Save Her

By C.M. Berndt

In a story that crosses economic backgrounds, life experiences and lines of faith, "Save Her" follows two very different people whose lives intersect at a critical moment in time.

After running away with her new boyfriend at sixteen to escape the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her stepdad since age five, Phalen McCord soon found herself at the mercy of a different kind of monster, and Marcus Devlin had no intention of letting her go.

Four years later, at the end of what she could handle from the cold hand she had been dealt in her short life, Phalen McCord found herself on the ledge of a bridge, ready to jump.

Almost two years after the unexpected suicide death of his wife, police officer Oren Coulter found Phalen on the ledge of the bridge and was convicted with a determination to save her.

Oren may have saved her after she went over the ledge, but can he save her from the damage life has inflicted on her?

Even more pressing, can he save her from the parts of her past that aren't ready to let her go?

After her circumstances led her to the bridge, Phalen finally found the courage to escape her abusive boyfriend with the assistance of Oren, and later, his family. But a kidnapping, murder attempt, and home invasion later, Phalen must flee to protect those she has come to care deeply for.

With both Marcus Devlin and Oren Coulter searching for her, will Marcus find her and reclaim what he thinks is rightfully his, or will Oren find a way to save her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781304980489

Book preview

Part One: Lost

PHALEN

Forgive me, I whispered to the darkness surrounding me, as I took another pull from the bottle of Jack Daniels in my hand. There was no response, only the sound of the current as it moved below me. To my ears, still echoing with frenzied screaming, the water sounded like a gentle lullaby. 

In the moonlight, I was struck by how empty the world was. There was nobody but me out here on the Pacific Coast Highway Ballona Creek Bridge at nearly four in the morning. No cars drove by behind me, no lovers strolled along hand in hand, no birds flew around chirping. I have never been out here at this time before. 

I was alone with my thoughts, which was a rare occurrence. I thought of the chaos that would reign when he got back home and found me gone. It made me numb with terror, and I strengthened my resolve. I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I can. 

I let my feet dangle into the darkness, gently kicking them back and forth against the bottom of the bridge railing. I wondered how far it was to the water below. My mangled arm dangled at my side. Blood from my head, gushing before, now slowly dripped down the side of my neck. 

I let my good arm stray to my stomach, as it had so many times in the recent days. Eighteen days, to be exact. Ever since I had put the pieces together. I wrapped my good arm tightly around myself, as if I was trying to close the gaping hole inside of me. It didn’t work. It never does. For what seems like the millionth time, I couldn’t breathe again. 

If only I could find some other way out, but there are no ways left for me. There is nowhere I can go where he can’t follow me. I have no family to hide me, no friends who remember my name, let alone care if I live or die. 

I shook the bottle in my hand, trying to tell how much was left. This small motion, the liquor and the blood loss put me off balance, and I almost laughed at my clumsiness. Maybe one or two more swallows at best. It was time to get a move on.  

I saw approaching headlights in the distance. Not good. There was no way that I would not be seen, a lone figure sitting so close to the edge of the bridge railing so late at night, and no way that I would back down. I got to my feet, standing on top of the ledge, balancing precariously, and for a moment the view stunned me. The lights in this city were always on somewhere, but more were starting to come on now. 

The world was slowly waking around the Ballona Creek. You could see the barest trace of pink on the horizon, but above me the blackness was only infiltrated by the stars. Hundreds of them were winking at me. I didn’t know if it was the Jack Daniels coursing through me, but it seemed to me that they waved with an invitation to join their silvery masses. The creek ran quickly below me, swollen from heavy rains this spring, tumbling over itself in its hurry. 

Miss? I heard from behind me. 

The sound of another voice sent my head spinning, and I was already precariously balancing one step from the edge. I’d forgotten all about the approaching vehicle, and now I had waited too long. I glanced in the direction of the voice without turning. It was a police officer, and he stood no more than five feet away from me. 

Come down from there, he said gently. 

His voice was like silk, and for a moment I felt its softness settle over me like a blanket. I turned my head, only slightly. The pain was stunning. 

We locked eyes for a moment, and I could see him taking me in. The blood, the bottle of Jack. The pain. 

His handsome face was emotionless, yet his eyes beseeched me, as if echoing, Come down. I must really be a sight to see. I heard his voice again. 

Miss, please. I can help you. 

The silky tone, so quiet, and the peace I had felt earlier at the solace here on the bridge almost overcame my senses. But as always, the peace didn’t last. I took another drink from the bottle of Jack. One left. It seemed a shame to let it go to waste. I tilted my head back, and the fiery whiskey didn’t even burn my throat as it went down.

Numb, I thought to myself. This is what I have become. 

Please. 

The silk voice reached out to me again, like a caress, trying to win over my senses. It should have surprised me that he was now within touching distance of me, but I was numb from the whiskey and the hopelessness and the pain. 

Numb, I thought to myself again. This is what I have become.

