The Daughter She Used To Be

by Rosalind Noonan

  “No, thank God.”

  Keesh had a dozen questions, and as Bernie tried to answer them, she could tell he was out of bed now, moving around. Probably getting online for the latest updates.

  “See that?” he said. “The guy returned to the scene of the crime. Don’t think he won’t try it again, either. What if he comes after you, Bernie? What then? Did you ask the police to put a watch on your place?”

  “That’s a stretch to think he’d come after me. That he could even find me ...”

  “Have your old man call the precinct. They’ll do it for him.” When she didn’t respond, he grunted. “Okay, then I’ll call.”

  “Keesh ... I am not having the police come by here. That’s just the stuff of a drama queen.” His concern was sweet, but the last thing she wanted right now was to alarm her father, and once she set off the slightest alarm, he’d be over here, moving Gracie and her to the family house for protection. “You need to get ready for work. Call me in the morning, before you leave the office, okay?”

  “I’ll call you before I leave for work. I’m not going to let this go.”

  “Fine. I’ll call my father.”

  “Good. Bye.”

  As she hung up and went in to check on Gracie, she wished Keesh weren’t so stubborn. She could call Dad later ... or even tomorrow.

  Gracie had burrowed into the couch; only the silk of her golden hair was visible. Bernie tossed her phone on the coffee table and went into the bedroom to get a sleeping bag.

  The sheers were blowing over the open window. No wonder it was so cold in here. Bernie went over to close the window, but realized something was wrong. The screen was gone. She shielded her eyes from the light in the room and peered out into the darkness. Had it fallen to the ground? She didn’t see it on the pavement below the window, but perhaps it had fallen into the bushes.

  Well, there was a good reason to call Dad in the morning.

  She closed the window and locked it. A chill ran down her spine as she recalled her dream, the nightmare in which the face of her father turned to a bad man staring into her bedroom. Creepy. Thank goodness Gracie was here to keep her company tonight.

  The second window still had its screen, so she left it half-open to air out the wet-paint odor.

  When she slid open the closet door and looked to the top shelf for the sleeping bag, she sensed something amiss. Hadn’t she just straightened out this closet this morning? Now it looked like a tornado had hit.

  A blanket had been unfurled in a heap, and the shoes were tumbled. A pair of men’s sneakers down below caught her eye, and she followed the line of black-jeaned leg up to see a man’s body barely hidden by a blanket.

  A man in her closet.

  A gasp escaped her throat as the body came alive. The blanket rose, and she was staring into Peyton Curtis’s shiny eyes.

  “Aaah ... aaah!” She meant to scream but only a desperate stream of air panted from her throat.

  Her hand jerked the door, trying to close it, but he stuck out his foot and jammed it open.

  Her heart beat like a wild bat in her chest, telling her to fly, move, get the hell out of there! Go, get Gracie and escape!

  She let go of the door and turned to run, but he exploded out of the closet and tackled her. She flew back, aware of the smell of sweat and blood, the uneven keel of falling, and then the feel of the hard floor on her bottom and elbows as she landed.

  The world spun around her, crazy and off its axis, but she had to set it right. She had to get past him to Gracie. Bracing on her elbows, she steadied herself, opened her eyes, and found herself staring down the shiny barrel of a gun.

  The cold metal set her whole body quivering. “Let me go ... please,” she begged. She meant to sound firm and confident, but her voice was a wispy crackle.

  “I don’t think so.” The gun butted closer and she panted. She wanted to look him in the eyes, better to negotiate, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the steel chamber looming before her.

  “The police are watching this place,” she said. “But if you leave now you have a chance to—”

  “Bullshit. The police aren’t coming by here, ’cause you’re not a drama queen.”

  Oh, God, oh God! He’d heard her ... He’d heard and he was pointing the gun at her head and he was going to kill her here in her own bedroom with Gracie sleeping outside! Tremors rippled through her body again as she anticipated the bullet between her eyes.

  Then, suddenly, the gun withdrew from her focus as he stepped back to close the bedroom door.

