Bitter Angel

by Megan Hand

  “I’m not leaving,” I growl with a mouth full of cheeseburger while tears stream down my face. I must look like a real prize right now. “You’re forgetting I was there last night. I know what they’re capable of, and I’m not subjecting anyone else to them.”

  I admit, despite how my panic attack in the lobby of police headquarters might have looked, quitting has never been an option. I’m so not this person, this girl who loses. I’m the girl who wins her battles. We’ve done something, and now we are being left to our own devices to do something…else.

  We just have to figure out what the else is.

  It takes me a full twenty minutes to finish eating, and I only got down about half of my cheeseburger, two point seven-five fries, and a little water. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a meal this slow. By the time I’m done, though, I’ve managed to somewhat loosen the lump in my throat.

  After I ball up the wrappers and throw them in the brown paper bag, I wipe my face with a clean napkin. Trigger has been silent the entire time. Jay has been saying soft things in my ear while rubbing my back in big circles.

  He did this after my dog, Yentyl, died, and our fish, Mr. Thompson—I named him that because he was always bonking his nose on the aquarium wall, just like our neighbor, Mr. Thompson, nosily watching out his window—and Lucky, my pet rabbit that I’d had since eighth grade. He did it each time after my parents had their not-so-occasional knock-down screaming matches they were famous for.

  When it comes to my tears, Jay’s a veteran. I let myself cry the whole time, too, and no one tries to stop me. I think I just needed it, whether from lack of sleep or from the trauma.

  Detective Howard’s words ring in my head. I keep forgetting that I suffered a trauma last night. Whether it can be seen that way or not, that’s what it is to me, and I haven’t let myself deal with it in any way. I still don’t. There’s no time, really, not the kind of time I need.

  Since I’m done eating, Jay pulls me close for a minute. He feels so warm and safe, just like he did last night. I could stay here forever—literally, forever—but I know that I can’t.

  “So…” My voice sounds thick and crusty. “What’s plan B?” The boys are silent. “Anyone?”

  No one wants to answer me.

  Jay finally says, “I think we should go back to the dorm and wait for the police to contact us.”

  I don’t know if he means my dorm or Trigger’s. It doesn’t matter. They both mean the same thing. He wants to quit. “Are you kidding me? No.”

  “What else do you expect, Lil? The police said—”

  “I know what they said.” I sigh, trying to inhale through my nose and failing. “Trigger…I mean, Franklin or Frank or whatever you go by, what time are you supposed to meet up with them?”

  “Why do you care?” He’s sulking again.

  Man, I’m getting sick of him. I get ready to say it.

  Jay beats me to the punch. “Would you quit acting like a damn baby and man up?”

  Jay’s hands are wadded into fists. I wrap my fingers around his arm. He responds to my touch and understands, but he doesn’t immediately relax. I have to admit that it’s nice to comfort him instead of the other way around. I push that stubborn curl out of his eyes, letting the side of my hand linger near his ear.

  “We’re not going back to the dorm,” I tell them.

  Jay’s jaw clamps down as he mentally wrestles with something. I think he’s about to become ‘that guy’, the guy he said he wasn’t last night, but all he asks is, “Then what now?”

  I ask Trigger again. “What time?”

  Trigger twists his lips as he looks out the window at the cars zipping by on the street. “One of them is supposed to call me soon with the details and a place.”

  I frown. “You don’t even have a time?”

  “I told you, they’re way too good. They give nothing out in advance.”

  “Well…” I sink into my seat and think, wracking my brain until I remember. This is the moment where an evil smile is supposed to overtake my face as I reveal my brilliant plan, but I only have butterflies. The gruesome kind that feel like they’re eating me from the inside out, one microscopic mouthful at a time. “I know one thing we can do.”

  “What?” they both ask.

  “We have a name now.” I expect them to catch on, but they keep eyeing me, unsure. “Hunter Prescott.”

  “And?” Jay’s face hardens.

  “And how hard can it be to find a senator’s address?”

