"This girl wants to use a phone," Patti says, wrinkling her nose at Anya.
The poised woman studies Anya, her eyes filled with pity. "Of course she can use the phone. Come child," she says, gesturing for Anya to follow her. She then dismisses Patti with a wave of her hand.
It turns out that the office is situated next to the entrance doors. "Who do you want to call, love?" the lady says.
"A cab please."
She dials the number to the taxi service and, within a few seconds, she speaks to someone on the other line. She then looks at Anya and says; "Where do you want to be dropped off?"
"At the Greyhound Station."
Once the lady hangs up the phone, she says, "A cab will arrive in ten minutes. You are more than welcome to wait here."
Anya gives her a thin smile. "Thank you for your kindness."
****
Teresa smiles to herself as she reads through a small stack of patients' medical documents. Her talk with Maria went well, much better than what she has expected.
Teresa phoned her husband at his work the minute she returned to the hospital and related to him her meeting with Maria. At first, he seemed hesitant to agree with her decision to send Maria back to Spain. But after a few minutes of gentle persuasion, he agreed that it would be best for her and for the family.
No one seemed to care that Teresa has spent the first half an hour of her shift talking on the phone, and neither did she. Her daughter is returning home tonight and with the determination to change her life around. That is all that matters.
As she turns a page, she hears Deborah call her name. She looks up at her. "Yes. What is it, Deborah?" She wonders why Deborah has such a grim expression on her freckled face.
"There are two RCMP officers here to see you."
Teresa can feel all of the color drain from her face. She rises out of her seat slowly, barely managing to control her shaky knees. Both men are dressed in their full uniform. The grave expression on their faces makes her heart rate speed up.
"What is it, officers? What happened?"
"Mrs. Hernandez," the tall man says with a slight cock of his head, "we're very sorry to tell you that your daughter, Maria, was shot several times at the Shell Station on the east side of town."
Teresa's jaw drops and her eyes bulge open. "What? This can't be true. I just saw her two hours ago. Please tell me this didn't happen."
The other police officer pulls out a digital camera, turns it on and says; "We have the evidence."
Teresa, extending one shaky hand, clutches the camera. The first photo shows a new, red truck that features several bullet holes. The two windows are shattered beyond repair. The next photo is of a young woman with long, brown curls who is covered head to waist in blood. Nausea grips Teresa's stomach, yet she forces herself to press the tiny forward button. The third photo must have been taken on the other side of the truck because all she can see is a girl's mass of black curls and the shattered yards of glass littered all over her body. Teresa's heart pounds so hard against her chest, it hurts. The same girl dominates the fourth photo. This time, her body is laid neatly on top of a stretcher. One half of her face is red with blood. Teresa presses gently on the zoom button. Through the thick layer of blood, she can see that the young woman's features are those of her daughter.
"Oh, God no! This can't be," she says, handing the camera back to the officer. Tears instantly spring to her eyes. "Maria. No. Maria!" She collapses onto her knees, weeping loudly and uncontrollably. She can hear a number of people's voices, but they sound like they are off in the distance. Then, she feels a pair of strong arms around her shoulders.
"Why? Oh God! Why would someone kill my daughter? How could this happen?"
The person who tries to soothe her is Deborah, but she can’t comfort her. No one can. No amount of consoling words can ease the agony that Teresa is in. She has lost her daughter a second time, but this time, for good. Worse, the person who took her precious daughter’s life probably doesn’t even care. At all.
****
Anya breathes in and out deeply as the cab weaves its way through the busy streets. Yet she can’t dispel the fear inside of her. She knows that, by now, Alex could be anywhere. He could be wandering these streets looking for her. Her gaze darts out the window, then out the other window, past the driver, over and over again.
Eventually, the driver asks; "Is everything alright, missy?"
Anya fixes her eyes on his face. She can tell that, by the look on his face, he’s concerned by her skittish behavior. "Yes…I'm fine." She then turns her attention to her appearance. I could really use some deodorant and a hair brush.
