Forty-Four Book Eleven (44 series 11) Read online

  I passed by the thrift store but decided to stop off on the way back to pick up another hat. The Rite Aid where I had bought the deodorant a couple of days ago was across the street. My headache was almost gone. I would get the Advil on the return trip, too. And something for my hands. The tips of some of my fingers were dried and cracked, while others were raw where the blisters had popped. But they all burned. Some soap and shampoo, too. I could really use a shower.

  The Burger King was farther than I thought and I had to pass through some sketchy sections to get to it. I wouldn’t want to be here at night, but for now the sun made it seem doable.

  Still, I picked up my pace as I passed an adult bookstore and some sad-looking liquor stores. There were lowlifes hanging out in front of most of those places.

  When I finally made it to the restaurant, I ordered a large shake and a cup of ice water and took them to a window seat in the back. I inhaled the delicious tacos in three bites and then did work on the shake. I sat there, slurping up the last drops and letting its magic soothe both my stomach and mind.

  When I finished I stood up and grimaced, my muscles letting me know they weren’t happy. I thought about how weight-training programs usually recommended that you take every other day off. Wimps.

  I heard thunder in the distance as I walked outside. I was only about a mile from the shelter, something that in the past I could have easily run with my eyes closed if it had started raining. But not today. I just hoped that the storm was moving slower than I was.

  CHAPTER 16

  On the way back I passed by an internet café. It had been a while since I had checked the news. No, I told myself. It wasn’t worth the risk. But half a block later I stopped and turned around.

  I paid the five bucks and picked the computer farthest from the windows. I took a seat against the wall, logged on, and started searching the web.

  I surfed randomly for a while, checking in with different online stores and sites, trying not to draw attention in case someone was monitoring the computers. I was probably being way too paranoid, but then again it was my freedom on the line. I had seen enough movies to know how easy it would be for a techie working for the police to keep track of IP addresses showing more than a passing curiosity in Abby Craig stories.

  My plan was to scan national news articles, mix in some sports and entertainment, before checking Oregon and Bend.

  But I never got that far.

  It had been almost two weeks since Benjamin Mortimer’s death but I was still national news. My photo was everywhere. Yahoo. Google. CNN. USA Today. People. Entertainment Weekly. It surprised and frightened me. I was certain that without the psychic angle, the story would never have gotten the initial attention it did. I also knew that the press had a very short attention span. So why then was I still in the news?

  Two words.

  David Norton.

  Lightning in the Dark, David’s show, was bigger than ever and it had given him a platform from which to “help” his friend. Well, I was sure that’s what he thought he was doing, except for the fact that he was keeping me on the front burner. The headlines alone said it all.

  ‘My best friend’s been framed!’ says TV detective.

  Television star claims his best friend didn’t do it.

  ‘Murder is not in Abby Craig’s DNA!’

  ‘Abby Craig is as much an innocent as I am addicted to donuts and cute gaffers!’

  David, my well-meaning, mouth-as-big-as-all-of-Texas best friend, had made the story go viral.

  My eyes bulged and my heart pounded till it was all I could hear as I clicked through site after site and story after story, most of them jammed with quotes from David.

  I took in a breath and watched a video of an interview he had done on Entertainment Tonight.

  ET: Your friend is wanted for murder and instead of turning herself in, she ran. Why would she do that?

  DN: Well, of course, she ran! She knew she would never get a fair trial. Let me put it in terms you can understand. Remember The Fugitive? Well, Dr. Richard Kimble was innocent and he ran. Abby Craig is the new Harrison Ford. Or, if you prefer, David Janssen. I know I do. Those eyes…

  ET: So you’re saying that a one-armed man is the one responsible for Dr. Benjamin Mortimer’s death?

  DN: Well, no, I wasn’t saying that, but now that you mention it, he could be. I don’t know who did it. I just know who didn’t do it. Abby Craig helps people in murder cases, she doesn’t murder people!

  ET: What do you mean, she helps people?

  DN: Do your homework, ET. Abby Craig is like this amazing ghost whisperer. She’s always talking to spirits, for as long as I’ve known her anyway. She would never murder anyone! She’s been framed and I am calling on all my fans to protest. My BFF wouldn’t feed my pet turtle because she couldn’t hurt a fly!

  ET: But how do you explain her fingerprints on the knife that killed Benjamin Mortimer? And the eye witness?

  DN: I don’t know. Look, I just know that Abby Craig is the best person I know. And she makes a damn fine Alfredo sauce, too!

  I checked the clock and sighed. My headache was back. With a vengeance.

  I still had some time left on my hour, but I didn’t know how much more I could stand.

  David’s heart was in the right place. I had no doubts about that and a lot of what he said was very sweet, but it was still fanning the flames of a story that should have given up the ghost long ago and he was blowing it back to life. I shook my head for the thirty-ninth time and tried not to get mad.

  I searched for stories that had more of a hard news slant.

  I found a few that said police now believed I might no longer be in Oregon. One article quoted a clerk in Las Vegas who told authorities he remembered selling a bus ticket to a “sad girl” that matched my description.