  Okay, it’s not like I expected it to be easy, per se. I knew we wouldn’t be able to just flip through a phone book, and Oh, look, there’s the home number and address of the senator of Tennessee. But I don’t think it’s impossible.

  The way Jay and Trigger are staring at me makes me think that it might be. Impossible, that is.

  Jay mumbles something under his breath. He’s getting frustrated with this whole thing. Well, he’s beyond frustrated, which makes me wonder.

  I look away from him before I ask, “Did you honestly think I could walk away from this?”

  His aggravation is loud and clear. “I don’t know what I thought. What are you expecting to accomplish here? Say we get the address, then what? Tell his dad that his son is a raping, terrorizing menace? Do we stalk the guy? If we stalk the guy, then what? I just don’t see what the fuck we’re actually going to accomplish.”

  “I don’t know, Jay. I just know that I can’t walk away. I have to do something.”

  “Because you had a crazy-ass dream?”

  Now I’m getting aggravated with him. “I think we both know this was way more than a dream. You said you believed me.”

  “I did. I do. And I was fine with the police idea.” His voice rises with his hand gestures. “But now? Now we’re just crazy if we try to do something outside of police authority. We really could get arrested. Or hurt. Or worse. Is that what you want?”

  “No.” I feel the frown on my face intensify. “Of course not.”

  This is quickly evolving into an argument, which is seriously the last thing we need to be doing right now.

  Jay throws his hands in the air. “How do you know?” He jerks his head toward Trigger. “And how do you know he’s not lying?”

  “Because I’m not,” Trigger interjects.

  “Real convincing,” Jay continues. “All you’ve done is whine like a fucking infant.”

  This is low for Jay. He uses his f-words very sparingly. Two in the last thirty seconds is unheard of for him. He usually nags me about it. It’s not like I use it that much, but it does slip out following the sporadic stubbed toe or paper cut.

  “Cut it out, Jay,” I snap. “I asked him to help.”

  Jay laughs humorlessly. “Begged is more like it, and he still barely came along. That means that either none of this is true or he’s scared shitless, and we need to get the hell outta Dodge!”

  He grabs my face with both hands and weaves his fingers in my hair. His touch is harsh with desperation, not gentle as he was last night. “You are my priority, Lil. You.” He lowers his voice, his tone radiating with passion and fear. It reminds me of this morning when he thought I was hurt or I’d gone off the deep end. “I believe you, okay? I do. And I know this is who you are. You’re stubborn, you always feel the need to do what’s right, and you love with your whole fucking heart, but I can’t do this. It’s my job to protect you, and you’re not letting me.”

  I choke back a whimper. Crying will not help me right now. “Jay, I’m not saying we’re gonna throw ourselves in front of a bullet.”

  “No.” He pulls away. Like last night, my face feels cold without his warmth. He shakes his head once. “No. I was all for going to the police, but this… Fuck!”

  With that, Jay ejects himself from the car and slams the door shut. He stomps off to the alley end of the parking lot. I don’t go after him, even though my heart is breaking for him. He needs a minute to cool off.

  “He’s right about one thing,”
Trigger says softly.

  “What’s that?”

  “I am scared shitless. And you are stubborn. So that’s two things, I guess.”

  I am stubborn. That’s beside the point. “Tell me. How did they threaten you? What is it that’s so big?”

  He glances down at his lap and plays awkwardly with his fingers. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Do they have your sister locked up somewhere or something?”

  A tiny whimper escapes his throat, and he presses a fist to his mouth. His intense eyes meet mine. “How did you feel when you thought your friend was dying?”

  I swallow. “Helpless.”

  “That’s how I feel.” He returns his gaze out the window. “And that’s all you need to know.”

  I turn around in my seat and sit there, the weight of Trigger’s and Jay’s words pressing on me. Jay was right, though—I will do what’s right, even to my own detriment. I displayed that last night.

