When Jeff Comes Home (2 page)

"Please ..." I managed to choke, stopping when he laughed again.

"No!" he said mockingly, releasing me briefly and shoving me forward. I tripped on the uneven sidewalk and would have fallen had he not caught me. With one arm still wrapped around my stomach, he slid the van door all the way open. The sound was shockingly loud in the deserted lot. The van's interior was empty except for a pile of blankets and a green plastic garbage bag.

"Get in," he ordered, the sarcasm gone now from his voice. I looked back for my family as the man gave me a final shove into the van and climbed in after me.

I don't know how long we sat there, after.
I thought we might be in Wayne, near the street where I used to live, but I wasn't sure. Ray hadn't had much to say during the trip, and I knew better than to watch the road or ask too many questions.

He took a long drag off his Marlboro, held it, then exhaled a cloud of smoke that mingled with the visible puffs our breaths made in the icy air. The silence was broken only by the patter of rain hitting the car. Suddenly he sighed, then rolled his window down and tossed the cigarette out. Leaving the window open, he clasped the steering wheel with both hands.

"Well?" Ray hadn't talked for a while and his voice was froggy. Clearing his throat, he turned his head and spat out the window. I willed my hands steady on my thighs and chanced a look at him.

"Yes sir?"

Ray faced me, lip curled in a half sneer. I could barely make out his features in the half-light provided by a streetlight a quarter block away. Whoever had put the light in was planning ahead; there was nothing but a field and a half-cleared lot on the asphalted road where we were parked.

"You're here. 'Home.' Now get out."

"I. . . "

"Get out."

I reached for the door handle, but continued to watch Ray. I pushed the handle down and cracked the door an inch. The interior light came on. Moving deliberately, I pushed the door another inch. Rain spattered my hand and wrist.

As I had expected, Ray lunged across the seat for me. I stayed absolutely still, forcing myself not to flinch as he clasped me in an awkward embrace. I closed my eyes and retreated. Time meant nothing. I concentrated on the small sounds—the squeak of my leather jacket as Ray shifted, his quick harsh breaths, my own calm, measured breathing. I only hoped he couldn't feel how fast my heart was pounding.

Ray squeezed me hard, once, and brushed his lips across my hair. "Love you," he whispered. I kept my eyes closed, hands in my lap.

"I love you, Ray," I said. He pushed me back and put his hand under my chin. Opening my eyes, I smiled at him. Ray's face held its familiar mix of need and cruelty. His fingers pinched. "I don't have to go," I told him. "Are you sure you want me to?"

He dropped his hand. "It's what you want, kid. You can stay, I told you that." Ray pushed back his thick black hair. "It's not too late for us to drive away. Hell, we could go anywhere."

I kept smiling. It was impossible to know what Ray wanted me to do, or what he would allow me to do. "Um ... is this Wayne?"

"Yeah, it's Wayne."

"I didn't think—"

"You didn't think what?"

I glanced out the window. I could see a row of darkened houses across the field to my left. I knew now one of them used to be mine. "I didn't know you knew where my family lived, or ... I mean, we never talked about it."

Ray snorted. "There was a profile of your family in
Time
magazine, I saw your father on TV a couple times, it wasn't hard to find out." This was news to me, but I was careful to show no reaction. "You saw that poster outside Palm Desert," he added.

I could still recall the shock of seeing my face on the mini-mart window the first time Ray took me out with him. He had sworn and peeled out of the lot. I pretended I hadn't seen anything. But he didn't let me outside again for months.

"That was a long time ago," I said carefully.

"Look, I'm not about to convince you. You want to go, go. You don't, then let's get out of here." The harshness of his words was belied by his steady, measuring gaze. He shook his head slightly and reached out for me again. Quickly he kissed the side of my mouth, then pushed me toward the door. "I think you should go."