He took the final step towards me, and forgetting my proximity to the edge I stepped back into nothing.

OREN

No! I shouted. Is anyone else on the way? Get help here now! I yelled to my partner for the night, Officer Lazaro. I looked over the side of the bridge, searching the Ballona Creek for any sign of her. In my mind all I could see was her face, her stricken, pale face, caked with blood. 

I called for rescue and additional officers as soon as you made contact, Officer Lazaro said. They should be here soon.

Without giving it more thought, I jumped over the railing after the girl. Thank God for the heavy rains this spring, or we could both be dead. The fall was not long but the sensation of free falling and then hitting the water was a shock that I wasn’t prepared for. 

I was disoriented by the darkness, trying to figure out which way was up. I saw something that looked like light, and I fought my way to the surface and gasped for air, turning wildly around to try to find any sign of her. 

Up on the bridge Officer Lazaro and other arriving responders have trained spotlights on the water, and emergency vehicles along the bank of the creek do the same. I could just barely hear sirens and shouts, but most coherent sound was nullified by the rushing of the water in my ears. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should never have made my presence known like that. I should have grabbed her before I had even said anything, before she had the chance to jump. A rookie mistake that could have cost this girl her life. And potentially mine, I thought wryly as I fought against the water, my duty belt and vest weighing me down.

From above, I heard a megaphone and Officer Lazaro yelling, Coulter! Over to your left! She’s wedged halfway on the ledge! 

I turned in the direction he had shined the light and saw her. I swam over to her as fast as I could and moved her just enough so that her mouth was facing away from the water’s flow. She isn’t breathing! I yelled up to anyone who might be listening. If I moved her, I risked aggravating any possible neck or spine injuries, but as it is she would die, and was already dying even now as my brain tried to process the moments that have passed since I was standing next to her on the bridge. 

There was no other choice. I yanked her up out of the water and settled her unceremoniously on the other side of the fence along the creek’s edge, on the bike path. I started CPR, determined that nothing would stop me from saving this girl. In the faint light of the rising sun, I was struck by how young she looked, how young she was. Come on, I said, nearly begging. Don’t die on me. Fight. Come ON! 

Before I knew it, Officer Lazaro was by my side. He took over compressions for me and we switched off after every few cycles of CPR. We worked almost as well together as me and my regular partner, Alvarez. It seemed like hours had passed, though it had only been a few minutes since she’d jumped, when the girl started coughing violently and spitting up water. I turned her on her side and patted her back, trying to help her get it all out. She slumped against me, her head in my lap, and when her eyes opened, I was struck by the beauty of them. 

Are you an angel? she asked me hopefully. 

I shook my head. No, I’m a police officer. My name is Oren Coulter, and I am with the Los Angeles Police Department. I work out of the Pacific Community Police Station here in Del Rey. 

Her beautiful eyes shuttered, replaced instead with eyes that seemed a hundred years old, and her features filled with a despair I hated to see on such a young, sweet face. Her eyes filled with tears and spilled over, and it was impossible to tell them apart from the creek water as they went coursing down her already wet face. It’s okay, I said to her soothingly, trying to reassure her. Everything is going to be okay. You’re safe now. She went completely still against me, and her eyes glazed with pain and anger. 

You should have let me die, she said, then passed out.

PHALEN

I woke up in a hospital. I could tell by the smell, like a familiar perfume, and I fought the panic trying to settle over me in a wave. I tried to stay still. I could hear activity bustling around me, but I was too tired to open my eyes and my body felt numb. After everything else, now I couldn’t even die right. 

I felt the pinch of needles in my arm, the coldness of medical instruments on my flesh, and words that seemed to mean nothing rushed around my head. 

She should be waking up soon, someone was saying. 

We would see about that. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I would never wake up again. 

Has anyone reported her missing yet? another voice asked. 

Nothing so far, responded a silky voice that seemed familiar somehow. I wanted to laugh. What a novel idea, someone reporting me missing. That ship sailed a long time ago. 

Two male voices were discussing my various injuries. Broken left arm, just about snapped clean in half, and a broken ankle. X-rays showed multiple other healing fractures. The head wound was mostly superficial, but the lacerations on her face were deep. She’s lucky that plastic surgery did such a good job on her. There should hardly be a scar. 

I found this too ironic to remain silent. What’s one more scar? I asked bitterly, slowly opening my eyes. I was a little surprised to see that my room contained quite a few people, all in various uniforms. 

Ignoring them all, I looked myself over, trying to fully assess the damage. My left arm was in a cast, and upon inspection I found I couldn’t move my left leg below the knee. I raised my right hand to my face and found bandages covering the left side from the top of my head to about halfway down my cheek. 

Overall, I thought to myself, I think I’ve had worse. When I finally looked up, I saw five pairs of curious eyes following my movements, but I said nothing, offering up a silent challenge to see who would speak first. 

