by Harper Shaw
“Becca, is that you?” her mother called, covering her eyes with her forearm again as Rebecca approached the bed. Her voice seemed weak, but Rebecca couldn’t tell how much of it was dramatics and how much of it was real.
“Hey, Mom. Need something?” Rebecca asked, hoping to be done quickly.
“Oh, Becca…” Her mother let out a long sigh and scooted her rump over a smidge on the bed to invite her daughter to sit. Against her better judgment, Rebecca obliged.
“What is it, Mom?”
“Well, for one, I’m all out of valium. Your father is out getting my prescription refilled, but it’s taking him forever, so I wonder if he’s made a few stops on the way—the pharmacy doesn’t close till ten.”
“Then he’ll be back by ten.”
“But why would he do that to me? He knows I need it before ten.”
“Maybe he’s on his way right now,” Rebecca comforted.
“I guess,” her mother huffed. Sitting up, she opened her eyes again and met Rebecca’s. Now close up, Rebecca could see the dilated pupils and red rims. Her mother had been crying.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
“It’s… Oh, I don’t know. Really, I’m being a big baby about it. Valeria Monroe—you know her, don’t you?—Anyway, Valeria is having a gala in one week. It was a hastily put together little thing with some of the women in my society. But I didn’t get my invitation in the mail or by phone. I know the mail is slow, and Sara Jean told me she was calling everyone who was invited yesterday and today because of it. I waited all day, but I didn’t get a call. The phone was so silent. The only call I got was from some telemarketer.”
“That doesn’t seem like Valeria. I thought you guys were doing better this season. Why didn’t she invite you?”
“Well, because—It doesn’t matter, I suppose.” By her mother’s expression, Rebecca began to search her own mind for the answer. It didn’t take her long to find it.
“Is it because of me and my case and everything?” she asked.
Her mother didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry about that, Mom. Really…” Rebecca’s parents believed in her innocence more than anyone, even at the cost of their own lives. If Rebecca had been honest back then, maybe she wouldn’t have felt so guilty right now. “I didn’t mean to come back here and create all of this mess.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” cupping Rebecca’s cheek, her mother smiled. “I know it’ll all be fine. It’s just hard that I’m going to have to miss so many events, you know? Will you pass me my wine bottle?” As her mother leaned against the headboard, Rebecca wrapped her fingers around the bottle on the nightstand.
“Where’s the glass, Mom?”
“No glass tonight, Rebecca sweetie. Hand it over here, please.” Her mother nearly snatched the bottle from her hands and took a long swig before imbibing a hard, painful sounding gulp. Afterward, she smiled. “I feel so much better now. You can go while I wait for your father to bring the valium.”
“Okay…” Rebecca spoke as she wandered into the bathroom to pick up the soaps, salts, and some candles. Soon after she was heading to the bathroom. As she passed through the hall, the phone on the table began to ring.
Electing to ignore it, she continued into the bathroom. Rebecca turned the hot water nozzle on the porcelain tub all the way and let a generous portion of salts into the already steaming water. Then she found the matchbox in one of the bathroom drawers. As she put a match to the honeycomb rectangle on the side of the box, Rebecca heard the phone ringing again.
Whoever was calling must have redialed. Rolling her eyes, Rebecca turned the water off on the half-full bathtub and dragged her feet out to the hallway to answer the phone. She picked it up, wanting to ask something along the lines of Why are you calling so late? sandwiched between a slew of curses.
“Hello?” she asked, knowing whoever was calling didn’t even deserve that many words.
“I need to speak to Rebecca.” Rebecca instantly recognized the voice as Jennifer. Why Jennifer insisted on bothering her she didn’t know. What was next? Some sick suicide attempt or something?
“I’ve had enough of your BS, Jennifer. Goodbye.”
“How do you think you’re going to hang up on me? I thought you wanted me to call.” Jennifer let out a sick chuckle. “What, did you forget about how you’re trying to blackmail me already? I get it, you’re upset about the whole fake murder thing and photos I have of Party Becca. So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you dug up some mud to throw back at me. Fine.”
