I don’t know why it surfaced in my thoughts, but it did. I remembered the story about Jesus calming a storm. Probably from church camp. Maybe He’d hush this storm inside me now. Worth a try? I said the Lord’s Prayer for the first time since leaving Agape Academy for Girls. My breath became less shaky. Okay.
I tried to recall as much of the 23rd Psalm parroted each day in the chapel for the five years of my stay, except on holidays and summer breaks of course, when I was temporarily released on good behavior to my grandparent’s ranch. I’d thought parochial school had been a prison. It was minimum security compared to this room.
I racked my distant memory to recall the familiar voice of the headmistress as she’d say the first few word of the passage before we’d join in. How we loathed her rhinestone-studded glasses dangling from bright red silk cords, like a breastplate of honor. Now, I’d love to hear her voice, and see her stand in front of me. The verses always brought serenity to her face. I secretly envied her faith, though I’d never have admitted that to my school chums.
Girl’s school hadn’t been all bad. I’d made fast bonds with the other nerds and endured the slashes of sharp-tongued gossip mongers. I learned to ignore the constant eye rolls of the perfectly figured, bronzed goddesses dripping in diamond tennis bracelets and pearls. Their daddies owned half of the Texas counties by the same last name, and their debuts later made front page headlines statewide. Not my crowd. I was pale with reddish-brown hair which had an annoying wave in it—not curly, not straight. My blue eyes had too much hazel in them to be stunning. Both my parents had worked for a living. Plus, they were part-time missionaries, which really alienated me from the “in-girls.”
Agape Academy was where I learned to drag a cigarette, shave my legs, and develop a passion for Bach and Monet. The last two lessons I still considered useful.
I also developed a deep-seated desire to remain virginal until my wedding day, until Robert persuaded me otherwise on our third date. Some of that lofty goal was born out of religious brainwashing, but mostly it was defiance to prove I had something the society girls didn’t—control. I had a lot of first dates in college, and a few second ones. Never were they hot and heavy enough to melt the Ice Princess.
And then came that one night of Greek dancing. I would have followed Robert into the bushes behind the Arneson River Theater, and I think he knew it. He acted the gentleman and just brushed his lips on my hand when he said goodnight. His restraint stoked the smoldering flames in my heart. Oh, how I missed his touch.
My mind returned to the present. Still no Tom. How long had it been?
Don’t panic, Jen. He’ll be back. Yeah, and then what? Don’t think about it. He hasn’t attempted that yet. He has been nice, actually.
I closed my eyes and repeated the Lord’s Prayer. I’d often recite it and Psalm 51:1-15 while on my knees under the headmistress’ glare. Not that I ever did anything major. Mostly it was punishment for something public high schools would consider normal teenage defiance. My knees had ached for days after kneeling on those parochial school hardwood floors.
Now, I knelt on the equally unforgiving concrete floor. Did the words contain some magic power to summon Divine help, or were they empty phrases?
The door swooshed open. Grayish-yellow light splayed before me. Perhaps they weren’t empty phrases after all.
“On your knees? I didn’t know you prayed. Wait, you were in the dark?”
Was he kidding? I clenched my teeth, willing my tears to defy gravity and return to my eyes. I sat back on my heels. His footsteps sounded behind me, and then stopped. I heard a light switch flick. A soft glow began to ease into the corners of the room. Tom came around to face me.
“Ah, geez. I meant to turn on the light over the door. But then you pushed my buttons and I guess I just left.” He bent down to my level. “I’m sorry, Jen, really. I’d kept it dark before to help you sleep. But when I brought you breakfast…I mean we could see okay with the door open, right?”
I looked away.
Tom swallowed hard. “I forgot when it closes…Why didn’t you call out?”
“I did.” Tears formed as I bit my lip. Part of me was angry, part still scared. I felt the veins in my neck bulge.
“I didn’t hear you. Honest, or I’d come running.” He gently squeezed my shoulders. “Wow. You’re all in knots.”
