What Hurts the Most: An engrossing, heart-stopping thriller (7th Street Crew Book 1)

by Willow Rose

  I surrender.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  May 1986

  “Sit still, sweetheart. It’s going to be a long drive.”

  Penelope drives onto the highway leading to Miami. It’s a four-hour drive, but it’s going to be worth it. Next to her sits her daughter. Peter is at home with their adopted girl, who is still throwing up a lot. Penelope has told Peter to keep a close eye on the girl. If the vomiting continues, he has to take her to the hospital, she instructed him before she left. Once again, he had to stay home from the office. It’s never popular when he does that, but Penelope has told him it’s vital that he helps her out when they have two very sick children like they do.

  “Will we be there soon?” her daughter asks. She is looking at the landscape passing by her window. She is skinny, and still way too small for her age.

  “Just three more hours,” Penelope says cheerfully. Today is a good day. “I am so happy we finally found a doctor to do your surgery,” she says. “The nice doctor will make your heart much better, and then you’ll be well. Doesn’t that sound good? I think it does. I am excited.”

  “But…but, Mom…”

  “No buts here, little missy. Once you have the surgery, you’ll feel much better. I promise you. You’ll be strong and healthy like your classmates.”

  Penelope turns on the radio and whistles along to What’s Love Got to Do With It by Tina Turner. Her daughter keeps looking out the window.

  “Are you alright?” Penelope asks when the song is over.

  “I’m fine, Mom. I feel just fine. I keep telling you.”

  Penelope looks at her daughter’s face briefly, then back at the road. She doesn’t seem pale anymore. Come to think of it, she hardly seems like she is sick. It’s been weeks since she last threw up. She has some color in her cheeks now, her eyes are sparkling, and she seems happy.

  Almost like a normal nine-year-old.

  “Mom, can I get ice cream when we get to Miami?” she asks.

  “Ice cream? No, you most certainly cannot have ice cream,” Penelope exclaims. “You’re way too sick to have sweets.”

  “Mom. I feel fine. I don’t feel sick at all.”

  “Don’t let that fool you,” Penelope says with a lifted finger. “You’re heart isn’t working properly; that’s why you need surgery. Don’t let one day of feeling better make you believe you’re well now. It’s just tricking you into believing that. You’re still sick, even though you feel better right now. It’s only temporarily. Make no mistake. It won’t last.”

  “But…but…”

  “Now, don’t forget to tell the doctor how bad you feel when he asks, alright? Tell him how many years you have been sick, how much you throw up, and by all means, don’t forget to tell him about the seizures you have all the time. Those are important. You have to really rub it on thick. Otherwise, he might not want to do the surgery, and that would be really bad. I’ve looked for a doctor who would do this for many, many years. Don’t blow it, okay?”

  The child lets out a deep sigh. “Okay.”

  When they arrive at the parking lot in front of the hospital in Miami, hours later, Penelope parks the car, then turns to look at her girl.

  “Now, the paleness we can’t get back. It’s too late for that. But it is important that you look sick. And right now, you’re smiling way too much; your eyes are way too bright. What can we do about that? Let me see…you haven’t eaten in two days; I made sure of that. You should feel lightheaded and have heart palpitations. You do feel those things, don’t you?”

  The girl nods.

  “Alright, that’s good.”

  Penelope looks at her daughter, then leans over, grabs her head, and bangs it against the car window.

  “Now, act sick, okay?” she hisses. “No smiling, no eating, and no laughing. You hear me?”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  September 2015

  When I wake up, I’m alone in the bed. I can hear Joey and Salter talking in the kitchen. I get up and walk out to them.

  “Hey. Look who’s finally awake,” Joey exclaims.

  “Mom!” Salter runs to me and hugs me. I feel overwhelmed. Salter has reached the age where mommy is mostly a source of constant embarrassment, and physical contact is kept to an absolute minimum. Suddenly, he is kissing me and hugging me like I have been gone for months.

  “Dad made pancakes!”

  Joey turns around with a smile. He knows how much I love to start my day with pancakes.

