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Allowed back in her office? “What happened?”
“After leaving the duplex yesterday, I returned to the office to find someone had broken in.”
My mouth goes dry at the news. “What did they get?”
“A computer was stolen, but all our record storage is cloud-based. No owner’s or tenant’s information was compromised. It just doesn’t make any sense. There’s a damned jewelry store across the street. I don’t know why anyone would target a property manager.”
I do, and they got what they wanted. “Did you have any phone messages from last week lying around? Anything with Marisol’s number on it?”
“No. We never had a reason to call her. All our dealings have been online except when she called to let me know when she’d be by to pick up the keys… wait. She left a voicemail. And her name and number were on the caller ID.”
“That’s how they found her,” I mumble to myself.
“Found her? What do you mean?”
“The unit will be empty by this evening,” I say, ignoring her question. “Get it cleaned up and rented. Or sell the whole damned thing. I don’t give a shit. I gotta go.”
I hang up on Shannon’s shocked reply and scan the empty apartment.
She’s gone, man. She’s fucking gone. The words echo in my head repeatedly until they develop into something else. You failed to protect him, and now he’s dead. I failed him. He’s gone. Oh, Jesus, he’s dead. Swells!
The cabinets and white walls dissipate, leaving me surrounded by barren trees and rocky cliffs. An onslaught of panicked shouts assaults me from all directions, and all of a sudden, I’m standing over the body of that kid.
Swells isn’t breathing, and his neck is bent at an unnatural angle. I drop to my knees to feel for a pulse, though I know I won’t find one. Whines, barks, and scratches filter through the shouts of the Ranger trainees, and I beat my fist against my head to stop the screaming. The pain from the blows registers, but the flashes from that day refuse to fade.
My soul feels like it’s being ripped apart. I know where I am logically, but part of my mind, the part that’s in control, is lost, caught in the past. The faraway barking grows desperate as I crawl over jagged rocks and branches to get away from the dead soldier.
The sharp stone edges dig into my knees, though I recognize that I shouldn’t feel anything but smooth flooring beneath me. That tiny bit of clarity drives me to keep crawling until I reach the door handle.
I can’t catch my breath. The door swings open, banging against the wall just before a ton of muscle and fur forces me to my ass.
Giant paws shove against my shoulders until I’m lying prone on the mountain—no, not mountain, kitchen floor. A heavy weight settles over my body, grounding me. Little by little, the trees, the wind, and the screams dissolve into nothing, and I return from hell.
My breathing evens out over the next few minutes, and my arms finally stop shaking. I grab handfuls of fur and bury my face into Piper’s neck. “I’m okay, girl. I’m good now.”
I don’t try to move yet. These attacks have happened enough that I know better. Piper won’t let me up until she’s convinced I’m out of it, exactly like she was trained in PTSD school. “Good girl. Good job.”
Piper holds me down a minute longer and finally climbs off. I slowly sit up and wipe the sweat from my forehead.
“I think it’s time to go,” I tell her.
My body feels like lead as I push off the floor. Piper remains at my side as I take one last look around. Before I close the front door, I speak to the empty apartment. “This isn’t over.”
I load Piper in the back seat of my Discovery and double-check that the security cameras I installed are working. The feed pulls up on my phone without delay, so I shut down the app and drive away with Piper’s head propped on my right shoulder.
Unloading Marisol’s things into my garage goes fast. Piper plays in the backyard while I supervise. Once the crew is finished, I stare at the door to the inside, not wanting to go in. This house belongs to Marisol just as much as me now, and it doesn’t feel right to be here without her.
Backing out of the garage, I issue a loud whistle, calling Piper.
I drive us away from my house and the memory of Marisol there. We end up at Knot Corp. Dinner is a cold cut from the cafeteria eaten alone in the quiet, empty room. Afterward, I stretch out on one of the dorm room beds. I lay my phone on my chest and argue with myself over calling Marisol. She’s had plenty of time to get to wherever she was going. I should check on her, make sure she knows I’m not angry. I ignore the part of me that insists I should let her go.
The phone weighs heavier on me the longer it rests against my sternum. If I were to call Marisol, what would I say? I’m sure the woman is scared to death. The last thing she needs is for me to make her feel worse than she already does.
As for me, a Lakota word perfectly describes how I feel: kiciceya. Marisol needs to know I miss her. Instead of calling and complicating things, I type out a text to Marisol. My heart is in deep sorrow because you are not here. I miss your face. Your scent. The feel of your skin against mine.
Watching and waiting, I keep my eyes on the screen to see if Marisol gets the message. The indicator changes from delivered to read, so I send another. I’m not done with us. You be safe there. I’ll be working to make you safe here.
That message is soon read as well, but I receive nothing in return. At least she knows, I think, before turning out the light.