I sniffled. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Tom plopped to the floor, scooted behind me, and proceeded to massage my neck, upper back, and shoulder blades. “I really am sorry, Jen. Here, this will ease the tension I’ve caused you.”
My body became like jiggled gelatin. Images of riverside bushes loomed in my mind. I shoved them away. Twenty-four hours ago I didn’t even like this guy.
He patted my waist. “Better?”
“No.” I’m not sure how convincing I sounded.
“I’m trying to be nice, Jen.” His hands rubbed down to my hips.
The old familiar alarm went off in my head, the one only Robert had been able to silence. I jumped to my feet. “Look. If you’re going to do it just get it over with, okay?”
“If I was going to do it, I would’ve kept you drugged. I was only…” He stood and brushed himself off. “Never mind. Come on, let’s sit down, and talk about it.”
My eyes narrowed onto him as my breath continued in quick, short spurts.
He waited, hands folded as if in penitent prayer.
After a moment the heat from my face dissipated. I mumbled, “Okay. Sure.” I flopped on the couch and stretched my legs out hoping he’d get the hint and take the chair.
But he meandered over to me, hands in pockets. Before he sat, he pushed my legs aside. “That’s not what this is about, Jen.”
I tucked my legs under me and stared at him as he eased down onto the cushion where my feet had been. “What is this about, Tom?”
He averted his eyes again, this time I think to organize his thoughts. I waited. Finally his chest heaved as he returned his gaze to me.
“Robert was more than a good friend. We were in the military together. Worked together. I’d have given my life for him. You.” His eyes targeted my face. “You, Jen, were the most precious thing in his world. I promised to protect you against all odds, at all costs. That’s what this is about.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re dead, Jen. According to the article on page 16D of today’s newspaper.” He shut his eyes to quote from it. “Tragic car accident, uncannily on the same curve as where her husband met his fate. Explosion so massive, they are scraping the ashes for dental work. Suicide is suspected.”
“No.” My heart flipped upside down in my chest. Thunderous beating filled my ears.
“Afraid so. The best way to get the bad guys off your trail. Of course, we had that scenario ready to go before you came with me into hiding. It was part of the plan. But I can’t read you in on any more. I am not running point on this.”
Read me in? Point? Sounded like what they’d say on a CIA drama. Did real agents talk like that? Maybe the federal badge he’d flashed at me in the diner was fake. I never got a good look at it. Was he some sort of psychopath? That seemed too fanciful. Something else was going on. Someone else was behind this. “I don’t believe you, Tom.”
He cocked his head as a sneer edged across it. “It’s believable. You’ve been even more withdrawn and moody than normal for months now.” He reached in his shirt and pulled out the newspaper clipping. “Here. It’s hard to read in this dim light.” He flicked on the flashlight and aimed its beam at the headlines with today’s date on the top.
I widened my eyes.
“See?” He clicked off the penlight and waved the clipping in front of my face. “Local woman killed on same road as late husband.”
“How dare you?” I grabbed his shirt and slapped his face as hard as I could. Then I beat on his chest over and over.
He took it without flinching and let me play it out. When my anger subsided, he gathered
me into his arms. I drew into a fetal position and whimpered. “Everything’s gone. Robert, my life, everything.”
He stroked my hair. “I know, hon. I know. It’s for the best, really.”
I was drained of any desire to fight him. I limp-ragged into his embrace and sobbed. He rocked me gently back and forth until the crying softened to sniffles.
When sensibility returned, his statements sunk into the cognitive portion of my brain. “Tom, you mean the wreck was part of it? The sirens, before we went into Bob’s Burgers? That was my car?”
I felt his chin nod against my temple. “Uh-huh.” His answer vibrated off his shirt into my ear.
I raised my head off his chest. “How? I’d just driven it. My car was in the parking lot.”
He released his grasp and rubbed his forehead. “When we planned this op, I was to convince you to take my car to go eat. Then they were to wreck your car, which of course they did. They had to burn yours so the VIN would be traced.”
“But I took my car.”
