Tracing Hearts (12 page)

***

A new day dawns and my head aches. I’m glad. It might just be a little retribution for the events that occurred so long ago. After making myself as presentable as possible, I pull into the parking garage at work, and shuffle into my office.

“Julia? What on earth happened? Have you been crying?” Jessica asks, a concerned look on her face.

“Good morning, Jess. Yes. I had a rough night.”

“Cameron’s move?”

I scoff.

“No. That would’ve put me in a better mood.”

“Then what?”

“The boxes of letters from Mrs. Vaughn came yesterday. I read one of the ones he never sent. It was heartbreaking.”

“Oh, honey. Are you okay?”

I shrug.

“Not really. I had no idea how he really felt.” I go on to tell her, briefly, about the letter and the reason he left. “I feel awful.”

“You couldn’t have known. He didn’t tell you. That’s on him, not you.”

“I know, but I should’ve told him how I was feeling. Maybe, then, he would’ve confessed his feelings to me. He wouldn’t have left, he wouldn’t have signed up for the Army, and he might be alive today because he wouldn’t have been in that plane.” Tears threaten again.

“Julia, you can’t play the
what-if
game. Of course, you would’ve prevented all that if you could, but there was no way you could’ve predicted any of it. Please stop putting so much pressure on your eighteen year old self.”

She’s right, of course, but it’s still so hard knowing I might’ve been able to prevent his death. She puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me a reassuring hug. I feel a little better but thoughts of Sebastian remain in my head most of the day.

***

Over the course of the next few days, I find the strength and courage to read a few more of Sebastian’s letters. Most of them are just stuff about his everyday life, his military experiences, and on more than one occasion, his triumphs. I think those hurt the worst because he was always such a supporter of mine, I wish I could’ve returned the favor. I find the letters odd though, in that he sounds as if he’s using them as a sort of diary. Then, I get to the last one in the box.

Dear Julia,

I witnessed something today that I don't think I was supposed to see. I don't want to write it down for fear it’ll be true. I’m afraid. I was spotted. The guys that saw me are powerful. They hold the power of life or death in their hands. I’m afraid to go to the MPs. I don't know who I can trust. I’m happy to be flying a surveillance mission the day after tomorrow. Maybe some distance will clear my head. Please say a prayer for me. I’ll need all I can get.

Love forever,

Sebastian

I clutch my chest as if it’ll drop to the floor. His flying mission. That’s the one that crashed into the sea. I cover my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Oh, my God. Sebastian, no! I want to reach through the lined paper and stop him from going. I want to write to him, or call and tell him he’ll die if he does. I feel so helpless knowing there’s nothing I can do. I wail tears so hot, they feel as though they burn while they roll down my face.

“Sebastian, please. Change your mind. Please don't go,” I say out loud, in hopes that he can hear me from somewhere in the past. The pillow next to me becomes a casualty as I hurl it across the room in a rage. Why did this have to happen? Who are these men who are involved? Did they have something to do with his plane crash? I find it ironic that two days before the accident, Sebastian witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to. But, what did he see that made him so afraid to tell anyone? Could the mob be involved? Does Germany even have a mob? Maybe my imagination is getting out of control. Surely, it was just an accident. My mind wanders back to the fact that I’ve just read Sebastian’s last letter ever. The pen pal and friend I’d grown to care so deeply for, is gone. My anger turns to profound sorrow, and I curl up into a ball on the carpet. While clutching his last letter to my chest, I cry myself to sleep.

***

I wake with a jolt. What woke me? I look around the room but everything is quiet. I yawn and stretch, then look at the clock. It’s two in the morning. My head aches as I walk toward the front door and look out the peephole. No one’s there. “I must’ve been dreaming,” I murmur to myself. I look down at the mess of letters strewn about on the floor, and decide I’ll clean them up in the morning.

***

“Hey, Julia. Want to go out tonight? I hear Pony Express is playing at the club,” Jessica says.

I shrug.

“I don’t know. I had a long night last night.” I don’t want to talk to her about what I read. I’m not sure why, but my instincts tell me to shut my mouth.

