The thing was, Jessie had lost other girls to drugs, beginning with her good friend Rachel in Charleston. But Terri was the one most like her - the girl who ran away at the same age, who was learning guitar, who wrote songs. She had the most potential to not only survive, but to thrive. But what was bothering Jessie the most, what had really driven her into a deep, thoughtful stupor – was that Heather said the younger girl was dropped off at the drug house by a man in a blue overcoat, some ‘old’ rich guy who didn’t fit in the neighborhood, and whom Heather didn’t recognize. And Terri died the same way Rachel died, after a period of being clean, suddenly imploding from a small dose of cocaine. Coke had that effect on people – you could be clean for a while, but if you went back for just a little, it could rebound and destroy major systems in the body. It was a sinister, insidious killer. Jessie remembered Rachel’s overdose – eerily similar to Terri’s, according to Heather’s testimony. Both girls appeared lucid – they talked excessively, but were paranoid. When the vomiting started, it was too late. In the end, the level of toxicity in the body was too high for any hope of recovery. Seizures led to respiratory depression and subsequent failure.
Although fairly certain the man in the blue coat had to be a coincidence, just another deranged pimp out to seduce and hurt vulnerable young women, Jessie couldn’t shake the thought of her old nemesis, Deuce McCall, somehow choosing to reappear in her life. As Mack, the gentle Paint Jessie rode on their previous visit to the ranch, picked his way slowly along the narrow woodsy trail Josh had showed her months earlier, she had lots of time to think. She reached up and brushed a sharp branch out of her way and forced herself to remember McCall.
After appearing at their apartment in Charleston, McCall had indeed offered them all jobs. Sandy was the only one who refused to work for him. Both he and Jessie had unmistakably read the man’s aura and determined it was black as sin, but the offer he made Jessie was too good to be turned down. He offered her a gig as a singer and, as remorseful as she was about this baleful learning ground, she had to admit that she first learned to test audiences of any size in Deuce’s employ. It was there where Jessie first began to gauge what people wanted to hear, and when to throw in a ballad or play upbeat tunes that got them drinking and spending money on booze. Mostly, she enjoyed playing at Deuce’s upscale restaurant. There were perks likely meant to entice the girls, she remembered contemptuously, refinements that would trap them by showing them the good life so that they would please Deuce, and not want to leave. He gave them gourmet meals, expensive dresses, spa treatments, and vacations in exotic southern locales. All they had to do in return was pimp for him, and entice men with unlimited wallets into his establishment.
Deuce had used Rachel as a decoy, Jessie understood now. She also knew she herself had somehow become Deuce’s star attraction, the key to his increasing fortune. For even then, Jessie had the ‘it’ factor – the demeanor, the songs, the music, the girl-next-door apple pie appealing looks that brought in the guests and made the champagne flow.
Sandy recognized the underhanded, very much illegal manipulations of Deuce McCall from the start. So did Jessie, but the money was too good, and the opportunities to make real money playing music too appealing to relinquish, even after McCall began to overstep his boundaries with her. This was what they fought over, Jessie and her first love. And in the end, this is what tore them apart forever.
She remembered the day she’d first had to admit to Sandy that he was right, that there was something very, very wrong with her boss and his elite Charleston business. The day she first realized what he really hired his girls for was the day she also became aware that Rachel had succumbed to the evils of drugs forever, that her friend had climbed into an abyss from which she would not, could not return. It was the day Jessie turned eighteen, when Deuce called her into his office, purportedly to give her a birthday present. She had been working for him for a period of three months, and he had seduced her into thinking she was in control, that all of them were in control, that they could quit his employ whenever they so desired, that he was like any other boss.
Mack crunched noisily on his bit as they plodded upwards along the little trail, with Jessie so lost in thought and memory she barely realized she was on horseback. The horse seemed to sense its rider’s angst and confusion, or perhaps he was just happy to be out on the trail. At any rate, Mack led his bereaved rider safely on an uphill quest, as her mind led her to a dark and perilous place in her past.
