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Captured Innocence

By Cynthia Hickey

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1
The night breeze carried whispers of her name.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
A chill coursed down her spine, prickling her skin with goose bumps.
Jocelyn Nielson pulled her ratty brown sweater tighter across her chest and risked another peek over her shoulder. She paused, and the echoing footfalls stopped. Maybe she’d imagined the sound in the first place. She didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary. No one paid her undue attention. She raised a hand to her throat and took a deep breath. Her gaze swept the sidewalk.
A few older women window shopped, pointing, and gasping at prices. A young man stood on the corner to hail a taxi. His shrill whistle pierced Jo’s ears. A group of teenage girls giggled as they ambled along the sidewalk and stopped under a street lamp. They looked in compact mirrors or punched numbers into their brightly colored cell phones.
Jo examined their low rise jeans and designer tops. She smoothed the skirt of the full dress she wore and plucked at the sleeve of her button up sweater. Twenty-five, and she dressed like an old maid. She sighed. Someday—when she felt safe. Safe enough to believe her ex-husband wouldn’t find her, then, she’d go on with her life. She’d wear pretty clothes again.
Quickening her pace, she stopped beneath the street lamp and checked her watch. Eight o’clock! She was late picking up Alex from the babysitter. Again. Why had she covered the other waitress’s shift? She pressed her hand against her forehead. Because I need the money, that’s why.
She darted to merge with the group of teenagers who assessed her with scornful looks and turned their attention back to each other. She walked with them for two blocks, marveling at their ability to chatter so animatedly and ignore her presence. When had she ever been so carefree?
A few minutes later, she left them and stopped in front of a dark alley. A short cut, it would shave fifteen minutes off her walk. She took another glance at her watch then scanned the sidewalk behind her. Her ears strained to hear sounds of pursuit. Nothing.
Taking a shaky breath, she stepped into the dimness of the alley. Every horror movie of stupid heroines ran through her mind. She shrugged. Making up the time she’d lost was more important. She couldn’t afford to find another babysitter, and she’d been warned many times about being late.
The night wind tore down the alley. Jo’s long hair whipped from her pony tail and around her face, obscuring her vision.
An aluminum can rattled.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
She froze, then spun and shoved her hair from her face. Her eyes scanned the darkness behind her.
The streetlight cast a yellow glow over the entrance to the alley. The figure of a man stood in silhouette, legs parted, hands held loosely at his sides. A trench coat flapped around his knees.
She gasped and ran away from the light. Away from the stranger. Her breath rasped, and her heart pounded against her ribcage. The sound of her own frantic footsteps masked those of any would-be assailant.
A brick wall loomed.
Panic rioted through her as she whirled, searching for a place to hide. She ducked behind a dumpster and risked another glance down the alley. Her blood pounded in her ears.
There was no one to be seen. No sound of stalking feet. No cans rattled. Only the wind blew and whistled across several open lids of other dumpsters lining the alley.
Jo turned toward a scurrying sound. Red beady eyes stared at her from under a cardboard box. She screamed. A rat darted from its hiding place.
She rose, poised for flight like a wild animal who’d caught an unfamiliar scent. Her gaze darted from one corner of the alley to another, anxiously trying to find a way around the brick obstacle.
“Jocelyn.” A soft, sinister voice sliced through her quickly unraveling nerves. It couldn’t be him, could it? There could be no way he knew where she’d run to.
A cat leapt from the dumpster, and the lid rattled like distant thunder. Jo collapsed back onto a pile of garbage bags someone had neglected to dispose of.
“Jocelyn.” The voice came again. Clearer. Louder.
She scrambled to her feet. Her shoes slipped on the rotten vegetable matter that oozed from the ripped bags.
A rancid smell assaulted her. Her hand plunged into a gooey substance. She shook it clean. A sob caught in her throat.
“What do you want with me?” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “Please leave me alone.”
The rising wind tangled her skirt around her legs. With one hand on her sweater, she tried holding down her skirt with the other.
