by JB Skully
Finally, Jada burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Can I speak with you a moment, Max?” As the other four filed out the door, Jada first, head down, Dr. Scales held Max back with the question.
Max headed her off at the pass. “Maybe this wasn't the best time for me to join the group."
The doctor closed the door, turned and leaned against it with her hand still on the knob behind her. “Why? Because Jada had a breakthrough?"
Max knew her jaw dropped. “You call that a breakthrough?"
"She's never said how her feelings have been ignored by her family. She's certainly never cried before.
Jada had cried for the remainder of the hour. “Maybe that had something to do with the way you allowed the Sisters Grimm to treat her."
Prunella smiled softly. “Therapy is brutal. We're not here to be nice to each other. We're here to vent. Then once we've vented, to come to terms with our own guilt.” She tipped her head. “Maybe you're not ready for that, Max."
Since she wasn't truly in need of therapy, Max agreed totally. “It was still cruel."
"Yes. But Jada has been as equally cruel. She learned what it's like to be on the receiving end, and she didn't like it."
With Prunella blocking the door, the room had gotten decidedly chilly. Max straightened her jacket. “I don't think I like your methods, Doctor."
"No, I don't think you do.” Her hand left the doorknob. Still propped against the door, she crossed her arms. “Are you playing games, Max, as Jada accused?"
Max gave her a level look. “I've never been more serious in my life."
"I sense another agenda here. Why did you ask her if she'd killed her sister?"
"I wasn't the only one who suggested it,” Max defended.
"No. But you were the only who said it with such...” Prunella waved her hand in the air, searching for the word. “With such ... empathy ... as if you wouldn't have blamed her if she'd said yes."
"She didn't say she didn't do it, Dr. Scales."
Again, that gentle smile passed across Prunella's lips, as if she had to explain to a small child. “That wasn't a confession, Max. If you run to your cop friend with it, I won't confirm a word."
"I have no intention..."
Prunella raised her hand. “Please don't. I forgive your intrusion only because it precipitated Jada's reaction. She has a lot of guilt to process."
Max almost snorted. “That sounded a little more like jealousy than guilt."
"Jealousy and guilt are bred from fear. I believe after today, she can begin her real work. I suppose I should be indignant about what you did, but instead, I have to thank you for the help. Still, I think it's better if you don't come back to the group."
Max admitted nothing, simply agreed. “I won't be."
"However, when you're ready to discuss yourself on a one-to-one basis..."
She risked the truth now, lest Prunella get the wrong idea. “You were right, Doctor, that was a ruse. I'm sorry I used you that way."
"Your story sounded so good, Max. I believed every word.” Again, she tipped her head, a slightly challenging smile creasing her lips. “Why do you think that's so?"
"I'm a good actress."
"I think you aren't ready to even consider the real answer."
* * * *
Jesus, Max was glad to get out of there and into the sunshine. Her fingers were so cold, they'd shriveled.
She'd left in such haste, her thoughts whirling, that she'd missed a perfect opportunity to ask Prunella about Bud Traynor. After all, Dr. Scales had been his daughter's psychiatrist. Maybe she had some insight into the man's influence on the women in his life. Damn, damn and double damn.
It wasn't like Cameron not to be there to remind her either.
"I was there, my love."
She pulled her purse around to her middle and dug in the pocket for her keys. “So don't you think that would have been a pertinent question?"
"You need to start trusting yourself. If that was the place to ask, you would have remembered on your own."
"God, you're so mystical, I hate it.” After only a few seconds of searching, she pulled out the car keys triumphantly. “A missed opportunity is a missed opportunity."
"Ah, but there's always a second chance.” His voice faded away on the breeze as she turned down the aisle where she'd parked her car.
Her second chance leaned against the trunk of Max's car.
Jada's baggy, camel-colored sweatshirt hung like burlap on her tiny frame, her black leggings appeared painted on, and her knee caps stuck out like knobs on a door. Her figure fascinated Max, like one of those holocaust documentaries.