"Is there any way you could stop at Walter's Drug Mart? I really need to get a few things."
"Sure."
"Thanks. You'll wait for me, right?"
The driver looks at her. He appears to be taken aback by her question. "Of course, missy."
****
The taxi driver pulls into the small parking lot in front of Walter's Drug Mart. He parks the car as close to the building as he is able to. Anya knows that she's taking a risk, especially since this is a very busy area of Peach Valley given its location off the Okanagan highway. There is a good chance that Alex could be making his way down this road at this very minute.
Anya rushes into the store. She paces up and down the aisles in search of her first item: deodorant. In a matter of minutes, she locates it on aisle eleven. As she reaches for the cheapest brand, she hears a familiar voice call her name. She spins on her heels, her heart in her throat.
"Anya. It's me. Patrick."
She breathes out a huge sigh.
"What's wrong? You look really pale. And your neck..." His voice trails off.
Anya keeps her eyes fixed on the deodorant. Tears sting her eyes. I can't tell him what just happened. I can't talk to him even though I want to. But I really need a friend right now. "I have to go, Patrick." She is surprised by the crispness in her voice.
"Anya. Wait. I tried to visit when you were in the hospital. I spent the last two days looking for you," he says, following her into the next aisle where the hair accessories are on display. "I'm really sorry for the way I treated you. You are the best friend I've ever had."
Anya is crying so hard, she can't see any of the hair brushes.
"You’re the girl for me. I love you, Anya."
She turns to face him. "Patrick, please don't. I can't do this. I can't be with you." She then rushes down the aisle, rounds the corner and scurries over to the cashier.
"Why not?" he says, planting himself firmly between her and the cashier's counter.
"Because…I have to go." She brushes past him, then plants her things on the counter.
"Anya, whatever's wrong, we can work it out together."
She pays for her things, then turns to face him one last time. "Goodbye, Patrick," she says through her tears. She leans forward and presses her lips against his. I don't care how you treated me two weeks ago. I was the one in the wrong. I love you so much and I really want to be with you. I want to go back to the way things were before, she wants to say. But she pries herself away from him and races out of the building.
CHAPTER 37
Alex sits directly across from Bill. His eyes shift from the police officer to the large office desk: it boasts a tidy arrangement of papers, a phone, a walky-talky and a pen holder that contains four pens. Bill stares at Alex, his hands folded on the table and his mouth drawn into a straight line. Alex begins to wonder if Bill trusts him. This apprehension makes his heart rate speed up.
"I want to know more about this Adrik Preschnikov.”
Alex fidgets with the bottom hem of his coat.
"Where and when did you meet him?"
Alex stares into Bill's eyes. "I met him three years ago." Now, make something up. "He was living on the streets downtown. We struck up a conversation and, after I got to know him a little, I took him under my wing and told him that he could live with me. Only I didn't know that he wa
s a drug dealer."
"That was a very unwise choice. How did you find out about Adrik's involvement a gang?"
"I saw him talking with a bunch of hoodlums on the street while coming home from work one day, and I managed to overhear their conversation. They were talking about marijuana and money, and they all had guns on them."
Bill's eyebrows snap up. "How did you end the friendship without being harmed?"
"I kicked him out. I mean, the keyhole was stealing all of my good stuff. He stole my cell phone, my digital camera and my portable CD player. I had enough, so I stuck all his stuff in the hall and then changed the lock on my apartment door."
"What happened after that?"
Alex learns forward in his seat. "He tried to break into my apartment several times, so I had to move."
"How did you manage to avoid Adrik all this time?"
"I know that he left Peach Valley after I moved because I didn't see him. Until recently. I ran into him a week before Christmas and it wasn't on good terms: he threatened to kill me and everyone I know. After that, I didn't see him on the streets. Like I said before, he doesn't live in this city, but he lives somewhere in the Okanagan valley."
