PATTY AYERS - JANE TIMES TWO

A lifelong Tennessee resident, Patty Ayers is a retired advertising writer who writes fiction for kicks. Small journals and online literature collections feature her short stories and a few quirky poems. As Lela Fox, she is writing a seven-book memoir series: “Finding Lela: A Drunk’s Journey,” with the first book due for a December 1, 2018 launch. Details at lelafox.com. Ms. Ayers writes with a view of the Great Smoky Mountains and lives with her canine child, Stormin’ Norman the Schnauzer.

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JANE TIMES TWO
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​Dana pressed her back against the wall of the cave, her chest heaving with the ragged breath of a dragon. Running was a natural reaction when she saw the lunatic in the backyard. His orange jumpsuit gave away his threat, his origin, and maybe his intent. The man looked straight at her through a face covered with mud. She heard him roar, dropped her trowel, and ran like a gazelle.
This cave isn’t good, she thought. It’s the perfect place for a convict to hide. He’ll kill me if he finds me… with just his bare hands. She didn’t believe he’d have a weapon but the size of the man qualified as deadly force. She saw the anger in his beady eyes, even from thirty yards away.
As her breathing slowed, Dana slid down the rock wall to sit on the cold earth. She dared to speak aloud. “I need a cell phone, a neighbor, the police, someone!” Her words echoed in the small chamber like a dead bell at noon. How long should I wait here? What if he’s standing at the mouth of the cave when I climb out?
Her husband Gil would be home in an hour, she knew, and his wife’s absence would alarm him. Dinner, a beautiful roast beef, simmered on the stove. She had set the table with flowers and a sprinkle of confetti, ready to share the good news. Dana was pregnant, after years of trying, after years of crying. Gil would be over-the-top with excitement. How can such a great day go so wrong?
A cold drip on her bare thigh startled Dana. The cave was a wet one, filled with stalactites suspended from the ceiling like accusing fingers. She and Gil had discovered the cave behind their neighborhood on a romantic walk early last month. Its existence wasn’t a surprise; the landscape of East Tennessee buckled in valleys large and small, most pockmarked with small caverns and caves. But this cave is special, she reminded herself. She and Gil had made love on the cold floor and, according to her calculations, that was the day she got pregnant.
Another drip on her thigh, but this one from her jaw. Dana’s tears streamed down her face, scattering among her long curls and dripping from her chin in a flowing river. The tears of fear, she thought. I’ll use that in a poem someday. A published poet with quite a bit of notoriety, at least in the southeast, Dana’s thinking was always in stanzas.
She chided herself. This no time for poetry, Dana! Think! Make a plan! In that instant, a terrible realization struck her, and she instantly knew the premonition was true. She spoke aloud, “He’s in my house! He found Gil’s gun! Oh, please, God, no!” The echo in the chamber seemed to confirm her suspicion. Dana pondered ways to stop her husband from coming home and confronting the man. “Gil! Have a late meeting! Get caught in traffic! Anything!”
The skeleton of a plan came together in her mind. Okay, get out of here. Run down the hill to Ashley Acres, away from the house. Knock on the first door and pray they answer. Right? Right.
She crept slowly, this time avoiding the flows of mud inside the cave, Dana made her way to the mid-summer light. Ten feet from the small opening, she crouched and pressed her back against the wall once again, to listen. She heard birds chirp, the sound of the wind, and if that’s what it was, it swished the tall grass in the field surrounding the cavern. There were no human sounds for the five minutes she stayed on high alert. Dana tiptoed closer to the cave’s exit and soon, her head peeked into the afternoon sun.
Go now! Run! She veered to the left, toward the back of a row of brick houses at the bottom of an ivy-covered slope. Uh-oh, this hill is steeper than I remember, she thought with a start, but determination is the great motivator and Dana’s fear made her a Wonder Woman.
The beating of her heart spread to every cell of her body, driving her legs to run faster. She fell spread-eagle, face-first, running down the slope but lost no momentum, rolling and scrambling to the bottom.
Dana zig-zagged desperately through the toddler toys that littered the back lawn of the red-brick house, reaching the back door in a panic. She knocked with both fists with a frantic rat-a-tat motion. A small boy wearing a stained baby-blue shirt ran to the French door and pressed his belly against the glass. Dana heard his small voice. “Mommy, a lady is here.” There was no response from within the house.
Dana was bent over in exhaustion, praying in silence, when a pain in her abdomen sent her to the ground, writhing. “Oh, God, I’m losing the baby,” she muttered, instantly jumping to the worst possible conclusion. Please, please open the door, little boy!
She shouted through the glass. “Go get your Mommy! I need help!” The boy didn’t move except to slide his belly back and forth on the smooth glass, staring at Dana with wide eyes. In a full-blown panic, she had a thought, maybe a brilliant thought. The door could be open! Get up! Turn the knob!
Still bent forward, holding her belly as tight as she could, Dana reached up to try to knob. It turned. Grunting with continued pain, she rushed through a kitchen and toward what she assumed would be the living room of the house. What Dana found was a shock – a woman, tied to a white ladder-back chair, duct tape wrapped every inch of her thighs, chest, and shoulders, and a final wrap of tape covering her mouth. Dana stood up, holding her belly, as the woman shook her head no.
