by Amey Zeigler
“Depends on what you’ve told her.”
“Nothing.” The reply was too quick. “She doesn’t know anything. It’s just an old friend.”
“An old friend?” He sounded intrigued. “I’m surprised such a beauty could,” he paused, “only be a friend. I’d like to get to know your friend. Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She left.”
“I doubt she went very far.” The timbre of his voice, the proximity to her made Andy’s veins freeze. “Sergio, please inform security to detain our little beauty.” He paused. “But I’m afraid she will not be so beautiful when we get done with her.”
“No,” Brad started, but it was cut short by thumping. Each hit like hamburger being tenderized.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. If you tell us her name, maybe we won’t kill her as slowly. You, my friend, will not be so lucky.”
They were killing him. Tears pricked Andy’s eyes, exerting self-control not to go shooting out of the stall, whipping them all. But she realized the futility of it all. She couldn’t save him. Andy bit her lip almost to bloodshed. She could only endure.
“Her name.” More beatings, groans. “Her name!”
Andy just couldn’t stand it. She closed her eyes trying to stop the sound, but only squeezing out more tears. Stop, stop, stop, stop, she repeated in her mind after each beating. Stop!
Then it stopped. When she opened her eyes, a stream of blood, as thin as a marker line, flowed to the drain in the next stall. It was eerily quiet.
“Toss him in the river. Make sure they don’t find the body.” A large thump sounded, like they stuffed Brad in the large gray garbage can. Wheels started to roll.
“Clean this up,” a voice said. “Send all pictures of him and any girl to the boss. Alert security to search for a girl with a red bag.”
“Yes, Rodgers.”
Someone bumped into the stalls again. The lipstick rolled to the edge of the dispenser. Through the thin crack in the stall doors, she spied the back of the man leaning over the sink, preening in the mirror. He said before leaving, “Red bag. Weird hair. Boots up to here. Shouldn’t be hard to find. Talk to security. Find her. Question her. If he squealed anything, kill her.”
Her legs ached from crouching on the toilet seat. Her thighs burned. Sweat beaded on her forehead, waiting. She held her breath, expecting the door to spring open any second.
The silence burned in her ears, tears streaming down her face before the mop passed over the blood. Brad’s blood. His essence of life, drying brown, trickling down the patterned drain. She sat there immovable, staring at the coat hook unaware of anything but tasting her own fear, her own brush with death.
The janitor left. Silence reined for a few minutes. Maybe a few hours. Andy couldn’t be sure. Then at last, two women entered.
“I can’t believe she bought her vest at the Demi Prix,” one said.
“Well, you know Katalina, she hasn’t always had the best taste,” the other replied.
The conversation snapped Andy out of her shock. There was still a world going on outside the bathroom. Someone concerned about a vest. A flood of women entered in after them.
Hands washing. Paper towels dispensed, trash. Hair fluffing, lipstick on. Still talking about shoes or sunglasses or something. More women entered, clicking in high heels across the white tile where there was once a stream of blood. Brad’s blood.
Brad’s blood.
Brad’s blood.
Brad’s blood.
Stop!
She needed to snap out of it. She had to get out of here. Sergio was probably searching every inch of the restaurant and casino.
Her bag, where she had always thought it was a help, it was now a tell. Stupid, stupid, Andy.
Finally, she shifted, unhooking one foot then the other off the rim. She stretched out her legs, letting the blood prickle into her limbs. She had to get out of there. Standing in the middle of the stall, she realized the sound of flushing toilets all around hurt her head.
She needed a new disguise. She stared at her bag
Chapter Four
The wig was off first. With her head much lighter, cooler, a weight lifted off her shoulders. She stuffed it in the bag, her hands shaking. Adrenaline ran through her, giving her clarity and focus.
Next, she removed the shrug. An easy fix. They’d be searching for someone with a purple fuzzy shrug. And her boots. Trembling, she removed the convertible equestrian boot shafts from around her calves, sporting ankle-high boots, hoping the transformation would be enough.
