Disturbed

by Kevin O'Brien

  “No cell phone use in the locker room, Courtney!” chided one of her classmates. “Can’t you see all the signs, stupid?”

  It was that tall, obnoxious Monica Beller, thinking she was so cool with her long black hair and her big tits. Courtney couldn’t stand her. Naked, Monica sauntered by on her way to the showers. Monica’s friend, brown-haired and skinny Doreen Rustin, walked alongside her, wrapped in a towel.

  Courtney hesitated, then threw her vibrating phone into her purse. She flipped Monica and Doreen the bird, but they didn’t notice. “She’s probably going to use the phone to take our pictures so she can give them to her father the pedophile,” Monica was saying.

  Doreen giggled.

  Courtney decided not to take a shower. She’d barely broken a sweat for the few minutes she’d played volleyball. So she just applied some deodorant and got dressed. As she pulled her black sweater over her head, she noticed a small square patch cut out along the bottom. She hadn’t noticed it earlier. Had her pullover come back from the cleaners like that?

  “Oh, screw it,” Courtney muttered. She finished dressing. Maybe she shouldn’t have come to school today, after all.

  In the hallway, she took out her phone again but then decided she didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. She didn’t even want to check if that caller with the blocked number had left a message. Shoving her phone back into her purse, she stuffed her knapsack full of gym clothes in her regular locker and then headed to Mr. Florian’s world history class.

  But walking down the hallway and then sitting there in that boring class, Courtney couldn’t ignore so many of her classmates who stared at her, whispered to each other, and giggled. She tried to hold her head up and act above it all. But she just wanted to go home and lock herself in her room. The only good part of today had been driving to school with Chris.

  He understood what it was like to be the unwilling subject of everyone’s gossip. He was going through it now, the week after his mother’s murder; and he’d been through it last year, after the scandal with Corson.

  She remembered her mother talking last week about someone breaking into Chris’s locker. She hadn’t paid much attention to what her mother was saying. She hadn’t been very interested at the time. But now she was.

  She heard her phone vibrating against something in her purse. She involuntarily went to reach for it to see who was calling. But Mr. Florian looked over the rims of his glasses at her, and she froze. She’d let it go to message.

  She really didn’t want to talk to anybody right now anyway — except for maybe Chris.

  Courtney waited for class to end. As soon as she stepped out to the hallway, she reached inside her purse and took out her cell. Someone in the crowded hallway bumped into her, and she almost dropped the phone. “Hey, watch it,” she muttered, looking up.

  She noticed Chris. He was on the other side of the busy corridor, walking away. Courtney quickly zigzagged through the crowd. “Hey, Chris!” she called.

  He turned and gave her a dazed half smile. “Hey. .”

  She still had her cell phone in her hand. “I was just going to call you,” she said — over all the banter and banging locker doors. “Listen, I can’t stand to be here another minute. Let’s get out of here. Let’s ditch the rest of our classes and just go someplace where we can be alone.”

  Chris looked stumped for a moment. “Courtney, I’d love to, but really, I can’t. I missed so many classes last week, because of my mom. I can’t just take off. Plus I told Elvis I’d get together with him after school.”

  She pouted. “But I really need to talk to you. It’s important.” She handed him her cell phone. “Here, call Elvis and tell him you can’t make it. He’ll understand.”

  Chris looked at the phone in his hand and hesitated.

  “C’mon,” she insisted, stroking his arm. “You’re the only person I want to be with right now. I absolutely hate everybody else. I really need you, Chris. . ”

  Chris’s thumb hovered over the Talk button.

  “Plus you owe me,” she continued. “I was there for you after your Mom got killed. Remember, I came over?” She tugged at his arm. “Just call him. You can see him later tonight.”

  Chris glanced at the phone again. But then he shook his head and gave the phone back to her. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll meet you after school, and we can hang out. I’m seeing Elvis next period anyway. I’ll tell him we can get together another time.”

