“No.” Tea and honey became gravel and tar. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Bull!”
Grace thought she saw him here. Must’ve been the drugs.” Paul forced a chuckle, hoping to stop the inevitable.
“Listen here, French Fry, I’m no baby. You tell me what’s going on or I swear I will come down there with my strong and obliging husband, John, and together we will give you an ass whuppin’ you will never forget! Now tell me! What the hell is going on?”
“God, Sal, you’re vicious!”
“You ain’t seen nothing! Now let’s hear it!”
“Jess is on the run from the law. Seems he’s been keeping the missus at home, against her will. He’s obsessed with Grace. I’m afraid he may try and harm her.”
“Damn!”
“Yeah. Anything you can tell me about this guy? Didn’t he used to live around here?”
“Said he did. Riverside? I believe his wife is from around there as well. Look for the in-laws, Jake and Selma Gold. They may know something.”
“Thanks, Sal. You’re a peach.”
“Don’t blow smoke. You let me know what’s going on, or I’ll make good my threat. Oh, and did I tell you John is big? And fast?
Heavyweight champ in college. You think I’m mean? Huh!”
“I’ll keep you in the loop; I promise.”
“Don’t disappoint. I have an unforgiving nature.”
“I promise.” Paul said goodbye and hung up the phone. He peered into the room at Grace. Even in sleep she was beautiful. Yes, he was falling in love. All he had to do was keep her alive. The clock was ticking.
***
Sal gnawed the pencil between her teeth, a bad habit. Years of worrying, she concluded, picking up the phone. “Miss Simms office.
Sal speaking.”
“Miz Simms in yet?”
“No, Mr. Burton, Miss Simms is not in today. Can I take a message?”
“When she comin’ back? You keep shinin’ ol’ Tiny on.”
“I apologize, Mr. Burton. That is not my intention.” Sal peeked at the pepper spray in her drawer. She wondered if it would be potent enough to deter someone as large as Tiny Burton should he decide to show up in person.
“Tell me somethin’, Miz Sal.”
“Yes, Mr. Burton.”
“Miz Simms sick o’ somethin’?”
“She’s—” The hair on Sal’s arms prickled. Not a good sign. “She’s fine, Mr. Burton. She’s out of town.” The other line began to flash. “She should be checking in later today. If you feel you need urgent care, Dr. Floxin can be reached.” “No, tell her I be needin’ t’ speak t’ her.
“I’ll do that, Mr. Burton. Good day.” Sal clicked over to the next line.
“Miss Simm’s office, Sal speaking.”
“It’s me, Sal.”
“Well, Jesus B. Christmas! Will wonders never cease?”
“My phone went dead. I forgot my charger,” she yawned. “I just woke up. Why aren’t you home?”
“Don’t give me crap!” Sal felt relieved to hear Grace’s voice. As hard as she tried not to fret, it was impossible. Grace was the daughter she never had.
“No, really, Sal. Paul had to buy me a new charger.” Grace chuckled. “Honest, he gave me your message the minute I saw him.”
“Good. I won’t have to sic John on him then.” “Any word from Jess?” Grace asked.
“No. I expect his face will be plastered all over the news. I’ve been worried sick!”
“Sal, I am in a fortress. Please, hide the pencils. I’m fine.”
“I heard about your mother.”
“She’s—” Grace’s words stuck in her throat. She heard Sal gasp.
“Oh my God! She’s not dead, is she?”
“No.” Grace drew in a deep breath. “She’s hasn’t woken from surgery yet.”
“I’m so sorry, Grace. Anything I can do?”
“What’s going on with Tiny Burton?”
“He’s called a dozen times. In fact, I just hung up with him. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. I’ve got Tiny’s number, I’ll give a call. Hold down the fort. I’ll be home when I can.”
“Got it. My prayers are with you and your mom. If you need—”
“You’ll be my go-to-girl, promise. I’ll be in touch.”
Grace disconnected from Sal and scrolled through her contact list. She found Tiny’s number under “B” for Burton and pressed
“call.”