Digging into it with her elbows, she reversed her printed t-shirt. The inside was nondescript gray. To further transform it, she dug a pocket knife from her bag and cut out the mid-drift of her shirt, tossing the scraps into the sani-bin. She worked mechanically, trying not to think of what just happened, or to think of what could happen if they discovered her. She shuddered. She just had to focus on getting out.
She plucked her mid-calf tiered skirt, biting her lip, searching through her bag once more. After finding her sewing kit, she tucked under two layers of the tiered skirt up to her waistline, turning it into a shorter balloon-type skirt, securing it with large basting stitches across the waist. It was too short for the ankle-high boots. But right now, she was not going for a fashion statement, she needed a transformation. Wrapping up the sewing kit, she tucked it and everything else in her bag.
Her bag. It was an obvious tell. Brad’s killers knew it. They mentioned it. They’d be hunting for it.
Andy gulped. She had gathered stuff for over three years for her bag: lock picks, compass, socket wrenches, and medical tape. Some of it her father had given her. The rest was a collection of survival gear and emergency supplies gathered for preparation for any situation. She couldn’t part with it. It held too much.
But if it risked her life, it wouldn’t be worth holding on to. She’d have to find a place to hide it. She stuffed Brad’s code into it, knowing she’d have to come back for both tomorrow when she could be in disguise.
She leaned against the door, her hand on the latch, heart pounding. Sliding the latch back, she creaked open the door, peeking out.
The toilet flushed behind her. She jumped at the sudden whooshing, her heart beating furiously.
“Stupid automatic flushers,” she said with a nervous laugh, feeling a rush of energy. “They get you every time.”
She checked her reflection. Her makeup streaked down her face. She wiped away the stain on her cheeks and lips with moist towelettes from her bag. Usually, she wore a disguise to make sure she wasn’t seen. But this was even scarier, going out as herself. This was her. All her. No disguises. Plain ol’ Andy.
Andy waited while the last lady washed her hands. By the sinks, a stainless-steel trash bin fit into the wall. Once the bathroom cleared, she slipped her bag into it, marking the outside of the plastic with some tape from her tote. She stuffed tons of paper towels over the top to make sure it was out of sight. She didn’t want it stolen either.
She’d have to come back tomorrow. Early. Staring into the trash filled with white fluff, her heart ached. Everything she loved was in there. The second loss of the day.
When the door opened, she straightened up. A woman held the door open for Andy as she exited behind her.
Returning to the first floor, she searched for the casino exit through the maze of slot machines and card tables, dodging servers and patrons, in a haze of cigarette smoke. She hurried, but not so much she attracted attention. At last, the glass doors promised freedom. But a man in a suit with an earpiece patrolled the large front doors.
Security.
She shied away from the door, waiting, heart pounding. Pure adrenaline surged through her veins. She couldn’t sit still. Security just waited there until an elderly woman asked him something, and he led her away by the arm.
Half-running, half-walking, she skipped through the doors, down the bridge. Outside, a group of suited men scanned cars as they drove by, checki
ng passengers. She held her breath, sliding along the building. Cameras hung from every light post in the parking lot. With her face down, she dodged through the cars, strategically avoiding the men in golf carts patrolling the lot with lights.
The trek was unbearably long. She didn’t glance behind until she neared the end of the lot. Finally, she arrived at Market Street. The brilliant casino flashed as the skyline swallowed the sun behind her.
Crowds gathered at the entrance, advertisements flashed for decadent buffets, money changed hands, neon signs showed coins falling from machines. Promises made. Promises broken.
Her stomach soured realizing how much they entice people to come in, like Brad who got sucked up in it all. She couldn’t think of where he was now. Probably at the bottom of the Mississippi.
She shook the image from her head. Goodbye, Brad.
Andy ran. And ran.
Feeling too nervous to go home, Andy wandered the street grateful for the painkillers she swallowed earlier. Her ankle mostly healed.
