Mommy May I

by A. K. Alexander

  Frankie stepped in. “God, you are beautiful,” he sighed. Frankie slumped over. “Sit up straight.” He poured liquid soap onto a sponge and began washing her back, her face, arms, fingers, neck, and breasts.

  It was now or never as a plan of action began to take place inside Frankie’s head. “Ooh, that feels good,” she said. If only she really had the courage to go through with it.

  “I told you it would,” he said.

  As he moved the sponge down her waist, she grabbed his hand. “Why not come in with me? I’ll wash you.” Though she inwardly shivered in disgust, she knew she had to do this to save her life.

  He smiled his sickly smile. She watched him weigh her words. She tossed back her hair and arched her back, like the girls she’d seen in those tacky commercials on late-night TV.

  “All right, if that’s what you want.” He stripped down and faced her. Disgusting. Frankie had never seen a naked man before, and she was repulsed. He sat behind her and asked to wash her hair. She let him, nearly passing out from it, but knowing that if she’d come this far, she’d have to follow through in order to get out alive.

  “Let me wash your hair, now.” Frankie shifted around behind him, trying hard not to vomit. She felt him relax. He trusted her. This was right where she wanted him. There was no time to linger. It had to be done quickly. She poured a large handful of soap into her palms and before she could back out she smeared it into his eyes.

  “Fuck! What the hell? You little bitch!” he screamed. He rubbed his eyes and reached for a towel. Then Frankie kicked his exposed genitals as hard as she could.

  Howling in pain, he slumped over, screaming more obscenities. She ran naked for the door. He’d locked all the bolts. No time to look for the keys. He scrambled around in the bathroom, screaming at her. She grabbed the hammer he’d been using to mount photos of her and Helena. After ripping open the curtains, she shattered the large window with the hammer, then kicked out the rest of the glass with her bare feet, and climbed through. Slivers of the glass cut into her, but she didn’t even feel the pain.

  It was difficult to see with pine trees looming over her, creating shadows in the twilight of dusk. Fresh air filled her lungs, bringing her fully back to life. She ran frantically through the woods, searching for a road or some sign of civilization. She sensed he wasn’t far behind, but she didn’t look back.

  When she thought she couldn’t run any longer, she heard a car and half-laughed, half-cried out. There was a clearing through the brush where she saw a car pulled over. And there he was, as if waiting for her. Their eyes locked. Frankie collapsed to the ground.

  ****

  Tyler had been driving up the winding road that led to Shelton’s cabin. He whipped around the curves faster than he knew he should. The sun was setting, making it difficult to see. Bright patches of sunlight blinded him when he came around the turns.

  He tried to radio in for back up but had no luck getting reception with the mountains blocking transmission. He hadn’t been thinking rationally when he’d run out of Patrick’s home. With all the twists and turns in the road, Tyler was afraid that he’d gotten lost. He pulled over to check the map, sensing that he was near the cabin.

  He started to crank back onto the road and looked to his left, where he thought he saw a figure emerging from the trees. It was Frankie—naked, hurt, seeming more animal than human as she screamed something primal into the early evening. But she was alive.

  ****

  Gone! She’d escaped. Richard was dazed by what had taken place. He threw some clothes into a duffel bag and left the cabin, determined not to be caught, knowing the authorities would be coming through the door momentarily.

  He’d watched Francesca climb into a car with some man. If he’d had a gun, he would’ve blasted them both. He couldn’t believe he’d spared her life for so long.

  Richard was angry for being naïve and so easily manipulated. He’d thought he had found someone to replace Brianne. How stupid and foolish to believe in that little bitch. When she’d lured him into the bathtub, he’d thought she’d seen the light. Perhaps they could be lovers, and she’d never want to go back home. But no, just like Brianne, she’d betrayed him.