“What?” Rebecca didn’t understand what Jennifer was talking about. “I don’t think I’m following, Jennifer. Are you sure you don’t have the wrong number or something?” Rebecca smirked anyway, at least someone was getting back at Jennifer.
“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Listen, I swear I’m not playing dumb with you. What’re you talking about?”
“You thought I wouldn’t know the style of those pictures when I saw them? They’re just like those stupid little collages you did for art class back in high school. You’d spend like ten minutes on them so you and Dennis would have more time to bang before school let out.”
“I’m telling you, you have the wrong person. I didn’t send you a thing. And if I did, don’t you think I’d be wherever you are right now?”
“I’m at my parents’ yacht like you told me. I’ve been waiting for an hour. When will you be here?”
“Never, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, I’m done playing this game, Rebecca. I’ll be on the yacht, and you’ll get your damn money if you come out, too. But don’t leave me waiting all night. I have crap to do.” The line clicked. This girl sure loved hanging up on people, Rebecca noted.
The whole spectacle mulled in her head. Rebecca didn’t know much about it, and she also knew she could go finish her bath and stay out of trouble the way her lawyer and parents wanted her to. But some sick feeling in her gut told her she needed to go to Jennifer’s yacht. Now. Running her fingers down the numbers on the pad, Rebecca got to Dennis’s and dialed. After ringing, it went to the answering machine. Rebecca sighed as she left a message.
“Hey, Dennis it’s me, Rebecca. I got this weird phone call from Jennifer about some blackmail and a yacht or something. She thinks I’m behind it, but I’m not. I’m about to head out there now. Meet me there if you get this in time.” Rebecca hung the phone back onto the hook.
What had Jennifer gotten herself into? Whatever it was, she was now dragging Rebecca—and hopefully Dennis as backup—into the whole mess, too. Making sure she had her Ruger on her, Rebecca got into her mom’s car and began driving toward the docks. She didn’t know what awaited her, but she had a feeling a gun wouldn’t do any harm.
“Gosh,” Rebecca muttered to herself, “I swear, if this stupid girl gets me killed, I’m haunting her for the rest of my life.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The closer Rebecca got to the docks, the tenser she felt. She held her jaw tightly hinged and felt the blades of her shoulders hunch as she kept her eyes focused on the road. She was sure this was just another one of Jennifer’s tricks. Of course, if she really thought that, Rebecca mused, she probably wouldn’t bother driving out late at night when she could have been home and soaking in a lavender bath.
With that defense crushed, she decided the only justification she could give herself for this was that she wanted to clear her name with Jennifer and get the girl to finally leave her alone. As she sighed, though, she knew that wasn’t true either. So, what was true?
Rebecca would rather die than admit she cared about Jennifer, that no matter how annoying and evil the woman was she didn’t want her dead and was heading to the docks only to confirm that she was alive and well and evil (and with Bruce, probably).
As she pulled into the parking lot, she searched for other cars but noticed the lot was empty. This meant that, at least for now until Denn
is did (or didn’t) show, she was on her own in this big, bad parking lot.
“Big, bad parking lot,” Rebecca echoed out loud. She’d hoped saying it that way would make her feel better about walking into the darkness not knowing what would emerge. It didn’t do anything, really but make her realize how utterly alone she was in this silence. “Jennifer better be dead,” she said, knowing she didn’t actually mean it.
Reaching her hand over the console and to the passenger seat, Rebecca wrapped her fingers around her Ruger and began checking it to make sure everything was good with it. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use her gun, but she also knew it would be stupid to go out there without being prepared to do whatever became necessary.
She wedged the gun between her waistband and back, cold metal feeling comfortable against the nervous energy rippling on her skin. With that, Rebecca took the keys out of the ignition of the car and opened the door to step out.
