The Stranger

by Mark Ayre

  At last, he said, “Travis let us down and put us in danger when he refused to give that bag to Francis, and then he stole your bag after you saved his life. He needs to learn a lesson. Let’s go.”

  This time she let his wrist slip from her hand and allowed him to pull open the door and step outside. Leaving the car, she followed him down the drive. Before she reached the front stoop, Michael had knocked, and someone was already moving inside.

  “Let me do the talking,” he said, as though he were in charge. Abbie gave him a look that displayed her disapproval, then shrugged.

  “The floor is yours.”

  No glass in this door, frosted or otherwise. Abbie and Michael could not see who was coming but could hear feet down the stairs, a hand removing the chain, the latch flicking back, and the handle turning. Then the door was swinging open, and Clarissa was revealed.

  “Hey, Riss,” said Michael. “Can we come in?”

  Clarissa’s eyes flashed to Michael as he spoke, then moved to Abbie before widening in horror.

  She slammed the door.

  Or tried. Abbie managed simultaneously to direct a pointed look at Michael and catch the door with a palm. This was impressive, though Michael showed no signs of awe.

  Weakened by grief, Eddie had stood no chance of slamming the door in Abbie’s face when she had earlier prevented him from doing what Clarissa was now attempting. Clarissa wasn’t grieving but apparently had no upper body strength. With ease, Abbie was able to open the door, even as Clarissa, with all her might, tried to prevent the older woman’s entry.

  “Breaking and entering,” the mouse that was Clarissa squealed as Abbie crossed the threshold. Though Abbie had only eased the door open, Clarissa had collapsed to the floor as though Abbie had used a battering ram.

  When Michael entered, Clarissa turned his way. The squeak vanished from her voice.

  “You piece of shit.”

  “Play nice,” said Abbie. “Or don’t, but either way, tell me where I can find Travis.”

  “He’s not here,” said Clarissa, as her eyes flicked to the stairs.

  “Fine,” said Abbie. She turned as though to leave, spun 180 on her heel, and rushed up the stairs.

  From the bottom, Clarissa shrieked, “She’s coming. Run, baby, run.”

  At the peak of the staircase, a short landing. Had Travis remained still, Abbie would have had no idea where to go. All the doors were closed. But hearing Clarissa’s call, Travis scrambled to escape, and Abbie heard behind which door he moved.

  Throwing open the door, she burst into Clarissa’s bedroom. Wearing only boxers and a half-buttoned shirt, Travis was opening the window and trying to climb through. Over his shoulder was an expensive black bag that did not suit him.

  “Idiot,” muttered Abbie. Crossing the room, she grabbed him by shirt and shoulder and hauled him back.

  With a baby’s cry, he tumbled, fell, smacked the ground, and his head bounced off a thick rug. As though that rug was uneven concrete, Travis yelled in pain.

  More footsteps, rushing up the stairs. A few moments later, Clarissa entered the room to see Abbie standing over Travis.

  “Get away from him,” she said. There were tears in her eyes, and she was brandishing a cushion.

  “I hope you’re not planning to smother me,” said Abbie.

  Clarissa went to Travis, who rose as she arrived as though operated by a counterweight. Hate burning in his eyes, Travis pointed at the black bag.

  “You better give that back, bitch. It’s mine.”

  “Is it, though?” said Abbie. “Does it not belong to Leona? Francis might have a claim because he paid you to steal it, but in no world is it yours.”

  There was a silver clasp at the top. As Abbie popped it open, Travis stepped forward and lashed out with a fist which Abbie blocked. Raising a foot, she kicked him to the rug.

  “You really are an idiot,” she said. A quick peek in the bag told her the black book wasn’t there. She could see only a phone, a purse, some coins, and a folded piece of card. “Where’s my book?”

  As she spoke, Michael appeared in the doorway. Travis turned as the door opened. Shock spread across his features, and again he resorted to that pathetic pointing finger.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Clarissa had one hand on Travis’ chest, the other on his leg. Still weeping, she pressed her head into Travis’ shoulder.

  “He betrayed us, Trav. We should never have trusted him.”