The man seemed to have disappeared. He no longer called her name in that eerie sing-song way. His shadow no longer stretched down the alley.
She spotted a small gate to the right of the brick wall. She eased toward it, straining to listen for footsteps in pursuit. She glanced over her shoulder every few feet.
A bang, a crash, and a thud somewhere in the dark spurred her faster. She ran and resisted the urge to look back. Reaching the end of the alley, she turned right. The two blocks to her apartment building seemed like two miles.
Her shoes tapped out a beat as she half-ran, half-walked. Several people glanced her way, and she ducked her head to avoid their faces. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she swiped them away.
One man reached out to stop her. “Are you all right?”
Jo halted and glanced up. Blue eyes locked with hers. The man stepped toward her. She squeaked in alarm and darted away from him.
“Wait,” he called after her. “Let me help you.”
Jo glanced back. Her eyes were drawn to the tall man, lean, with massive shoulders. A scream bottled in her throat. She sprinted around the corner and burst through the gate to the fence circling her apartment building.
She put a hand to her chest. She wheezed like a squeaky screen door. Jo patted her pockets for her inhaler. Stupid! She’d left it upstairs in her apartment.
Risking one more look down the street, she rammed her key into the lock of the security door. Slipping inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, concentrating on regulating her breathing. Precious seconds ticked by before her breathing slowed. “I’m a fool,” she whispered to herself. Taking the alley as a shortcut.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she used the railing to pull herself along, and came to a noisy stop outside her babysitter’s apartment door. She took a deep breath. She still wheezed, but with less pain, and rang the bell.
“You’re late.” Mrs. Leonard frowned at her, her severe face drawn into disapproving wrinkles.
“I’m so sorry. I was held up at work.” Jo transferred her attention to her five-year-old son, who stood next to the babysitter. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m late.”
Alex gazed up at her with dark brown eyes, so like her own. They never failed to brighten Jo’s day, no matter how hectic it had been. “That’s okay, Mommy. You’re here now.”
Jo bent and kissed her son’s cheek. “You’re so sweet. I don’t deserve you.”
“You’re squeaking,” Alex said.
“I ran. Didn’t want to be too late picking up my little man, did I? I’m okay.”
Mrs. Leonard continued to stare down her nose at them, as if in silent agreement about Jo’s statement of her unworthiness. Jo took a deep breath and straightened to meet the older woman’s eyes.
“I told you what I would have to do if you were late again.”
“I understand, Mrs. Leonard, but…”
“You are not setting a good example for your son, Ms. Kingsley.” Mrs. Leonard folded her thin arms across her flat chest. “Punctuality is a worthy trait.”
“Please.” Jo hated the pleading tone that crept into her voice. “Alex is such a good boy. You’ve said he doesn’t cause you a bit of trouble.”
“That’s beside the point. This happens too often. My time is valuable. I have a life besides caring for your son.”
Jo’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ll pay you extra. I can’t afford to lose you or my job. You have to realize I would never abandon my son.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll pay you an extra ten dollars a week to cover any evenings I run late.” How will I ever afford it?
Mrs. Leonard sniffed. “I don’t like it. Being consistently late isn’t good parenting.”
Alex grasped the older woman’s hand. “Please.” He raised his eyes to hers and smiled.
A smile twitched at the corner of the other woman’s mouth. “All right, Alex.”
Jo relaxed her shoulders and took her son’s hand. At least the woman had a soft spot for her son. “Let’s get you to bed, sir.”
Her son chattered non-stop as they climbed the two flights of stairs to their small one bedroom apartment. He regaled Jo with tales of what he’d learned in Kindergarten before the bus dropped him into Mrs. Leonard’s care.
“What did you do with Mrs. Leonard today?”
Alex frowned. “She makes me do my homework first thing. Then I can watch cartoons. Sometimes I help her fold laundry.”
“Laundry? Really?” Jo chuckled and unlocked the door to their apartment. She pulled the chain on the overhead light and grimaced as cockroaches scurried for cover. The landlord had promised her he would spray.