  “I never forget the sad ones,” he said. “You think I would because there’s so many of them that come through here. But I don’t. They stay with me. They’re leaving dead dreams or deadbeat boyfriends or abusive husbands. Trying to hide their tears behind sunglasses.

  “Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that it was that girl who killed the doctor up north. Yeah, it was her. Wish I could remember where she was going.”

  I cringed and closed my eyes.

  At least that, I told myself. He didn’t remember where I had gone. I could be anywhere by now. Denver. Fargo. Chicago. New York City. Plus, I didn’t look anything like the “sad girl” he had seen. I wasn’t smiling, but I had changed my appearance since leaving Nevada.

  I stared at my DMV picture, thinking back.

  The girl in the photo the police were searching for no longer existed. At least I hoped not.

  But then another thought hit me.

  What if that last part was a lie? What if he really did remember where I was headed and they were just trying to lull me into a false sense of security? I shuddered at the thought that they might be actively looking for me right now here in El Paso.

  But it didn’t add up. Why would they put the story out there in the first place that I had been seen in Las Vegas? Why not just have me believe they were limiting their search to Oregon? I didn’t have the answers, but it left me feeling nervous.

  I sat there thinking of that girl in the picture, young and smiling and so naïve, thinking back to those days and aching for them. Back to a time when things were so simple and trouble-free that taking a driver’s test was the biggest deal.

  Kate went with me and Jesse met us there. I was so nervous that I threw up my Cheerios in the street on the way over to the DMV. Kate had pulled over just in time. During the test I almost ran a light, slammed on the brakes for a pedestrian, and hit the curb on a right turn. I was sure I had flunked. After I turned off the engine, the man said I needed more practice but that I had passed.

  Kate gave me a hug before leaving for work and Jesse high-fived me and made me ditch my next class so we could go to Pilot Butte, just the two of us, to g
et a burger.

  “It’s too early for a burger,” I remembered saying.

  “Craigers, it’s never too early for a burger.”

  That all seemed so far away now that I wasn’t even sure that it had really happened. It almost felt like a story someone had told me long ago and I hadn’t been paying attention.

  CHAPTER 17

  I cut down a side street to avoid the nastier parts. The sun was lower now, hitting me in the face and forcing me to look down or squint. But it wasn’t nearly as crowded on this route and I started to lose myself in thoughts of home. I wondered if David had picked up his car. I thought about the Impala and how much I had grown to like it. It was no Jeep, but it had served me well.

  Suddenly a large shadow covered the sun, making me think the clouds had rolled in, but when I looked up I saw a huge man wearing a dark Dallas Cowboys jersey standing in my way.

  “Hey, baby,” he said, coming closer.

  I started to step around him and could smell the cheap beer on his breath.

  “I just have a question,” he said as I passed by.

  Before I knew what hit me, a terrible pain shot through my right shoulder. I felt myself being pulled back and lost my balance, falling into the man. He then grabbed me with both of his hands and pushed me up against a brick wall.

  “Help!” I was surprised when my scream came out as quickly and as loud as it did. “Help!”

  But through my wild eyes I could see that no one else was around.

  “Shhh,” he said, his horrible, hairy face an inch from mine. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just that I’ve seen you around and just wanted to say hi.”

  I yelled once more, even louder, but then he cupped his smelly hand over my mouth. I squirmed in vain, no match for his massive size and weight. He must have been six five and was built like a walk-in freezer. Everything slowed down except for the desperate, lonely beating of my heart.

  “Don’t get excited,” he said. “That comes later. Right now I just want to know why you’re working in the dirt with those taco eaters? You’re too pretty for that kind of thing.”

  His eyes dropped, staring at my chest as he ran his fingers from my mouth down over my neck. I tried to move my legs but he was too close.

  I screamed once more.

  “Relax, baby,” he said, covering my mouth again. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

  I felt myself being twisted and yanked violently a few feet down the street and into a dark alley between two tall buildings. He kept his hand over my mouth and again slammed me up against a wall before taking his free hand and groping my chest.

  “Stop fighting,” he said. “You know you like it.”

  I thrashed around but the more I moved, the more useless it was. With my heart thundering in my ears, I could do nothing as he came in closer and ran his tongue over my face and neck. His lips came back up a moment later and he moved his hand off my mouth. As his stench closed in all around I closed my eyes and bit down as hard as I could, sinking my teeth into his lower lip. I could taste the blood on my tongue.

  He pulled back, but then just laughed.

  “A wildcat, huh?” he said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes feral. “You like it rough? Don’t you worry your tight little ass over it, I’ll give it to you plenty rough.”

  He violently ripped at the snaps on my shirt and took a step back to look at me. And that’s when I pounced.

  I thrust my right knee up into his groin with everything I had. Then as he howled and leaned forward, I slammed the heel of my palm up and into his nose.

  He collapsed to the ground, moaning, blood squirting from his face. I should have run then, but something had ahold of me. Rage. And it wouldn’t let go. I kicked him in the head like it was a soccer ball. And then I kicked him again. And again. And then I kicked him in the crotch again.