Max stopped three feet from her bumper, pushed her bag securely onto her shoulder, and crossed her arms over her chest.
Neither spoke for several long seconds. Max, anticipating another vitriolic outpouring, fully intended to wait Jada out.
The girl's stormy eyes had calmed, her face now devoid of expression, much the same as her body had been earlier.
"Thanks for sticking up for me in there."
They were certainly the least expected words. Like the others, Max had accused her of killing her sister.
"I know you didn't mean it about my killing Bethany."
Well, actually, Max had, but she let that go for the moment.
"I'm sorry I thought my mom sicced you on me."
Max waited a little longer, wondering what other gems Jada might come out with.
"You don't look anorexic.” Jada's gaze once again swept her from head to toe. Cameron snorted in her ear.
"Not from your vantage point,” Max agreed, then thought about the guilt Prunella Scales was sure consumed Jada Spring. “Did you really hate your sister?"
Jada chewed on the flesh just inside her lower lip, working it. Finally, “I hated that they loved her."
Max didn't ask who, she didn't want to lead. “Are you sure that wasn't your imagination?"
Unoffended, Jada laughed outright, a hollow sound, her cheeks sinking. “You've seen them, my mother, Uncle Bud.” Max's hackles rose at the mention; Jada didn't have a clue. “I'm like a non-entity in that house. Unless of course there's company and maid services are required. No, it's not my imagination.” She looked off to her right, squinting into the lowering sun. “Why don't you come for dinner and see for yourself?"
Max's blood rushed in her ears. “I don't think your mother would appreciate a guest on such short notice. Especially not when she's in...” Max purposely let the sentence trail off.
"In mourning?” Jada rotated her head, stretching her neck, the cartilage popping. “Tomorrow then. Will you come?"
"What about your sister's funeral?” Why was she fighting this? She should have jumped at the offer to see them all together, to witness all the nuances, to gather information, storing it for later use. Instead she could barely hear over the panic drumming inside her head.
"Funeral's on Sunday.” Two days away.
Max racked her brain for a plausible excuse. Just saying no wasn't good enough. She needed proper justification for shutting down yet another opportunity dropped in her lap. A perfect opportunity. An opportunity from heaven.
Jada looked Max straight in the eye. “Uncle Bud loves pretty women. He won't mind at all. Plus, my mother needs a new obsession."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
"Of course I said yes. I've got to figure what Jada's game is, don't I?"
"Maybe she needs a friend.” Cameron's voice didn't soothe Max's frazzled nerve endings.
She snorted. “Jada was always the one with the friends. It was Bethany who needed someone.” Distrust gnawed at Max's gut. Or was that Bethany's suspicion?
It didn't matter. There had never really been a question of refusing. She went where she was led, and she was being led to the Spring house like a lamb to the slaughter.
It was a tad past midnight. For dinner, she'd eaten two Whopper Juniors, a large fry, and a milkshake. When she'd
gotten home, cursing Bethany, she'd had to lie flat on the bed to ease her pants off. Bending over was impossible. She'd fallen asleep in her jacket, blouse and underwear, but woke early enough to be sure she was dressed in her thickest, longest sleep shirt, in case Witt decided to stop by again. This time she told herself there would be no explicit Ram scenarios and no explicit rag rug scenarios in the middle of the floor.
So far, Witt had left only a message, and the only thing it said was, “Call me. I'll leave my cell on. What were you and my mother doing at Virginia's? And why the hell did you say your name was Helen on the message?” Both were legitimate questions, of course, but the tone was intended to intimidate, and she wasn't easily intimidated. She'd give him a piece of her mind...
The phone rang. Witt wouldn't be stupid enough to call after midnight. She picked up, her, “Hi, this is Helen. What can I do for you tonight,” as automatic as breathing.
