9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Melanie
Not knowing how long it will take to resolve this situation, if I can resolve it. I withdraw as much cash as possible from every card. Michael's reach through technology terrifies me, but for now, I'll work with cash. Then I head out of town, the opposite way I came yesterday, putting miles between me and Whispering Pines.
“Incoming call, Cameron My Love.”
Sighing, I drive south first; I can't help but check my rearview mirror every couple of minutes. After a bit, I turn west and keep going. To where, I don't know. Is this what my life has been reduced to? Fleeing in panic?
My mind empties as my inner voice asks if the alternative is facing Michael. That thought causes my breath to catch in my throat, and I almost pee my pants.
Mile after empty mile passes as questions circle in my head like vultures. Why me? What does he really want?
“Incoming call from Debbie.”
The motel address from the boy burns in my pocket, but I hesitate. If Michael discovers the connection to the grandmother... No. I won't risk bringing his wrath down on people who helped me. He wouldn't hesitate to hurt or even kill them. I'm certain Mr. Daggers wouldn't either. My mind plays out the image of Michael restraining the grandson, forcing him to watch while Daggers brandishes his namesake on the grandparents. I shiver and shake my head.
The sun beams in on Moses, who is currently belly up asleep in the passenger seat. I should have thought before bringing him. I really should have. But I have to admit I'm glad he's here. As if he can hear me, he stretches his left leg into the air, stretching his paw.
A sign for a mom-and-pop gas station appears and I take the exit. I need a bathroom and coffee, in that order. Inside, a grizzled man with an enormous wispy beard and grimy overalls mans the counter. He's transfixed by the TV behind him. Some crime show plays, barely audible. I'm not even sure he knows I'm here.
After using the bathroom, I grab a coffee. After taking a sniff, I add heaping amounts of powdered creamer, hoping it will help. “Could I prepay fifty plus this cup of coffee?”
“Hold on, ain't seen this one.” He waves me to be quiet. “This girl's been running from the law and her husband for years. She's gonna tell how she stayed hid.”
I edge closer. The woman looks like an everyday person and I'm drawn in. “Could you turn it up? I haven't seen this one,” I say, knowing full well that I haven't seen any of these shows. I think of the grandson and his sound advice that came from watching Netflix.
The volume rises as a woman explains: “The internet's full of tips from women trying to hide. I'm not the first who's done it. Honestly, Google was my survival guide.”
“Damn, that's brilliant,” I breathe.
“Yep, them criminals love that damn internet, not me. I don't want big brother watch'n me.” His gaze crawls over me. “Fifty, right, sweetheart?”
“Yes, please.” I tuck my hair back nervously, handing him the money.
A smile starts in the corner of his mouth. “Next episode's starting if you wanna stay and watch. I was gonna make popcorn and a Hot Pocket.”
“Thanks, but I'm running late.” Grabbing my coffee, I practically throw myself out the door.
While I'm pumping gas, I want to laugh and cry. Google. Of course. I manage web journalists for a living, but I didn't think to use the internet to stay alive? Some journalist I am.
Back in the car, I start it up and a strange ring starts. Not my phone. No lights on the dashboard. Moses glares at me from the passenger seat, annoyed at being disturbed from his nap.
“Sorry, handsome, but what the hell was that?”
The ringing stops. Then my car announces: “Incoming call from Michael.”
Ice floods my veins. Holding my breath, I check the mirrors frantically no cars visible. I move my jacket to cover Moses. The strange ring again. I look out my side window and see the man inside watching me, a Hot Pocket in his hand. Another ring. What is going on? Where is that coming from?
“Incoming call from Michael.”
Damn it! I have to answer. My hands shake as I press the answer button on the steering wheel. I wish with all my wishes I didn't have to answer it, but my mom and aunt's lives depend on it.
“What.” The word comes out harsh with fear.
“Excuse me?” His voice drops to arctic temperatures.
Wrong move. Then it hits me. Fuck the burner phone. The one he gave me. The one I was supposed to answer.
“YOU ANSWER YOUR PHONE EVERY TIME IT FUCKING RINGS!” The explosion makes me flinch.
