Daddy's Home

by A. K. Alexander

  “I say we get you off to bed. Okay?”

  Holly tucked Chloe in bed and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. Exhaustion overcame her shortly after Chloe fell asleep, and she headed off to her own room. She picked up a book and tried to read, but sleep and mixed dreams took over, dreams of butterflies, Brendan, and then horribly turning into a nightmare of fires, Jack, and a faceless killer.

  Asleep for quite a few hours, Holly woke hearing cries from the other room. What was it? She rubbed her eyes and looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. It read 2:30 a.m. She heard the crying again, moaning really. Chloe. It’s Chloe. Holly whipped back the covers and jumped out of bed. “Chloe! Chloe, honey what is it?” She heard the desperation in her voice. Chloe didn’t answer.

  Holly turned the corner in the hall and flung open Chloe’s door. She ran to her side. “Baby?”

  “Mommy?” she cried. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Holly felt her forehead. “You’re burning up,” she whispered more to herself than to her daughter. Holly had been a mother long enough to know that this wasn’t a low-grade fever. She wrapped Chloe up in her blanket. “We need to go see the doctor, okay?”

  “No, Mom. I don’t want to,” she whined.

  Holly paid no attention to her protests. She took the thermometer out of the bathroom medicine cabinet. “Here put this under your tongue.”

  Chloe obeyed and opened wide. Holly laid her back down on her bed. “Hang on. Don’t let it out from under your tongue.” Chloe nodded. Holly kissed her flaming forehead. She went back into the bathroom and fumbled around for the Children’s Tylenol, found it and took it back to Chloe. She checked the thermometer. It read 105. Jesus Christ. “Oh yes, we have to go see the doctor. Here, take these, honey.” Holly gave her two of the chewable tablets. Chloe lethargically chewed them. Holly picked her up again and, slipping her feet into her Keds, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, hoping Chloe could get some down. She then searched for Chloe’s favorite stuffed animal—a dolphin she’d bought at Sea World the year before.

  Moments later they were speeding out the Interstate 8 East, and then up the 163 North. There was little traffic, and Holly made it to Children’s Hospital in a record time of seven minutes.

  She dashed through the doors and made her way to the man sitting behind the reception desk. Looking up, he asked, “May I help you?”

  “Yes, she’s running a temperature of 105.”

  “Follow me.” He led them to the emergency area where a nurse quickly appeared and pulled the cubicle curtains closed as she stepped inside with them. The man smiled at her and left.

  Within minutes, blood had been drawn from Chloe, who was screaming in fear and probably pain.

  The ER doc arrived and after a brief examination, said, “Listen, without any symptoms other than the fever, my guess is that she has a UTI.”

  “A urinary tract infection,” Holly said.

  “That’s my suspicion.” The doctor, who was younger than Holly (she hated admitting that she didn’t quite feel comfortable with that), sat at the edge of Chloe’s ER gurney. Her lip jutted out. She was definitely not a happy little girl, but after forty minutes of testing and a question-and-answer session, along with the Tylenol she’d taken at home, her fever had dipped slightly. However, the doctor seemed concerned that it had not gone down enough and that Chloe wasn’t showing any other symptoms.

  As he returned from checking on the blood lab reports, he smiled at her, said, “Hi, I’m back.” Taking a bright pink marker from his coat pocket, he drew a smiley face on her hand.

  “No more needles,” Chloe said.

  The doctor didn’t answer her right away. “Are you having a hard time going to the bathroom?”

  Chloe looked at her mom. Holly said, “Honey, tell us if you are. It’s important.”

  “Yes,” she said shyly. “I can’t go pee pee and it hurts.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Holly asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, here’s what we need to do. We have to run one more test and see if there is anything wrong in what’s called your bladder,” the doctor said.

  “Will it hurt?”

  The doctor sighed. “You know what kiddo, I’m not going to lie. It is going to feel a little uncomfortable. But you’re a very big girl, and you were great earlier with the needle.”

