The Bridge by Solomon Jones

the bed, knowing he was gone for good. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding herself because there was no one else to do so.
    When the phone began to ring, she ignored it. By the tenth ring, when she reached across the bed and snatched the receiver from the cradle, she was angry. Before she could say anything, though, her mother was screaming in her ear.
    â€œDot, you heard about Sonny?”
    She started to say something, but her mother cut her off.
    â€œThe nigga done did somethin’ to Kenya, girl.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œI tried to tell you about Sonny,” she said, warming to the subject. “But you ain’t wanna listen.”
    â€œMom, what you talkin’ about?”
    â€œKenya is missin’, Dot,” she said, placing emphasis on each word. “She been missin’ since last night. The cops tried to stop Sonny ‘cause they figured he knew where she was. He ran. Damn near killed a cop tryin’ to get away. Then he musta stole a car and hit Judge Baylor. And from what they sayin’ on the news, he hurt him pretty bad.”
    Dot held the phone and tried to digest what her mother was telling her.
    â€œDot?”
    â€œYes,” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper.
    â€œDot, if Sonny come over there, don’t let him in ’cause he might … just don’t let him in.”

    When Dot didn’t say anything, her mother’s voice took on a nervous edge.
    â€œHe ain’t there now, is he, Dot? Please tell me he ain’t there now.”
    â€œHe ain’t here, Mom,” she said, swallowing hard. “I ain’t seen him.”
    â€œDot, listen to me.”
    â€œMom, I gotta go,” she snapped, and slammed the phone into the cradle.
    She sat for a moment, biting her lip as her eyes quickly shifted back and forth. It had all happened so fast, this falling-apart. But it was a moment that she’d known would come. And as she tasted the blood that oozed into her mouth from the places he had slapped her, she did what she’d always known she would.
    Picking up the phone, she dialed the police, gave them Sonny’s description, the location where he was last seen, and the description of her car.
    A calm swept over her as she hung up. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand and sat for a full minute before a smile began to creep across her lips.
    â€œYou gon’ be sorry you hurt me, Sonny,” she said, her voice quivering. “I’m gon’ make sure o’ that.”
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    The parking lot at Central Detectives was eerily still when Lynch arrived with Wilson and Daneen. But he didn’t notice. His mind was filled with images of Sonny and the man who would surely die because of him.
    As much as he tried, though, Lynch couldn’t make himself care about Baylor. He was much too worried about himself.
    â€œCome on, Daneen,” Lynch said, roughly grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the backseat.
    â€œStop pullin’ on me,” she said, snatching her arm away and locking eyes with him.

    Their stare was filled not with anger, but with longing. It was Lynch who looked away first.
    Wilson watched as a slew of conflicting feelings hung like a thick fog between them. She turned and started to walk toward the building. There were more important things to worry about than that.
    â€œLynch!” a detective called out, running out of the back door with two officers following close behind. “She’s gone!”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” he said, a lump swelling in his throat as he tore his eyes from Daneen’s.
    The detective stopped in front of Lynch. “Judy Brown,” he said, panting. “Chalmers took her to the bathroom about twenty minutes ago. She must’ve hit him with something. Gashed the back of his head pretty good.”
    â€œSo how did she get out?” Lynch asked, his face turning an ashen