In Plain View (33 page)

To my left, a nightstand held a paperback, a travel alarm and a glass of water. The water was in a nice, heavy glass. It might do some damage if I dropped it on his head. Nothing else weapon-worthy.

Pat glanced left, right. Pulled the bedroom door out to see the pile of dirty clothes behind it. He moved one direction, I moved the other, circling.

“Jenny?” he called, leaning over to try and see under the bed.

There was a clear path to the door. I jumped forward, shoving his butt as I passed and enjoying the thud that followed. I jerked the door shut on my way out, dashed across the hall to my sister’s room, got that door closed and locked before he slammed against it. The hollow-core door buckled like tin.

“Jenny? Jen! Come out,” I whispered. I jerked a dresser toward me, while my butt braced the door. “Little help here.”

Her face appeared, peeking around the bottom of the closet door.

“Find the phone! Quick.”

“It’s dead.” She held it up. She must have carried it into the closet with her. Realizing I needed help, Jenny scrambled out of the closet, got behind the chest and pushed.

As soon as we had the door blocked, I grabbed her hand and dragged her to the “Window! Outside. Go!”

Pat hit the door from the outside, rattling the dresser. Knobs and hinges tinkled metal on metal. The wood trim around the door jamb cracked.

I cranked open the casement window with one hand and fumbled the latches that held the screen in place with the other.

“Hurry, hurry. Out you go. I’ll keep him busy in here. You get to a neighbor’s house and call Curzon—I mean, call 9-1-1. Run. Don’t stop.” I grabbed her by the waist and swung her up, feet first, over the window frame. It wasn’t hard. Most of my shoes weighed more than Jenny.

She dropped into the shadowy space between the foundation hedge and the house with hardly a sound. I watched her get her bearings and skitter off.

“Good girl,” I whispered. Like her momma in the emergency room, Jenny didn’t freeze under pressure.

The chest of drawers gave a final creaking lurch and Pat’s hand wrapped around the door, caught the jamb and shoved it wide enough to fit his shoulder sideways. His face appeared in the crack for less than half a second. He saw me by the window and
poof!
he was gone.

“Shit!” I leapt over the bed, squeezed around the chest and pinched my way through the opening.

I flung myself down the hall with one thought—
time.
Jenny needed time to get away.

Pat must have heard me coming. He’d grabbed the bat. But his expression, as he glanced over his shoulder, was something between confused and skeptical, when the one-hundred-and-fifty-pound woman in a housecoat did her best to drive her shoulder right through his rib cage.

I’ve seen people shot, crushed and run over. I’ve seen fist fights, bar fights and concert brawls. News flash: watching and doing—very different.

Pat’s head hit the tile floor right where the hall carpet ended. Sound effects: the muffled
whump
of his body, followed by the melon crack of his head.

I bounced off him and landed with the small of my back against the corner of the wall. Sound effects: the
oof
and
aaiee
from your typical chop-socky martial arts movie.

The slugger clattered to the floor on the far side of Pat, then rolled toward the front door.

Pat grunted and turned over slowly—elbows, to knees, then upright.

I clawed my fingertips into the back of his pants, the plan being either to pull him down or myself up. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Focus on me,
I thought. With my head ducked tight against his back, I kept both arms wrapped around his waist and locked my fingers.
Run, Jenny, run.

“Let go—you stupid,” he grunted, “cow.” He took two steps, dragging me toward the door with him, then chopped at my hands and arms with the side of his fist. When he dug his thumbs into my wrists and twisted, my grip broke. I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling up, the tip of my nose from burning.

He reached for the bat. I dropped back on my haunches, swiveled a one-eighty on the slick wood floor, and pictured my sister when I whip-kicked into the side of his knee. Sound effects: crunchy-snapping followed by a satisfyingly high scream.

Pat’s whole body lurched in the direction of the hurt as he stumbled and fell.

Time shifted into slow motion. I couldn’t move the way my mind insisted. An angry man in pain is not a good person to be underneath.

Roaring with animal-pain, Pat grabbed for my ankles as I crab-crawled backward. He was babbling, repeating himself over and over. Saying things like,
I’ll kill you. You are dead. Dead!