  Brianne would have never turned on him if not for Helena. It still hurt to remember the night she’d died. As he’d sped down the coast highway, he could see her beautiful eyes staring up at him as he drove out to the desert. What had he done? Oh, God. Brianne wasn’t breathing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  He shook her over and over, screaming her name. “Brianne, Brianne! Wake up! I’m sorry!” He pulled her slender body close to him, rocking her in his arms. Her torn blouse fell from her back. “I didn’t mean to. I never meant to hurt you.” He’d choked her during a fit of rage over what he’d read in her journal.

  Before making the decision to bury her body in the desert, he’d carried her downstairs to the embalming station, but halfway through the procedure of preserving her, he’d stopped. Unlike the others, he couldn’t collect Brianne. He wouldn’t be able to stand to see her this way, because unlike the others, he’d loved her.

  When he’d been with Brianne, he hadn’t needed to kill, hadn’t even thought about it. She’d replaced his rage with love; he thought he’d never have to feel that kind of hatred again.

  His emotions swung from sadness to extreme anger, making him hungry for more violence. “I didn’t do this, Brianne. Helena did this. Thank God you wrote it all down in your journal so I’d know who to blame. She’s nothing but a lying, conniving drunk. But don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure she pays.” On that trip to Brianne’s grave in the Mojave Desert, he devised his plan.

  It would’ve worked, too, if he had killed Francesca. “Another time, another place,” he said aloud as he sped away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  No one knew where Tyler had gone when he ran out in such a hurry. Helena and Patrick were upset by his absence and the way he’d left. His failure to communicate could only mean something bad had happened.

  Claire brought in coffee for them. Helena leaned her head on Patrick’s shoulder. By now the house, pretty much emptied, had grown ominously quiet, everyone lost in their own thoughts. The phone rang again. Each time it did was extremely disconcerting.

  Patrick picked it up. “Hello.”

  “It’s me, Patrick—Tyler.”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I found her. I found Frankie.”

  Patrick cried out, “Is she . . .?” His hands shook. “Thank God. All right, we’ll meet you there!” Patrick’s eyes filled with tears as he turned to face Helena. “It’s Frankie. She’s alive. Tyler found her.” He wrapped his arms around Helena, and they held each other tight for a moment before leaving for the hospital to see their daughter.

  ****

  Richard had to think fast. It wouldn’t be long until the cops figured out his identity. He had to get out of the country, lie low for a while. He called someone he used to know, when he’d first moved to LA. A dude big into drugs and porn, he knew his way around a prison cell. He also knew how to get anyone pretty much anything they needed, including false identification. He’d done it for Richard before, and Richard had made sure to nurture that contact with respect and generosity. It was good to know people in low places whom he’d always be able to count on in a pinch.

  He checked into a cheap motel, dyed his hair black and placed graying highlights around the sideburns, put in blue contacts, and with his expert skills in cosmetics, added quite a few years to his age. He donned glasses and a mustache and put on a pair of navy slacks and a tan cashmere sweater he’d picked up at a quaint shop on Rodeo Drive. He picked up his new ID, then went to the Santa Monica pier where he ditched his car and called a cab to take him to LAX.

  He caught his first flight to New York, figuring he’d go somewhere in Europe, maybe Spain or France for awhile, someplace he could go and play the dapper gentleman tourist. He took out his new ID and decided he
liked his new name. He was James Hilyard now.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  With several stitches and a bandaged arm, Frankie was almost ready to leave the hospital. Collier had shown up to question her, but Tyler muscled him away. The detective still had no intention of giving up his relentless campaign.

  “Go home, Collier. It’s over. This psycho is strictly an FBI collar now. It’s obvious these folks had nothing to do with everything that’s happened. So head south, get a good night’s sleep, and let it go.”

  Collier walked away, giving him his usual gesture. Tyler hollered after him, “Hey Collier, what’s your bone with these people anyway?”