When someone finally did, I recognized the voice of the male doctor who was speaking before. 

Well young lady, you sure gave us quite a scare, he said, in one of those patronizing, pretend caring voices. He looked me over, checking for who knows what. Do you know what day it is? he asked. 

May, something, I muttered disinterestedly. 

May tenth, he said. 

I tried to think back to the last date I could remember, but nothing came to mind. 

You’ve been out for almost twelve hours, the doctor continued conversationally, still in that patronizing tone. 

I tried to sigh deeply, and then I doubled over with a white-hot piercing pain. Two women, presumably nurses by their uniforms, rushed to my side. 

Oh, honey, be careful, the older one said, looking at me with true caring. You have a partially collapsed lung. It will cause you some discomfort when breathing deeply. 

I wanted to laugh, but I had a feeling it would hurt. Some discomfort? Those words were quite an understatement to describe the fire in my chest. I must have interrupted the good doctor before he had gotten around to discussing that injury. 

Anything else I should know? I asked quietly. 

The doctor listed off everything I already heard him saying to the other man, before he knew that I was awake. I spaced out a bit, pretending to listen, until I heard something that jolted me back to the present. 

What did you just say? I demanded. The doctor looked taken aback at my abruptness. 

I said, when I saw your blood tests indicated pregnancy, I was dubious, but a recent scan shows that the life of your baby was spared. I don’t know if you are a spiritual person, but it is indeed miraculous. 

Blackness dotted my vision, and I fought the urge to thrash and scream, as if I could, as encumbered as I was with bandages and casts. I wrapped my free arm around myself so tightly that I whimpered at the pain in my chest, because no amount of trying to hold myself together could ever make it stop. 

Miraculous? This couldn’t be happening. Not only had I failed to die, but I had also failed to…. 

No, no, no, no, I whispered, as pain turned my world black. I couldn’t keep it in anymore, I sucked in a breath and started to scream, but the pain of it cut it off fast, and I almost passed out again.

The nurses went to restrain me, the doctor fumbled with a vial in his hand, and a needle, but then there was another voice breaking through the noise. 

Don’t touch her, the silky-voiced man said, standing from where he’d been perched on the windowsill. His voice was filled with authority. 

I stopped struggling, and the nurses stepped back. Even the doctor paused. 

I think I can take it from here, the man said. Slowly, the others left the room until it was just me and him. I noticed his police uniform and realized why his silky voice sounded so familiar. He pulled a chair over by my bedside and sat down. 

Do you remember me? he asked simply. 

You saved me, I said, almost accusingly. 

Yes, I did, he said, as he looked me straight in the eyes. And I worked pretty hard at it. We could have both died because of that stunt you pulled.

His words shocked me, the smooth timbre of his voice not matching the slight harshness of his words. Well, I don’t remember asking you to jump in after me, I bit out angrily. It seems like you did that all on your own. 

He gave me a wry smile and tapped his badge. Protecting and serving and all of that, he said, his tone flat. 

It was almost funny. 

I studied him for the first time. He had fine brown hair and deep brown eyes that seemed to suck me in. His otherwise perfect face was marred by a big bruise on his cheek and a nasty cut over his eye, and I noticed more dotting his arms. He was tall, of average build, and I could tell that he was strong, but I couldn’t decide how old he was. 

The absurdity of the situation astounded me, sitting there beside my rescuer wondering about stupid things like how old he might be when there was so much else I should be thinking about. Just like that, I was doubled over again. 

Like I cared, like it mattered how old this police officer was. The pain in my chest was nothing compared to the burning in my heart. I tried to curl onto my side, but tubes seemed to be attached to me everywhere. To my embarrassment, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I wished I could destroy things, to cause harm in any way possible. I went to rip the IV tube from my hand, and he reached out his larger one to stop me. 

I shrank back into my pillows, away from his touch. 

Stop, he said, and his voice was gentle. 

For a moment, the stark change in him from anger to softness stilled me. But then I was burning again. Why? I challenged him. 

Those tubes are helping you to get better, he reminded me. I looked straight in his eyes and found him staring intently back. 

I don’t want to get better, I said succinctly, making sure that each word came out clearly and with purpose. I need to get out of here. 

Tears coursed down my cheeks. His gaze held mine, a touch of anger in his brown eyes. I could tell that this man was someone who was used to being loved and loving in return. The shock in his eyes at my statement a moment ago showed me that he knew nothing about what it was like to want to die, and for one minute I lost myself in wishing that I could have lived even a piece of this man’s life. 

You’re so young. Don’t be in such a hurry to throw your life away when you’ve barely even lived, he said to me. 

I snapped my mouth closed on some pretty terrible things that I wanted to say to Officer Protect and Serve, but I didn't. Instead, I leveled him with a glare. I have lived lifetimes, I said quietly. 

We stared at each other for a few minutes, facing off. Finally, he broke eye contact, dragged a chair a careful distance from my bedside and sat down. 