My robe bunched up around my waist, flashing my white, Monday underwear. For half a second covering my undies seemed like my top priority—until I saw the fist. He couldn’t reach my head, so he aimed for my stomach. The thought alone was enough to give me a puking cramp.

I shut my eyes, muscled a turn trying to protect the soft parts and screamed.

“Stop…”

Time stopped. He froze. I froze. Nothing else happened, because we both recognized the voice.

Jenny.

“No!” I cried.

Boom.
Pat connected.

Sound effects: air
whuffing,
gagging. I lost my visual completely for a few seconds.

“Don’t!” Jenny finished, her tone more of a loud whine than a demand.

I blinked to clear my focus. Jenny was a shadowed silhouette against the open door. I could see she held the bat in the ready position—barely half his size and ready to fight.

“Jenny! You came back.” Pat almost sobbed with relief.

His reaction surprised her. She cocked her head, as if to ask
why’s he happy?

A siren, getting louder by the second. Now I was the happy one.

Pat’s fist changed to a grabbing claw. He snatched the bat from her hand, upended it and levered himself to standing using the bat like a cane. He hunched forward.

“Stop,” Jenny squeaked.

Pushing up to hands and knees, past the pain, past the consequences, past everything but the present moment. “Keep away from her.”

Pat’s face was a Halloween mask of human fears. “Jenny comes with me. You stay.”

“No!”

He tried to nab her with his free hand. Jenny jolted past and into my arms. I twisted to push her behind me.

“I do not have time for this!” The siren was so loud I could hardly hear him. Pat drew back with the bat, aiming for my leg.

I covered Jenny with my body, worried he might hit her by mistake. I grabbed a shoe lying near the door, trying to block his swing.

He caught my right thigh muscle an inch above my knee and lit my entire side on fire. Nerves at the top of my head spasmed. Weird primordial sounds leaked out of my mouth. The first thing I saw, when I could see again, was Jenny’s face. She was so unnaturally pale and stiff, she looked like a mannequin.

Damn him for scaring her.

I pressed up on my arms, rolled off Jenny and curled myself in a ball breathing in short, gasping outbursts.

“See what it feels like?” Pat screamed. He stepped closer and shouted into my face, “See?”

Behind us I heard the familiar
bam!
of the front door slamming open. A voice I recognized called, “County Sheriff!”

Curzon.

Startled, Pat turned to look and I took that opportunity to swing around again and uncurl my good leg with every ounce of force left in me. I connected right on the bull’s-eye.

Pat screamed. Then he fell down.

Jenny screamed.

I didn’t scream, even though I wanted to—real bad.

Curzon stepped into the melee and whipped out his phone. He called everyone but his grandmother to assist, while he pinned Pat’s hands behind him in handcuffs.

“Maddy, Maddy, Mommy.” Jenny rocked herself side to side on the floor. “Mommy, Mommy.”

The sound of Jenny’s panic made it hard to feel any pain, any relief.

“Help me, Jack. Help her.” I crawled toward her. “It’s all right, Jenny. It’s all right.”

Curzon scooped her up off the floor and carried her to the couch in the family room. I got myself upright but had to lean hard on Curzon to make it there.

“I got you now. I got you, Jenny.” I pulled her into my arms. I didn’t realize tears were slipping down my face until I tasted them on my lips.

Curzon dropped in front of me and examined my leg with a light touch. “How bad?”

A creepy, unhinged laugh came out of me. “Not as bad as him.”

I pulled Jenny close. Less than half a minute after we started shivering, Curzon produced a bag of frozen peas for my leg and an afghan from my sister’s bedroom.

The ice and warmth helped my insides calm, but my hands would not be still. I petted Jenny’s back, her head, her shoulder, over and over. “So brave, you are so brave. You came to help me, didn’t you? You are so brave,” I told her. “Everything’s safe now, Jenny. We did it. We did it together.”

We shook and leaked and sniffed. And gradually, calmed.

Curzon bustled around in the kitchen. I thought I heard the microwave beep. He appeared with two warm mugs. “Drink.”

Jenny sipped hers and handed the cup back with a grimace.

I took a swig. It was warm, watered-down juice.

“I was hoping for something stronger.”

“EMTs will set you up. Drink. It’ll help.”

