Anna Strong Chronicles 02 Blood Drive

by Jeanne C. Stein

  It’s Carolyn, standing behind her daughter, a leather thong in her hand. The thong is attached to the collar around Trish’s neck. Trish is spread-eagled on the bed, her face partially obscured by a scarf, but recognizable nevertheless. She’s naked. And there’s a man’s hand between her legs.

  The rage that rises up in me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Swift. Uncontrollable. I lash out, sweeping the computer from Ryan’s hand and sending it crashing against the wall. I can’t stop shaking; my whole body vibrates with hot fury. I see the fear in Ryan’s eyes as he watches me, feel Trish flinch away and move next to him. They both cower, shivering, out of reach. Cujo, too, whimpers and backs away. My wrath is scaring them but I don’t know if I can rein it in.

  But I also know I must. I’ll tuck it away, secure it in a dark part of my mind, so I can recall it later.

  When I face Carolyn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It takes a few minutes but when I can speak without screaming, I hold out a hand to Trish. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Your mother made you-” I gesture toward the ruined computer. “Do that?”

  She nods, her face flushing to deep crimson. “I didn’t want to.”

  She speaks softly, yet her humiliation and resentment ring through. “She said I wouldn’t be hurt. Not really. And we could make a lot of money. Since my dad left, we’ve had a lot of bills and not much money to pay them. She said I’d only have to do it once.”

  In the sadness of her tone, I recognize the depth of her anguish at the betrayal. It’s no surprise when she whispers, “It wasn’t only once, though.”

  Ryan has recovered enough to step between Trish and me, and he’s glaring again. “You see why she can’t go back there? Those men, the ones who make Trish do things, they know all their records are on that computer. They want it back. They went after Barbara because she knew-”

  I hold up a hand. “Wait a minute. How was Barbara involved? Did she-?”

  “No.” Trish’s voice cuts in like a whip. “She didn’t doanything . She came to my house one day after school. After the men left. She saw me crying. I know I shouldn’t have told her, but I had to tell someone. I wanted to kill myself. She told me to go to Mr. Frey. To tell him what was happening. That he could help.”

  Again, the realization that everything Carolyn told us was a lie flashes like a white-hot bolt through me. “Did you go to Mr. Frey?”

  She blanches and shakes her head. “No. I couldn’t. So Barbara said she’d tell him.” Her voice breaks. “I guess she never got the chance.”

  Through the rage boiling inside me, I fight to keep calm. “Do you know who might have told the men what Barbara was planning to do?”

  Again, the shake of the head. But she doesn’t look at me and her fragile body seems to shrink in on itself. It’s more of an affirmation than mere words. I know what she suspects. Somehow Carolyn found out. It was her mother.

  I don’t know what to say. I know I must stay calm, think rationally. For the kids. The reality, though, is that I want to find Carolyn and rip her lying head off her shoulders.

  Trish is weeping again, making no sound. The sight pulls me back. I have to get her to safety.

  “Ryan, does anyone know that you’ve been coming here to see Trish?”

  “No.” He’s got his arms around Trish’s shoulders. “I’ve been careful. My folks think I’m just taking Cujo for a walk. We don’t live too far from here. It’s been easy to sneak away.”

  “But what about the men after the computer? Do either of you know who they are?”

  He and Trish both shake their heads. Trish speaks first. “There were always two of them. One took the pictures, the other-” Her voice drops off. “Anyway, they never spoke to each other when I was in the room. The one with the camera would tell me what to do. When it was over, they’d take the video, load it into the computer and leave.”

  “How did you manage to get the computer?”

  Trish shrugs. “They’d leave it with the camera.”

  Ryan jumps in. “Trish was smart. She snuck the computer out when she ran away. Her mom was at the hospital. She wouldn’t have noticed it was gone. They kept the thing hidden in a box in the back of a closet. She didn’t realize Trish knew where it was.” He says the last with a kind of adolescent pride in the bravery and ingenuity of his friend.