  “I also made eggs,” he says, and shows me the pan. “Cooked just the way you like them.”

  Someone is on the charm offensive. Or maybe he is just happy. I can’t help feeling it a little too. It feels good to be a family again. But, is it enough? Do I dare to let him in again?

  I am still not sure.

  I sit down at the table and let him serve breakfast for me. Salter sits between us. He is smiling from ear to ear, looking at Joey, then back at me again. He’s like a child at Christmas. I can’t stand it. I mean, nothing thrills me more than seeing him like this, but I am not sure it’s a good thing. I am afraid he might get disappointed again. And that is the last thing I would want for him.

  “Let’s eat,” I say, and we all dig in simultaneously.

  Joey has placed a jar of Nutella next to my plate, knowing how much I like to smear my pancakes with the chocolate. I chuckle when I see it.

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugs. “I think it is beyond disgusting, but hey, if you like it, you should have it.”

  I don’t know what to say. Back in New York, when things were going bad between us, Joey had been on my case about my weight. He had criticized me for letting myself go. Where is that now? Has he simply parked it outside until later? I don’t believe you can do that.

  I smear my pancakes with Nutella and enjoy the food immensely. I don’t have to make any decisions yet. Right now, I want to enjoy whatever it is we have. I want to enjoy Salter’s happy face. I want to enjoy the feeling I have inside, the feeling of being where I belong.

  After breakfast, I go and visit my dad. Joey doesn’t have to go to work until ten, so I ask if Salter can stay with him. I have an hour. Laura is there by his side, and I give her an awkward hug. She seems smaller and very skinny, and I wonder if she has eaten at all since the fire.

  “How are you holding up?” I ask.

  She shrugs with a sob. “I’m doing my best.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Hilton.”

  The Hilton. Of course.

  “So, what are they saying?” I ask. “About his condition? What are the doctors telling you?”

  “They say he is stable, but they’re not sure he’ll ever wake up again,” she says with a loud sob. “I’m terrified that he won’t, Mary. What if they ask me to make the decision to pull the plug on him? I don’t think I can do that. On the other hand…this is no life for him, is it? He would have hated seeing himself like this. He would want me to do it.”

  I swallow hard and look at my stepmom. I know she is right. My dad would never want to be a vegetable. Better to end it. But the thing is, Laura and he never married. So, if it comes to that, the decision will have to be mine.

  The thought gives me nausea. I feel like crying again. I can’t lose him too. I simply can’t. And it is all my fault he’s lying there. If I hadn’t pissed off the general.

  I need to find proof that it was him. He might have gone easy on me last night, but I still loathe him. I want to nail him for what he has done. There must be a way of doing that. And AK. I have to get her too. She killed my mother in 1992. She is wanted for that murder, but how do I prove that she is who I believe she is? She has another identity now. Who will believe me? If I could somehow get her for the killing of Coraline, Jean, or Cassie… If only. If only I could somehow prove that she killed Jamilla Jenkins. In that way, I would get my brother back, as well as get AK. But who will believe me?

  “Listen, I have to get back t
o Salter; Joey has work to do, so I need to go. But let me know if there is any news, all right? I’ll try and be back later today or maybe tomorrow.”

  I speak fast. It’s obvious I am trying to get out of there. I don’t feel well all of a sudden. Watching my dad lie there fills me with such tremendous guilt. I can’t breathe. The walls are closing in on me and I just need to get out of there. I don’t wait for her answer. I storm out of the hospital, and don’t stop running till I reach my car.

  I need to fix this somehow. I have to fix it.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  September 2015

  I take Salter with me to Chloe’s house. I bring his iPad so he won’t be too bored. His eyes grow wider than wide when he sees all her computers.

  “Wow! It’s just like the movies. Are you a famous YouTuber or something?” he asks.

  Chloe laughs. I do too. In the world of a nine-year-old, the biggest stardom you can reach is to be a video game tester for a living and make videos about them on YouTube.

  “No, but I do have Minecraft on the computer over there,” she says, and points at an iMac in the corner.

