“What are you talking about?” Jude spoke with strength, but her knees felt weak. “Mother?”
Her hands twisted round and round each other and Jude was mesmerized by the action. Her mother started mumbling, “I tried to talk some sense into them. I tried to stop this. But you don’t understand. They’re very convincing. I’d lost my son already. They promised I would get to keep you…”
Jude’s brow grew heavy as her fate dawned on her. Spinning around, she went for the phone—her saving grace in the moment.
The door burst open, slamming against the wall and puncturing the plaster. Just as she picked up the phone, two men grabbed her. It fell to the floor as she was thrown to the bed. Facedown, she turned to the side gasping for air. Trading her fate for her destiny, she begged, “No. No. No. Please. I’m married now.”
The needle went in while she fought and screamed against the tight hold on her arms and legs. When released, she immediately rolled onto her back. “Why?” she cried, pushing against the mattress to move her body toward the headboard. How? How do they get here so fast? It should take hours.
Tears streamed over her temples and into her hair, but she lay there, knowing there was no point in fighting the drug. She wouldn’t make it to the door before collapsing. She wouldn’t even make it off the mattress. She knew this part too well. Her soul started to detach itself from her body and she began floating.
The men left and her aunt appeared, standing over her, staring down at her. “Just one more visit and we’ll have all we need. Then you can kill yourself and succeed at one thing in life.”
Paralyzed in place, her mind began obscuring the details. Jude whispered, “He’ll come for me. You’ll see.”
“Who, dear?” she asked, leaning over her.
“Hazel…”
TAYLOR SAT AT his drafting table, but was unable to focus on the project in front of him. He looked at his watch for what felt like the millionth time. It was after seven, the sun had set and he still hadn’t heard from Jude. Finally. A knock on the door sent him to his feet, rushing to open it.
When he saw the food delivery guy, logic returned reluctantly. Jude wouldn’t knock. She’d come in. He paid the guy and took the food to the kitchen to unpack it. He struggled to care about dinner with his mind on his wife. He picked up his home phone to call her. He should have gotten her a phone number long before now. Before it started ringing, he hung up. He reasoned. She said she’d call, so she’ll call.
By nine o’clock, he stood at the window staring down, not focusing on anything in particular except where his Jude was. He finally gave in and called. It went to voicemail after four rings, so he hung up and grabbed his jacket. Within minutes he was in a cab heading to the Boehler’s.
The lack of plan didn’t hit him until he was paying the driver. He should have thought this through better, but what if they were happy, accepting, celebrating even? What if they’ve caused her to cry, caused Jude pain? He didn’t know what he was walking into but as he stood on the sidewalk in front of the Boehler’s brownstone, the unease that had been smoldering inside him grew.
From the sidewalk there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to see. The lights were on, but there were no shadows, nor silhouettes, no life to be spied at all.
He trudged up the stairs, rejoining his heart that had already leaped. There was nothing that would keep him away at this stage, but he still had no idea what to expect. Expecting the worst and hoping for the best gave too much credit to how he felt. He was anxious and irritated, his breathing slightly labored as he tried to calm his growing distress.
Knocking on the door, he was solid, composed, but ready to see Jude, hoping he had misread the confusing signs that led to this moment. The housekeeper who caught him that one morning as he snuck out answered. There was no greeting and her expression fell as she grabbed hold of the door, appearing to need the support. Taylor said, “I’m here for Jude.”
“She’s not here, Mr. Barrett.”
“Where is she?”
She looked down and away from him. “I should get Mr. Boehler.”
“Why?” he asked, as she walked away leaving the door wide open. Taylor entered and shut the door. He didn’t wait in the foyer. He ran up the stairs taking them by two and straight into Jude’s room. His feet came to a sudden halt and panic seized him as he took in the scene—suitcase by the door, hole in the wall, phone on the floor. “Jude?” It only took him seconds to piece together what had happened.
Running back out, he started yelling, “Jude? Jude?” He called for her all the way downstairs. “Jude? Answer me. Jude?” Two men were waiting for him. One he recognized as her stepfather. The other, he didn’t.
“Where is she?” Taylor shouted, staring down her stepfather.
With his hands clasped in front of his belly, Brewster Boehler, said, “Get out of my house before I call the police.”
Taylor stopped in front of him, not intimidated, but furious. “Where’s my wife?”
“My daughter is a sick young woman that you have clearly taken advantage of. We have sent her away to get the help she needs.”
“She’s not sick. You’re medicating her to make her sick.”
“Mr. Barrett, our Judith is a bit on the insane side. This will be news to you, but she’s tried to commit suicide twice. She can’t be trusted with her own life. Your marriage is a sham. I’m sorry to tell you this as it seems you care for her, but she’s not in her right mind.” He stepped aside. “Roman, please show him out.”
Taylor rubbed his forehead. “Bullshit. All of this is the same bullshit you tell her. I know about all of this. I know about her uncle and her brother and Bleekman’s. I know everything and you know why I know everything? Because when she was with me, she wasn’t drugged or out of her right mind. She was thoughtful and insightful, open and free. You’ll pay for what you’ve done. I’ll make sure of it.”
He stormed out, but before he reached the sidewalk, the man he didn’t know called him, “You’re Hazel?”
Taylor stopped and looked over his shoulder, taking one step back up. He was surprised to hear that name from anyone other than Jude. “Yeah?”
“One moment.” He disappeared, but a few minutes later, just as Taylor was starting to lose patience, he returned with her suitcase and his phone. “Bleekman’s won’t be open tonight. You won’t be able to get on the property until after nine in the morning.”
Taylor took the phone and the suitcase. “Thank you,” he said, somberly. “When was she taken?”
“Around six.”
Around six, Taylor thought. Forty minutes after she’d left our home. He wondered how that was possible. Had Isla given them forewarning? As if Roman could read Taylor’s thoughts, he added, “Bleekman’s has a location here in the city, a satellite office. As if he’s ordering a pizza, Mr. Boehler calls and they deliver two men to your door within thirty minutes.”
Taylor pondered the lost hours—wasted—where he could have saved her. He didn’t understand completely what that meant, but felt fueled with anger. “I saw the hole in the wall. Did they hurt her?”
“She felt nothing once they injected the shot.”
His phone was almost crushed as Taylor imagined how it played out. “What’s your name?”
“Roman. Say hello to Hummingbird for me.”