He shifted and turned to face me. “Yeah, that was a bit tough to work out. I told them I doubted you’d go with me in my car, so we came up with a Plan B. They switched yours for a stolen Mazda of the same make and color. No one ever really looks at their license plates at night so we figured in the pouring rain you wouldn’t notice.”
“But my keyless entry?”
“Easy enough to switch out while you were smoking your nimble fingers over the calculator keypad. You always leave your purse dangling on the back of your chair.” He wiggled his forefinger back and forth in front of my nose and clicked his teeth. “Bad habit.”
I sighed and scooted back, pressing my lower spine against the armrest of the couch opposite him. I drew the throw pillow to my chest. “Go on.”
Tom picked at a piece of lint on his pant leg, and then looked straight at me. “I’d texted them Plan B was in place. I slipped your real keys in the trash can by the elevator so they could do the switch while we were detained in there.”
He saw my mouth form a question. “Yes, the elevator malfunction was planned. That’s when the exchange was made. They filled the stolen car with your personal effects—umbrella, your morning coffee thermos, cell phone cord, CDs—so you wouldn’t suspect anything.”
“How did the police know it was me in the wreck?”
“They…”
That word again. Who were “they”?
“...took your stuff and scattered it all around the wreck as they pretended to be bystanders. I’d given them your purse and cell phone before we drove away from the diner—after you were, well, knocked out. Those, by the way, were found later over the rail at the scene. The police figured opportunists had pilfered through them for info, and then tossed them.”
“Where is the car now?”
“The stolen car? After we left the restaurant, they swept it clean and got rid of it. It’ll probably turn up in Nuevo Laredo today.”
I sat up straight. “You keep saying ‘they.’ You’re part of a group?”
“Yes…and no.”
Right. Obviously he wasn’t going to tell me. But someone had planned all this. I didn’t want to really know but I had to ask. “What—I mean who, did they use for my body?”
He looked at his hands. “I dunno. Some O.D.’d prostitute probably. They’re experts at this sort of stuff, Jen. They know how to make an anonymous body be whomever they want it to be.”
I threw the pillow on the floor and paced the room. In the edge of my vision, I saw his head move back and forth with me, like a spectator in a tennis match. Mine felt horrible, pressed with emotion, lack of sleep, and worry. “I need some aspirin. My temples are splitting.”
“Here.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small, plastic pill bottle. He tossed it to me. “Catch.”
I reached and missed. It rolled across the floor.
“Oops, sorry.” His smirk reappeared.
I shrugged. Don’t let him raise your blood pressure. I slapped a quick grin across my lips and cocked my head. “My fault. My eye-hand coordination always sucked.”
Tom reached to retrieve the bottle. “I know. Robert said he gave up trying to teach you tennis. He loved that sport.”
Now he’d pushed my buttons. My red-headed personality tingled. I slammed my good foot onto the concrete. My fists jammed into my thighs. “Stop it.”
“What?” He scrunched his shoulders.
“Stop talking about Robert.” I gulped back tearless anger. Either my tear ducts were tired of producing them, or maybe I was dehydrated.
He bowed his head, and the little boy act resurfaced. “If you say so. But it’s kinda hard to explain this without mentioning his name. This was all his idea. He sensed he’d put you in danger.” He handed me the aspirin.
“Really?” I raised one hand to my eyes and pushed the hurt away once again. Control, Jen. Don’t appear so vulnerable. It’s what he wants. He’s egging you on.
I shook the pillbox. “Do I get water for these?”
He snapped his fingers. “Right. Back in a few.”
I waggled my neck and felt the tension pop. Better. Then, my eyes widened once again as I watched Tom press his hand to the door. It magically opened, as in a Sci-Fi or spy movie.
Tom turned his head back to me. “Don’t go anywhere now.” Then, he winked again.
My blood simmered.
To prove my aim was better than he thought, I threw the pillow at him. But by the time my projectile reached the door, it had already sealed shut again. Rats.
Through the dim wire-caged light above me, I watched the throw cushion slap against the steel and slide listlessly to the floor. At least he’d left the light on this time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He never came back. A shake of the bottle told me he’d only given me two. Guess he didn’t want me to O.D. and end up being a body “they” could disguise for someone else. Whatever.
