The Choice Page 4

  How thoughtful of Jesse. But Sam knew how bad some of those places could be. That is if you were lucky enough to find a bed. “Look, I haven’t been home in a while, my place has been closed up. But there’s a bed for you to sleep in tonight. And tomorrow, we’ll come up with a new plan.”

  Marcie said nothing, though she gave a weak nod, appearing to consider the idea. “Just for tonight then, I really don’t want to put you out.”

  Now he felt bad for trying to sneak away earlier. She seemed genuinely nice, which was a far cry from the criminal element he usually encountered. At least he’d have one more night of sobriety. Maybe tomorrow he’d get a chance to wallow in misery.

  Chapter Five

  Marcie’s head CT came back negative for any serious head trauma. The psychiatrist assessed Marcie briefly and said there was no clinical explanation for her memory loss. And he suspected her memory could easily return in a few days. If it didn’t return in a few weeks, he suggested it’d then be time to explore it further with a neurologist.

  Jesse drove Sam and Marcie back to Sam’s small flat in the French Quarter. Instead of going right home, Jesse accepted Sam’s invitation to come up.

  “Let me open some windows.” Sam slid open the balcony door. An instant breeze stirred the musty air.

  Marcie leaned against a bare wall, crossing her arms across her blood-splattered shirt. She looked around the simple box room. Every dingy wall remained free of pictures or adornments. This place was merely four walls and humble furnishings.

  “How long’s it been since you were here last?” Jesse had a heavy rhythmic walk, swaying his shoulders with each step. He wandered the plain apartment kitchen as he spoke. Jesse had a tanned, slightly scarred face, mysterious dark eyes, cropped curly hair and a wide mouth, which smiled on command to shamelessly flash a gleaming silver tooth.

  Jesse appeared distracted and distant pulling open the fridge and then the old scratched cupboards as if inspecting the unmaintained unit’s condition.

  “Over six months. Don’t know why I keep the place. Guess I can’t figure out what to do with everything. So I keep paying the rent.” Sam fiddled with an old clock sitting on a cluttered desk, in what Marcie supposed was part of the living room. The way he smoothed his hand over the brass cover and then pulled his fingers back as if burned; she realized some emotional link kept him here.

  “You got no food. Do you want me to make a run to the market for you?” His concern appeared brotherly, as if in a familiar role of watching over Sam. He swaggered over to Sam hiking up his baggy pants just under his heavy beer belly.

  “That would be great. Grab us some burgers too.” Sam pulled out a worn wallet and fingered out a handful of bills, mashing them into Jesse’s hand. “And don’t forget the beer.” Something passed between the men, hesitation, awkwardness.

  Jesse didn’t linger. He turned and shuffled to the door. He stopped when his hand turned the knob and gave a look of kind consideration to Marcie. “Do you need anything Marcie?”

  She blinked and moved away from the wall. This compassion, for some reason, pulled a little in her heart. It was foolish really. But it meant something. She darted a quick glance at Sam. He, too, looked thoughtfully. “I thank you. I don’t know what I need?”

  Sam flushed and firmed his lips as he stalked across the room like a man secure on his feet. He handed more bills to Jesse. “Get her a new shirt, toothbrush, some essentials. I don’t know what else. You have a wife.”

  “So did you, don’t mean I know what she needs nor pay no mind to what she buys.” Jesse tucked the money in his pocket and went out the door. “I’ll do my best.”

  Sam patted Jesse’s back. “Thanks, Jesse.” Jesse left. Sam rested his palm against the closed door, watching her with those mesmerizing blue eyes.

  “Let me get your room done up for you.” He continued on into the only bedroom, walking slower, putting his lean linebacker body into each step. He filled the doorway when he passed through it. And she was glad he didn’t see the dreamy clouds that came into her eyes.

  He was so much the shabby fallen angel, confident, oozing with integrity and quite the package. She lingered in the doorway, watching while he pulled bedding from a cupboard and made the double bed.

  “Why didn’t you go for coffee with that doctor when she asked you?” She instantly colored, wishing she could take back the words.

  He froze while hunched over to tuck the sheet under the mattress and then slowly turned his head toward her.