She spotted her inhaler on the kitchen table and grabbed it to take two puffs of the medication. She felt her bronchial tubes relax. “Come on, Alex. We have to see Mr. Every.”
“I don’t like him,” Alex said. “He’s mean. Like a stranger.”
She looked at her son. “I agree, but we’ve got to be polite. Okay?”
“Okay.” The little boy slid his hand into hers.
With a firm grasp on Alex’s hand, Jo led the way down the three flights of steps to the first floor. She rapped on the door labeled ‘Manager’, then buttoned her sweater to the top button, covering the thin white blouse beneath.
“Jo.” The man stunk of body sweat and beer. He wore faded black slacks and a stained, sleeveless tee shirt that strained to cover a large paunch, a ludicrous addition to his gaunt frame.
Jo wrinkled her nose and stepped back. “Mr. Every, there are still cockroaches in my apartment. You promised you would take care of them.” She averted her eyes from the way he’d combed thinning hair slicked over to one side of his head in a vain attempt not to appear bald.
“Now, Jo.” He stepped aside and flung an arm wide, inviting her inside. “Let’s talk about this inside.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You promised. A man’s word should be concrete.”
His eyes narrowed, and his gaze ran slowly over her body. Jo clenched her fists at her side and struggled to remain where she stood and not shrink back. Her flesh crawled, and she mentally counted her loose change, estimating whether she had enough for a bath. The apartments shared several bathrooms, charging a dollar for each short shower.
“Jo, things could be so much easier for you if you’d only let me…”
“Besides the bugs, things are fine as they are.”
His face flushed. “I could give you so many more things. A woman with your beauty should have the finer…”
“No, thank you.” I’ve had it before.
A muscle twitched near Mr. Every’s eye. “There’s a charge for me taking care of bugs for you. Maybe you need to clean your apartment. I haven’t had complaints from the other tenants.”
“A charge? Clean my apartment? Fumigating should be one of your duties as apartment manager.” Alex yelped, and Jo loosened her hold on his hand. She mouthed “sorry” and turned back to the scowling man.
“That’s the way of it, unless we could come to an agreement of some sort.” He leered at her.
“So, unless I give you special privileges, you won’t take care of my problem. Is that right?”
“Pretty much.” He spit on the floor at her feet.
Jo spun and dragged Alex with her. “Fine. I’ll take care of it myself.”
She stomped up the stairs, jerking her son along beside her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve got to get away from that man before I do something bad.” Her voice shook, and tears prickled behind her eyelids.
“Are you going to cry, Mommy? Sometimes crying helps.” Her son patted her arm.
She blinked back the tears and gave him a shaky smile. “How did you get so smart?”
“I’ll kill the bugs for you,” Alex said. “Smash them and throw them out the window.”
Jo laughed. “There’re way too many. And the window is painted shut.”
“I can kill some of them. I’ll toss them in the garbage. That’s better than nothing. Mrs. Leonard stepped on one today. I hardly never see them in her place.”
“It’s hardly ever, and I’m sure you don’t see bugs anywhere near her. They wouldn’t dare.” She opened their apartment door and tousled the boy’s hair as she let him precede her. “Why don’t you go on a bug hunt while I fix us something for dinner?”
She had a difficult time preparing chicken noodle soup and sandwiches as Alex flicked the light on and off in his hunt for the distasteful bugs. She laughed when he yelled triumphantly each time his shoe made contact.
He ran into the kitchen, shoe held high as he chased one of the insects. Jo jumped and shrank back against the wall, cringing at the crunch of the shoe on the bug’s armor.
She waited for the light to come back on before setting the bowls on the small, scarred dining table. The wooden top had once been varnished a honey oak color. Now it was faded. Two plastic lawn chairs served as their seats.
She looked around the room they’d lived in for the past few months, at the faded, peeling, striped wallpaper. She didn’t have a clue what its original color had been, but now it was different shades of grey. She took in the chipped paint on the metal kitchen cabinets—the hot plate that served as their stove.
