The Choice Read online

  He grew silent. And seemed to pull all his feelings back inside, behind a heavy armor, right before he stood and walked away. She couldn’t stop her hands from trembling, so she squeezed them and slowly sat up. The unsteady breath she’d been holding escaped, sounding a little too much like relief.

  “Just remember something Marcie. I know when people are lying to me.”

  Tiny beads of sweat drenched her forehead. Thick knots tightened her already anxious stomach, and Sam didn’t look back.

  Chapter Seven

  After breakfast, Marcie carted the Walmart clothes Jesse picked up for her last night into the bathroom. She climbed in the hot shower and scrubbed her head a little harder than she needed, but she was mad—mad at herself for not coming clean about the dream. What was the big deal? Well she already knew the answer. Listening to Jesse last night talk about Elise, Sam’s wife, and how untrustworthy she had been; there was something about Sam in his quiet confliction making her want his respect. She didn’t want to be like Elise.

  After she dressed in the pale shirt and khaki shorts that were a size too big, she wandered out to Sam.

  She found him on the balcony in the bright sun, barefoot, wearing blue jeans and a clean, white T-shirt. He appeared lost in another world, a deep thinker who leaned over the railing, staring into the street. The wind fluttered the sheer curtains, beckoning her forward. So she stepped closer to the lively chatter drifting in from outside. Marcie clenched her damp hands and then relaxed, releasing a slow, measured breath. One step closer, almost there. The floor creaked on the threshold of the small balcony. Sam turned and leaned against the black iron rail. He crossed his strong arms. He said nothing, but his hardened eyes reflected suspicion.

  “I lied.”

  “I know.”

  Marcie stood so close; she could feel his warm breath whisk over the top of her head. She licked her bottom lip, sucking a breath for courage. The breeze whipped up her damp hair. Don’t be scared. “I don’t know if it was real…” A sharp knock hurled her insides a little closer to the edge. Frustrated, she let her head drop toward her chest. How could she confess with this unwelcome interruption?

  “That’s got to be Jesse.” Sam brushed past Marcie. His heavy steps echoed down the hall.

  Marcie claimed Sam’s spot, leaning over the rail, a beautiful view from this second floor apartment. The vibrant energy from the colorful crowds of people on the street below rose up and connected with her. For a moment, she was pulled into the flamboyant revelry, like a powerful magnet intercepting a rainbow of emotions from all the people on the street: joy, lust, anger, jealousy, being hurried. “Oh my God—what the hell.” She jumped back. Her whole body stung as she trembled. Flustered she pressed her hands flat against the white stucco, flooded by some instinct, to breath. Her mind stilled. She sucked in another deep breath and the tightness twisting up her tummy eased. “I must be going crazy.” Spooked she remained plastered against the wall.

  “Marcie.”

  She jumped as if a fist jabbed her heart and slammed shut some secret door inside.

  “You okay? What are you doing, you talking to someone?” Sam reached out and grasped her elbow, a gentle touch filled with such tender concern.

  “Yes, no—sorry, just some weirdness that’s all.” Nervous flutters began to rap inside her chest. He was so good looking, and those solid tanned arms of his, a girl could get lost in them. His closeness became too much. She needed to look away, so she stalled and tucked her unruly damp wavy hair behind her ears. To shake off Sam’s amazing intensity, a gaze like the deep end of the ocean, weaving its way into the heart of a woman.

  “What?” Sam moved closer.

  “This is going to sound nuts, but I got scared. I leaned over the balcony and suddenly I was in all those people’s heads. Picking up what they’re feeling.” She shut her eyes and refused to look at him. “See I told you. It even sounds crazy to me. Maybe I’m going crazy.” She rambled and he stopped her by gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes popped open. His touch stirred some lovely odd feelings in her tummy. The way he looked at her made her feel as if what she said was not so crazy—not to him.

  “Jesse’s here.” She must have been staring like a fool, because he coughed to break the spell and held out his large hand. When she placed hers into his, it was like a soft wing with all the strength of a gentle vice, stroking her skin, tipping her belly with a faint thrill, while she allowed him to lead her inside.