Outside, I looked back into the car. The rain darkened the windows and the streetlight threw odd shadows on the glass. I couldn't make out Ray's face. I raised my hand in a half wave, then started walking, using the streetlight as my guide. My legs were cramped from sitting so long, and I moved awkwardly, consciously keeping a slow pace so he wouldn't feel I was running from him. I resisted the temptation to look back.

The rain plastered my hair to my forehead and cheeks in long tangles and I realized how cold and uncomfortable I was. I unzipped my jacket and checked the inside pocket. The Dodgers' cap Ray had pressed upon me was still there. I pushed my hair back and put the cap on. As I hesitated, I heard Ray put the car in motion. I began walking again, not hurrying, and soon I saw the sign. I remembered what was on it before I was close enough to read it: Sunnyvue Avenue—the road I'd just come from, and Woodglen Drive—my old street. Ray trailed me, about a hundred yards behind, headlights off. I turned the corner and took a deep breath. My house, the white house where I had lived for three years before Ray took me, stood just beyond the grassy vacant lot where my brother and sister and I had played football and Frisbee. I walked through the lot, ignoring the sopping wet weeds that pulled at my jeans. Moving closer, I saw the house numbers, 3064, gleaming in polished brass. I had put those numbers up myself, under Dad's direction, the summer I turned thirteen.

I walked across the lawn, stopping when I reached the walkway. I couldn't imagine walking up those four steps to the porch. What then? Walk in? Knock? And say what? What if Ray followed me inside? Briefly I considered the unimaginable picture of my dad and Ray in the same room.

Ray tapped his horn lightly, so lightly I could barely hear it, but I jumped. He flicked the lights at me three times. I backed a step toward the house, but couldn't force myself any farther. After a moment, I heard a car door slam.

"Oh God, no," I whispered, "no, no, Ray." I walked back across the lawn to head him off, plastering a smile to my face. But Ray merely stood next to his car, arms folded.

"This is your house, isn't it?" he hissed. I nodded. "Then go in! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I will, Ray, I am," I told him, backing up all the way to the porch steps. After another hard look at me, Ray retreated into the Lexus and pulled the car forward, out of sight. I watched him go, my heart thudding against my chest.

The door burst open behind me and I heard a man shout, "Hands up, now!" I turned to face him, hands at my side. Squinting into the porch light, I slowly removed my cap.

A tall man in sweat pants and a T-shirt stood rigid on the top step, arms trembling in the firing position. I could make out the steel gleam of a revolver in the muted yellow light. A woman stood behind him in the door, another taller woman behind her with a boy.

Slowly the man lowered his arms. He stared at me, coming down a step.

"Who are you?" His voice shook. "Do you have something to do with Jeff Hart?" He sounded angry. Then, much more tentatively, "Are you Jeff?"

For a moment I wanted to say, "Not exactly." Instead, I nodded. One of the women cried out, but I did not look away from my father. He came down to me and I noted dully that Dad and I were the same height now. He looked at me for a long moment, then groaned, a harsh, animal cry that made me retreat.

Dad wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. Repeating my name, he began to sob, his body convulsing against mine, his tears hot against my cheek. I held myself stiffly, fiercely embarrassed and uncomfortable. My stepmother Connie, sister Charlotte and brother Brian watched from the doorway, Connie's arms around the kids.

It was what I had dreamed of ever since I'd been taken. Yet I felt nothing. Or rather, nothing like I'd imagined. I was cold, and ashamed, terrified that Ray would come back at any moment. I wanted Dad to let me go, but I knew the moment he did the questions would start.

The air shifted and the rain began coming down with more force. Dad released me reluctantly.

"Come on, let's go in," he said, placing his hands on my shoulders and gently pushing me up the stairs. Charlotte, Connie and Brian retreated into the house ahead of us as I moved forward like a zombie.

A siren sounded somewhere in the distance.

"Damn. The police," Dad said, ushering me inside and shutting the door firmly behind him. "Connie?"

"I'll deal with them. What should I say?"

