by Haus, Jean
In my room—after petting my squirmy, happy dog—I go to the closest and find my old Garfield school bag—my father refused to let me use it here. Then I open drawers. Five t-shirts, two pair of jeans, some sweats, and a week’s worth of underwear fill the bag. Back in the closet, I find my old winter coat and wrap it around my waist. I also grab several snowcaps. I go to the desk and dig out my father’s form of love, a generous allowance. Since I never spend any of it, the accumulation of green is astounding. I also add my keys in case I need to get back into the apartment. After adding a few bathroom necessities, I speed off to my father’s room. Time is limited.
Chilly, of course, is at my heels.
Sunlight pours through the floor to ceiling windows across from the huge bed. The nightstand on Mali’s side of the bed offers no information. Lotions, a few books, and tissues fill the small cubby. The spotless desk is a waste of time also. Rosa comes in as I’m going through the closet.
“Most of her stuff is still in the guest room,” she says from the doorway. Obviously, she’d figured out I’m spying on Mali.
Shutting a drawer of creepy silky things, I say, “Thanks Rosa and thanks for agreeing to this.” Calling her from Jai’s phone—he’d left it on his desk—I’d expected reluctance, but she had conceded immediately.
She shrugs. “It’s your house. I’m also worried about Senor Harrison.”
I pause before leaving the room. “Harrison?”
“Si,” she says with a shake of her head. “Him fishing just doesn’t make sense, especially since he never said anything.”
I recall the two of them drinking coffee half the morning and watching game shows during Christmas break. They’re good friends. Harrison would have told her about a vacation. “You’re right, I can’t imagine him fishing. It worries me too.”
Rosa’s face is bleak. “You think it’s dangerous for me to stay here?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I never expected Smith to attack me…”
Frowning, Rosa says, “Maybe it’s time for me to go on a vacation.”
“Actually, I think that’s a good idea.”
She catches hold of my arm. “You should come with me.”
I imagine sitting on the beach with Chilly in my lap and Rosa next to me shoving celebrity magazines under my nose, but when we returned, Mali and Smith would still be here. “I wish. I just don’t think that will help.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Chang yells from the living room.
Wrinkling her nose, she lets go of my arm. “Well hurry up then.”
On my way to the guest room, I can hear the butthead brothers chiseling away. Though neat now, the space is still overflowing with Mali. The sight of my reflection reflected over a hundred times looks unnatural. The entire room gives me the creeps. I attempt to ignore my own image as I look through drawers. With my face pictured from every angle, the search isn’t easy. My reflection calls me. As if I’m behind the glass. Like my dream. I shake the strange feeling off and continue rummaging around.
In the dresser, more Mali silk garments fill the drawers. Yuck. The thought of my father having sex grosses me out enough. Add Mali to the equation and nausea sets in. Ignoring my queasiness, I peek under the bed. Nothing. The closet is full of hand held mirrors stored in boxes. More beauty products fill the bathroom. Chilly stares at me from his spot on the floor while disappointment overwhelms me. Nothing here. Not one clue.
I turn to the desk, which seems too obvious. Of course, the drawer’s full of papers from her consulting company and brochures on plastic surgery. I’m so not surprised she’s interested in going under the knife. Frustrated, I leaf through the papers. Inside a brochure, I find paperwork for a will. My eyes round as I skim the sheet. At the end, my name is in the slot for sole beneficiary.
The papers flutter to the floor as my mind tries to find a rational reason for my name in that slot. I was so sure from my dream that my subconscious had figured this out. I reach for the papers scattered on the wood floor. Perhaps this is her cover up? As confusion runs rampant through my brain, I stuff the brochures and papers back in the desk drawer.
“Twenty-five minute warning!” Ping yells from the living room.
Dang, only five minutes left and I’ve only found something that nearly exonerates her. My fists unclench at my sides when I notice a black, rough stone bowl on top of a small slip of paper. My fingers push the heavy bowl over and I pick up the paper. At the top, scrawled in her elegant handwriting is Smith’s name and a short message.
