Unfamiliar Ground

“Hey!” A high pitched voice echoed in my ear. Feeling a nudge to my shoulder, I slowly opened my eyes. My cheek pressed against something hard, my nose taking in scents of stale coffee and syrup. Squinting through half open eyelids, blinded by the harsh manufactured light, a small woman stood beside me, clasping a round tray in her arms. She stared at me through teal rimmed cat-eyed glasses, wearing a stern but cautious expression.

“Are you hungry, hon?” she asked, her gum smacking loudly against her teeth.

I peeled my face from the sticky table, trying desperately to gain my bearings.

“Where am I?”

She chuckled, "been a hard night has it? That's all right. I'll get you some coffee."

"Wait," I said, grasping the crook of her elbow, "how did I get here?"

"You don't remember?" she scoffed. "Some big burly fella dropped you in here about three hours ago. Up and left without a word. We all figured you was drunk."

I certainly felt like it. What happened last night? My head ached incessantly as I thought hard to the events that led me here.

"I remember a scream," I muttered. Like a flood, the memories began rushing in and I reached up, tracing the fresh wound on the back of my head, letting out a sharp breath with the pain. Then, I panicked.

"Oh, God, where's Jake?"

Her brows furrowed.

"Jake!" I screamed, "my partner, Jake! Where is he?"

"You're the only one here, darlin'."

"No."

I stumbled from the table, my ribs throbbing, dragging my injured ankle through the door. Casting my eyes to the sparse parking lot in front of me, anxious for a sign, anything that could tell me where I came from.

"You all right, hon?"

The waitress had followed me out, gathering a small crowd of curious onlookers behind her.

"214 East Burnton Street," I whispered.

"Yeah, I know it."

"Which direction?"

She pointed a pale boney finger out across the parking lot toward a patch of brush, "That way. But it's quite a hike. Can I call a ride for you?"

"That won't be necessary."

I found my way down to the street corner, still hobbling. Pulling my injured ankle like a kid with a wagon, I hurried as fast as it would let me. One block. Two blocks. Five blocks. Almost there. Ten blocks. My ankle screamed for me to stop but I ignored its cries. Twelve blocks.

Finally, I saw it. There amongst the darkened neighborhood, stood the house. All was quiet now. An eerie and haunting feeling considering what happened here just a few short hours ago. No cops that I could see. I hunched by the front gate of the house next door for a moment, watching, waiting. The black suv that had been parked there earlier was gone. Not a car in sight.

Satisfied I would be in no immediate danger, I shoved the door open on the house and desperately limped my way from room to room. Coming to the living room, his body laid on his stomach, motionless, splayed out across the floor. I plopped my knees into the thick shag carpet.

"Jake, oh God, Jake, please," I pleaded.

Suddenly, a moan.

"Oh Jake. Hold on. Please hold on."

Sprinting to the phone, I picked up the handset, intent on calling 9-1-1. I knew I shouldn't. Our protocol expressly forbade it. But we couldn't wait. 

"You don't want to be doing that Rachel." I felt the chill of the steel blade pressed to my throat as he muttered in my ear.

“You got what you wanted, Paul. Leave us alone.”

“Well now, aren’t you clever. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh come now, don’t you play dumb with me. You know precisely to what I am referring. Before you utter any more excuses, where is my money?”

“And what about your end of the deal, huh? You swore you’d leave him out of this.”

He tensed, poking through a layer of skin on my neck.

“That deal went out the window the instant you decided to turn me in to the feds. They raided my place, killed eight of my men. What did you expect? That I would just let that go? Now, I’ll ask you one last time. What have you done with my money?”

“She doesn’t have it, Paul. Let her go.”

Paul lurched backward as Jake threw his fist into Paul’s shoulder, breaking his hold on me and dropping the knife. They fell to the floor, scuffling. Before long, Paul’s sheer size won out, straddling Jake, his thick fingers gripping Jake’s neck squeezing tightly. I reached for the blade, thrusting it as hard as I could into his neck. He cried out, clasping at the blood now pouring from his wound, slumping over onto Jake’s chest. Neither of us had time to react before the local police came bursting through the door shouting orders.

“Hands up! Let me see your hands!”

I froze, hands in the air, “we’re federal agents. FBI.”

“On your knees!”

Coming to my knees again, I held my breath as they pulled Jake out from under Paul’s now lifeless body, the lapel of his jacket covered in Paul’s blood. Knees into the carpet next to mine, he looked over at me. I felt a trickle of warmth running down the side of my neck.

“Rachel, you’re bleeding, are you all right? Can someone get her some medical attention, please?”

“Jake, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

He let out a deep breath, then chuckled, “yeah, I’m okay. Lieutenant’s going to be pissed though.”

A couple hours of witness statements and federal credentials confirmed, we were finally released. The sun was just rising over the bay when we walked out of the police station, towards the beach. I stuck my bare toes into the tide, letting the cool water layer my feet with the ocean’s froth. I closed my eyes, the warmth of the early morning sun washing over me. Thankful to be alive. Thankful it was over.

“Just one question,” asked Jake, “where did the money go?”