Try Not to Breathe, page 9
The light was extinguished. Avery paddled in the direction of the car—she thought.
She flailed but moved forward. The water rushed in her ears. But besides that—was she hearing things? Knocking against glass? Screams? Muffled screams and shouts?
A miracle occurred. Avery’s hand touched something smooth and solid. Metal or glass.
She ran her hand over it, felt metal meet glass at a small seam.
She took water in, nearly choked. Then something popped into her mind. The bottom. Let your feet touch the bottom. And she did. Her feet found the bottom of the pond. She was anchored.
She held the flashlight. Competence overrode fear. She could do it. Smash the window, let them out. Adrenaline ripped through her body like electricity. She was doing it.
She gripped the light, pulled her hand back, and brought it forward.
But the water provided too much resistance. She couldn’t swing hard enough to break the glass. No way. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
She let go of the flashlight. It floated to the bottom.
Avery reached out, fumbled in the dark for a door handle.
She became aware of her hammering heartbeat, the pressure in her ears. Even in the pitch black, with her eyes closed, her vision clouded.
Get the handle. Get the handle.
But she couldn’t find it. Her lungs burned. Everything burned.
She swallowed a gulp of sickeningly foul water. It choked her. Fingertips brushed the handle, tried to get a grip.
She felt like she had to vomit. She swallowed more water. . . .
Her hand, freezing and useless, couldn’t grab the handle. Couldn’t grab anything.
She started to float. She was losing it, slipping away.
The water above turned from oily black to bright blue. The surface rippled, drew farther away, the sun obscured in the distance. No one was going to help her. She was alone and sinking—
Avery started to flail. She slapped her arms around, and the more she swung, the more water she took in. Gulps and gulps filling her lungs and throat, leaving no room for air, no room to breathe. The bottom was gone. There was no bottom. Just a hole in the world below the water—
Something pulled her back. Up and toward the surface of the water.
Pulling and pulling while water went down her throat and up her nose.
Then she was out. And slopped onto the shore of the pond, a soggy mess. Water ran off her body, Mud and rocks poked her through her clothes.
The sky was cloudy, pencil-lead gray.
Was she dead?
The guy in the feed cap bent over her. He slapped her cheeks a few times.
“Hey. Hey.”
Avery coughed, spewed water into the air. She turned onto her side and vomited, a great flood of black water.
“That’s okay. Get it out.”
She was cold. Freezing. The guy took his jacket off and draped it over her.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”
“Did they . . . ?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’re getting them out now. I think everybody’s all right. Just scared and cold.”
“Did you . . . ? Thank you. . . .”
“No, ma’am, it wasn’t me. I didn’t go in there. It was one of your fellow officers. He went in and pulled you out. To be honest, you were under so long, I kind of thought you were a goner. But then there you were. He pulled you out of there like he was noodling a catfish. You were about as wet and muddy as one too.”
People trudged back and forth past her. Sirens wailed.
“Who did it?”
“That trooper there, the young guy. He took you out first, and then he dove right back in and came out with one of those babies.”
Avery looked. It was Hank. Somehow she had known it would be. He was a hero.
Her heart galloped. It felt like it would never stop.
She’d almost died. She’d almost let go, almost slipped away. Holy shit—she’d almost fucking died.
20
“Do you know when that picture was taken?”
Avery knew. She felt her dad’s presence in the doorway from the hallway to the living room. But she didn’t want to turn. Did she want to see him now? See the wear and tear of the years on him? Couldn’t she stare at the photo of him in his uniform and imagine he would always be that way?
She turned, saying, “I know.”
“That’s when I was promoted to captain.”
The walker supported his sixty-two-year old body. The muscles in his forearms below the sleeves of his white T-shirt tensed, indicating the strain. He wore gray sweatpants and Velcroed white shoes. His cheeks were flushed—either from booze or effort or both—and the scarlet tint ran all the way up his forehead and showed through his much thinner hair. His blue eyes, glossy and small, took her in with wary intensity. He’d shrunk. In his prime, he had stood six-two, but he had to be under six feet now.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Do you remember that?” he asked as though she hadn’t just told him.
“I do. I was at the swearing-in ceremony. We all were. We were all proud. Very proud.”
He nodded, then shuffled forward. His right pants pocket bulged. The nine-millimeter, always at the ready.
“Do you need any help?”
“No. I’m not an invalid. Not quite, anyway.”
Avery begged to differ but kept her mouth shut. He reached the couch, awkwardly turned at an angle, moving the walker first and then his body. He started to lower his butt, but as if the effort grew too great—or gravity worked too hard against him—he just plopped onto the cushions, letting out a sighing exhalation as he landed. The sofa springs squeaked.
“Shit,” he said.
Avery remained standing. Every surface that might have been suitable for sitting on, including the other end of the sofa, was covered with something.
He raised his index finger. “You’re going to take me down to Breckville. Your sister won’t do it. You’re going to drive me down there, and I’m going to find Anna.”
“Dad—”
“I can drive myself, but your mother worries. She hid the keys. Or she just forgot where they are—”
“She’s not my mother.”