  Marcie shuffled her feet. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. I just … you took me in; you don’t know me—and you didn’t turn your back on me. You were concerned for me. You turned her down flat without even considering it.”

  He flicked the top sheet over the mattress and folded stiff hospital corners. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply. “Only creeps do that sugar. It’s not even a consideration in my mind to act that way when I’m with another woman who’s flat-out hurt.” He arranged a blanket on the bed and plumped a pillow. “Bathroom’s around the corner if you want to get cleaned up before Jesse’s back with dinner.” Sam directed her with a nod.

  “Would you mind if I had a quick bath?”

  “Not at all, I’ll get you a towel.”

  Marcie followed Sam. He pulled a towel from the linen cupboard and placed it on the worn, chipped counter in the apartment style bathroom. He paused for a moment. Sadness lurked in his eyes when he touched a hairbrush, lying neatly assembled, with cream, lotion, shampoo and assorted makeup. He closed his eyes tight, as if blocking out some painful emotion waging war inside of him. “Use whatever stuff you need here.” He didn’t tarry, but crossed over the threshold and pulled the door closed.

  Marcie didn’t know what to make of this. But she remembered Jesse’s comment before he left. Sam used to have a wife. If so, was this hers, and what happened to her?

  Chapter Six

  Jesse returned shortly after Marcie finished with a quick bath. Her mind full of questions regarding Sam’s wife because it was obvious she remained a ghost in this apartment, still had a prominent place in his life.

  Jesse dumped three plastic bags on the kitchen counter. Sam put away enough food to keep them fed for a few days. Burgers and greasy fries tempted Marcie’s stomach. It grumbled from the savory aroma.

  They gathered around the living room coffee table, downing burgers, fries and a soda. Well the soda was for Marcie; Sam and Jesse opted for beer.

  “Drinking on the job, or are you off shift?”

  Jesse took a deep swig from a bottle of beer. “You’ve been away too long. You know things are done a little different down here. Besides it’s just one.” Jessie belched. “Oh pardon me, Ma’am.”

  Marcie offered a shy smile and shoved more fries in her mouth.

  “So what’re you doing back, Sam? Last I heard you were running some high profile case, nailing some big time drug dealer.”

  Sam said nothing but leaned back and downed the rest of his beer.

  Jesse frowned. Deep lines cut around his eyes.

  Sam got up and helped himself to another beer from the fridge.

  “You know, ever since we’re boys, and I found you with that busted lip your Daddy gave you, I knew when you clammed up this tight, something bad happened. You’d get moody, didn’t want to talk. You haven’t changed.”

  “What the fuck? Are you my shrink now?”

  Marcie bit into her burger while her heart kicked up a bit, watching with large eyes, first Jesse and then Sam. So Sam was a cop too.

  “Marcie you’re looking kind of pale.” Sam wandered back, sinking down into the worn, narrow couch.

  “I’m fine, just hungry.” To prove it, she took another bite of her burger wondering why she felt so unsettled.

  “I noticed you still got her things everywhere. She’s been gone for two years. Don’t you think it’s time you got rid of everything?” Jesse leaned back in the soft, easy chair nursing his beer. “It’s
been six years, Sam, since you busted my nose for sticking it into your business. Don’t you think it’s time we cleared the air?

  Sam splayed his hands in acquiescence spilling a few drops of beer on the brown, dingy cushion.

  “I shouldn’t have called her a lying piece of whore trash before you married her.” Sam’s gaze darted so fast over to Jesse, Marcie wondered for a moment if he’d follow. Positive she must look agog, she shrunk back trying to make herself invisible. So Sam’s wife wasn’t a nice lady. Now she really wondered what happened to her.

  “Look.” Jesse jabbed an extended index finger toward Sam. “We grew up together through the worst of times. Your piece-of-shit daddy using you and your mama as punching bags, mine no better. How many days and nights did you and me camp out at Mama’s, talking up our dreams? Then in comes Elise, some perky blond bombshell of a teen, with a black eye and major attitude. Never knew why Mama Reine let her come around.”

  “Why? Because Mama was a saint of a woman who opened up her home to all us local beggars, every time and anytime we needed a safe place to hide.” Sam leaned forward and whispered the last part. “She said every child deserved a chance. But it was still our own choice how we wanted to turn out.”