  Jay stomps back into the car and immediately grabs my hand, squeezing it and resting our joined hands on his lap. He’s no calmer, so I assume it’s for his own comfort not mine, but he seems to have made his mind up about something. I’m too afraid to ask for fear that he’ll drive us straight back to Podunk, Trigger and all. He starts the engine, pulls to the edge of the parking lot, and turns left.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him.

  “Starbucks.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Because you have a sudden urge for a Frappucino?”

  He purses his lips, which tells me that he’s still mad. “No. For the Internet.”

  The Internet. Of course. Why did phone book even pop into my mind?

  Trigger clears his throat. “Uh, guys, I think you’re forgetting something.”

  “What?” I ask, twisting around.

  He has his cell in his hand, making a side-to-side tick-tock motion. “I have his number.”

  I make a face. “Seriously? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  His lips quirk up in a small but smug grin. Trigger can be smug? Who knew? “You never asked.”

  That smugness only lasts a few seconds before it’s replaced with terror that Trigger turns away to hide. I see it, but Jay doesn’t.

  After his helpless comment, I’m feeling strangely compassionate. “What would happen if you called him?”

  He’s staring at his phone as if it holds the key to his freedom. “I don’t know. I need a reason.”

  “I don’t understand why he’d give you his cell. Isn’t that a risk?”

  Trigger shrugs. “I’m sure it’s a throwaway. Don’t all thugs have them?”

  How would I know what thugs do or don’t have?

  Jay pulls into the nearest Starbucks, which happens to be only two miles away from McDonald’s. Surprise, surprise. “Should we go in?” he asks, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

  I tap my lips. “Sure. What can it hurt? I need to look this guy up, just out of curiosity.” Secretly, I’m hoping there are some articles about Alpha’s—Hunter Prescott’s—bad boy reputation. A drug habit or the name of an ex-girlfriend? If his dad is in politics, the press would’ve eaten that up. All I need are the scraps.

  “You plan on buying a laptop while you’re in there?” Trigger asks sarcastically.

  “No.” I fluff my hair and adjust my bra. Looking in the visor mirror, I apply some lip gloss and pat under my puffy eyes. “I’m going to use my special skills.”

  Trigger scoffs.

  “I’ll come in with you,” Jay offers, opening his door. He glances back at Trigger. “Why don’t you try to find a reason to call him while we’re in there?”

  Huh. Jay made actual non-hostile conversation with Trigger. Is he with me now? With us? I’m too afraid I’ll jinx it if I ask, so we walk into Starbucks silently. I do a quick scan. There are at least eleven people sitting at separate tables with laptops, juicing the WiFi. I zero in on three guys that have potential. Jay touches my arm, and we share a look. It’s compassionate and concerned. I try to silently tell him I got this. He barely nods and goes to the counter to order something while I approach my first victim.

  He has thick-rimmed glasses, bushy brown hair, and the body of a seventh grader, although I’d bet a hundred bucks that he’s probably my age. The perfect specimen. I come up to him from behind to make sure he’s not playing some sort of Role Playing Game. Those addicts are never game, pardon the pun.

  Nope. He’s on Facebook. Awesome.

  I run my fingers through my hair and tuck one side behind my ear. I plaster the flirtiest smile on my face, gently laying my hand on his shoulder. When I stoop down, my hair fans out over my arm. I know I look cute when I do this because I’ve heard it from multiple guys. My eyes are wide and inviting.

  “Excuse me.” I bite my lip. “I hate to ask this, but do you think I could borrow your laptop for a minute? I just came into town, and I wanted to surprise my friend. She goes to UT, but I’m not sure which building she lives in, so I just wanted to…” I wait for him to take the hint.

  The poor sucker’s got goo-goo eyes. He never stood a chance. “Uh,” he stutters. “Sure, sure, sure.”

  I take a seat next to him. “Thanks so much.”

  His skinny fingers turn his computer in my direction. “Here, here. Take as long as you need.”

  “Thanks.” I keep up the flirty act as I discreetly type Hunter Prescott into the Google search box. The kid is hovering over my shoulder. “It’s her boyfriend’s name,” I explain.