That day, almost ten years ago now, Deuce had announced, from his oversized burnished red leather chair, that he was giving Jessie a birthday gift. Rachel was in the room, completely wasted, lounging in a short black cocktail dress on Deuce’s leather couch, watching them as she fought to keep her eyes open. For some reason Jessie could never quite completely fathom, her friend harbored an uneasy, nonsensical jealousy of Jessie when in Deuce’s company. Jessie figured it had something to do with Rachel’s own need for approval and love, twisted as it was, coming from a powerful man with ambitions of female ownership and dominance. So there she was, her friend and roommate, trying to sit half upright but so out of it under the influence of something sinister that Jessie fought the urge to retrieve her and take her home, despite the fact that this had become a common everyday occurrence. Dismayed again at her own lack of action and a real fear of this man whom Sandy warned was demonic and threatening, she stood rooted in her spot at the foot of his gargantuan glass desk, and waited to hear what he had to say as Rachel attempted to watch.
She remembered him tapping his pen on the glass before he spoke. Tap, tap, tap. It unnerved her even further as she stood there, feeling tiny and vulnerable under his domineering stare.
“I hear it’s your birthday, Jessie,” he said with a leer.
She nodded, afraid to trust her voice.
“Eighteen,” he said.
“Yes.” It came out as a whisper.
“Well, then.” He lifted himself up out of the big chair and strolled around the desk, stood before her, above her, as she pointed her toes inwards and looked down at the plush white carpet. “I suppose we should celebrate. This is a milestone birthday.”
He reached out and touched her cheek, gently pulling some loose hair back behind her ear. Little did Jessie know how he had thrilled at the touch of her, a touch he had longed for these last three months. But he’d had to wait. He’d had to earn her trust before he dared make any overtures towards her, for he saw Jessie as a frightened rabbit ready to hop away at a moment’s notice. If only she didn’t have the ever present boyfriend hanging around all the time. But Deuce saw cracks in that façade, and that was how he knew it was time to strike. He saw them fighting just yesterday, outside the club before Jessie went in to play. She would be accepting now, ready to rebel, and those were always the best women to ensnare into his web of deceit and entrapment, the rebellious ones, because they, unlike this pasty little drug addict here on his couch, Rachel, were the ones the wealthy immoral men enjoyed most. They were the ones with the fire inside, the girls who were harder to tame and thus were more of a challenge to break. In short, they offered more entertainment value. And it was time to include Jessie in that special little clique, only Deuce wasn’t sure he wanted to share her just yet. That would come later, after he had his own fun for a while first.
Jessie recoiled when he touched her, and she heard Rachel laugh.
“Oh, come on,” he whispered to her. “So many things I could teach you, if you’d let me.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured, still looking at the carpet and wondering how he kept it so white and pure.
“No, it’s not. It’s not okay, Jessie, my girl,” he said quietly, menacingly, tilting her chin up to force her to look at him. “You’ve enjoyed my food, my money, my clothes,” and he gestured to the little sequined number she had put on to wear at the club that night. “Now it’s my turn to get something from you. And since it’s your birthday, I know exactly what I want from you. And wai
t until you see what I can give you in return. You will come back for more. Mark my words.”
But that’s where he’d been wrong. After that night, Jessie hadn’t gone back to the club. What he did to her frightened Jessie, and what he threatened to do terrified her beyond belief. She had let him have his way that night, because she had long ago learned to turn herself off when men mercilessly took what they wanted, but she had enough fight left in her that she knew this was not something she would choose to include in her future. If this was what she had to do in order to share her music with others, then her music would remain private.
Wearily she lifted herself up and left his plush white carpet stained with blood that night, but that was his problem. Deuce McCall was a monster, one of the worst kind, a man who would use his position and power to control and hurt vulnerable young women, and she wanted nothing of him. Rachel had sat and watched the whole time he hurt her, and that was how Jessie also knew her friend was gone, lost in the fog and haze of drug addiction fueled by a deep, aching need for love, a love that in this case was as false as the excuse of a man who pretended to give it in food and dresses and shoes.