With every car speeding by, she jumped. Too nervous to think right, she left her keys and her phones in her bag. Sandra would fall apart if Andy brought the mafia after her. She couldn’t face her and tell her about Brad. Not tonight.
And on foot, hiking to the county would take forever. Thanks to cell phones, there weren’t any pay phones either. And she didn’t have any numbers memorized.
After an hour of wandering the city, she was sure no one followed her. But still, she hesitated going home.
A car horn blasted behind her. Car lights illuminated the street before her. Andy shuddered, naked without her bag. Out of resources. She had nothing. Nothing.
Glancing behind, she slid her hand into her pocket and slipped out the rolled-up sliver of paper and read it. Hugh’s phone number and address. She’d forgotten she’d slipped it in there earlier.
But she still didn’t trust him completely.
The address was only two blocks from where she was. Definite bonus. Andy paced the sidewalk. She had nowhere else to go. He, at least, wouldn’t ask her questions. All she needed was a place to rest and think of what she was going to do next.
She found the address, a loft in the restored warehouses common in the downtown area of South City. Trembling, she mounted the staircase, jumping at every noise echoing off the brick walls and concrete stairs in the industrial loft. Once on the second floor, she knocked at one of two high metal doors and waited.
“This was a dumb idea,” she said aloud, ready to leave. When the door squeaked open, Andy squealed.
Hugh’s head peeked from the thick metal door, startled at seeing Andy there. His hair hung in wet strings on his forehead. Andy didn’t know what time it was, but she guessed late.
“Can I come in?” Andy mustered all her strength.
“You all right?” Hugh asked.
Andy ran her fingers through her hair. Her neck and shoulders ached with tension.
“Rough night.” All the emotion of the last few hours finally strangled her. Andy collapsed against the brick wall, her legs losing strength.
Hugh, alarmed, caught her. He glanced her over and asked, “Are you okay?”
After closing the door behind him, Hugh stepped out into the hallway, ushering her to the stairs. Sitting side by side on the top stair, Andy held her face in her hands, quietly sobbing. Hugh held her. She craved being with him, his gaze aroused her, enlivened her. Like taking a deep breath of fresh air, like sated thirst. But could she trust him?
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Can I sleep here tonight?”
An eyebrow raised. “Girls don’t usually ask until after the first date.”
Andy attempted a smile. “I can’t go home.”
His brow furrowed a bit, and her heart lunged with shame or regret.
“Upset about the purse snatchers?” he asked.
Andy nodded. A lie. But it wasn’t spoken. So it didn’t count. She was grateful to have an excuse to appear so weak. Hugh bit his lip. “Let me rearrange a few things, and then you can come in. You all right out here by yourself?”
She nodded.
“It will just be a few seconds.”
He stood and entered the thick, industrial door, leaving Andy to contemplate the brick wall and exposed ceiling, trying to think of anything other than her horrific evening. Everything jarred her senses. Where dark rust stains splotched the banister and the floor, Andy imagined blood. She closed her eyes, aching.
In a flash, Hugh opened the door, inviting her inside.
Andy, usually attentive to detail, didn’t catch anything as she entered and sat on his contemporary couch. Her eyes were glazed, seeing through objects rather than seeing them. But she noticed the darkened room was lit by only a single bulb hanging from the exposed ceiling far above. The musky smell of incense clung to the fabric of the futon.
“Can I get you something to eat?” he asked.
Andy’s stomach growled. Although she’d met Brad for dinner hours ago, they never ordered. After all the wandering and the emotional distress, she was hungry, but Andy shrugged. Eating was a burden. She needed to decompress, to think about how to get her bag, how to carry on. It was late. Her mind wandered. Hugh was asking her something, but she just blinked it away, not hearing anything.
“I’ll just run and go shopping,” he said.
“Don’t go,” she said. Suddenly, all energy drained from her. Frequent late nights and the emotional stress from Brad’s death weighed on her. “I just need a place to rest. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
He pointed to one of two doors on the only sheet-rocked wall. “You can sleep in there. Sheets are clean.”