Walking into the darkened docks, she turned to the security guard shack to her right. She noticed it was curiously empty as she walked past and began searching for Jennifer’s family yacht. Unsurprisingly, there were tons of boats out there. It wasn’t really a special thing to have, not in a neighborhood as “well off” as Rebecca’s.
Her vision was a bit fuzzier in the night, so she had to squint as she went boat by boat, searching for WALLACE in golden calligraphy against the pearly exterior of a boat. She had a feeling Jennifer would still be there with “Rebecca’s damn money” whenever she arrived. Or maybe what she felt was hope.
Either way, Rebecca slowly made her way through. Her palms out and pointing toward the ground, she spoke quietly to herself. At first, she just muttered the names, but she soon found herself saying whatever she could not to feel crazy.
“Okay… There are the Moinighans… the Smiths… the Beaus… Everything is in order just as it probably was earlier. Yep. Honestly, I’m surprised Jennifer’s family is keeping their boat this far down. It seems like they wouldn’t be the type to want to walk all the way down here and everything. Plus, a spot by the guard shack would make them less anxious about looters or whatever—not that they exist, but I always remember Jennifer mentioning them when we were younger. It’s just paranoia.” This is just paranoia.
Sighing, Rebecca began to feel she wasn’t getting anywhere. Had Jennifer moved the family boat? She couldn’t exactly see the end of the line because of how dark it was, but she had already gone pretty far.
Snap.
Rebecca jumped. Almost immediately she pulled her gun out and pointed it behind her. Then she swung the other way, keeping it cocked, the safety still on but ready to be pulled back.
“I’m not the one to mess with today, Jennifer. You need to just come out now,” Rebecca said. She was only about 50 percent sure whoever made that sound was Jennifer or Bruce or Dennis and not a more devious character. “Seriously, come out!” she called. “I don’t have time for the games, and it’s already too late for this.”
As she continued, Rebecca didn’t hear any more sounds but kept her gun up and out just in case. Had she hallucinated the first one? Could it have been her anxious mind and not actual footsteps? No, she decided, that had been something. She knew it had, even if she couldn’t pinpoint it now.
She was not crazy.
“Bruce, this whole thing isn’t going to work anymore. Just come out.” Rebecca paused to see if she would get an answer. She didn’t hear a thing at first, but then she heard footsteps behind her. Lowering her gun, she spun around, but what she saw wasn’t Bruce or Jennifer.
The Shroud.
Rebecca quickly raised her arm again and fired shots in its direction, the recoil doing nothing to her locked knees. Even though she was usually a great shot, the darkness and her nerves must have gotten to her. She missed and felt the Shroud run right past her, jabbing her with his elbow as he sprinted.
Tightening her grip on her gun, Rebecca started after the Shroud, ignoring the burning in her chest and the way her heart was beating dangerously fast. She followed him into a storage shed but didn’t see anyone immediately.
With the hair on her arms raised, and she knew he was inside there. She could feel her heart in full force now, the blood pumping so hard she felt a jackhammer driving into her chest and making her lungs rupture with each rapid beat.
She pointed her gun everywhere but didn’t know where to place it. And in this blackness, she didn’t know what she would hit with a bullet if she made a mistake. If she shot a canister of gasoline or something, they were both gone. She wasn’t going to let that happen. Rebecca decided she and the Shroud were going to be leaving here alive.
After swallowing and a weak sigh, she walked carefully further into the shed. The only light was the moon peeking through some of the cracks in the wood, but it didn’t provide any help. Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment, reassuring herself before she opened them.
“Listen, there’s nothing else you can do here. I have you cornered. But if you just stand, put your hands up, and come out, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I know you know I’m police.” Her lips stopped quivering as she continued. “Really, you’ll get a free and fair trial, and you don’t have to run anymore. Just drop any weapons you have, put your hands up, and show me where you are.”
