Jewels and Panties (Book, Twelve): True Crime

by Brooke Kinsley

  Plans, I had them before all this chaos began. What were they?

  Like an ancient mage with his book of secrets, I wrote everything down in a diary in old fashioned pen and ink. There was something so satisfying about the pressure of the pen on the paper and how the letters could be formed with perfect symmetry.

  I pulled out my diary and lay it open on the workbench. There were sketches inside from when I was so much younger… and poorer. At the time they were nothing but pipe dreams but now… now they were all possible.

  If someone were to stumble across them they’d be forgiven for thinking the sketches were the work of a cyberpunk Leonardo Da Vinci. Machines, hundreds of them were depicted on sepia toned paper in black ink with wires, devices, and valves from another era far into the future.

  Microchips as small as a pinhead were created to replicate human cells in which to test drugs, heart valves with lazer sensors, hearts with no valves at all, synthetic lungs created from the skin of mice, mice with hearts made of silicon that pumped data instead of blood.

  Humans with no hearts.

  Norma’s footsteps returned above me. It sounded like she was on her way back down the stairs.

  “Fuck, sake. Leave me alone.”

  The door creaked open and her heels clicked on the tiled steps.

  “Lincoln?”

  “Yep.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Did you check the pool?”

  “I can’t find her anywhere,” came her terse response.

  There was a new, worried tone to her voice like her throat was pulled tight.

  “I’m sure she’s up there somewhere,” I said.

  As I turned round, I saw she was only a few inches behind me.

  “Jesus, Norma. You scared the crap out of me!”

  Her eyes were wide, her hands curled tightly into fists by her side until her veins and tendons were pulled like ropes down her arms.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “She’s not up there.”

  “I’m sure she’s around. She wouldn’t just leave.”

  Or would she? She couldn’t! There were things I needed to explain. Things that bonded us.

  “She left her things here,” I said. “She has nothing on her.”

  “That’s why I’m worried.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was just being an overprotective mother. After what Etta had been through, I couldn’t blame her for being anxious.

  “She’ll be back,” I said.

  But the look in her eye was only intensifying.

  “I think something’s happened.”

  I was starting to think the same thing but I didn’t want to. I wanted to think that she was just blowing off steam somewhere and she’d be back any moment. At the back of my mind, I was hoping everything was a bad dream. I’d never met Lolita and Etta was still upstairs without a care in the world.

  “Nothing’s happened,” I said despite a knot forming in my stomach.

  Norma pressed her lips into a tight line and frowned.

  “Give it another hour,” I said although I wasn’t sure I could wait that long either.

  “An hour…”

  “Yeah. I’m sure she’ll be back by then. She probably just got chatting to someone in town. You know she loves to make friends with everyone.”

  Norma nodded and forced a smile.

  “You’re right. She’s probably making some old man’s day.”

  Chapter Three

  ETTA

  The heat was burning the skin off my shoulders. It was burning my eyes, my mouth, it was drying out my hair. I couldn't see straight, couldn’t walk straight. The arid landscape ahead of me was swirling, the sun above moving around my head like a fireball halo.

  The vulture still squawked. It had brought friends and they all loved watching me stumble across the rocks, their dinner dying before their eyes.

  "Where am I?"

  There were times when I'd catch glimpses of buildings on the horizon and I'd run toward them, thinking they were the terracotta roofs of San Lucrezia. But no matter how much I ran, I never reached them. They were always just a few hundred yards away, just a little further, then a little further, then they were disappearing before my eyes and I was staring at nothing, the vultures gathering overhead.

  At last, when I felt as though there was never going to be a single second of respite, I felt the wiry hardness of something coiling beneath the ground. I tripped over something I first thought was a leg and when I looked down, I had to rub the stars from my eyes to focus. It wasn't a leg, but a tree root.

  It had forced its way up through the parched mud like tentacles. It gave me hope. It showed me that somehow, out her there was a chance to survive.

  Falling to my knees, I rubbed my fingertips across the scaly wood and followed it, crawling all the way to the trunk of the tree. It was only then that I at last felt the sweet cover of shade. The constant burning had finally ceased and I could see clearly again.

  I pressed my forehead against the trunk and tried to cry but there was not a single drop of moisture in my body. All I could do was heave and hug the tree, the only living thing out here that wasn't trying to kill me.

  I cursed myself for ever leaving the house. The argument we had seemed so long ago now, so pointless. I didn't know what Lincoln had done last night but right now it didn't matter. I just wanted to see him again, have him hold me and tell me that there was nothing to worry about. I wanted to fall asleep below this tree and wake up to the sound of that rickety piece of shit car he insisted on getting. He could bundle me into the back seat and drive me to safety. He could sink my dried out body into the pool and kiss me as the water calmed my nerves.

  I closed my eyes and found myself praying for the sound of his car to come over the hill. Then it did come.