  “Oh, my God,” I say. “You have no idea what a lifesaver that is. Salter has been so mad that he can’t play his precious Minecraft down here, since all I brought was his iPad and my laptop, which he is not allowed to play on.”

  “Well, knock yourself out,” Chloe says. “I think it is already turned on.”

  Salter exclaims happily, then rushes to the computer. Chloe hands him a set of headphones, and soon he is occupied in his own little world of bricks and stones. I never understood that game much, but I know it is Salter’s entire world. He meets all of his friends on there, and they play for hours every day, talking on Skype while they play. It is a whole new generation of super nerds growing up. I don’t mind him being a computer nerd and the fact that he speaks an entire language I don’t understand at times, but I do worry that he doesn’t get enough fresh air and real life human contact. Maybe I am just being a mother.

  I decide to take him surfing this afternoon to make up for this morning. I know I probably won’t do it, but it makes me feel better.

  “I have something for you,” Chloe says, as we sit down in front of her many computer screens. “I’ve been up all night going through old cases in the database, and look what I came up with. You might remember this.”

  I look at the screen. “Holly?”

  “Holly Leslie. Born in 1977 like the rest of us. Moved to Cocoa Beach in 1990 with her family. Went to Cocoa Beach High School, friends with Jean, Olivia, Cassie, Coraline, and Anne-Katelyn.”

  “Has she also been killed?” I ask, agitated.

  “No, but something else happened to her. In 1995. According to the police report, she was found on the side of the road at Lori Wilson Park. She had been cut several places on her body with a fishing knife and shot in the leg with a spear gun. According to this, her family never pressed charges. Holly refused to tell who was behind it. No one was ever arrested in the case.”

  “I remember her,” I say. “She disappeared all of a sudden in the middle of the school year. I had several classes with her. There were a lot of rumors about her and what happened to her. Some people said they had met her at the mall months later, but that she didn’t want to talk to them.”

  “It looks like she moved to Rockledge and she continued school there,” Chloe said. “She graduated from Rockledge High School a year later.”

  “So they moved her because of the attack?” I ask.

  “It sure looks like it.”

  “I need to talk to her,” I say. “If for nothing else than to warn her about AK, and tell her that the others have been killed, in case she doesn’t know.”

  Chloe glances at Salter. “I’ll look after him while you’re away. Seems like he’s not going to cause much trouble.”

  I laugh and look at my son, who is completely in his own world, building castles and mining for diamonds.

  “He won’t,” I say.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  September 2015

  I drive up to the house in Rockledge and park in front of the garage. I haven’t called first. I am afraid she will tell me to not come. I don’t know if she is home. The house is a small one-story house with a porch in front. I walk up, open the screen door, and knock.

  It takes a while before someone opens. I recognize her eyes right away. The face is older, the eyes filled with a sadness they didn’t have then, but other than that she looks like herself. Except for the long scar on her cheek that I don’t remember having seen before.

  She looks at me for a long time. It’s like she recognizes me, but isn’t sure. Seeing me here seems to bring back memories.

  “Mary Mills?”

  I raise my hand in an awkward wave. “Hi, Holly.”

  “What are you doing here? Last thing I heard you were a big time reporter at CNN in Atlanta.”

  “I was…what feels like a lifetime ago,” I say. “Can I come in?”

  She looks surprised. “Sure.”

  She steps aside and lets me in. She limps when she walks. “If I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned up a little,” she says, and picks up a toy from the floor. It looks like a dog toy. A pit-bull in a crate in the living room tells me it is his toy. It snarls at me when I enter.

  “Don’t mind him,” she says. “He helps me to feel safe. He guards the house. I keep him in the crate when I’m home. Sit down.”

  I sit on the couch. It is small, but very soft. It goes well with the small living room. I am guessing Holly hasn’t had much success in her life.

  “Do you want coffee? Or maybe a beer?” she asks.

  “No, thank you. I’m good,” I say. I don’t want her to go through the trouble of making me coffee. “I already had two cups this morning.”