  The phone vibrated in her hand. Courtney checked the caller ID. The blocked number again. She tossed the phone in her purse and then smiled at Chris. “Okay, then I’ll just drive around until school’s out, and I’ll pick you up in front of the music building.” It was where they used to meet after school while they’d been dating those few weeks.

  She got on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Chris.”

  Blushing, he gave her a shy smile and said good-bye.

  After that, it was easy to ignore the people in the hallways talking behind her back. She no longer felt like a freak. Chris made her feel important again. He’d had the same effect on her last year after she’d been dumped by Shane White. Chris was so good for her ego.

  She decided to kill the next two hours at Northgate Mall. According to her mom, they’d have to start pinching pennies, because her father would certainly lose his job. So — this might be her last chance to go on a shopping bender.

  In her car, when she hit the first traffic light, Courtney came to a stop and fished her iPhone out of her purse. She switched the phone back to the ring setting. Then the light changed. She noticed a cop car parked on the other side of the street — near the intersection. She put the iPhone down on the passenger seat. She didn’t want to get a fine for using her cell phone while driving.

  For the time being, Courtney focused her attention on the road ahead. She was still in a residential area near the school — with tree-lined parkways on either side of the road. She had about five more stoplights to go until the on-ramp to Interstate 5. She picked up a little speed — and sailed through one of those lights.

  Her cell phone rang.

  Blindly, she reached over and grabbed it. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she didn’t see any police cars. She checked the caller ID. That stupid blocked number again. “Goddamn it, leave me alone, asshole,” she muttered over the ringing.

  Courtney decided she’d tell them just that.

  The speedometer on her dashboard read 37 MPH.

  She brought the cell up toward her face and pressed the Talk button.

  All at once, the phone exploded in her hand. All at once, her face was on fire.

  Courtney shrieked. But she couldn’t even hear her own screams. The deafening blast incinerated her right ear. In the ear that remained, she heard only a high-pitched ringing — almost like the phone.

  She choked on the smoke — and the smell of her own burning flesh. Blinded, Courtney couldn’t see that she was careening toward a large maple tree. The pain was so excruciating, she just wanted to die.

  When the Neon slammed into the tree, Courtney didn’t hear the glass shattering and metal twisting. She didn’t hear the car horn blare from the impact. All she heard was that constant ringing.

  The air bag deployed and hit her in the face — like a hard punch with a big pillow.

  It was the last thing she felt before she lost consciousness.

  In her last thought, Courtney hoped to God she would never wake up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Her cell phone rang.

  Molly put down her artist’s brush and reached for her phone. Another blocked number, and another hang-up without a message. It was the fourth time in an hour. That was how long she’d been up in her attic studio working on her painting with all the partygoing cola drinkers through the ages. Her man from the fifties had an intentional resemblance to James Dean; but the woman from the twenties — in the foreground of the ensemble — looked way too much like Jean Harlow. Mol
ly didn’t want the piece to look like one of those paintings from Spencer’s with Elvis, Bogart, Marilyn, and James Dean all hanging out at the drive-in. The painting was so complex, it drove her crazy. And the phone interrupting every few minutes certainly didn’t help.

  She kept thinking it was probably that creepy woman calling again.

  Ask him where he really was.

  Everything Jeff had said this morning made sense, and yet Molly still felt he was hiding something from her. Maybe all this doubt and suspicion was hormonal or something.

  She went back to the painting and picked up her paintbrush once more.

  The phone rang again.

  “Shit,” Molly muttered. She swiped up the phone and switched it on. “Yes, hello?” she said impatiently.

  She heard that asthmatic breathing again.

  “Listen, stop calling me,” Molly growled.

  “Do you know where Jeff was that night, Mrs. Dennehy?” That raspy, singsong voice sent a chill through her.

  “Yes,” she shot back. “He was at the Hilton in Washington, D.C. What the hell business is it of yours?”

  “He wasn’t in Washington, D.C., Mrs. Dennehy,” the woman replied. “Check the hotel.”

  “I did check the hotel, and they confirmed it,” Molly lied.

  She heard the woman laughing quietly. Then there was a click on the other end.