  I thought I must have fallen asleep and dreamed it. But when I opened my eyes and jumped to my feet, I could still hear it. Squinting to see into the distance, I could just about make out the shape of a car struggling to make its way around the rocks and boulders. It stopped and stalled a few times, the smell of the clutch burning in the air as the driver lost their temper and revved the engine.

  "Motherfucker!" I heard someone scream.

  It was a girl's scream, a distinctly Mexican voice shrouded with American intonation learned from watching movies and reality trash TV.

  The car struggled on but it was as close to death as I was. It stalled a couple more times, smoke coming from under the hood as the girl smacked the steering wheel and screamed.

  It could only have been one girl. Her beauty was shimmering through the heat haze, the curve above her plump lips visibly moist from where I stood. As she approached, the smoke almost obscuring her view through the windshield, she caught sight of the tree and its seductive shade. Then she saw me.

  There was a flash of anger in her eyes. I knew I was in danger and that I needed to run but I just couldn't. My legs were barely holding me up and every step made me feel like my bones were filled with water. Any second now I'd slump back against the tree, exhausted. If only the night would come sooner, if only I could be protected by the cool air and the darkness.

  "Bitch!" she screamed as she jumped out the car.

  She turned her nose up at the smell of the smoke that drifted up from the engine, putrid and black. She kicked the front wheel as she walked past and it was then that I noticed she had something in her hand, a razor blade. It looked ancient with a mahogany handle splintered around the edges. I imagined it on the counter of an old barber shop and I remembered her grandfather. It must have been his.

  "Papa wants to give you something," she said as she flicked it open.

  It flew open with a click that echoed across the dry ground. Despite its age, it shone brightly beneath the sun. As she twisted it in her hand, playing with it between her sweaty fingers, a ray of light glinted into my eyes and I reeled back. She laughed at me and took a step forw
ard. I took one back and found myself pressed up against the tree.

  In the moment, I felt as though it was protecting me. It was the oldest thing out here, probably grew from a sapling during a time when water flowed through this desert. It was as old as the mountains and as strong too. It was the strongest thing for miles and it was all I had.

  I dragged my fingertips down its bark and felt each ridge and bump.

  "You hurt papa," she said.

  As she raised her hand, I saw something else catch the light, her engagement ring. Now, under the strong sunlight, I could see just how beautiful it was.

  "I didn't want to hurt him," I said, my voice struggling to escape my dry, papery mouth. "He had the knife first... he was going to kidnap me."

  She clenched her jaw tight and took another step toward me. Her movements were elegant yet wild as she stepped from side to side, tightening the grip on the blade. Out here in the wilderness, it was as though she was performing an abstract dance just for me.

  "I won't let you take me back there," I said.

  She laughed again, throwing her head back so that her wild mane of hair bounced around her, a halo made of pure blackness.

  "You're not going back there," she cackled. "We're long past that."

  She stopped her dance and stood still, her eyes boring into mine as her fingers pulled themselves tighter and tighter around the blade. I watched as the skin around her hand turned white and how a solitary bead of sweat was squeezed out from her palm and trickled down the silver edge. It landed in the dust, evaporating to nothing.

  "You know," she continued, stepping in closer so that I could smell the cherry wine on her breath. "You know you're not that pretty. I don't know what a billionaire like Lincoln would want with you."

  Then she spat, her saliva landing in a strip across my nose.

  I may have been weak and exhausted, I may have been on the cusp of collapsing with the heat but I was now angry. Before she could say another word, I slapped her hard, the palm of my hand stinging as though it had been burned.

  She screamed out, not with pain but with rage and held a hand to her cheek.

  "Bitch," she seethed. "Papa may have let you get away with hitting him but I won't let you get away with shit."

  She lunged forward and I dived out her way. The blade caught the side of the tree trunk, chipping away at the bark.

  "You'll pay for that!" she screamed.

  I wasn't going to be anyone's victim again. She was never going to hurt me. Her grandfather's knife was still in my hand. It had been there for all these miles. There were times when it was almost too hot to touch but now, I felt it in my hand and was grateful.

  She came at me again, the razor slicing away a chunk of my hair as she screeched like an animal. Before she could strike again, I whipped my knife across her face. It felt like nothing, was as easy as slicing through air but I saw the shock in her eyes, heard the sound of her blood splashing on the ground. It dripped from her cheek, viscous and dark red. She clapped a hand to her face and pulled it away, looking at it in horror as the blood dribbled through her fingers.

  Did I really just do that? I thought.

  Her face had been torn open, my knife having sunk its way through her perfect skin from cheekbones to chin. She'd never be beautiful again. Desperately, she began pushing the skin of her cheek up as though she could stick the damage back together. She was screaming at the realization that everything she was so proud of, the one thing that gave her power was destroyed.

  "Crazy bitch," I said, pushing her in the chest. "What are you doing here?"

  I ripped the razor blade from between her fingers but she barely noticed. She was still panicking, sobbing as she held her face.

  "What have you done?" she screamed.

  "What I wanted.”

  Her tears ran into her wound and watered down the blood. She cried harder and fell to her knees.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  She didn't speak, couldn't say a word as she choked on her own tears and blood.

