by Ragan, T. R.
“What do you mean?”
“How can you forget you’re fat if someone keeps reminding you that you are?”
“That’s a good question. Did Andrea tell her sister she was fat?”
“Not straight out, but yes, in her own little condescending way she did. That woman would come by all of the time. Andrea Kramer treated us all as if we were beneath her, always making sure to point out her fancy car and expensive clothes. She thought she was all that. She would come in here three times a week just to see what Diane had brought for lunch. On her way here, Andrea would stop by the gym I just mentioned, and she would already know whether or not Diane had been a no-show that morning.”
“Sounds a little controlling.”
“A lot controlling. I would have run away too.”
“So you think Diane ran away?”
Lena fiddled with the beads on her necklace as she thought about the question. “I did at first. But after a month passed by, and another, and Diane hadn’t called to see how her kids were doing, I knew something very bad had happened.”
“Do you know anything about the online group Lori talked about?”
She nodded. “Diane talked about the group all of the time...even tried to get me to join.” Lena Ruiz turned about and went back to her desk where she shuffled through her rolodex. By the time she returned, Lizzy had safely removed the mini hard drive and tucked it inside her purse.
“Here you go,” Lena said. “The group was called the Weight Watcher Warriors.”
“You look great,” Lizzy told her, “but is there any particular reason why you didn’t join?”
Lena shrugged. “Not my thing. I design jewelry in my spare time. I also do a lot of hiking to stay in shape. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone knowing my weight and telling me what to eat.”
“I hear you.” Lizzy smiled and held up the card Lena had given her. “Thanks for the help.”
“Not a problem. If you think of more questions or you need any custom-made jewelry, my number’s on the card.”
Chapter 13
Burning Man
For too many hours, Hayley and Jessica had been searching the Internet. Hayley sat at Lizzy’s desk across the room from Jessica. Hayley typed a few keywords on the computer keypad and watched the computer screen turn black. “This is ass-wipe stupid.”
Jessica didn’t look away from her computer screen. “Why? What’s the problem?”
“Knowing Spiderman is dead has caused Lizzy to lose her edge.”
Jessica cocked her head in the same way a dog might angle its head if someone mentioned the word “walk” or “treat.” Hayley wasn’t sure how she felt about Jessica. She was a nice enough girl, it seemed, but she could be a little dense at times. Like now.
“The old Lizzy,” Hayley explained, “wouldn’t have bothered with the fucking Internet to find the info she needed. She would have hit the pavement instead.”
“Do you really have to curse so much? And are you serious when you use terms like ‘hit the pavement?’ This isn’t a movie or one of those weekly cop shows. Policemen and women, and investigators like Lizzy, don’t need to ‘hit the pavement’ now that so much information is at their fingertips. It’s not stupid. It’s life in the modern world. Pretty soon they won’t need to chase after criminals in high-speed chases either. The police will tag a car with a laser-guided GPS tracking system. Once the transmitter is attached to the fleeing car, the police can track the suspect over a wireless network, then hang back and let the crook believe he’s outrun them.”
Hayley tried not to roll her eyes. She wanted to remind Jessica of the last time Jessica was in a high speed chase. Where was the cool little transmitter then? “So how do they catch the guy using the transmitter?”
“Thinking he’s lost the police, the crook eventually pulls over and gets out of his car. The officers know exactly where he is and they nab him.”
“Technology definitely serves a purpose,” Hayley said. “But at some point, somebody needs to get their ass out on the street and use physical force to get the bad guys. That’s all I’m sayin’. Let’s go.”
Once again, Jessica looked at her as if she’d lost all sense.
Hayley was already at the door. “If you don’t want to come with me, can you at least lend me your car?”
“You’re not thinking about paying Johnson a visit are you?”
“Oh, good,” Hayley said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. “For a minute there I thought we might be on different pages.”
Jessica’s shoulders drooped. “So you are planning on visiting Johnson,” she stated more than asked. “Didn’t you hear a word Lizzy said? She asked you very nicely to stay put. If you make trouble, sooner or later, somebody is going to sue Lizzy. She could lose everything.”
Hayley looked around at the dingy carpet and two pitiful excuses for desks.
“You know what I mean. Lizzy is trying her darndest to move on. She’s been through a lot this past year. If she didn’t have her work...and this place...she’d be lost.”
“Okay, fine. I get it. I’ll walk.”
“You’re still going to visit Theodore Johnson?”
“Of course I am. Nobody is going to sue Lizzy if I talk to Johnson. Don’t you get it? Ruth Fullerton is dying. This isn’t pretend dying. She’ll be lucky if she lasts three weeks, let alone three months. For more than two decades Ruth Fullerton has been wondering what happened to her daughter. Johnson might have seen Carol Fullerton on the day she went missing. The cops never paid any attention to the man because he had a prior record. Do you have any idea how many people out there have prior records? Too many,” Hayley said, answering her own question. “There’s no way Johnson would have contacted the police if he was involved. I am not going to allow Ruth Fullerton to die without knowing what happened to her daughter.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“I don’t have to know her to want to help her. And you,” Hayley said with more venom in her voice than intended, “more than anyone, should know how excruciating it is to go on living when you have no idea what has happened to a loved one.” For years, Jessica hadn’t known what happened to her sister until her body was found in Spiderman’s backyard, one of many of the serial killer’s victims.