The room was a mess. A struggle, a fight, she thought, and the stress of danger pounded in Dana’s head, reaching the tip of her nose. Her frantic eyes darted to the dark hall on the far-right wall as she crept toward the woman, trying to be silent. Dana whispered, “Are you hurt?” Hysterically, the woman shook her head no, slinging strings of auburn hair across her face. Her eyes widened as she jerked her head toward the back door. The boy… she means the boy. “Whoever did this… are they still here?” The woman’s head bobbed a frantic yes and Dana froze. Get out! Get help! “Do you want me to take your boy?” Again, a bobbing yes from the captive woman.
Dana tiptoed into the kitchen, put a finger on her lips to shush the child, and took his hand. The toddler jerked away and yelled, “No strangers!” Not understanding it would be the worst thing to do, Dana flashed a stern look and grabbed his hand roughly, sending the boy into a fit of screaming. The fear sent waves of pain through Dana’s belly and she cried out, crouching over and grabbing her abdomen. The boy ran to his mother, wailing. “Mommy! She steal me!”
I have to go without him, she convinced herself. She paused to wipe her tears and gather an inventory of courage. Just her hand touched the knob, a voice behind her boomed, “Well, well! It’s the flower lady from up the hill!” Dana turned toward the voice and the business-end of a Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter. She immediately recognized the gun as Gil’s and her mind rushed in anxious thoughts. And he’s wearing Gil’s favorite sweatshirt!
By instinct, Dana raised her hands in the air, but a stab of pain sent her kneeling to a crouch and her arms cradled her belly. She felt wetness on her leg and assumed she had wet her pants. “Sir, no! Don’t shoot!” she pleaded. Then she saw blood dripping onto the beige tile and collapsed onto the kitchen floor.
When Dana awoke, she was sitting in a chair in the living room, her mouth covered by duct tape. In fuzzy vision, she saw multiple wraps of tape around her shoulders and thighs and felt an odd pull of the muscles in her back and shoulders. Just like the woman, tape held her ankles to the chair legs and her hands were bound behind the chair. She was facing the woman, and beside her, the tearful, taped-down toddler.
Though Dana dreaded to confirm what was happening otherwise, she glanced down to see clots of blood oozing between the wraps of tape on her upper thighs. Sorrow enveloped her and a flood of tears began. Miscarriage… oh, God, please, no! Dana’s heart pounded in misery and pain.
Help! Somebody! She willed herself to concoct a plan, a way to escape and find Gil. He’s home from work by now, he’s seen the table setting and dinner on the stove… and can’t find me. Did he call the police? In a rush of logic, she realized the police couldn’t help, either. They’d never think to find her here and, maybe, they had convinced Gil that his wife had left on her own, ran away with another man or something insane.
The sun had fallen behind the mountain and dusk would cover the valley within the hour. She prayed that the man, the now-armed convict, planned to wait for darkness and leave. Surely he has a destination in mind, she thought. He won’t stay here forever. But if nobody comes to this house, it won’t matter at all!
Her thoughts turned into pleading prayers. Because faith hadn’t been the driving force in her life, she felt pangs of guilt in calling on God now, but perhaps it would help, Dana rationalized. God is my only hope! Her throat squeezed narrow in diameter. But why did he take my baby? She closed her eyes, pressing out tears. Weakness drained her, shrank her heart and the core of her soul.
Dana connected with the other woman with wide eyes. Together, they cried, communicating in a way that words couldn’t equal. She nodded to the blood in Dana’s lap and motioned sympathy. Dana motioned to the boy and did the same. It was fear, and love, that united them.
Dana tried to get inside Gil’s head, anticipate his actions but knew he would never pinpoint her location. How could he know? Snatches of memory of the run to the cave returned, and a thought came in a flash. Maybe she had left a clue… what happened to her gardening gloves? Had she removed them along the way? Lost them in the ivy on the hill? Would Gil, maybe the police, find her Hansel and Gretel trail?
She realized the news of an escaped convict, probably from Harvey Mountain Prison in nearby Harriman, Tennessee, would be on TV and buzzing on the police radar. Maybe they would put two and two together and try to get inside her head, follow her trail, and see this house as an obvious choice for escape.
A phone rang in the kitchen, breaking the silence downstairs. It wasn’t a cell phone but the landline phone on the wall. The woman’s eyes widened, staring straight into Dana’s. Commotion at the top of the stairs startled her, and by the second ring, the man spun into the living room and stomped toward the kitchen. He screamed, apparently addressing the telephone, “Hang up, you sonofabitch!” and Dana heard the hammer of the gun pull back.
After four rings, there was a long, low beep, then a chirpy female spoke, leaving a message. “Lois, I will be a few minutes late but I’ll be there by seven-thirty, no later. I had to feed Elise. She was too hungry to wait. But we’re both looking forward to your yummy spaghetti! See you soon, dear!”
Relief swam through Dana’s body. Somebody’s coming! We’re saved! It was a short-term relief, broken by the sound of the man’s stomping footsteps into the living room. He violently ripped the tape from the woman’s mouth. “Who was that?” he boomed.