  “But you tumbled head over heels in love with her, just a kid tailing her like a love-starved mangy puppy. She was wild, and what she did, she always did for Elise. And no one else mattered, whether you’ll admit it or not. How many times did she lie to you? Some fancy trinket only a rich man could afford. She showed up wearing it. Always said she found it, or was given to her. Don’t even try to deny it. You know as well as I, she’d steal anything not nailed down.” Jesse leaned forward and dumped his empty bottle on the table.

  “Why do we have to rehash this? She’s dead, okay.”

  Marcie froze and stared down at her plastic cup. His wife was a thief, a whore, and she was dead. She didn’t know what to say. So she firmed her lips tight and hoped one of them would break the silence.

  “Marcie if you’re tired, just leave all this mess and turn in. I threw one of my shirts on the bed for you to sleep in.” Sam jumped up and hastily grabbed the remnants and packaging from their feast, stuffing all in a plastic bag. “Jesse, you mind dumping this in the trash on your way out.”

  Jesse hefted his stocky frame out of the burgundy chair. “Marcie, good night to you, I’ll come by in the morning and see about finding out who you are.”

  “Thank you Jesse, for dinner. You’ve been very thoughtful. I appreciate it.” His soft, dark eyes swam with a considerate emotion before he winked. Then he moved past Sam taking the garbage with him.

  Marcie climbed into bed. She could hear Sam tinkering with something. She knew he planned to sleep on the lumpy couch. She didn’t know how long she lay there mystified by the strange, sexy man who took her in. To learn second hand his wife wasn’t nice, touched some part of her she couldn’t explain.

  She should be devastated not knowing who she was and where she came from, which seemed to be stuck behind an impenetrable brick wall. But she wasn’t. Marcie struggled past the slight ache in her head to understand why. Finally, after much deliberation and no answers, she relaxed into a dream-filled state, another time, but a familiar place.

  “The house is burning.” Marcie bolted upright and smacked her head on the RV’s low vinyl ceiling. Someone pounded the door. Jolted awake, instant alarm hammered in her chest—boom, boom. Her wide eyes scanned the dim confines of Dan’s second hand fifth wheel, parked on his newly acquired rural property.

  She jumped down from the top bunk, landing hard. In a flash, she pulled on day old clothes, shoved the door with so much force the metal frame smacked the side of the trailer. She leapt down and bolted to the old house already engulfed in flames. Heat pushed her back as angry fire burst skyward. Richard drove the yellow loader, and Dan maneuvered the compact excavator. Both pushed in an opposite wall. To anyone else their actions resembled two desperate men trying to contain a fire. Marcie feared judgment day was battering her unruly wings. Alarmed, she closed her eyes and listened to the wail of high pitch sirens, louder and closing in.

  “Hurry!” Marcie ran closer and cupped her hands around her mouth, but angry sparks blocked her way.

  “Get the hell back,” Richard shouted. Gears ground and he reversed the loader.

  All four walls collapsed. There was so little time. Flames shrieked in fury, consuming what was left. Two fire trucks, sirens screeching, arrived followed by three sheriff’s cruisers. Lights flashed in unison against the backdrop of rippling flames. All authorities were here and closing in, covered in protective gear, assuming full control. They shouted; they yelled, “Shut it down now.” Over and over—angry words barked at Richard and Dan to pull back.

  Hoses were pulled out, connected and hooked to a standpipe at the front corner of the property. Every maneuver synchronized. Two more red fire trucks pulled in; Discovery Bay scripted on the side.

  Marcie couldn’t keep track; there were too many people—too many lights. Richard and Dan refused to stop. It was too much for her eyes. She didn’t know where to look: the heat, the sparks, the overwhelming smoke and surrounding darkness. “Oh my God.”

  Two firefighters climbed up on the moving equipment and forcibly shut them down. The sheriff arrived, angry—shouting, waving his powerful authority.

  Three abandoned cars in front of the house were scorched. One by one, windshields exploded from the heat. A uniformed deputy grabbed her arm. He held tight, when she tried to move away. The Sheriff and another deputy cornered Richard and Dan. Dan locked his hazel eyes on her. She knew instinctively the unspoken words he sent her. Shut up. Say nothing.