My name is Officer Oren Coulter, he finally told me. I’m with the Los Angeles Police Department, working out of the Pacific Community Police Station in Del Rey. We’ve met before, but I can see why you wouldn’t remember me, based on your blood alcohol content at the time. 

I decided to just ignore him. Once he realized I was not interested in being saved, he would lose interest like every other cop that had ever pretended to care about me. 

Let’s start at the beginning, he continued. What is your name and date of birth? 

I frowned and continued to ignore him. 

What is your current address? 

I stared out the window, as if I hadn't heard his question. 

Who can we call to pick you up? he tried. 

I gave no response. 

How did you get the alcohol you were drinking? 

Still nothing. 

What were you doing up on the bridge last night?

I finally looked at him with contempt, fury flashing in my eyes. Officer, have I committed some sort of crime? I asked him. I’m not entirely sure why you are still here. Why don’t you go home and pat yourself on the back for fulfilling your duty to protect and serve, get a shower and a good night’s sleep, and then go ruin someone else’s life tomorrow? 

He looked at me and I saw a flash of anger in his own brown eyes.

As a matter of fact, you did commit a crime. Reckless endangerment. To that little baby that you have growing inside of you. Not to mention underage drinking, endangering the life of a police officer, and I could put you on an emergency detention hold for the suicide attempt. 

The silkiness of his voice was gone, replaced by steel. 

I spat fire right back at him. 

I never asked you to save me, I said fiercely, then slumped back against the pillows, trying to keep the pain from showing in my eyes. You weren’t supposed to be there, just me and my…… I trailed off, not even wanting to say the word out loud, not wanting to make it still real. 

I was trying to save us both! I yelled, then stopped, because it hurt. I gasped for breath and tried to regain some semblance of composure, but I was trembling with fear and pain. I don’t care what you do with me, I said quietly, desperately. Take me to jail, lock me up in a loony bin, I don’t care. Maybe I will be safe there. 

Neither one of us said anything for a moment. 

Then, I took the version of a deep breath that didn’t cause my lungs to burn, and said, My name is Phalen McCord. I’m twenty years old. 

He looked at me, as if trying to weigh my statement to how old I looked. 

You don’t believe me, I stated. It happens all the time. Look me up on your phone. A simple google search will do. It will tell you I was reported as a runaway in Oregon when I was sixteen and they never found me. 

He looked surprised. Why would you tell me that? 

I half shrugged, with my good shoulder. I’m twenty years old now. What are you going to do, send me home to dear old mom and dad? 

He typed in a few things onto his phone, fingers flying across the touchpad. It says here that you disappeared with a male three years older than you. He skipped out on his parole, and you came along for the ride? 

I closed my mouth tightly, looking out the window again. I didn’t know that would be attached to my record. 

Sore subject, I take it, he said. We’ll come back to that one, I guess. Are you still living with this… he consulted his phone screen, Marcus Devlin? 

I couldn’t help it. My hands started to shake again as they wrapped around my chest. I was always trying to hold myself together.

He looked at me with true sadness in his eyes. Phalen, I want to help you. I found you on a bridge last night trying to kill yourself. I jumped into the water after you in pitch blackness, dragged you out of the river and gave you CPR until you woke up, sat by you in the back of the ambulance on the ride to the hospital and waited in the ER the whole time you were in surgery. 

I interrupted his little speech. Why? I asked. 

He seemed startled by my interjection, and looked at me as if something was haunting his memory. Because when I called out to you up on that bridge and you turned and looked at me, I saw something in your eyes. I saw hope, Phalen. You wanted me to save you. You took that last step back because I was moving towards you, not because you wanted to jump. In another few moments, I believe that you would have stepped down from the ledge. 

For a moment, I was overwhelmed by this crushing urge to believe him, to let go and tell him everything. To believe that this police officer could shelter me from every nightmare and fear that I was running away from up on that bridge. Then, just as quickly as it came, the moment was gone. 

You were wrong, I said firmly. I wanted to die. I can't go back there.

OREN

As I left the hospital, I struggled with the frustration I had been trying to hold in for the last few hours. After Phalen’s last comment, she had refused to say anything more, told me to get out, and I had finally given up. 

Besides dozing a bit while I waited for her to wake up, I had barely slept for a day and a half, and I was still wearing the same clothes I had jumped off of a bridge in. My body ached from the impact of hitting the water, the cut above my eye stung, and I knew the bruises would hurt tomorrow in earnest. I was just lucky I hadn’t hit the concrete ledge of the creek’s edge like she had. 

I informed the doctor that he was to call me if anyone came in to see her, and then I walked out of the room. Part of me was thinking that maybe I wouldn’t come back; while the other part, even as I walked out filled with exasperation, felt drawn to the person I had just left behind. She was so angry, so fragile, so… afraid. 

