Kneeling beside me, he cradled my body close to his and I was powerless to stop him, my body limp and I realized I could no longer feel my legs, my arms lay feebly around me.
“Why must you make me do these things to you, Harper?” He said, squeezing me tighter. I wanted to scream in pain but my throat wouldn’t allow it. “You make me do these things, Harper!” He yelled, searching my body wildly with his eyes. “Get up. We need to go.” But I couldn’t move, not a single muscle would obey. “Get up!” He bellowed as I could barely open my eyes. He shook me soundly, urging me to stand. “Get up right now, I said. It’s time to leave.” I just lay slack against him, praying that God would just take my soul. John’s eyes followed the length of my body, realizing what shape I was in and began to cry. “It’s okay,” he said, soothing the sides of my face with his hands, tears staining his disgusting face. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand but you left me no choice. You’ll recover from this though and we’ll live the way we were meant to.” He clutched my broken and bruised body closely to his and began to rock back and forth. “You’ll see,” he told me but it was more for himself than for me. “You’ll see. Everything will be just fine. Let’s get you back to the room and we’ll just start over.” Panic laced his voice. “Come on.” He picked me up and I screamed from the movement, positive he had broken my back. He tried to stand me up but my legs fell loosely beneath me.
John suddenly gripped me harder, cocking his head to the side. I strained to listen to what he heard. Laughing, I heard laughing and talking about a block from us, heading our direction. John became noticeably panicky, the indecision in his face. He began to run. Every jolt of his step sent inconceivable suffering up my back. With each ragged movement I yelled in torment until he cupped his hand over my mouth and hugged me closer, squeezing my body hard, with his right arm. I screamed at the top of my lungs but it was muffled by his hand. His breath was hot and harsh across my face in his desperation. “Quiet!” He gritted through teeth. “They’ll hear you!”
“Hey!” I heard one of the men from the approaching group yell. “Hey! Stop that! What are you doing to her!”
Hysteria painted John’s face and his own sense of self-preservation kicked in because he dropped me on the ground and ran toward the pier, disappearing into the darkness.
“Help me...” I barely spoke out.
“Oh my God!” A woman screamed and the last thing I remember were a cacophony of running feet coming to my rescue just as the darkness consumed me.
Callum
“Here, Ames, let me get that for you. It’s the least I can do after such an incredible dinner,” I told my uncle.
“No, no. You are a guest in my home and there is no way I’m letting you do this,” Ames countered, stopping my hands with his as I tried to pick up his empty plate.
“You at least need to let me help. Please, we can share the sink, get done in half the time and leave us enough time to watch some random Christmas flick.”
He smiled appreciatively. “Fine and stop begging. It makes you look pathetic.” I laughed.
Getting to know Ames was proving to be an almost perfect distraction from my broken heart. I say almost because it only slightly dulled the pain, which is more than I thought possible.
I liked Ames. He was funny as hell, generous, and laid back.
We stacked the dishes in the sink and I began to run the hot water just as the buzzer connected. Ames’ hands were already soaked so I ran, for the second time that night, to answer it, prepared to yell at the prankster kids this time.
“Yes?” I clipped shortly.
“Uh, yeah, we’re looking for a Mr. Callum Tate?”
Surprised, I answered. “Uh, this is he.”
“Mr. Tate, this is the Seattle P.D., we’d like to speak with you, if that’s alright?”
I couldn’t imagine why the Seattle Police Department would want with me near midnight on Christmas Eve. Suddenly, I began to worry, thinking that something had changed with the John Bell situation and the N.Y.P.D was looking to reach me.
“Of course, come right up,” I said, buzzing the door so they could enter.
Ames walked near to me, drying his hand on a towel. “What could this possibly be about.”
“Uh, I’m not entirely sure,” I told him honestly. The wait for the police was anxiety filled. I sat at the dining table, my foot tapping at an unreasonable speed.
“Are you okay, Callum?” Ames asked, sitting in the seat across from me.
Just then, the knock came at the door and I launched myself at its handle, throwing the door open and stepping back slightly. Two uniformed officers removed their hats and asked if they could enter.
“Of course,” Ames said, gesturing to his sofa.
“Actually,” the larger of the officers said, “it might be best if you sat down, Mr. Tate.”
My heart beat rapidly and I had trouble catching my breath. I sat and Ames lowered himself next to me in support.
The officers sat in the chairs opposite us, seemingly taking their time, reluctant to reveal whatever news they were tasked to repeat. It’s just a message about John, Callum. Nothing’s wrong with Harper. She’s perfectly safe back home. I foolishly tried to convince myself but deep down I knew that if the N.Y.P.D wanted only to speak with me they would have rang me. Two uniformed messengers meant bad, awful things. My stomach wrenched itself and I wanted to vomit.
“Please,” I begged, “just tell me.”