Furious (11 page)

T
WENTY

“Abuse is abuse,” Captain said to the group as she paced the floor. “It comes in many forms: verbal, emotional, sexual, physical, and psychological.” Her voice softened. “Having negative feelings is normal. When you’re feeling angry, though, I want you to take a moment to recognize what your body is feeling. There are often physical reactions that precede your anger. Sweaty palms, the pounding of your heart. These are important clues that can help you. Try to figure out what caused your anger and whether there are triggers in your life—certain people or loud noises. It could be many things.”

Faith felt all those things and more. She lay awake most nights wondering where her children were and how they were being treated. One minute she felt a surge of hope and in the next a crippling despair that threatened her sanity.

A woman nicknamed Jinx was talking now. She was five feet five with pale skin. Every once in a while she would scratch at her wrists, where it was plain to see she was a cutter. Thin, angry red lines crisscrossed over pale skin. “As some of you know, I work in retail. When my toes start to tingle that’s when I know an outburst is coming. It happens every time a customer complains about something they bought. I can’t handle it when they return their purchases. Why did they buy the purse if they didn’t need it? It makes no sense.”

“Impulse buys,” someone suggested.

Rage, the angriest one in the group, sat in the chair across from Faith. A blue bandanna was wrapped around her closely shaved head. Arms crossed tightly over her chest, she tapped her foot against the ground and rubbed her temple as if she was in pain. Faith could see the storm coming from a mile away. The girl was a walking time bomb.

“That’s life,” Sunshine said matter-of-factly to Jinx. “Get over it.”

As if on cue, Rage jumped from her chair. “If everything is so easy for you, Sunshine, then why are you here?”

“It’s OK,” Captain told Rage. “Sunshine was merely giving her opinion.”

“No. It’s not OK. Nobody can say anything around here without Sunshine putting her positive spin on everything . . . as if life is so damn easy.”

Sunshine stood. She was as wide as she was tall with slits for eyes and a mop of tight curls on top of her head. She could easily take Rage in a wrestling match if it came to that. Faith’s money was on Sunshine. Or was it? Rage had fire in her eyes. It would be close.

“Getting angry over having to do your job is pointless,” Sunshine said, stepping closer to Rage. “And you want to know what’s worse? Someone who can’t keep his or her mouth shut for one damn minute. You need to learn to shut up and listen for a change.”

Here we go,
Faith thought as she readied to dodge a flying chair.

Before Rage had a chance to wipe that smile off Sunshine’s face, a giant of a man nicknamed Beast came to his feet. He calmly situated himself between the two women, which wasn’t easy considering his size and the fact that there wasn’t much room in the center of their little circle to begin with. Faith wasn’t sure exactly who Beast was protecting—Rage, Sunshine, or every person in attendance tonight.

Topping off at about six feet five, Beast possessed a thick neck and big, beefy hands. At the first meeting she’d learned that he was an ex-military man who had watched too many of his friends die in Afghanistan. Within months of returning home, his wife and child were killed in a car accident. He went to work with his dad in the bounty hunting business, and, like many of the people in attendance, it wasn’t long before his anger got the best of him and he found himself having to choose between anger management classes or jail time.

Oblivious to the power struggle right in front of her, Jinx was determined to have her say. “You people don’t understand,” she wailed. “Customers are returning beautifully made handbags. They just bring the merchandise back and then walk out of the store without another thought.” She began sobbing, unable to go on.

Faith’s head started to throb. Attending these classes seemed so pointless at times like this.

The instructor asked everyone to take a seat, her expression one of surprise when they all complied. “Everyone in this room has their own personal triggers as to what sets them off,” Captain explained. She looked at Jinx. “Mind if I share your story?”

Barely able to function, Jinx shook her head.

“Jinx was abandoned as a young girl. Her triggers are self-explanatory. Anytime a shopper returns an item, she feels the pain of her own abandonment.”

Sunshine didn’t look impressed. Nobody did.

“We aren’t here to judge one another’s pain or triggers. We’re simply here to listen and help one another deal with the resentment, frustration, and anger we’re dealing with. Any questions?”

The room was quiet.