  A large canvas bag lay heaped on the scratchy beige sofa, with a crumpled airline tag dangling from the strap. The kind dark skinned detective was wearing the same rumpled blue suit, but a clean light blue shirt and striped tie. He eyed her now with a look that had Marcie taking a step back. Something’s happened. He doesn’t trust me.

  “Jesse retrieved my bag from the airport.”

  Jesse shrugged his bulky shoulders and loosened his sloppy blue tie, but his hard eyes remained glued on her. “It was the least I could do for an old friend. Funny thing though, couldn’t find yours.”

  Her stomach twisted. “I don’t understand?”

  “Come on Jesse, it’s more than possible the airline lost the luggage.”

  “Sure it is. They do it all the time, why just last year they sent mine and the missus’ to Florence. Always wanted to go there; at least my bags got to go.” He chuckled at his dry attempt at humor, except Marcie couldn’t shake off the implied distrust. He looked at her with the same hardness he used when he spoke of Elise last night. And that worried her.

  “Don’t forget the backpack Jesse. Maybe it was her only piece of luggage.”

  “Okay, maybe. But then, what woman carries only an itty-bitty backpack with all her things for a trip? None I’ve met. But hey, there’s always a first.”

  Hearing Jesse’s assumption raised questions she hadn’t thought of. She paused, confused, looking at her pale hands, her long, slender fingers and really tried to clear the muddled darkness clouding her past. Except it made her anxious, and at the same time, her loss of memory filled her with an unexpected blissful peace.

  “So what do you suppose was so valuable in that backpack you were carrying?”

  Sam cocked his head and frowned. He took a step toward Jesse. “Now what are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything, just asked a question is all.”

  Sam looked her square in the eye and then exchanged another scrutinizing glance with Jesse, as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

  Okay now would be a good time for her memory to return. She pressed her fingers to her head and struggled to pull the backpack in question out of thin air. And just as quickly, felt an urgent need to backpedal. “I don’t remember having a backpack, even though I was told I had one.” She stumbled for words and some tangible explanation, but even she had to admit something was off. She didn’t want to remember. Or maybe it was that damn dream; she couldn’t shake it—or maybe Sam didn’t believe her. Once a liar, always a liar. Steamy heat rose in her cheeks from the obtrusive voice that squeaked in her head. Now she really wanted to hide. Instead, she stared at her bare toes and the dingy hardwood floor.

  “What about the passenger manifest, and all the planes arriving at that time?” Sam paced and circled his hand in the air for emphasis.

  Jesse cast his rough gaze at Marcie. “We know from security footage you came off Sam’s flight, but I couldn’t find no Marcie listed on the manifest. Why’s that you suppose?” His tone filled with the same distrust he used when he spoke of Elise last night.”

  Marcie didn’t know what to say. Dumbfounded the floor softened beneath her feet, while a spiraling down sensation rippled inside her tummy. Disconcerted, Marcie searched out Sam for help, but he too narrowed his now accusatory eyes.

  “Oh no, I swear I don’t remember.” Just confess. The pressure became too much. Her throat closed up and her lip trembled when bubbled tears flowed with a noisy sob. She scrunched her eyes shut to block out all do
ubts. She couldn’t suck back the cry no matter how hard she tried.

  “Oh no, woman crying, Sam, I don’t do the crying girl thing, do something.”

  “Shut up.

  She clenched her trembling hands.

  “Marcie, stop. Come on.” Sam touched her. Except she could tell by his hesitant, distant, awkward squeeze—an obligatory touch—he’d pulled inside himself. Why bother. Such an affront, she was mortified and took a step back; Sam’s hand fell away.

  She clutched her hands under her chin and tried to see Sam through the film of tears that coated her swollen eyes. “Sam, I don’t remember, I know I lied when I didn’t tell you about the dream. I’m positive it’s a memory, and you knew. But I think I did something really bad, and I don’t know what it was. Maybe I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be a bad person. Please help me.”

  “What dream? She did something—Sam, what the hell’s going on?”