“I’ll be comfortable on the couch.”
“I’m not letting my first guest sleep on the futon, I don’t even have sheets for it yet. Just take the bed.”
Andy ambled zombie-like to the bedroom. It was small, as big as a walk-in closet with a bed, a nightstand, and an overstuffed chair with pants draped over the back. The small room was filled with clothes and boxes and two identical trunks on the floor. No windows.
“Bathroom’s in there.” He pointed to a small door inside the room. She nodded.
“If you need anything else, I’ll be out there.”
“Will you stay?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“No. In here. Until I’m asleep. I’m afraid.”
He didn’t say anything, but strolled to the chair and sat. Andy was grateful for his patience and for the fact he didn’t ask any questions.
Andy couldn’t sleep. She lay on the bed with her clothes on. The cracks in the ceiling were trails of blood. When she closed her eyes she again, the thin line of blood on white tile haunted her.
She must have slept briefly. She woke to darkness. Hugh had switched off the lamp and left. Andy’s heart pounded as she slid her covers off, dropping her feet to the concrete floor.
She tiptoed to the door. Voices echoed in the spacious living area. Andy cracked the door. An eerie blue glow of the computer lit Hugh’s face in the darkened space.
“I’ll ask her,” he said, his voice low. “Nothing I could do, though, without compromise.”
A voice replied from the computer, “You did right. Anything else would’ve been risking too much.”
“What about the girl?”
“I trust you.”
Intrigued, Andy craned her ear. The door creaked. Andy swore in her mind. Hugh glanced up, silencing his computer. “You okay?” he asked.
“I woke up. Did I disturb you?”
Hugh didn’t blink an eye. “Just watching a movie.”
He lied.
Andy’s heart thundered in her ears. With all senses on alert, Andy, very much awake, halted at the door.
Hugh rose from the couch and followed her into the bedroom. But this time, it was not comforting to have him close. Her body was still rigid as he resumed his place in his chair.
Andy clutched the c
overs.
“You’re still nervous.” He rose from the chair and sat at the foot of her bed. “You okay?”
Andy swallowed, retracting her legs. “Nightmares.”
“How about I tell you a story?”
He arose slowly, waiting for Andy to open the covers for him. Finally, Andy scooted toward the wall. He sat next to her without saying a word.
“A story?” She swallowed. “What kind of story?”
“What kind of story would you like?”
“Something happy.”
A long pause. Andy wished she could catch a glimpse of his face in the dark.
His tone changed to thoughtful. “All right. I’ve got a story. My favorite memories from the summers living in Manhattan.”
Andy perked up a little. “New York?”
“Kansas.”
Andy couldn’t help be a little disappointed.
“I lived with my grandparents on a farm in the middle of Kansas. It was hot and filled with sunshine and wheat. I used to run through the fields with my black lab, Rhiner, and lay on my back and stare into the sky to ask those white clouds about life. Anyway, my happiest days were spent running around the farm with Rhiner on my heels, his ears flapping, his tongue out. I can still smell the crisp burnt leaves of the harvest in fall, the smell of Pappie’s aftershave, and Meemaw’s cooking.”
Listening to the steady intonation of his voice eased her, releasing her fear, her body relaxing. Her eyes grew weary, imagining Hugh as a little boy on a Kansas farm. A little Hugh running through the wheat, the sun shining.
“What did you say you did for a living?” Andy wasn’t sure she asked it, or if she just thought it, but she didn’t remember him answering.
****
When Andy woke it was dark. The clock said eight a.m.. Alarmed, Andy sat up. Only a sliver of light shone under the door.
Hugh was gone from her side. She huddled back under the covers. Then, the memories of Brad crashed upon her like a cold shower on a hot day.
Slipping from the bed, she paced around the bedroom, trying to control her fear. She couldn’t remember what Brad needed her to do. The trauma of the night had made her forget.