Rage’s knee began to bounce with nervous energy.

“You’re all here,” Captain went on, “so you can learn to effectively deal with your anger in a calm manner. Relaxation and daily exercise is helpful. When you feel angry, I want you to count to ten and try to think about something else.” She pointed to the refreshments at the back of the room. “Help yourself to cookies and punch, and we’ll see you all next week.”

Faith didn’t waste time getting out the door. She had managed to make a website using a free site, and she was eager to get home and see if there was any response to the reward she’d offered to anyone whose tip led to finding her children. Halfway across the parking lot, she realized she’d left her backpack inside. She made an abrupt about-face and knocked into Beast. She bounced off his rock-hard chest and would have fallen over if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed hold of her. Up close and personal, he appeared larger than ever, like a giant oak with gnarly branches for arms.

Making sure she had her balance, he released his hold.

Rage walked up from behind Beast and stopped at his side. The top of Rage’s head barely reached his elbow. She took a bite of a cookie, spit it out, and then used her sleeve to wipe her mouth. “Gross. Don’t those people taste test their shit before using us as guinea pigs?”

For half a second they all stared at one another awkwardly until Rage said, “I saw your story on the news. Sorry about your kids.”

This was the first time she’d heard Rage speak without anger. The sincerity in the girl’s tone surprised her. “Oh . . . thanks.” She wondered if she should offer sympathy for Rage’s horrible childhood, et cetera. And then she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Of course she should offer sympathy, just as she should have offered Beth Tanner and Corrie Perelman a few simple words of comfort for their losses, too.

Faith McMann was a compassionate, caring being.

But Furious was someone else altogether. No words would come forth. Her mom was right. She was messed up. She gestured toward the building and said, “I forgot my bag inside.”

“I saw your website,” Rage said next. “It needs some work. I mean . . . some serious work.”

“That was my first attempt. I admittedly don’t have the skill set for web technology. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing.” Faith was about to start off again, but then she remembered what Steve had said about her needing additional help. “Do you know anything about web design? Or know of anyone who does?”

Rage looked at Beast, and Faith followed her gaze.

He shook his head as if Rage had asked him a question. Faith wondered what their connection was. She guessed his age to be close to forty, and Rage had to be somewhere around twenty-five. During the first meeting Faith attended, Rage had said she was an only child, so they couldn’t be brother and sister.

Faith recalled Beast saying something about being a bounty hunter. Maybe he could help her. “The truth is,” Faith said, “I’m desperate to find my children, and I can’t do it alone.” She strained her neck as she looked up at Beast. “You’re a bounty hunter—isn’t that right?”

He said nothing.

“I’m fully prepared to pay you to help me.” She looked from Beast to Rage. “Bounty hunters look for criminals, don’t they?”

“Pretty much,” Rage answered. She nudged Beast with her elbow. “I think we should help Furious find her kids.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Looking for idiots who dodged parole is a far cry from getting involved with organized crime.”

His voice was deep, baritone, every word enunciated, making him sound like a cross between Vin Diesel and James Earl Jones.

“Organized crime?” Faith asked.

“Your husband was killed, and your kids were taken. I don’t think that’s something your average criminal would do.”

“I understand,” Faith said. Clearly he wasn’t interested in taking the job. A part of her was relieved, mostly because of his intimidation factor. Somebody would help her, though. Maybe she would hire a private investigator. She anchored her hair behind her ear. “OK, well, I guess I’ll see you both at the next meeting.”

“See you then,” Rage said.

As she headed back into the building for her backpack, she could hear them arguing. Beast said something about doctor appointments, and Rage cursed and went on about how he mothered her too much and needed to stop. By the time Faith returned to the parking lot with her backpack, they were gone.

T
WENTY
-O
NE

To get to Sacramento, Miranda transferred trains at Richmond, which cost her another twenty-seven dollars. It was five o’clock when she stepped off the train. She’d fallen asleep and almost missed her stop, but she’d finally made it back home.

She was free.

For a moment, she merely stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Thirsty, she found a bathroom and drank water from the sink faucet, drank until she was full and didn’t pay any mind to the people standing in line staring at her.