  “Rough enough for you, asshole?” I shouted over his unconscious body, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.

  Only then did I take off.

  I ran out of the alley, down the street, and back up to the main strip, fixing my shirt as I went. I weaved in and out of traffic like Kevin McCarthy at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, car horns screaming at me. I forgot that I was trying to stay under the radar and not attract attention. I forgot everything. I just kept going, never looking back.

  Running, running, running to the beat of my pounding heart, the tears streaming down my hot face.

  CHAPTER 18

  I threw up on the sidewalk in front of the shelter.

  “God damn it.” I gagged and gasped for breath. “Damn it.”

  I could feel the eyes of the people in line watching me, nothing they hadn’t seen a thousand times before. It now probably started making more sense to them why I was there. I was just another junkie, another drunk.

  I wiped at my mouth, staring down at the chocolate tacos splattered on the ground. I noticed that along with the mud, there was some blood on my right shoe. Another shadow stood over me.

  “Are you all right?”

  It was Samael.

  I nodded slowly as I stood up. But I wasn’t all right. I was still shaking and sick. My head was throbbing again like someone was banging on it from the inside with a lead pipe. I could still smell him on me and feel the vile coarseness of his tongue on my skin. I could still hear his voice and the words that came out of his mouth. And I still felt the rage, primal and fierce, rattling at the bars of my heart like a wild animal. I wanted to go back and finish the job.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  But as I looked at Samael, I saw that there wasn’t sympathy or empathy or concern in his eyes.

  “What?” I said, the bile thick in my voice.

  “I thought you understood, Abby. You shouldn’t be walking around here by yourself. You’re an easy target.”

  His energy was the strongest I had ever known, but at that moment it was no match for what I was feeling.

  “You’re saying that back there was my fault?” I shouted. “Is that what you’re saying!”

  A few people turned around, but then dropped their eyes. Just the crazy white girl talking to herself. I lowered the volume, a tiny voice in my mind reminding me that this wasn’t a detox clinic I was standing in front of. I couldn’t afford to be turned away. Not tonight.

  “What the fuck, Samael? You stopped by here to scold me? Couldn’t you have shown up a few minutes earlier and helped? Aren’t we supposed to be helping each other? Isn’t that the line you fed me?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking deep into his eyes. “I just don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not sure you know what you’re doing, either. You sure aren’t helping me.”

  He waited for me to finish, taking his time before answering.

  “You need to keep your head down. You need to work and eat and sleep. And you need to be careful.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the news flash.” I hissed. “I need to get out of here is what I need to do.”

  But not tonight, I thought. I got in line.

  “I’m getting out of this dump in the morning,” I said, finally starting to calm down a little. “I still have some money. There are a hundred other places I can go. A thousand. I’m going to the bus station first thing in the morning, picking a town, and I’m getting out of this hellhole.”

  “This is where you need to be right now.”

  It began to rain, angry drops splattering down on the sidewalk around us.

  “Too bad. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m going somewhere far away from here, somewhere that’s safe.”

  “There’s nowhere that’s safe anymore, Abby,” he said, his eyes pulsing with energy. “That’s a notion that will get you killed. Something from your past. You must let it go. You need to be here. When the time is right, I will tell you the reason. But until then you must work in those fields. There is no other way.”

 
; I sighed and shook my head, the lead pipe letting me know it was still there. The line was moving now.

  “You’re crazy,” I said. “You’ve been out in the sun too long.”

  He turned to leave, but then stopped.

  “Don’t do it, Abby. Don’t do something you’ll regret. You need to stay.”

  This time, I didn’t answer.

  CHAPTER 19

  I walked into the shelter and found an empty spot in the back. I spread out my mat and was about to sit down when the woman who ran the place came over. For a moment I thought she was going to ask me to leave.

  She spoke in Spanish to the others first and then turned to me.

  “We’re a little shorthanded again tonight. We need some extra help in the kitchen.” I tried hard not to roll my eyes at her. “Pots and pans and trash detail. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen or twenty minutes. I had some of the men do it last night.”

  Some of the other women followed her. The old woman got up slowly and Lupe sternly whispered something to her in Spanish, but she waved her off and shuffled toward the kitchen.

  I washed a large pot that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher. I scrubbed and scrubbed at the dark sauce stuck to it and it made me think of the man’s blood. I wondered if he was still in that alley, bleeding, maybe dead. I didn’t think so. As hard as I kicked him, I was sure it would take more than that to kill something so vile. And then I remembered something he had said.

  That I was too pretty to be “working in the dirt.” Somehow, he had known I had been in the fields. It could have been from how I was dressed or smelled, but something told me it was more than that. He had been watching me.

  A full-body shiver shot through me. And then another.

  And if he knew I was working in the fields, he probably also knew I was staying in this shelter. I needed a weapon, something with which to defend myself.

  And that’s when I saw it. At the bottom of the sink. A shiny, small paring knife.

  I stared at it for several seconds and then looked around. Everyone was busy with their tasks. I thought of Ben and how the police were so sure I had stabbed him to death. For a split second I thought of leaving it there.