Surfacing,

Part One

By Lauren

Drew stared at the smoking pistol in her hand incredulously, as if it were a dream, and if she looked at the evidence long enough it would evaporate and she would wake up. When she realized after a few moments that it was not a dream, that she had shot the man and probably killed him, she panicked.

Dropping the gun, not caring whether it shot again or not, she fell to the cold marble floor of the Santos office and knelt beside the man. "Oh, God," she whimpered, searching the man's fleshy neck with two fingers, looking for a pulse. "Oh, God, what have I done?"

"I'll tell you exactly what you've done," a voice said off-handedly from behind her. Her blood froze in her veins, and her brain went momentarily numb so that the voice didn't even register as male or female, let alone as familiar or unknown.

Her eyes were as wide as those of a deer being approached by an on-coming car as she continued to search for the heartbeat of the unconscious man on the floor before her. Adrenaline pulsed through her, throbbing in her temples, making her fingers shake. "Who's there?" she asked, her voice unexpectedly strong and steady.

No answer. Drew's heart began to beat wildly in her chest, a million scenarios running through her mind as she waited, her body tense. In this house, in this bloody, frightening house, who knew what kind of person was approaching her? And he or she was approaching; the sound of footsteps were unmistakable as they echoed through the suddenly silent room. I am going to die, Drew decided. This horrible person is going to mock me and kill me in this tomb of a house. But then, he'll be no better than I am. If I have killed this man, do I deserve to die?

She could sense that the figure was drawing closer, and her breath caught in her throat. It took every ounce of control within her not to scream as she saw the person coming up beside her in her peripheral vision. Drew felt the person's body heat as he or she stooped down next to her. It was several seconds before she could make herself look up and see who it was.

The first thing that caught her eyes was the priest's collar.

"Ray?" she asked softly.

"Shh," he quieted, grabbing the unconscious thug's arms and clumsily dragging him behind Carmen's huge executive desk. He knelt down beside the man, searching his temples and wrists for a pulse.

Drew ignored him. "What are you doing?" she hissed, rising from the floor.

"Nothing that anyone else needs to know about," he replied softly, looking up at her with a pointed glance.

Ray shook his head, and Drew's heart stopped. "I can't tell," Ray replied, and she felt dizzy with temporary relief. "He's too fat, I can't tell if he has a weak heartbeat or none at all."

"Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick," Drew muttered, looking from the man's closed eyes to the bloodstained marble where he had fallen and back again.

"You shot him?" Ray asked casually.

Drew was taken aback at Ray's response to the entire situation. "You're a priest, a guardian of life and truth and all that crap, and you're not even flinching at this? You're not tearing into me about this?"

"I may be a priest," Ray began, standing and reaching out his hand to help her up, "but I was a Santos first."

Drew's eyes were confused as she accepted his help and let him pull her to a standing position.

"You shot him," Ray repeated, but this time it was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Drew answered weakly.

"Well, it's settled then," Ray said, walking toward the door, glancing briefly at the pistol that lay on the floor. Without hesitation, he reached down and picked it up, flicking the safety on and shoving it into the waistband of his pants.

"What's settled?" Drew questioned, backing away from the thug.

"Come on," Ray ordered, standing in the doorway, looking back at her.

"Where are we going?" Drew asked, following him out the door.

"Stop asking questions, we don't have much time," Ray stated, and Drew fell silent. "Listen, the police are going to be here any second, and the last thing either of us want is to be implicated in this."

"But--" Drew began, but Ray put a finger to her lips.

"My car's out back; we need to get out of here while we can."

Drew nodded and ran after Ray, who was already sprinting toward the nearest exit.

***

They had been driving for nearly fifteen minutes in silence before Drew dared to speak. Ray was being so calm about the entire thing, while her nerves were frazzled and the guilty conscience she hadn't known she possessed was eating away at her.

"Where are we going?" she asked quietly, turning away from the window to look at Ray.

His jaw was set, his eyes focused on the road. "It's not important."

"But I don't have anything with me, no money, no change of clothes, nothing," she protested.

"We'll stop somewhere eventually so you can buy whatever you need," he said matter-of-factly.

Silence.

The rain that had threatened all day began to fall in heavy, fat drops. Ray turned on the windshield wipers, smearing the water away from his line of vision.

"I don't understand you," she said finally.

"What's not to understand?" he asked lightly.

"Oh, come on, Ray," she said, "you know what I'm talking about."

"You mean why I'm doing this?"

"What else would I be talking about?"

"You know, you tend to answer questions with questions," he pointed out.

"That is neither here nor there," she replied defensively. "Stop trying to change the subject."

"You weren't the only one in there," he responded. "My fingerprints are all over that guy's neck and wrists, too."

"But you didn't have to walk in there like that," she persisted. "You could have just let me cry over it, then run away..."

"And get caught," he finished. His eyes were still focused on the road.

"What makes you think I would get caught?" she asked defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Drew, face it, you're a poor little rich girl who would have no idea how to evade the police," he stated.

"And you would?"

"Like I said before, I'm a Santos," he reiterated.

Drew snorted. "And I'm supposed to believe that survival skills run in your family's genes? No way. Look at Pilar."

Ray gave a half-hearted laugh. "Pilar's a genetic mistake," he replied.  "Not that she's a bad person."

