Stolen (20 page)

“After it was done, I flipped. I bailed on the girl,
running down the street, completely freaking out. I didn’t even know what the
tattoo looked like. When I got back to the hotel, I ran to the bathroom,
stripping my clothes as I went, thankful my friends weren’t back yet!

“Standing in front of the floor length mirror, I saw
it. Right there on my ass was a rose and underneath it, it said,
Cupid
was
here
, with puckered lips underneath the script. It was terrible! It gets
even worse. Because of where it was, I couldn’t sit without being in pain, so I
did a lot of standing. I couldn’t wait for that vacation to end!”

 “Oh my God! I don’t even know what to say to
that! That is hilarious! You keep talking about it in the past tense, though.
Did you have it removed?” I ask.

“Damn straight I did! As soon as I had the money, I
had that horrible thing removed. Sadly, I didn’t have the money until about
three years after.”  

“That’s even better! So you had to go three years with
it on your toosh? That must have been fun explaining it to girlfriends?”

“I explained that I was very ‘in tuned’ with my
emotional side! ‘That I loved love!’ I still can’t believe I said that to
girls!” he says while laughing.

“I can’t believe any of them would fall for that. I
would have called your bullshit if you had tried that with me,” I state.

“Well hopefully you’ll never have some dude tell you a
line like that! Kick him in the ass if he does—I’ll back you if he tries to
press charges!”

“Glad to know I have your support in said ass
kicking!” Now I’m the one laughing.  

“Damn straight! Do you feel any better? Please tell me
I didn’t share that gem in vain.”

“No worries. I definitely feel better. How could I not
after hearing that?” I ask.

“
Glad to hear it! So can I
ask you a question? And don’t feel like you have to answer me.”

“Okay?” I answer slightly afraid of what he’s going to
ask me.

“It’s nothing bad. I’m just wondering what it is about
that picture of you and Rogan that has embarrassed you so much. Is it just
because of the obvious or is there something I’m missing? Again, you don’t have
to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to pry”

I mull over his question. Do I want to share something
so personal with him? I mean, it’s Bruce, but does he need to know this?

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,” he says.

Taking my silence as an answer, I have to decide
whether I want to open up to him or not.

“Sorry, I was just thinking. You’re right that that
picture is embarrassing on face value alone, but beyond that, well, that was
taken on our anniversary. It was our first time.” I confess before I can think
too much about what I’m confessing to.
 

He hasn’t responded yet. Did I freak him out with that
confession? Is he going to think I’m childish? I’m starting to panic. Why
hasn’t he said anything?

“Bruce? Say something. Are you freaked out?”

One long minute passes before he finally responds to
my confession.

“No. I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to say that
won’t sound inappropriate, or just, I don’t know, just wrong. I feel bad that I
asked. I’m sorry.”

I’m so stupid! I never should have confessed that to
him. He didn’t need to know. I could have just let it go, but no, I
had
to tell him.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

“I’ll just talk to you tomorrow, okay? Sorry to bother
you. Good night.” I rush my words, too ashamed to stay on the phone any longer.

“Wait!
I don’t want you to go,” he shouts just
as I’m about to hang up. “I’m just at a loss as to what to say, what to say
that’s appropriate anyway, and since I can’t seem to find those words, I’ll
just say what I’m thinking and pray I don’t cross a line between us.

“I’ve come into your life under terrible
circumstances, been there with you through terrible experiences, but I’ve never
been so in awe of someone as I have been with you. You take everything that has
happened almost as a given, but in a good way. It’s allowed you to deal with
whatever might happen next calmer than most people would. When you cry, it’s
when anyone would cry. The times you
don’t
cry, though, are when
everyone
would cry.

“You amaze me and I feel so privileged that, even
though it was a horrible way for it to happen, I’ve been let into your life.
All that being said, what you just told me breaks my heart. I wish I could have
saved Rogan. I wish I could have done more. I wish I could be the hero you need
me to be. You don’t deserve any of this. I’m just hoping things will be better
for you soon.”

For the first time in I don’t know how long, I cry
because I’m happy
.

“You’ve saved me, not only physically from dying, but
emotionally as well. There were plenty of times I wanted just to give in, but
you were always in my head telling me to stick it out, that one day it would
all be over. It’s you who has gotten me through most of these past few months.
I’m happy that you’re in my life, even if it is because of some asshole who
wanted to torment me. Speaking of which, when will I get to see him? To know
his name?” I ask.

“He was being arraigned the last I heard. When we go
to the station to fill out your report I’m sure you could see his mug shot if
you wanted,” he answers emotionlessly, as if he’d rather I forgot about my
attacker all together.   

