by Jeff Shelby
Megan checked the street, glancing in both directions. It was empty. She walked up the driveway and I went behind her, remaining a fair distance back. There was a gate to the left of the garage and she reached over and unlatched it. It swung open and I followed her through.
The backyard seemed darker than the street without the aid of random streetlights and dimly lit front porches, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The grass was longer in the backyard, perhaps having gone un-mowed for several months, but I realized immediately that we were walking in a path that had been trampled down. We came around the corner of the house to an empty covered patio. The blinds were pulled on the inside of the sliding glass doors.
Megan opened her phone and the screen glowed in the dark. She tapped several keys, then looked at me, saying nothing.
The jabs in my gut punched harder.
The blinds inside fluttered like a gust of wind blew through them. I saw a hand poke through them and the lock popped loudly in the quiet. I shuffled back a few steps. I thought I knew who was inside, but I wasn’t entirely certain and I wanted to be cautious. The hand disappeared and Megan slid open the door, looking at me.
“After you,” I said.
She didn’t argue and stepped through the door, pushing the blinds aside. I followed.
The interior was pitch black, save for a nightlight plugged into an outlet on the far wall. We were in a large rectangular living room that was empty except for a single small sofa.
She was sitting on the sofa.
“Hi Meredith,” I said.
SEVENTY-SIX
“You’ve been here the entire time?” I asked.
She was on one end of the sofa and I was on the other. Megan sat cross-legged on the floor. They refused to turn on the lights and my eyes were adjusting to the darkness with the help of the nightlight.
As far as I could tell, Meredith appeared fine. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt and she seemed a little tired, a little pale, but otherwise fine. She was nervous and had pushed herself into the far corner of the sofa, as if she could shoot out her feet and kick at me if she needed to.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice ragged.
“Why?”
“Because I knew no one would look here,” she said.
“Kind of a big gamble,” I said. “This is your official address.”
“You didn’t look here,” Megan said.
Hard to argue with that.
“So why are you here, Meredith?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t know where else to go,” she said.
“You aren’t dumb,” I said. “So you must know that your parents are going out of their minds.”
“My parents? Or my dad?” she asked, a knowing smirk on her face. “You don’t even know my parents.”
“I know a lot more than you think I do,” I said.
She raised a cynical eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you tell me what you know then?”
“You sure?” I asked. I glanced at Megan. “You care if she hears?”
The cynical eyebrow became an angry one. “Megan knows everything. And she is the only one I trust.”
Megan played with her shoelaces and remained silent.
I spent the next fifteen minutes laying out everything I had learned about her life over the previous three days, leaving out nothing. Chuck, the beating he took, the prostitution, her mother’s past, her boyfriend. I put it all on the table for her.
Meredith’s eyebrow went from angry and cynical to disbelieving, embarrassed and uncertain. By the time I finished, her hands were clasped together in her lap and she was staring at them.
Megan had not flinched so she apparently did know everything.
“That’s what I know,” I said. “But I need you to fill in the blanks. Why did you blame Chuck for beating you up?”
“He was an easy target,” Megan said.
“Megan, no offense, but shut up,” I said. “Thanks for bringing me here, but I want answers from Meredith. Not you.”
She went back to fiddling with her shoelaces.
“I knew people would take me seriously if I said it was him,” Meredith said. “Everyone knew we’d been spending time together, but he was new at school.” She paused and even in the dark, I could see tears in her eyes. “I felt horrible. I know that doesn’t make it better or right or whatever, but I felt horrible. But I didn’t have a choice.”
“You could’ve told the truth.”
She made a noise that was some combination of a laugh and a grunt. “Yeah, right. So easy to tell the truth.”
“It’s easier to ruin a coach you say you like?”
“I do like him,” she said, straining to keep her composure. “No one’s ever taken the time to help me like he did. No one.”
“But you did get angry with him when he gave you the ultimatum, right?” I pressed. “When he told you to get out of the hooking?”
“Yeah, but I was more relieved than anything,” she said. “He was giving me an out.”
“So what happened?”
“I got the shit kicked out of me,” she said, her voice full of anger and hurt. “I didn’t want him to tell my parents. I didn’t want to tell them, either, but I wasn’t going to make him do it for me.” An angry smile crept onto her face. “And part of me did kinda want to see my mother’s face when I told her.”
I didn’t respond.
“But when I tried to get out, I got the shit kicked out of me,” she said, the smile disappearing. “And I got scared.”
“Who beat you up?” I asked. “Was it Derek?”
She pressed herself further back in the sofa. “Derek thought he was controlling me, but he’s an idiot. I was never scared of him.”
“Derek said you wanted out.”
“I did. I wasn't sure I wanted to keep doing it. Yeah, the money was cool, but it was…I don't know. I thought I was just done.”