  Get away! the survival voice shouted.

  She crab-crawled backward, slipping on the drop cloth until she bumped into the foot of her platform bed.

  “Don’t move,” he growled, right back on her, looming over her with the dizzying pistol. “Stop moving and just chill.”

  That was impossible, because every cell in her body was quivering in shock. “You have to go ...” she said in a shaky voice. “You have to go or ... I’ll scream. And the people upstairs will hear. And they’ll call the police.”

  “What’s the sense of that?”

  She cowered as he leaned closer and glared into her eyes.

  “What’s the sense of screaming? I’ll just shoot you and the little girl sleeping out there. Shoot you both and be out of here before the police are even in the neighborhood.”

  The edge in his eyes chilled her even more than the sight of the gun. She let her head drop, desperately trying to think of her next tact as her cell phone began to ring out in the living room, the sound twanging through the short hall.

  “My phone.” She swallowed. “I need to answer it. People will worry if I don’t answer.”

  She tamped down hope as her eyes lifted to him.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead and shook his head. “No. You’re staying right here.”

  Chapter 57

  Keesh dropped the steaming microwave dinner onto the kitchen counter and paced away from the food. “Pick up, pick up,” he said, focused on the cell phone at his ear. Bernie got mad all the time, but she usually didn’t cut him off and refuse to answer his calls. Thank God she didn’t play that game ... until now.

  “Answer the fucking phone,” he said, but it went to her voice mail. Again.

  He looked back at the hot tray of mystery meat tucked into rice that he needed to choke down before he headed off to work. A very unappetizing night, one he would have preferred to spend with Bernie. Even Bernie and the niece would have been okay.

  He called her again. No answer.

  This was not sitting right with him. Maybe there was a logical explanation, like Bernie took Grace to her parents’ house and she’d lost track of her cell.

  Still ... it was a worry.

  He opened the contact list on his cell and scrolled down to the S’s. He was going out on a limb, but what the hell. He called her parents’ number and paced from the counter to the fridge and back.

  When Peg Sullivan answered, the din in the background was a huge distraction. Laughter and conversation.

  “Hey, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s Bernie’s friend Keesh. Sounds like you’re having a party.”

  “Not a party, really. Just some of Sully’s friends. But Bernie’s not here.”

  “Actually, I’m looking for your husband. I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s important. Could I speak to him?”

  “No problem at all. Hold on, Keesh.”

  After some delay, and the noise of low voices and muffled murmurs, the authoritative voice answered.

  “This is Sully.”

  “Mr. Sullivan, it’s Keesh, Bernie’s friend.”

  “Yeah, Keesh, Peg said it was you.” Sully didn’t sound too glad to hear from him, but at least the noise had died down. He’d probably stepped outside.

  Keesh took a breath, wishing he didn’t have to work though the racist crap Bernie had told him about. According to Sully, Keesh was the enemy, one of those “Middle Eastern terrorist types,” despite the fact that K
eesh was born in Ohio.

  “I don’t mean to be out of line, sir, but I’m worried about your daughter. With that psycho on the loose, I don’t think Bernie should be spending the night alone ... alone in her apartment except for her niece, but she’s nine. It doesn’t seem safe. Do you think you can talk some sense into her?”

  “I’ve never been able to talk sense into my daughter,” Sully groused. “I’ll reach out to her. I’ll give her a call right now.”

  “I hope you have better luck getting through to her than I did,” Keesh said. “She’s not answering my calls. In fact, I was hoping she was there with you, away from her cell phone.”

  “Nope, we haven’t seen her tonight.”

  “She promised me she’d call you.” Keesh rubbed his jaw. Hell, he should just call in sick to work and go over to Bernie’s himself. It wouldn’t be a lie; working the night shift always made him feel as if he’d just spent a week on a space station. “You know, I could go over there myself.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Sully said in a proprietary voice that said: my daughter, my family business. Clearly, he didn’t want a terrorist type like Rashid Kerobyan meddling.