“I can’t see him in person?”

“Absolutely not! You will see him if, and only if,
it’s absolutely necessary. I’m not letting you within a hundred yards of that
prick!” he yells into the phone.  

Wow! He’s mad.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push. It’s just that I need
to know, for my own sanity. You can get that, right?” I ask in a whisper afraid
to make him even madder.

“My main concern is your safety. I do get that seeing
him is a part of what you need to have closure; I just want to make sure he’s
locked away before you’re let near him. I’m not trying to be a jerk here; I
just want you safe.”

“Fine. I’ll let it go tonight, but don’t think you can
hide him from me forever! I’ll beat your ass, I will!” I say jokingly trying to
lighten the conversation.

“Oooo, I’m shaking in my pj’s.”

“Hehe, you’re in pj’s?”

“Well, yeah, what did you think I slept in?” he asks.

“Don’t know. Guess I never really thought about it.
You’ve always said you don’t sleep much, so I guess I figured you just stayed
dressed all the time. I suppose that’s pretty silly, huh?”

“It’s not silly. I’m sorry to burst your bubble,
though, in admitting I
do
wear pj’s. I’m still a normal guy, you know?”

“I guess this is what happens when you only know
someone based on how they are around
you,
not how they are outside of
the
you
surroundings,” I state.  

“That was oddly put, but yeah, I guess that’s true.
You only know the cop Bruce, not the baseball, pizza, anything fried, Stallone
loving Bruce. Maybe one day you’ll get to meet him. I think you might like
him,” he says teasingly.

“Stallone? Really? I don’t know about that. But I’m
totally
on board with the rest. Mmmm . . . pizza.” My empty belly rumbles at the
thought.

“When this is all said and done we’ll go out for a
big, cheesy, gooey mess of deliciousness as our celebratory dinner. You game?”

“It’s a date! Cheesy pizza here we come!” I exclaim.

“Glad to know you’re excited about the pizza. I hope
part of you will be excited to see me, too. Geesh, way to give a guy a
complex.”

“As if any girl could give you a complex! Of course
I’ll want you there; I’m not paying for the pizza!”

“Glad to know where I stand. As much fun as this is,
you telling me I’ll be buying you food and all, it’s late. You should get some
sleep. I’ll be over around eight this morning to go over your speech. And who
knows, maybe after the conference I’ll buy you a pizza.”

“I’m as good as asleep!” I say excitedly. “All you had
to do was promise pizza! Thanks for talking to me for so long. I’ll see you in
. . . less than five hours!”

“I’m counting down the minutes. Good night, Jess.”

Three
Years Ago . . .

I only sleep for about three and half hours after
Bruce and I stop texting until the time mom wakes me at seven to get ready for
the conference, but I feel more rested than I have in so long. I still don’t
want to do this, but I feel capable of doing it now, a huge change from how I
felt before.

After I shower, mom helps me pick out an outfit that’s
simple, understated; something a girl would wear if she had just learned her
boyfriend had been killed by the same man who later kidnapped her.

I’m wearing a capped sleeve charcoal gray,
knee-length, dress. My hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, nothing too
flashy, finished off with a pair of black ballet shoes. I think I look just the
right amount of depressing.  I’ve just finished getting ready when the
doorbell rings. Looking to mom, I feel terrified. It’s probably just Bruce, but
what if it isn’t?

Holding her hand as we make our way down the stairs
toward the front door, my hands get clammy, my breathing quickens, and I feel
faint. On the last step, we hear, “Beth? Jess? It’s Bruce. Let me in, will you?
It’s kinda crazy out here.”

Nearly stepping on mom as I push her out of the way, I
run to the door. Bruce is on the porch when I yank it open, along with a slew
of reporters at the end of our driveway. Bruce got a restraining order so they
can’t come onto our property. That doesn’t keep them from congregating in the
street, but at least it keeps them off our lawn and away from our front door.

“Thanks,” he says while locking and bolting the door
behind him. “It’s a madhouse out there. I didn’t think I’d have as much trouble
getting through as I did. I thought they would all be setting up at the
courthouse for the conference. Obviously, I was wrong. Wow!

“You look nice, Jess. Good choice,” he says
approvingly of my outfit as he walks past me with a binder under his arm. Mom
trails me as I follow Bruce into the kitchen where he’s already spreading
papers out onto the island.  

“Okay, so I worked on your speech, but I want to go
over it with you in case you have any questions. If there’s something you want
to add or take away, let me know,” he instructs as he hands me a single sheet
of white printer paper filled only about halfway with my speech.