Her son happily ate the meager dinner she’d prepared and the tears threatened again. They lived on soup and sandwiches or macaroni and cheese. Once in a while she’d bring home something from work. A real treat.
Alex was smaller than most of the children in his class. Life should have been different. It had been different, until she’d married him. Not perfect, but not this either. She shook her head, shying from the memory. As if by thinking about him, she would alert him to their presence.
Jo lifted the spoon to her mouth and smiled around the utensil at her son. Alex beamed back at her, and suddenly, the glamorous life she’d lived before her son’s birth didn’t seem so important.
She sighed and finished her meal, then removed the dinner dishes from the table. “Brush your teeth and get in bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The rhythmic movement of her hands as she washed dishes, and the lavender scent of the dish soap soothed her, erasing the fear and stress of the day.
Alex spit into the sink beside her, and she frowned. They couldn’t even afford an apartment with a separate bathroom and even with rent as cheap as she paid, she didn’t see improvements in the near future. It was like living in the 1900s. What kind of people spit into their kitchen sink? People in our circumstances, that’s who. She replaced the dishes on the shelf that served as their dish cabinet and turned to usher Alex into bed.
She tucked him into the single bed in the small eight-by-ten foot bedroom and smoothed the dark hair back from his forehead. “You need a haircut.” Jo planted a kiss on his forehead. “I’m off work tomorrow. How would you like to play hooky from school?”
“Can we go to the zoo?” A look of hopefulness, mixed with the fear of disappointment, shadowed his face.
Jo wracked her brain for ways of cutting costs in order to be able to afford the outing. They’d manage. Somehow. Alex had too little fun in his life. “You bet.”
“Night, Mommy.” Alex closed his eyes and turned on his side.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Jo gave him another glance before closing the door. Her heart lay heavy in her chest as she prepared her bed on the lumpy sofa.
She thought again of her husband, his hard-handed, controlling ways, and punched her pillow into a shape for her head. God, where are you?
She sniffed and lay on her back to shift her weight on broken springs. I’ve run for three years. Hoping…praying for a place to raise my son in safety. A place where his father’s long arm and wealth couldn’t reach them. Help us. Please, God.
*
After the crying woman bolted into the apartment building, Conley headed back the way the woman had come. H stopped in front of the dark alley and listened, then ventured toward the opposite end.
Nothing moved. No cat or rat. No dogs howled. A gust of wind rattled the pages of a newspaper, and he swung his head around. Not seeing anyone, he continued his search. Here is where she’d hidden behind the dumpster. A few more feet and he found the torn garbage bags where she’d fallen.
Laughter rang out from the street. He ducked into an alcove.
A man, staggering drunk, and his female companion entered the alley, tottering and giggling. They kissed and groped each other as they fell to the ground, unmindful of the filth and wet.
Conley stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned back, bracing his right leg against the brick wall. He’d acted on a hunch anyway. He doubted she’d be carrying a clue to her real identity.
Ten minutes later, the drunken pair left the alley, leaning on each other for support. The woman laughed shrilly after she tripped and almost fell.
With one last glance around, Conley headed back toward the apartment building. His cowboy boots clomped against the almost deserted street.
He watched the light flicker on in the third floor apartment. The shape of a woman passed by the window. A child’s form joined hers, and the woman pulled the child close for a hug. The picture warmed him, despite the chill in the air. He’d been hired to do a job, he no longer had the heart for.
Forty-five minutes later, the apartment light turned off. Conley pushed the button on his watch, illuminating the face. Ten o’clock. He leaned against the wall under a large oak tree and continued to watch the window. His neck ached from peering upward. He waited an hour to see whether the light would come back on. It didn’t.
The wind blew colder, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, hunching forward. Too bad he hadn’t brought a jacket. Long strides carried him quickly down the street. How would he tell the woman who he really was without her running again?

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