Trapped

TWENTY-NINE

After the hospital and the stationhouse, Tennon pulled up in front of her brownstone in Lincoln Park. He opened the door for her and helped her out. Marianne held Felix under her coat. She smiled softly to Tennon and nodded. He went back to the driver's side and drove away.

Marianne watched the car leave, then walked up the sidewalk and the steps to her home. She stopped right before the door, gazing at Felix. He purred gently against her neck.

Marianne turned around and went back down the steps. She looked up and down her tree-lined street, the branches bare. She gazed at the tranquil homes, the quiet neighborhood, picturesque but for it being another frigid winter day.

She began walking down the sidewalk. A few minutes later she boarded the L and took it to the south side. She sat numbly on the train, staring out the window at the skyline but not really seeing it.

A few minutes after she got off she approached Danny's Diner, standing outside for a moment before she went in. The last time she had been there was just yesterday. So much had happened.

Danny's radio was playing the news this time. She looked around at the small early afternoon crowd in the narrow establishment, studying all of their faces carefully. She sighed and took a stool.

"Marianne!" Danny emerged from the back, his eyes wide. "Holy Christmas! I just been listening to the radio. You're all over the news! Are you okay? Let me get you some coffee."

Marianne shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm fine. Thanks, Danny."

"Jeez! You been through hell and back, huh?"

"I'm okay, really. I just came for some milk." She lifted Felix from inside her coat and let him out on her lap. "I have a new friend."

"Sure, sure," Danny said. He reached into the mini-fridge next to the coffeemaker and pulled out a jug of milk. "On the house." He poured some in a coffee mug on a saucer.

"Thanks, Danny."

Felix lapped eagerly at the milk. Danny left to check on some other customers and take a few orders back. Marianne continued to look around, check the door. Danny returned to her once he was done, his open face full of concern.

"You sure you don't want a coffee or anything?"

"No," Marianne said. She got up with Felix, buttoned her coat back up. "I...I've just got to go home."

Danny nodded. Marianne turned to leave.

"Hey," Danny said, "who was that other guy anyway? Do you think they'll catch him?"

Marianne looked at him with a bitter smile. "Not if he doesn't want them to."

She left.

Tennon made the call to Lieutenant Hotchkiss shortly after he came home. His wife wasn't out of work yet, nor were the kids out of school. He loosened his tie and slipped off his shoes as he stood in the kitchen. After a double like that, he was fantasizing about sleep. It felt like the old days, the bad old days.

He caught Hotchkiss before first shift's end and filled him in.

"I know, this thing's all over the news," he said. "I look forward to reading all of your reports."

"And?"

"And you did good. I'll be sure to put in a good word if that opening pops up."

"If it does, huh?"

"Well, you know how these things work, Dave. Nothing's ever right-away, or even a sure thing."

"Right. Sure. Okay." Tennon looked at a cluster of pictures on the fridge. Pictures of his wife, pictures of his boys. He was not in many of them.

He thought about Danny Esposito's kids.

"But," Hotchkiss said, "I want you to know we appreciate—"

Tennon hung up the phone. He heated up some cold coffee still in the pot from that morning and sat at the kitchen table.

When the kids got home, he spent quite a bit of time talking to them. And when his wife pulled in, he helped her bring in some groceries and talked with her a lot too. He told her she looked beautiful, and that he liked her hair. She had gotten it done. He had noticed. Then he kissed her and told her he was calling in that night, that they were all going to have some fun tomorrow.

Before she could say anything, he traipsed upstairs to the master bedroom. He showered and brushed and climbed right into bed.

He slept hard. It was glorious.

Marianne took the L back to her brownstone. She climbed the steps heavily and entered, crossing the first-floor hallway to her apartment.

She took out her keys and unlocked the three sets of locks on her door. She walked in and wondered if after last night everything would look different, feel different.

She closed the door and set Felix down. He went scampering off like he already knew the place, down the entry hall into the living room, his one limp leg hopping behind the rest. Marianne wondered if in her loneliness she was going to turn into a cat lady now.

She re-locked all the locks and leaned back against the door. A distant siren blared before fading into the rest of the city noise. Life went on out there. The world kept spinning.

But over the din of sirens there came the sudden ringing of church bells, and for a moment that pang of hope returned. She had to smile, albeit wearily. It was like her father speaking to her from beyond the grave. That high of survival she had felt in the parking garage had fallen away hard, but her father had always said never to trust feelings. Feelings change, he'd say. They're fickle like the heart. Real faith and real belief are active, persevering despite circumstance.

Church. Marianne needed some church in her life again, needed to say thank you, needed to renew her faith. All these years she had held on to the anger of what happened to her rather than give it up, let it go. She couldn't hold on to that earlier hope by herself, but she knew who the true author of joy was. She could wallow in her trauma, or she could really let it motivate her, really go ahead and try to live that abundant passionate life instead of just waiting for it to happen on its own and being bitter when it didn't.

She needed a shower and some heavy sleep for now, but after that she was going to find a service somewhere. She wasn't Catholic, but they were always having a mass somewhere, so she would go. She would go and she would pray and she would take communion and she would thank the Lord.

Marianne began to walk down the hall.

She stopped.

John was sitting in her living room.

He stared up at her intently from a rocking chair. He had cleaned up. He wore a casual dark green polo shirt and tan slacks. His arm was in a cast and a sling.

Eyes on her the whole time, he stood up slowly from the chair.

"My name is John," he said. "John Brookings. I was born right here in Chicago. I've lived here all my life. And I've never met a woman like you before, ever."

THE END