“Come on. We haven’t been out in forever. You need a night out. Maybe it’ll get your mind off…
things
.”

I know by the way she said
‘things’ that
she really meant to say Sebastian. The problem is, I’m thinking about him now more than ever. I just can’t seem to shake the feeling there’s more to the story. Then again, Jessica will just keep bugging me, until I agree to go out with her. Reluctantly, I give in.

“Fine,” I say in a monotone voice.

“Really?” she squeaks.

“Yes. I’ll go with you. What time?”

“Nine o’clock okay?”

“I suppose. Is that when the band starts?” She nods. “Okay then. I’ll meet you there at nine.” She claps her hands and hugs me.

“You won't regret it,” she says, but somehow, I’m not convinced.

By the end of my work day, I’m exhausted, both physically, and mentally. All day long I was distracted by thoughts of what Sebastian could’ve seen, and who might’ve seen him. Is it possible to rig an airplane to crash remotely? Or, maybe, it was tampered with before he took off. Before I leave the office, I do several Google searches on the subject. I also search for major crimes in the area or major public trials around the time of his death. Since it was over nine months ago, I have to search the archives of several newspapers in and around the air base and in the US. The task is overwhelming, but it’s as if I can’t stop, until I come up with something. Idly, I wonder if the FBI will show up and question me as to my motives. Jess walks toward me with her purse in hand.

“It’s almost six. You’d better go home so you can get cleaned up. I’ll expect you to look like you put a little effort into it,” she says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes.

“Yes, Mom.” She frowns. “I’m just finishing up, then I’ll be leaving. No worries. I’m not backing out.”

“You better not, or else I’ll come to your apartment and drag you out by your hair.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Okay, maybe not. But, don't get too caught up in whatever you’re doing, okay?”

“I promise. Now go. I’m leaving in five minutes,” I say, fully intending to keep my promise.

She takes her cue, and leaves. As I finish printing out the last of my quick Google searches, my email pings. I open it.

Julia,

I’m sorry to contact you like this, but I’m alive and well. I’m in hiding from some really bad people. I’m in trouble and desperate. I need your help. Can you meet me tonight?

Sebastian

My blood runs cold. I think I’m in shock. Sebastian? How? Could it really be him? Could he really be alive? I’m frozen in place, unable to move. It’s as if any sudden movement could suddenly trigger a bomb to go off. What do I do? Do I reply? I can’t very well ignore it because what if it really is him? I sit immobilized for a few more minutes. Then an idea hits me.

Sebastian,

If it’s really you, then what was the name of my dog when I was a child?

-J

There. If it really
is
him, he’ll be able to answer that with no problem. I wait anxiously on pins and needles for another ping. I don't have to wait long.

Charlie

My heart beats fast as realization dawns. It’s him.
He’s alive!
I have so many questions to ask him. I’m a combination of excited, relieved, and nervous to see him. I hug myself, but remember I need to find out where he wants to meet me, and exactly what kind of trouble he’s in. I type a quick response.

Sebastian,

Where would you like me to meet you?

-J

Julia,

There’s a bus stop enclosure just south of 21st Street by the old theater. Meet me there in one hour. Don’t tell anyone, or you could put me in danger.

Sebastian

Put him in danger? Oh no. What has he gotten himself into? I feel adrenaline begin to rush through my body. But, before I can go, I shoot him one more email to let him know I’ll come.

***

I wait about thirty minutes, before I leave from the office. Everyone else has gone home for the weekend with the exception of a few of the night staff.

“Would you like me to walk you to your car, miss?” a member of the cleaning staff asks. He’s a nice older gentleman with wavy, white hair, who I’ve seen here for years. His name is George, I think.

“No thanks. I can handle it,” I say.

“Are you sure? It’s not safe for a pretty woman, such as yourself, to walk alone in a parking garage.” I contemplate his words. He’s right. Especially, since this weird stuff came up with Sebastian.

“You know what? I’d love an escort. Thank you.” I smile at him warmly.

