Chapter Forty-Nine
Grant
My hands hadn’t stopped vibrating since I’d discovered the text messages. That had been hours ago, and the trembling persisted—more violent than before. It started as despair, then morphed into anger, and finally into uncertainty. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something.
The texts were too precise… surgical. As if someone was laying the framework. Kiyah never texted her feelings. If she had something to say, she’d say it to your face.
I thought back over the last few weeks to see if there had been a hint of reservation about pursuing our relationship. There weren’t any. She was locked in—all in, in a way that made me feel confident in us again. Kiyah was many things, but an Oscar-winning actress wasn’t one of them.
“No, no, this—she didn’t leave me,” I whispered, standing from the couch.
“Grant,” Casey said gently.
“No, Casey! Listen to me!” I shouted, receiving a startled look from him.
“Okay… I’m listening.”
“This isn’t Kiyah’s phone.”
“Then how did it get here?”
“Mr. Stone,” I said, already dialing the security company. “We had the security firm interviews at the house, and we’d left him alone for a few minutes while we discussed behind closed doors. Now that I think of it, Mr. Stone sat right where he—”
“Thank you for calling Sentinel Security. How may I direct your call?” a voice interrupted.
“This is Grant Baker. I need to speak with Mr. Stone.”
There was a pause.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Stone isn’t available.”
“When will he be available?”
“I cannot say.”
“You can’t say, or you won’t?” I asked, allowing my impatience and frustration command my tone.
The woman sighed before saying, “I-I-I’m sorry,” she stammered before hanging up. I stared at the phone, and Casey dragged his fingers through his hair.
“That’s not suspicious. She sounded like she knew something—something bad,” Casey said.
I received an email from the dealership before I could respond.
“What’s happening now?” Casey asked.
“The dealership sent the coordinates and last known location for my vehicle. She was two miles from Emerald Hills.”
“She was going to visit Granddad. Why did her location stop tracking there?”
I shook my head, trying and failing to keep myself composed. “This has Branson written all over it.”
I was already in motion when I heard it—a crash—metal impacting against brick, shaking the foundation. Casey and I both moved at the same time.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, already heading for the door. I didn’t bother answering and kept running.
The front door flew open, and the stench of smoke, rubber, and vehicle fluid hung in the air.
The sound of a child wailing sent my pulse off the charts.
Soon after, we discovered a black SUV with steam billowing from a crumpled hood, embedded in the side of the house. My stomach dropped out of my body.
“No, no, no, no—”
I was at the driver’s side before my mind caught up, and nothing could prepare me for what I found.
Kiyah was slumped over the steering wheel. The airbag had deployed upon impact, and blood streamed down the side of her face, dark and wet against her skin. She wasn’t moving.
“Holy shit!” Casey exclaimed.
I yanked the door open and reached for her with trembling hands. She groaned faintly, and her head lolled when I touched her shoulder.
“Hey,” I said, voice breaking on the word. “Hey, baby, stay with me.”
“P-P-Pete,” she whispered through consciousness.
I finally glanced away from her to the crying toddler in the backseat. He cried so hard that his little chest hitched. His face was red and wet with wide, terror-filled eyes.
“H-” I paused to clear my throat. “Hey, Pete. Everything is going to be okay.”
Casey was suddenly beside me.
“I-I called the police. What the fuck? What the fuck, Grant?”
“Get the boy. Make sure he isn’t injured and calm him down as best you can,” I instructed, reaching for Kiyah’s seat belt.
“Don’t touch her. You might aggravate her injuries,” he warned.
“Get the kid,” I said, ignoring him.
I fumbled with the seat belt with clumsy fingers. I eased her back, careful of her head. Then I realized there was too much blood.
Casey opened the back door and unbuckled Pete, scooping him up without hesitation. The baby clung to him, sobbing, fists knotted in Casey’s shirt like he knew instinctively this was safety.
I lifted Kiyah into my arms, and panic clawed up my chest from how limp her body went.
“Don’t you fucking do this to me, Ki,” I pleaded with her, shuffling into the house, careful not to jar her too much.
“Grant,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“I’m here,” I replied. “I’ve got you. You’re home.
” I laid her out on the couch and ran to the laundry room, where I knew a mountain of towels gifted to us at our wedding reception sat freshly laundered and folded.
I returned, pressing one to her forehead while I checked her for additional injuries.
“What… shit!” I exclaimed when I discovered a gaping wound on her side.