Hayley couldn’t tell what Jessica was thinking. She wasn’t an easy person to read. “I’m going to go talk to Johnson whether you lend me your car or not. Besides, he lives right around the block from Farrell’s house.”
Jessica didn’t respond.
“Farrell,” Hayley repeated. “The workers’ comp guy who hasn’t been mowing his lawn.”
“I know who Farrell is. You don’t have to get all snooty with me.”
Snooty? Let it go, Hayley inwardly scolded. It wasn’t Jessica’s fault that Hayley was feeling on edge. She hadn’t been getting much sleep lately and it wasn’t helping her mood. She opened the door and was instantly hit by a wave of stifling August heat. Before the door clicked shut behind her, she smiled when Jessica called out, telling her to wait up.
***
With zero traffic, Johnson’s house was less than twenty minutes from Lizzy’s office. Jessica figured if all went well, they would still have time to get back to the office before Lizzy returned. She made a right on Pine Street. A row of rundown one-story homes with little in the way of landscaping lined both sides of the street.
So far, the car ride had been devoid of conversation, which was a good thing since it would have been difficult to talk over the deafening roar of the Mustang’s engine. After driving over a divider and ruining the frame and axle of her Volkswagen van last winter, Jessica’s eighty-year-old neighbor, Billy Channel, had offered to sell her his 1987 Ford Mustang for five hundred dollars. Although the vehicle had well over a hundred thousand miles when she’d bought it a month ago, the engine had purred like a well-oiled machine when she’d taken it for a spin around the neighborhood. Innocent looking William Channel, Billy to his so-called friends, might no
t be as sweet as he looked. She planned to have a talk with him and hopefully get her money back.
Hayley pointed to a one-story house on their left. “That’s Eric Farrell’s place,” she said loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine.
The pale blue painted stucco on Farrell’s house was chipping and the stained cement walkway leading to the front entry was cracked beyond repair. The house looked abandoned. Curtains were drawn and the garage was shut. Not one car was parked in front of the house.
Jessica’s window was down.
If not for the kids playing in the front yard two houses down, she would have thought she was driving through a ghost town.
“Watch out!” Hayley shouted.
Jessica slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed; the engine coughed and then died right there in the middle of the road as a black Labrador ran off with its tail between its legs.
The kids up ahead were quiet now. The oldest boy in the group gathered the smaller kids together. He shook his head at Jessica as if she’d purposely set out to try and kill the dog and ruin their day. “Maybe they should keep their dog on a leash.”
Hayley sighed.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. If you hadn’t pointed to Farrell’s house, my eyes would have remained on the road in front of me.”
“I was just letting you know where Farrell’s house was. I didn’t know you were going to stare out the window for five minutes.”
“What is your problem?” Jessica asked.
“I don’t have a problem.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“Fine.”
Jessica turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. “Damn.”
“Sounds like the alternator.”
“It’s happened before. I need to give it a few minutes before I try to start it again.”
“Put the car in neutral and I’ll push you to the side of the road.”
Before Jessica could protest, Hayley jumped out of the car and began to push. Hayley was stronger than she looked.
By the time Jessica put the car in park, the kids were already playing again, oblivious to their car problems. The dog was nowhere to be seen.
Hayley poked her head inside the open passenger window. “Looks like Farrell is home.”
Jessica turned toward the pale blue house. Sure enough, somebody was peeking through the curtains. “That’s creepy.”
“Yeah,” Hayley agreed. “I’m going to walk to Johnson’s house. It’s right around the corner.”
Jessica looked back at Farrell’s house. “Wait for me.” She grabbed a notebook and pen from the backseat and shoved it inside her purse. After rolling up the windows and locking the car, she took brisk strides to catch up to Hayley.
Hayley, she thought, had proven to be one tough chick six months ago when she’d used herself as bait and purposely let Spiderman catch her. Although Hayley had lost her pinky finger in the deal, according to Lizzy, Hayley looked at life a little differently now. Apparently, Hayley planned to change her ways and make something of herself.
But there was something about Hayley Hansen that made Jessica nervous. And it had nothing to do with the new snake tattoo she had carved onto the back of her neck: a thick coiled snake with a skull for a head, complete with long slithering tongue coming out of its skeletal jaw. No, the tattoo was sort of cool in its own freaky way. It was the dark empty look in Hayley’s eyes that worried Jessica most.
Hayley looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming, or not?”
Chapter 14
You Can’t Have Cake and Eat it Too
Sierra Mountains, Day 30
Vivian woke, her head spinning as she looked around. It took her a moment to make out the numbers on the clock.
2:30. Not am, but pm.
Sunlight filtered in through the tiny space between the curtains.
Had she really slept until 2:30 in the afternoon? She couldn’t remember ever sleeping that late before. Yesterday she slept in until one 1:00 in the afternoon. The day before that it was twelve noon before she opened her eyes.
She looked at the calendar.