I downed the pills with what little saliva I could muster. I sat on the floor, my back against the couch and stared at the soft, grayish light emitting from the bare bulb over the door. At least I could see the walls caving in on me. Thank God for small favors.
Over the next few hours I sang every hymn I knew, then Beatles songs. I’d regressed to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” by the time the door slid open. I squinted into the dingy yellow beam of light that brightened the room and tapped my arm where my watch once was. Where was it anyway? Probably it’d been strewn across the road with my other stuff. More proof.
“Sorry. Something came up I had to take care of.” He walked toward me. “Having fun, yet?”
“Oh, all kicks and giggles.” I wiggled to sit straight and threw my shoulders back in defiance. Chin up, show him strength.
Tom seemed unimpressed. He slid down onto the floor next to me. “I’ve gotten permission to fill you in on a bit more of what’s going down.”
He’d changed into khaki pants with a black T-shirt stretched across his chest, dangling loose at the waist. His upper chest muscles rippled underneath the cotton. He handed me a waxed paper cup with a domed lid. A bright yellow and white striped straw stuck out of the top. “Here, better than water. It’s a low-cal almond milk, banana and strawberry smoothie, no whipped cream.”
“From the Yogurt Tree?”
“Yep. That’s what you usually order from them, right?” He dangled it carrot-like in front of me.
“How—?” I reached for it.
He winked with satisfaction and slowly lowered the cup. I snatched it and sucked down the cold liquid, savoring the sensation as it slid down my throat and coated my stomach. Pure heaven.
He then rattled a sack. “And, ta-dah. Smoked turkey with Munster on rye, extra romaine, no onions, with low-fat mayo.” He peeked inside the paper bag. “Oh, and sea salt pita chips.”
How did he know? A chill equal to the second swallow of smoothie raced down the back of my head. He had been studying me that closely. Oh, my God.
�
��Yes, I have been. Part of the assignment. A rather nice part, I might add.” He gave me a quick grin.
I felt my eyes grow bigger. Had he read my thoughts again?
Tom wadded up the sack. “Never play poker, Jen. Your face reveals your thoughts before you open your mouth.” He scooted away to give me a bit more elbow space. “Besides, if I were you, that’s what I’d be thinking.” His voice changed to a higher pitch. “Oh, no. He’s been learning all about me.”
I shook off the embarrassment, chomped down on the sandwich, and tried my level best not to roll my eyes into the back of my head with delight. It tasted so wonderful.
He wiped a dollop of mayonnaise off the corner of my mouth. Then with a slight grunt, he hoisted himself, sauntered over to the chair, and straddled it again.
Did he do it to give himself a dominating appearance, or was he confident I’d not try to escape? Did he ever do anything spontaneously, or was every move calculated? Did I even know this guy who forty-eight hours ago set my teeth on edge? The wimpy-nerd routine had obviously been his mild-mannered Clark Kent act. Not that I’d go so far as to say this was Superman in front of me. No, he was more like Lex Luthor, the calculating, crazed nemesis of the caped superhero. Yet, in a way, he was so benevolent toward me, as if he sympathized with my situation.
I stared at the sandwich. “If you ordered this, then...”
“We must be close to work?” He leaned back and flexed his arm muscles. The T-shirt strained a bit more. “Good try. But no, not really. However, I did have to make an appearance today for a few hours. Everyone is teary-eyed over your demise, by the way. You were really liked...”
I stomped both feet hard onto the concrete floor and ignored the pain as it shot into one heel. “Stop it. Stop it, now.” I threw the sandwich onto the wrapper.
It’s all a lie. I’m alive. I had to get out of there and tell the world none of it was true. As if from nowhere, an idea slammed into my mind. If I let him see me as vulnerable, then maybe he’d drop his guard. I buried my head between my knees, my hands grasping the back of my head, and whimpered out loud. Maybe being a blubbering female would pluck at his heart strings and bring him closer like it had before.
Hush in the Storm Page 5