  He nods and backs away. I don’t know if he believes me. Regardless, he allows me some privacy while he concentrates on a gigantic open book as thick as my arm sprawled out next to his computer.

  I sneak a glance around and see Jay drinking a coffee in a far corner, pretending not to watch me.

  Okay. I sift through the hits, and my shoulders sink in disappointment. There are a few links for Facebook accounts, a couple for Myspace, one link for hunter rain boots. Not helpful. I revise my search to Hunter Prescott, senator John Prescott’s son.

  Still nothing. Nothing I need anyway.

  Apparently, senator’s families aren’t in the public eye as much as I thought. That or Alpha has done nothing to really put himself in the spotlight.

  Alright. I delete and do a simple search on John Prescott, senator of Tennessee. I click on the link for his own personal website. It has the normal tabs— Biography, News Reports, Tennessee Services, Issues and Legislation, Contact Info. I click on the Biography link. Immediately, a picture pops up with a gray-haired man, an attractive middle-aged woman with jet black hair, and Alpha.

  The image punches me in a soft place inside of myself.

  He’s a few years younger, standing in the middle with his parents’ arms slung around his shoulders. Fresh spring trees are in the background, and everyone has their faces posed at just the right angle to make the picture seem spontaneous. His smile holds all the promise the world has to offer and I wonder if it was ever real. Did he ever want to just live or go to college? Find a career or fall in love? Get married or hold his newborn baby in his arms?

  What a waste. I have less than no sympathy for him, but that doesn’t stop me from speculating. How can a guy who’s been lathered in privilege get sucked into such evil? I’m sure he could’ve gone to any school or done anything. He could’ve been a doctor and a lawyer. Where did it all go wrong?

  Don’t dwell, I tell myself.

  Since the bio says nothing about Hunter, I click on the Contact link. Up pops the office numbers and addresses for the senator’s offices in D.C. Does his dad even live in Tennessee? Where do senators live? I’m clueless.

  There are also addresses for the Tennessee offices, listed by city. I bat my eyelashes at my skinny prey. “Hey, do you have a pen and something I could write on?”

  “Sure, sure.”

  I’m debating if that’s one of the only words he knows as he tears away a scrap of paper from the spiral notebook he’s been scribbling in. He hands me the scra
p and the blue ballpoint pen that I just noticed he’s been chewing on. Sure enough, there’s fresh spit on the cap. Ick.

  I hold in a sneer. “Thanks.” Quickly, I jot down the Knoxville office address and phone number. I don’t think we’ll need it, but you never know. At least this way, I won’t leave empty-handed.

  I click the X at the top to close out the page.

  “Did you find your friend?” he asks.

  No, just a boy in the running for Satan’s throne in hell. “Yup.” I slide his laptop back to him.

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I smile one last time, signal Jay, and we’re out the door and back in the car.

  “Anything?” Trigger asks right away, his knees bobbing like mine were earlier.

  “Not really,” I tell him, holding back a sigh. “Anything on your end?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “What?”

  “I called him.”

  I don’t think I actually expected to hear those words. I admit, I’m impressed.

  My heart is thumping. “What did you say?” Thump, thump, thump…

  “Uh…” He runs a hand through his frizzy hair. “I told him that I’m going back to finish the drugs, and I want to meet him somewhere personally to hand them over.”

  Jay asks, “How is that different from what you were already going to do?”

  “I-I-I told him my professor is coming by to check my progress on a project, and if I have that stuff around, I’ll be in deep shit.”

  When he says “shit,” it comes out unnaturally. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was about to say doodoo, but I’m way too keyed up to joke right now. “And is your professor coming by?”

  “Of course not.”

  Phew. The last thing we need right now is any kind of authority involvement.

  “Did he buy it?” Jay asks.

  “I think so.”

  “Where to now?” I ask him. The thumping is subsiding now that I know I don’t have to see Alpha quite yet. “Your dorm?”

  Trigger laughs like I’m an idiot. “No.”

  “Well, where are they then? Your super top-secret evil laboratory?”