  Collier stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Read The Times obits for February 13, 1996. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

  Tyler shrugged and headed down the passageway to Frankie’s room. He’d learned a lot about Richard Shelton in a short amount of time, including the fact that Richard’s aunt and uncle had raised him after his mother was murdered. He also discovered that the aunt had died in a suspicious farmyard accident, and that Richard had inherited everything after his uncle died. Tyler was sure there was a lot more to the story than what he’d turned up so far. He hadn’t been able to get a recent employer’s name but he was sure that, too, would surface.

  Tyler greeted anxious but relieved parents. He knew they’d want more answers than he had at present. Frankie smiled at him, even though her face was bruised and swollen. “How did you know where to find me, Mr. Savoy?” she asked.

  “Just doing my job—with a lot of help. I’ll fill you in when you’re up to it. Now please, call me Tyler.”

  “I think they’ll release her soon,” Helena said, her hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

  “Good. Hey, can we talk? I need to show you something,” he said to Helena. She followed him out of the hospital room. “She seems pretty stable, considering what he did to her. She’s one tough kid. You should be proud.”

  “I am—very. It makes me absolutely sick to think of what he did to her and what he could’ve done.”

  “I think she’ll be fine, if she’s anything like her mom.” He smiled and Helena smiled back. “Hey listen, my boss faxed over a composite here to the hospital and a photo of Richard Shelton, while I was waiting for you and Patrick to arrive. The composite drawing is from a description Rachel gave to Loretta of a man she saw inside Shea House while she was there. The composite pretty much matches the photo, so it’s pretty obvious to us now that Richard Shelton most likely did not only kidnap Frankie, but also started the fire at Shea House. And I’m certain we’ll be able to tie him to Leeza’s murder. Do you want to take a look? I still need a positive I.D. from Frankie to confirm that this is our man, but everything points in that direction.”

  Helena nodded, but when he showed her the fax, he had to catch her as her knees buckled in. “What is it, Helena? Do you know him?”

  “He’s my assistant, Tim Girard.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Richard Shelton, a.k.a. Tim Girard, was a killer with a knack for becoming who he needed to be to accomplish the task at hand. The fact that he seemed to be a master of disguise would make tracking and catching him far more difficult.

  There was still a lot of missing information about Shelton. Evidently, he could easily change his name, face, and voice, even his perceived sexual identity.

  Helena couldn’t believe how cleverly he’d wormed his way into her life, and that she’d considered him one of her best friends. How could he have fooled her so easily? How could she have not seen that he was evil and sick? She’d completely trusted him.

  Tyler had explained to Helena that whenever she’d called what she thought was Shelton’s home number, the call was automatically forwarded to a cell phone, making it appear as if Tim were always available to her. And he’d played the role of the gay assistant to a tee, even occasionally frequenting gay clubs and bars, so that he’d be known in the community. Similarly, he’d joined AA, and become Tim G., recovering alcoholic and the anchor of Helena’s sober support group. He’d had the whole thing mastered. His acting as though he were homosexual in recovery had thrown everyone off his path. He seemed so sincere and loving.

  Helena vividly remembered the day she’d met him at an AA meeting soon after she’d gotten out of Betty Ford. She’d been on a break out on the sidewalk drinking coffee and smoking. He, too, was drinking coffee and smoking a clove cigarette. He struck up a conversation with her about the program, claiming that he’d been sober for three years. “I see you got your sixty days,” he observed.

  “I never thought anything would be so hard,” she’d told him.

  “I know, sweetie, believe me. I started pounding back the booze when I found out my partner had AIDS. I didn’t know how to deal with the loss, so I drowned my sorrows.”

  She understood that kind of loss. His story seemed so completely genuine that they spent hours talking about their lives and quickly became friends. She loved “Tim’s” sense of humor and style, and soon she’d hired him as her assistant at Shea Models. He’d proven himself dependable, and she’d given him the flexibility to come and go as he pleased. With that kind of leeway, he was free to stalk and plan her demise.