  She sits down with her hands in her lap. “So…what brings you here?” she asks and corrects her hair.

  “1995,” I say. I go directly to the point. I don’t have time to beat around the bush. When I say the year, her face freezes completely. “I know it must be hard for you to talk about, but I need you to.”

  Holly’s eyes drop to the ground. She touches her thigh on her bad leg. “It’s such a long time ago,” she says.

  “I know. And I know it must be terrible for you to think back about, but things have started happening around Cocoa Beach, and I think you might be able to help me figure out why, or at least who is behind it. Three of your former friends from back then have died. Last night, the killer tried to kill Olivia as well, but was interrupted. I think someone is targeting your old group.” I pause and wait for her reaction. It doesn’t seem to surprise her. Then, I go in for the kill. “I think AK might be behind it.”

  Her eyes meet mine. She shakes her head. “AK? But how is that possible? No one has seen her since 1992. Since that night when…when she shot your mother.”

  I chuckle. “You’re a terrible liar, Holly.”

  She sighs. “It’s such a long time ago. Why do we have to start digging up these old stories again? I really don’t want to…”

  “Because they’re not old stories. They’re still here. They don’t just go away because we stop thinking about them. They’re real. We can’t keep running from them. You have to tell me, Holly. Was AK among those who attacked you back then? Was she behind it?”

  Holly clasps her mouth. I can tell that I am ripping up stuff she hasn’t allowed herself to think about for years. I know how she feels. I know exactly how that feels, but sometimes it’s necessary to dig up the past in order to not get stuck in it. It’s like quicksand. The more you wriggle and try to get away from it, the more it pulls you back. Running from it will do you no good.

  I slam the palm of my hand onto her coffee table. “Goddammit, Holly. Answer me! Was AK one of those that attacked you in 1995?!”

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  September 2015

  “YES! YES, SHE WAS!”

  Holly c
loses her eyes when she yells it at me. The words hit me like a punch in the face. It’s what I wanted to hear, but it’s also shocking. Back then, I believed AK was long gone, and now I realize that she was still here? Still right here? The police could have found her; they could have put her in jail for killing my mother and we could have moved on with our lives, feeling justice had been served. Instead, we walked around in this haze, this daze of anger and frustration. I lost my mother, my dad lost his wife, and since justice never came, we began blaming each other. We began loathing each other instead. Meanwhile, Blake had to grow up without a mother and with a father so distant he might as well not be there either. This thing destroyed us.

  As I stare at Holly with my mouth wide open, I wonder if things could have been different, had AK gotten what she deserved back then. I had always believed it would.

  “She was there,” Holly says. “She was the one who started it.”

  “Tell me what happened,” I say, suddenly wishing I had said yes to that coffee, or even the beer. I could use something strong right now.

  Holly draws in a deep breath. She rubs her hands together. At the collar of her shirt, I spot another scar.

  “I was so young,” she says. “When I came to the school, I became friends with them. I hung out with them on the weekends doing all kinds of stuff, getting in trouble. I am not very proud of it today, but what can you do? What’s done is done. I was just so incredibly naïve. Anyway, we were friends, and AK persuaded me to do all kinds of things that I didn’t want to. But she can be very persuasive, you know? Suddenly, I was shoplifting and stealing bikes from the beach entrances. I did it to win their respect. I wanted AK to like me. If she liked you, then you were popular. You know how high school is. Anyway, I did a lot of stuff I wasn’t very proud of. When AK went missing after that night…when she…well, you know, the police came to my door the next day. They took me to the station and asked me all kinds of questions about AK. I told them everything. My parents told me to. I told them everything we had done, how AK had led our group, and how we had bothered tourists downtown, and even sometimes attacked some of them, kicked them and stolen their belongings. I cried a lot when I told this. I hated that my parents had to hear this about me. I was never charged with anything, since I cooperated so willingly, they said. And I felt good about having told. It felt good to get it out and I pulled away from the rest of the group afterwards. When AK disappeared, the group kind of dissolved anyway. Without her, we were nothing. I think most of them were happy that she was gone.”