Unbelievable

by Sherry Gammon

  His eyes raked over my face, but he said nothing about me striking an officer. “The email address you gave us was a dead end. There is no such account.” He glared at me, and continued. “We planted a bug in the apartment and on your landline, just like we talked about.”

  “Oh goodie. Now I’ll have no privacy.”

  “I’m warning you,” he said, glaring directly into my eyes, “I know your type. I’ve worked with big time drug dealers since I was eighteen. Never has one gone straight. Never has one turned his life around and given up the business. Never.”

  “Guilty by association, eh, Gatto? I was never in the business, for your information,” I pointed out fruitlessly.

  “So you say, yet the information you so willingly gave us is of little use, including the grainy cell phone pictures. The clinic your dad’s supposedly seeking treatment at doesn’t exist. And the clinic in New Mexico you claim has been treating your father for his emphysema said they’ve never heard of your family. In fact, they have no record of a Dreser ever being seen there. That’s three strikes, Delilah. If I’m not mistaken, that means you’re out.”

  I ignored him, too tired to play any more of his games. “Are you going to arrest me? Because if you’re not, I’d like to leave.” I turned for the door.

  Booker’s large hand slapped against it and he leaned in close. “You hurt my friends in any way, if you so much as rip one of Cole’s bandages off and cause him to bleed, I’ll be on you like a fly on . . . honey. Maggie’s too nice to tell you what your brother did to her, and she’d kill me if I did, so let’s just say she almost died at his hands.”

  “I’m not my brother,” I protested weakly. “I’d never hurt h—”

  He cut me off. “Everywhere you go, everything you do, I’ll know about it. I’ll know when you breathe in and when you breathe out. I have people watching your every move. Remember that, Delilah. Your. Every. Move.”

  My hands shook so badly, I slipped them into my pockets, not wanting Booker to see how much he got to me. He opened the door and ordered a uniformed cop to take me home. We rode in silence to my apartment. The only sound was my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. I didn’t answer it. I knew who it was. Who else would be calling at five a.m.?

  I thanked the cop for dropping me off. He ignored me.

  Hurrying inside, I collapsed onto my bed in tears. My life had become a pathetic mess, and I could blame no one but myself.

  I rolled over, feeling the lump from my cell phone digging into my hip as I did. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the missed calls. Restricted. “Daddy.” I reached over to set the phone on my bedside table, but decided to check the voice mail knowing Booker had already heard it.

  I pressed the phone to my ear as Daddy’s voice began. “Princess, calling to see how our little plan’s going. I hope you’re not going to fail me again. You’re a Dreser, young lady. Get those codes or we won’t have our revenge like we’ve planned.” The message ended. I tossed the phone on the table and twisted on my side as a new wave of sorrow consumed me. Thankfully, exhaustion overtook everything else and I fell asleep.

  Then the nightmare started.

  “Please, don’t hurt my mommy,” I pleaded through my eight year-old tears. “Please don’t, Alan. Please.”

  “Beg me again, princess. Beg me again.”

  But I couldn’t. Fear closed my throat. All I could do was stand there, shaking, in complete and utter fear. He was going to kill my mommy, I just knew it. And he was going to kill me. Vomit raced up my throat, but I swallowed it. If I threw up on him, he’d for sure kill me. He still held the knife in his hand as he touched me. Eventually he hurled it into the wood floor. The blade imbedded itself a good inch and wobbled back and forth from the blunt force he’d used.

  “Okay, princess, time for some fun.” Now his touch turned painful. The pain infused a new energy inside me. The words my mother told me, about my body being my body and no one had the right to touch me, screamed out in my mind.

  I fought back. I bit him. I slapped him. I kicked him. Only Alan didn’t stop, instead he laughed. He liked it when I fought him. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself. But he also couldn’t hurt me since his hands were busy blocking my blows. I kept swinging, deciding to add voice to my attack. Maybe, just maybe, someone would hear and come save me.