Bill raises one eyebrow. "Now, why would Adrik want to kill you?"
Alex breathes out a heavy sigh. "We got into a huge fight before I kicked him out. I can't even remember what that fight was about. Only I didn't know that he hated me this bad."
Bill looks at him, his mouth taut at the edges. "This is one man who needs to be brought to justice."
"So do all of his friends," Alex says, narrowing his eyes.
"I need to know one more thing about Adrik," Bill says, leaning forward in his chair. "Do you know his family and where they live?"
Anya flashes in his mind. The very thought of her makes him taut with anger. Anya. When I get a hold of that little bitch, I'm gonna give her what's worth. "I know he has a dad and one younger sister. I've never met them, but I heard a little about them. His dad is an unemployed drunkard according to Adrik. And I never met his sister."
"What are their names?"
"The dad's name is Ivan. I think the girl's name is Sophia."
"Do they live here?"
"Yes, but I don't know where they live in this city."
Bill continues to survey him inquisitively. "Is Anya related to the Preschnikov family?"
Alex keeps his eyes fixed on Bill. "No. She was just a friend of Maria's."
"Why did Anya run away?"
Alex narrows his eyes. "She couldn't handle the trauma, and she didn't want to face me."
"Some friend that is."
"Yeah. I mean, look at my nose," Alex says pointing to his swollen nose. The pain hasn't ceased since the shooting. In fact, it has gotten worse.
Bill furrows his brow. "Did Anya do that to you?"
"Yes."
"I noticed all this time that your nose is swollen and I'm sorry I didn't give you an ice pack. I'll get you one now," Bill says, rising out of his chair.
"That'll be great. Thanks."
"Do you know where she could have run to?" Bill says the moment he returns.
"I don't know. But I'll find out soon enough," Alex says, taking the ice pack from Bill. He presses it against his nose, being careful not to hurt it even more than it has been hurt.
"Well, I think I now have all the information I need," Bill says. "Thank you, Alex. I will contact the Preschnikov family as soon as I find out where they live. Once you find Anya, bring her here. There are a few questions I'd like to ask her. If you don't find her within five hours, contact me."
Alex's heart begins to race. I can't bring her here. She'll tell the truth and then I'll be in deep shit. Once I find her, we're leaving this city. "Will do," he says with a brisk nod of his head.
As soon as he steps outside of Bill's office, he scans the entire hallway, from one end to the other. He grunts when he doesn't see Anya. Once outside, Alex circles the building, but still, he does not find her.
****
On the way back to the apartment complex where he lives, Alex does not encounter Anya, so he decides to find people who he thinks may have seen her within the last two hours. His first choice is Carbosa's Cafe; a place where she used to work and a place he used to frequent years before he became The Dark Soul's leader.
The cafe is almost empty with the exception of one elderly couple and a small group of teenagers who look no older than the age of fifteen. A husky woman stares at him from behind the serving counter. Alex recognizes her the moment he sets his eyes on her face: she is Sally the manager, the woman who always has a reason to be condescending towards others; at least Alex remembers her being that way. The look on her face suggests that she hasn’t changed in five years.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" The tone in her voice isn’t unfriendly, but it's not friendly either.
"Yes. I used to eat here all the time, but that was five years ago. Anyway, you know Anya Preschnikov. Right?"
Sally recoils as if he has just slapped her face. "Yes. She used to work here, but I fired her when she failed to show up for one of her shifts."
"Well, have you seen her within the last two hours?"
She shakes her head slowly from side to side. "No."
"Thanks," he says, turning away from her. Thanks for nothing, bitch.
"Why are you asking me this? Are you her boyfriend?"
Alex turns around to face her. His body is so stiff that it begins to ache. "No. She's just a friend. That's all." He has the urge to pick up one of the fancy mugs on display beside the serving counter and hurl it at the wall, but he refrains himself. Instead, he walks over to the door, then flings it open hard enough for it to bang against the wall. He can hear Sally yelling at him, but he ignores her and continues walking.
