Twisted Hearts

by Keta Kendric

  She fished a pack of cigarettes out of her bra. Thanks to my height, I was flashed a view of her flabby dark brown tits. She eased a cigarette from the pack, retrieved a small blue lighter from deeper within her bra, and lit the cigarette all while I waited for her to answer me. She took a long drag from the cigarette as she eyed me out of the corner of her eye.

  “That kind of information is going to cost you. We don’t hand out information ‘round here for free.”

  How the hell she was able to talk without smoke pouring from her mouth after the deep drag she’d taken from the cigarette was beyond me. Once she completed her statement, she twisted her bottom lip to the side and let the smoke shoot out in a long quick stream.

  I understood how this world worked and had two crisp hundred-dollar bills waiting. I reached inside my pocket, eyeing her the same way she was eyeing me, and handed the bills over.

  She jerked the bills from my hand and threw the cigarette back between her dry lips. I observed her eyes fly up in the air as she inspected the bills before slinging the raggedy door open.

  “Come in ‘fore somebody see you. I don’t need nobody calling me a snitch.”

  She pointed me towards a chair as she sat on a worn brown leather couch before me. The leather of the couch resembled the dry wrinkled skin of an old man. Although the woman appeared to be no more than in her late forties, she wore one of those old-lady gowns that my mother used to call a duster and a pair of those white plastic sandals like they issued prison inmates.

  When I sat in the chair, dust flew up from either side of me. The chair was covered with one of those cheap, burnt orange, rug-type blankets. The place wasn’t nasty, but it was dusty as hell, perhaps the dust coming in through that missing screen from the front door.

  The woman didn’t bother giving me her name although D had already told me the house belonged to a Violet Washington. She rubbed the bills between her fingers and raised them up again to make sure they were real. She took her time about it too and didn’t stop investigating the bills until she was sure about their authenticity.

  “What you wanna know about this friend of my niece’s?”

  I’d assumed as much, but this lady was confirming that there was a friend? Could that friend have been Megan?

  “What’s her name…the friend?”

  “Bev and Laura only hung around with one other girl and that was years ago. They used to hang with this poor girl named…” she snapped her fingers, trying to get the name out. Taking another long drag from that cigarette seemed to improve her memory.

  “Daniels, yeah, her name was Lacey Daniels. The poor girl was being abused by her foster father and foster brother, and the crazy thing was they say the foster mother knew about it the whole time.”

  My eyebrow lifted, but I didn’t comment. However, I locked the name Lacey Daniels in my head for D to investigate.

  “Bev felt sorry for the poor girl and started hanging out with her. Anybody with half good sense could see that that poor child wasn’t being treated right.”

  My new informant put out her cigarette, tilted her head to the ceiling, and blew her smoke like an expert. Her upper lip was tucked behind her bottom one, leaving a hole for the smoke to exit.

  “Do you know where they lived...Lacey and her foster family?”

  The woman caught a chill. She rubbed her hand repeatedly up and down her left arm after her body visibly shook. “Yeah, they didn’t stay too far away from here. Over there in those Dumont Duplexes. But, after what happened over there, they tore the building down.”

  Now, she had my attention. I sat higher in the dusty chair.

  “That poor girl must’a got tired of them people abusing her. I didn’t see the crime scene, ‘cause I was working that night and couldn’t walk over there to be nosey.”

  The woman pointed, I guess towards the location of the duplexes. “The place is right down the street, two blocks over. It ain’t nothing but an empty lot their now. The kids claim that the lot is haunted.”

  This woman had no idea how much I wanted to stand and shake the information out of her. She was taking her time getting to whatever point she was aiming for.

  Stretching out her pause, she scratched the back of her head, and her eyes remained on her feet before she went back into her bra and retrieved another cigarette. I winced at the sight of her tits that she didn’t care one bit about flashing as she fished around in there for the small blue lighter.