The icy blue eyes expanded. “Okay, bullshit. Your stepmother. Who cares about the fucking semantics? Just take me there. I can pay for the gas.”
“Hold on, Dad.” From across the room, she caught a whiff of a sour smell. A combination of urine, sweat, and liquor. “I know how worried you are, and I know how much you care about Anna. The police are looking all over Breckville. Actually, you have the police looking all over the state. We don’t know if looking in Breckville is the best thing. Anna talked to Alisha a lot. She talked about how much she disliked Breckville. Maybe she went somewhere else. Her friend Eric said she might be going to Louisville. Alisha says she goes there a lot on weekends.”
Before she finished speaking, her dad started shaking his head. “That’s not it. I told you girls this would happen. I warned you and I warned you. And you didn’t listen to me or take me seriously. And now it’s happened.”
While they were growing up, her dad had kept a thick binder on a table near the front door. Pages and pages of photos—mug shots—of men he’d arrested. Men who might be getting out of jail or prison someday. If a person they didn’t recognize showed up on their doorstep, they were to consult the binder and make sure someone hadn’t come by to settle a score. Even after Avery’s mom and dad had split up, the binder remained. The only time it didn’t sit by their front door was the year they lived in Florida, in that dingy apartment with the tree frogs on the window and lizards in the bathtub. Florida was a freak show of its own, but they stopped worrying about an ex-con looking for the old man and ringing the doorbell. Yet Avery had missed her dad—his fierce protectiveness, his eternal vigilance. The sense his arm was always around her, holding her close. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt that way again, even when they moved back.
“There was a car up the street earlier,” he said. “They drove off when I went out there, but I saw them. Alisha was there. She saw it.” Dad flipped up the couch cushion next to him, peered under it.
“Are you looking for something?”
“Forget it.”
“Didn’t Anna stop taking your calls because you had a fight?” Avery asked.
There were rules in the family—including not asking their dad about anything he didn’t want to talk about. Long ago, Avery had decided the rules were stupid—and how much of a member of the family was she, really? Avery needed to talk to him if there were to be results.
“Oh, that’s cute.” He lifted the cushion again.
“Are you looking for a bottle?”
“Forget it.” He adjusted the gun in his pocket. “Your sister—”
“Stepsister,” Avery said, but so low he didn’t hear her.
“—wants to throw everything away. She got a scholarship because of this.” He pointed at his leg. He always referred to it as “this” or “that thing that happened,” never “my injury” or “my knee” or “where I got shot.” He acted like the shattered leg belonged to someone else. “And all because of this stuff in Louisville. That shooting, which was a good shooting by a good cop. I trained him.”
“I wouldn’t brag about that.”
He laughed, smiling a bitter grin with yellowed teeth. “I see. Yeah. I have daughters who like to throw good things away.” He jerked his thumb toward the bedroom. “At least that one in there is raising a family. She knew what she wanted and got it. The rest of you . . .”
“Are we going to do this now? Can we concentrate on the problem at hand?”
“You would have had a fine career.” He pointed. “Your picture would be on that wall. You’d be a captain. Sooner than I was.”
“It didn’t work out for me.”
“Damn, you were good, Avery. You were so good. You’ve always been smarter than me. More analytical too.”
Avery’s face flushed at the praise. Encouraging words from her dad still moved her. “Dad, can we not—”
“When this is over, and you find your sister, we’re going to talk about your getting back on the force. I can still pull some strings, talk to the right people. My name still carries weight.”
“If this is all we’re going to talk about, Dad, I’m going to go.”
Before she reached the door, he said, “You gave it all up, and why? Because you’re afraid? Let me tell you, I was afraid every day of my career. Every fucking day.” He tapped his chest. “Every cop is, whether they admit it or not. That’s why you train. That’s why you have this.” He patted his pocket. “But you threw it all away because your boyfriend had to pull you out of a pond. And he’s a good cop. That’s for sure. Tougher than shit. Just to look at him, I didn’t know he had it in him. Now you don’t have the boyfriend. Or the job either. You’re a rent-a-cop.”
Anger caught in her throat, choked off the air. “At least I’m not sitting in my own filth, drinking myself to death.”
“Oh, oh.” He started reaching out for the walker. He placed both hands on it and tried to hoist himself up. But the sofa sat too low, and he lacked the strength to make the move. He floundered like a turtle on its back. “I need up. I need to say . . . Jane? Janie?”
“I don’t know why I came here. Anna’s going to be fine.”
“She’s not going to be fine. It’s . . . Jane? . . . She’s not fine. She’s young, and she wouldn’t understand everything that has happened.”
“You’re babbling. You’ve created a fantasy of your own importance.”
Alisha and Jane appeared at the end of the hallway. “Dad, what are you doing? Why are you getting up? Avery, can you help him?”
“He’s fine.”
“Jesus, Avery.”
“Janie? Go out and get me that bottle. I think Alisha moved it.”
“Okay, honey, I will. Just sit, okay?”
