“And what if I’m not? What if I wait and something terrible has happened?”
Leland squints at me. “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you?”
I don’t bother answering that. Instead, I call Rashid.
“Is there a way you can ping a cell phone?” I ask.
“Depends on whose phone and what you need.”
I tell him the issue I’m facing.
“No problem. When we had her phone, I installed a few things and never took them off, just in case something happened later. Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back.”
Leland says, “Don’t be surprised if she’s at the mall.”
“She’s not. I know it. Don’t ask me how, I just do.” My gut tells me something is terribly wrong.
Rashid hits us back about fifteen minutes later. “She’s in Phoenix. Actually, she’s in an area north of Phoenix, a town called Black Canyon City.”
Why the fuck would she be there?
“Can you tell me anything else?”
“Yeah. She was at LAX so she must’ve flown. I’ll text you the location I have and if anything changes.”
“Thanks, Rashid.”
“Anytime.”
I drag my lower lip into my mouth as I chew on it. What the hell is up?
“Leland? Any ideas here?”
“Vacation?”
“Fuck no. We just talked and were supposed to meet today. Pull up Black Canyon City and see what it says.”
“It doesn’t say much. It’s sort of out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Get the plane ready. I’m flying to Phoenix.”
“You can’t just fly off to do what ... drag her back here. What if she doesn’t want to come back?”
He’s right. What if she left and isn’t coming back? But that’s ridiculous.
“Look, don’t ask me why, but I know something is wrong.” I place my fist over my stomach. “I feel it here. She’s in trouble, Leland, and if I don’t do something, this may not end well.”
Leland is already pulling his phone out and notifying the pilot. He knows me too well and realizes there is no dissuading me from this.
“The plane will be ready in an hour. Do you want me to come with you?”
“Yeah, but stay with the flight crew. I have a totally bad vibe about this.”
“You don’t look so good.”
“See you at the airport.”
I hurry home and throw some things in a duffel bag, including my Glock and an extra mag and ammunition ... just in case. I hope I’m not walking into the O.K. Corral, but I need to protect myself, as well as Midnight. I hope to fuck she’s okay. If anything’s happened to her, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.
Leland’s changed into jeans and hiking boots.
“You’re not going out there with me,” I say.
“You’re not going alone. I’ll stay in the car, but if something happens to you, you’ll need backup.”
Now’s not the time to argue. Pete lets us know we’re cleared for takeoff. During the flight, Rashid sends us a list of several places Midnight visited. They were a hospital, a cemetery, and a neighborhood in Phoenix. I wonder if this has anything to do with her upbringing. Maybe she came here for closure and she’s not in danger after all.
But then again, what if she is? All this time I’ve wasted because I couldn’t ... wouldn’t put my petty, absurd issues aside regarding her past. And who gives a shit that she even did it? She can’t take it back or change it, so why can’t I be the bigger man and go forward? She’s not that person today. We all make mistakes in life.
As I ponder these things, I know one thing: Midnight was right about me. I’m the one who needs fixing. I need to understand, to recognize, that not everyone is perfect and that some flaws are what make each person unique ... make them more beautiful.
The trip is short and it’s not too long before we land. We pick up our SUV rental and Leland books us rooms in a hotel, just in case, before we drive out to the location Rashid provided. Weaving our way through the little bit of traffic, my phone rings. Midnight.
As soon as I answer, I almost run off the fucking road. It’s not what she says, but it’s the way her voice shakes and the depth of her tone. I pull the car to the side so Leland can drive. I’m suddenly ice cold, even though the heat is on in the car. Why the fuck did she come out here alone?
Chapter 30
Velvet Summers—Ten Years Ago
When they tore me away from my mother’s arms as she begged them not to, I cried, screaming that I didn’t want to leave. A deep ache developed behind my breastbone. It lodged there and wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I rubbed and massaged it. The way her watery gaze dug into my own and her thin arms reached for me haunted me for nights on end. Without me to care for her, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be standing in this very spot.
The sun’s scorching heat beats down upon my back, though I couldn’t care less about the burning rays singeing my skin. Nor does the sweat trickling down my neck bother me. All I can focus on is that my mother died alone, with no one to hold her hand, no one to brush the hair from her forehead, and it was because of people like these. The ones who pretended to care, when all they wanted was the stupid blood money.
A seed was planted the day I left her. It took root. Those roots spread deep. It didn’t take much. No nourishment. Not even any attention. Just day-to-day living. That tiny seed festered and from it grew hate. Hate for the vile man who called himself my foster father.
The preacher says some dumb crap, things he probably feels obligated to say. It doesn’t matter. The only people at Mom’s funeral are the foster family and me. He drones on about Mom like he knew her. My mother was a hooker, a stripper, and a drug addict. She never stepped foot in any church that I am aware of. But she was my mother and did the best she could. She showed me love and cared for me the only way she knew how. I had a place to sleep, clothes to wear, food to eat, and even though none of it was great, it was a helluva lot better than what I have now. I may not have shown up for school every day, but life with her was a fucking bowl of cherries compared to this shit hole I’m currently living in.
