“I most certainly will not.” She’d thrown her hands on her hips and stood glaring at him.
Ryan looked helplessly around the room, feeling his irritation rise. His gaze fell on the wall of windows that looked out onto the deserted parking lot. A curtain rod stretched the length of it, holding up a heavy pair of drapes, currently pushed open to allow in the moonlight and a slight breeze. “We can close the curtains,” he offered. “It’s not like anyone is going to watch.”
Her face went from pink to scarlet. “No one’s going to watch, because you’re not going to have sex with me. Now get out of my room!” She flung herself at him, pushing him backward and scratching his face in the process.
Pain flamed out from his cheeks. He pushed away from her, surprised by her sudden outburst. She weighed more and was stronger than he’d expected. His cheek throbbed where she raked her nails and when he held his hand to his face, he felt a thin line of blood. Anger built in him. “What’s wrong with you? You’re behaving irrationally.”
“You’re the one who’s irrational!” She screamed. “You think you can walk into my room and order me to have sex with you?”
“I’ve been celibate for three years.” He tried explaining it to her patiently. “I’m ready to have a mate. Monogamous and within the confines of the CRC philosophy.”
“I don’t want to be your mate!”
Still screaming.
“Shirley’s already agreed to it,” he repeated. Clearly she needed more training.
“Shirley can agree to it all she wants. I am not having sex with you!”
She started for the door and frustration urged Ryan after her. This was going all wrong. She wasn’t supposed to object. She was supposed to do what Shirley said. He beat her to the door, standing in front of it and blocking her exit.
“Get out of my way, you freak.” She lunged at him, digging her nails into his mouth and pinching down hard.
Pain tore through his face. Ryan snapped, pulling away her hands. “I am not a freak.” He wasn’t. The pain made him crazy. He punched her before he could think about breathing or counting, or anything else. His fist slammed into her jaw, cracking it hard. Pauline’s head snapped backward, and the rest of her followed, smacking into the corner of the writing desk as she fell. She yelped once and hit the floor, then lay still; finally being quiet.
Ryan stood, breathing hard, staring down at her unmoving body. “Pauline.” He spoke her name quietly. He took another deep breath and started counting. He got to ten and stopped. “Pauline?” Why wasn’t she moving? It was only one punch. “Pauline, get up.”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No movement. No sound.
Kneeling beside her, Ryan took her wrist and felt for a pulse. There was none. When he looked at her face, he saw blood spreading out from the back of her head. He took a deep breath, followed by another and another. He did more counting. He wanted to swear, but he didn’t. Shirley didn’t like swearing. Finally he pulled the walkie-talkie from the holster on his belt. “Shirley,” he called. “It’s Ryan. I have a problem.”
“What is it, Ryan? I thought you’d be with Pauline right now.”
“I was, but she didn’t want to be my mate. She attacked me. And then she fell and hit her head.”
“What’s her condition?” Shirley asked the question calmly. “Shall I send Dr. Belanger?”
Her discipline amazed him; gave him something to strive for. “It’s too late for that. She’s dead.”
“Dead? Are you sure?”
He looked at the blood, making a larger circle now on the carpet. “I’m sure.”
A few seconds passed before Shirley responded. “That’s not good. Not coming so soon after Regina.”
“I know, Shirley. I’m sorry.”
There was another pause, followed by a sigh. “Stay there,” she told him. “I’ll send Betty and Dennis to help you get rid of the body.”
Pauline’s dead body rattled him. He had to keep breathing and counting. “What are we going to do with her?”
“We’ll dump it out in the woods somewhere. There should be enough wildlife out there to dispose of it rather quickly.”
“You don’t want to dump her in the ocean?” Getting her off the property seemed better.
“We don’t have a boat,” Shirley said. “We can’t get the body far enough out to sea to make sure it won’t wash up somewhere.”
“Oh.” That made sense. He’d never thought of that.
“I’ll tell everyone Pauline’s aunt was in a car accident and she had to rush home to be with her.”
“That’s a really good idea.” His breathing returned to normal. Everything would be okay. Shirley would make sure of it.
“Sit tight, Ryan. Help is on the way.”
Ryan put the walkie-talkie back in his holster. As always, Shirley knew best. She thought of details that never occurred to him. He sat all the way down, hunched over in front of Pauline’s body and closed her eyes. He didn’t want her looking at him anymore. “That was really stupid of you,” he said. “I don’t know what your problem was anyhow. It’s not like I wanted to do anything kinky. I wouldn’t even have made you give me a blow job. I just wanted sex. Just normal, regular, monogamous sex.”
A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” he said.
Betty and Dennis came in quietly, closing the door behind them. Betty looked at him and then at Pauline. “What happened?”
“She attacked me. I tried to defend myself and she fell backward and hit her head.”
Betty stared unemotionally at Pauline’s body. “Why did she attack you?”
“I asked Shirley if I could have her for a mate. Shirley agreed, but she didn’t.”
“She went against Shirley’s orders?” Dennis sounded surprised. He was a large man of about fifty, his buzz cut showing short sticks of gray hair. A former financial consultant who’d lost his high-flying life to a meth pipe, he’d become a CRC follower nearly a year ago. He helped Shirley keep the books and raise money, and because of his physical size and devotion to CRC, he helped Ryan with security.