  Abbie looked at Michael. “You never told me they were into their amateur dramatics. Emphasis on amateur.”

  “Screw you,” said Clarissa, then gave a squeal as Travis shoved her away, and she tumbled to the floor. Rising, Travis puffed out his chest. What little of it there was, anyway. Ignoring him, Abbie turned to Clarissa.

  “Young lady, you must find a way to see sense. Do you know what he texted me earlier? Right after he slept with you?”

  Abbie looked at Travis to see what effect her words were having. Travis only smiled. His eyes gleamed. What a lot of fun this was, he was thinking. Perhaps this was even how he dreamed it. Abbie would find him and try to reclaim the items he had stolen. They would scrap, and he would pin her down, at which point she would succumb to his animal magnetism.

  It was a repulsive thought. Abbie wished it would go away.

  “Yes,” said Clarissa. “Trav tells me everything. He texted because you were ignoring our demands. We needed to warn you if you didn’t give us what we wanted, the book would go to the wrong kinds of people.”

  Abbie shook her head. The poor girl had no idea. Regurgitating the few tidbits of information Travis had fed her.

  In the doorway, Michael stood quiet, contemplating. Occasionally he looked to Clarissa, but there was no compassion in his eyes. It was like he was seeing her for the first time.

  Abbie said, “Fine. I’ll pay up, then you can give me my property.”

  Clarissa rose to her knees, shuffled forward. Like an obedient puppy, she went to nuzzle Travis’ palm, but Travis jerked away. After Abbie’s date, she had changed into her new jeans, boots, and top. The top was tighter than the dress but not so tight as had been the top on which Kline and Ronson had rudely bled. Reaching in, she began fiddling, struggling.

  “What are you doing?” said Clarissa.

  “Taking off my bra,” said Abbie, as though this was obvious.

  Travis’ eyes lit up.

  “Why?” said Clarissa. Now the girl got to her feet and stood shoulder to shoulder with the boy to whom she was devoted and who held her in nothing but contempt.

  Abbie paused. “You wanted me to pay up. That’s what I’m doing. Actually, could you take the picture? Reason I’ve held out was fear that, in taking it myself, I wouldn’t do the goods justice, if you know what I mean. You’ll get a shot of which I can be proud. I know you will.”

  Unlocking the phone, she passed it to Clarissa, then reached for the hem of her top and prepared to pull it over her head.

  “Wait, I don’t understand,” said Clarissa.

  “Was this not what you wanted?” said Abbie. “This is what Travis’ text specified.”

  “No,” said Clarissa. “No. Five grand. By the end of the day.”

  Abbie feigned confusion. “Well, this is embarrassing. Did I misunderstand? The text icon is in the bottom left there, maybe if you click it and check the request. Tell me how I misunderstood. Oh, I’m so flustered and frustrated with myself. What a fool I’ve been.”

  As Clarissa looked at the bottom of the screen on the phone Abbie had handed her, Travis realised what was happening. He put a hand on her wrist, then tried to take the phone.

  “Ignore that,” he said, but Clarissa jerked away. When Travis tried to follow, Abbie grabbed his arm to halt his progress.

  On the phone, Clarissa’s hands were shaking. The texts had been stored on the sim, so Clarissa had both the original ask for the nude and the derogatory comments the boy she loved had made about her. As she reac
hed the end, tears sprung into her eyes.

  Abbie released Travis and adjusted her bra, which had shifted into an uncomfortable position while she was engaging in her own bit of amateur dramatics.

  The phone slipped from Clarissa’s hands.

  Travis approached her.

  “Babe, it’s a bit of—“

  A knee to the groin crushed the end of the sentence and caused Travis’ lungs to evacuate. Gasping, eyes bulging, Travis went to ground, curling into the foetal position as he put his hands between his legs.

  “You shit,’ said Clarissa.

  “Good connection,” said Abbie, collecting her phone from the floor. Luckily, the drop hadn’t damaged it. Abbie couldn’t have faced asking Ben for a second new phone in a day. “Where’s my book?”