  Her story didn’t continue until after she’d taken two long pulls that took the cigarette down to the halfway point. I didn’t know if this Lacey Daniels was the girl that might be Megan, but my mind was set to hear the rest of the lady’s story.

  “It’s no wonder they tore down that duplex, the way they say that girl killed that family. Bev was fourteen at the time, so Lacey was probably the same age, but when I saw her, the time she had come over here with Bev, she looked no more than eleven or twelve. She was skinny like her foster people starved her or something. She must’ve gotten tired of that foster father raping on her because one day she just up and killed them all.”

  She fucking paused again, giving that cigarette every bit of her attention. This woman was killing my damn patience, stabbing it all to hell with her slow-ass storytelling. She flicked off the ashes of her cigarette into an already full ashtray.

  “By the time I made it home that night, the yellow tape was already around that duplex and Bev came busting in this house out of breath, telling me that Lacey had stabbed them people up, killed every last one of ‘em. She said the police found that lil’ skinny girl in that house with the knife still in her hand, and she was all bloody. The kids say she looked like that Carrie from that Stephen King movie.”

  Another pull on that damn cigarette took it down past the butt where the ambers threatened to blaze if she sucked on it any harder. She shoved the butt into an ashtray with at least twenty others. Some of the ashes spilled over onto the scratched wood of her coffee table, but she didn’t care.

  “When the police finally got lil’ Lacey out of that house of horror, they said that child had gone plum crazy. It’s a shame for somebody that young to go crazy like that. When the news broke it down the next day, they say the foster father was stabbed over eighty-something times. The foster brother fifty-something times, and that old foster mother over fifty times.”

  Storyteller paused long enough to shake her head for cinematic effect. If this woman grew tired of sitting around her house smoking, she could try her hand at being a professional narrator.

  “Come to find out, the cops found a recording of the father raping that little girl. The whole thing was some crazy shit. They say the recording the police found was so brutal that it justified the girl’s actions. So, that poor child didn’t break—she snapped clean in half. Ump. Ump. Ump.”

  Storyteller paused and shook her head with a far-off look in her eyes. The scene must have been a gruesome one if she was telling this story second-hand with that haunted look in her gaze.

  “From what I know, they put lil’ Lacey in the crazy house. After the way she had stabbed her foster family up, I don’t know if she ever got out, even with the recorded evidence. If they did let her out, I don’t know which way she went after that.”

  The smoking narrator glanced up, and as I expected, she reached her hand back into her bra. I cut my eyes in another direction. If she flashed her saggy-ass tits again, I was bound to get nauseated.

  As I stood, it occurred to me to ask the foster family’s name. “What was the name of that foster family?”

  “Them people kept to themselves. They didn’t much talk to nobody outside their house. I think the father was Carlos or something that started with a C, and I never knew the son or mother’s names.”

  “The family name?” I asked. “What was their last name?”

  “Shit. I think it was something that started with a D, like one of them long Spanish names. They were Mexican or something.”

  If Lacey w
as Megan, what the hell was she doing with a Mexican family? The story was getting stranger by the minute.

  “So, was Lacey Daniels a Mexican girl?”

  “No. Back then, the foster care system didn’t care nothing ‘bout who they placed them kids with. Them damn case workers didn’t have degrees and shit like they do now. I guess they figured that a little black girl with curly hair and light-enough brown skin wasn’t too far off from being Mexican.”

  Curly Hair. That clue raised both my brows.

  I pointed a daring finger at the storyteller. “If I check this story out, it had better not be a bunch of bullshit or I’m coming back for my money.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “Now, what reason I got to make up some shit like that? That shit was all over the news. All you gotta do is go to the library or something. They document shit like that.”

  Storyteller was right on my heels as I headed towards the door.

  “Wait,” she called from behind me, stopping me in my tracks. She walked up to, and stuck her head through the opening in the door, glancing up and down her block. The sound of kids yelling grew loud and lowered with every passing second as the woman stood in the doorway, keeping me inside her living room. She glanced back at me and rolled her eyes. “I don’t need nobody seeing you coming out of here.”