As Alex makes his way down the street, he scans the sidewalks and between the parked vehicles repeatedly. "Where the hell are you, Anya?" he says under his breath. A few people passing by stare at him as if he's some mental patient who just escaped the psych ward. To add to his misery, the pain in his nose returns. To get his mind off the pain, Alex turns his attention away from the street. He realizes that he’s standing in front of Max's Music store the moment he sees guitars on display in the window. When Alex shifts his gaze to the left, he recognizes the geek -- the guy with the thick curls who had a guitar slung over his shoulders – he and Maria encountered in the hall at Peach Valley Senior Secondary School more than two weeks ago. That is the guy who used to be Anya's best friend, so maybe he's seen her recently. Alex's mood lightens a little when he enters the store. He scans the entire area. Thankfully, there are no customers present.
"Hey, you," he says in a loud voice.
The boy's naturally pale face turns white the moment he sees Alex.
"What's your name again, kid?"
"Patrick. What are you doing here?"
Alex has expected Patrick to stammer like he had the first time he met Alex, so his brusque response takes him by surprise.
"I want to know if you've seen Anya at all this afternoon."
Patrick's lips tremble and this eyes glaze over. "Did you hurt her?"
"What the hell?" Alex yells. Haven't you heard the news? Oh, wait. I didn't see any reporters there.
"Did you hurt Anya?" Patrick says, this time in a raised voice.
Alex shoots Patrick a fierce look. "Answer my question, freak! Did you see Anya this afternoon?"
"That's none of your business. If you don't leave now, I'm going to get my manager."
The defiant look on his face amplifies Alex's anger. On impulse, he pulls his Swiss Army knife out of his coat pocket. He unfolds it so that the blade is visible, then holds it up in front of Patrick's face. "See this? If you don't answer my question, I'll find you later and then I'll put this where it'll bleed the most."
Patrick's eyes bulge open. "I-I saw her in Walter's Drug Mart before I came here."
"How long ago was this?"
"I don't know
. What time is it?"
Alex glances down at his wrist watch. "It's twenty to five."
"I started my shift at three-thirty, so it must have been around three when I saw her," Patrick says, his voice shaky.
"What did she tell you?"
"N-Nothing."
Alex grabs Patrick by the collar of his shirt, then holds the blade against his throat.
Beads of sweat form on Patrick's forehead. "She…she was in a hurry to go somewhere and…she couldn't talk."
Alex eyes him suspiciously. "And?"
The sweat trickles down Patrick's face. "She didn't tell me anything. She ran out of the store right after she paid for her stuff."
"Do you know where she went?"
"I-I don't know."
Alex presses the blade firmer against his throat, but not firm enough to draw blood.
"I tried to talk to her, but she didn't tell me anything. Trust me," Patrick says, sounding like he’s on the verge of tears.
"Okay then," Alex says, releasing his hold on Patrick. He folds the knife so that the blade is no longer visible, then slides it back into the pocket of his coat. "If I find out you lied to me, you won't live to see another sunrise."
"I'm not lying," Patrick says.
Alex shoots him a threatening look. "I'll find out soon enough." He then storms out of the store.
****
Alex paces the entire length of his living room. It is now five thirty in the evening. He has returned home, angry that he hasn't found Anya, but the moment he sets his eyes on the large, blue mug on top of the kitchen table -- Marissa's favorite mug -- the tragedy of today's events finally sinks in. The sadness he begins to feel is almost more overwhelming that the anger inside of him.
Terri slips through the door and appears in the kitchen just as Alex downs a fourth can of beer. He hurls the empty can across the living room the moment he sees Terri. It bounces off the TV screen before it lands on the carpeted floor. The double mattress where Maria and Anya slept is left untidy and their bags remain at the edge of the living room, waiting for their return.
"Marissa and Maria are dead," he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the TV.
"What?"
To be Maria Page 21