We walk side by side to the set of elevators which lead to the garage. On the way, we make small talk.

“My wife told me I should retire, but I say phooey. I like staying alive and keeping up an active lifestyle. It’s a pretty good way to go about not dying,” he says. I giggle.

“Well, I think you’re onto something, George. Thanks for the advice, and the pleasant walk.” I pat him gently on the shoulder as the elevator opens on my floor. “I can see my car from here. I’ll be fine now,” I say, pointing to my blue compact car.

“Okay, then. Have a nice weekend.”

I wave at him, as I make my way toward my car. A woman walks toward me with a uniform on. She looks like she may be late for work, as she hurries past me. Fishing out my keys from my purse, I reach my car, and notice a note on the windshield. Excited, I scoop it up and, with trembling fingers, unfold it. I’m confused. It’s blank.

Just then, I feel a strong arm around my waist and another over my mouth and nose. Instinctively, I claw at the man’s hand and dig my nails into him, in an attempt to pry him off. I try to scream, but his hand is tight against my face. The cloth that’s between me and my assailant’s hand, smells sweet, and I start to feel dizzy. I’m breathing heavily while trying to struggle, which causes me to involuntarily inhale more of the chemical soaked fabric. Soon, my body feels weak, as it succumbs to the inevitable. My vision blurs, then goes black, and I feel my knees hit, what I can only assume is, the ground. Right before I pass completely out, I hear the labored breaths of the man while he lifts me into his van, parked only feet away from my car.

Julia

The world is quiet, devoid of all sounds. My eyes are closed, or am I blindfolded? I’m not sure in my still-groggy state. Then, my heart races in a panic, as I become more aware of my surroundings. Where am I? What happened to me? Who did this and why? I’m afraid to test my vision, afraid to see where I am or who has me. I’m afraid to let my captors know I’m awake. What’ll they do to me if they know I’m awake? I’m on something soft. A bed? Oh, God. Please don’t let this be a bed. My hands are bound in front of me with something strong. I tentatively test my bonds. They’re tight, with no wiggle room at all. Something is also on my mouth. Duct tape? It’s wide and goes from just under my nose, to the bottom of my chin. It sticks to my skin. My legs are also tied together, though it’s hard to tell with what. I want to cry, but first I need to survey my surroundings, if possible. I lift the lid of my right eye. very slowly, in an attempt to see something, anything. But, I can’t see much. There’s a small amount of light which comes from the lower half of my range of sight, but the blindfold gives me a very limited view. The only sense I have is my hearing. A door opens, then closes. My already elevated heart rate launches into a sprint. Oh no. This could be it. What’ll they do? I keep still and listen intently, as that’s all I can do.

A TV comes on. It’s a commercial for some car company. I feel the movement of someone sitting at the end of the bed. I inhale softly, startled. My shallow breaths come out in short bursts, but I try not to breathe too loudly. I have to pretend, for as long as I can, that I’m asleep. Next, I hear the crisp
pop
of a can being opened. A can of beer maybe? After that, I hear a gurgling noise and some slurping. These noises go on, intermittently, for about half an hour I think, judging by the television programming.

My mind races with all manner of thoughts but none that make sense. What would anyone want with me? I think about Jess and if my not showing up at the club has her worried. And Sebastian. I was supposed to meet him. When I didn’t show up, did he think I’d given up on him? What kind of trouble is he in? Is he safe? What the hell am I worried about
him
for?
I’m
the one who’s in trouble now. I wrack my brain for any clues as to why I’ve been abducted, but come up empty. Tears begin to overtake all reason, and I cannot stop them. I’m overwhelmed at the prospect that I might never make it out of here. I need help. I wish now that I’d let Cameron back into my life and that he would rescue me. But, more than that, I wish for Sebastian. I cry, as silently as I can, as not to show I’m conscious, but my nose, my only open airway, is getting stuffy, and I need to inhale sharply to clear it. I hold off as long as I can, as that’ll be a cue to check on me, I’m sure. Unable to wait any longer, I sniffle, then feel the bed shift. Oh God. Now what?