  The plan in my head forms in slow motion. My options are limited. I can’t leave Trish here and I certainly can’t take her to my house or my folk’s. My mother would be obligated to inform the authorities. That leaves only one option.

  I place a gentle hand on Trish’s shoulders. “Do you trust Mr. Frey?”

  She looks up at me, eyes red-rimmed and world-weary. “I don’t know him. Not really. But he was always nice to me. I think he suspected something was wrong. He tried to get me to talk to him about it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “I’m going to suggest something to you. If you don’t want to do it, I won’t make you. But I think, at least for now, it would be for the best. You can’t stay here. Your mother knows about this place. It won’t be long before she thinks to come check it out. I’d like to take you to Mr. Frey’s. I think he can help us.”

  Trish’s eyes widen. “Won’t he get in trouble?”

  Probably, I think. But frankly, better him than my mother. And when I recall the claws on that paw, I know he can protect Trish better than any human. All this runs through my head in the instant it takes me to say, “He can handle it. Don’t worry about Mr. Frey.”

  I turn to Ryan. “Ryan, I want you to go home. You’ve been a good friend to Trish, but I don’t want to put you in any more danger. Give me your telephone number and I’ll call you as soon as Trish is safe.”

  “No.” He says it with firm resolve. “I won’t leave Trish.”

  I don’t have time to argue. “I can’t take you with us, Ryan, so here’s what we’ll do. I’ll tell Mr. Frey that you’re going to call him. You whisper a code word to Trish now. When you call, if she’s safe, she’ll give you the code word. If she doesn’t, you know something is wrong and you can call the police. Here.” I tear two scraps from the paper bag and look around for something to write with.

  Ryan produces a pencil from the pocket of his jacket and hands it over. I start to write.

  “This is Mr. Frey’s address and my cell phone number. Call it in about twenty minutes and I’ll have Frey’s number for you.” I hand it to him with the other piece. “You write your number for me.”

  “I’ll want to talk to Trish when you call,” he says flatly. He finishes writing and holds the second piece out to me. “Deal?”

  “Deal.” I pocket the scrap. “Now I’m going to get my purse from inside and lock up. You give Trish the code while I’m gone.”

  The kids don’t make a move until I’m out of the garage. I glance back and see them standing close together, Ryan’s mouth at Trish’s ear. I only hope they’re not plotting a getaway.

  I make a beeline for the house, on the alert for anyone or anything that might be watching. I neither see nor feel another presence. I almost wish I did. A good, physical confrontation would go a long way toward alleviating the blistering fury building with the intensity of a firestorm deep in my gut.

  My purse is on the kitchen counter, just where I left it. As I reach down, my cell phone bleeps in monotonous rhythm. The message light flashes. On the move again, I check the text message. It’s from David. “Max and I are back at the office. Should we come out to the house?”

  I glance at my watch. The message came in about fifteen minutes ago. I’d better call and let them know I’m all right and to stay put. I lock the front door with one hand, and hit speed dial with the other. David picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Anna. Are you at the cottage? Is everything all right?”

  No. It certainly isn’t. But what to tell David? There’s laughter in the background. Max’s voice and someone else’s. I recognize the voice immediately. “Glor
ia’s there?”

  “She just got here. Listen, we were thinking of heading to Sammy’s for dinner. I take it nothing’s wrong at the beach house or you would have called, so how soon can you get here?”

  To have dinner with Gloria? How about never? I suck in a breath, blow it out. “You guys go ahead. I may be awhile.”

  David’s voice turns serious. “What’s the holdup? Everything is all right, isn’t it?”

  “No, David. Everything isn’t all right. Did you forget about Trish?”

  There’s a moment of awkward silence. “Sorry, Anna. Did you find out anything from that teacher?”

  “Yes. And I’m on my way back there now. So go on to dinner. Tell Max I’m sorry. I’ll try to connect with him tomorrow.”