“Tiny? Grace Simms. I got your message.”
“‘Bout fuckin’ time you call me. You supposed t’ be there for me.”
“I’m here now,” she said softly. “What’s going on?”
“AIDS. Doc says I ain’t got much time. My kidneys be shuttin’ down.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Tiny. That’s too bad.”
“He says t’ get my affairs in order.”
“Wise decision. How are you doing with that?”
“S’what I need t’ be talkin’ with you about.”
“I’ll be back in a few days. Can it wait?”
“Guess it’ll have to.”
“I’ll call as soon as I get back.”
Grace hung up the phone. She turned on her side, hoping to relieve the pressure on her hip. The small incision throbbed. She checked the time. Her pain pill wasn’t due again for another hour. She tried to peek beneath the bandage. The area surrounding the paper tape felt warm. “Too much, too soon,” the doctor would say. She didn’t need a lecture or anyone preventing her from seeing her mom. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. Thoughts of Jenna tied up and gagged disturbed her rest. Why? she questioned over and over in her mind. Why is he a monster? Or why didn’t you know? Her eyes flashed open.
Paul stood near the bed.
Her body jolted. A scream hitched in her craw.
“Whoa! Whoa! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
“Christ!” she gasped. “You nearly gave me heart failure! Don’t ever do that again!”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.” She threw the pillow across the room. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing—”
Paul sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and stroked her hair. “What’s wrong, mon chèr? Seeing what?”
“Detective Spiderelli came to see me.”
“I’m listening.” He remained calm. Her voice began to quiver.
“Jess has been doing terrible things.”
***
Jenna cuddled the warm blanket provided by Detective Spiderelli’s wife, Kathy. The woman was sweet, caring. A Godsend.
Jenna feared she would never be able to tolerate human contact after the horrible things Jess did to her, but when Kathy reached out to give her a hug, she collapsed in the woman’s arms.
Safe at last.
“More tea?”
“No thanks, Kathy. I’m fine.”
“You’ll be comfortable in Zack’s old room. It’s next to ours. I’ve laid out a pair of pajamas on the bed along with fresh towels. The pressure in his shower isn’t the greatest, but the water gets nice and hot.”
“Have they found Jess yet?”
“No, but they will.”
Jenna shivered.
“There’s an APB out for him,” Kathy assured. “He won’t get far.”
Jenna pulled the blanket tighter. Burn holes replacing Jess’s mom’s eyes in the photo flashed through her mind. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
Jenna couldn’t sleep. Jess’s face loomed over hers. Cruelty blazed in his eyes. Her body curled into a ball, but she refused to cry. I hope they find you soon, Jess. I long to see the look in your eyes when they imprison you like the animal you are.
CHAPTER 25
LIGHTS OUT
S unshine slipped beneath the dingy by-fold shutters in room number twenty-three. Jess felt under the covers, discovering the pink lace thong tied around his ankle securing a
scribbled note: “School today. Sorry!”
“Now that’s fucking adorable,” he said, folding the note into a paper airplane. Using the thong, he launched his creation, sending the paper flying across the room. “Such talent!” he said.
He clicked on the television and began checking his inner thigh for bug bites. “Little fuckers,” he complained, squeezing the red blisters until they oozed. The newscaster’s serious tone caught his attention. He turned up the volume. His curiosity piqued.
“The victim’s car was found here…in this parking lot.” The cameras zoomed in for a close-up of an empty parking space before switching back to a lanky brunette, dressed in a red pants suit. The camera settled on her face as she continued her story. “Police suspect this man to be connected to the foul play.” A photo of Jess Bartell lingered on the screen. “If you have any information on this man’s whereabouts, contact your local authorities immediately.” When she paused with the microphone inches from her luscious mouth, Jess quivered. His hand returned beneath the covers in search of something tastier for the brunette to put between her lips. “This is Charlotte Meyers. Back to you, Sam.”
