Page 11 of Fly Back to Me
My fingers coil through my long locks, a blend of exhaustion and fright settling in the pit of my stomach.
“You’ve caught him, right?”
My mom asks the only question I care about the answer to.
“Yes,” Officer Bellmont admits. The pressure in my belly lifts just enough for my lungs to inflate. “He’s in custody right now with my partner.”
Lauren’s palm travels to my upper back, rubbing in a circular motion as I finally blow out a reserved breath. I’m sure he won’t be locked up permanently, but for now, I can revel in this small victory.
“Your story checks out with the man who yanked you out of that situation.” My head whips up, eyes unblinking as I hang onto Officer Bellmont’s stare. “He was a little shaken up afterward, but more so because he wanted you to be alright. I’m just glad a favor could be returned to him after all he’s done.”
He.
He.
“He,” I whisper.
He.
Officer Bellmont nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
I tentatively drag my gaze to the narrow walkway outside the cubicle, my throat bobbing before I ask, “Is he here? Can I see him?”
“No, Ms. Sawyer,” he dejects. “He wants to remain anonymous. I’m unable to give his information away.”
My eyes shoot back to Peter Bellmont’s, brows crinkling unexpectedly. But before I’m given the chance to absorb this news, my mom’s voice chimes in. “Thank you for everything, officer.”
His index finger lands on the brass metal pinned to his navy shirt. “I’m at the Newbridge Police Station if you ever need to contact me. You can be as involved or uninvolved as you want,” he offers. “I truly hope you feel better, Ms. Sawyer.”
“Thank you,” I manage weakly.
Once Bellmont disappears behind the bunched curtain, Nurse Joy replaces him. “I just wanted to give you some pamphlets.” The folded papers are lodged between her brown fingers as she suspends them between us. “You’ll find a list of resources and online support groups. I know many people think it’s a waste of time, but it’s worth taking a look at.”
“Thank you,” I say, plucking the brochures from her.
I’d definitely consider myself part of the “many people” group she’s referring to. But I’m also not one to argue when I can just chuck these in the bottom of my nightstand drawer.
What she doesn’t know won’t offend her, right?
“I also have this,” Joy adds, dangling a Ziploc bag before me. “The paramedics made sure to hand it over to us so we could give it back to you.” I furrow my brows, cautiously extending my hand out to retrieve the plastic sack. “They found you holding onto it. I’m assuming it’s very important to you.”
When I examine the contents, there’s a stainless-steel ring in the shape of a pair of wings.
I squint my eyes, rotating the bag to scan the ridges of the tarnished metal jewelry. A piece of jewelry that would slip right off my finger if I were to wear it. A piece of jewelry with a masculine flair that would certainly clash with the skirts and thigh-high boots I usually wear.
This isn’t mine.
My eyes continue to trail over every contour of the wings. The coolness of the metal seeps through the plastic, coating my fingertips before another memory jolts to life. Only this time, it’s one I don’t cower from.
I remember.
Vice-like and suffocating, I gripped him like he was my lifeline.
He.
And now, this is all that’s left of him.
A scrap of metal.