The bleeding had slowed significantly; however, given her ashen complexion and how cold she was to the touch, it was apparent that she’d lost too much blood.
Kiyah gritted her teeth and grunted when I applied pressure to the wound.
“I know, baby. I’m so fucking sorry, Kiyah,” I apologized repeatedly. “I found the phone, and I thought—” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard and pushed through the guilt and shame. “I thought you left me for Branson.”
Her brow furrowed faintly, confusion flickering across her face. She shook her head weakly until her eyes rolled back.
“Hey!” I said sharply. “No. Stay with me.” I demanded, starting chest compressions. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder and closer. Moments later, heavy footsteps thundered across the hardwood floors.
“Emergency services! We received a call about a woman in distress,” someone shouted. Two EMTs rushed in with gear already in hand. One of them dropped beside Kiyah while the other scanned the room.
“What happened?” the first demanded, angling me out of the way, relieving me of my post. He listened to her heart with a stethoscope, checked her pulse, and muttered to his partner that Kiyah still had a pulse, but it was weak and thready.
“Um,” I paused and closed my eyes as I gathered my scattered thoughts.
“Sir?”
“She was taken,” I finally said, eyes flicking to Casey, who was soothing Pete. Another EMT approached him and briefly scanned Pete for injuries.
“Taken? What do you mean by that?” the EMT identified as Rojas from the stitching in his navy-blue shirt asked.
“She was abducted by Thaddeus Branson Jr.. She escaped and lost control of the vehicle, crashing into the house. I believe she hit her forehead on the steering wheel, and she has a stab wound to her right side.”
The man looked at me as if I told the tallest tale known to mankind. He shook his head and returned his attention to Kiyah. He exposed her abdomen, and everything shifted in an instant.
“Alright, trauma protocol. Let’s move, let’s move, let’s move,” he barked.
His partner pressed a mask over Kiyah’s face, and the hiss of oxygen felt deafening.
I dissociated as they worked on her tirelessly—fading in and out of reality when they claimed her BP was crashing and that an IV was started.
I hovered uselessly, watching the needle disappear into her arm.
They slid her onto the stretcher, strapped her down, and cleared out.
“Ride with us or follow?” Rojas shouted over his shoulder.
“I’m riding.”
I climbed into the back of the ambulance, gathered Kiyah’s cold hand in mine, and made her a promise.
I failed you once.
I won’t make the same mistake twice.
* * *
I thought I knew what grief was—a clawing feeling of finality that could only be soothed by liquid spirits that haunted me like ghosts. But nothing came close to the purgatory hell I lived in, wondering if I had to plan my wife’s funeral.
“Grant, I’m—”
“Don’t… just don’t, Casey,” I said, staring down at the shiny, white linoleum tiles. “Focus on keeping Pete calm.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things about her and dissuaded you from looking for her,” he apologized.
“Stop, Casey,” I replied, unable to drag my eyes up to meet his. “What you said was fucked up, but not going after her? That’s on me, and I have to live with the fact that I failed to protect her.”
Doors swung open hard enough to rattle, and frantic footsteps broke the hush of the hospital wing. Seconds later, Dad pulled me into a hug that offered more comfort than I had expected. Piece by piece, I lost any composure I had left and collapsed into him.
“Grant, what’s going on with Kiyah? I need an update,” Mom pleaded. Her voice was taut like a piano string that would snap at the slightest mention of bad news. “Grant, what is happening to my baby?” she pressed, asking me questions I didn’t have the answer to. “Grant—”
“Kierra,” Dad said, cutting her off. “I know you’re worried, honey. We’re all worried but give him a moment to catch his breath.”
She didn’t hesitate to storm off towards the nurses’ station, heels furiously clicking. I overheard her receive the same update I had received thirty minutes ago.
She’s still in surgery. The surgeon will provide an update as soon as possible.
“C’mon, son. Let’s sit,” he said, leading me to a set of gray plastic chairs. We sat, and I leaned my head back against the wall. “When you can, tell me what happened.”
It took seven minutes for me to learn how to breathe again, and two more to convince the tears to dry up and my nose to stop leaking.
In the meantime, the rest of our family had gathered with faces hollowed by unconfirmed loss.
Daisy, still recovering from her life-threatening injury, clutched Nori’s hand like a lifeline.
Her mouth moved in a silent prayer, imploring God for mercy.
Finally finding the strength, I relayed what happened—Kiyah’s suspicious disappearance, the crash, her wounds, and Pete.