“Where did you come from?” My body was in full stop, but my brain was still revving on the instant replays. “How did you know?”

“Jenny flagged me down. She came running into the street, saw my car at the corner and started hopping up and down, waving her hands.”

Jenny smudged her face against my already wet robe-front and dragged the afghan over her head, hiding beneath the familiar scent of comfort. It seemed to help, so I didn’t stop her.

Curzon put a hand on my shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “Paramedics will be here any minute.”

I thought he would walk away again, but he didn’t. He let his hand fall on my head and he stroked my hair once, twice. It seemed to help, so I didn’t stop him either.

7:05:59 p.m. Sign off

The rest of our evening was a party of paperwork and helping professionals. I had to promise I’d go to the station tomorrow for more of the same.

The paramedics looked me over but nothing they said could convince me to get off the couch. The bruise was going to be awesome but nothing appeared broken. They packed me in ice and fed me eight hundred milligrams of my favorite snack. After Jenny was checked and re-checked, they took off with Pat strapped tight in the back of the ambulance. I heard the phone ring while the guys were loading. Curzon answered it.

“You want to talk to your boy at the office?” he called from the kitchen.

I held out my hands and Curzon tossed the phone to me.

“Maddy?” Ainsley sounded upset. “What’s going on? Why are the police there? Is it bad?”

“Your camera work’s passable, College, but your questioning skills suck.” It took about ninety seconds to fill him in. He supplied the “no way’s” and “oh man’s.”

“It’s been a long day, College. What do you want?”

“Well, I have good news.” Ainsley’s voice went all breathy and excited. “I talked to Uncle Rich. Everything is copacetic with network and everybody. It’s totally cool.”

“O’Hara?” Gatt’s voice interrupted. I could hear Ainsley complaining in the background about the phone being grabbed from his hand. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell me you had a kid in the hospital? Am I some kind of asshole, I can’t make exceptions for somebody who’s got a sick kid? What are you thinking?”

“Uhh—”

“That’s what I thought! Christ! Get over yourself and start acting like a team player, you hear me, O’Hara? Do I look like I’ve got time for this kind of shit? I ripped up that stupid resignation and put it where it belonged—in the garbage. You’re goddamn right, I did. Whoever heard of somebody resigning in pencil? Garbage!”

“Who’s that, Aunt Maddy?” Jenny whispered right in my ear. With her head on my shoulder, I’m sure she could hear the whole thing, loud and clear.

“That’s my boss.”

“He’s loud.”

“Yeah.” But not so bad.

Ainsley came back on the line. “There’s someone else here who wants to speak to you.”

“If you ever satellite something without my approval again I will fire you, blackball you, and badmouth you at every ITVA convention I attend for the rest of my career. Clear?” Shirley Shayla said with the kind of cold-blooded lizard directness that left no doubt of bluff.

“Uh, yeah.”

“How is your niece?”

General managers drive straight to the point.

“She’s going to be all right.” My awareness shifted from the phone conversation to the weight of Jenny fitting right against my side. It felt like having a secret, like I’d finally figured out the answer. “We’re going to be fine.”

“Good,” Shayla said and I really think she meant it.

Ainsley came back on the line suddenly. “It was Uncle Rich who talked to the guys at network. They were a bit freaked about the shift from the autoerotic angle. But everybody’s cool now. Ms. Shayla really went to bat for you, too.” His voice dropped to a half whisper. “They just walked out so I can tell you, Shayla really liked the final version. She said, ‘Now that’s what I was hoping to see.’ After everyone talked, I only had to do a couple small changes—”

“What?” I stiffened. Jenny’s head bounced lightly against my collar bone.

“—but I think you’ll like them.”

“You changed my story?”

“Only a little. Mostly audio.”

“You changed my story?”

He blew out a rush of words. “We—they thought the end was sort of preachy. I took out a couple lines of voice-over and added some music. Some good music.”

“You changed my story.” I wondered for a minute if the pain in my leg was making me delirious.

“Yeah,” Ainsley gave in. “I changed it.”

“What ‘good music’?”

“It’s instrumental. Nothing canned. It’s an old folk song that starts with a flute and ends with a full rock band. It’s cool.”