“Dad— Avery. Crap, I asked you not to fight with him.”
“Me? Why is it my fault?”
Jane left the room and quickly came back with a pint of Jim Beam in her hand. Russell took it, lifted it quickly to his lips, and guzzled, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he’d thrown back as much as he could, he wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand.
He stared at Avery, blinking. “Come here.”
Avery didn’t want to go. “What?”
“Come here.”
Avery looked at Jane and Alisha. When she looked back at her dad, something moved on his face. Had his chin quivered ever so slightly? Had his eyes grown more watery and glazed?
She crossed the room, leaned down. Her heart thumped like a sustained roll of thunder. How did that weak man still scare her? How did he manage to make her do his bidding?
“Russ,” Jane said, “be nice.”
Avery’s dad reached up, gathered the material of her shirt in his hand. He swallowed, air and not booze. “I need you to find her. Find Anna. And bring her back here. To me. You need to do that, Avery. The family needs protection. Okay? You need to do it. You’re the only one who can do it. Okay? You’re the one.”
And then something happened that Avery had never seen before—her dad started sobbing.
21
Jane moved over and sat on the couch next to her husband. She placed her hand on his knee and spoke to him in a low, soothing voice. “Now, Russ, you’ve upset yourself. You need to take it easy. We’ll find out where Anna is.”
“No, no,” he said. “This is bad. Very bad. You know. You know that, Janie.”
“Russ . . . don’t . . . We don’t . . .”
“It’s bad. For all of us.”
“Maybe it’s not what you think,” Jane said.
“What does he think?” Avery asked.
“Maybe it’s just not as bad as you’re saying.”
Avery felt like she’d just witnessed a plane crash. She looked at her emotionally wrecked father wiping his eyes with a grungy handkerchief and she couldn’t turn away. As much as she wanted to.
Alisha’s brow wrinkled with surprise and concern. “Dad, we’ll figure this out.”
“No, no. I should have protected you girls better.”
“You always protected us, Dad,” Alisha said.
“I tried to give Anna a gun, but she wouldn’t take it. If she’d taken it back to Breckville with her . . .”
“Dad, you can’t expect Anna to keep a gun in her apartment,” Avery said.
“Why not? You do.”
“I’m different from Anna. And I don’t even keep it loaded.”
“You don’t? Did you bring it with you?”
“No, I don’t tote that thing around everywhere.”
“You all should have one with you. And loaded. Janie goes to the range with me. Always has. She knows how to protect herself.”
“You know I don’t like to talk about guns, Russ,” Jane said.
“Do you still keep the binder by the door?” he asked. “I bet you all stopped doing that.”
“Russ, can you just take a deep breath?”
He tipped the bottle again, took a long swallow. The phone in the kitchen rang. Avery and Alisha looked at each other.
“Maybe that’s Anna,” Jane said.
“I’ll get it.” Avery went out to the kitchen, found the ancient cordless phone sitting on a table cluttered with dirty dishes, prescription bottles, and a small bird feeder. “Hello?”
A cheerful voice responded. “Hi. Is this Anna?”
“No. Who’s this?”
“Oh, is it Alisha, then?”
One more guess—the least likely one. “This is Avery.”
“Oh.” Surprise? Shock? “Oh. Avery. I see.”
“Who is this?”
“Oh. You don’t recognize the voice. It’s been so long since you’ve been around. This is Libby. Your mom’s—Jane’s—cousin.”
A picture popped into Avery’s mind. A woman ten years younger than Jane and her dad, heavyset. Chipper. Always moving. Always talking. Always dressed like a Stevie Nicks impersonator. “Sure, it’s been a while.”
“I heard you’re back in school.”
“Graduate school. I’m getting a master’s in history.”
“Good for you. I’ve always advocated for as much education as a person can get. Are you thinking of teaching?”
“I don’t want to teach. Did you need something?”
“Oh, yes. I was wondering . . . about Anna. I texted her a few times, and she didn’t answer. And then I called. I thought maybe she got a new phone number or something. Maybe your— Maybe Janie has it? Or maybe you do?”
Jane continued to speak to her husband in soothing tones in the other room. And he continued to respond in the same way. “No, no. Everybody needs to be alert. If you let your guard down for one second—one second—it can all go away. That’s what happened to my leg. It just takes a moment, and some bastard takes you down.”
“Okay, Dad,” Alisha said. “We hear you.”
“I don’t think she has a new phone number,” Avery said. “To be honest, this isn’t the best time for Jane to talk to you—”
“She’s so dear, our Jane. And much stronger than she seems. Is she okay?”
“She’s okay. Dad’s in a lot of pain.”
“I know. His injuries have been a cross to bear. He’s such a brave man.”
“Yes, he is.” Avery wasn’t sure, but he might have been crying again. “When’s the last time you heard from Anna?”
“Let me see. . . . It’s been a few weeks. I’m just worried something has upset her.”
Avery heard something beneath the words Libby spoke. A slightly discordant note. “Do you know what upset her?”
“I get the feeling there are some tensions with Russ.”
