You Can Run: A heart gripping, fast paced thriller (7th Street Crew Book 2)

by Willow Rose

  Marcia stops and looks up at me. “Did I do that? Did I, Mary?”

  “I…I…don’t know.” I answer as honestly as I can. “But I think we need to find out.”

  She grabs my hand in hers and strokes it gently. “I love you, Mary.”

  I look into her eyes, and for one split second, I see her; I see the Marcia I used to know. I smile and touch her cheek. “I love you too, Marcia. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise you we will. Now, you need to come with me.”

  I help her get out of the bush. “Where are we going, Mary?”

  “You need to turn yourself in to the police.”

  Marcia stops. I turn and look at her. She is shaking her head. “No, Mary. They’ll kill me. They’ll take away my kids!”

  “They already have, sweetie.”

  She looks at me like she doesn’t understand. I grab her by the shoulders. I force her to look into my eyes. I want to make sure she understands what I am about to tell her.

  “Honey. You shot Mark last night. Now, I know you didn’t mean to, that it was an accident, but he is in the hospital and the rest of your children are with their father.”

  Marcia’s eyes widen. I see great fear in them. “I…I did what?”

  I nod. “I’m afraid you shot Mark. He’s going to be fine, though. Come.”

  Marcia shakes her head and pulls away from me. “No. No. I would never…not my son! It’s not true. They’re making this up. Someone is making all this up.”

  “You’re not well, Marcia. I don’t know what is going on with you, but you’re not well. Come. We need to get you some help.”

  “No. They’ll lock me away for the rest of my life. I bet it was Harry. He set me up, didn’t he? You see, they’re all linked with computers, Mary. And the phones. They have everything on us on the phones and computers. They spy on us and they know…everything. Harry is one of them. He did it.”

  “No!” I yell angrily. Where does she get these ideas? “You did this, Marcia. He took care of your kids. He’s a good guy. He has tried to help you the best he could. Now, come with me.”

  “No. Something is wrong. I can feel it.”

  “You’re not well, Marcia. That’s what is wrong. You can’t trust your own judgment. You’re sick. Now come with me before someone else gets hurt.”

  She doesn’t move. She stands still, looking at me, while shaking her head. I can feel I am losing her and it breaks my heart.

  “Marcia, please. Just come. I’ll do everything I can to help you, but you have to come with me. Now.”

  Marcia exhales deeply. She pulls out the gun that I am guessing is the same one she used when she shot Mark. I back off, knowing she might be capable of anything.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t,” she says.

  Marcia takes one last glance at me, then turns around and starts to run. I yell after her, but she disappears into the bushes, and in a few seconds, she is gone.

  “Goddammit, Marcia,” I moan. “How am I supposed to help you now?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  March 2006

  A month after the conference in California, Peter starts taking classes at UCF. Daniel takes him there and picks him up, while Kristin helps him write his papers. Meanwhile, their mother has become ill and is in bed most of the time, so Daniel has taken over Peter’s care, much to his own family’s regret. His wife complains that he is never home and his children tell him they miss him terribly. Daniel feels guilty, but he is also on a mission to give his brother a better life. Peter starting at the university is one huge step in that direction. With Kristin’s help, it is possible.

  “Your brother is truly amazing,” the teacher tells him one Wednesday when Daniel drops Peter off for class. “You should see the last paper he wrote. Best in his class.”

  Daniel is amazed. He can’t believe that the man they all thought had the mental capacity of a toddler could now dazzle the world with his knowledge.

  Daniel decides to stay with Peter for the philosophy class, curious to know more about what his brother is interested in. Kristin sits next to him, helping Peter when he needs it. Daniel looks at her while she works, and can’t help but find her spectacular.

  To engage yourself so much in another human being is truly remarkable, he thinks to himself.

  In his eyes, that makes her the most beautiful creature he has known. But he also can’t help feeling a little jealous of her as well. She is now the person who is closest to his brother, and the only one who he’ll write with. She has tried to teach Daniel the technique, but so far he has only failed. So have his siblings, and even his mother, that one time she gave in and tried. When anyone other than Kristin tries, Peter pulls his arm away and often scratches them.

  After class is done, four of Peter’s classmates walk up to him, books in their hands, backpacks on their backs. They ask him if he would like to go to lunch with them. He accepts by typing. Daniel goes with them. He goes in the line of the cafeteria to buy food for Peter. Kristin is right behind him, while Peter stays at the table.

  “You know he usually buys his own food, right?” she says.

  “Really?” Daniel asks.

  “Yes.”

  Daniel grabs a pizza slice with pepperoni.

  “Peter can’t stand pepperoni,” Kristin says. “He usually gets the ham.”

  Daniel wrinkles his forehead. “That’s odd. He loves pepperoni pizza. It used to be the only thing we could get him to eat.”

  She shrugs. “Well, not anymore. Things change. People change, Daniel. Don’t baby him. He’s a grown man now with his own opinions, likes, and dislikes. And now he can express them as well.”