  Molly switched off the phone. “Goddamn it,” she muttered.

  The woman seemed to know she was lying. She felt so pathetic and stupid. She’d even admitted to the insane bitch that she’d doubted her husband enough to phone the hotel where he’d claimed to have stayed.

  All right, she got to you, she’s happy, Molly told herself. Chances were she wouldn’t call again for a while.

  Molly forced herself to look at the painting again, but she just shook her head. She couldn’t concentrate. She quickly rinsed out her paintbrushes and retreated downstairs with her cell phone in hand. She was about to pull her sweatshirt over her head when she heard a noise in the foyer.

  For a second, she froze. But then she saw the mail on the floor — below the slot. She hated that slot in the door. Whenever she was home alone, and the mail came, it always caught her off guard and gave her a start. On top of that, she sometimes thought how easy it would be for some stranger to squat down by the door, lift up that little brass lid and peek inside the house. She imagined someone doing it at night, while they were all asleep upstairs.

  She went down to the foyer to check the mail — nothing but bills: Seattle City Light, Premera Blue Cross, Visa. .

  Molly let the other bills drop to the floor. The Visa bill was addressed to Jeff. She tore open the envelope. Unfolding the bill, she scanned the most recent purchases for a Hilton in Washington, D.C., or any purchases at all in D.C. There were none.

  The bill didn’t show any activity on his card from the period he was supposed to be at the Hilton on Dupont Circle to when he came home. The gap went from Monday, November 1 through Wednesday, November 3. There was a Shell station gas purchase in Fife, Washington, on the fourth, from when he’d taken the kids down to their Aunt Trish’s house in Tacoma. And he must have bought some flowers for Trish, because a $35.10 charge that same day came from Blooms by Beth in Tacoma, Washington.

  Molly checked, and she found hotel, restaurant, limo, and rental car charges in Boston and Philadelphia for his other recent business trips. So Jeff did indeed use this credit card for business. Why was there a gap for his trip to Washington, D.C.? Did he pay for everything in cash? What was he hiding?

  He had an American Express card, too. Rummaging through the desk in his study, Molly found his last American Express bill. The billing period stopped in mid-October. So she phoned customer service, and after punching several numbers, she finally got a real person. Molly asked for a list of charges made between November 1 and 3, the day after Angela had been murdered.

  There was nothing.

  Ask him where he really was.

  Frustrated, Molly started to cry. She dug a Kleenex from the pocket of her jeans and blew her nose. Maybe she just had to get out of the house for a while and leave her cell phone behind. Even if it was just for a walk around the neighborhood, she needed to go stretch her legs. It didn’t matter she was wearing her sloppy painting clothes. She went to the closet and pulled out her Windbreaker.

  “Get while the getting’s good,” she muttered to herself. “I’d just as soon be gone when that crazy bitch calls again. . ”

  She hesitated at the door. Where had she heard that before? She remembered six months ago, that night Kay had come over. She could still see Kay, sitting on her sofa with a glass of wine in her hand: “Thanks for having me over tonight. I’d just as soon not be home in case that creepy bitch calls again. . ”

  That was just hours before her death.

  Molly couldn’t remember exactly what the woman had said to Kay on the phone. It was something about Kay being an unfit mother.

  The house phone rang, giving her a start.

  Molly marched into Jeff’s study and snatched up the cordless. “What? What do you want?” she barked.

  “Molly?”

  She recognized Lynette’s voice. “Oh, hi, Lynette,” she said. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. I’ve been getting these crank calls—”

  “Molly, I need a favor,” she interrupted. “I need you to pick up Carson and Dakota from school today. I already cleared it with their teachers that you’d be by. I wouldn’t be asking you, but Jill can’t get away from work today.”

  “Well, ah, sure, I guess,” Molly replied, confused. “Lynette, I’m very sorry about what’s happening with Jeremy. I—”

  “Thanks,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “But I really can’t talk. Courtney’s been in an accident. She wrecked her car. They took her to UW Hospital. I’m on my way there now.”