She removed her floppy hat. Her hair was a tangled mess, matted with blood and semen. Using a wad of paper hand towels, she cleaned herself as best she could. She hadn’t realized what bad shape her face was in until she removed the sunglasses. Her bottom lip had been split open. Her left eye was discolored and swollen, making it difficult to see how much money she had left.

A total of eight dollars.

She slid on the sunglasses and the hat and then headed back out to the area where passengers waited for the next train. She spotted a pay phone but didn’t bother wasting a quarter. The only number she knew was the number to the apartment where she and her mom had lived before they were thrown out on the street.

Instead she walked up to the ticket lady and asked for directions to Watt Avenue. Her next stop was a concession stand, where she bought the cheapest snack food she could find. Starved, she ate the salty chips as she walked, didn’t dare stop and rest since she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back up again. The thought of going to the police had crossed her mind, but the idea of spending hours trying to explain everything that had happened and then being thrown into foster care freaked her out. What good would that do her? Her freedom wasn’t something she would ever risk again.

She kept on walking. No matter how sore, no matter how tired and bruised, with each step she took she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that she’d actually done it. She had escaped. The first thing she planned to do was find her mom. Then she needed to find a job. She would clean toilets for the rest of her life if she had to. She would work her fingers to the bone until she had enough money to get an apartment for her and her mom. She wasn’t afraid to work hard. She’d learned her lesson. Nothing came easily.

Looking up at the blue sky dotted with clouds, she thought of Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
and how badly Dorothy had wanted to get home. Miranda felt the same way.

And then she saw him.

Jasper.

His hands were clenched at his sides, his back straight and his expression grim as he headed down the sidewalk toward her.

She swiveled on her feet and took off running. The floppy hat flew from her head.

When he called out her name, pleading with her to stop, she ran faster. He’d come to take her back to the farmhouse. How did he find her? She cut across the street, weaved through traffic. Horns sounded. Tears stung her eyes. She would not ever go back to that place. Never! She would fight him to the death.

Strong fingers clamped over her shoulder. Whipping about, she kneed him in the groin, then spit and clawed at his face. He stumbled but managed to grab her before she could take off again. “Stop it!” he shouted. “I’m here to help you!”

“Liar!”

He had a strong grip on both wrists. People stopped at the light watched from their cars.

“Help me!” she cried.

“Please,” Jasper begged, his breathing labored. “Walk with me. My car is back that way.” He gestured behind him. “We’ll drive around and find a coffee shop or a restaurant where we can talk. I swear I’m not here to take you back to the farmhouse. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I dropped you off in San Francisco. I never should have left you there. I’m sorry. You have to believe me.”

The light turned green. The cars drove onward. A woman sitting behind the wheel of her car looked concerned, but somebody honked and she moved on. They were all busy people with important things to do. No time to save a girl with a fat lip and a bruised face. “How did you know where to find me?” she asked, all the while trying to twist her arms and make him release his hold.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. I was helping Diane in the kitchen when she received a call from someone letting her know you had escaped. She was frantic—afraid you would go straight to the police. Did you call the police?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe.”

“I told Diane I would find you and bring you back.”

She bristled, tried to get free. He held tight.

“You still didn’t answer my question. How did you find me?”

“You’re a smart girl. I figured you would find a way to get on the train and get back to Sacramento. And I was right.” He let go of one of her arms so he could reach into his coat pocket and pull out an envelope. “I knew where Diane had put the envelope of money I gave her when I returned from San Francisco.”

“You stole money from Mother?” She didn’t believe him. Nobody in his or her right mind would steal money from Mother, especially Jasper. This had to be a trap. She looked at the tall buildings and at the cars parked nearby to see if anyone was watching them.

“Here,” he said. “Take it.” He released his hold on her.

She grabbed the envelope, held it tightly in her grasp. “If you want to eat with me,” she told him as she stomped off, “you’re going to have to follow me on foot. I will never get into your car again.”

Exasperated, he followed her just the same. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll know when we get there.” She didn’t trust him, would never trust him or anyone else again in this lifetime. If he was being truthful and he truly intended to help her, he would have to do things her way.