“My friend and she’s a cop! She carries a gun!” Dana wondered if it was the truth or a darn-good lie.
Though Dana was facing the man’s backside, she could tell he was glaring into the woman’s eyes because hers glared back at him, filled with anger rather than fear.
“What’s the damn friend’s name?” he demanded.
“Jane.” The woman spit the word at the man and maintained the angry stare.
Taking a step to the right, he ripped the tape from the boy’s face. “Who is Jane?” he screamed.
“Elise my friend,” the boy said precociously.
“Does Jane have a gun?” His gruff voice had risen an octave.
“She shot Daddy in the yeg.”
A noticeable stiffening of the man’s body sent Dana’s fear level spiraling. The gun, in his hand but held low and beside his leg, raised to point to the woman’s head. She closed her eyes but her lips trembled as if held captive in a freezer. “Look at me!” he shouted. The woman’s eyes opened. Fearless, almost calm. “Call her. Call this friend and tell her not to come. I’m untying you but, lady, if you try something, I’ll shoot. And I’ll shoot the kid, too. Understand?”
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. Lois. Her name is Lois. That’s what her friend called her in the message. Somehow, Dana found it calming to know her name.
The man rushed to the kitchen; Dana assumed he was in search of a knife. While he was out of the room, the woman whispered, “I think I know how to tell her, with a code. Jane can save us.”
In the man’s rush to cut through the multiple layers of duct tape, he nicked Lois’ bare thigh with the knife. She cried out in pain and her son’s reaction to the sight of blood was dramatic and as loud as it could be through the tape on his mouth. As blood flowed, Lois’ eyes widened. She was obviously in pain and Dana tried to communicate encouragement with frantic nodding of her head, up and down in double-time.
Lois limped to the phone as the man held the gun to the back of her head. Dana overheard snippets of the conversation with her friend. Lois asked, “Are you going to be late because of an emergency, Jane?” and paused. “Oh yes, me, and Darren, too. But I have to cancel the spaghetti dinner. Jane, honey, I’ve been tied up all afternoon, couldn’t get to the kitchen.” Another pause, then Lois’ voice rose an octave. “Yes, yes. Exactly.” Short pauses between convincing affirmations, “Uh-huh,” and “Absolutely,” and lastly, “That would be great” triggered hope that her friend had caught on and was asking the right questions.
Suddenly, an exaggerated grunt escaped Lois’ lips, and she rushed through the exclamation, “I’ve got to go! Now!”
The man boomed, “Did you tell her something? Why did you say yes so much?”
“Jane likes to chat. That was all to get her off the phone… uh, sir.”
When Lois entered the room, the man’s gun at her head, she flashed a wide smile. Five minutes later, just as the man smoothed the final piece of duct tape over Lois’ mouth, the door burst open and a woman, Amazon-size, took a marksman’s stance with her gun pointed straight at the convict. He had set his gun aside to re-wrap his prisoner and bounded toward it, jumping between the facing chairs.
“Freeze!” the Amazon woman shouted. Sirens shrieked in the background, increasing in volume. The man stumbled, but reached the gun and twisted to stand, pointing the gun against Lois’ temple. “Don’t do it!” Amazon Jane said.
“I will!” the man screamed, glaring at the confident vigilante. Dana noticed the fear in the convict’s eyes and saw his hand shake. The boy was screaming behind the tape and Amazon Jane glanced at him.
In Dana’s distorted mind, the bullet flew in slow motion, and she saw the criminal fall backward at half-speed. He fired his gun, but the bullet hit the ceiling, showering the scene with sheetrock dust. Her fear brought a heightened awareness, she thought, as she saw the bullet tear every thread in Gil’s sweatshirt, a bullet straight through the printed Tennessee logo in the middle of the chest. In slow motion, blood gurgled from the hole and the man’s arms fell to the floor, limp. The silence afterward was deafening. Even the boy was quiet.
Dana fainted.
She woke up in the hospital with Gil squashed beside her on a gurney. “Hi! Welcome back, my lovely, lovely Dana.”
His goofy smile warmed her heart. With her first thought, she asked, “The baby?”
The doctors had advised Gil to stay upbeat, downplay the disappointment Dana was sure to feel. “We’ll make another baby, sweetie. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
With her second thought, she asked, “Lois and the boy?” Her voice was more like the squeak of an antique door.
“We have new friends, including Jane. And she’s a handy friend to have! A real-life hero.”
“But our baby!” Dana’s wail filled the emergency ward and tears began a trail on her cheeks.
---------------------  11 MONTHS LATER  ---------------------
 
“She’s beautiful, Gil, and perfectly healthy. I’m so happy to name her Jane.”
“We’re blessed with a lucky cave and you, sweetheart. You’re a tough cookie, strong all the way through a difficult pregnancy.”
The baby woke up just moments before Jane knocked on the door of the hospital room. Decked out in her full-dress police uniform, she looked even larger, taller, more like a bad-ass cop. She held a massive bouquet of daisies. “Congrats, you two! Or I should say you three. Now let me see my namesake!”