  "Who are you!"

  She peered up at me through her fingers and through the curtain of red, I could just about make out her dark eyes. There was a predatory shine to them. I thought for a moment that she was losing her mind, but then she opened her mouth and I realized she wasn't mad, she was proud.

  "I'm the girl who fucked your billionaire last night," she said, her blood sinking between her lips and coating her teeth. "I'm the girl who made him cum while you were at home waiting for him."

  I was right. I knew I was! There was the smell of a woman on him, a look of pure guilt on his face as soon as he walked in the door. Bastard, I thought.

  I may have been exhausted and felt as though I was close to death but there was another feeling eclipsing all of that, betrayal. I wasn't too tired to feel heartbroken.

  After all we'd been through he had been with someone else...

  The girl was still on her knees looking up at me, the smile on her face opening up the cut to her cheek. I held her jaw in my hand and looked down into her eyes. She was so young, so fragile, but vindictive as hell. As I bent down, I could see a tattoo of a devil on her breast. In the moment, it seemed so apt. The Devil could very well live out here beneath the blistering heat where only death thrives. Up above, the vultures gathered, waiting for a fresh corpse.

  "What's your name?" I asked, my mouth only an inch from hers.

  Her smile faded and she closed her eyes as she disappeared into her mind. She knew the end was coming.

  "Lolita," she whispered.

  I kissed her softly and licked the blood from her lips. I wanted to feel what he had.

  Then I pressed the knife between her breasts and her ribcage cracked beneath the blade. She let out a scream, a panicked sob. She sucked in her last lungful of air as her blood cascaded onto my feet, her fingers clutching at my dress.

  "Papa," she gasped. "Tell Papa..."

  She fell to the ground, the blood around her congealing fast in the sunlight.

  I took her car keys and walked away.

  The vultures had their dinner.

  Chapter Four

  LINCOLN

  Norma was still down here, still asking questions. She paced up and down, stopping every moment or so to poke her head in a box and frown.

  “Crazy bunch of shit,” she mumbled under her breath. “But I guess that’s why you’re a doctor and I’m not. Never was good at science in school. Hated it.Fucking protons. What good did they do anyone?”

  “Norma?”

  She looked up, her face pale and drawn.

  “You’re rambling again.”

  “Sorry,” she sighed and sat on a nearby stool. “I’m just freaking. I’m giving it another five minutes and I’m going out to look for her.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  She gave me a weak smile as though I’d reassured her enough for the time being but then the look of terror returned to her face. I knew what she was thinking although it was impossible. She was terrified Craig had her already, as though his hands could still snatch her from beyond the realms of death.

  “She’ll be okay,” I said, more to myself than to her.

  “But she wouldn’t want to worry us like this.”

  We both stared at each other. I knew she was right. Something felt strange about this. In all the time we’d been south of the border she hadn’t so much as ventured further than the pool alone. My stomach knotted itself up again.

  “Just another five minutes.”

  Norma slid off her stool, restless and unable to stay still. She walked along to the end of the room then turned on her heel and strode back, her spindly fingers pulling at her sleeves as darkness fell below her eyes.

  “It’s okay, just take a seat and relax,” I said.

  She looked at me as though I was crazy and began walking faster and faster until she was now stomping around in circles. Her eyes fell on something as she walked, the largest box in the room. It kept her attention
and although she tried to look away from it, her gaze would always dart back to the crate.

  I watched her for a moment, watching her circle it like an ancient shaman dancing around a monolithic statue.

  “What the hell is in there?” she asked. “It’s enormous.”

  “It is,” I said.

  “What’s in it?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She stopped walking and froze in front of it.

  “You really do have some weird shit down here. What’s this one got, eh? An old relic or something? Like, an antique or whatever?”

  “Not quite,” I said. “It’s, erm, more modern than that.”

  She touched her fingertips to the corner of the crate and pushed her ear up to it. No matter how much she tried to guess what was inside, there was no way she could ever truly know just how awe inspiring or terrifying the contents were.

  People like her would cry that I was playing God. They would tell me I was a madman but I knew different. I was a visionary and sooner or later they’d have to embrace my designs or simply fade away into the annals of history like dust blowing in the wind.

  “Are you going to open it?” asked Norma.

  “At some point.”

  She walked around it again, dragging her fingers around the side as though caressing an old friend. I didn’t know why she was paying so much attention to my work. She never cared about it before.

  To her, my work was this great wealth creating mystery that happened beyond closed doors but now that mystery was in front of her, spilling out of boxes and confronting her with its questions of the future.

  “Open it now,” she said. “I wanna see it.”

  “Really, it’s, erm, not your thing. It’ll bore you.”

  For a second, I was sure I could see her sniff the air around the box to determine its contents but then she took a step back and lit a cigarette.

  “It’s weirding me out,” she said. “Who knows what a rich guy like you could keep down here in secret.”

  Her eyes swiveled toward me, deep and cunning. She was still trying to figure out who her daughter was involved with. I couldn’t blame her.