  “Okay, then. Thanks, Mr. Sullivan.” Keesh hung up, feeling like a first-class pain in the ass. Yeah, Sully was really going to love him now.

  Chapter 58

  “Is that blood?” she asked as she scrambled up onto the bed.

  He yanked open a drawer of the dresser, looking for something to tie her down with. There were scarves in the top drawer. Good enough. “Just get back, against the headboard,” he instructed, waving the gun at her.

  “But you’re bleeding. Are you hurt? I’ve got some bandages—”

  “Nah.” He held the gun steady but lifted the other arm, inspecting his sleeve. “It’s not my blood.”

  She shook her head in confusion, and Peyton wanted to laugh. How could she not know?

  “Must be Marino’s,” he said.

  Terror flared in her eyes, and her lips clamped shut like she was going to lose it.

  “Now why you so surprised? I saw you talking to him out front on your porch,” he said. “He’s the one that brought me here. Person like Officer Marino was a lot easier to find than some girl who flunked outta the DA’s office and pretended to work on my case for a while.” He tied her arms loosely to the bedpost. Just tight enough that she couldn’t jump onto him and grab the gun.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. “Tony would never bring you here.”

  He snorted. “He didn’t know it. I was hiding in the back of his car. Sunk down low behind skis and a cooler and shit.” Peyton was good at hiding. It probably helped that he’d been invisible for years. People didn’t want to have to look at a cripple; they started looking away or looking right through him. Pretty soon, they didn’t see him at all. He was just invisible.

  “So you hurt Tony?” She was coiled up against the bed frame, her knees to her chest.

  “Marino? I killed him.”

  “You couldn’t. He had a gun. Tony always carried a gun.”

  He turned the pistol in his hand, a nice-looking Luger. “Yeah, he had a gun. It’s mine now. But he doesn’t need it anymore.”

  She whimpered, pressing a fist to her mouth. It was almost funny. She was the mousy one now, and for the first time in his life, Peyton was strong. He could use both of his arms, with real power. He’d been able to choke Marino from behind when the cop had gotten into the driver’s seat of his car. Choked him with some wire from his own fishing kit in the back of the car. Marino had fought, but Peyton had been stronger. And he knew he had more power than Bernadette now. He could feel it.

  He had the power.

  “You killed him,” she said in a shaky voice. “And now you’re going to kill me, too. Why, Peyton? I’m on your side. I tried to help you.”

  “You’re a liar. My defense attorney? You joined up with Saunders and pretended like you were on my side, when your brother was the one who tortured me. You’re full of shit.”

  “Tony wasn’t my brother. He was married to my sister. And I’m sorry if he hurt you, Peyton, but that’s no reason, no reason for you to go on a rampage and kill three people. My brother was one of those cops. And there’s no excuse for what you did.” She stopped suddenly, as if she’d run out of breath.

  “Marino is the reason I did what I did.” Fury ballooned in his chest, as dense weight that threatened to ignite. “Marino needed to die. And when I couldn’t find him and I turned around and saw that coffee shop, I remembered something he said. That his father owned it. So those three cops I killed, they were random. But hitting Sully’s Cup was no accident. A coffee shop owned by a cop, right across from the precinct. Marino was bragging about it. I knew it would get back to him, one way or another. I shot those cops to pay Marino back.”

  “And you sound like you’re proud of it.” She wasn’t quivering anymore. No, she was staring him down, all tough and mad like she was his mama. “Killing is always wrong. That’s why I was trying to keep you alive. I was trying to save your life, Peyton.”

  She’s trying to trick you, Darnell’s voice popped in the air. Don’t let her deny the truth. She’s a cop’s daughter, a spoiled white Catholic girl from a cop family, so deep into the cop shit that when she bleeds, her blood probably runs blue.

  “What you’re doing is wrong.” Her voice was stern, like a teacher. “I am not the enemy.”

  “Don’t judge me. I’m gon’ leave my judgment to St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.” The real St. Peter.

  “I’m not judging you. I’m just telling you to stop this insanity now.”

  Hear that? Darnell poked at him. Now she calling you crazy!

