[Georgia 03] Fallen

here.
    Faith had missed something Victor said. “What?”
    “I said, your brother’s kind of an asshole.”
    Faith snapped, “It’s not exactly an easy time for him, Victor. Our mother is missing. God knows whether she’s dead or alive. Zeke dropped everything to be with Jeremy. I’m sorry if you thought he was rude. It’s kind of hard to be friendly right now.”
    “Hold on, all right? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
    Her breathing was revved up again. Faith tried to get her control back. She wanted to yell at someone. That person probably didn’t need to be Victor.
    “Are you there?” he asked.
    Faith couldn’t drag this out any longer. “I know that Jeremy showed you Emma’s picture.”
    He cleared his throat.
    “What you’re thinking about her …” Faith pressed her fingers to her closed eyelids. “You’re right.”
    He was silent for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he said, “She’s beautiful.”
    Faith dropped her hand. She looked up at the ceiling. Her hormones were so out of whack that the stupidest thing could set her off. She cradled the phone against her shoulder and tried to reload Jeremy’s Facebook page again.
    “I’d like to meet her when this is all over.”
    Faith watched the wheel spin on the computer screen as the processor worked. She couldn’t think about seeing Victor with Emma. Holding her in his arms. Stroking her hair. Pointing out that looking into her light brown eyes was like looking into a mirror. Faith could only think about right now, and how every second that ticked by made it less likely that Evelyn Mitchell would see her granddaughter’s first birthday.
    “Your mom’s a fighter,” Victor said. Then, almost ruefully, “Just like you.”
    The page finally loaded. GoodKnight92 had posted a comment eight minutes ago.
    “I have to go.” Faith hung up the phone. Her hand hovered over the laptop. She stared at the words on the screen. They had a familiar ring.
    You must be feeling cooped up. Why don’t you get out of the house and take some fresh air?
    They had contacted Jeremy again, and her son, her little boy, had been ready to walk out the front door and put his life on the line so that he could get his grandmother back.
    She raised her voice, calling, “Jeremy?”
    Faith waited. There were no footsteps overhead, no squeaks on the stairs or floorboards.
    “Jeremy?” she called again, going into the living room. An eternity passed. Faith grabbed the back of the couch so she wouldn’t fall down. Her voice trilled in panic. “Jeremy!”
    Her heart stopped at the thumping sound from upstairs, heavy footsteps across the floor. But it was Zeke who called from the top of the landing. “Jesus, Faith, what’s wrong?”
    Faith could barely speak. “Where’s Jeremy?”
    “I told him he could go for a walk.”
    Ginger came in from the kitchen, a puzzled look on his face. Before he could say anything, Faith grabbed the gun out of his shoulder holster and bolted from the room. She didn’t remember opening the front door or running down the driveway. It wasn’t until she was in the middle of the street that Faith stopped. She saw a figure up ahead. He was about to turn the corner onto the next street. Tall, lanky, baggy jeans and a yellow Georgia Tech sweatshirt.
    “Jeremy!” she yelled. A car pulled up to the intersection, stopping a few feet from her son. “Jeremy!” He didn’t hear her. He walked toward the car.
    Faith ran all out, arms pumping, bare feet pounding the pavement. She gripped the gun so tightly in her hand that it felt like part of her skin.
    “Jeremy!” she screamed. He turned around. The car was in front of him. Dark gray. Four doors. New-model Ford Focus with chrome trim. The window rolled down. Jeremy turned back to the car, bent down to look inside. “Stop!” Faith yelled, her throat clenching around the word. “Get away from the car! Get away from the car!”
    The driver was leaning toward Jeremy. Faith saw a teenage girl behind the wheel, mouth agape, obviously terrified by the armed madwoman running down the street. The car screeched off as Faith reached her son. She bumped into him, almost pushing him down.
    “Why?” she asked, gripping his arm so tight that her fingers hurt.
    He pulled away, rubbing his arm. “Jesus, Mom, what is wrong with you? She was lost. She needed directions.”
    Faith was dizzy from fear and adrenaline. She bent over and put her hand on her knee. The gun was at her side.