Jess squealed with delight. Pleasure found him once more. “I could do her all day,” he boasted, rolling out of bed.
He had no worries. The paranoid population would be looking for a man with dark curly locks and a clean-shaven face. He had to admit the head-shot they showed on TV was Hollywood-worthy. “Should be,” he grumbled. Paid that schmuck photographer an extra hundred bucks to airbrush the proof. He was sure the girls in the office would miss seeing his handsome face hanging on the wall.
He examined his new image in the mirror. His head was still smooth. “Holy shit!” he cried, discovering the love bites covering his chest. “That little—” The growl coming from his throat didn’t sound human. He flashed back to the pink panties, stopped, and grinned. He had to admit she was awesome. So what if he had a few little hickeys; Grace won’t mind, he thought, trying to convince the man in the mirror. “Once I get a hold of her, she won’t mind a bit.”
***
Paul filled his lungs with crisp air. Morning light recharged his spirit. He felt fresh. Cleansed of all woes from the previous day, he began anew. Pulling binoculars from a case, he held them to his eyes. The Spanish-style stucco home seemed peaceful. Paul waited patiently.
At eight o’clock, a large man in a terry robe came out of the house to fetch the morning paper—Jake, Jenna’s dad. Paul zoomed his lens, honing in on the man’s morning stubble. He clicked the shutter, refocused, and clicked again. So far so good. Jenna’s folks were still alive and well. For how long? Paul opened a small laptop and typed in a web address. He entered Jake Gold’s info and produced addresses of all his known properties. They included rentals in Costa Mesa and San Diego, two condos in Hawaii, a timeshare in Puerto Vallarta, and a house in Cabo San Lucas. Paul sighed. He dialed Skip. “I think we’ll need a few more people.”
Skip roared. “This keeps getting better all the time, buddy!”
Paul relayed the info on the properties. “Foresee any problems?”
“Nope! Gotcha covered, good buddy. The son-of-a-bitch is as good as gone.”
“Provided he shows up at one of those locations.”
“Bro! Fear not! You know what we do.”
“And you do it so well!”
“Bet your sweet ass. Now you go take care of the lady, and let
us take out the garbage.”
“Let me know if you need anything else cut off. It’s the least I can do for all your help.” Skip’s boisterous laugh blew out the phone speakers. Paul laughed along. In his gut, he felt everything was in control. If anyone could find Jess, Skip was his man. Still, he knew the next twenty-four hours were crucial.
***
Grace stirred as the nurse removed the cover and began checking her incision.
“You in pain? Your incision be lookin’ mighty angry.” She pressed her palm to Grace’s forehead. “S’what I thought. You have a fever.”
Grace moaned, imagining a volcano erupting inside her hip. “I’m fine. When can I see my mother?”
“’Fraid you can’t go anywhere ’til we get that fever down.” The nurse rolled an instrument across Grace’s forehead. “102.2. I need to report this to your doctor. We may need to get you on a different antibiotic.”
“When can I see my mother?”
“You need to stay put, right now. Can I bring you anything?”
“I want to see my mom.”
“I’ll see what I can do. For now? Rest. You need something, you have a call button. Dr. Meltz will have our butts in a sling if anything happens to you.”
“You know Dr. Meltz?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“How’s baby LuLu?”
“From what I hear, she be doin’ fine. A real fighter.” The nurse fluffed Grace’s pillow and smoothed her covers. “Takes a special person to do what you did for that baby. Don’t think we be forgettin’ that. Now lay back, close your eyes, and let us do our job. You’re no good to nobody burnin’ up.”
“Noted, but please, check on my mom. I need to know if she’s awake.”
“Will do. Now rest.”
Grace closed her eyes, commanding the throbbing in her hip to cease. She summoned icebergs to cool the fiery gates of hell.
Steam rose from the ashes and she began to dream.
