“Alright, yeah, alright,” Sean repeated. “Where are you?”
“Don’t freak out. I’m at some police station.”
“With the police?!” He nearly shouted into the phone. At his words a group of bearded men, sitting in chairs in the waiting area, raised their hands and then rushed toward the back area of the tattoo parlor. The front desk clerk sat straighter and lifted his hands, too, looking around.
Weird.
Sean listened as Allyson gave him directions to the police station. “Okay, okay we’re coming.” Then he hung up and hurried to Ray. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go.”
“You found them?” Ray’s eyes brightened.
“Yeah, yeah.” Sean still had more questions than answers, but at least this was a start.
Ray rushed toward the door. “Let’s do this.” Sean tucked his cell phone into his back pocket.
Sean moved to follow Ray, and then remembered he was empty-handed. He turned to where one of the tattoo artists was doodling with Beck.
Sean rushed over and swooped him up. He didn’t know why Beck seemed to stress Allyson out so much. Tonight he seemed game for anything.
“Uh, thanks very much,” Sean told the guy who’d been drawing with Beck.
The guy smiled and waved and Sean hurried to the door.
“Wait, so are the police coming or not?” the front desk clerk called after them as they exited, his arms still raised high in the air.
Sean decided not to answer. He chuckled, wondering how long it would take him to figure out that answer.
Then Sean followed Ray into the night, wondering why they hadn’t swung by Ray’s house for his vintage Mustang. Maybe they’d do it next time they came down to this part of town . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bridget pressed her cell phone to her ear, trying to hear Caprice. “Phoenix is WHERE?” Bridget shouted into the phone. Sondra and Izzy were still talking, pleading with the officer, arguing with him . . . making it hard for her to hear.
Caprice started to answer and then . . . nothing. Only silence from the other end. Bridget looked to the phone and then realized it was dead.
“No. No. NO! I HATE YOU!” she shouted into the phone. She shook it and hit it and considered throwing it to the floor, but she didn’t have money for another phone. Like it or not, she had to deal with this one.
Rage surged within her. “I’m so angry I could kill somebody!” Why did this have to happen? Just when she was getting close to an answer . . . Ugh!
She growled under her breath, and then she looked up, focusing on the officer who wore a strange expression on his face. He was holding something. It wasn’t a gun, but he was holding it that way. It was a small black device with a handle and trigger. Bridget lowered her hand that held her cell phone to the side.
“Is that a taser gun?”
The desk officer pointed it Bridget’s direction. “I will tase you. STAND DOWN!”
Sondra stepped in front of Bridget. Again Bridget felt cared for, protected by this pastor’s wife.
“I will tase you, woman!” the officer shouted again.
“How dare you!” Sondra shouted back at him. She spread her arms wide, as if putting up a shield for Bridget.
Bridget sucked in a breath, hoping he wasn’t serious. Then she heard footsteps behind her.
“Sir, they just came in here and—” the officer was spouting off to someone behind them. Bridget didn’t turn to see who it was. Her eyes were locked on that device.
“My husband is the Pastor of First Ba—”
Before Bridget could understand what was happening, there was a small popping sound. Then Sondra stiffened, standing erect and straight as a plank. Bridget’s hands jerked up, and she jumped back, just in time to see Sondra fall straight back to the floor with a thud.
A soft buzzing filled Bridget’s ears and she looked to the officer in disbelief. He held the taser, and he looked as shocked as her. Wires protruded out of it, stuck to Sondra’s chest.
Sondra lay on the floor still, unmoving.
Bridget gasped. Izzy’s eyes were as large as mini-pizzas. She swayed, as if she was going to faint, and with frantic motions the office reached up and turned off the taser.
Everything was silent then. Bridget’s blood turned to ice water within her, still not believing this was possible. She looked to Izzy, who wore a shocked expression.
“That was an accident.” The wide-eyed officer pointed to Sondra. And behind him, through the front desk glass, Bridget could see Allyson rushing to the front counter, disbelief clear on her face.
Bridget noticed something else on Allyson’s face too. Guilt . . . as if she’d been the one who’d pulled the trigger.
***
Sondra leaned against the wall of the cell, not even caring if the grime of the walls got on her suit jacket. After getting tased, she supposed she didn’t need to worry about things like that anymore.