  Clarissa looked at Abbie with wide eyes that appeared to belong in a girl far younger than sixteen. Abbie allowed her a moment. The girl turned and went to the bed, lifting the mattress to reveal the little black book.

  “I didn’t look in it,” she said, handing it over. “Travis wouldn’t let me. I promise I had no idea what he’d asked of you. I swear.”

  “I believe you, sweetheart,” said Abbie. “You just thought he was trying to rob me, which is comforting.”

  Clarissa’s face flushed red, and she looked at the ground. She didn’t try to explain away her indefensible actions. That was something, at least.

  As Abbie slipped the book back into her drawstring bag, Michael stepped into the room. After a glance at the still groaning Travis, he turned his attention to the black bag which Abbie had already claimed and which now hung off her wrist.

  “So what now?” he asked. “We give that to Francis?”

  “I’d quite like to know why he wanted it,” said Abbie. Then, to Clarissa, “Did Travis work that out?”

  “He said it would be the phone, but he didn’t look inside. I think he was afraid.”

  “What did he think; there might a ghost in here?”

  No answer. Abbie again unclasped the bag, but this time removed the phone. It would probably be locked. Abbie would never know because it had also run out of battery. It was an iPhone, and there was bound to be an iPhone charger around. Before Abbie asked for one (on the off chance the phone wasn’t locked), she took out the purse and card.

  In the purse, there was nothing but bank cards Leona would by now have cancelled and ten pounds in cash. Despite the smaller amount, Abbie was interested to see Travis hadn’t pinched the note. This indicated Clarissa hadn’t been lying and hadn’t been lied to; Travis hadn’t opened the bag.

  From the floor, Travis grabbed the foot of the bed and dragged himself to feet. Still pale, still in pain, he was now taking deep breaths to try and calm himself.

  “Bitch,” he said to Clarissa. “You’re shit in bed. You’re a waste of space. You’re—“

  Michael punched Travis in the face, causing the ringleader to stumble.

  Ignoring the scuffle, Abbie replaced the purse in the bag, kept the phone in her hand, and unfolded the piece of card as Travis turned on Michael, only for Clarissa to punch him in the throat.

  While Travis gagged, Abbie turned the unfolded card towards the three teens.

  “I think we know what Francis wanted.”

  Three sets of eyes turned her way. Travis looked stunned. Clarissa gasped.

  Michael said, “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah,” said Abbie. “I think that about sums it up.”

  Twenty-One

  With both great satisfaction and Clarissa’s blessing, Abbie dragged Travis downstairs and hurled him out the front door.

  Immediately, he was standing, his face contorted in rage. He took two steps towards the house and stopped dead when Abbie stepped out the front door.

  “I know you were busy fleeing like a coward, stealing my stuff,” said Abbie, “but you must have taken note of at least some of my fight with Ronson and Kline. Did you stay long enough to see me knock them both out cold? How much trouble do you think a weedy little teen like you will pose when I’ve already proven I can take out those two muscle-for-hires?”

  For a few seconds, Travis was trapped. As a teenager who craved being the centre of attention and needed to be seen as a big deal, humiliation frightened him far more than did the threat of pain. To be seen running from a girl was humiliating. But was it more or less humiliating than trying to take the woman on and losing in an embarrassing amount of time? That was the decision Travis was trying to make.

  To help him, Abbie took a step forward.

  Travis bolted.

  Abbie returned to the house. Clarissa and Michael were at the bottom of the stairs. Still sobbing, Clarissa moved to Michael as Abbie entered.

  “I’m so sorry, Mike,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let him in. I should never have chosen him. I—“

  Clarissa had taken Michael’s arm. He shook her off as Travis had earlier shaken her off. Without a word, he walked out the door and didn’t look back.

  As though she had to be clinging to something or she would surely fall, Clarissa grabbed the end post of the bannister at the foot of the stairs. Abbie watched her cling to it and tried not to hate the girl. After all, had Abbie not once upon a time been a little like that?

  “Travis will return,” Abbie said. “He needs to be adored, and despite the texts and all that abuse you hurled, he’ll see you as an easy target. I hope you prove him wrong.”