  “Marcie come sit down.” He grabbed his bag and tossed the canvas tote, so it landed with a heavy clunk on the floor, just missing Jesse’s foot.

  “Hey, watch it.”

  Sam slung his arm around Marcie’s shoulder. He was being kind again when he settled her on the sofa. He hunkered down across from her on the now cleared coffee table. His long legs encased hers. He leaned in and rubbed her arms. How could he be so nice? He should toss her out.

  Jesse cleared his gruff throat. “Look Marcie, I just don’t want to see my man here tromped on again by another deceitful woman. And there’s something about you with no luggage, robbed in a crowded, busy airport for your backpack; it leaves me with a lot of questions.”

  Sam wiped his hand across his forehead. “Mother of God, will you stop, Jesse? I’m not a kid anymore, and I somehow don’t think Marcie’s here to rob me blind.” Sam’s voice snapped with pure annoyance. “Did you find out anything useful?”

  Jesse held up both palms in surrender. “I’m telling you the passenger log doesn’t list a Marcie or Marcia or anything similar. So I still don’t know who she is.”

  “Maybe Marcie’s a nickname, have you thought of that? Can’t you get her face up on the news and see if anyone recognizes her?” Sam sounded pissed.

  Marcie jumped up when an icy shiver raced up from the center of her belly. Her face lost all color. The room swayed. This time Marcie knew she was going to faint, her vision tunneled. Sam’s firm hand on her back sat her down and pushed her head between her knees. “Take a deep breath. You feel like you’re going to puke, let me know. Jesse grab me that bucket under the sink. Come on hurry.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sam loved Jesse like a brother, even after the angry rift that tore their friendship apart. Elise—his first love—his wife. Maybe that was why he understood how Jesse could assume the worst about Marcie—why he questioned the backpack.

  Marcie was in the bathroom, attempting to compose herself. Water trickled from the bathroom tap, squeaking through old pipes, cutting through the silence. Jesse impatiently drummed his fingers on the checkered kitchen counter.

  “Sam, what the fuck was that about a dream and what did she lie about … and she did something wrong? This whole thing isn’t sitting right in my gut. Could you fill me in?” Jesse lowered his agitated voice.

  Sam pushed scattered papers on the corner desk in the cluttered living room to one messy pile on the side. “I don’t know. She’s freaked out about something and was about to tell me when you showed up.”

  Jesse crossed his arms and firmed his full lips. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been fooled by yet another pretty face?”

  Sam turned away from his cleaning spree and leaned his hip against the half wall, separating the living room from the kitchen. “She’s not Elise, and I think you know that. Elise was street smart, savvy…”

  Jesse cut him off with a grunt. “Elise hopped in and out of the back of cars with any guy who’d offer her a free ride. Then she’d empty their wallets. She was a player. She’d steal anything she could flip for money. She planned to go into a store to take. She had no morals. Did you forget her first abortion at fifteen, a second at seventeen? And you, you dumbass, took her and paid for each. And it wasn’t even yours.”

  Sam’s eyes glazed with a frosty distant hurt. He gritted his teeth, shook his head. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

  Jesse shuffled closer to Sam. “Don’t you think it tore my heart out to watch you twisted around her finger? You couldn’t see what she was doing. She went from one guy to the next, and you were always sitting by the sidelines. What’d you promise her, so she’d marry you?”

  Grief and anger waged an ugly war inside of Sam. He glared at Jesse. Then snapped. “I dared her because I knew it was the only way she would. Are you happy now?”

  Jesse didn’t touch him, but his gruff voice softened. “I was never happy watching from the back forty the way you were ripped apart. I knew you loved her. And maybe she loved you too for what she could. But she was never honest with you. And that I can’t forgive her for.”

  The floor squeaked behind Sam. “Good God woman, you scared me. How long you been standing there?”

  “Long enough. Jesse, I hope to God I’m not dishonest. Just the thought…”

  “Marcie, Jesse isn’t saying that.”

  She stepped closer to Sam. “Well actually Sam, Jesse’s trying to protect you from being hurt and deceived by another woman. He’s watching your back. Friends don’t come any better than that.”