The kitchen is eerily quiet while I read the words
Bruce has written for me. Thank the Cosmos that I’m a fast reader. “This sounds
fine. I don’t think there’s anything I want to add. What if they ask me
questions? Am I supposed to answer them?” I ask Bruce.

“This isn’t that type of conference. You’ll give your
speech, then we’ll leave. The reporters will try to ask you questions, but you
don’t have to answer them.
Don’t
answer them! Okay?” he commands.

“Okay,” I say meekly, not knowing how to respond to
his curt instruction. He’s never spoken to me like this before. I don’t know
why he’s so adamant about me not answering any questions, but the tone in his
voice allows for no argument on the subject. He seems on edge. It’s probably
just this whole press conference thing—I know it’s messing with my head.

“Good. Well, I suppose we should get going,” he
declares after looking at his wristwatch. “Wouldn’t want to be late,” he says
sarcastically. “We’ll take your car, Beth. Since it’s in the garage, it’ll be
more convenient for us to get in and out of the house. You ready, Jess?”

“I just want to get this over with,” I state with
sincerity.

“It’ll be over before you know it. These things tend
to go fast once you get there. It’s the buildup beforehand that makes it seem
like an eternity when in actuality it’s usually over in less than ten minutes.
And I’ll be right beside you the whole time if you need me.”

“You’ll be next to me the whole time?” I ask eagerly.
I thought it would just be my piece of paper, a podium to speak from, and me.
 

“Of course I’ll be next to you. Where did you think
I’d be, hiding behind a curtain or something?”

“Well, yeah, I guess I did,” I answer honestly.

“Silly girl, when are you going to realize you can’t
get rid of me so easy? I’m like that annoying friend who never seems to go
home, who drives you nuts the entire time you’re around them, but who you miss
when they do finally leave. See, I only leave long enough to make you forget
how much I bug you when you’re around me,” he says while nudging me with his
shoulder. “Now get your butt into the car so we can order that pizza!”

“Yes, sir.” I mockingly salute him before walking
toward mom, who’s waiting for us at the door leading into the garage. “Oh wait,
shouldn’t we get Cass?” I ask breathlessly, ashamed I nearly forgot about my
sister.

Bruce and mom exchange looks before telling me she
isn’t home, that she went to stay with friends for a couple of days, but are
sure she’ll be watching it on TV.

I don’t feel comfortable with their answer, but we
don’t have time to discuss it. I have no choice but to let it go for now. I
wish she were going to be next to me. I hope she’s at least okay wherever and
with whomever she’s with right now.

The whole ride to the courthouse my mind is frantic
with errant thoughts. I miss Cass. I wish she were here. I’m happy Bruce will
be next to me; will mom? I forgot to ask. “Mom?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“Bruce said he was going to stand up with me. Will you
be, too?”

“I’d love to, but Bruce doesn’t think it’s safe for me
to. He’s only up there to offer protection. I’ll be close though, okay?” she
asks while looking at me over the front passenger seat’s headrest. Bruce
insisted on driving.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I answer, and it is. I only asked
because I hadn’t before. To be honest I’m indifferent with who stands beside
me. I just want to get through the speech, run back to the car, and go home.

Back to my errant thoughts, I’ll be talking about the
“tragedy,” as Bruce puts it in the speech, over what happened to Rogan. What if
I can’t hold it together during that part? I have to talk briefly about my
kidnapping experience. What if I break during that part? What if I break before
I even start the speech?

I can’t breathe! I’m going to pass out. I feel so
dizzy. My heart is beating painfully against my chest, my hand is moving
harmoniously with the beats. Bending forward so my face is in my lap, I try to
take calming breaths. This isn’t my first panic attack, but it’s by far the
worst.

“Jess, hold on. We’re almost there, just hold on.” I
hear Bruce’s voice through the thumping in my ears.

“Oh my God! Honey, what’s going on?” I hear the
frantic voice of my mother.

I can’t answer her. I need to focus on my breaths
right now before I attempt to speak.

One shallow breath.

Two shallow breaths.

Three shallow breaths.

Two shallow breaths. One deep breath.

One shallow breath. Two deep breaths.

Three deep breaths.

Four deep breaths.

My heartbeat is slowing, the thumping in my ears
waning, the dizziness subsiding. Taking a chance, I sit up in the seat. My
equilibrium isn’t quite back to normal, but it’s slowly returning. My panic
attack ended just in time to pull in back of the courthouse, away from the mob
parked in front.

Slamming the brakes of the car, launching me forward
in the seat, Bruce throws the car’s shifter into park and jumps into the back
seat, pulling me close to him. “Jess, are you okay? Oh my God, you scared me,”
he says between frantic breaths.