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” Molly murmured.

  “Just pick up Carson and Dakota for me, and don’t tell them anything. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll call you when I find out more. Okay?”

  “Of course,” Molly replied numbly.

  She heard Lynette start to sob. “Thank you,” she said, tearfully.

  Then she hung up.

  Eight-year-old Carson Hahn picked up a large pebble by the entrance to the play area outside Burger King. It looked like he was about to hurl it at a car in the parking lot.

  “Carson!” Molly yelled. She was sitting outside at a red and yellow plastic picnic-style table with Rachel. It had grown chilly with nightfall, and though the play area was well-lit, she’d buttoned up her coat to stay warm. She nibbled on some fries that had gotten cold while Rachel ate a salad.

  Molly hadn’t had any problems with Carson’s and Dakota’s teachers when she’d gone to pick them up. Lynette had called around 5:30 to report that Courtney’s condition was critical. Chris had come to the hospital to keep her company while Courtney was in surgery. Lynette couldn’t say when she’d be back to pick up the kids.

  Molly had kept Carson and Dakota in line by promising to take them to Burger King. She’d had to separate Carson from Erin twice, because he liked to tease her. But the three kids had behaved themselves during their November night picnic dinner. Now they were working it off in the play area. The girls seemed to like the slide, and Carson seemed to like trouble. Molly knew — as soon as she saw him pick up that pebble.

  She quickly got to her feet. “Carson, you put that down right now or you’ll be very sorry!”

  He sneered at her. “I don’t have to listen to you!” he shot back. “And you can’t hit me, because my mom will be real mad if you do!”

  For a moment, Molly didn’t know what to say.

  Rachel threw her plastic fork into the plastic salad receptacle and stood up. “Well, I don’t know your mother and I don’t care if she gets mad at me. So do what Molly says before I come over there and slap your face!”

  His mouth open, Carson ga
ped at her. He shrugged awkwardly, then tossed aside the pebble. He gave the fence around the play area a kick, and then wandered inside and plopped down on a swing.

  “Thank you!” Rachel sweetly called to him. She looked at Molly and sighed. “Something tells me that’s going to come back to haunt me.”

  Molly chuckled. “Oh, he’s so going to tell his mother on you. But I for one thank you. I’m really glad you could come along.”

  “No sweat,” Rachel said, picking a crouton out of her salad and nibbling it. “I think we have an easier job here than Chris does — holding Lynette’s hand at the hospital, the poor guy. I’m not a big fan of hers, and I hate hospitals. My mom was in and out of hospitals for so many months. She had cancer.” Rachel tilted her head to one side and squinted at Molly. “Are your parents still around?”

  “My mother is,” Molly admitted. “But we — well, we’re kind of estranged.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s too bad,” Rachel said, fingering the straw to her vanilla shake. “My mom and I were close. She practically raised me by herself. Never mind about my dad. He’s not worth going into. Anyway, they’d discovered the cancer too late. Toward the end, I moved her into my house, and took a leave of absence from my job. I was a financial forecaster for this investment firm in Tampa. The money was really good, and I had a nice house — and a gorgeous, sexy husband, an actor by the name of Owen Banner. Have you heard of him?”

  Molly shrugged. “Sorry, no, I haven’t.”

  Rachel nodded glumly. “And you never will. I basically supported him while he spent my money on booze and other women. He did three commercials and dinner theater for the geriatric crowd. Talk about a loser. He’s very immature, and I guess in some warped way that appealed to my maternal side. I wanted to take care of him. But Owen didn’t like having my sick mother in the house. He finally issued me an ultimatum: either my mother went or he went. So I started divorce proceedings. In the meantime, my mom died. I had no idea that I’d gotten all my financial savvy from her. Thanks to her investments, my mother left me with about nine hundred thousand bucks. When Owen got wind of this, oh, boy, did he come running back to me, ready to make amends. I know he’s bad news, and that’s why I moved away — as far as I could. I already had ex-sex with him about two months ago. That’s one more reason I made the move here to Seattle.”