“But you didn't get out.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I didn't.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I can't tell you a lot of things.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t wanna die.”
It sounded melodramatic, but there was weight to her words. She believed what she was saying.
“I’m here to help you, Meredith,” I said. “I don’t think Megan would’ve brought me here if she didn’t think I was here to help you.”
But it was like a wall had come down. She wasn’t budging.
“So why did you come here?” I asked, trying to maintain some momentum in the conversation. “Why did you run away?”
“I needed to hide,” she finally said, wiping at her nose. “I was afraid.”
“You didn’t think your parents would be worried?” I asked. “Your friends?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I knew they’d be worried. And I’m sorry, okay? But I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
Again, it sounded overly dramatic, but there was sincerity in her words. I wasn’t sure if she was accurately describing her situation, but she believed what she was saying.
“Why did you get into this Meredith?” I asked, trying a different path. “Why the prostitution?”
She wiped at her nose, then her eyes and looked away. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “This isn’t something you get into without knowing why. I don’t believe that for a second. Maybe it doesn’t feel now like you knew what you were doing. But you did.”
She sniffed and wiped harder at her eyes. “Because I was stupid then, I guess. I didn’t say out loud ‘I want to be a hooker,’ okay? I was mad at my mom, I needed money and I was stupid.”
“You aren't stupid and no one does this just for money.”
“Some people do.”
“Well, I don't believe for a second that was your reason. Had to be something else.�
�
She stared into her own lap, her hands clasped tightly together. “I was tired of being perfect.”
“What?”
“Everything I did, I was perfect,” she said, slowly. “Everything. School. Basketball. Everything. And I got sick of it. Because God knows if I wasn't perfect, I would've heard about it.”
I didn't say anything.
“So I decided to take the pressure off. Myself. Screw up badly enough and then I would't have to worry about being perfect. No one would expect a thing from me. For sure, not perfection.”
“And you thought this was the best way to do that?”
A sneer crossed her face. “Or maybe the apple just doesn't fall far from the tree…”
I thought that was closer to a more honest assessment, that all of this was somehow tied to her relationship with her own mother. It didn't make perfect sense, but you could draw a line from her actions to what she'd learned about Olivia.
“You weren't worried about putting yourself in danger?” I asked.
“No.” Meredith threw up her hands. “I don’t know anymore, okay. It all made sense then. It doesn’t now. I get it. And I didn’t think it would end up like this.” She closed her eyes and her body shook as she sobbed quietly.
I doubted there was anything she could say to me that would make me understand and forcing her to explain herself wasn’t my responsibility. That was something she would have to work out with her parents.
“I’ll ask one more time,” I said after a minute. “Will you tell me who beat you up? Tell me who you were freelancing for?”
“It’s okay, Meredith,” Megan said. “I think you can trust him.”
Meredith thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m afraid.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Then we’ve got two choices. I can take you to the police or I can take you to your dad. You don’t have to tell me, but you’ll have to tell one of them eventually. I will take you to either place you want to go and I will get you there safely. But you aren’t staying here. I’m sorry. I promised your father I would find you. I have. So those are your two options. The police or your father.”
She looked at her friend.
“He’s right, Meredith,” Megan said. “You can’t stay here. It’s not safe. You have to trust him. It’s why I brought him here. I know you told me not to bring anyone, but I believe him. He’ll keep you safe.”
Meredith was staring at her lap now. “Okay. I wanna go home.”
I stood before she could put up any more of a fight. “Let’s go then.”
When she stood from the sofa, she seemed smaller, younger than when I’d seen her on the basketball court. There was no confidence, no command, like it had been ripped out of her. I didn’t know what all she was hiding, but that didn’t prevent me from feeling sorry for her.
She walked over to the kitchen and grabbed her backpack from the counter. Megan went to her and put her arm around her.
“It’s alright,” Megan said, squeezing her around the shoulders. “It’ll be alright.”
“Anything else you need?” I asked.
Meredith shook her head and we headed for the front door, the two of them in front of me, Megan still with her arm around her friend.
Megan looked back at me. “We’ll go straight to her house, right?”
“Yes. I promise.”
Megan nodded and smiled at her friend. “Good.”
I reached around them and opened the door.
And ran right into some familiar faces.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Kelly Rundles and Robert Stricker were blocking our path.
Kelly reached her hand out. “Meredith? Are you alright?”
Meredith shrank from her coach’s reach and backed into me. I guided her around to my side and she pressed into me, a shy toddler clinging to a parent.
I put an arm around her shoulders. “She’s fine.”
Megan took several steps back and was now on my other side. She wasn’t radiating the same fear that Meredith was, but her demeanor had changed and it wasn’t for the better.
Kelly’s eyes were fixed on Meredith. “Where have you been? Do your parents know you’re here?” She glanced at me. “Do they know?”