  With a feeling of defeat, Daniel puts back the slice and grabs one with ham instead. They walk to the table, where Peter’s classmates have already sat down, and soon they’re questioning Peter.

  “How was it for you as a child when no one thought you could communicate?” a girl asks.

  “Lonely,” he types with the assistance of Kristin.

  “So, how is it now?” another classmate asks.

  “I am happy to be able to speak. I feel like I have finally come alive.”

  “What do you dream of? What do you want to accomplish in life?” the girl asks.

  “I want to tell the world about us. I want to tell them people like me are more than just disabled. We can do more than just sit in a corner somewhere. We can do so many things.”

  The girl nods with a smile. Daniel is pleased to see how well they have taken Peter in. They seem curious, but not judgmental. It makes him feel good about his decision to let Peter take classes here. The girl especially seems genuinely interested in his story and who he is beyond what she can see. But then she asks a question Daniel had never thought would come, that he would never have thought of asking himself.

  “Can you also fall in love?”

  Daniel awaits Peter’s answer with great curiosity. He has never thought of Peter in that way. That he could have feelings for anyone.

  Peter types. Kristin reads his words out loud while assisting his arm.

  “I can. I would love to be in a relationship more than anything in the world. But I don’t know if someone like me can ever do that. I don’t know if anyone would ever love me back.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  January 2016

  “I need your help.”

  “Well come on in, then.” Chloe steps aside and lets me into her house. She looks exhausted. Her hair is a mess and she is pale. “I was just napping,” she says. “Stayed up all night working on that tip from Arizona. “It looks promising so far. What’s up with you?”

  “Marcia.”

  “What’s with her?” I follow Chloe into the kitchen, where she pours each of us a cup of coffee. I go through her cabinets and find an old bottle of whiskey and pour a sip into my coffee.

  “Uh-oh,” she says. “You’re making it Irish? Something is definitely up.”

  We sit down and I drink my coffee. I wait and let
the alcohol do its job inside my body.

  “So, what’s with Marcia?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it,” I say. “She is not well.”

  “Well she has been drinking a lot for a long time.”

  “That’s not it. There is more. Did you hear what happened last night?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “She shot Mark.”

  “That’s awful! Is he okay?”

  “Yes. He came home late, and according to Harry, she thought he was an intruder and shot him, but I have a feeling there is more to the story.”

  “How so?” Chloe asks.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I saw her earlier today. She kept ranting on about how they were after her, out to get her, and how Harry was one of them, how he was a killer and she thought he had killed that woman who was found in the river recently. Then she had these flashbacks or visions or dreams; I don’t know what to call them, but she saw things. She described something for me that was so terrifying I had goosebumps.”

  “What things?”

  “Children that she believed she had hurt. And two adults. She kept asking me if she was the one who had hurt them. It was really creepy. I tell you I have never seen her like this before. And I am certain she wasn’t drunk.”

  “What?” Chloe wrinkles her nose. “Well, maybe she took some pills.”

  “I couldn’t smell any booze on her breath and she didn’t seem intoxicated when I looked her in the eyes. She was all there, and yet she was so…far away.”

  “So, what happened to her? Where is she now? And what about Mark?” Chloe asks.

  “Mark is going to be fine, they say. He was only hit in the shoulder. All the children are with their father. I tried to get Marcia to come with me, to turn herself in and get the help she needs, but she pulled a gun on me.”

  Chloe almost chokes on her coffee. “She did what?”

  “She pointed it at me, then told me she couldn’t come with me before she ran.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know.” I sip my coffee. My hands are still shaking, and telling the story makes me feel terrible.

  “Marcia? I can’t believe it. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “I know. But then I began to think. What if she has done awful things? She did shoot Mark. What if she is not well and has no idea what she is doing?”

  “Hm. I’m guessing you want me to help you with that.”

  “Yes. I thought maybe you could help me look something up. Something she said. It requires that we get access to some old police files.”

  “I had a feeling that was where we were heading. All right. Anything for old Marcia.”

  Chapter Forty

  January 2016

  I stay at Chloe’s for a few hours, while she works on getting access to the police files. I walk up to her mom’s room and sit down by her bedside. She is awake, but doesn’t say anything. She reaches out her hand towards me and I grab it in mine. It feels so feeble, the skin paper-thin.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “It hurts,” she says with a whisper.

  It makes me feel bad for her. I always loved Chloe’s mom, Carolyn. She has been so good to me over the years when things were bad at home. I curse cancer while tears spring to my eyes.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” I ask. “Water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I grab the glass on her side table and help her drink. The smell of death hits my nostrils. Carolyn grabs my hand again and holds it in hers. Then she looks me in the eyes. The way she looks at me frightens me slightly.

  “Be careful, Mary. Things are not as they seem. Mark my words. The boy carries all the answers.”

  Carolyn stares at me intensely while I wonder what she is talking about. Her hands are both holding on to my arm. They are so cold on my skin. Chloe enters the room and Carolyn lets go of me, then slides back under the covers and closes her eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Chloe asks.

  “I…I was just saying hello.”