Bring this and the newest mirror with the girl. It’s very, very important. It has to be there. Or I can’t finish this.
I put the slip of paper back under the bowl. Although the note only refers to a girl, and I’m clueless about what it means, I’m certain it’s about me. Who else could the girl she’s referring to be? I study the mirrors. I wouldn’t know the difference between old and new, but I pull out Jai’s phone and snap several pictures.
“Times up!” Ping yells.
“Just a minute,” I shout back, taking pictures of the pedestal mirrors on the desk.
“Hey, you said—“
“I’m coming,” I bark.
Rosa stops me at the edge of the living room with a hug. “Stay safe.”
“You too,” I say above her messy bun and give her one last squeeze before stepping out of her safe arms and the thought of her vacation.
I toss my bag to Chang, check the floor for a mess from their labors, and squish myself in the chest. Chilly stares at me with his velvet eyes. His tail wags. Love for the little ball of fur overwhelms me. For one quick second, I’m tempted to pull him in with me. “Rosa?”
“Si?”
“Can you take Chilly with you on vacation?”
She nods and smiles. “I’ll take care of him for you.”
Ping pushes the lid and I have second thoughts about being in the chest again, but I don’t want to be caught on camera. I don’t want Rosa to get in trouble for helping me. In less than a minute, the nauseating sway within darkness starts. At least I can breathe this time.
I conquer the urge to scream and bust out of the chest all the way down. The descent feels like forever. Hearing the sounds of traffic, I realize we’re outside. Finally, the scrape of cement comes from beneath me. As soon as the lid’s off, I jump out and take a deep gulp of air. At the sight of Smith coming around the corner, I almost jump back in.
Chapter 23 ~Snow
“Run!” I scream, snatch my bag from Ping, and nearly trip. Shock, fear, and revulsion explode within me as I somehow stand upright. I push my emotions down and concentrate on getting the hell away from Smith while Chang and Ping gape at me with confused expressions.
I take a step back. “Move! Now!”
At last, they notice the man in black coming at us with a grin plastered on his face. A gun swings from his hand. He stands between the road and us. The parking garage is at our backs.
“We can get out through the garage,” I shout then run.
Luckily, both buttheads follow. We race past parked cars and search for an exit sign. We can’t find one. Two sets of wide eyes stare at me. Footsteps pound behind us. Stairs to the next level are in front of us. With nowhere to go, we all rush up the stairs.
Running through the maze of cars, we hear the ting of Smith’s footsteps on the stairs behind us. We run up the next set of stairs. Next level, the same thing. At the exact time I face the fact that running up another level is fruitless, I catch a glimpse of the black Mercedes parked in a corner. The G55 AMG SUV. Perfect. Harrison loves the vehicle because it’s both big and fast but my father never uses it. In fact, if my grades are good at the next quarter, this baby will be mine. At this point, no sense in waiting.
Footsteps clang on the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Chang yells when I change course.
I dig in the front pocket of my bag while running. “Getting the hell out of here!” I yank the keys out and hit unlock. I fly into the drive
r’s seat. “Get in!”
Before they have the doors shut, I’m slamming on the accelerator. Tires squeal. The front almost clips the back end of a Jaguar.
“Whoa! You sure you know how to drive?” Ping asks from the back seat.
I straighten the vehicle out and tap the lock. “Get out if you want.”
In the passenger seat, Chang giggles.
A retort stops in my throat when Smith appears in the aisle in front of us.
He lifts the gun.
But I’m in my element.
I hit the brake, throw the car into reverse, and slam on the gas. Ping and Chang let out twin high-pitched girlie screams. I ignore them and swerve backwards into the main isle. The vehicle lurches when I slap it back into drive without stopping fully. Luckily, it doesn’t stall. Seat belts latching echo in the interior. Hitting the gas, I glance into the rearview mirror. Smith’s angry eyes meet mine. Sayonara, sucker. Distance from that creep seems to be the main goal of my life lately.