As I was waiting for the elevator, which seemed to be taking forever, something caught my eye. I was right by the small chapel in the hospital. I walked a few steps from the elevator and put my hand in the door, as if I was considering going inside. Then the elevator door dinged, and I shook my head to clear the fog. 

What was I doing? That chapel had nothing that would fix me better than a shower and some sleep in my own bed. 

I rode down the few floors and walked briskly out the automatic doors of the hospital, running my hand angrily through my hair. On the drive back to my house I impatiently tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. 

Phalen’s face ran through my mind as I had first seen it last night. Desperate and fearful, with the faintest trace of hope. 

Why had this girl affected me so? 

She wasn't the first damaged female I had encountered in my law enforcement career, and she wouldn't be the last.

Was it the hope I was being drawn to? Something that had been missing from my own life for so long. 

I thought back to when I had left her hospital room, after she’d told me to get out. She had refused to look at me, her eyes unreadable. I’d dropped my card onto the bed next to her. My work cell and personal phone numbers are on the back, I’d told her, and then I had left.

The conversation I’d had with her doctor when she was still unconscious had weighed on my mind during the car ride home. Her x-rays had illuminated dozens of broken bones in various stages of healing, some that had never been properly set by a doctor. The memory of the damage to her face before she had jumped off the bridge, and the doctor’s assessment that her arm had been broken before the jump weighed heavily on my mind as well. 

The degree of force necessary to cause such a severe break... the doctor had trailed off. This girl shows signs of serious, systemic abuse that has been taking place for a long time. 

Those words still echoed in my ears. I saw her face in my mind, her eyes blazing, telling me that she had lived lifetimes.

I got home and let my dog Maddy out, playing catch with her in the backyard. She leaped and pranced, glad that I was home. My sister-in-law stopped and let her out and fed her when I had long shifts or overtime, but in Maddy’s eyes, when I come home is the best. 

I took a shower and then set about learning everything there was to know about Phalen McCord, as according to her missing persons bulletin and what little else I could find.

She was last seen by parents when she was sixteen years old. Approximately five feet, six inches tall, one hundred and ten pounds. Blue eyes, light brown hair. Too skinny, judging by the photo. The last person who had seen her was her stepfather at their home in Lincoln City, Oregon. 

She just so happened to have disappeared on the same night as her boyfriend, Marcus Devlin, age nineteen, who was on parole after a year in prison for an attempted armed robbery. Only seventeen at the time of his crime, Devlin had been tried in adult court but received a light sentence from a tender-hearted judge. McCord and Devlin were thought to be traveling together. 

Phalen’s mom and stepfather had told the officer working on her missing persons case that McCord was a delightful girl but had a very misguided youth. The officer noted that there were multiple reports of running away noted in her file going back several years, as well as several reports filed with Child Protective Services.

Misguided youth? Sounded like a bunch of crap. I wondered what the parents had been hiding and knew it wouldn't be anything good. I sat back in my desk chair, absently petting Maddy as I studied the picture tacked onto the report. The girl in the yearbook picture looked very little like the girl I had left in the hospital. 

Some of the physical attributes were similar. The smile was clearly fake, and she looked far from happy, but the eyes of the girl in this picture seemed to be a lot younger, even as heavily tinged as they were with shadows around the edges. The girl I had just left at the hospital looked as if she had not even faked happiness in a long time, like maybe she’d forgotten that emotion ever existed. 

I thought of the pain in her eyes when the doctor had told her that her baby was still alive. It wasn’t like she was angry, it was like the idea filled her with despair. And what had she said, she was trying to save them both? I thought of the look in her eyes when she’d said her final words to me. I can’t go back there. Who was she so afraid of? Stepfather? She knew I couldn’t send her back to them since she was over eighteen. This Devlin guy? 

Exhaustion won and I shut down my laptop. I knew that I could possibly be reprimanded for getting Officer Lazaro to cover the rest of my shift yesterday so that I could be at the hospital, but at this point I didn’t care much. Something was going on with this girl, and the compulsion I felt to save her went beyond any concern I felt over receiving a reprimand. Before I fell asleep, I called the Chief of Police, Saunders. 

Ah, Coulter, I was hoping that you would call in, he said to me. I didn’t hear any anger in his voice. I heard that you had quite a time yesterday. 

I took a deep breath. Yes, sir, I did. 

The chief was quiet for a moment. Did you get the information you wanted from the girl? 

I filled him in briefly, telling him her name and that she was a runaway a few years back from Oregon. Then I told him about the way she had avoided all my questions about where or who she lived with, which led me to believe she was still with the parole jumper she’d run off with back then. 

So, you think she is still with Devlin, this guy who skipped out on his parole? 

I nodded. Yes, sir, I do. And she is clearly terrified at the idea of going back to him. The doctor says she shows signs of serious long-term abuse. 

There was a moment of silence on the line. 