On either side of her sat Izzy and Bridget. Both of them had forlorn looks on their faces. Sondra’s own face felt as if it had been frozen and hadn’t yet thawed. It was numb . . . like how her lips got when she got a filling at the dentist. Only this time it was from forehead to chin.
She pressed on her cheek with her hand.
“I can’t feel my face,” Sondra mumbled. Or at least that’s what she tried to say. It sounded more like, “I fant ell my fawce.”
“Is this a nightmare?” Izzy’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Sondra turned toward Bridget. “My fawc has no feewling.”
Bridget didn’t respond. Instead she stared straight ahead, no doubt thinking about—worrying about—her son.
Despair filled the young woman’s face. Bridget was slumped down, leaning against the wall. Slowly, slowly Bridget tapped the back of her head against the cinder-block wall.
Sondra’s heart raced . . . most likely from being tased. But it also ached for Bridget. She couldn’t imagine being in the young woman’s shoes. At least Sondra knew that Zoe was in a jail cell somewhere near them. But Bridget . . . she still had no idea where baby Phoenix was.
Sondra reached over and took her hand.
“Bi-get. We ah gonna fine ya ba-be. He is saff. He is in the alm of Gah’s hand.” Sondra nodded. Even as she spoke the words they spoke to her heart too. It was as if she was preaching to herself. She was in God’s hands. Zoe too.
No matter what had happened tonight. No matter how crazy things had gotten, God was watching over them, holding them up. She’d been numb to that, she realized now. For most of the night she’d tried—they’d tried—to handle this night herself, forgotten that God had it all in His hands.
She wished Bridget could see that. Sondra wished she understood that she didn’t have to face this alone.
“And you know wat?” Sondra continued. “I wuv you. I wuv you . . . and you know wat. Gah wuvs you.”
Bridget glanced over at Sondra, and wrinkled up her nose. She tried to smile, but it came across more like a wince.
“Sondra, you know what?” Bridget’s eyes widened. “Why don’t you just rest?”
Sondra quieted . . . wanting to say more, wanting to speak truth to Bridget’s heart, but she knew this wasn’t the time. She believed in the Scripture that said God would give you the right words when you needed them . . . but now she understood that sometimes you needed the right pronunciation and clarity too.
As Sondra watched, Bridget rose and paced, and then she sat again, looking at the two women. “All I heard Caprice say was that Phoenix was fine, but she didn’t say where he was . . . my phone died.” She released a heavy breath.
Izzy was still staring ahead, as if in a trance. Sondra glanced over to Izzy and offered her a lopsided smile. She told herself not to say anything. Not to offer any encouragement. For Sondra’s pride it was better that she just keep quiet for a while.
Not that she had much pride left. Not after tonight.
***
Allyson stood at the front counter of the police station. She hadn’t thought this night could get any worse, but she was wrong. Forever—as long as she lived—she’d never forget that sight of Sondra going rigid and falling backward like a tree being downed in the forest. Never forget her pastor’s wife lying there, unmoving as if she was dead.
Ally took a deep breath. “Please—”
“Ma’am.” The desk agent held up his hands. His fingers trembled. He was clearly shaken. “Ma’am, the kids are fine.” He pointed one finger, asking her for one minute—one minute of her time.
“Just wait,” he said in a near whisper. He backed away from the window with tentative steps.
Allyson turned back from the window. She stared into the nearly empty waiting room and let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Tonight played out differently in my mind,” she whispered. But there was no one to hear her. No one by her side.
The only person who she knew sitting in the waiting area was Bones. He sat reclined back on a metal row of chairs with his arms stretched out over the backs of those closest to him, and his feet kicked up on the tile wall.
The lights of the waiting room dimmed, and she wondered how late it was. Way past her children’s bedtime, she was sure. Allyson was certain they were worried. Terrified. Were they crying for her right now?
***
Kevin leaned back in the chair, his feet kicked up on the questioning table. He looked to Marco. Marco looked stressed. Marco leaned against the table, obviously wondering what had gone so terribly wrong. It was the same look that Marco always had when Kevin saw him.
A box of donuts sat before them—a gift from the officers for the kids. Sugar. Just what they needed. At least Krispy Kremes didn’t have any red food dye. He’d heard that was really bad on kids.
“I’m calling my lawyer,” Kevin mumbled to the officer who waited with them.