  Alan laughed louder. The rotten egg smell of his breath smothered my face. This time I retched, splattering it everywhere. “Wow, princess must be pretty scared.” He grabbed my shredded dress to wipe off the vomit that landed on his pants. He tossed the dress over the remaining puddle on the floor.

  “Now where were we? Oh yeah, I remember.”

  “Someone help me, please!” I screamed at the top of my voice. I slapped at his hands with more vigor.

  The locked bedroom door flew open, kicked in by my father, the frame shattering into pieces. Daddy took one look at my violently shaking, naked body before rushing at Alan, fists flying. I crouched on the floor, my hands over my ears as Daddy beat my brother. I couldn’t understand what he screamed to Alan through my muffled ears, but I could hear the anger in his voice. My mother rushed in the room and scooped me up in the folds of her arms, carrying me out.

  “It’s all right sweetheart, Mami’s here now.”

  My tears flowed hard, causing me to shake even more violently now that I was safe.

  “It’s okay, mi niña valiente,” she assured, carrying me into her bedroom. She scooped her bathrobe off a hook from the back of her door and wrapped it around me as we settled into a rocking chair in the corner. She held me, rocking me and caressing my hair. “Mi niña valiente,” she said. “My brave little girl,” she reiterated in English. “He will never hurt you again.”

  Alan’s screams cut through the room and I jerked. My mom turned on the radio, classical music instead of her usual Latin fare, drowning out his voice. She sang soft and low, words of comfort in her native tongue.

  I woke up with an ache in my heart for her. It was noon. I’d given up on sleep, not wanting to endure the nightmares anymore. Passing on food, I showered, dressed, and drove directly to the library. No more hiding my head in the sand. I needed to know what happened here three years ago.

  Thankfully, my old friend Bambi sat eagerly behind the desk reading a book when I arrived. She wore a black velvet, Renaissance-Goth-style dress that fell to the floor in back, hitting just above her knees in front. Velvet in this heat? I had to admire the dedication to her style.

  “Hi, Bambi.”

  “Hi. How goes the hospital job? Did you finish decorating the doctor’s office?”

  “Yes,” I said casually, not wanting to think about Cole.

  “Alex and I were in the ER last night. Alex got a serious burn on his leg from the exhaust pipe of his Harley. Poor guy. Now he can’t, like, take part in the Ride Across New York event his gang’s hosting.”

  “He’s in a biker gang?”

  “Well, he calls it a gang, but it’s more like a club. He’s the vice president,” she said proudly. A twinkle of light caught my eye and I noticed she had a diamond embedded in her tooth. Like I said, you have to admire the girl’s dedication to her style.

  “I’m trying to find some information, probably from old newspapers, about what happened here three years ago. You know what I’m talking about?” For the life of me I couldn’t say my family name.

  “You mean about those crazy loons who were selling heroin and killing all the girls?”

  Yeah, okay. Guess I should have just said my last name. “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. Do you have newspapers that go back that far?”

  “Sort of. We don’t have the actual newspapers. We only keep those for two weeks, but we have it on microfiche.”

  “Microfiche? I didn’t think anyone used that anymore.”

  “I know, right?” She took me to a small room with a large metal machine that looked somewhat like an old TV set. She flipped a small switch on the front and pulled out the chair, s
ignaling me to sit down. “It takes a minute for the machine to warm up. I’ll go and, like, get the films for you.”

  I sat back and took several deep breaths. I didn’t want to see this. I knew it would sicken me, but before I could chicken out, Bambi strutted back in, the silver buckles from her black ankle boots clinking as she did.

  “Ok, so like, what are you looking for exactly? These talk about the murders.” She slipped the small film into the huge machine and scrolled to the story titled Murder in the Park.

  It detailed the gruesome murder of a young woman named Tammy Byrne by an unknown assailant. In graphic detail, it described the carving up of the poor woman’s body with a knife. Alan. No doubt in my mind.

  “So, this guy, like, we found out later, was named Alan Dreser, and he killed half a dozen girls with a knife. A pearl handled knife.” She brought up two more stories, each more gruesome than the last. There was also a story about Bill trying to kill an unidentified young woman, and an older gentleman named Samuel Gatto, but the man outsmarted him and Bill was killed instead.