Slowly, Rebecca began to explore the shed with her feet. She wasn’t sure if the Shroud could see her either, so she made sure to make her steps as quiet as possible. The floor didn’t even creak as she crossed it to the other side. As she landed her gun on a spot in the darkness, Rebecca felt she had what she had come here for.
She took a breath. Then she raised her foot off the ground. Within seconds she came back down on the wood, pounding as hard as she could in her stomp.
A sharp pain seized in her shin, and Rebecca was knocked down as she heard the Shroud leave the shed and begin running again. Cursing, she shook the pain off and began out of the shed after the bastard.
“Hey, come back here!” she yelled. She tried to point her gun as she ran. “I gave you a chance, but I’m not going to have you—” Rebecca was cut off as the ground fell from under her. Rebecca’s chin slammed hard into the splintered wood as she felt her ankles get caught up in something long.
Then she heard the clinking of metal and felt what now seemed to be a chain wrapping around her ankles, dragging her off the dock. Realizing what was happening, Rebecca quickly began scratching at the wood, cutting her fingers as she tried to find some way to get a grip. She was sinking fast, and she couldn’t hold on as the chains of the anchor line jerked her further and further away from the dock.
After a minute of fighting, she lost her grip on the last edge of the planks. Instead of screaming, she sucked in the little air she could before she went downward and plunged into the water. It didn’t stop much, though, and she felt herself beginning to drown.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Her lungs begged her for air. She wished she could oblige them. Instead, the anchor wrapped around her leg continued to drag her down.
She struggled. Each move increased her desperate need to breathe while doing nothing to get her closer to air.
She got lightheaded. Her muscles grew fatigued. Something in her head was telling her to just stop struggling already…
Suddenly, the chain around her leg tightened a moment and then loosened. She was free of the anchor! She expected to just float to the surface. Instead, she hung there in the water, neither dropping further into black nothingness nor buoying up toward safety.
Her lungs were on fire, and panic gripped her. She was too weak to do anything about any of it.
Someone’s arms wrapped around her. Was it the Shroud, come to finish her?
No, these were protective arms. Strong arms of deliverance. The arms brought her up, up, away from the death that beckoned below…
Suddenly she was above the surface of the water! She gasped loudly for air. She got a mouthful of water along with it, but she didn’t care. She could brea
the! She panted and sucked air as the arms around her swam her to the shore. Finally, with the beach below her, she crawled to dry land, coughing, sputtering, and catching her breath.
“It’s okay! Breathe! Breathe!” The voice belonged to Dennis.
She looked up. He crouched beside her, breathing heavily. He was soaking wet, his brow creased with concern.
“Did you—” She coughed violently, hacking up some water.
“Yeah,” he answered.
Since she couldn’t thank him verbally, she yanked him into an awkward embrace, nearly pulling him over. After a moment, he held her back, tightly. It felt so good. It felt like life.
“Shh. Shh. You’re okay, now.” His voice soothed her mind as his arms supported her body.
“How?” she rasped.
“I was in the shower when you called, but I got your message. Came out to the docks to look around. I heard gunshots and figured that had to be you. And that you were trouble. When I found the shed and saw the hole…” He shrugged and gestured at them both.
Something about that felt wrong. But her mind was still hazy from nearly drowning.
“Crap, you’re bleeding,” Dennis said, examining her.
He pulled a wet, blue paisley bandana from his pocket and pressed it to her chin. She winced but then took it from him, keeping pressure on it. She noted her fingers were scraped up, too. That seemed to be the extent of her damages from the latest run-in with the Shroud.
You’re lucky to be alive, her detective-brain told her. Except, as a detective, she didn’t believe in luck. Either Dennis being here was a coincidence… or something else was going on.
You’re being paranoid again, Rebecca, she told herself. She eyed Dennis. “So,” she said haltingly, finally finding her voice, “what did you find?”
He visibly relaxed, running a hand through his drenched hair. “Besides you? Nothing. I was up and down the docks and couldn’t find any trace of Jennifer’s yacht. Maybe we’re at the wrong docks?”