“She went against Shirley’s orders,” Ryan confirmed.
“Why would she do that?” Dennis shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll be your mate,” Betty volunteered. “If you still want one, that is.”
Ryan regarded her for a moment. Her breasts weren’t as large as Pauline’s, but she was a lot prettier. She was also very devoted to Shirley. And he liked her blonde hair. “Okay,” he said. “Help me get Pauline’s body dumped in the woods. We can have sex when we’re done.”
Chapter 7
When Mindy regained consciousness sickness washed over her. Her stomach turned. Her head throbbed. She shook. All over. Like she’d stepped on a downed power line. Worse than any of that, however, was the memory she awoke with. Vague, like a dream, and just as difficult to discern. A face swam hazy and menacing above her. A cackling sound reverberated in her ears. Eyes bulged, ringed with excitement. Her surroundings were uncertain. Still, she felt as if she was in bed; felt for sure she was lying down and the face hovered over her.
Mindy tried to remember more and her throat constricted. Her heart beat until the sound of it filled her ears, pounding so hard she held her hands over her sternum to reassure herself it would stay put.
She shoved away the memory, the dream, whatever the hell it was, and sat up in bed. The effort required almost more energy than she possessed. She was back in the aquamarine and beige room, still dressed in the teal skirt and white tank top.
Wiping her brow, Mindy felt beads of perspiration trickling down her face and chest, despite the cool breeze blowing through open windows. Outside, night had settled in. A full moon hung low in the sky, partially obscured by a swath of indigo clouds. She took a few deep breaths, willing herself to calm down, trying to soothe the racing beats of her heart. It took a few minutes for her body to obey her wishes, and as soon as it did, she realized she was hung
ry. Starving actually. She hadn’t eaten any of the breakfast they’d tried feeding her, and God only knew when she’d eaten before coming here. She still didn’t know what day it was. And really, shouldn’t she?
A knock sounded on the door, interrupting her thoughts.
“Come in,” she said, surprised at the weak sound of her voice.
Rory entered the room carrying a plate covered with a plastic lid. “You’ve slept past dinner,” he said. “But Dr. Belanger determined this meal would provide you with suitable nutrition.”
Mindy inspected the plate of food. Chicken, peas, berries and rice. Nothing she liked. She looked back at Rory, wishing he would smile or frown, or do something besides stand there calm and emotionless like a zombie bot. “Who’s Dr. Belanger?”
“Our staff physician.”
A memory of a man in a white coat injecting her with something in the upper arm resurfaced and filled Mindy with anger. “Please tell Dr. Belanger I am capable of deciding for myself what I’d like to eat. And I’d like a cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate shake.”
Rory didn’t so much as blink. “Nutrition is part of the recovery process here. Cheeseburgers, French fries and shakes aren’t allowed.”
Now she’d heard everything. “You mean I’m not allowed to eat what I want?”
“You need to learn to make better decisions for yourself.”
Anger fermented in her again, and she felt the warning signs of another tantrum coming on, one she fought to keep at bay, lest she end up with another hypodermic cocktail. A helpless feeling settled over her. She’d lost control of her life completely. And she’d never fully appreciated until now how much she despised the feeling. All those days and nights spent drinking and smoking pot and occasionally popping pills, she’d thought losing control was exactly what she wanted. To not have to think anymore. Or feel anymore. Or be responsible for anything anymore. But to just sink back into oblivion and watch the world go on without her.
What the hell had she been thinking? Now that she’d had every choice in her life stripped away, right down to what to eat and what to wear, she realized she hated it. She’d give anything now to turn back the clock and take back the control she’d so recklessly thrown away.
Rory set the plate of food down on the bare writing desk, keeping his gaze diverted. “Proper nutrition will give you better focus. You must be hungry?” He said it as a question, glancing at her as he moved toward the door. “You’ll feel better if you eat.”
As his hand touched the knob, Mindy realized she was about to be left alone, in a dark room, with nothing but distorted, frightening memories to keep her company. “Wait,” she said. “Please don’t go.”
He stopped and looked at her, finally revealing a trace of emotion as a question sparked in his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, unsure how much she should tell him. Reading people was something she’d always been good at. Her gut told her Rory was okay. A zombie bot, definitely, but not someone who would hurt her. “Was someone in my room when I was unconscious?”
“Of course not.” He shook his head. “Patients aren’t allowed to fraternize with each other.”
“What about someone else? A staff member maybe?”
“No one was in your room. Why?”
“I have this memory. I wasn’t unconscious the whole time. I remember being held down by someone. He was hurting me, I think.”
“He?”
“Yes. I saw a man’s face in front of me.”
Rory scowled. “No one was in here. You were probably hallucinating or having a vivid dream brought on by the sedative.”
His curt dismissal made her angry. “I don’t believe that. I’ve taken drugs before. I’m pretty sure I’d know the difference.”
