Page 33 of Phoenix
“We both know you don’t think I’m going to hurt Jess,” I tell him, even though he’s starting to back away a little. I’ve had years to practice looking like a psychotic ass who’s about to put a bullet in your head. I graduated from learning how to make grown men piss their pants with just a look when I went after the motherfucker who attacked Lou. By comparison, this is nothing, just a friendly warning to not push me any further. And only because he’s Jess’ father. “If you did, you wouldn’t be testing my patience like you are. Truth is you don’t like the fact that she feels safer with me, or that she’s opened up to me. I took her because we’re not sure if the man who abducted her is still alive or dead, and unfortunately for you, until we know that, she is safer with me.”
“She called you Warren,” her mother says with sudden confusion spreading across her face, effectively cutting her husband off before he can dig himself further away from my good graces. “But the letter said you were called Phoenix. The man at the bar told us you are Phoenix.”
“My real name is Warren, but only your daughter calls me by my Christian name,” I tell her, softening because she really is distraught and because she vaguely reminds me of my own mother.
“Do you really care about her?” she asks, studying me for any sign of doubt.
“Yes,” I tell her resolutely but with a voice I don’t recognize as being my own. It sounds too emotional to be mine.
“Then I trust you to look after my baby,” she says with tears already building at the bottom of her eyelids. “Come on, Jim, it’s time to go.”
With one more scowl in my direction, Jess’ father eventually concedes and follows his wife over to the door. However, something makes me call out to her one more time. When she turns to face me, I too, march myself over to meet them.
“Do you still have that letter? The anonymous one,” I ask.
“Er…yes, at home,” she replies, looking a little dazed and confused by my question.
“Do you think you could send it to me?”
“Why?” her father pipes in, sounding accusatory.
“Why do you think?” I reply, scowling at him. “Whoever it is knows where your daughter is, and knows about me, which sounds a little suspicious, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, God, it’s not him, is it?” Her mother begins to panic, so I put up my hand to try and quieten her. The last thing Jess needs to hear is that her psycho abductor is still alive and seeking her out. Fortunately, she appears to heed my warning and nods her head in understanding. “Yes, of course, as soon as we get home, I’ll send it to you. You have my word!”
I nod in thanks before they finally exit blank together.
Chapter 14
Phoenix
When their car has disappeared from view, leaving a trail of dust and sadness in its wake, Jake emerges out from the back. I turn with a sense of anxiety over Jess, ready to barrage him with questions about how she’s doing before I go and see for myself. As always with this girl, a level of caution must be exercised. She’s been through a lot; she’s been going through a lot since she turned eleven.
“Jess—” I begin but he cuts me off before I can even finish asking my first question.
“Passed out,” he replies, “exhausted and seriously confused.”
“Understandable,” I utter while staring at a stain on the scuffed floor.
“So, how’d it go today?” he asks as we begin walking over toward the bar, each grabbing a bottle from the fridge.
“Ok,” I reply and continue walking out back before he can question me any further on it. I might be feeling something for Jess, but I’m not about to become the bar’s Dear Dierdre anytime soon. I hear him chuckling to himself as I make my way to Lou’s room. Sure enough, when I pop my head inside of the room, I find Jess breathing steadily in her sleep. Her brow is furrowed, and her eyes are moving rapidly beneath her lids. She begins to emit whimpers of anguish, as though she is falling into a nightmare, so without further thought, I remove my boots and climb in behind her. At first, she moans and fidgets, but when I settle my arm around her tiny body and kiss the back of her head, she eventually rests more easily against me.
“I’m going to save you, Jess,” I whisper while stroking her hair, “but I need you to save me too.”
_____
Jessie, Present
I don’t wake again until it’s dark, pitch-black dark, and without the usual sounds coming from a crowded bar. If you had asked me a week ago if I would have believed myself to be listening out for the sounds of bikers drinking as a source of comfort, I think I would have passed out from the very thought. And yet, now they are missing, I feel anxious, and in desperate need of someone to be here to comfort me. I need Warren.
Still wearing the clothes that I had fallen asleep in, the same ones in which I had stood before my parents, I slip out of my room to try and find the one person who will make me feel safe. Initially, I head toward Warren’s room, but something stops me in my tracks. It’s the sound of someone strumming against an acoustic guitar. It has me frowning – perhaps the bar is still open? No, it can’t be. There’s no talking, no laughter, no one shouting for Jake to get his ‘ass into gear’.
This is way out of my comfort zone, the great unknown and unplanned, and yet, something is urging me to go out into that bar and find out who is playing such a moving piece of music. Whoever it is plays music as if it is their first language, fluent and with all the slang and nuances that only a native would know. Just before I reach the battered door with peeling paint that leads into the bar, whoever it is opens their mouth to sing. And like his playing, it’s beautifully imperfect, husky, and deep. There’s no frivolity in his voice, no meaningless scales or sounds to battle against the complexity of his playing. Each word is on purpose and with so much emotion, you can tell he is picturing the very person to whom the song is about.
He sings of time passing but still thinking of someone who was obviously extremely special to him. He sings of sometimes feeling like he can’t survive that day without her. He sings of so much pain and loss, that it makes me think of Stanley, my own childhood dragon, and myself. My innocence, my once-upon-a-time hopes and dreams, my family, all of them just as lost.
When I finally take the courage to walk out and face him, he’s already looking toward the door in anticipation. He doesn’t even falter in his performance, up on the makeshift stage with only an old chair and his guitar to keep him company. He doesn’t need anything else; his voice is enough to fill the entire room; it’s incredible. His body flexes as he strums against the strings, his everything being thrown into this one stretch of music. His eyes hold mine the whole time he plays, and it keeps me frozen in time, here in this room with him.