  Chloe looks at the old woman in her bed. “She’s still asleep.”

  “She wasn’t a second ago. She looked at me and told me something about a boy carrying all the answers.”

  Chloe chuckles. We leave her mother and walk downstairs. “She’s been saying a lot of weird things lately. I have a feeling she might have a hard time distinguishing between dreams and reality. She is sleeping most of the day away. I’m afraid she doesn’t have long. The doctors stopped the treatments six months ago. She’s not supposed to be alive at all. They gave her four to six weeks.”

  “Wow. Guess she beat those odds, huh?”

  “I know. I just try and make the most of the time I have left with her, you know? I try to cherish every waking moment with her.”

  I think about my own father as we walk back to Chloe’s computers in the back of the house. I have no idea how he’s going to get by. Will he ever get better? Will he be able to do anything on his own, and is it a life worth living if he won’t?

  “So, how’s your dad doing?” Chloe asks, as if she has read my mind.

  I sigh and sit in the chair next to hers. “He’s not doing any better, but not worse either. But the house will be done soon, and then we’ll all move in with him, I think.”

  “You will? That’s wonderful, Mary,” Chloe says. “I am so glad you and Joey are together. It was always you two. The world isn’t right if you two are not together.”

  I shake my head. “No. I meant me, Salter, and Snowflake are moving in with him. Joey and me are a completely different story.”

  Chloe looks at me skeptically. “What’s going on, Mary? I thought you were getting better. Trying to mend the broken pieces.”

  “Yeah. Well, so did I. But then he went out and slept with someone else.”

  “He did not!”

  “She came to his house last night at midnight asking for him. She had no idea I was living with him.”

  “How embarrassing.”

  “Mostly for her,” I say with a light chuckle. “Can you imagine?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  January 2016

  “I have the file for you.” Chloe clicks the mouse and opens a file. I pull my chair closer to better see.

  “The Elingston case is a huge file,” she says. “Contains hundreds of pages. Might take a while to find what we’re looking for. By the way, what are we looking for?”

  “Pictures,” I say. “Descriptions of the victims and what they were wearing. Marcia described the children’s clothing in detail. The way she described the kids reminded me of the pictures I have seen of them while still alive.”

  “That’s going to be hard,” Chloe says. “The house was on fire and the bodies severely burnt when they were recovered. The only reason they know it was murder was the footage from the neighbor’s surveillance cameras and the fact that the body of the wife had been stabbed first, before the fire was started. That’s what it says here. I can’t believe they never found this guy.”

  “I know. I remember hearing about the case often. Back then, I was still working in Atlanta, and the story was all over. I was so afraid my editor would send me back, since it was so close to my old hometown, but luckily he didn’t.

  “It was huge. The town was crawling with journalists. Everyone was terrified. Can you imagine someone entering your house on a Saturday morning and holding you hostage only to get fifty-thousand dollars, and then, as you think it’s all over because all they want is the money, they kill you and burn the house down with you inside of it. For what? Fifty-thousand dollars? It’s so strange. Everything about this case puzzled us. People started locking their doors at night and even during the day. Not something we did a lot around here. Everyone became suspicious of each other, because the police believed the guy knew the family well enough to know their routines and know that they were capable of getting fifty-thousand dollars within a few hours without anyone thinking it was suspicious. Either they knew them or they had b
een observing them for a long time. People became suspicious of their lawn or pest guys or anyone that had access to their houses and lives.”

  “What’s that?” I say, and point a paragraph in the forensic report. “It looks like the description of what was found on or next to the bodies, right?”

  “Yes,” Chloe says. “It says here that the only piece of clothing found was on the girl. A small piece of fabric.”

  “What did it look like?” I ask, and move closer to better see.

  “There’s a picture.”

  Chloe clicks the picture and it opens. I look at the small piece of fabric. Chloe is speaking, but I can’t hear her anymore. Everything is drowned out by the sound of my heartbeat pumping in my ears. The piece of fabric is burnt on the edges, but in the middle, I can see the very clear picture of a star.

  Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

  “Mary?”

  Chloe is waving a hand in front of my face. “You zoned out for a little there.”

  “It’s the PJs,” I say. “It’s the girl’s PJs. They had stars on them. Marcia told me the girl had stars on her PJs and the boy had Star Wars written on his.”

  Chloe freezes. She stares at me. “It does say in the report that the maid who usually worked for them said the girl usually wore PJs with stars on them, and therefore, they concluded that she was in her PJs when she died. How on earth could Marcia know that?”

  “Was it mentioned in the news?” I ask.

  “I don’t remember hearing about it,” Chloe says. “I can Google it quickly.”

  While Chloe googles it, I lean back in my chair. I rub my forehead, thinking about Marcia. I run through everything she told me in my mind, desperately trying to find an explanation, an answer to the question of how on earth she could know these kinds of details if she wasn’t there.

  “I can’t find anything anywhere about it,” Chloe says. She looks at me as she exhales. “What do you make of it? Do you really think…?”

  “No.” I say and get up from my chair. “I refuse to believe it.”