  Helena couldn’t help feeling confused and betrayed. On the one hand, it was as if she’d lost this great friend that she’d cared so deeply for. But then, when she thought about what he’d done to Frankie and Rachel, and even Leeza, that phony friendship melted away to reveal a monster underneath toward whom she could only feel nausea, hate, and anger.

  Frankie walked into the family room where Helena sat on the sofa, lost in her thoughts. She sat down next to her mom. She’d just come out of the shower and smelled like almond shampoo. Helena stroked Frankie’s wet hair.

  “I thought he was going to kill me,” Frankie said weakly.

  “You must’ve been so frightened. They’ll get him, honey. Tyler promised.”

  “The worst part was thinking about how angry I’ve been lately, and that if I could only see you and Dad one more time I’d tell you that I love you and forgive you for everything, and hope you forgive me for being such a jerk. I now know that I really need you. And I understand why you gave me up. All I want is to have you as my mom.”

  “I’m all yours, Sweetheart, and nothing will ever change that. We’re going to make it through this.”

  Frankie hugged her. “Do you think you could sleep here in my room tonight? I know that sounds like a baby thing. But, well . . .”

  “No it doesn’t. Of course, I’ll sleep in your room with you. I think we’ll have to make room for Ella, though.” They looked down at the dog at Helena’s feet, wagging her tail.

  Patrick came into the room. “What’s this? A group hug and you left me out?”

  Laughing together, they included him. Frankie pulled away first. “I’m going to get something to eat. I’m still hungry.”

  “Dad or I can make you something.”

  “Nah, you don’t need to. I think I can manage.”

  “You sure?” Patrick asked.

  “Yes, I’ll be all right. It’s not like this place isn’t barricaded. I see all those FBI guys out there.”

  They watched her head for the kitchen, then Helena said, “I’m worried. She’s acting too normal, considering what’s happened.”

  “She’s probably still in shock. I’m worried, too. That’s why I’ve come up with an idea. I think the two of you should take the jet to the islands tomorrow. Stay at my place in Maui.”

  “I don’t know.” She raised her eyebrows, giving him the skeptic’s look. “Don’t you think a vacation is a bit premature?”

  “No. I think it’s exactly what we all need. I’ve already spoken with Tyler, and he’ll be sending some of his men with you. It’ll give you both a chance to recuperate.”

  “You said it’s what we all need. What about you?” Helena asked, still not exactly sold on the idea.

  “I’ll be there in time for Frankie’s bir
thday. Tyler thinks he has a lead on Shelton, and I’d like to be involved. We’re heading up to a small town near Redding where Shelton was from. Then, on to New York where they think he might have gone.”

  “Let the police do their job, please. Last time I checked you weren’t a cop. Going to Hawaii feels wrong right now. I’m not sure that Frankie is up to it. For that matter, I’m not certain that I’m up to it or that I’d feel safe without you there. And what about the media? The last thing we need is for them to follow us.”

  “I understand that you would feel that way, but getting away from the spotlight will allow Frankie and you to begin getting back to basics. Shelton hurt our daughter, and I’m determined to go after him with Tyler. Don’t you worry about the reporters. Tyler says he’s got that one covered, too.”

  “It’s dangerous. You heard what they’ve said about him—a very clever criminal mind. He’s a damn psychopath and serial killer. Look at how he weaseled his way into my life without giving me an inkling of his true identity. He’s that good.”

  “Lena, I’m going after him. We’re bringing him down.”

  “Bull-headed as ever, I see. I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”

  He shook his head. “I’m going with Tyler on this hunch he has. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll fly out to be with you and Frankie.”

  “Okay, but what if he finds out where we are?”

  “With this manhunt, he won’t have a prayer of getting to you. Besides, Maui is magical. Remember?” He cocked his head, a grin spread across his face.

  She did remember the fortress he owned there, hidden behind foliage on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. They’d spent a couple of days there when they were together. Magic did describe it. She smiled back at him. Maybe it would be a good thing, as long as they could ditch the media and Richard Shelton couldn’t find them.