I was taken aback by Kelly’s concern because it was genuine. She seemed shocked to see Meredith and there was no anger, no animosity, no aggressiveness on Kelly’s part. After our half-time confrontation, I had pegged her as somehow being involved in the downward spiral that had become Meredith’s life. Now, looking at her face, I was fairly certain I was wrong.
“I’m taking Meredith home,” I said, my arm tightening around her shoulders. “We’re going to her home right now. Her parents know we’re on the way.”
To the girls’ credit, they didn’t blanch at my bluff.
Kelly hesitated, then stepped out of the way.
Robert Stricker did not move.
We locked eyes.
The situation crystallized for me.
And he produced a gun.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Stricker herded us back into the house.
Kelly Rundles’ face was the epitome of confusion. “What the hell is going on?”
He had the gun firmly aimed in my direction. By the way Meredith was clinging to me and the way Megan had taken up residence behind me, I had a pretty good idea.
“You follow us here?” I asked.
Stricker nodded.
Kelly looked from him to me. “He said you wanted us to follow you.” She looked back to him. “You said he wanted us to follow him, but that he didn’t want Megan to know.” She blinked and it seemed to dawn on her how strange that sounded. “What the hell are you doing with a gun?”
“You saw Megan and me in the hall,” I said. “Before the game.”
Stricker held the gun steady and nodded again.
“And when I wasn’t on the bench in the second half, you knew something was up,” I said.
The corner of his mouth flared up into something that on anyone else would’ve resembled the beginning of a smile. It was nothing more than an admission on him.
“What the fuck is going on?” Kelly asked, completely exasperated.
I nodded at Stricker. “Meet Meredith’s pimp.”
Kelly stared at me for a long moment then rotated her head toward Stricker. “What?”
“Vegas,” I said, as I processed the connection that I’d missed from the beginning. “You went to UNLV.”
The corner of his mouth flared again.
“You knew Olivia,” I said. “Before Jordan did, right?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You were the one who told Meredith about her mother,” I said.
Meredith’s hands clenched tighter to my midsection. I took that as confirmation that I was right.
“And I’m guessing you knew what Derek was running,” I continued. “Maybe you heard whispers in the hall, maybe Derek shot off his mouth, I don’t know. But you already knew she was in the game.”
Kelly was staring solely at Stricker now.
“She was pissed off at Derek and you pounced,” I said. “Offered her more money, made it sound better. Then when she wanted out you beat the crap out of her. And you told her to blame it on Chuck.”
There was no flare now on his mouth. Just a blank expression.
“There are details I can’t fill in but I don’t need ‘em,” I said. I shook my head. “I don’t need ‘em. Because I’m right, aren’t I?”
Stricker didn’t say anything.
But Meredith whispered “Yes.”
“He’s an asshole,” Megan said from behind me.
“Been called worse,” Stricker said, his voice low and unfamiliar as he spoke for the first time. “Been called a lot worse.”
“I’ll bet,” I said. I glanced at Kelly and recited the cell number Jon Jordan and I discovered in the phone records. “That number mean anything to you?”
She look
ed confused for a moment. “I think it's my old school phone.”
“School phone?”
“The school gave me a phone and I think that was the number. I lost it a couple months ago.”
I looked at Stricker. “You didn't lose it, Kelly.”
Stricker's mouth twitched again.
“I don't know what the hell you're talking about and none of this is making sense,” Kelly said. She moved her attention to Stricker. “Robert. Put the gun down.”
She had edged closer to us and further from him.
“Can’t do that, Kelly. Because we’ve got a problem here.”
“Don’t make the problem worse,” I said.
He chuckled. “This where you tell me we can all walk away friends?”
“No,” I said. “But you use that gun and this whole thing goes from bad to horrible.”
“Not sure there’s anywhere else to go,” he said.
“There’s always somewhere else to go,” I said. “Always.”
“That what you learned lookin’ for your kid?” he asked, smirking. “Some sort of feel-good bullshit about moving on? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“Bet your salary isn't the same at school as it was in the NFL, right?” I said.
He smiled an ugly smile. “Good guess.”
“So what was all this? Supplemental income?”
The ugly smile remained.
“Maybe you just liked being in charge? Missed that from your playing days?”
He stared at me.
“Or maybe you're just an asshole who likes hurting kids.”
I didn't expect him to answer and it didn't matter. There was nothing he could say to me that was going to justify his actions. Maybe he had them straight in his own mind, but it wouldn't make sense to me.
“Stricker, come on,” Kelly said. “This is insane.”
He pivoted and fired a single shot in her direction.
The noise was deafening in the house, but I heard Meredith scream. Or maybe it was Megan. I wasn’t sure. Kelly fell backward, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Her hands clutched the giant red circle spreading on her left shoulder. Her mouth was open but she didn’t say anything.