For the next two hours, Max lay in the dark and let herself be tied up, massaged, stripped, used, abused, pleasured, violated, adored, humiliated, and worshipped. It takes all kinds. But no Achilles. No one who might be Freddy either. His parents probably would have strung him up by his heels if they'd seen a 900 number on their phone bill.
She was getting tired, the nap having long since worn off. Phone sex had definitely gotten boring. How did the girls do it night after night? She had a mind to call one up herself and ask.
The phone rang again. One more call, then her shift would be over. Thank God. “Hi, this is Helen.” She was so tired, and she still felt sick from those...
"I thought about you all night, Helen."
Max would know the voice anywhere, the slight grate, the needy edge, the desperate desire.
"Achilles,” she said on the outbreath. “God, Achilles.” Again, clearly enunciated so that if Witt was listening, he would know this was the one. All traces of fatigue were wiped from her body and her mind. Bethany sizzled inside her, seeped into her voice. “Where have you been? Why didn't you call last night? I'm dying without you here to touch me."
"I've been thinking about you. But I wanted to wait for the right moment."
"Never make me wait."
"So impatient. Tonight, I'm going to make you so hot, you'll beg me to come to you wherever you are."
Yes, yes. If she could trick him into it, she would in a shot. “You know it's not allowed."
"Let's not fight. I've got a surprise."
"What?” She punctuated with a moan, heard an answering rasp in his breath.
"I want you to pretend you're a little girl.” She thought she heard him lick his lips. “My little girl."
Bugs crawled beneath the surface of her skin. Even Bethany, deep inside, recoiled. For very different reasons, they both did what Achilles asked. “I'm your little girl."
"Are you afraid of me, my love?"
Terrified. “Do you want me to be afraid?"
"Yes, oh yes. I like it when you're so scared, you almost wet your panties."
She curled into a little ball and clutched the phone to her ear. She moaned with fear. He heard it. His breathing quickened.
"You're hiding from me, aren't you?"
She closed her eyes. Her voice changed, higher, sweeter, almost childlike. “I'm in the closet. I always hide in the closet when you're mad."
"I know you're in there. I can't wait to punish you. You know how Daddy wants to punish his little girl."
She wanted to cover her ears, pull the pillow over her head, and pretend she was anywhere but here. Or hiding in the closet. She prayed they'd trace the call soon, prayed Witt would rescue her. Then she played Achilles’ game. “I know. You want me to touch your thingie."
"I'm going to make you suck my thingie. That's how little girls get punished for having birthday parties when their daddies tell them not to."
"It wasn't a party, Daddy. It was just two of my friends."
He'd never been one to listen to explanations. “Get out here and undo my pajamas."
Max closed her eyes and crawled out of the closet. It was like a nightmare playing itself out behind her lids. Her cheeks were wet, her nose runny, and then her mouth was full with the salty taste of him. She choked.
"Baby doesn't like that, does she? Suck it. Suck it hard."
She wanted to scream. She wanted to die. She wanted to bite it off. She was the little girl in his fantasy.
His hand against the back of her head, his fingers clutched, pulling on her roots. His curly pubic hair scratched her nose. He smelled of soap.
"Oh yeah, you suck it just like that. I'll teach you not to be bad.” He groaned. “Oh God, I'll teach you to be the best."
Her eyes burned with her tears. Her nose clogged. She couldn't breathe. The size of him in her mouth would surely kill her, suffocate her. Please stop, please stop, please...
He growled, cursed, finished with a harsh yowl that reverberated down to her toes, and left her bones hollow.
"Oh, baby, that was the best. Wasn't that the best?” His voice was low, lazy, satisfied. He chuckled. “Did you come?"
She swiped at her eyes, sniffed. “Did you want me to?"
"I bet you're the wettest you've ever been."
"I'm the wettest I've ever been,” she murmured because he told her to. She didn't know how to stop him telling her what to do. She'd never known.
"Touch yourself."
"Okay."
"Feel your wet cunt, you stupid bitch."