The problem here is, Coulter, that you have no proof she’s with him. Four years is a long time. Things change. The girl will not speak to you about it, and you are running on a hunch. If she weren’t an adult, we would have more say in the matter. 

I realized at this point that he was not planning on investigating this further. 

Chief, I would just like your permission to meet with her one last time. I told him about my empty threats to Phalen about reckless endangerment and all the other bogus charges I’d mentioned. Maybe I can get her to confide in me. 

He was quiet. 

Abuse is a crime, sir, I said quietly. Someone is hurting this girl. At the very least, I could try to get her into some sort of facility to help her with the suicide attempt or help her find a shelter or something. 

Chief Saunders sounded hesitant, but he endorsed it. 

Before you go, Oren, he said, addressing me by my first name, I just wanted to warn you about something. What happened to you up on the bridge had to be hard for you to experience. But despite what you have led her to believe, there is no evidence of her committing a crime here. Just a depressed young lady with a lot of problems, who needs a lot of help. Be careful what you are getting yourself into. I know it's hard for you this time of year thinking about Anna... I’m just trying to look out for your best interests. 

I forced myself to thank the chief for his advice and quickly hung up the phone. 

Anna. The chief’s daughter, my too-soon departed wife. So young, so beautiful, so full of life. And then one day, she was gone just like that. She took her own life with no explanation, without leaving a note. The familiar grief settled over me, and I sank down onto my bed. Luckily, exhaustion outweighed the pain this time and I sank into a restless sleep. 

Dimly, I was aware of floating in a dreamlike state before going totally over to sleep. In my mind, I could see the wood burned cross on the door of the chapel at the hospital.

I had been asleep for maybe four hours when I had woken to my cell phone ringing. A muffled voice came through the speaker, asking, Officer Coulter? 

I yawned. Yes, I said sleepily, who is this? 

The voice came again. This is Dr. Geraci. I was taking care of Phalen McCord. 

I woke up quickly. Yes, I remember. Has something happened to her? 

His next words had me up out of bed and racing for my garage. 

She’s been taken. 

I called the chief on the way to the hospital and told him what I’d just learned. I wasn’t on duty, so he said he would send another officer over to meet me. But I beat the other officer there, so I ran in and found Dr. Geraci, flashing my badge to anyone who would pay me any attention. 

The doctor looked upset and was holding a tissue to a bloody nose. A man took her. Whoever he was, he got by the nurse at the front desk because she had just switched with the other nurse and hadn’t been brought up to speed on Ms. McCord’s situation. The next thing we knew her monitors were alarming, and she was gone. I saw her being pushed in a wheelchair by some man and tried to intervene. You can see how that went, he said, gesturing to his nose. She must be found! She needs to take it easy for at least a few weeks, or it could be very dangerous for her and her baby.

The other officer, Rathers, showed up and I asked him to check video footage on all the security cameras, to try and get a picture of the man’s face. I also told him to check the room for fingerprints, which was simply a formality because I already had a pretty good idea of what would be found. 

While Rathers was doing that, Dr. Geraci pulled me aside. Make sure the other officers know what I told you earlier, about the signs of long-term abuse. I fear even more for her safety now that she may be in the hands of the person who did that to her. Make sure they know the kind of person they are dealing with.

I called the chief, practically spitting fire. 

We’ve got a kidnapping and assault on our hands at the hospital, I told him. The situation has definitely changed. 

 I didn't say I told him so, but that didn’t stop me from thinking it. 

PHALEN

I had gradually woken up to a feeling of something not being quite right. I’d blinked slowly, and my sleepy eyes had seen all the right things. Normal, hospital things. Then I’d focused on something not normal. 

If you make a sound, I will kill you and whoever gets in the way of us getting out of here, he’d said, icy blue eyes staring at me intently. I’d drawn in a quick breath, and the pain of it had caused me to become alert quickly. 

Marcus. I wasn’t really surprised. I’d known he would come for me. Hadn’t he told me for the last four years that there was no getting away from him? 

His threat had tempted me, I’ll be honest. Very little time had passed since I was up on that bridge trying to die to keep him away from me and my baby. Maybe he’d seen something of that in my eyes. He’d reached his hands towards my face, and it had taken everything in me not to shrink away from his touch. 

It’s such a shame you have to make me so angry. You always were so beautiful, he’d said, gently caressing my bandaged face. Time to go, Phalen. 

You could just go without me, I’d said meekly. You always say I’m more trouble than I’m worth. My injuries will only slow you down, hold you back. 

He’d stopped as if thinking about it. His hand had moved from my face to my neck, and he’d squeezed. A machine beeped and the pressure on my throat had released. 

Tempting, he’d said, but you know I’d never leave you... alive. 

The machine had continued to beep as my heart raced. Someone will notice that, he’d said. 

Quickly he’d freed me from whatever tubes remained connecting me to my various machines. 

My ankle is broken, I’d told him. 

