair in front of her sewing machine. He left it facing the machine, sat on it backward, and leaned his elbows on the back. As he stretched his legs out, one foot rustled the curtain of blue and blue-green beads. Their song made him smile and reminded him of Robin's story about her dad. He hadn't been perfect either, but he had loved Robin with a perfect love. He'd saved her from feeling abandoned when she needed it.

God willing, Sam would be able to save her, too, as soon as she needed it. Because it wasn't up to Sam anyway, it was up to God.

“Tell me.” With both hands, Robin pulled one leg up so it folded in front of her, then the other, and she was sitting cross-legged. She had to bolster herself with pillows so she didn't topple over, but still, she looked like a teenager settling in for a long gossip with friends.

If only he could give her that kind of news.

“Macias admitted that Bricker told him he'd leaked privileged news to me. But he still thinks I knew Cynthia was in the warehouse before I found her, and the only way I'd know was if I'd put her there.”

“And no one has gone missing since they arrested you. No bodies have shown up, either. Which makes everything worse.”

“And as soon as everyone knows I'm out?” Sam raised his eyebrows and took a drink of soda. “Macias is announcing it right now.”

“You mean, you think the murderer was waiting for you to get out so he could frame you? Make it look like you all over again?” Robin frowned. “If he does, what are you going to do?”

“That's why I want to stay here.”

“Oh. I see.” She looked down, her hands worrying the fringe of a blue blanket, color staining her cheeks. “That means someone else will probably get hurt.”

“It could happen.” Sam nodded. “The police can't be everywhere. And there are still two kids missing.”

Her head came up. “Sam, it's not right. We can't let them risk those kids!”

“No, we can't.”

“How are we going to stop him?”

Sam grinned. “You think Grams is going to be OK with me staying here?”

Robin's mouth opened, and nothing came out. She closed it and blurted, “No, I really don't think she's going to be too happy about an ex-con living here with her and her granddaughter.”

“I won't be living here, in your room. And technically, I'm not an ex-con.”

“Yeah, well.” She reached for her cell. “Let me call her and ask.”

Sam shot to his feet. “You mean she's not here?”

“She's upstairs. This is how I get in touch with her when she's not on the ground floor.” She punched a number and said, “Grams, Sam is here, and we need to talk to you.”

After she clicked off, Sam said, “Just tell her I need to protect myself.”

“Sam.” Robin scooted to the edge of the bed. “We need to protect everyone. Once this guy knows you're free, everyone is in danger again.”

 

 

 

 

15

 

He stood, tumbling the chair, but righted it as he tried to frame the words. “I know, I know, babe. I'm sorry.”