  She waved me forward when the coast was clear. I strolled past her taking quick steps, not bothering to render a goodbye greeting.

  After I left the storyteller’s house, I headed to where the duplex used to be, and like the storyteller had informed, an empty lot sat there.

  When I found the nearest library, their archived microfiche documents confirmed the story but didn’t confirm Lacey Daniels’ name. Since the girl was underage at the time, there were no pictures of her in the papers either. I couldn’t find any pictures of the family she’d killed or their proper names.

  My instincts were telling me that the link between the friends, Beverly and Laura, who ran the organizations that were collecting funds from Megan’s book sales, was too much of a coincidence for it not to be tied back to my Megan, who I was assuming was Lacey Daniels.

  I wasn’t done yet. I needed to confirm my suspicions and find clues as to where Megan was currently located and if she was, in fact, the teen who’d killed her entire foster family.

  7 Megan

  After reading the emergency text Beverly had sent, my eyes slammed closed before my forehead fell into the palm of my nervous hand. My finger jetted across the face of my phone as I pressed Beverly’s number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Are you okay? Is Laura okay?” I asked, breathlessly.

  “I’m fine,” she answered with calm ease. “Hold on a second while I dial Laura in.”

  Laura could hardly spit out the word hello before I’d asked several times if she were okay.

  “I’m good, Megan. Calm down,” she urged.

  Her reassuring tone sent relief sweeping through my veins. Beverly and Laura were the closest people I had to family. As a matter of fact, they were the only family I was ever going to have. As far as I knew, my mother had handed me over to the state as soon as I was born, and my father could have been anybody.

  “There was a detective that stopped by the centers earlier today asking after you,” Beverly stated in way too calm a voice for the situation.

  However calm the words were spoken, they still had my body taking on a nervous twitch as my leg bounced uncontrollably up and down. My fist tightened around the pen I’d forgotten was in my hand.

  “Bev, can you describe what the detective looked like?”

  “Sexy as hell,” she said with a hint of amusement in her tone.

  “Really, Bev, was that all you remember about the man?” Laura asked in an irritated voice. I could picture the crease Laura got in the center of her forehead along with that signature eyeroll she’d perfected like an artform.

  Bev continued, “Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by the man police, this detective was tall and good-looking in a rough and rugged sort of way. Lengthy blondish hair, blue eyes, and lots of ink. The kind of guy that could make a woman do whatever the hell he wanted. He said he was from the Lincoln County Gang Unit, but I didn’t believe him. I’ve never seen a police officer that looked like him before. Besides, I know more than my share of cops from when the kids at the club decide to do something stupid.”

  It sounded like she’d just described Aaron. “Did he have a beard, Bev?” I inquired.

  “No, no beard. He had that stubbed look that women don’t mind these days. And those eyes…those damn eyes spelled danger.”

  I couldn’t be certain. And although I didn’t want Aaron searching for me, I hoped that it was him who had visited my friends today. If it were anyone hunting me because of my past, Beverly and Laura were in more danger than they realized. They were in denial, and always, they were accusing me of overacting about the past. They’d never said so, or called me out for it, but I knew they thought I was delusional because I’d spent some time in an asylum.

  “What did he want to know?” I asked as my mind attempted but failed to put together a puzzle I didn’t have all the pieces to yet.

  Laura chimed in this time. “He wanted to know about Megan Jones, the writer, so I don’t think it has anything to do with the past. He wanted to know who Megan Jones really was and why we were receiving the profits from the sales of her books.” After a sigh Laura continued, “And I didn’t think Mr. Detective was good-looking at all. As far as I’m concerned, they are all a pack of fucking rabid dogs.”

  Despite the upsetting news that had just been revealed, Beverly and I both laughed into the phone at Laura’s comment about men. She hated men. All of them.