“You can talk about it with Dr. Belanger at your next physical,” he said. “In the meantime, it’s lights out. And I’d suggest you sleep. You’ll be getting up at six a.m. for morning calisthenics.”
He left with that, closing the door behind him. Mindy heard the lock latch, trapping her inside. She felt more like an inmate in prison than a patient in rehab. And she felt helpless. Tears nipped at her lashes and she tried to blink them away, even though there was no one to see if she did break down.
She didn’t want to cry or be weak. She couldn’t put Earl behind her and put her life back together unless she learned to toughen up. And she was still hungry.
Getting out of bed and taking a seat at the writing desk, she lifted the lid off her plate of food. It was still warm and the smell alone set her primal urges into motion. Her stomach reminded her that, though it wasn’t a cheeseburger, fries and a shake, she still needed to eat. She had the food nearly devoured by the time she looked out the window and saw the dark figures moving through the trees.
Mindy put down her fork and walked over to the wall that looked outside. It was dark. The figures were off in the distance, dressed in black, but she could make out three of them. They carried something. Something heavy by the looks of it. Their shoulders sagged, backs bent low by their burden. Specks of something pink and white glinted in the rim of moonlight peeking over the edge of the clouds. And while she couldn’t make out what they carried, something about the shape of it prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.
Mindy moved closer, pressing her face against the glass beside her open window, peering into the night. One of the figures tripped, dropping whatever it was they carried. The noise made a thunk and sent the sound of snapping branches floating through the quiet night. Straining to hear, she picked out voices, muttering words she couldn’t quite make out; two male and one female. As they stooped to pick up their load, the cloud cleared from the moon overhead, allowing its light to shine down on the three, black-clad figures. Mindy gasped. Panic rippled through her, sending her heart back to a loud staccato rhythm. Whoever the three people were, they carried a body. A woman with long, dark hair that hung to the ground as they lugged her into the woods.
Mindy fought to catch the breath held captive in her lungs. Fear clamped onto her the way it had when Frank had pinned her down. She froze; her mouth open, but her throat too tight to scream. She wished now she hadn’t said anything to Rory about the face in her room. She wished she hadn’t drunk to the point of blacking out and being hustled off to this strange, scary place. She wished she’d learned her lesson watching Mama die of cirrhosis. She wished she’d never drunk at all.
She didn’t want to be the next one carried out into the woods. In her mind, she heard Michael Jackson singing Thriller.
Chapter 8
Early morning brought a thunderstorm that had been threatening for most of the previous night. Nicholas Beck sat in his office at Beck Publications, drumming his fingers on his desk, watching rain blow sideways past two floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the room. In front of him sat Danny Ventura’s story on the bizarre antics of pop princess Mindy LePage. A star at the age of seventeen, she’d spent five-and-a-half years racking up record sales and awards. Everything from People’s Choice to the Grammys. But nothing in the last two years. Her moniker as the Girl With the Golden Voice had been replaced more recently with the nickname, Pop Tart.
During the last two years, she and Vince Allan had gone on a non-stop party rollercoaster ride that included two DUIs, an arrest for possession of cocaine and six weeks in the Orange County slammer for him; and one DUI, two auto accidents and two stays in rehab for her.
People should know when they’re no good for each other. Nick stopped drumming his fingers and picked up the photos that accompanied the story. Photo A showed Mindy three days ago on Rodeo Drive, sporting a red clown nose as she hurled her shoe through the front window of Prada. Photo B showed her four hours later, hair bleached blonde and skinny dipping in Malibu, red clown nose still firmly in place. Danny’s story chronicled her near arrest for indecent exposure the day before yesterday, following a naked trip through downtown Aspen. Never mind the early November snowstorm.<
br />
According to Danny’s sources, Anthony Howard, the head of Mindy’s record label, Paranoia Records, had pulled her off the streets just ahead of the police, who were all set to throw her naked ass in jail. Where Anthony had taken her, and her current whereabouts, he’d just learned, was the very place he was preparing to investigate.
A knock on his office door pulled Nick’s attention away from the story. “Come in.”
Danny stepped inside, running thin fingers through a balding patch of gray hair. A puzzled look painted his face. “That’s a real head-scratching bunch over there at CRC, boss.”
Nick pushed the story aside. “Find out something interesting?”
“Depends. If you consider a business not wanting the public to know anything about them as interesting, then yeah, I found out all kinds of interesting.”
Nick drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Nothing at all?”
Danny slouched onto the chair opposite Nick’s desk. “No website for CRC, which I find strange. No TV commercials. No advertising. Nothing at all on the internet. They don’t seem to do any advertising outside of word of mouth, which I also find strange. I had to call information just get a phone number for the place.”
Nick digested Danny’s words. “That doesn’t sound like a very profitable way of doing business. You call them?”
“Yeah. I got connected with their intake specialist; some lady named Patty. I told her I had a family member in need of help. Asked if she could send me a pamphlet or something.”
“And?”
“She told me they didn’t have any pamphlets. You believe that? So I told her I wanted some information on the facilities and the staff so I could decide where to send my loved one, and you know what she said? She asked me who I heard about CRC from.”
Redemption (Desire Never Dies) Page 4