THIRTY-NINE Butterfly Bracelet
T RISTAN
This may not be it , I warn myself. This may not be it.
I’m doing my damnedest to lower my expectations, but I can’t ignore the fact that that begging-for-the-junkyard car certainly resembles the one caught on Blingblang’s security cameras from earlier.
The traffic is a bit heavy here, so Noah has to wait before he can motor back out onto the avenue. Not for one second do I break eye contact with the car in question. If it peels out to disappear, we’ll be on its ass like professional trackers.
As we go by, I note that the front license plate is missing. Coincidence or not?
The District of Columbia requires two tags, both front and back, so a vehicle that doesn’t have each in place means it’s either from out of the area, that it’s illegal, or that someone intentionally removed it.
After parking a few tractor-trailers down, the three of us converge on the suspect car. Not only is it the correct make and model, it’s the correct color. Fifteen to twenty years or so ago, such Chevies would be a dime a dozen. You’d find them everywhere. But now, not so much.
The rear license plate is also absent, and that’s way too convenient to ignore, especially considering the rest of the evidence. Nonetheless, we need to be cautious. What if we jog up to the car, and it sets this Tanya woman off somehow?
We can’t risk it.
As if we’re sharing thoughts about this, the three of us approach with great care and in absolute silence. Slowly, we each bring the flashlights on our phones up to the windows. There’s no one inside, just a boring front and backseat.
What if after all this, we’re still off the mark and this isn’t it? What if I’m hinging each of my beliefs on a car that just so happens to resemble the one we’re seeking?
Since we don’t have the VIN number, we can’t actually identify this vehicle as the one Tanya used. My instincts are telling me it is, but I’m still unsure and starting to feel a sense of letdown. There are zero signs that Elle was ever near this car much less inside it.
Jackson’s near the trunk with Noah examining the driver’s side. I’m next to the passenger’s side continuing to peek into the windows.
There’s a powerful odor of mildew that permeates the air. I think it’s coming from inside the Cavalier despite the windows being up. I notice that the upholstery is stained and ripped in several places, but this information doesn’t provide us with anything helpful.
I refrain from touching the car itself. It might be a POS, but people have placed alarms on vehicles more ancient and even more battered. Although this one takes the cake on unattractiveness. The thing might as well have been beaten with an ugly stick.
I’m backing up to take in a broader view when an object half the size of a dime but of the same color catches his eye. I bend down to analyze it, setting the thing in my palm. There’s dirt and schmutz all over it, so I gently blow the debris away, doing my best to identify what it might be. Only as I brush the object with the tip of a finger do I decipher the object for what it really is.
A miniature quarter inch-long butterfly. Just like the one on Elle’s ankle bracelet.
“Guys,” I gasp out, “Look.”
Elle was here. She must’ve been.
For the first time, I take a chance and lay my hand on the hood. Not only does no alarm go off, but the metal is warm to the touch.
Goddammit, there were just here.
I spin in a circle, the beam of my flashlight app providing an insufficient source to see by. Where might she have taken Elle? Could she have forced her into one of the semi-trailers? We inspect each one, but they’re all locked up tight. Unless Tanya is a truck driver or employee of this warehouse with keys, she has no way to access these.
Behind the warehouse is a gravel driveway leading to a construction site, and on the other side is a Cracker Barrel. I can’t imagine the woman leading Elle there. All those customers going out to eat and loitering in the gift shop? That wouldn’t be overly wise.
Then again, Tanya has psychological issues. She isn’t exactly the most prone to thinking clearly or utilizing logic in her decision-making. Apparently, Noah’s on the same page as me.
“What if they’re nearby? They’re on foot, right?”
“Unless they switched cars,” Jackson offers.
“Yeah, but what if they’re in the process of switching right now?” the kid hypothesizes. “If they haven’t traveled far, maybe we can still catch them.”
It’s the longest of shots, but we have to take it anyway.
We bustle into the Tacoma, and Noah situates us into a space near where the overnighters would park. The hour is growing later all the time, and the restaurant will close soon. Yet the RVs, motorhomes, and travel trailers may stay.
Cracker Barrel is a location known for allowing people to camp overnight in their vehicles, and van-lifers and vacationers often take advantage of this policy because it’s free.
Each vehicle varies in appearance, and unless we want to go door to door, I’m not sure how this’ll work. But then there’s one with a Virginia plate, not that this is particularly uncommon. Virginia and Maryland plates dot D.C. highways and interstates due to their close proximity to the nation’s capital.
But the plate the security camera picked up was also a Virginia plate, and like this one, it’s a specialized one with a heart and stethoscope emblazoned with the message, “Nurses change lives.”
I’d go to Vegas or play the lottery with numbers like these.
Jackson barrels up to the door, then hunches over to retrieve something off the ground. It’s silver and delicate, and I know it the instant I see it. The rest of Elle’s butterfly bracelet. It’s mangled and broken as if someone tore it off with great effort. Would Elliana have done that? Has she been attempting to leave breadcrumbs behind?
I’ve never been so motivated to tear a door off its hinges in my life, to storm the metaphorical castle, but Jackson beats me to the punch. He knocks, and when there’s no answer, he attempts a gambit.