She choked off a cry, clamped her legs shut against him, and sniffed so that she could breathe. “I am. I swear I am."
"Afraid I'm going to punish you again?"
She pulled the covers over her head as if that would make his voice go away. “Yes,” came her strangled whisper."
"Are you going to dream of me, tonight?"
"I always dream about you.” He was her worst nightmare.
"Then say good night, my love."
"Good night."
"Sweet dreams.” He paused. “Max."
Jesus Christ.
He knew who she was.
* * * *
Max scrambled from the bed and dug in her purse where she'd dumped it on the chair. Dammit, dammit, she'd left Witt's cell phone in the car.
She couldn't call on her own phone. McKaverty and Schulz might still be recording. She grabbed her pants from the floor, tugged them on, slammed into her shoes, then ran down the steps to her front door. She hadn't remembered picking them up, but her car keys were in her hand. She fumbled with the door handle, but finally managed to yank it open.
In the glove box, she found her savior.
She called his house. She almost cried when she heard his voice on the recorder. Damn. He wasn't home. Then she remembered he'd said he leave his cell phone on, his other one, since he'd given her his extra.
"Long here."
"Where are you?"
He didn't ask who it was. “Knee deep in shit and garbage. Wanna join me?"
He was being literal, she was sure. He was probably on a big case. Hadn't there been mention on the news of digging in some dump for the body of a missing woman? He'd presumably been there all day, too. She pulled herself together, breathed in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, then asked politely, “You okay, Witt?"
"You coming to my place to spend what's left of the night?"
"No."
"Then I'm not okay."
The sound of his voice soothed her fractured nerves, her panic receded, and the idea of crawling into bed next to him, falling asleep in his arms, was the most important thing in the world. “Don't be kidding around. It's late. I have to tell you something."
His sigh was audible over the crackle of the cell phone and the background noise of voices, shouts, and the grinding of machinery. “Kinda figured it wasn't a social call. God forbid you should call ‘cause you wanna hear my voice."
That was exactly why she'd called, but she wouldn't tell him that. “You're whining. It doesn't become you."
&nb
sp; "Busted.” Then he went on before she could add anything. “Suppose you wanted to tell me that guy called. Achilles."
He was reading her mind again. “How'd you know?"
"Let's see,” he paused. “It's after two in the morning. You spent two hours on the phone talking sex.” He sucked in a breath. “Christ. Maybe you're calling ‘cause you're horny and you want me to talk you through it."
She wanted to cry. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to stop being so afraid. “Will you quit? This is important."
He huffed over the connection. “Achilles is the logical conclusion, Max."
"You have to call your cop friends and make sure they traced it."
Another long suffering sigh. “They're taking care of it. They don't need me to remind them."
"But..."
"Go to sleep, Max. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know if they found him."
"Witt. There's something else."
She could almost hear him rolling his eyes. “What?"
"He called me Max."
"Jesus H. Christ."
That's what she'd said. “I think he probably knew that first night."
"I'm sending a patrol car by. Keep your doors locked."
"I'm not scared.” She punched the lock on her car door and wondered how the hell she was going to get back inside her apartment safely.
"Just do what I tell you. I'd come if I could, but I can't."
He had a job to do. Debbie Doodoo had probably hated that she always came in second. Max didn't like his dictatorial tone either, but she let it go for the sake of more important matters. “Don't you get it, Witt? This means Achilles had to be the one who killed her.” Like she'd tried telling him in the beginning. “No one else would even know she was dead."
"That doesn't explain how he knows who you are. I'm gonna have that patrol car sit outside your house all night long."
She'd rather have had him there. She'd even share something, the way he wanted her to. She'd even have sex with him. Again. “Achilles isn't ready to do anything yet. He's still wanting to play.” Like a cat with a mouse.
She heard shouting, someone calling his name. “I gotta go.” He didn't need to say they'd found something. “Wave out the window when the car comes so they know you're okay. Call you in the morning. Don't do anything stupid, Max."