  Chloe started to whimper. Holly put her arm around her. By the time the nurse came back into the room, Chloe had herself pretty worked up. It took the doctor and two nurses to hold her down in order for the doctor to insert the catheter. Holly ached to scream, cry, yell, yank them away from her little girl.

  Instead she stood at her baby girl’s head and stroked her hair while tears streamed down Chloe’s face. “It hurts, Mama. It hurts,” she repeated over and over again in a wail.

  It felt like it took forever, although it was over rather quickly. Once the medical team left the room to test the sample for bacteria, Holly sat down and held Chloe in her arms, rocking her and cooing. “It’s all right, sweet girl. You’re going to be okay. Mommy is here. Mommy loves you.”

  Chloe was just falling asleep when the doctor came in to tell her that, yes, indeed, they had found that her child had a bladder infection.

  “We’ll give her a shot of antibiotics and some to take in liquid form over the next ten days. It’s vital that she take it all and on time. This infection is pretty bad, and if she skips any, it could get worse and possibly affect her kidneys. Also, no bubble baths. I’m assuming she may have gotten it from a bubble bath?” The doctor raised his eyebrows, looking directly at Holly. “Um, there’s no, hmm, how do I put this. I guess what I’m asking you is, is it possible there’s a need to be concerned about abuse here?”

  “What?” Holly was aghast. “Doctor, I’m a detective. My daughter and I live alone.”

  “Just a precaution.” He stepped away. “A bladder infection can be brought on by sexual intercourse or . . . Ah, some type of molestation. But I don’t see anything here that might indicate that.”

  “Is that the real reason you cathed her? Were you concerned she’d been sexually abused?” Holly lowered her voice, as Chloe started to stir awake.

  The doctor didn’t answer for a moment, but kept jotting down notes. He looked up from his clipboard and with a firm stare said, “You wouldn’t believe what I see working in here. I take all precautions to make sure the children who come through this ER on my shift haven’t been harmed in any way. I needed to cath your daughter to get a decent and accurate specimen. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I’m sure if you speak to your pediatrician tomorrow, which I recommend that you do, you’ll find that I’ve done everything by the book. Now please, as I’ve said in my instructions, it is vital she take all of the antibiotics. You should see her fever coming down within the hour. I’ll fill out your release papers and have the nurse take Chloe’s temp one more time after her shot, then you can take her home.”

  Holly watched him disappear around the corner. She was still in a state of shock. The implication that someone actually could have abused her child was insane. The only man she’d been around lately was Brendan, and she knew that he wouldn’t harm Chloe. She felt disgusted and dirty. Wait a minute, damn it. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She felt sick at the mere thought that some crazed person might have done that to her baby. She was more determined than ever to make sure Chloe was protected at all costs and at all times. She hated seeing her in so much pain and distress.

  An hour later, after more tears and pretty bad bedside manners from the doc and his crew, Holly walked out the door of the emergency room carrying Chloe and feeling every ache and pain possible to mankind in her muscles. As she did, she heard someone walk up beside her. It was the man from the front desk. She jumped even though the area was well lit. She’d been lost in thought and hadn’t heard his approach.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was on my break and saw you leaving.” He he
ld up a coke can.

  Holly nodded and hit the alarm button on her car, unlocking the door. She slid Chloe into the back seat and buckled her into her seatbelt, shutting the door. Turning around, she found the man still standing there. She wasn’t in the mood for this. Her conversation with the doctor had been irritation enough. She’d had all she could handle of feeling harassed for one night.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Nah. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  “She’s fine. Thanks.” Holly got into the driver’s side and started the engine. She didn’t feel like being congenial, even though she was sure the man was simply being nice. The doc had rubbed her the wrong way so much that at this late hour on so little sleep, she was feeling pretty bitchy. She should’ve been kinder.