“Have a donut.” Bailey stretched a half-eaten one out to him.
Kevin leaned forward and took a bite.
He couldn’t wait to see Allyson’s face. He couldn’t wait until Sean explained what had happened tonight. Beck getting stuck. The bird—the dead bird. The car chase.
The kids had quite an adventure, that was certain. They’d probably be scarred for life.
Kevin let a smile lift his lips. The best part was, he had nothing to do with it. He hadn’t lost Beck. He hadn’t killed the bird. He hadn’t even been driving the van.
He’d even fixed the radio.
Yes, as much as Allyson would hate it, he was the hero tonight.
And that just made everything a whole lot better.
Kevin took another bite of the donut that Bailey held out and grinned even wider.
Being a real hero was better than a triple kill.
***
An officer slowly approached the see-through door of their jail cell, and Sondra perked up. They’d been sitting motionless for the last ten minutes, and Sondra felt as if all the energy had been sapped from her. It most likely had.
Now there was hope.
The officer stood before the glass-fronted door. “You ladies, front and center.”
Without a sound they rose and walked to the door.
“Hello ladies. I’m Sergeant Murphy. We’ve been filling out a lot of paperwork trying to figure out this mess. But for now . . . stay calm. Can you do that for me?”
Sondra looked to the other two women. Both Izzy and Bridget looked to her. She’d seen that look a hundred times, no make that a thousand. They needed her to be the strong one. To be the example.
“I’m—I’m calm.” The sergeant breathed in a slow breath. He clutched a powered donut in his hand, as if clinging to a lifeline. “I feel very calm. Can we all stay calm?”
Sondra nodded and the other two followed suit.
“Good then.” He looked to Sondra and then took a bite from his donut. “You have a visitor.”
He took one step back, and motioned to someone with one finger. Within a second a blur moved forward. The blur was Zoe, rushing into the place where he’d just stood.
Zoe pressed her hands, her face, to the glass. “Mom!” she cried out.
Zoe’s warm breath fogged on the glass of the jail cell door. It reminded Sondra of when Zoe was five and she used to fog up the windows in the back seat of the car of cold winter days and then draw on it. Where had time gone? Where did that little girl go?
Sondra rushed forward. She placed her hands on the glass so her hands matched up with her daughters. “Zoe! Why are you in jail?”
Zoe’s head jerked back slightly and she shook her head. Her eyes widened even more. “I’m not in jail. You are!”
Sondra’s mouth dropped open, and she realized Zoe was right. Zoe was on the outside of the jail cell, and she was on the inside . . . how had this happened?
“I’ve been in the back filling out a missing person’s report,” Zoe said. “But you’re alive. I’m so glad you’re alive!” Tears came to her eyes. “I . . . I called the restaurant and they said your car had been stolen. And I called dad—he’s with Sean—and he said you were in trouble and . . . I got so freaked out that I drove over here in his car, which was . . . AWESOME.” Zoe’s face transfixed to one of pure pleasure, and then realizing her mistake it turned sorrowful again. “I’m so sorry.”
“So you . . . didn’t go out with Steve?” Sondra’s words were clearer, and her mind was too. It was starting to make sense now. She’d been worried—freaked out—about Zoe for no reason.
“What? Him? No! Ew.” Zoe’s face scrunched up as if she’d just stepped in dog poop. “He’s a total player. You were right. I looked on Facebook. I’m his #3.”
“Ahh.” Sondra released a happy, contented breath. “Ahh, Zoe.” “Go ahead and say it.” The emotion came back to her daughter’s face, only this time it was a mix of worry and resolve. “You were right, I know. I’m a pastor’s daughter. I should be perfect.” “No, Zoe.” The words shot from Sondra’s lips. “That’s not it at all. I love you, and I am proud of you.” Warmth filled her chest as she said those words, and Sondra realized how very true they were.
Why had she been so hard on her daughter? Why had she worked so hard to tame her and control her? Teenage Zoe was not teenage Sondra. Zoe loved God. Zoe had standards. Yes, she needed advice, but as Sondra was discovering, Zoe knew how to discover truth—the truth about people and God’s truth—on her own. And isn’t that what any mother wanted for a daughter? Someone who could stand on her own two feet and who could make a wise choice when push came to shove, not because someone directed her, but because of the wisdom she’d stored up deep inside?