Page 38 of Hard Focus
“Yes. Let me talk to him.”
The combination of the man’s insistence against the bizarreness of Jonas thanking her had Connie speechless. She held out the phone, studiously not looking at the keys she hoped were for the shackle around her ankle. “He wants to talk to you.”
“My PO? Why?” Jonas reached for the phone just as Connie heard the first faint wail of police sirens in the distance. “Hello?”
She palmed the keys, not willing to try them yet, not with Jonas right here. She listened to the one-sided conversation, and it sounded as if the man on the phone was repeating all the right things, keeping Jonas on the phone and engaged.Away from me. The sirens had cut off before they got too loud, and she wasn’t certain Jonas even noticed them. He was staring down at the comforter, tracing the stitching with the tip of the knife, picking at threads that were loosening, the blade making tiny “ting” noises each time he clipped through the fibers. He was destroying the comforter without even realizing what he was doing, so focused was he on the man speaking into his ear.
Loud static blared outside, then an amplified voice echoed through the house. “Jonas Thompson.”
He lifted his head and stared directly at her, phone still held to his ear. “What did you do?” She could hear shouts from the phone’s speaker before he stood and threw it sidearm at the wall, plasticandelectronics splintering and exploding from the impact. Connie flinched and curled in on herself when he roared, “What did you do?”
The male voice boomed from outside, commanding in tone. “Jonas Thompson, we need to talk to you.”
With stuttering movements, he stood and swiveled towards the front of the house, head cocked to one side. With one eye on Jonas, Connie worked the keys through her fingers silently, feeling the edges. Two of the keys seemed to be the same, while the third was slightly larger, thicker. Jonas took a step away from the bed,andshe held her leg still, kept the chain from rattling as she slid her body closer, bending her knee while she reached for the shackle. He was at the bedroom door by the time she got her fingers on the metal ring, seeking a space that would accommodate any of the keys in her hand.
“Jonas, we just want to talk.”
The door creaked as it opened, a noise she recognized. It was something he’d joked about, saying he wouldn’t oil it because the sound would alert him if she was trying to get away.Get away. Connie shook, fumbling as she dug her fingernail into the opening she found in the metal ring.I’ve got to get away. The key slotted into place, and she gasped in relief when it turned easily, a metallic snick of sound accompanying the movement as the contraption opened wide, releasing her.
“Is Miss Rowe with you? Is she okay, Jonas?”
He turned and looked at her, a comical expression of surprise on his face, heavy brows pulling together in confusion. She realized his question previously had been for the nameless man on the phone, never grasping she’d been the one to give him away. Comprehension dawned across his face, chased by the dark shadows of anger. Her stomach dipped and she started to shake, trembling fingers dropping the keys to the floor. It took him only two long strides to be within grabbing distance,andslow to react, Connie tried to scramble away too late. She lost her balance and fell on her stomach, then clutched fruitlessly at the covers as she was drawn towards him across the bed by his grip on her bare ankle.
“Please, Jonas. Let me go.” He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her arm behind her back, lifting and yanking until she was upright and dancing on her toes to get away from the pain. “Oww, that hurts. Jesus. Stop it. Jonas.”
His grip eased slightly. “It was you.”
“Jonas,cometalk to us.” The voice outside was relentless, droning on and on with demands she knew Jonas would never answer.
“It was you.” He shouted in her ear, fingers tight around her wrist again. She tried to pull away and was yanked back with bruising force as he laid his forearm across her throat. “It was you.”
“Jonas.” More projected words from the loudspeaker, ignored by Jonas as if it were no more irritating than a gnat.
Blood pounded in her ears, the resonating thud blocking out much of what he said next. She only caught pieces, but it was enough to send her into a panic. “…weak women aren’t worth…why you were different…why would you do that…”I’ve got to get free. Connie used her nails on his arm, cutting bloody furrows through his skin. She felt a deep chill along her side, followed by white heat and brilliant pain that pushed far inside, like a running cramp that burrowed under her ribs. Breath rattled in her lungs, prevented from escaping, darkness edging into her vision and blurring it. Sweet relief as his grip relaxed and she drew the deepest breath she could, fighting to pull inairagainst the pain that stuck with her, grinding into her bones on that side.
“Jonas, we don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Now the voice was coaxing, ready to bargain for any response at all.
“Too late for that,” he muttered, and she heard the words with clarity, understanding finally what the pain was. She felt along her side and found the heavy handle jutting from her skin, like a body alteration she hadn’t remembered asking for.Oh my God. “Far too late.”
Her feet refused to cooperate as he dragged her to the front of the home, heels raking across the coarse fibers of the carpet. He stopped them to one side of the door, an arm sweeping out to pull the curtains back from a window. Jonas opened the drapes on what looked like a sea of police cruisers, red and blue and white moving and shifting, the cloud of bright lights strobing off every reflective surface. Disorientating, the lights drew bright streamers through her vision and she saw things in sharp relief one moment, then blurred edges the next.
Connie coughed and saw tiny red dots appear in the air, catching beams of light as the droplets arced and fell away.It hurts. Jonas’ breathing was fast and heavy in her ear, panting to match her.
She fought to pull in a breath, drawing in a stingy gasp with short bursts of effort, shocked at how hard it was. Her chest felt like her lungs were only half as large as normal and stuttering sips of air were the best she could do. In a whisper so weak it barely reached her own ears, she tried to plead for her life. “Please, Jonas.”
“Jonas, is that Miss Rowe? Can you tell me if she’s okay?”
There was movement at her sideandshe watched as the reflection of Jonas in the window shook his head in a slow arc.
She watched him, focusing there instead of on the confusing chaos of lights and bodies beyond that flimsy barrier. The haunting vision of his head floating over her shoulder wascaptivating,as if he were an illusion peeking out from behind her. His eyes were wide, nighttime shadows keeping the color from view, only the barest glint of light showing her he was looking. His focus seemed to be outside, away from the show she was watching. Connie stared as three tiny red dots danced across his hair, settling into place on his forehead, just above his bunched eyebrows.
She closed her eyes.
***
Cole
Cole was wiping down the kitchen table in the station when the report came out over the radio. It wasn’t for their firehouse, so he didn’t pay much attention at first. Not until the dispatcher repeated the location a second time to ensure the truck’s receipt of the destination did his head pop up, every sense focused on what he’d heard. An address he’d never beentobut memorized months ago, a place where his niece Addy stayed every other weekend.