  Fuck it. All she wanted was to get underneath the covers with her little girl and get some sleep. As she pulled around the u-shaped drive, she could see out of her side mirror that the receptionist was still standing outside. He seemed to be watching her. There’s something about him—weird. Oh, face it, I’m tired and overworked on this case and stressed to the max when I start thinking that a Children’s Hospital worker has some strange motive for asking me how my sick child is feeling. She switched the radio on to the classical music station and drove home, not giving another thought to the man she’d left standing in front of Children’s Hospital.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Darla Monroe rolled over in the squeaky cot inside the shack where she was holed up in some fishing village, somewhere in Mexico. She was somewhere between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, not sure exactly where and not exactly caring. She was pretty deep into Mexico, but there were still a few “whities” around this place, and if they saw her, and if luck wasn’t on her side, they might talk when they got home. Someone smart enough might put two and two together and come to hunt her down.

  What she really wanted was to have Gunter with her. It was all she ever wanted, and she would do anything to make him happy, keep him happy, and help him get whatever he wanted. She understood why she couldn’t be his wife—sure she did. It was a matter of politics and blood really, right?

  Whatever. She reached for the bottle of tequila on a cardboard box next to the uncomfortable bed. She noticed the black strands of hair that fell across her shoulders and remembered coloring it last night down in the river only yards away from her hut. She took a huge slug of the tequila. Ooh, that had quite a bite. At least it was expensive tequila—Agave, the real stuff. But she could pay for it, she had the money. She’d put a bullet right through that perverted mother fuckin’ James, right in the head, and took all the cash. Some of it, anyway. Enough to live really good down here in what was kind of a paradise, depending on how you looked at it. And right now it was looking pretty damn close to Nirvana. It was just that Gunter wasn’t here with her. She knew he would not, or could not, ever be happy with her. But Darla still ached for him, wanting to ease his pain, knowing exactly what it felt like—enmeshed in him. That’s what they were with one another, enmeshed. He just didn’t see it that way and only referred to her as his whore, his broad, his slut, his sister. Sometimes she was one woman, and then she was the other when it suited him.

  Boy, did Darla Monroe have a story to tell. She had been seven when Gunter had been eleven. Her name was Jennifer back then. She still used that name occasionally. All her life, at least ever since she could remember, no one had ever been nice to her, except her brother Gunter. He loved her. Maybe her sister sort of did, too. But their sister was only four at the time, and what did she know? Darla rarely thought about where little Kimmy might be now. They’d all been spread out when they were sent into foster homes. Darla only could hope for the best for Kimmy.

  It was fate that had brought her and her brother Gunter—her lover—back together. How she loved him. She remembered his caresses and the way he took care of her when she was a little girl. At first it felt really, really wrong. But as they grew older, she knew that Gunter Drake was the only man she wanted. And then they were ripped apart when she was eleven. She really missed him.

  “I love you, sissy. I do. I always take care of you, don’t I? I’ll be a good daddy, just like our daddy,” he said to her one night after sneaking into her room.

  Their father had beaten their mother almost to a pulp that evening. Darla knew her mommy didn’t deserve the beating. So what if she’d overcooked the carrots? She was sorry, she really was. Darla knew it. But Gunter convinced her that it was Mommy’s fault. Maybe it was.

  “Daddy loves us, sissy. He does. He told me that he’s only trying to make Mom a better person. You’ll see. It will all be okay.” He slid his hand down inside her panties. She tingled between her legs. Her daddy had done the same thing to her. It was hard to know the difference now. She kind of knew it wasn’t right, but her daddy made her lie still and let him do it. Now she let Gunter do it to her, too.

  “Daddy says that we all have a place in life, sissy, and you’re lucky because you’ve found yours.”

  She’d been only nine at the time. He was thirteen. “I have?”

  “Yes. Your place is to be my whore.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” What she did know was that “whore” was a very, very ugly word. She’d heard her father call her mother that lots of times, and it always happened when he was being really mean to her.

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll show you.”