I’ve got a wheelchair outside, he’d replied. I saw your laundry list of injuries on the news. Didn’t have your name, but I figured only someone as useless as you could even screw up killing yourself. 

In what could only have been a minute since my machines had begun to make noise, we’d slipped out the door before anyone got to my room. I had expected someone to notice us at every turn. But, as is Marcus’ way, we had been unnoticed. I almost thought he’d gotten away with it completely, when we had run into a startled Dr. Geraci. 

Ms. McCord? he’d said. You shouldn’t be out of bed yet. 

I hadn’t said anything to him, just stared at him with frightened eyes. 

She’s checking out early, doc, Marcus had said in a voice that had brooked no argument. 

The doctor had ignored him. Ms. McCord, this could be extremely dangerous for... Dr. Geraci had stopped when he’d seen the violent shake of my head, for you, he’d finished lamely. I must insist you return to your room. 

In one motion, Marcus had pushed him aside into the wall, yanked me from the chair and ran off with me in his arms. 

Marcus, you’re hurting me, I’d said, trying to breathe as he had jostled me. My head was spinning and throbbing and I’d thought I was going to be sick. It had burned like fire to breathe. Not good, not good, I’d thought, I shouldn’t be out of bed like this. Dr. Geraci had told me that I should rest for the next few weeks, for my sake and the... I had stopped myself before I could think about the baby, as if Marcus could hear my very thoughts. 

He’d ignored me and moved faster, until we’d reached a car. 

Get in, he’d said sharply, as I stood there, doubled over, trying to breathe. Now! he’d yelled, shoving me towards the open door. 

I’d fallen through the door onto the seat and my whole body was a torpedo of pain. Waves of it crashed through me, and I thought I might pass out. Part of me wished that I would. Anything to get me away from what was surely coming. 

We were well away from the hospital now. 

You idiot, Marcus was muttering to himself as he drove like a crazy man. What were you thinking, telling them your name? I thought I made things clear. Don’t pull this stupid crap again, trying to get away from me. You are mine and will always be mine. Nobody else will ever want you after what you’ve done, you hear me? You will never get away. Do you HEAR me? 

I didn’t say anything, between my fear and my injuries, I couldn’t get enough breath to. But that only made him angrier. 

Answer me! he screamed, shaking whatever part of me he could reach. 

Yes, I gasped, I hear you. 

Now that the immediate urgency had passed, he slowed down, stopped looking over his shoulder as much, and seemed to relax. 

So, you tried to off yourself, is that it? I saw the story on the news. Young girl jumps off Pacific Coast Highway Ballona Creek Bridge. Heroically rescued by one of Los Angeles Police Department’s finest. Wasn’t too hard to figure out it was you, since the girl’s identity was unknown. Who else would be hiding their name from people there to help them? I found out what hospital you were in, tricked the stupid nurse at the desk, and there you were. 

Two police cars flew by us, and he laughed. 

It sure is causing quite a fuss that you have up and disappeared, he said cynically. They must be upset that you won’t be paying your hospital bill, because you can be sure nobody there actually cares what happens to you. You didn’t tell them anything about me, did you? he demanded. 

I shook my head as minimally as I could, and it still sent waves of pain through me. No, I whispered. 

Good, he said threateningly. I imagined the police officer, Coulter’s face in my head, so concerned about me, and once again I wished that he would have just let me die. 

You better not have said anything, Marcus said again. All of this drama just died down, Phalen. Nobody was looking for us anymore. If you messed that up... 

He let the threat trail off. He didn’t have to finish. 

We both know what happens. 

When we got back to Mar Vista Gardens, the projects we’d been living in, I balked at the flight of stairs he expected me to climb up to get to our unit. But Marcus shoved me. 

Hurry up, he ordered. 

I hobbled as fast as I could, and he dragged me the rest of the way. 

You are more trouble than you’re worth, he muttered. Should have left you with your baby-raping stepdad and drugged up mother. Now you know too much. 

I slumped down onto the ratty couch, my body throbbing, and my heart aching. I would have committed serious crimes for some painkillers. 

Marcus sat back in his recliner, drinking beer after beer, and watching a football game. Eventually, he started flipping channels out of boredom, and happened to land on the news, where the lead story was of my kidnapping from the hospital. He sat upright quickly. 

You can’t be serious, he said, staring at the TV in disbelief. You told me you didn’t tell them anything, he said menacingly. And yet, there on the screen, his face stared back at us, the booking picture from his attempted armed robbery five years ago. 

The news person was saying, Twenty-year-old Phalen McCord was taken from Marina del Rey Hospital today around six this evening. Her medical condition is listed as serious, and she needs to be found. McCord was brought into the hospital after attempting suicide by jumping off the Pacific Coast Highway Ballona Creek Bridge, and doctors have stated that injuries she had sustained before jumping indicate she is a victim of long-term abuse. McCord is believed to have been traveling with Marcus Devlin. Devlin is wanted for skipping parole in Oregon four years ago and is now being investigated for domestic abuse. If you have any information on Marcus Devlin or Phalen McCord, please call this number...