Rachel died that night, and Jessie heard from the girls at the club that he beat her first. She often wondered over the years if McCall hurt Rachel purposefully as some sort of punishment for Jessie’s refusal to participate in – or enjoy, of all things – his ‘gift’ for her.
For Deuce’s part, he never understood why Jessie didn’t want anything to do with him. Most of the women he recruited were eager participants – after all, they enjoyed sexual exploits as much as he did. But Jessie was different – maybe it was the boyfriend, but some of the other girls had that kind of baggage as well, and it was generally not a problem. The guys got the perks too – nice looking women with expensive clothes and manicured fingernails, not to mention the trips south. It was what Deuce had to do to keep them happy, and he was only too willing on occasion to include the men as well when necessary to keep the peace. But with Jessie and Sandy – well, neither were fans of his, which he easily discerned. But that was what made Jessie so appealing, he figured. She was the whole package, that one, and he wanted her more than he ever wanted any woman in his life. It would become a need, a hunger, a quest that would haunt him forever.
***
When Jessie and the Paint reached the diminutive hunter’s cabin nestled in the woods, she was exhausted from remembering those haunted last dark days in Charleston. She pushed them, and the man in the long blue overcoat, out of her mind and let the fog overcome her again as she numbly removed Mack’s saddle and settled the horse in the small fenced in lean-to. She dragged herself up a set of tattered wooden stairs and into the moonlit cabin, started a fire in the hearth, and then dragged her weary body over to a cot by a tiny window and fell into a troubled sleep. It was nine thirty, and she was drearily, bone-shatteringly, exhausted.
Back at La Casa, Dee was throwing a fit.
“It’s fine that she took my car,” she was saying to Charles. “I’m just not sure she’s in any shape to be driving it!”
By then, word had been officially received that Charlie would be flying over from Europe tomorrow, and Dee angrily acknowledged that she was upset over his decision to support their girl so late in the game. He hadn’t even called Jessie, not that she would open up to speak to him anyway, Dee thought. But now – Jessie was gone without a word of good-bye, and their mysterious girl was out there hurting, alone. She hoped Jessie just needed some time by herself, and that she would reappear when she’d had some time to recoup. She knew Charles felt the same, hopeful Jessie would return in short order, and that they could comfort her as any parents would, with hugs and comfort food.
Deirdre sent a hard look to Charles, pleading, her arms crossed. She didn’t have to speak, for he knew exactly what she was thinking – that normally, parents could likely predict their daughter’s actions. But in this case, as much as they liked to pretend, Jessie was not their daughter. For the almost eight years they had known her, she was still a hurt young girl with many secret demons that haunted her every day - her every move, every piece of music she wrote and sang, every part she played. They had no way of predicting which move she would make, where she would go, or when she would return. It was a painful place to be.
It was also a very long night, and although Jessie slept deeply in the cabin, nobody slept at the Keating home.
When dawn broke at five, spreading its tentacle hues of pinks and oranges into Deirdre’s serene and usually peaceful front room, lighting little rainbow fires here and there on her decorator’s favorite piece, the dreamy Louis XIV chaise, Dee made a decision. She picked up the phone and dialed Jonathon, who was already up brewing espresso on his stovetop.
“Jonathon,” she said, in a thin worn out voice. “I need Maggie’s phone number.”
He gave her the number but doubted she would get anywhere with Maggie. As far as he knew, his cast sometimes hung out on Friday nights at the fish and chips pub, but that was about it. No, if anyone knew where Jessie would be, Jonathon knew it would be Josh. Jonathon was a perceptive producer. Jessie had drifted somewhat comfortably into the knot of cast on the show, but it was still Josh who she spent most of her time with on set, and he had noticed.
Jonathon poured himself a perfect cuppa and dialed Josh’s cell.
***
It wasn’t readily apparent that Jessie had gone to the ranch in Langley. In fact, Josh didn’t take credit for finding Jessie in the end. Instead, he’d searched far and wide all morning, and half the afternoon, and was sitting in the bed of his pick-up under the frozen, peeling eyes at Benny’s ice cream stand, staring out at the roiling whitecaps on the Pacific Ocean, when a number he didn’t recognize popped up on his cell.
