She shook her head and sighed. “He doesn’t deserve any of this. He never did anything to anybody and now…” She stopped and looked down at the floor.
Hanson resumed his pacing. “We’ll take you back to the city, book you, let you call your attorney.”
Kelly turned her gaze to the ceiling. “Let’s just get this over with.”
As Hanson stood staring at this woman, he was reminded a phrase he heard often in his line of work.
“We stab the people we love and shoot the people we hate,” he said quietly.
The People We Hate…
The letter had arrived two weeks ago from the Illinois Department of Corrections. After serving six years of a twelve-year sentence, she was being released. They just thought he’d want to know. Like they were telling him the price of postage was going up or something.
Six years.
Six years for a life.
How was that fair?
He stood outside the building, looking high into the sky, the bitter winter wind of Lake Michigan battering his lean frame. He wondered which one of the shiny windows was hers. He’d know soon enough.
He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, a slender thread of snot clinging to his ashy skin.
He’d never met her. That would change.
He hunched over, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to the revolving door. A doorman spun it around for him, allowing him entry into the building. The scent of fresh flowers wafted around him, and he stopped for a moment to admire the silky swirls of wallpaper, marble floors, and plush couches. He shook his head, needing to concentrate on the task at hand. The doorman said hello, and M.J. tilted his head towards him as if to say, “What’s up, man?”
He sidled up to the front desk where another doorman nodded and said hello.
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, uh, I’m here to see Mrs. Mo…I mean Miss Ross.” That bitch didn’t deserve to have his father’s name.
“Is she expecting you?”
“Naw, but um…” M.J. looked around, hesitating for a moment, wondering if he should go through with this. “Tell her I’m…tell her M.J. is here to see her.”
The doorman peered at him for a second, and M.J. could see the flicker of recognition. He got it all the time, mostly from people who’d never met his father but knew all about what had happened to him—too much, he sometimes thought.
You look just like your father.
The doorman paused for a second before picking up the phone. “Is she expecting you?”
M.J. shook his head. “Uh uh, but…I’m pretty sure she’ll see me.”
The doorman pursed his lips and waited. “Yes, Mrs. Monroe, M.J. is here to see you? I can let him up? Okay. Yes, you’re welcome.”
He hung up the phone and reached for a button that swung the door to the main building open. “Go on up, she’s waiting for you.”
M.J. didn’t say anything, jogging over to the door before it slammed shut on him. A tall, pale girl, probably about his age, stepped out of the elevator and smiled at him as she passed. He didn’t return the sentiment, needing to get this over with.
He punched fifty-three, his heart pounding in his ears as the elevator glided up all those floors. Would he have lived here with them? Would his father have bought them a house?
He’d never know.
M.J. stepped off the elevator, looking around for #5304.
There it was.
He took a deep breath, the treads of his salt-encrusted boots crunching into the sage green cord carpet. He stood in front of the door for a moment before he rang the doorbell.
The door flew open, and there she was. She was still beautiful, even though she looked a little tired and, as his aunt Carla would say, a little too skinny. He could tell she was holding her breath.
“M.J. Please, come in.”
He did and was surprised to see packing boxes, peanuts, and tape everywhere.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I’m moving in a few weeks.”
He shrugged, not caring what her plans were. “Hmmm…”
“Can I get you anything? Water, tea—do sixteen-year-olds drink tea?”
He spun around, having pulled the gun out from the waistband of his jeans. It trembled inside his sweaty palms as he aimed it straight at her. She held both hands up in front of her and sprang back a little.
“You think I came here to talk about tea?”
He could see her gulp, could see her fear radiating from her like fumes. Good. He hoped she was as terrified as his daddy was the day she plunged that knife into his stomach.
“M.J., I am so sorry. You’ve had it worse than anybody—”
“Shut up! Shut up! There’s nothing you could say that will make this better!”
“M.J., if I could take back that day, I would. If I could make it me—”
“That’s right—it should have been you!”
He squeezed the trigger.
In The End…
“A breaking story tops Channel Seven News tonight. Former supermodel, Kelly Ross, was murdered this evening in her Gold Coast home. She was pronounced dead at Northwestern Memorial Hospital where our Mel Hayes is standing by live. Mel?”
“Andrea, this is a developing story, so we don’t have all the details yet, but here’s what we do know. Kelly Ross was released from Dwight Correctional Facility for Women two weeks ago after serving six years of a twelve-year sentence for the murder of her husband, attorney Mark Monroe. Ross was shot twice, once in the stomach and once in the leg. Police say the shooter was sixteen-year-old Mark Monroe Jr., also known as M.J., and the son of Kelly Ross’ late husband.
“You’ll recall it was revealed Monroe had been married to another woman, Geneva Monroe, before he was married to Kelly Ross. Ross stabbed her husband before fleeing and eluding capture for close to a week. In a confrontation between the two Mrs. Monroes, Ross shot Geneva Monroe to death, though that was found to be self-defense and no charges were filed. In the matter of her husband's death, Ross later pleaded guilty to manslaughter.
“Since being released, Ross has kept a low profile, rarely venturing out of her Gold Coast high rise. Building management says Ross put her condo on the market, making plans to move overseas in the next few weeks. According to Sam Gordon, Kelly Ross’ attorney, the younger Monroe has been living with his uncle, Roy, in Indianapolis for the past six years. The teenager stole a gun from the home of a friend’s father and boarded a bus to Chicago earlier today. He arrived at Kelly Ross’ home, and the doorman alerted her that Monroe was downstairs and he was allowed to come upstairs. Monroe apparently confronted Ross with the gun, and somehow—unbeknownst to Monroe—Ross was able to dial 911, who traced the call. Police came in and were able to subdue Monroe but not before he shot Ross. Roy Monroe could not be reached for comment, but Gordon says the boy had been in counseling and by all accounts had been doing well. However, with this tragic turn of events, it is clear he has not gotten over the death of his father.
“Mark Monroe is being held without bond. Reporting live from Northwestern Memorial Hospital, I’m Mel Hayes. Andrea, back to you.”
UPCOMING RELEASE
If you enjoyed
Sweet Little Lies
be sure to read
Every Breath You Take
Available as an eBook in 2013
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bianca Sloane is the author of the suspense novel Live and Let Die. She lives in Chicago.
Visit her website at biancasloane.com for more information.
Praise For Live And Let Die
Named “Thriller of the Month” on www.e-thriller.com (May 2013)
“Live and Let Die is a book that will leave the reader scratching their head trying to figure out the villain. And, just when the reader thinks they have it all figured out - think again - AND AGAIN!”
Examiner.com (New Orl
eans)
“If you love puzzles and you like it when the author fools you all the way to the last page, you can’t go wrong with Live and Let Die.”
Ionia Martin, Readful Things Blog
Available at Major eBook Retailers
Sweet Little Lies Page 23