Jess stood in the distance at the edge of the world, facing her. Beside him, a woman in a wheelchair looked to the sky. He poured liquid on the woman from a clear, ornate bottle, lit a match, and set her on fire. The woman screamed in horror as Jess pushed the wheelchair into an abyss. Grace watched helplessly. Mom!
Grace’s mind returned to her hospital room, where Jess watched her sleep. Why is he dressed like a maintenance man? What happened to his hair? When did he grow a mustache? She watched his lips move, “See you later.” Later? Later when? Why? Grace felt paralyzed, caught between reality and the dream world again. Was Jess really there? She fought for control. Gone now. Nothing seemed real.
Heat radiated from her body. Her face flushed with fever. Tiny lights danced around her vision when suddenly the nurse demanded she open her eyes. The bed began to move. An authoritative voice issued orders.
“Get Dr. Reynolds on the phone, stat! We can’t wait! I’m moving her to 202. And tell everyone to gown-up. We can’t take any chances.”
***
Jess folded the overalls neatly and placed them behind the seat of the truck. He whistled a tune as he slid behind the wheel. Grace was due to be released tomorrow. He was anxious. His plan was in place. He giggled. “Just wait till she sees what I have in store for her,” he said to his image in his rear view mirror. His lips puckered, ready to sing another tune. When the engine roared into life, he belted out, “Vaya con dios, my darling.” Mirth bubbled on the surface of his soul. “God can’t have you, Grace. Nope. You’re mine.”
***
Paul pulled into the hospital parking lot. For a moment, his ears started to buzz. It was as if he drove through a magnetic field. He learned to pay attention to his senses and looked around. All he saw was a red pick-up in his rear view mirror. Get a grip, he told himself. Everything would be okay. The most important thing was to get Grace out of danger. If he couldn’t do that, he didn’t deserve to have her.
He parked in his usual spot and hurried into the building. Visitors’ hours began in ten minutes. He hoped the nurses wouldn’t scold him for being early. His heart fluttered. His pulse raced. Love wasn’t a feeling he had a lot of experience with. He hoped he would survive it now that it was here. He slipped his sweaty palms in his pockets and headed for Grace’s room. Symptoms of love turned to anger when he realized there wasn’t an officer manning the post. He picked up his pace.
“Where’s the officer that’s supposed to guarding Miss Simms?” he shouted at the woman behind the desk at the nursing station. She returned his rudeness with a dirty look. He ran down
the hall. When he turned the corner, his heart leaped into his throat. Grace was gone.
***
A red light flashed over the door. An alarm pulsated a steady stream of annoying beeps. A pale brunette keyed in her passcode and swiped her badge over the sensor. While waiting for the air to decompress, she suited up in a paper gown, hat, booties, and mask and then gathered supplies. The whoosh of air preceding her through the second set of doors reminded Grace of the machine filling Garret’s lungs with air before he died.
“Is this what I have to look forward too?”
“Sorry, Miss Simms, I know it’s not the Hilton, but it is very private.”
“Great.”
“Can I bring you anything?”
“How about some spray paint? A little graffiti might cheer me up.”
“Oh? Are you an artist?”
“No, actually I’m a psychotherapist. How about a few inkblots? What color are these walls, anyway? Puce?”
The nurse chuckled. “It’s the purified air you’re breathing. It takes some getting used to. How about another pillow?”
“Then there’s the lack of civilization. How long do I have to stay in…in—”
“Isolation? Till we get that staph infection cleared up.” The nurse extracted prefilled syringes out of her pocket. She uncapped needles and injected an array of clear solutions into Grace’s IV port.
“What about my mom?”
“We can check on her for you.”
“What about Paul? My—”
“Boyfriend?”
“Friend.”
“We’ll let him know where you are.”
“How kind. Maybe I should just tap on the walls…send him a Morse code.”
“Get some rest. It’s the best thing you can do for yourself right now.”
Grace leaned back against her pillow. A thin, moist layer formed on her brow. Waves of dizziness replaced the burning and throbbing in her hip. Her eyelids felt like concrete. So much for going home.
The Grey Door Page 28