  He starts to say something else, but I’ve already snapped the cell phone closed. Aggravation like acid mixes with the seething rage twisting my gut. Gloria’s here. David’s bitchy model girlfriend. Just what I need.

  The kids are standing in front of the garage door, now closed, when I get back. Trish is holding her clothes in both hands and Ryan has the blanket wrapped around what could be nothing else but the computer in his.

  I hold out my own hand to him. “You need to let me take that, Ryan.”

  He shakes his head and steps back. “No. It’s the only evidence we have. You might have thought you ruined it, but I’ll be able to retrieve stuff from it.”

  I let my hand fall to my side. I don’t have time to argue about this. The longer we stay here the greater the risk that someone might see Trish. I want these kids to trust me, but I don’t want to put Ryan in any more danger.

  When I can’t come up with any clever reason why he should give me the computer, I tell him the truth. “I’m afraid for you, Ryan. If you keep that computer, the men may come after you or your family. Do you want to take that chance?”

  He gives me a slow, sweet smile and gestures to Cujo, sitting with a stupid dog grin at his side. “I have two other dogs at home,” he says. “Cujo is the smallest. I think we’ll be safe.”

  I get a flash of Cujo flying at me, teeth snapping, and admit he’s a pretty good deterrent. “Keep Cujo with you-even in your bedroom tonight, understand?”

  “I always do.”

  “Do you want me to take you home before we go to Mr. Frey’s?”

  He shakes his head. “No. If you do, my folk’s might wonder who you are. I’ll be fine.”

  He and Trish exchange a look I can’t begin to understand. Some kind of teenage telepathy. I feel a flush of warmth for this scrawny kid who is willing to risk so much to protect his friend. But it’s time for us to go. Without another word, Ryan and Cujo walk down the alley and disappear around the corner toward the Boardwalk. Trish and I head in the opposite direction, toward

  Mission Boulevard

  and my car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The tension in the car is a potent combination of Trish’s distress and confusion and my nearly uncontrollable rage. It makes for an uncomfortable, silent ride. I have more questions for Trish, but one look at her anxious, drawn face and I don’t have the heart to ask them. So instead, I concentrate on the drive, and when we pull into Frey’s condo, I stop just outside the gate and turn to face her.

  “Are you all right with this?”

  She looks at me and her eyes reflect a sorrow borne of betrayal. “I have to be,” she says. “I can’t stay at your place anymore. And Barbara trusted Mr. Frey. I guess I will, too.”

  Her hands are clasped around the bundle of clothes in her lap, pressed so tightly together, her knuckles are white. I touch them briefly with my fingertips. Her skin is nearly as cold as mine.

  Frey answers when I punch his unit number on the keypad. When he hears my voice, the gate goes up immediately. He’s waiting for us at the door.

  It doesn’t take more than an instant for him to pluck the story out of my head. His eyes reflect concern when he turns to Trish. He takes the clothes from her hands and says gently, “I’m sorry about Barbara. And I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.”

  She gasps, her expression turning from guarded wariness to virulent distrust. “How do you know-” Then her face crumbles. “Barbara. She did tell you, didn’t she? Then you know it’s all my fault. She’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”

  Trish’s sobs wrack her body, and once unleashed, she’s swept away by the sorrow. She buries her face in her hands and gives way to the anguish.

  I don’t know what to do. I touch her shoulder, but this time, she doesn’t come into my arms. She pulls back and I let my hand drop. Frey and I know Barbara never got the chance to come to him. If she had, she’d be alive. But how to tell Trish that without explaining how Frey knows so much?

  Frey’s eyes shift from Trish to me.I’m sorry. I should have thought before I spoke. His eyes narrow.Youwant her to stay here.

  Yes. You can protect her.

  So can you.

  He’s read my intentions and his disapproval comes through.Youare going after her mother.

  Yes.

  Do you really think that’s wise?

  Just as wise as entrusting Trish to you.Icantrust her with you, can’t I?