  “Are you sure that you two are okay?” I asked them with a hint of laugher still in my tone. “No one is watching you or targeting you in any way?”

  “We are fine, you worry too much,” Laura stated. “Besides, you know I stay packing, so if a motherfucker tried to step to me, he will be catching some heat. And, you will be happy to know that I finally got Bev to start carrying too, at least a .22. It might take a whole clip of those small-ass bullets to take someone down, but it’s better than her bringing a knife to a gun fight.”

  Laura was the gangster of the group. She was a female with alpha-male tendencies. Laura was pretty, but to tell her so was the next best thing to insulting her. She dated only women and packed heat no matter where she went.

  I was the quiet storm of the group…the sneaky one. I had the innocent face that fooled many, but had developed the ability to turn into a monster if necessary.

  Beverly was the mediator, the voice of reason, the one that would urge us to think about our actions. Beverly was also the distractor of the group. She caught eyes not matter where she went. Everyone that knew her thought she was beautiful except her. She’d been teased so much when she was younger about her dark skin and curvy body that it left a lasting impression on her.

  We’d all lived through and survived our own personal hells, so when we became friends, we’d formed a bound that would never be broken.

  Beverly’s voice sounded low in my ear. “Are you moving again soon? When are we going to get to see you again?”

  At my insistence, we didn’t speak freely over the phone line just in case we were being tapped. If I was preparing to move, Laura and Beverly knew it meant I was staying a step or two ahead of the ghosts of my past that had never stopped chasing me.

  “Yes, I’ll be moving soon and hopefully, I’ll get a chance to see you two soon.”

  My jaw clenched tight with regret at the idea that I couldn’t see the two people that meant the most to me in the world. Our visits were limited to once or twice a year.

  “Is this shit ever going to end?” Laura asked. “How long are you supposed to run? Are you sure it’s them, the…”

  “Shhhh!” Bev and I hissed into the phone like vipers preparing to strike, trying to quiet Laura befor
e she went on one of her cursing rampages and said too much. Laura was used to speaking her mind, so having to talk in code and not being able to express herself was punishment to her. If it were up to Laura, we’d likely be dead because she would have long ago initiated a war with an adversary I knew we couldn’t beat.

  “I have to go, ladies. Stay safe. And, Bev, please keep Laura out of trouble.”

  Their laughter sounded over the line, bringing a smile to my face.

  “Love you,” we all sang in one voice before we ended the call.

  Someone was prowling around Beverly and Laura searching for me. Was it Aaron searching for me or had it been an investigator curious about what had gone down with my foster family many years ago? Bev and Laura didn’t appear worried, but I was starting to think that maybe they weren’t as safe as they thought they were.

  Someone was hunting for Megan Jones. No one had ever hunted for Megan. It had to have been Aaron. If so, how had he found out that Beverly and Laura had been receiving profits from my book sales?

  My driver’s license came to mind. I assumed I’d lost it, but Aaron must have found it or taken it. He’d kept a suspicious eye on me until we’d started fucking every chance we got.

  I forced my thoughts of sex with Aaron from my mind and concentrated. My driver’s license would have landed him in Texas, but not at Beverly’s and Laura’s doorstep. How the heck had he connected those dots?

  Aaron had expressed that he was the go-to guy for his MC when someone needed to be tracked down. Therefore, if he’d gotten it in his mind to find me, no matter how careful I thought I’d been, I believed he was determined enough to locate me.

  The next number I dialed was the administrative office at my condo complex. After sitting through five minutes of the woman attempting to convince me to stay, I finally got the opportunity to speak.

  “I will not be staying until the lease runs out. I understand that there will be a fee and I’m prepared to pay it.”

  She went into another speech about the benefits of staying. I sat thinking about where I would relocate to as I allowed the woman’s energetic voice to carry on. I’d had several places in mind for months, and the congested city of New York was one of them. Also, I’d been stubbornly avoiding the most logical move, which was to leave the United States altogether.