  An agitated volunteer approached the deputy. He let go of Marcie and turned away. A white flash drew Marcie’s attention. She peered behind her in the dark and glimpsed a strange woman in front of the RV. She stood horribly unnatural. A breeze kicked up, waving her long blonde hair in an odd rhythm. The woman smiled in a way that was cold, mischievous and vaguely familiar. The woman’s hand seemed to reach right in Marcie’s heart and squeeze. She’d never get used to that sudden chill.

  “Who are you?” Marcie couldn’t breathe. The air stuck somewhere beneath her stomach; she choked. This sultry, kick ass woman didn’t answer. She just aimed her index finger and thumb like a loaded gun, a direct line of fire, straight at Marcie. The eerie sound of metal grinding jarred the marrow inside her bones. Then the strange woman laughed a deep throaty chuckle, tossed her head back and strode around the trailer to the old woodshed, hidden in plain sight.

  Panic licked the back of her throat. She didn’t know how she moved. All she knew, no one could go near the shed. Heat closed around them. She became deaf to everything, but the drumbeats filling her head. Shivering and haunted by nothing but darkness, the padlocked wooden shed and a crazy, dead woman. Marcie felt very much alone.

  Marcie bolted upright. Out of breath, she gasped for air. Her chest hurt as a vice-like pressure from her pounding heart wouldn’t give, even a little. She pressed her hand to her heart. Dizziness blurred her vision. Until one by one, her sense of body and awareness returned, to the pinching ache of her swollen gash, taped on her forehead.

  Pots clattered, and she breathed in the fragrant aroma of sizzling bacon. She slid her legs over the side of the bed in this strange, cramped room. Marcie gazed at her pale, bare legs as awkwardness hit hard. She dropped her pounding head into her hands, covering her face. There was nothing, but a big blank in her memory, although she remembered her handsome knight and the dark, disheveled detective, who cared so deeply for Sam he risked his friendship by speaking truthfully about Sam’s dead wife. A thick, dark fog of nothingness hid every memory before the airport floor and blood on her hand.

  She touched her soiled clothes dumped in a heap at the end of the bed and wondered if she was decent enough to leave the room and say good morning. She slid off the bed. Sam’s large T-shirt slid down to mid-thigh.

  Her head h
urt after the dream-filled, restless sleep. She padded barefoot across the cool wooden floor into the apartment-sized kitchen.

  “You’re up. How’d you sleep?”

  Marcie stood in the doorway of his open kitchen. “In fits really, I’m not sure…” She trailed off when the room took a sick, slow spin. Before she could stagger and lean against the wall, Sam raced across the room and scooped her into his arms.

  “Whoa, whoa, girl, you need to lie down. I’ll get you back to the doctor.” He deposited her on the sofa as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. “Lay there.” He pulled a knitted blanket over her.

  “Look at me. You got a headache?” He examined her eyes, the same intent way the intern did last night.

  “I’m good, sorry. I don’t know what happened. I think I kind of got up too fast. I didn’t sleep that well and…”

  “And what, come on, what were you going to say? Finish it—don’t leave me hanging out there sugar.” He sat in front of her on the cluttered coffee table, scattering beer bottles. He ignored the mess even when they clanked on the floor.

  Her face heated when he aimed those magnificent blue eyes at her.

  He coughed to bring her back to his world. Was she ogling him? Flustered she dropped her eyes, confused by this need growing inside for him. Her dream blazed clearer, and so did the implication of something not quite right. Fear, guilt and worry spiked up the heated connection between them. She studied her clasped hands, before looking back up. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You remember who you are, where you come from, something?”

  Marcie lowered her eyes again, and shook her head, saturated by a ridiculous instinctive response to deny. She couldn’t meet his intense, honorable eyes. She felt cornered, unable to tell him about her dream. Because she knew deep in some private, secret hollow, her dream was a very real memory.

  Drenched by a miserable guilt, she felt warm when she glanced up. Sam watched her with grim eyes—eyes that slipped into the soul of a person. Searching for secrets, lies, and she supposed how a person ticked. What did he see?