“I did answer-”
“DID YOU FORGET WHO YOU'RE TALKING TO?”
“No...”
“I gave you a phone FOR A REASON.”
“It's in the back-”
“I don't CARE where it is. Next time it rings, you better fucking answer it.” The sound of his voice is menacing. “Do you have any idea how many times I've called you?” His voice turns silky, which is somehow worse than the yelling. “Or do I need to start removing fingers to help you remember the rules? I'm sure the blood in the water will attract some friends.”
“Please, I just-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
I bolt upright, checking mirrors compulsively. Tears spill over my lids and run down my cheeks. I slide my hands under my thighs in an attempt to stop the shaking.
“I was going to congratulate you, little bunny, for finding such an obtuse place to sleep. But now I'm so angry, I'm going to-” The line goes dead.
Oh God. Going to what? What happened? I peer around. Not feeling very safe here, I start my car and pull out of the parking lot.
“Incoming call from Michael.”
Shit! “Yes?” I answer instantly, making sure I use a sweeter tone.
“I expect you to answer your phone EVERY TIME. Do. You. Understand?” His tone drips condescension, like scolding a disobedient child.
My breath comes in short gasps.
“FUCKING ANSWER ME!” The roar makes me jump. The car swerves onto the shoulder, rumble strips juddering through the steering wheel. Dum dum - dum dum - like the Jaws theme in my bones.
“Get. Back. On. The. Road. Mel.” Each word precise, controlled.
Oh God. Can he see me? I guide the car back into my lane, hands trembling.
“Good bunny. Now, will you answer when I call?”
Terror steals my voice. “Yes.”
“That wasn't so hard, was it?” He practically purrs.
“You said they'd be safe if I left!” The words burst out. “You said--” He interrupts me.
“I lied.”
“What? Are they...” Dead. The word sticks in my throat as tears spring forth. I instantly see my mom and aunt floating face-down. Bodies ebbing with the waves. My chest constricts. I can't breathe.
“Oh, for fuck's sake, Melanie, they're fine. Stop being dramatic.”
I can barely speak, my question comes out in sobs, “h-how... how c-can I tr-ust that?”
“Because you have no choice.” He sounds delighted.
Taking a couple of breaths, I get myself more under control. “You ass, you just admitted lying and now you want me to trust you?”
“I am an ass, aren't I?” He chuckles. “But enough about me. Let's discuss your prize for that round. The old lady and her grandson? Brilliant performance. Really, I almost applauded. Very resourceful.” His voice darkens. “Had that not been such an impressive ballsy move, I would've punished them for helping you?”
The casual shift makes my stomach roll. I breathe out, “Punish?”
“You needn't worry about that. I said it was impressive.”
Bile rises. “You wouldn't...”
“Do you doubt me?” Steel enters his tone.
“No,” I pause to check my tone. “Michael, could I call my aunt? They must be so worried-”
“NO. Try it and see what happens. Besides, Cameron told them you ran away.”
Hearing his name, my heart clenches and the tears start again. “Is Cameron okay?”
“No, he hates you. Of course, my note probably had something to do with that, but c'est la vie.”
“Note?”
“Yes, a note. You didn't think I would let you leave without a,” his voice mimics mine, “I don't love you; I've never loved you. I don't want to be a Whitaker, note. I have to tell you it was a tearjerker. Cameron wadded it up, then un-wadded it. Only to wad it up again. Such emotion, he should win an Oscar.”
“You're a horrible person,” I say, almost feeling the anguish my poor Cameron must be feeling.
“Watch. Yourself.” Each word falls like a hammer. “Keep your phone on. LAST WARNING.” The line dies.
Luckily, I was coming up at a rest stop. I slam the car into park, gasping. My hands shake so badly I stuff them in my hoodie pockets, clutching them together. The world blurs as panic claws up my throat.
I fight back a wave of nausea. Then, unable to fight it anymore, I throw open my car door and lean out. I throw up. And keep throwing up. One thought going through my mind as I dry heave: How is he getting so much enjoyment out of this?