  “That’s enough.” Rage tasted bitter on his tongue as he put one knee on the bed and got in her face, pressing the pistol to that bone below her throat. “Shut up. Shut up!”

  Chapter 59

  She froze with the gun to her throat, afraid to even breathe. So the authoritative approach wasn’t going to work. Damn. It had been her last hope.

  In a fit, he pulled back and wiped the sweat from his brow. He mumbled something indecipherable, then aimed the gun at her again, squinted as if honing in.

  She trembled from the outside in, steeling herself.

  But he laughed and let the gun drop to his side.

  She breathed in relief, realizing she’d gotten a reprieve, even if only for a moment. The profuse sweating and gibberish suggested he was feverish. Not making sense. There would be no reasoning with him now.

  She wondered about Gracie.

  If he kills me now, will he just go and leave her alone?

  Beyond him, a breeze billowed the sheers into puffs, making Bernie recall the dream of the bad guy at her window. After all these years, her nightmare had come true.

  Oh, God, dear God. He’d killed Tony. And she’d sent him away... .

  Acid rose in the back of her throat, and she thought she might lose her dinner. She hugged her knees, trying to ignore the tremors that rocked her body.

  He’d killed Tony.

  Or maybe he was lying. Maybe Tony was just injured, faking dead behind the wheel of his car. Maybe it was all a lie ...

  Watching Curtis, she dared to sneak one hand to her throat for the gold chain. Lost in some cursing diatribe, he didn’t seem to notice.

  Clasping the medal, she prayed to St. Bernadette to ask God for a miracle. Short of that, please spare Gracie.

  “Ah-ight, ah-ight. Enough! I said enough!” With one knee on the bed, he bore down on her and shoved the gun to her head.

  The cold circle of the barrel marked the spot between her eyes. That’s the spiritual chakra, she thought, her thoughts far removed from her quivering body. Maybe a bullet there would send her straight to heaven. Spiritual peace.

  “I need to have this over, you hear me?” he growled.

  She could feel heat radiating from his damp skin.

  “You got a minute to say your prayers, get right with
the Lord,” he said. “Then you got nothing else to worry about. You’ll be outta here.”

  Her blood thrumming with adrenaline, Bernie twisted slightly, straining against the bindings. She had to get out. How could she get away? He’d tied her loosely, but there was no way she could rip free in an instant.

  She stared at the window, desperate for escape. And then, just like in the dream, the sheer curtains blew to the side and her father was standing in the window.

  She squinted. Was she hallucinating?

  No ... It was real. She was staring at her father’s broad, rough face. He watched, assessing, his eyes marbles of fury.

  She bit back relief, not wanting to tip off Curtis.

  Besides, if her father took a shot, would she get hit, too? She was not sure whether or not the gun pressed to her forehead was cocked, but she knew she needed to do something.

  She needed to do whatever she could to save her own life.

  “Please ...” She tried to make her voice humble, sincere. “Can you take the gun away, just while I’m saying my prayers? It’s ... it’s distracting.”

  He snorted. “Yeah. I’m not goin’ to get in the way of prayer.” He lowered the gun.

  And Bernie squeezed her eyes shut, bracing. Her pulse raged in her ears, a painful thumping. Oh, Bernadette, pray for us ...

  A loud pop filled the air.

  And Curtis fell forward, his body crumpling onto the bed like an accordion folding across her lap.

  And then ... then the night was so silent she could hear the traffic moving out on Union Turnpike.

  Chapter 60

  Ignoring the ache in his back, Sully hooked his arms over the windowsill and hoisted himself up. The window wasn’t that high, but it wasn’t easy pulling his six-foot frame inside while holding his gun in his hand. Still, he managed, landing on a bunched-up drop cloth. He rose quickly and went to the bed, where the monster’s body covered his daughter.

  “Darlin’, are you okay?”

  “I think so.” It was the high-pitched, quivering voice of a child ... his child.

  He grabbed Curtis by the shoulder and rolled his body to the side, giving Bernie a chance to slide out from under him.