  Samuel Gatto. He had to be related to Booker somehow.

  “What about Maggie Prescott? Didn’t I hear that someone tried to kill her?” My voice shook as I spoke, but Bambi didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she assumed anyone’s voice would quiver after reading about violent murders.

  “Maggie Brown, well, Prescott now. Wasn’t her wedding beautiful?” she swooned. I nodded as she slipped in a new film.

  The door to the room opened and an older woman dipped her head in before Bambi found the article.

  “Sorry, dear. The computer’s doing that funny thing again. I tried to fix it, but I’m afraid I only made it worse. Could you help me? It should only take a moment.”

  “Sure thing, Millie.” The woman nodded and left. “This may take a minute. Last time she messed with the computer, we had to, like, shut the entire system down and reboot,” Bambi giggled. “Scroll around a little, and you should be able to find it.”

  I scrolled until I found a picture of Alan, his evil eyes glaring at me. Feelings of hatred gripped me. Under the photo it stated: Drug smuggler, shot dead.

  I read the article. It spoke of broken bones, a punctured lung, multiple bruises and cuts, along with a concussion. Only none of it applied to Alan. They were the injuries Maggie suffered at his hand. I leaned back in my chair, fighting the need to vomit.

  Bambi returned. “Oh good, you found it. Unreal, right? I like that part about her shooting him, like, right between the eyes and him dropping dead. Pretty awesome, huh?” Bambi glanced at me and the smile left her face. “I’ll go and get you something to drink. Don’t faint on me.” She let the room, returning back just as quickly.

  “She’s okay now. You don’t need to worry. She told me herself that she’s healed completely, with only a few scars left.” Bambi handed me the glass of cool water and I drank it slowly, letting the cold pull me back from the dreadful abyss.

  “Thanks.” I handed her the glass. “Would you mind if I finished reading these alone?” I had no idea why I needed to finish reading the articles. Penance, maybe?

  “Sure, if you think you’ll be all right.”

  I nodded and she left me alone in the little room. It took me a half hour to read all the articles. Tears accompanied each word. No wonder Booker hated me. I hated me and I hadn’t done anything. I was the spawn of Satan, plain and simple.

  “Please don’t read anymore.” Through my sobbing, I hadn’t heard Maggie entering the room. I recoiled as she reached over and turned the machine off. The haunting words in front of me faded instantly. She sat in the chair next to mine, covering my hands with hers.

  “I’m sorry,” I sputtered out with my tears. “So very sorry.” I broke down and she gathered me in her arms.

  “Don’t say things like that, Lilah. It’s not true.” Maggie rubbed her hand in small circles on my back in an effort to comfort me.

  “Why do you care? Why? I don’t get it. My family is . . . horrible.” She handed me a tissue and I blew my nose.

  “Lilah, it wouldn’t be fair for me to judge you by what your family did.”

  “Maggie! They’re drug smuggling murderers, not used car salesmen!”

  That made her smile. “Okay, you have a point, but you’re not like them. Right?”

  “No! Of course not, but still, they were, and in the case of my father, still are horrible people,” I explained to her needlessly. “I have my father’s blood coursing through my veins. I come from bad seed.”

  “Lilah, you can’t control where you come from, you can only control what you do and where you’re going,” she assured me. “The minute I saw your brothers, I knew they were …evil. Sorry.” She looked at me as if what she said was a bad thing. “But I’ve never gotten that vibe, if you will, from you, and I’ve been around you a lot more.”

  “So because I don’t give off some evil vibe I’m okay? Maggie, did you ever stop to think that maybe I’m a really good liar?”

  She didn’t answer for a minute as she thought over my suggestion. “Are you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then why did you save me from that car the day we were looking at wedding dresses? Why did you help me with my pathetic hair, and with my wedding?”

  “I was supposed to befriend you so I could get your financial information for my dad. He told me you, Seth and Booker stole our money and he wanted to get it back,” I pointed out.

