Chapter One Hundred and Four
One Hundred and Four
The phone rang one more time before Mary reached for it and rejected the call. She began wondering if this was all a dream, an episode of Twilight Zone, or cruel reality.
Silence ruled the cell for the next thirty seconds before the phone pinged once, making its screen come alive to display a text message.
QUADDRA: Answer the call, Mary. I know that you want answers, and I’m the only one who can give them to you.
You might be able to figure most of it out by yourself, but you won’t figure out everything…
and the ‘not knowing’ will eat you alive, so answer the call because this is the only chance you’ll get to finding those answers.
Mary breathed out anger because Quaddra was right – she needed answers. Not only because she wanted to know, but because if she knew exactly how she ended up in that situation, she could, maybe, mount a counterattack.
The phone rang again – incoming video call.
This time, Mary slotted the headphones into her ears and accepted the call. As she did, she laid down flat on her bed, facing the wall, and pulled the thin covers over her head. If anyone looked through the door’s peephole, it would look like she was asleep.
The image that materialized on the cellphone screen shocked Mary.
Quaddra was sitting back on an adjustable hospital bed.
His right hand was bandaged, together with both of his arms, but it was the state of his face that really surprised Mary.
His right eye was practically swollen shut – the dark bruise around it so severe it looked like his nose had been broken.
His bottom lip was cut and puffy, and his right cheek had ballooned up, as if he’d been stung by a couple of wasps.
QUADDRA: ‘Hello, Mary…’
Quaddra waved his bandaged hand at her. Due to his swollen lip and cheeks, it sounded like he was speaking with a hot chestnut in his mouth.
QUADDRA: ‘Or shall I call you Grace-Kelly?’
Mary squinted at the screen and spoke in a whisper.
MARY: ‘What the actual fuck?’
QUADDRA: ‘What? You think you’re the only one who can play a role, give yourself bruises and run a long con? The injuries had to be real.’
MARY: ‘Who the fuck are you? Really?’
QUADDRA: ‘Didn’t the detectives tell you? My real name IS Thomas… Thomas Cameron.’
MARY: ‘So, you’re a con artist?’
THOMAS: ‘No.’
He gave her a very subtle shake of the head.
THOMAS:‘I really am an investor… and a billionaire.’
He tried to smile, but with his swollen lip, it came out a lopsided grimace.
MARY: ‘So, what the fuck?’
THOMAS: ‘You haven’t put it together yet?’
MARY: ‘Put what together? That you created that whole “serial killer” set-up down in that secret basement to get me arrested?’
THOMAS: ‘You must admit that it was a great set-up… and a great sting. You finding the secret basement “by chance”… then the Polaroids and the footage on the computer… checking the Internet for some of the victims’ names…
believing that I was a serial killer… then coming back to the basement to film it all. ’
Thomas shook his head disapprovingly.
THOMAS: ‘Honestly, I’m a little disappointed on how easy it was to manipulate you, Grace. Everything that I counted on you doing… you did.’
MARY: ‘Fuck you.’
THOMAS: ‘For it all to work, I needed the ultimate alibi. I needed for the cops to witness YOU come running out of my house, covered in my blood, and holding the same knife that YOU used to stab me with.’
He tried smiling again.
THOMAS: ‘Last night, in the kitchen, you think that you placed that knife between my hand and you?’
A new shake of the head.
THOMAS: ‘I was gunning for the knife, Grace. I needed to get my blood on that knife and on your hands. Painful, but worth it. And since the cops were the ones who found me, all bruised, cut and bleeding on the kitchen floor, it will take a miracle to prevent you serving time for attempted murder.’
MARY: ‘Fuck you, you sonofabitch.’
THOMAS: ‘Aww, don’t be a sore loser, Grace. You were bettered at your own game. Just accept it.’
MARY: ‘Stop calling me Grace.’
THOMAS: ‘But that’s your real name, isn’t it? Grace-Kelly Mitchell?’
There was no reply.
THOMAS: ‘But if it bothers you, I can call you Mary. I don’t mind.’
Mary took a second to calm herself down. She needed answers and getting angry wasn’t the way to get them.
MARY: ‘So, how did you and Nelson find out about my real name? How could he possibly know?’
Thomas chuckled cynically.
THOMAS: ‘Nelson? You think that this has something to do with Nelson Stewart? The guy you conned in Massachusetts?’
Was he joking? Mary thought. Why else would he have wanted her to see the photo of the courthouse in Woburn?
MARY: ‘You asked the detectives to show me that photo of the courthouse where Nelson’s trial took place. That was the last photo they showed me. It has to be the starting point for this whole charade, right?’
THOMAS: ‘Not the starting point. That was just the place where I finally found you.’
MARY: ‘Finally found me?’
Instead of answers, Mary was coming up with more questions.
THOMAS: ‘I think that it’s finally time that I tell you a little story about myself, Mary.’