Soon mom is in the back seat, making me the filling to
an uncomfortable Mom-Bruce sandwich. “Guys! I’m fine. Now will you let me have
a little air please? You’re smothering me here,” I cry out as I push Bruce
forward with the palms of my hands and mom back with my lower back jutted out.

“I just panicked a little. I’m fine now, though,
okay?  I promise,” I assure them both. I’m not convinced I am, but this
isn’t helping anything. I just need to get this over with.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Bruce asks.

No, I’m not sure! I shout in my head.
“Yeah, I’m good. Really, I’m good. Let’s get this over with.”

He studies me for a long moment before relenting to my
request. I think he wants to get this over with as much as I do. “I’ll be right
beside you,” he reminds me.

Forcing a smile, I nod in acknowledgement.

Walking to a back door of the courthouse, we go
quickly through security before walking/running through an eerily quiet
corridor. The closer we get to the end, the louder the noises behind one of the
closed doors becomes. Standing in front of it, both Bruce and mom squeeze one
of my hands. I don’t squeeze back. I can’t.

Bruce taps on the door. The echo off the corridor
walls startles me, causing me to jump. “It’s okay. I’m just letting them know
we’re here. There’s someone right on the other side who’s been waiting for us
to arrive and who will now introduce you to the crowd. Take a minute if you
have to. They’ll wait,” he explains.

“No, I’m good. Let’s get this over with.” My voice
comes out shakier than I would have liked.

“You got this. Just remember there’s a pizza at the
end of this,” he reminds me with an infectious smile.

There’s a timid smile on my lips when the doors open,
dissipating quickly when the roar and camera flashes from the crowd in front of
me wipe it from my face. Taking a cleansing breath, I walk to the podium, paper
in hand and Bruce by my side.

“Thank you all for coming,” I begin after the crowd
settles down. “I know what you want me to talk about, but I’d like to take a
minute to say a few things before I get to all that. I know my story and the
story of Rogan Morgan has made all your newspapers, magazines, and TV shows
hungry for details to fill your articles and news segments, but neither Rogan
nor I can so easily fit into the news you report.

“We’re people. Our families are people. I’d like to
ask that you respect that. I understand you need to report this story, but
please remember that this isn’t just a story to us; this is our life. A tragedy
we’re facing every day.

“That being said, I can’t speak for Rogan or his
family, but I’d like to explain some of the things that have happened to me.
About seven months ago, I received a letter from someone who never gave his
name nor any clues for the police to trace. At that time, Rogan and I had been
seeing each other for a year. In the letter, it hinted at the possibility that
Rogan could get hurt if I continued a relationship with him. That very day I
ended things with Rogan for his protection.

“For the past seven months I’ve had minimal contact
with Rogan, believing I was doing the right thing, that I was protecting him.
When I heard what happened, I was stunned. I-I.” Taking a deep breath, I
attempt to keep the tears at bay. I feel Bruce’s hand squeeze mine, giving me
enough encouragement to continue.

“I’m sorry,” I tell the room, quickly wiping away a
few tears that have fallen. “When I heard that Rogan was dead, I was so angry.
I had left him so he would be protected. I miss him so much and he’ll never
know that.” That isn’t a part of Bruce’s speech, but the truth spills out of me
before I can stop it.

“Then two days ago, the same day Rogan was kil—the
same day Rogan died.” I change the wording at the last second. I can’t say aloud
that he was killed. “I was kidnapped. The man has been apprehended. It’s
believed that he’s the same man who’s been stalking me the past few months and
the same man who was behind Rogan’s death.

“There isn’t much more I can tell you at this time.
I’ve been told that the police will keep you informed as the case progresses.

“Thank you all for coming. And again, please respect
the privacy of those involved. Thank you.”

Resting his hand on my lower back, Bruce leads me out
the same door we walked through what feels like hours ago. With the click of
the door latching shut, I collapse onto the floor. Tears pour freely,
shamelessly, down my cheek and onto the floor. Sobs wrack my body. Breaths
barely escape my open mouth, leaving me feeling like a fish out of water. My
head hurts so badly. I didn’t think there was anything left of my heart to
break—I was so wrong. Sand is thicker than the pieces left of my tormented
heart.

“Jess, it’s over. It’s over. I’m so sorry I put you
through that. I shouldn’t have ever suggested it so soon after everything.” He
trails off.

I’m floating, my arms hanging freely down my sides. I
feel weightless. I should care what’s happening to me. I can’t really be
floating after all, but I don’t care. There’s absolutely no part of me that
cares about anything right now.