“Anybody home? You’ve got a flat tire out here.”
Nothing.
“Hello,” he brays. “I’ll help you change it if you want.”
I see Noah type 911 into his phone. I don’t know what gets into me, but I brush by Jackson and try the doorknob. It holds fast, obviously locked, but muffled voices erupt from within the RV. I’m pretty damn sure one of them is Elle’s. Either that, or it’s my own wishful thinking.
The RV shudders as if people are brawling inside, and the voices become raised to the level of incoherent shouts and shrieks. I yank on the door again, but the fucker won’t give. Jackson joins me, but even our combined strength isn’t enough to bust it loose. Then, the most horrendous sound imaginable ricochets from within.
A gunshot.
Jackson and I claw at the door to rip it off, enough that both our hands come back bloody, but the latch must be padlocked from the inside because it’s too strong to break. I next use the single metal step to gain more momentum, throwing myself at that goddamn door to kick it in. But even this doesn’t prove enough.
Another godawful shot goes off, and I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t function. Until I hear Elliana’s voice.
The three of us lock startled gazes as we hear her scream clear as day.
“No, wait!”
A third shot resounds, and Jackson howls for Elliana like a wounded dog as he rams his shoulder into the door one last time. He hits it hard, beating it with his fists. In desperation, I do the same right up to the moment that Noah seizes our attention with a command so firm Jackson and I gawk at him.
“ Move ,” the kid orders us away from the exit, and only then does it register with me that he’s carrying something. A firefighter’s axe. “ Now .”
We back away, letting Noah whack confidently into the metal and fiberglass, leaving a sizable gash behind. He does it again, this time hitting the handle. It cracks the door open like a raw egg.
Finally.
As he scrambles up that step with us right on his ass, it doesn’t even occur to me that we could all be facing a deadly weapon. Frankly, at this point, it doesn’t matter. We have to get to Elle no matter what that decision might cost us. Yet before we can take so much as one more step, I hear a hoarse voice. Elliana’s voice.
“It’s me. I’m the only one conscious.”
She meets Noah at the narrow doorway, stumbling into his arms, and Jackson and I reverse course to give them room. Once outside the RV, I detect something shiny on Elle, and directing my light at her, see splatters of scarlet blood covering her from head to toe.
Noah sits her on the step, but while I know I should be searching her body for bullet wounds and other injuries, I can’t look away from her face, from the haunted expression pinching her features.
“Where are you hurt?” Noah asks, all the authority of his EMT training packed into the question. I need to know that, too, along with everything else. Her appearance is that of a soldier coming off a battlefield, but what if she’s hiding damage not immediately visible? What if these are the last minutes we’ll ever have with her?
“I’m not hurt,” she pants, out of breath, but I don’t believe her. The kid apparently doesn’t either because he’s palpating her limbs and torso so methodically that it’s like he’s following a medical checklist. “Tanya shot at the roof rather than at me. She did it as if there was something floating up there above my head. She kept doing it, over and over, then turned the last bullet on herself. She’s dead.”
The rest of us speak over one another.
“Are you sure?” Noah.
“Fucking Christ.” Jackson.
“Give me your hand.” Me.
Elle merely shakes her head, glassy-eyed. Noah rips his sleeve off and uses it to wipe her face clean. Only then do tears overflow her eyes to trickle down her cheeks. I copy the kid and rip at the bottom hem of my shirt to offer it to her like a tissue.
“How can you be all right if you’re crying?” Jackson asks, tucking some hair behind her ear.
I want to mutter, “Keep telling me you’re okay. Don’t ever stop.” But I don’t. She has enough on her plate.
Regardless, I appreciate it more than I can say when she reassures us with a dismissive wave.
“I didn’t even know that I was crying.” She sniffles audibly. “But I’m all right. Or I will be. I promise.”
Noah chooses then to kneel and belt his arms around her. And despite it not being easy, Jackson and I wedge ourselves around her, as well, him at her front, and me from the opposite side. In this instant, I can’t imagine being separated from her. Maybe not ever again.
I doubt any of us can.
“I love you,” Elliana whisper-sobs. “I’m in love with each one of you. Allowing your contracts to lapse was how I was going to tell you. I wanted to offer you all a real relationship instead of going on in the role of employer and employees.”
“Or client and contractors.” Jackson’s gaze is so unguarded as he speaks that I have to glance away. It reveals much more about him than I’ve been privy to till this point, and right now, I can’t take any additional revelations or witness someone else becoming emotional.
“Exactly,” she confirms, her voice breaking halfway through. “So, are you all okay with that?”
“Yes,” we reply in concert. Our answers are so perfectly synched that it’s as if we practiced it, as if Noah and I had trained with Jackson to be in unison. Sirens resonate through the night off in the distance, and we remain there together, the four of us unified and unbreakable.
Elliana’s safe . I chant this inside my head on repeat. It’s necessary for my sanity. And for my soul. Elliana’s safe. Elliana’s safe .
I have my eyes closed, but there’s a flashing bright enough to be visible despite this. A caravan of police cars, lights blazing, has arrived. And I don’t even mind.
From now on, as long as these three people are with me, I can’t imagine minding much of anything.
Not even Jackson.