  “I will,” said Clarissa. “I promise I will.”

  “Make the promise to yourself, not me.”

  “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

  Abbie turned, ready to walk out the door and close it behind her. Before she reached the front step, Clarissa called her back.

  “Do you think Michael will ever forgive me? What can I do to make him not hate me?”

  Abbie paused in the doorway. Considered walking away. Something made her turn back, walk across the hall, and lay her hands on Clarissa’s.

  Those big, doe eyes looked into Abbie’s face.

  “Forget about Michael,” said Abbie. “Know what the best thing you can do for yourself is?”

  Clarissa shook her head. Abbie wrapped her hands around Clarissa’s hands and gently lifted them from the bannister post. When she released the girl, Clarissa wobbled like Bambi taking his first steps.

  “Learn to stand on your own two feet,” said Abbie. “Learn how to enjoy your own company. You don’t have to be a loner. In fact, you shouldn’t be a loner. But if you can learn to feel comfortable in your own company and learn to like yourself as a person, you’ll find it much easier to discern which people are worth your time as friends and lovers, and you’ll better understand why you deserve to be liked or loved in the first place. Got it?”

  Having found surer footing, Clarissa nodded. Maybe she meant it, perhaps she didn’t. Abbie didn’t have the time to hang around.

  “Good luck,” she said; and left Clarissa with the one person she most struggled to be alone with. Herself.

  Back outside Michael’s house, Abbie tried to meet the boy’s eye.

  “I’m keeping the bag. You might want to give it to Francis. Might even be thinking if you claim to have stolen it from Travis, he’ll give you the whole twenty grand, and you’ll be able to clear almost your mother’s entire debt.”

  Michael said nothing. His expression revealed the truth in Abbie’s guess.

  “That might happen,” said Abbie. “More likely, Francis is furious and embarrassed that his plan backfired. He’ll feel stupid for being robbed by a teen. Rather than show gratitude, he is far more likely to shoot the messenger. He may even assume you were involved and only brought the bag back after getting cold feet.”

  Michael was looking at his hands. More than anything, he wanted to save his mother. For the money to pay off her debts, there were few lengths to which he would not go. Abbie thought of Ben again, of his rejection of Abbie’s pleas for money to help Michael, and felt fury flash through her.

  To Michael, she sa
id, “You have to trust me. I’m going to sort this bag issue, and I’ll try and get you some help with your debts.”

  Pulling his eyes from his feet, Michael looked at Abbie again. There was gratitude there. Tears, also. If Abbie had been a more emotionally available person, she might have hugged the kid. Having already kissed Bobby, Abbie had nothing left to give in terms of physical affection of the platonic or romantic kind.

  “You trust me?” she said.

  He nodded.

  “Good. Now get lost. I’ve got things to do.”

  After Michael slid from the car, Abbie remained where she was, watching him trudge up the drive to the front door. Watching him let himself in and disappear. Only when she saw the light come on in a bedroom on the top floor of the three-story terrace did she start the car and drive away.

  Once bitten, twice shy.

  It was nearing eleven. Abbie still had a little time to kill before meeting Eddie. Some of it, she would use to try to relax. First, something a little more critical.

  No one was manning the hotel’s reception this evening. Abbie swept past the counter and head upstairs. Passing the second room she had paid for and which she only had for one night, she moved to the room where Danny had died. This one she had also paid for, for last night and tonight. Technically, it was still hers.

  The police tape was gone, but they would have asked Glenda to leave it empty at least for tonight, and the chances of anyone getting it tomorrow were also slim. As the cops had already been over the room with a fine-tooth comb, they were unlikely to return and would not conduct another thorough search if they did.

  With impressive speed and almost no noise, Abbie picked the lock, entered the room, and behind her closed the door.

  Maybe it would be longer before someone new slept in here. The police offered an investigative rather than a deep cleaning service. The drops of blood by the door, the chair, the curtains, had faded. From the floor beside the bed, the police had been courteous enough to remove Danny’s body. The carpet here was ruined. A deep clean might solve the problem. More likely, it would need replacing.