  Marcie crossed her arms. “I’m thinking I did something. I don’t know what’s going on, but I seem to be picking up on feelings and stuff…” Her hand shook when she paused. “I have a feeling I may be listed under a different name.”

  “And what name might that be?” Jesse responded.

  Sam ran his hand up and down the back of his head, pacing in a circle over by the balcony.

  Marcie shrugged and appeared like a frightened child. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

  “Jesse, you should be able to find out from security at Sea-Tac airport.”

  “That’ll take time, time my boss ain’t gonna give me. This morning he told me to wrap it up, no chance of catching the thug who robbed her. And he don’t give a rat’s ass about her lost memory.” Jesse firmed his thick lips and looked down with a mix of distant concern, maybe to decide whether Marcie could be trusted. “I’ll ask Dev in airport security to contact them for me. He can find out.”

  “Actually Jesse I’d like to see the security video. Any chance you could get me in to watch it?”

  “Why?” Jesse puffed out his chest and crossed his arms

  “Just a hunch I want to follow up on. Humor me, please.”

  Jesse merely grunted while keeping his hard, dark eyes focused on Sam. “And let me guess, you’re not about to share this hunch.”

  Sam paused before a faint boyish grin lit up his striking face. He slowly shook his head.

  Jesse threw his hands up in the air. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Last night, I had a hard time sleeping. At one point, I fell into a dream. Except I think it was a memory of something I did or was part of.” Marcie faced Sam.

  Jesse wandered out of the kitchen and leaned against Sam’s cluttered desk.

  “It was real, Sam. I swear, and this will sound crazy, but it was a cover-up of something. I was staying on this large rural property in a trailer. There were two guys there I knew, Richard and Dan.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t know where that came from. I don’t remember anything about them.”

  “But you know their names?”

  She shrugged and glanced at Sam and then Jesse with an irritated helpless look. Sam moved back beside Jesse and leaned against the half wall, struck by her natural beauty, which flowed all around her. The soft skin at the bridge of her pert little nose, wrinkled while she concentrated. He blinked to get back on track.

  “There were other trailers, campers on this vacant land. Dirt piles, cleared lots like a new hou
sing development. The house burning was old and rundown. I don’t know why I know that?” Her eyes widened. “The weird part was this old wood shed behind a fifth wheel trailer. There was something about the padlocked door and closed up windows. I can’t explain it. But it felt as if we were hiding something. And I was afraid of being caught; as if it was my responsibility to keep everyone away. This last part is going to sound weird. A woman appears, blond, gorgeous and very much dead. She laughed and mocked firing a gun with her hand. Like kids do. Except I heard the distinct chambering and shots of a real gun. And it was pointed right at me. Then she wandered around the RV to the shed. And I panicked. No one was supposed to go back there.”

  Marcie moved behind the sofa, dropped her head into her hands. Long strands of gorgeous damp wavy hair fell like a curtain over her face. Sam crossed his arms. His head screamed to distance himself. She was involved in something all right, if this dream was real—if she was telling the truth. Except, why would she incriminate herself?

  “Marcie let’s back up. What were they trying to cover up?”

  Marcie brushed her hair back with her fingers. “I don’t know. First, it was something about the old house. They needed to make sure everything burned. And I knew it, because I screamed at them to hurry. They kept going even when the fire guys tried to shut them down.”

  “You’re talking about arson there, girl. Were you involved?”

  Tears pooled and glistened in her vivid blue eyes. She pursed her trembling lips as if refusing to allow one tear to fall. “I don’t know. That’s what scares me. What if I did something wrong?” Her thickened voice cracked.

  Weird didn’t begin to explain this story. On the surface, Sam realized now would be the time to walk away. If he was smart, he would. But he wasn’t—smart that is, with this whole convoluted mess, with Marcie. He did his best to bring logic to this tale. Except, he felt the hammer press the back of his head, reminding him of his strange and mysterious training grounds, Terrebonne Parish, where he grew up and learned to trust his instincts and stifle his logical mind’s need to explain the unexplainable. So why stop now? Well for one, it wasn’t reality. And reality’s where he chose to live.