  And he had. Jennifer, now Darla, had become her brother’s whore, and she knew nothing else. Even though she wanted Gunter, she knew deep down that he did not want her the same way. Not with the same intensity.

  So she’d looked elsewhere for a while and joined up with William after meeting him at the porno awards out in Las Vegas. He was handsome, cool, and seemed to be respected in the industry. She’d made a few films for him and was feeling her way through it all. He asked her out. She gave him a blowjob underneath a table inside a bar, and they started spending time together.

  Who would’ve thought that William James would fall for her? Well, he had. Juggling him and her brother hadn’t been easy, and when William found out about Gunter, he was not too happy.

  “You cheating, lying bitch. Who is this bastard you’re fucking?” he’d bellowed.

  “Listen, baby, you never said we were exclusive. I know you got your kiddie thing on the side. I also know you do some of the chicks coming through the dating service. I am not stupid. Blonde, but not stupid.”

  “What are you talking about?” He walked over to the mirror-backed bar in his Mission Hills home and made himself a gin and tonic and sucked it back. He lit a cigar, put it in the ashtray, and made himself another drink.

  She was used to this ritual and waited until he was finished. He needed to be nice and relaxed for this conversation. “You like kids. The jig is up, babe. But, hey, we’ve all got our fetishes, and I’m not gonna blab your secret. However, if I want to have some fun when you’re not around, then I will.”

  William paced back and forth. Darla watched. She knew he didn’t like this, but she also knew that he couldn’t give her up. She was as much of an addiction for him as his other addictions. She would make this work to her advantage, because Darla had ideas about how William could be of use to her and how he could be of use to Gunter, too.

  Darla knew of Gunter’s need for the perfect family, and she wanted that for him. She even wanted it for herself. But her real hope was that he would never find one, and that he would come to see that they were meant to be together.

  She shot back another large shot of tequila. She had to get a hold of Gunter, make him realize how crazy this was and that their futures ought to be spent together. But how? Her cell phone wasn’t working here in bum fuck nowhere.

  She pulled herself out of bed, quickly dressed, and went down to the tiny shack that served coffee and eggs. In her broken Spanish, she asked where she might find a computer with internet service. The weathered old woman pouring the coffee looked
at her without a clue to what she was talking about.

  Darla stretched out her fingers and pretended she was typing. “Computador. Yo necesito una computador.”

  The old woman shook her head. She turned to leave but spotted a surfer who looked like he was from the States coming in for a cup of coffee. He glanced Darla’s way. She doubted that this dude was much into the news anyway, in case the cops were looking for her. The hell with it. “Hey, hon?”

  “Yo.”

  “Do you have any idea where I might find a computer down here? I need to write some e-mails.”

  “Well, chica, you’ve got about a three-hour drive, but if you head up north towards Puerto Vallarta you should find something. Most of the larger towns have internet café’s set up. They might be slow, and it could take some time to get your stuff on through. But that’s your best bet.”

  Not what she wanted to hear. She needed to avoid the larger cities. “Thanks.”

  Darla headed back to the shack that she’d paid five bucks for, shoved what little she had into her backpack, and readied herself for the three-hour road trip. She knew it was risky, but she had to reach Gunter. She needed to make him see, before it was too late for both of them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Karen Whitley stared at the photograph—the last remnant of an old life. She’d never understood why she hadn’t thrown it away, but maybe fate had intervened, maybe there was a reason she’d kept the photo for so long.

  Maybe somewhere inside, Karen had known that it would be useful one day, and now she crossed her fingers, hoping that it would be. She prayed it would get into the right hands and stop the evil going on. She wasn’t sure that the horrible crimes in San Diego were indeed from the same source of evil that she’d experienced for so long, but there was a sameness to them that couldn’t be denied. For that reason, all she would do was mail the picture. Nothing more. That was all. If it worked, then fate had played a part in it, and maybe (Please, God!) she could have a normal life, one where she wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder every minute of the day or keep her television on all night to drown out the night terrors so that she could finally sleep.