Marcus looked at me with undiluted hatred in his eyes. Why did you tell them my name? 

I couldn’t help it, I started to cry. I swear I didn’t, Marcus, this cop that dragged me out of the water was there, he wouldn’t leave me alone! I told him my name, and I didn’t know that your name was in my runaway file. Please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry! 

He raised his hand as if to strike me and I shied away from him, but he lowered his hand again. We need to get out of here. When I finish the job I’ve been on tomorrow, we are going to leave. And you will not cause me another problem after this. Got it? 

I shook my head as fast as I could. Yes, thank you, thank you! I said, filling my voice with gratitude. 

He went to bed because he had to get up early for his job doing construction. He only worked for companies that paid cash under the table so that he didn't need to use his real name. 

In my pocket, I found the card that Officer Oren Coulter had left beside my bed at the hospital. I picked up the phone and dialed, then hesitated. Slowly, I dropped the phone back in its cradle. 

The next day I woke up in so much pain that I could barely lift my head. I tried to get up to go to the bathroom and the effort was so much that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get back to the couch. There was some blood in my underwear. I feared for the baby, and for myself. The doctor had said that the repercussions of me being out of bed could be bad for both of us. 

I’m so sorry, I whispered, wrapping my arm around my stomach. It’s better this way. I fell into a restless sleep for a while, and when I woke up it was almost noon. I still had about three hours until Marcus would return from work. I wondered fleetingly where he planned to take us now, and how we would get out of here with our faces plastered on the news. 

His new beard and different hair color might have kept people from noticing this morning, but it would only be a matter of time before some updated sketch circulated, if one hadn’t already. The picture they’d had on TV was old, and Marcus looked a bit different, but it was still obviously him if you looked closely. I wasn’t sure how he planned to get me out without being seen. I was pretty noticeable with the bandages and casts and whatnot. 

I didn’t have the energy to get our things together and knew he would probably be angry when he got back. I wondered if he would beat me, or if he would lay off since I was already so injured. He would want me to be able to walk. I thought of his cruel words, his anger last night and his callousness at my suicide attempt. 

This was the man I had chosen to love? I felt a cramp in my stomach. This was the man who would be the father to my little ones? If I even lived long enough to bring any of them into the world. My heart ached at the very thought, along with the rest of my body, and I wanted to throw up. 

I already loved the idea of my little baby so much. For as long as I could remember, I have wanted to be a mother. Just not like this, not with this horrible man. But I don’t see how I can get away. I’ve tried for so long. He knew the exact ways to hurt me, to pin me to him with no hope of ever escaping. 

But I did have one ace in the hole against him. He didn’t know that I was pregnant. And if I was going to escape, he could never know. 

Because there was no way that he would ever, ever give up his child, something he would see as being his possession. He would take this little being inside of me and mold them, shape them, beat them until there was no spirit left. 

Just like he had done to me for the last four years. 

I tried to get up and pack a few things, but I got dizzy and stumbled. I hit my head on the end table going down, and it started bleeding again. The sight of the blood on my hands when I reached up to touch the painful spot filled me with panic, along with the memory of the blood in my underwear earlier. I have already lost so much. I don’t want to lose my baby too. 

With no hesitation this time, I found the business card, picked up the phone and dialed.  

OREN

 Coulter, I said briskly into my phone. 

You have to help me, came a frantic voice. I can’t stop the bleeding, and I’m worried about the baby. 

I slammed on the brakes in my car and pulled over. Phalen, where are you? 

She gave me an address, begged me to hurry, and I immediately flipped the siren on and went, radioing dispatch on the way for an ambulance. I’ve been patrolling solo for hours, just aimlessly circling the city in hopes of catching a break. I pulled up to Mar Vista Gardens, the largest housing project in western Los Angeles. I must have passed this same area at least three times today. 

I’ve gone on so many calls at the Gardens that I had known right where to go when she’d given me the building and unit number. I ran up the stairs and broke down the door to unit ten. She was on the floor, barely conscious and bleeding from her head again. I picked her up and carried her down the stairs to the waiting EMT’s, who quickly got her on a stretcher and loaded her into the ambulance. Another police team on scene said they would get my squad back to the station for me, and for the second time in a week I rode with her in the ambulance to the hospital. 

When we got there, everything was frantic for a while, and I lost sight of her. I sat in the lobby and all I could do was wait. 

The chief came in and sat down beside me. I’m glad that you found her, he said to me. From what I heard, her condition is serious. 

Have you heard anything about Devlin? I asked him. He shook his head. 

"Unfortunately, no. I’m sure that he saw or heard about all the police traffic and bailed. We will have Phalen under strict security for the remainder of her time in the hospital, so that there isn’t a chance of her, or hospital staff being injured again. But I doubt he will stick