I speed the rest of the way out, turning and squealing down to the first floor. I don’t wait for the gate to lift all the way. Bam. It cracks in half and dents the front of the SUV.
“Watch out! The chest!” Chang yells, pointing at the chest lying almost in the middle of the drive.
I let off the gas a bit and aim to veer around it. There’s not enough room.
Bang. Smashed headlight. Bang. Chest exploding against a wall. I guess Jai deserves a destroyed chest after agreeing to kidnap me.
“Maybe you should let us out,” Ping says.
I ignore him. At the street, I check the rearview. My father’s weekend car, the silver Porsche, pulls out of the garage. Damn.
I floor it.
A car in the road screeches to a halt. Inches separate the near collision. The driver lays on his horn. Chang and Ping scream like little girls again. I take off, disregarding the horn and the man pointing at me.
Chang braces his hands on the dashboard. “We might as well hand ourselves over. You’re going to kill us anyway.”
“Ha! He’s not going to get us. I’ve been taught by the best.” With another quick turn, I head toward the freeway. He’ll catch up on the congested streets.
Ping pushes on my seat. “Who taught you to drive like this?”
“A retired race car driver,” I say, squeezing in between two cars. I do a rearview mirror check. Dang. I spot the Porsche several cars back. I punch the gas, fly back to the other lane, and almost kiss the car in front of me.
Chang’s hands claw the dash. “What, did he retire after one race?”
“Please,” I say with a huff. I keep my eyes on the road and weave in and out of traffic. The light ahead changes yellow. I hammer on the accelerator, cut off a taxi, and make the light. Horns blare behind me.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Ping groans from the back.
“Better than dead,” I say, racing up the expressway ramp. We shoot out onto the highway. Once in the far lane, the speedometer hits one hundred. I zigzag in between cars to keep the arrow at three figures.
“Is he even behind us?” Ping asks.
I check the mirror. “I can’t see him. Turn around and look for a silver Porsche.”
“No,” Ping moans. “Your driving is making me sick.”
Ahead, a slow minivan forces me to brake. “You want me to watch the road or the cars behind us?”
“Fine,” he snaps.
“Chang, get out the GPS in the glove box and hook it up.” Harrison refused to use the thing said it was an excuse for laziness. Passing the van, I spot a cop ahead and slow down to slide between two cars. Chang slowly unravels the cord. “Hurry up,” I bark.
He plugs in the end. “It’s hard to do when your hands are shaking.”
I resist rolling my eyes.
“I think I saw it,” Ping says.
Since getting behind the wheel, the first real tingle of fear hits me. It travels down my spine and all the way into my hands clenching the steering wheel. “How far back?” I ask.
“Maybe ten cars?”
How the hell? I lurch back into the fast lane, spot the lights of the cop car ahead, and snake back in.
“It’s ready,” Chang says.
“Punch in an address near your house, basement, whatever.” Once I get Smith off my tail and these two home, I can just disappear.
The GPS voice comes on. “Take the next exit.”
I spy the minivan in my blind spot.
Ping pulls at my headrest. “He’s coming!”
My fingers grip the steering wheel and I focus on the road.
Car ahead. Maybe seven feet.
“Four hundred yards,” the computer warns.
The Porsche zips to my side.
“He’s next to us!” Ping yells.
Car behind. Maybe four feet.
“You’re going to miss the exit,” Chang warns.
The Porsche’s passenger window rolls down. Ugh. Smith’s ugly face.
“You missed the exit!” Chang shouts.
Blind spot. Minivan.
“Take the next exit in five hundred yards,” the computer says.
Car behind. Eight feet.
“He’s got a gun!” Ping screeches.
Slow lane. Freakin’ minivan. Smith points the gun at my front tire. I swerve and almost kiss the minivan’s door. Minivan brakes and honks.
Finally.