  But before he can respond, Trish gulps in a shaky breath of air. She wipes at her face with her shirtsleeve. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Frey’s smile is gentle and reassuring. “Would you like to wash your face?”

  She nods. “Yes, please.”

  Frey gestures with his right hand. “The bathroom is right down the hall. Do you want me to show you?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I can find it.” But before she does, she turns to me. “We’d better call Ryan. He’ll be worried.”

  Ryan?Frey asks.

  Curiously, he hadn’t picked the entire story out of my head. Maybe he reads only what triggers the most violent emotional reactions.

  Something to remember.

  A friend of hers,I explain, digging my cell phone out of my purse. Out loud, I add, “Give Trish your telephone number here, so her friend will know she’s safe.”

  Frey recites the number. Trish takes the phone and turns away from us, retreating to the privacy of the bathroom to make her call. In a second, we hear water running. Trish is taking no chance that we might overhear her conversation with Ryan.

  Frey turns reproachful eyes on me. “You should report this to the police.”

  “Believe me, I will. But I have to have a little talk with Carolyn first. I need to know if Trish really is my brother’s daughter.”

  “Because Trish mentioned a dad?”

  I nod and gesture toward the bathroom. “Can she stay here? It won’t be for long.”

  He nods. “Of course.”

  “Frey, keep her safe. I’m depending on you.”

  The corners of his mouth turn up in a small, tight smile.Andif I don’t, you’ll make me sorry.

  This time, I’m glad my intention rings through.

  Trish is back then, handing me the cell phone. She’s washed her face and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’d like to take a shower, if it’s all right,” she says to Frey.

  He nods, and she gathers up her small bundle of clothes.

  I put an arm over her shoulders. “I have to go now. I’ll be back in the morning. Mr. Frey has my telephone number.” I glance up at him and he nods that he got it. I knew he would. I flash on her room, the paltry array of clothes assembled there and the care she took of them. “Anyway, I think we should go shopping. You can use a few things. Then you and I will go to lunch and maybe a movie. You’ve been cooped up for two days. It will do you good to get out.”

  The cloud descends. “Will it be safe?”

  “Oh yeah,” I assure her. “I promise it will be safe.”

  I wait until she heads back to the bathroom for her shower to take my leave. I feel Frey watching as I head for the door. His thoughts reach out to me.What do you plan to do?

  I stop, hand on the door.I’m
not sure yet.

  Frey’s expression is thoughtful. I don’t need to tell you to be careful.

  No. You don’t.

  But in the car, when I’m alone, the shaking starts. It’s swift and relentless. The enormity of what I’m feeling about Trish and what has been done to her demands release.

  Laying my head against the steering wheel, I let the tears come. I don’t try to temper it or hold back. I don’t try to reason or understand. I just let the sobs overtake me. Emotional eruptions this strong were a rare occurrence for me when I was human. Frankly, it catches me by surprise now. And it doesn’t last long. When I can’t cry anymore, I sit up. I’m glad I carry a box of tissues in the car to wipe up the tears and snot. I happen to like the sweater I’m wearing.

  Then, the emotional storm spent, I lean back in the seat to contemplate my next move. It’s been hours since I talked to my mother. It’s past six o’clock, so I put in a call to her at home. Voice mail picks up. I hang up without leaving a message. I don’t know what to say. Then it occurs to me that she may have left a message for me onmy home phone. When I dial in, I find that she has. She and my father have gone to meet Carolyn for dinner. She tells me where, but I have no intention of joining them. I couldn’t be in the same room with Carolyn and not betray my feelings. And it’s not as if my parents are in any danger from her. She likes to bully children, after all. I’m sure Carolyn asked them out because she is trying to win their favor.

  She doesn’t realize how futile it is, of course. But she will soon. The next time we speak.

  I decide to go home. A hot bath and a good night’s rest are what I need. Vampires, like humans, have their emotional limits and I’ve reached mine.

  I don’t realize how weary I am until I trudge out of the elevator and get right up to my door before something stops me-light shining around the edges of the door. And I hear music.