Chapter 42 – February 22, 1976
My heart pounds in my ears, my senses heightened, my nerves burning under my skin.
Everything that could have gone wrong, did. Noah’s phone call only further infuriated Mr. Russell. He screamed at Rich in the shul parking lot, the rabbi attempted to mediate, and Mr. Russell declared we would join a different congregation. Mr. Russell filed for a restraining order, and the judge immediately sided against Rich. I think Mrs. Russell actually agrees with Rich, but she’s unwilling to fight with her husband. They won’t even let me use the phone unless they dial the number on the off-chance that I might call Rich.
I haven’t seen or heard from him in sixteen days.
But tonight is the night. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be back in my family’s arms.
That desperate dream is the only thing that stops me from thinking about what will happen to Rich if we’re caught. If Eva and Naomi grow up only seeing their father on prison visitation days, I’ll never forgive myself.
But it can’t be kidnapping if he’s just returning me to where I belong… right?
Per his instructions, I only packed my most sentimental items; everything fits in my backpack.
At 2:19, I very carefully unlock my bedroom window and quietly raise it; it’s never seemed particularly sturdy or well-built, but it stays open as I swing over one leg, then the other. At fifty degrees, the outside is inviting, beckoning me to join. I hear Rich’s car before I see it; his headlights are off as he pulls close to the house.
Quickly and quietly, I run to the car, open the back passenger door, and strap myself into the mobile sanctuary.
But just as I close the car door, we both hear the sound that reverberates in the stillness: The window falls–then shatters.
A light appears in the Russells’ bedroom as Rich drives away.
“It’s going to be okay,” he reassures me. “Your parents are waiting at Marc’s friend’s house. It’s going to be all right.”
His words are soft, but his motions frantic. He’s still stopping at every stop sign, but he speeds between them.
I bet he’s hearing his pulse in his ears too.
An engine roars thunderously behind us. Just as Rich begins to pull away from the fifth stop sign, Mr. Russell’s sedan cuts sharply in front of us.
“Make yourself small,” Rich commands. “Go low.”
I remove my seat belt and crouch into the passenger floorboard of the backseat. I want to reassure him, but what can I possibly say?
Mr. Russell furiously exits his car. “I told you, Dawson!” he screams. “I warned you to leave my family alone!”
Rich doesn’t respond; he simply moves the gearshift into reverse, places his hand behind the passenger seat, and looks out the rear window as he rapidly backs the car down the street.
I know they say you see it before you hear it, but I swear I hear it before it hits.
Loud and livid, it’s the perfect symbol of seething frustration.
The rest comes in waves, flashes.
Rich grabbing the left side of his neck.
Blood covering his window.
Me lunging to help him.
Another shot.
His right hand pressing my bangs against my eyes–as if I’ll ever be able to unsee this.
He mutters, “I love.”
His hand goes limp.
Mr. Russell is screaming.
Me, too.
Suddenly, I’m in the back seat of Mr. Russell’s sedan, surrounded by flashing lights–and paramedics are lifting a stretcher into the back of an ambulance.
Only lights. Silent sirens. No one is being saved tonight.
“Forget this,” Mr. Russell is saying to me. “Forget that this ever happened. It’s only a nightmare.”
I’m too numb to even cry as I look at my stained clothes; I can smell Rich’s blood on my face.
“Forget this,” Mr. Russell is repeating. “Just forget it.”
I turn to him slowly and see the blood all over his hands, too.
“You have taken everything from me,” I hear myself say. “I would be happier under that sheet with him than I will ever be with you.”
I jerk as I hear them close the ambulance doors.
I refuse to believe this is how the story ends.
It can’t be.
I stare at my shaking, bloody hands before turning back to him. “Not even your god will forgive you for this.”