  “You’re making a good case for Booker’s take on all this, you know.” She smiled. “If you’re really here to do all that, then why are you in this stuffy little room reading those horrible newspaper articles about what happened three years ago, crying like a baby? Not to mention referring to yourself as spawn of Satan?”

  “Because I am.” And I broke down again. I threw my arms onto the desk and dropped my head onto them. Absolutely pathetic.

  “Lilah, you chose not to steal from us. You were the one who confronted Cole and told him everything. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but a spawn of Satan wouldn’t do that.” She patted my back. “Besides, you gave Booker the information you took from him, and you told him you knew his security code. If you’re really evil like you claim, sorry to tell you this, but you suck at it.”

  I looked at her. “You don’t hate me?” She shook her head. “And Seth doesn’t hate me?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “He doesn’t hate you, but I’m not going to lie, he’s concerned. See that woman over in the science fiction section?” I looked out the glass door to see a tall older woman browsing through a Star Wars comic book. She quickly turned her back when she saw us watching her.

  “That’s a coworker of Seth’s. Jenny Bynum, and she doesn’t strike me as the Star Wars type, know what I mean?”

  I chuckled weakly. “Booker wants me in jail.”

  “Yes. Well, Booker’s an enigma unto himself. He’s been through a lot, Lilah, and it’s left him a very complex man. He’ll come around, and when he does he’ll be your biggest supporter.”

  “Right.” I dried my face and put the microfiche back in the envelope. We walked over to Bambi together.

  “Here’s the books you wanted, Maggie.” She handed Maggie a small stack of books before turning to me. “I’m sorry, Lilah. I didn’t realize this would upset you so much.” She took the envelope from me. “It was an ugly time, that’s for sure, with Maggie, like, almost dying and all.”

  Maggie grabbed my elbow. “Thanks Bambi, tell Alex hi for me.” She aimed me for the door and we left.

  “Have you ever met Alex?” I asked as we walked arm and arm through the parking lot.

  “No, but I’m dying to.” We both giggled.

  She led me to her car. “Where are we going?” I asked as we got in.

  “I’ve been debating something in my head for a few months now. Seeing you in there, so upset, just helped me make up my mind. It’ll be the perfect way for us both to put the past behind us.” She looked at my wary expression
and laughed. “Trust me.”

  Chapter 24

  “I’ve lost Cole.” I twisted up the A/C in Maggie’s stifling car.

  “Lilah, he said you didn’t break up, he just needed some time to deal with everything,” Maggie assured me.

  “You’ve known him longer than I have, but I’m pretty sure he’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done,” I said, biting my lip.

  “Cole’s sensible. He needs to think things through, study it all out. Just give him time. I know he still loves you,” she said.

  Her encouragement fell on deaf ears. “You didn’t see his face.” I shook my head. “I’ll never forget the look in his eyes, even if I live to be a hundred.”

  “Cole’s been funny lately. It started before you moved here. He’s been . . . I don’t know, restless. He’s tried to find interests outside of the hospital, but he hasn’t quite found one that fits him well,” she explained as we drove toward the park. “His clumsiness hasn’t helped, but I think that, too, has to do with the way he is. He’s a thinker. He usually has paper and a pencil in his hand as he thinks about . . . everything. I’ve even seen him take notes on his hand if there’s no paper handy.”

  “It’s one of his most endearing traits,” I said to myself more than to Maggie.

  “He comes by it naturally. His dad designs bridges, and his mom’s a statistician. He’s doomed to be a thinker,” she said.

  I dropped my head against the headrest. He had to forgive me. He just had to.

  “I like your hair, by the way,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I could finally use my hair products again to tame the frizzes away.

  “And you don’t have glasses on either. Contacts?” Maggie asked.

  “No. My vision’s fine. Those were a lie, too.” I turned my head in shame, staring blankly out the window.

  We made a right after Applegate Park and drove down a narrow road a few hundred yards, pulling up in front of a dilapidated blue trailer. This part of town wasn’t the best. A dead body could sit and rot in a dumpy trailer like that for a long time before being discovered.