I push the pedal to the floor and the SUV crosses both lanes in time to catch the ramp. It’s a short one. I put steady pressure on the brakes, but the seat belt slams my forward lurching body back like a rubber band snapping. Both buttheads scream like girls again. The Mercedes comes to a complete stop inches short of the oncoming traffic and I let out a long stream of air.
“Ahhhhhhhhh,” Ping keeps screaming.
Chang crouches in the corner with wide eyes.
“Enough! We’ve stopped!” I shout over the never-ending wail.
Ahhhhhhhhhh,” he continues.
I pull of a glove and twist around ready to smash it into his mouth.
Instead, the glove falls to the floor and I scream too.
Chapter 24~Snow
We stand outside of the car. With the freeway below us and a highway in front, the sound of passing cars surround us. The air is frigid, the traffic loud. Yet, the object hanging over the backseat of the SUV blasts out everything. We need to go, but I can’t tear my eyes from it.
“What is that?” Chang yells from across the car’s hood.
I can’t even form words. I know. Not what, but who. A discolored arm hangs over the back seat from under a blue tarp. Even if I didn’t recognize the watch on the wrist, there is only one person it can be. My driver. The man who’d taught me to drive. Five-hundred logged hours, hundreds of lattes, countless early morning drives, and his never-ending dry humor snaps like a camera flash before my mind’s-eye. I want to lie in the gravel on the side of the road and cry until my eyes are waterless, but we have to move. Smith will surely double back at the next exit.
“Turn right,” the GPS echoes.
Cars start piling up behind us. I have to get these two idiots to safety. I pull my gaze away from the arm. “Get back in the car.”
“No!” Ping’s face fills with horror.
The cars behind us honk.
“Get-in-the-car.” I struggle to push him from behind. He shakes his head and pushes back. “Who do you think killed him?” I shout into his face.
Ping swallows. “I can’t.”
I let go of his jacket. “Chang, switch with Ping,” I demand as a car comes around us. The man lays on his horn and gives us the finger. I resist giving it back.
“I’m not riding next to some dead guy,” Chang screeches.
My hands bang on top of the car. “We’re all going to be dead guys!” They just stare at me. I lose it. “Then both of you get in the fucking front seat right now!” I slam my door. If they aren’t in the passenger seat in five seconds, I’m gone.
I end up giving them ten seconds to smash together and overlap one another in the seat. I take off with a squeal as the zip of seat belts sound. While speeding, weaving through traffic, and following the GPS directions, I also keep an eye on my rearview mirror. No sign of Smith yet. I refuse to think of the dead body in the back. I’ll lose it if I do. Beyond freaked out, the butthead brothers are mute.
As more and more buildings have Chinese lettering, I dig through my bag for my sunglasses and ski hat, and hope no one spots me. “Okay, you two have to think of somewhere close I can park near your house not on the street.”
Silence.
A glance at their blank faces makes me yell, “Think!”
“The-there is a parking lot near the Laundromat,” Chang stammers.
I turn the GPS off. “Give me directions.”
Down the second street, Ping flips on the heat.
I flip it off.
He reaches for the knob again. “It’s cold.”
I smack his hand. “Do you want to defrost the body?” I ask through clenched teeth. The revulsion on his face answers my question.
One more stoplight and the parking lot comes into view.
“Push it back under the tarp,” I say.
They shake their heads at me.
With the SUV stopped and waiting to turn, I lock my jaw and reach behind me. Stiff, frosty, and rubbery skin lies under my fingertips. I draw in a deep breath through my nose and flip the arm under the tarp. Something inside of me cracks and my eyes water. I pull into the lot, toss my bag to whichever butthead catches it, say, “Get out the wallet in the front,” and wipe the tears off my cheeks with my sleeve. When Chang passes the wallet, I roll down the window.
The old man in the booth takes my money for the initial fee, gives me a card, and points to the left.
“Is it in back?” I ask in a nasally voice. His wrinkled head snaps up in irritation. I persist. “I’d prefer a spot in back.” He glances at the car and rolls his eyes but gives me a new letter combination. I don’t bother to thank him.