HOSTAGE
Paul Wilson

Sunlight filtered through the beige blinds, lighting the living room, exposing dust on the television screen. June’s dress made tracks in the grey as they slid past.

Billy deposited her on the couch. Her eyes were open but blank as he knelt and tried her name another half dozen times. When she didn’t respond, he patted her face with a damp washcloth. She closed her eyes and opened them again.

Heartened, Billy said, “I’m going to your place for help.” After all, he didn’t know if Kurt had done this, he had no proof. There could be robbers or gang members over there.

He stood, meaning to cross to the door, but June came fully alive when he turned away. She clamped her hand over his wrist, grinding the bones painfully. She was confused. Billy wondered if she had misunderstood. Maybe she thought he was going to abandon her.

“I’ll be right back.”

Her lip vibrated. Her eyes were jelly.

“He’s there,” she croaked in a whisper. Her bottom lip trembled.

Billy frowned. What had happened to her?

“Did he hurt you?” Billy knelt again. That dark spot of blood glistened in the sunlight. A lawnmower started, joining the Sunday parade, unaware of the drama here.

“Did Kurt hurt you?”

“Cathy is over there.” June’s voice was dry, little more than a husk. Now that she had spoken, she stared into space again, as if she didn’t know what to do next.

“Cathy?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Then he understood. Cathy was her daughter. June had run and left her daughter with a monster. Hearing her name reminded Billy of the sweet girl. How could he have forgotten her? He and Cathy had spoken on several occasions. Had he been that clouded with Karri’s retreat?

“I’m going,” he said with renewed vigor. June’s eyes were back on him, hopeful. She folded her hands on her chest.

The phone rang, a shrill drill in his ear.

Billy looked from June, to the black plastic, to the door. It could be Karri.

It is her. It has to be.

He started towards it and a voice in his head cried out. There was a little girl across the street who needed him, a woman on his couch who needed him, and he was going to the phone? For all he knew Kurt could be beating Cathy right now. She could be hurt or even dying. To take time to answer the phone was…well, it was criminal. Worse, Billy felt pride in what was happening here. He was going to help. He was going to be a hero, and he couldn’t wait to tell Karri. She would be impressed. She would come home. They could spend the day together after all.

Oh, man you are so far gone on her. You are so sick…

Billy walked around the coffee table and answered the phone by the fireplace. The other handset, the one from the bedroom, was on the porch railing. He heard it chirping in unison with its sister. Billy suddenly realized that until the phone had rung he had not thought of Karri—and all it had taken was a beaten woman.

“Oh boy, you are so sick, so very, very sick…” He gathered himself and answered.

“Hello?”

“She lied to you yet?”

The masculine voice caught Billy flat-footed and very dumb. The air was much too warm. Sweat trickled down his neck. The caller’s breathing continued wetly. He was content to wait for an answer.

It’s not Karri.

Finally, he found a suitable word.

“What?”

Billy responded with anger. Anger was, at least, a seasoning on that bland word. He didn’t know his caller but he knew who it wasn’t and that made him angry.

“I asked if she’s lied to you yet.”

Then it came to him. He knew who was calling. He walked to the open front door and looked across the street to the Manning house. Sure enough, Billy saw the front curtain flick as someone looked out and then retreated.

“You keep her there for me, Billy-boy. You keep her safe,” Kurt Manning said.

The tumult of emotions that surged through him were too fast to sort: anger, embarrassment, confusion. How did Kurt get his number? Billy-boy? Kurt was speaking with knowledge, with familiarity, and that galled him because he had done all he could to avoid Kurt since meeting him.

“What did you do to her?” Billy demanded. He saw the woman in question was looking up, peeking over the back of the couch. June had come awake at the sound of Kurt’s voice. Billy realized the phone was good quality. Karri had bought it. Christ she was everywhere.

“You keep my wife better than you kept that hot little brunette.”

“You bastard!”

“You come across the street and I’ll take it out on Cathy. We’re not ready for visitors yet. You mind your side of the street for now. No cops, and you two stay put. No going AWOL for either of you. We’ll get to the rules soon enough, soldier.”

Kurt hung up, leaving Billy with a dial tone, many questions, and that sticky, slimy feel of sweat dripping down his neck.