When the preacher finishes speaking, my foster dad steers me out of the graveyard. I want to linger, to run my hands over Mom’s casket one more time. This goodbye is so final, so absolute, I don’t want it to be over this quickly. The vise around my heart clamps down so I turn to run back to her, to at least let her know how much I’ll always love her, that she was my number one. But that bastard clasps the back of my arm in a bruising pinch, leaving me with no choice but to stumble forward.
The hate flourishes. At night, when I’m alone, I lie in bed and devise all kinds of horrific deaths for him—a mutilating car accident, death by some terrible illness, or getting pulverized by an eighteen-wheeler. But sadly, none of those happen. He’s still here, alive and breathing, unlike Mom. I’d poison the fucker if I could get away with it. But life in prison doesn’t fire me up much. Nor does going to juvie, which he threatens me with all the time. I’m only biding my time. Four more years of hell—one thousand three hundred and thirty-nine days—until my eighteenth birthday. Freedom. That’s what it means to me.
We get in the car and drive home.
“Nothing more than she deserved,” the fucker snarls. “You do drugs, you die. Simple as that. Just remember, Velvet, if I ever catch you with any of that crap, you’ll regret it. Got that, miss?” I stare at the back of his greasy brown hair and want to smash his head in.
“Yes, sir.” There’s not a chance in this hell I’d do drugs. I’m sure he’d whip me within an inch of my life if he ever caught me, but that’s not the reason. I never want to end up like Mom.
Rusty, the son, sits next to me and sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye. He hates his own father as much as I do. He’s forced to watch as I receive routine beatings, meant to be warnings so he’ll stay in line. That’s what the sadistic creep says anyway.
I think he just likes to see me in pain. Rusty constantly mouths “I’m sorry” to me. But it’s not his fault. Foster Mom should do something other than pour liquor down her throat. But I guess she’s too afraid. She so scrawny, that asshole would probably beat her right along with me if she tried to intervene.
On my fifteenth birthday, I get a chocolate cake. The first cake ever. Seriously? It’s so fucking stupid I almost laugh. He beats the shit out of me to the point where I can hardly stand up straight because my ribs are probably fractured, and then turns around and gives me a fucking cake. I want to grind his face in it.
Rusty offers a pitiful smile as his mom cuts us all slices. When she hands me mine, I walk it straight to the trash, knowing it’ll earn me another beating.
But I’m wrong. It earns me something even worse. That night, Foster Dad slips into my room where he binds and gags me. That’s when shit turns real.
After he leaves, I throw up in the wastebasket. Good thing I didn’t bother with the stupid cake. Foster Mom doesn’t make me go to school the next day nor does she question the blood on my sheets. I stay huddled in my room all day. When I emerge the next morning for school, the pervert’s eyes roam my body and I just about puke again. Only I can’t because I haven’t eaten for a day. The light is slowly dying inside of me.
Rusty looks at me with questions in his eyes. I can’t answer him. He probably has an idea of what happened. The muffled screams coming from the room next to his weren’t the usual ones he’s used to.
My sixteenth birthday is less than stellar. They left out the cake this year. Rusty gives me a card though. Poor guy. It must be beyond disgusting knowing what a sick fuck your dad is. He has difficulty looking me in the eye anymore. This place is the house of fucking horrors. It’s been a year since FD, my name for Foster Daddy—only it’s really Fucking Daddy, in the literal sense too—started his nighttime visits. Every day I pray he’ll die, have a heart attack ... something. He doesn’t. The guy is strong as hell too.
One night, dear old FD takes me shopping, supposedly, only we end up at the house of one of his friends. Turns out to be a real treat for me. I’m forced to give his friend oral while FD does the nasty to me. My hatred festers as I think of more gruesome ways for him to die. Only I’m not a killer. I wish I were.
On the way home, he says, “You’ve been a good girl to me lately. I should get you something special.” Then he pulls off the road. His large hand clamps down on my thigh, just above the knee, and squeezes until I whimper. His fevered glare nails me as he says in a deadly tone, “If you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll kill you, Velvet, I swear I will. You understand me?”
I have no reason to doubt him. And I never so much as utter a word to anyone.
Right after I turn seventeen, I talk with Rusty at school one day.
“I can’t take it anymore. We need to run away, get out of there,” I whisper.
“How?” he asks, his body already trembling. “He’ll kill us if he catches us.”
“Then let’s not get caught. Besides, being dead is better than living like this.”
“Where would we go?”
“I don’t know. We could hide. I’ll figure something out.” The burn of tears threatens, but I push it back. “I can’t continue like this ... being constantly raped.” I grab Rusty’s arm and squeeze.
He flinches and tries to pull away, only I don’t let him.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t enough, Rusty. Your dad is a criminal.” My harsh words stun him. He knows what’s been happening, but there’s always been this silent ignorance about him.
“Then let’s go to the police,” he says.
“Oh, and do what? Get put into another foster home? No thanks. Once is enough for me.”
I walk away, leaving Rusty alone. At least now I know there’ll be no help from him. I should’ve done what he suggested and gone to the police then. It might’ve gone a lot better for me.
