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3
EMMA
San Francisco
PRESENT
Emma Hunt always wore three layers, enough for a Tahoe snowstorm, her dad would say, and she’d laugh, because San Francisco could freeze your bones just as fast. Sometimes, in March, there was brilliant sunshine and a warm breeze, but today, her bones creaked and groaned in the damp chill and her face burned from the sting of the whipping wind. She tugged her Giants ball cap down tighter. The sun occasionally broke through and gave some hope again, but they both soon disappeared somewhere on the far side of the San Francisco fog.
Her cell rang. It was her mom calling, telling her she was caught up in the insane Van Ness traffic, made worse than usual by the endless construction. Emma heard the concern in her mom’s voice, urging her to wait inside Davies Hall where it was warm. And safe. Her mom didn’t have to say it out loud, Emma knew she was thinking it. Her mom and dad always worried when she was out by herself, and she understood, but didn’t they realize she wasn’t a little kid anymore?
Shivering, Emma stepped back toward Davies Hall and saw Mrs. Mayhew, her piano teacher, as she came out a side door. She gave Emma a wave and called out, “Kennedy Center won’t know what hit them when you play that Chopin prelude, Emma!” Emma grinned and waved back. Mrs. Mayhew wrapped her awesome, purple-knitted scarf three times around her neck and made her way through the wind to her grandson’s souped-up red Chevy.
Davies Hall was quiet inside, most everyone gone for the day. The doors would be locked soon, but not before her mom got there, she hoped. Emma hummed the Chopin Prelude in D Flat Major Mrs. Mayhew loved so much, one of the pieces Emma would be playing at the Chopin Retrospective at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. She’d been allowed to select it, since it was her favorite, too, romantic and heartrending. It touched her deeply and always made her mother tear up. Her dad would say her mother could cry if she wanted to, but Emma couldn’t or she’d get the keys wet and her fingers would slip and slide.
Her mom called again. She was closer. Emma was to stay inside. She walked to sit down on a bench facing the glass doors. She was rehearsing in her head, her fingers playing a glissando on the bench when she heard a man whistling, probably one of the maintenance crew. She turned automatically and saw a man walking toward her. He wasn’t maintenance; he was wearing dark glasses and a ball cap pulled down over his forehead. His dark coat was open, showing a black turtleneck and dark slacks. Except for the ball cap, she’d have pegged him as one of the city attorneys from the nearby Civic Center. Emma rose, took a step toward the doors.
He held up his hand. “Wait! Please. I need directions.”
Her parents’ voices drummed in her head. Walk away if something doesn’t feel right. Get help. All he wanted was directions? But deep inside she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t six years ago. She wasn’t a helpless little kid now. But what was he?
The man kept coming, striding easy as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But there was something about him, something off about the way he walked, steady as a metronome, focused on her. Gooseflesh skittered over her arm. That long-ago fear welled up from the deepest part of her where it had always been. Who was he? He was staring at her, only her, and she felt again the terror of the six-year-old child when another man called Father Sonny had taken her, only a little girl then, out of a park not twenty feet from where her mother was shooting photos. Emma gasped for breath, headed fast toward the doors. He broke into a run after her.
She wasn’t going to make it through the doors before he caught her. She didn’t scream for help, there was no one to hear her. She folded into herself, heard a small moan that came from her own throat. It angered her, that helpless sound, snapped her back. She wasn’t a helpless little girl now. Her dad had taken her to his dojo on Lake Street for years where she’d learned Tae Kwon Do from Master Liu himself, and still worked with him twice a week.
Emma dug down deep. She wouldn’t run, she wouldn’t fold. She whipped around to face him and yelled, “What do you want?”
He paused, surprised, and held out a gloved hand. “Come on, Emma, don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you to come with me.” His voice was low, cajoling. He nearly whispered the words. He knows your name. He knows who you are. The terror disappeared and in its place came anger, clean sharp anger. She wanted to hurt him, it was that simple. She drew a deep steadying breath, focused on her assailant, as Master Liu had taught her. She let out a yell, ran right at him, kicked her right leg high and straight out. Her booted foot slammed into his throat. He stumbled back, grabbed his throat, gagged, and fell. He tried to yell, but his words came out as a croak. “You little bitch! You’re going to pay for that!” He staggered to his feet, still rubbing his throat, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a gun. Emma didn’t hesitate, she tasered him. The electric shock wave put him down and this time he didn’t move. She knew he was in bad pain, but it wouldn’t last long. She wanted to grab his gun, get his wallet, but she did what she’d been told to do countless times by her parents. She ran. She made it out the door and across the street to the Civic Center where there were people and safety.
She looked back across the traffic and caught her breath, her heart pounding in her throat. But of course he wasn’t following her. She, Emma Hunt, had made the monster run away. She remembered Dr. Loo, her psychologist, was always telling her how important it was to face her fears about what had happened to her. She had and she’d won. Dr. Loo would be proud of her. You’re strong, confident, you can do anything. Emma pulled out her cell to call 911 when her mother pulled up in Charlotte, her prized SUV. Emma jerked the door open and jumped in. She was almost sorry she had to tell her mother because she knew how upset she’d be. She’d call her father right away, and he’d rush home if he wasn’t in court, and they’d fret and worry about her even more, maybe even demand she never leave the house alone. She couldn’t imagine one of her parents tagging along with her and her girlfriends. But the man had come after her. He’d known her name and that was the scariest part.
Molly said, “Em, sorry I’m late. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Her mom was instantly afraid, even before she told her. She touched her palm to her mother’s cheek and said, “Mom, please don’t be scared. I put him down with a kick and then when he got up again, I tasered him. I was about to call 911.”
“W-what? Emma, who did you run off? 911?”
“I was waiting inside for you when I saw a man walking toward me, focused on me. He knew my name, and he wanted to take me. I couldn’t outrun him, so I centered myself, like Master Liu taught me, and I kicked him in the throat. It didn’t stop him so I tasered him. I left him on the floor. I put him down, Mom, I put him down.”
Molly grabbed her and hugged her tight. “I was late. I’m so sorry, Emma. If I’d only been here on time—”
“Mom, listen to me. I’m okay. Before you call Captain Trolley, let me tell you the guy was wearing a dark coat and a ball cap and sunglasses, so I couldn’t really see his face. By now he’s probably gone, but maybe Captain Trolley’s officers can find him.”
But they both knew he wouldn’t be close. He was long gone. Her mom was still pale and Emma knew she was reliving the terrible memories when Emma had been kidnapped half her lifetime ago. She hugged her mother. “I’m not a helpless kid now, Mom. I fought him, tasered him, and ran away. You know what? It felt good. I won and I know I can do it again if I have to.”
Her mom managed a smile, swallowed her terror. “I’ll call Virginia and then I’m calling your dad. He needs to know, Emma. We’ve got to figure out why that man wanted to take you.” She couldn’t help herself and hugged Emma close again. “There’s no way anyone’s going to hurt you, Emma. Not ever again.” She drew back, gave Emma a brilliant smile. “You saved yourself, Emma. I’m so proud of you.”
Emma saw love and worry in her eyes. What she’d been thinking came out of her mouth. “What makes these horrible men want to hurt me? Is it something about me? Is it my fault?”