Today was her thirtieth day in this hellhole.
Thirty days.
What had she gotten herself into?
The first week here she’d been beyond terrified by her predicament. By the end of her second week, she was no longer scared; she was livid. And now, one month after being abandoned in this tiny mountain cabin, not counting one quick visit by Melbourne’s assistant, she felt something else entirely. Determination. She wanted two things: answers and freedom.
Where was Melbourne anyhow?
Did anyone besides Melbourne and his assistant know that she was here? The thought caused her heart to beat double time.
And where the hell was Diane? Diane was the reason she was here. She’d met Diane Kramer when she joined the Weight Watcher’s Warriors online group. She and Diane had an instant connection. They also had the same weakness for cupcakes with sprinkles. Cupcakes were their drug of choice. Although they both cheered on the other warriors in their group, it wasn’t long before she and Diane were emailing one another on the sly. They both knew in their heart of hearts that the whole losing weight thing was sort of hopeless, and yet neither of them had ever straight out said as much.
They both weighed over 250 pounds. Actually Vivian had recently hit 300. She had Diane beat by 45 pounds. They both came from a family of obesity and they both had one skinny family member who liked to rub their extra poundage in their faces. Diane had her sister to deal with while Vivian had her mother watching her every move, at least until Vivian had moved to California to get away from her.
Unlike Vivian, Diane didn’t see her sister for what she was: an egotistical, controlling, and judgmental bitch.
Diane honestly believed that her sister cared about her and wanted her to lose weight so she could go on to live a long healthy life. Baloney. Once she lost 100 pounds, Diane’s sister promised her that life would be grand. Everything around her would start coming up roses.
What a bowl of crap.
Problems didn’t melt away with fat.
But Diane could be stubborn, and when it came to her sister, Diane was flat-out blind.
Vivian slid off the bed. As she made her way into the bathroom, she realized her knees weren’t bothering her. She lifted a leg, testing it out, surprised that she felt hardly any pain at all.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and then glanced at the scale on the bathroom floor. She raised an arm and purposely made her fat jiggle. Then she raised a leg about six inches off the ground and jiggled the extra flesh there too.
Nothing had changed. Melbourne had left enough temptations to keep three people her size well fed for months.
No reason to bother weighing herself.
She shivered as she made her way to the kitchen. It was freezing in here, but there was no way she was getting on that treadmill. Hell would have to freeze over before she would do one sit-up. Melbourne said he’d visit on a regular basis, but in the thirty days she’d been here, she had yet to see his face. His assistant, Jane, had made an unexpected appearance after one week, but the woman had been brainwashed by Melbourne, Vivian figured, because she completely ignored Vivian’s pleas to be released. Apparently she had come to make sure Vivian was eating right.
But the visit seemed odd.
Jane never once checked her weight or even glanced in her logbook. Jane even tried to get into the bedroom that Melbourne kept locked, but she couldn’t find the right key and she’d been clearly frustrated. Jane had left the cabin almost as quickly as she’d come.
The strangest part was that there was something familiar about Jane, but Vivian had yet to figure out where she might have met the woman before.
After taking a seat at the dining room table, Vivian grabbed the serrated knife she’d left sitting there day after day. Once she had her right ankle proppe
d on her left knee, she got to work, using the knife to saw back and forth across the metal cuff around her ankle.
It only took fifteen minutes of sawing before her wrist grew tired. She examined her work. She’d been sawing the cuff for weeks and yet hardly a dent had been made. How was she going to get out of here?
She looked from the knife to her ankle and touched the blade to her flesh. Movies had been made about people cutting off limbs to survive. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed the blade down and slid the blade toward her. Ouch! She opened her eyes and looked at her ankle. She’d hardly drawn blood.
Maybe tomorrow, she thought as she set the knife on the table.
The milk was long gone and the eggs had probably gone bad. There was powdered milk, but that sounded so gross.
Her sole purpose in signing up for Melbourne’s secret torture chamber had been to find Diane. But she had yet to find a single clue as to whether Diane had ever been here.
Where are you, Diane?
Vivian had called the police a few weeks after Diane went missing. The police argued that she and Diane hadn’t known one another long enough. Nobody, the sergeant said, could truly know what was going through Diane’s head when she decided to run away, certainly not her new online friend.
Feeling defeated, Vivian stood and walked to the kitchen sink. Outside the window, she saw a momma deer and its fawn. Peaceful. Happy. Not a scene she could relate to. Her childhood had been one long and crazy fighting match. And her adult life had been a lonely food fest.
In a weird way, food had become her best friend.
She didn’t like when people blamed others for their problems...or for their weight. But way down deep, she blamed her mother for everything, absolutely everything.
Leaving the deer to their happy peaceful lives, Vivian began to open the kitchen drawers, one at a time. Opening the drawers had become her morning, or should she say, afternoon ritual.
The first drawer was filled with silverware. After pulling every fork, spoon, and knife from the plastic container, she examined each utensil closely. When that was done, she peered into the dark recesses of the space where the drawer belonged. Reaching her hand deep inside, she brushed her fingertips over the wood structure, hoping beyond hope that if Diane had been here, she’d left a note.