Five months before I turn eighteen, before I gain my coveted freedom, I realize my period’s late. It’s never late. My world stops. If I’m pregnant, he’ll kill me if he finds out. There’s no doubt he will. He’d never want that getting out. And it’s definitely his. He’s the only one who’s ever touched me. Yeah, he’s made me suck off his friends, but never have they done anything else. Only him. He’s kept that part of me all to himself. And boyfriends? Yeah, like I ever had an opportunity for that.
I have to escape. He takes us to school every morning, and Foster Mom picks us up every afternoon. We’re never allowed to have any friends over or go anywhere after school. He basically cuts us off from everything. My only option is when he drops us off at school. I’ll go inside, hang out, and then slip out another door, before they’re locked down for the day. I’ll lie and tell him I have to be at school early because I’m on some dumbass committee. Rusty won’t know, but he won’t say anything either. This has to work. I’ll stuff some clothes and other things I’ll need in my backpack, along with all the money I’ve squirreled away, which isn’t much.
Then I’ll find somewhere to hide. I’ve overheard kids at school talking about a place where homeless people live. Maybe I’ll make it there and get lost in the crowd. If I can manage it until I turn eighteen, I’ll be free then. After that, he can’t touch me.
It takes me about a week to build up the courage, but I go for it. I can’t wait any longer than that because he keeps track of my periods and I’ve lied about it. Turns out, it’s easier to break away than I thought. When I get to school, I hang out in the stairwell, and wait. Then, when kids are streaming in, I hit the street. FD is long gone, at work I imagine, and I am in the wind. My first stop is a Walmart close to school, where I buy hair bleach, a pregnancy test, and a baseball cap. Then I hit the restroom at a city park and do my worst.
When I walk out, I have short blond hair and know for sure I’m pregnant. Next, I find the closest Goodwill. I beg them to exchange all my clothes for some different ones.
“We’re not supposed to do that,” the young man says.
“Please. I, uh, I really need to. Badly.” I blink a few times, then add, “Besides, I’ll pick out cheaper-looking ones.”
“Okay, but don’t tell anyone I let you.”
“No worries on that.”
I scrounge through the store until I find something that looks completely unlike me. I also trade in my backpack for a different color one. Then I’m off and running again.
Four months. That’s all I need are four months. One hundred and twenty days. But now I need a job. After checking out a couple of cheap motels, I get up the courage to go in and apply to one. I’ve heard FD complain about how they hire illegals, so maybe they’ll hire me, seeing as I don’t have any ID.
When I go in, I ask to fill out an application.
“Here you go. What position are you interested in?”
Not knowing what else to say, I quickly blurt out, “Um, maid service?”
“Okay.”
I sit and do my best lying, making up the name Millie Drake. I pulled that one out of my ass.
When I hand in my application, a man comes out and calls me back.
“Do you have any ID?”
“No, sir.” I look him square in the eye.
“Hmm.”
Then I quickly add, “I don’t drive.”
He frowns. “What about a Social Security number?”
Fuck me.
“No, my mom died and never told me if I had one of those.”
“Were you born here?”
“Oh, yes, sir. In Phoenix.”
“Hmm.” He eyes me for a second. “Would you take cash for payment?”
Hell, yeah. “Uh, I guess.”
“We can only pay minimum wage.”
“That’s fine.”
This is way too easy. He starts rambling on about not being late and working hard, blah, blah, blah. If he had any idea of the situation I’ve been living in—hard work will be a
breeze in comparison.
“I’m not afraid of hard work, sir. I’ll be here bright and early. Will I need to get a uniform or something?”
“No, we’ll give you one in the morning.”
This may be perfect. Maybe I can even shower in one of the rooms I’ll be cleaning.
That night, I find a truck stop off the interstate—I’ll spend the night in the bathroom. I’m lucky until about four in the morning when I get kicked out by an employee.
“Please. I’m not looking for drugs and I’m not a hooker or anything. I just need a place to sleep.”
She narrows her eyes and says, “Get out. We don’t allow loitering or bums here.”
“I only want to stay a couple of hours or until it gets light.”
“Look, if you don’t get out, I’ll call the cops.”
That gets me sprinting for the door with my heart about to beat me to it. The last thing I need are the cops checking into my identity.
I sneak into the woods behind the place and hide until the sun comes up. Then I walk to work. The incident scared me something terrible, and hiding in the woods was just as bad, but I didn’t know where else to go.
The next night, I sleep in the motel. I end up staying there every night. I find an empty room each day, and pretend I’m leaving work. I have a master key, so once I’ve gotten some food, I come back after dark, and slip inside. That works great until one night while I’m there, someone checks in. It freaks the hell out of me and I beg them not to go to the front desk, but they do anyway.
In the morning, I have a ton of explaining to do. My boss turns out to be a nice guy though. Instead of firing me, he tells me of a place nearby where I can stay. A lot of the employees at the hotel live there.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asks.
“I was afraid to,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. This place is safe. A friend of mine runs it.”
It’s a big shelter with two rooms, one for men, and one for women. They are filled with cots for sleeping and then there is a dining area where they supply meals. There are separate showers for the men and women, and I’m told I can stay there indefinitely, as long as I pay the weekly fee.
Craving Midnight Page 20