Dad rubbed his face, then stared at the gun in his hand as though he did not recognize it. "I don't know. Anything. But not tonight. I don't want them in here tonight."

"Why are the police coming?" I asked, trying to sound casual. Had they seen Ray outside talking to me? No one answered.

The house was an explosion of warmth and light. Too much. I recoiled from the overheated air and from the four strangers staring at me. Clammy sweat broke out across my forehead, mixing with the rainwater that dripped from my hair.

"Jeff, is it really you?" Connie said suddenly. "Can I . . . ?" She reached out tentatively and pushed my hair back. I tolerated her touch, weaving a little as she threw me off balance. "Of course it is," she murmured. "I see it now. Your eyes, your face. Oh, Kenny, look at him."

"I see him," Dad said, then cleared his throat. I glanced over at him. He tried to smile, a peculiar grimace that twisted his face. Then he turned away, hiding his face in his hands, and we were all silent.

The noise of the siren had been unbearable as it approached, but the sharp, sudden cutoff was worse. I saw the reflection of the flashing red light through the living room blinds and I knew I was trapped.

"Please, I don't want to talk to them." My voice broke and I began to shiver. "I can't. Not now."

"You don't have to," Dad said, coming over to me. "Not now."

"I'll handle it," Connie said, going out to meet them.

I didn't know where to look. Dad, eerily repeating Ray's gesture, put his hand under my chin and raised my head to meet his eyes.

"You're all right, aren't you, Jeff? I've been so worried about you, for so long." He looked at me searchingly, then froze. "What is this?" He reached up and touched my ear.

"Oh," I said, stepping back from him, reaching up too late to hide the diamond ear stud Ray had given me. "It's nothing, just..." We stared at each other for a moment, then I looked away. "I'm really tired. If I could just lie down for a while ..."

"How come you have a Dodgers' cap?" Brian asked. I stared down at the cap, still curled up in my hand. I had forgotten all about it.

"Were you in Los Angeles?" Dad sounded angry. "I looked for you there so many times."

I closed my eyes. "Please let me sleep."

He paused. "Sure. Of course. Plenty of time to talk this over later. Go on upstairs. Your room is just the way you left it."

"Thanks. I'm sorry. ..." He waved off my apology and turned away.

I STARED AT THE CEILING, LYING ON MUSTY sheets under my old blue comforter. Now that I had Dad's permission to sleep, I couldn't do it.

The window facing the street was just a few feet away from my bed. I knew Ray could be out there now, leaning against his car maybe, waiting for me to give it up and come join him.

That's stupid. He doesn't want to be arrested. He's gone.

But I sat up, pushing the covers back, naked, shivering in the winter air.

I did not want to look. I wanted to find Dad and ask him to look for me. I wanted him to tell me that Ray was not outside, and even if he was, he would never let him near me again.

I made it to the window, and, kneeling to hide myself, pulled the curtain to one side.

The porch light was still on. The police car had left, and it was no longer raining. I did not see anyone outside, and I should have turned away then, but I couldn't. Narrowing my eyes to try to see beyond the space illuminated by the light, I leaned forward, searching.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I froze, horrified, as I thought I saw the silhouette of a man standing against the far corner of the house. I squinted, hoping the outline would reveal itself as something else: a hedge, some gardening equipment, the shadow of a tree ... but the image only became more defined. Finally I broke contact, looking down, not wanting to believe my eyes.

You're imagining things, you half want him to be out there, the “bad” part of you wants that. . . .

I looked again, boldly, almost certain I would see nothing. But the man had moved a few steps toward the light, outlined clearly now, and he was looking up at my window. . . .

Falling back against the wall, I stared ahead blankly. I could hear my heart beating, feel it thumping against my chest.

Would he break in? Knock? Climb up to my bedroom and come through the window?

That's stupid, he didn't see you, it's too dark. He doesn't know where you are. He would have to look in every room.