Drew rolled her eyes. "And you've succeeded in steering me away from the topic at hand once again. Why did you come into that room, Ray? Why are you helping me?"

The rain descended on the windshield, blurring the headlights of the cars on the other side of the four-lane highway.

"I don't know," he finally said softly.

***

The motel was cheap and flat-roofed, with a pink neon vacancy sign hanging over the entrance to the front office. Drew had no idea where they were; she had spaced out in the silence and had begun to daydream, or daymare, to put it correctly. It had been like sleeping with her eyes open, with images of the entire night flashing behind her eyes, in the dream part of her brain.

Drew opened her door and locked it from the inside. "Pull up on the handle as you close the door, or it won't lock," Ray instructed, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. She closed the door, and then pulled on the handle again to reassure herself that it was locked.

They walked silently on the rain-slicked pavement, the hazy light from the street lamps at the ends of the alley giving everything a surreal, greenish glow. Crossing a dirty street that was cluttered with newspaper and fast food soda cups, they entered another alley, then another. Ray seemed to know where he was going, which didn't serve to ease Drew's nervousness.

"Wait here," he instructed when they had crossed another street, indicating a bench on the sidewalk that was covered with advertisements for a local bank and an auto body shop.

"No way," Drew argued, stomping across the street after him.

Ray turned and gave her the same intense stare that she had seen from Danny in the weeks when he was hunting for his brother's killer.

His brother's killer, she thought. Oh, God, now I've killed two people.

"Drew, I'm not going to say it again. Go sit on that bench and wait for me to come back."

"Where are you going?" she pushed, and he let out an exasperated breath.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," he said with a humorless laugh.

"You're wrong," she said. "I do want to know. I'm not some sheltered little girl like Michelle. I've been around."

"You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't? Sure I would. Don't you remember what you said before? I don't have to do this. I could leave you here on the streets."

"I know you wouldn't. You're a priest," she said haughtily.

"And you're Jewish," he said with a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You don't exactly fall under my jurisdiction, do you?"

"You know what? Fine. I'll play your game for now. But when you come back, I want some answers."

"We'll see about that," he said condescendingly, which infuriated Drew all the more.

With clenched fists, she retreated back to the bench, wrapping her jacket around her body tightly. Her mind began to wander. Sitting all alone on the dirty street corner, she thought of Selena and the life she had once led. Guilt descended on her as she realized neither Selena nor Max would know where she was. Maybe Ray would let her call them in the morning.

Ray would let me call them? she thought. Ray isn't running this show by himself. I'll call them right now.

She shoved a hand in her jeans pocket and pulled out a quarter, her eyes scanning the street for a pay phone. A scummy looking phone booth sat across the street, the black plastic-covered phone book gone from where it should have hung. She automatically looked both ways before she crossed the street and ran across, her rubber-soled sneakers nearly slipping on a patch of standing water. Catching her balance, she approached the phone booth purposefully.

I'm not going to be able to tell her where I am, Drew realized as she slipped the quarter into the proper slot and began to dial long distance. I have no idea where I am. The phone began to ring on the other end, and Drew sighed with relief. She could tell Selena to go stay with Max and take care of Millennium until she got back. I killed someone. Am I going to get to go back? Her stomach turned at that thought as someone picked up on the other end.

"Hello?" Selena's sleepy voice said over the line.

"Selena? Selena, it's Drew."

"Drew? Honey, where are you?"

"Selena, I need you to go stay with Max for a few days in the loft and look after the club," Drew replied, avoiding the question.

"What's going on, Drew?" Selena asked, her voice now alert and edged with worry.

"I'll be back in a few days," she said.

"Drew..." Selena began.

Drew's heart stopped when she saw a shadow looming largely over hers, reflecting onto the pavement. She whipped around and stared directly into Ray's angry face. "Selena, don't tell anyone you talked to me," she ordered.

"Drew. Drew!" Selena called out, but Drew hung the phone up.

"I hope you're not going to make this whole sneaking up behind me thing a habit," Drew said sarcastically.

"What in the world do you think you're doing?" Ray asked. "You can't just call your mother and chat at a time like this!"

"Good Lord, Ray," Drew began. "I had to tell her to go stay with Max. Do you want me to completely abandon my brother?"

"Tell me that you didn't tell her where you were," he said sharply.

"I didn't tell her where I was," Drew returned snidely. "I don't even know where we are, how could I tell Selena?"

Ray sighed. "Come on, let's go back to that motel so we can get a little sleep," he said.

"Where did you go?" Drew asked as they began to walk away.

"I'll tell you later."

"Here we go again," Drew sighed.

"Stop it," he ordered.

"You don't think it's reasonable that I'd be asking some serious questions right about now?" Drew asked skeptically.

"Drew, it's three o'clock in the morning," Ray pointed out. "We can talk more about this after we've both had some sleep."

"After you've had some sleep," Drew muttered. "I couldn't sleep now if I tried."

Ray looked at her sympathetically for the first time that night, and to Drew's surprise, put a hand on her upper back, rubbing it reassuringly. "I know," he said in a tone that made Drew think that he really did know, that he wasn't just spoon-feeding her pity. "You're strong, Drew. You're going to be fine."

"Am I?" she asked, but the question wasn't directed at him as much as herself.

"Come on," he said softly, hurrying her along through the darkened alleyways. "Everything's going to work out okay."

Part 2

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