“Hey,” he said, bolting upright when he answered.
“Josh?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Freddie M. At the Holy Oh.”
Ahhhh, Josh thought. She’s in Langley. She’s ridden up to the cabin. He smacked himself on the forehead, upset he hadn’t thought of that.
“Freddie,” he said. “Why do I get the feeling you’re calling to tell me about a missing horse?”
“What if I was calling to tell you about a found BMW?” Freddie intoned dryly.
“As long as there is also a missing horse, then we’re on the same page,” Josh said, already climbing into the cab and slamming the door behind him.
“I take it there is also a missing girl.” Freddie had seen the headline in the Vancouver Sun. He knew about Terri’s death and the viral videos. He didn’t need to explain that to Josh.
Josh fired his engine. “Yeah,” he said.
“Should we be worried?” Freddie asked, after a slight pause.
With a hitch in his voice, Josh replied, “Nah. She just needs a little space.” He wished he felt as certain as he sounded.
“Okay, then.”
“It’s between us, okay, Freddie?”
“Sure. The horses don’t need the press. They’re happy enough with freedom under their feet.”
Josh grinned. That’s why he liked going out to the ranch. It was a slice of real life. No wonder Jessie had headed in that direction.
Then – “You’re sure, Josh?”
“Sure about what, Freddie?” But he knew what the older man was asking. “She’s okay. I’m sure.”
Beat. “How can you know?”
“Because she’s a survivor, Freddie. A fighter. And because she’s doing what I would do.”
“Okay then. Just get her as quick as you can, okay?” He paused. “I expect Mack’s getting hungry.”
In response, Josh gunned the engine and spun out of the parking lot. “I’m fifteen minutes away, Freddie. I’m hoping you’ve got a saddle and a restless horse nearby.”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to bring a lunch.”
As he hung up, Josh knew Freddie was right. By the time h
e got to the ranch and swung up into the saddle, he wouldn’t hit the cabin until after nightfall. If Jessie were still there, she’d be cold and hungry. He hoped that was all he could expect from finding her in that desolate location. He stopped quickly at a corner store and picked up some almonds, water, cheese and crackers, apples, and chocolate bars. He figured, as most men did, that if chocolate couldn’t solve all female maladies, then at least it was likely to smooth over some of the rougher wrinkles.
He reached the ranch at eight p.m., and was in the saddle and on the trail by eight-fifteen, with instructions for Freddie to call Charles and Deirdre to tell them they’d be back down at the barn by nine the next morning. He knew from Jonathon that the Keatings were planning to fly out to Oregon in the late morning for Terri’s funeral. The Drifters cast had been invited, as Jessie’s friends, and Josh was glad Jessie wouldn’t be going alone. Charlie didn’t count, even if he did arrive. Jessie’s fiancé had never been interested in her foundation, and hadn’t set foot in Mary Helen’s home for wayward girls. He would go ‘for show’, not to comfort Jessie. It was good Stephen, Sue-Lyn, Carter, he and Maggie were going. Jessie would need some real friends on this difficult journey.
Josh pointed Frisco, a moody, dancing palomino, up the trail. Together they were soon eclipsed by overlapping trees, and serenaded by chipmunks, birds, and other wildlife of the B.C. forest. Normally Josh would live for rides like this – the sound of the horse’s hooves plodding along, blue sky and the blissful tree’d canopy above – but today, he was fixated on one thing, and that was Jessie Wheeler. She hadn’t been heard from for more than a day – she had not even made contact with Charles and Dee. Perhaps she couldn’t - in this remote location it was doubtful a cell phone would work. But still – Josh fought the fear in the pit of his stomach and steered his horse up the hill at a quick pace. He found himself praying, which was something he often did when out in nature, but this time it was in earnest. Dear God, please let her be okay. Dear God, please let her be okay. Dear God, please let her be okay.
A Song For Josh, Drifters Book One Page 25