by Scott Pratt
Tommy’s head dropped. He stared at the table for a long minute. “Maybe I am, Hammer. God knows I thought about beating that son of a bitch to death with my bare hands at least a hundred times since Dad killed himself. Maybe I got plastered and went nuts, found out where he lived somehow, and drove over there and killed him.”
“Don’t say that, even if you’re just joking. Don’t even think it.”
“I can’t go back there, man. Not yet, anyway. If I go back and tell the police I don’t remember what I did that night, they’ll arrest me for sure. I think I’ll just stay on the road for a while, then go back after things have settled down a little. Maybe in the meantime they’ll find out who really did it.”
“Do you have enough money? Do you need anything?”
“I’m okay. Mom gave me fifteen hundred dollars before I left. That should last me a little while.”
Jack reached over and touched his friend lightly on the hand. “I haven’t really had a chance to tell you this, but I’m sorry about your dad,” he said. “I’m sorry about everything.”
Tommy’s eyes began to glisten, and Jack saw tears begin to roll down his cheeks.
“Can you believe he killed himself because he thought we’d be better off with money than with him?” Tommy said. “He must have been in so much pain. I just wish I could hug him again and tell him everything will be all right.”
Tommy laid his head on his forearms and began to sob quietly. Jack wanted to offer him comfort but didn’t know how. He was accustomed to the banter that goes on in a locker room, jousting verbally with his friends and teammates. Trying to comfort a friend after such a terrible loss was foreign territory. He reached over and squeezed Tommy’s shoulder tightly.
“How about that coffee?” he said. “I’ll just run across the street to the cafeteria and get us some.”
Tommy raised his head slowly and wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“Sure, Hammer, coffee sounds good.”
Jack was gone for less than ten minutes. As he was hurrying back up the sidewalk carrying the coffee, he saw a campus policeman emerge from the shadows near the spot where the picnic tables were located. Jack smiled and nodded as he passed the officer, but he knew what he’d probably find when he got back to the tables.
He was right. His backpack was still lying on the table where he’d left it, but Tommy was gone.
38
Hannah Mills laid the slim, elongated tube on a paper towel on the back of the toilet and began to pace around the house. She picked up Patches, the cocker spaniel-mix puppy she’d adopted from the animal shelter a couple of weeks earlier, and carried him along with her.
“It can’t be,” she kept saying to the pup. “It just can’t be.”
With all that had happened to her, Hannah had become an expert at putting things out of her mind, and that’s exactly what she’d done with the memory of her drunken night at the restaurant. What else could she do? Accuse Tanner of raping her? Perhaps, in her drunken state, she’d consented and simply didn’t remember.
Tanner had called the next afternoon to check on her and ask how she was feeling. She’d casually asked him how she got into bed, and he said he’d carried her into the house, laid her on the bed, removed her shoes, and tucked her in. Hannah couldn’t bring herself to believe otherwise.
The fatigue had started less than a week later. There were times when her legs felt as though they were made of concrete. She would suddenly find herself barely able to move, barely able to stay awake. There’d been several times when, out of nowhere, she’d felt like crying and would have to run off into the bathroom to sob. Last week, the waves of nausea had begun to wash over her in the mornings, even when her stomach was empty. Her breasts were tender. She urinated far more often than she ever had in the past. She’d missed her period.
Hannah walked back into the bathroom. The pregnancy test was sitting there, waiting. She knew what the result was going to be, but she had no idea what she was going to do. She held the puppy close to her chest with her left hand and reached down with her right…
Hannah decided to call Lee Mooney. Mr. Mooney had hired her, after all, and had treated her extremely well since she’d made the move from Knoxville. He also knew Tanner well and might be able to give her some advice in that regard. She’d thought about calling Joe and Caroline Dillard and asking their advice, but she found she was too embarrassed. She hadn’t told Mr. Mooney the problem over the phone, just that she needed to speak with him as soon as possible. He’d arrived at her house in less than half an hour and was sitting in a chair in her den.
“I hope you’re not going to tell me you’ve decided to leave,” Mooney said as Hannah handed him a glass of sweet iced tea.
“No, no, I’m not leaving,” Hannah said nervously. Actually, the thought of leaving suddenly appealed to her. “At least I’m not planning on leaving. Not any time soon, anyway.”
“That doesn’t sound too promising,” Mooney said.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that… It’s just that what I’m about to tell you is terribly difficult, not to mention embarrassing. You can’t tell a soul.”
Mooney twisted the end of his handlebar mustache with the fingers on his right hand.
“I’ve never really asked you about your family, Hannah,” he said. “If I remember correctly, I asked you a couple of things when I first met you at the conference, and it seemed to make you uncomfortable. Isn’t there anyone in your family you can talk to?”
“I don’t have any family. My parents and brothers and sister were killed. I’m all that’s left.”
“Do you want to tell me about what happened to them?”
“Thank you, but no.”
“All right. Well, I hope you know you can trust me,” he said.
“You’ve been good to me.”
“And it’s been my pleasure.”
Hannah took a sip of her tea. Her hand was shaking, so she set the tea on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her. She folded her hands and began to rock back and forth.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
Hannah fought to maintain her composure, but the shock of actually saying the words caused her to break down. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob quietly. A few seconds later, she felt Mr. Mooney’s presence beside her. He sat down on the couch and gently took her hands.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Hannah looked at him through watery eyes. He was smiling warmly. Both his touch and his voice were reassuring.
“Do you feel up to talking?”
Hannah calmed herself as best she could. Mr. Mooney handed her a handkerchief, and she tearfully recounted her symptoms of the past few weeks and the results of the pregnancy test.
“It had to happen the night I got so drunk,” she said tearfully. “It had to be Tanner.”
“You have no recollection of what happened after you got home that night?” he said.
“None. None whatsoever.”
“There are certainly ways to find out if Tanner’s the father,” Mr. Mooney said. “Paternity tests. You could ask him to take a paternity test.”
“I know. I’ve thought of that.”
“If he refuses, you could force him.”
“Yes, I know. But what then? What if he takes a test and I find out it’s his?”
“Then I suppose you have him arrested for rape.”
“I can’t be certain he raped me. Maybe I let him. Maybe I wanted him to.”
“Hannah,” Mr. Mooney said, “I was there that night. I saw how intoxicated you were. As a matter of fact, I felt guilty about my role in contributing to your condition. But sex is something that’s supposed to occur between two consenting adults, and there’s no way in the world you were capable of consenting. If Tanner had sex with you that night, it was a rape under the law. And if he raped you, he needs to face the consequences.”
“No,” Hannah said. “I can�
��t. I won’t. I’ve worked with dozens of rape victims in the past six or seven years, Mr. Mooney. I’ve seen what they go through. I can’t put myself through that.”
“I understand, Hannah. I truly do. The system can be harder on victims than criminals.”
Mr. Mooney rubbed Hannah’s hands gently. She found herself glad that she’d made the decision to call him. It was good to have someone to talk to, especially someone as experienced, not to mention as compassionate, as Mr. Mooney.
“Have you considered the alternative?” Mr. Mooney said.
Hannah looked at him and blinked, not quite sure what he meant.
“You could terminate the pregnancy. It happens more than you might think, especially in cases of rape.”
The thought of abortion hadn’t entered Hannah’s mind. It was out of the question. She wouldn’t-she couldn’t-even begin to entertain the notion of destroying the life she knew was growing inside her. Rape or no rape, abortion was not an option.
“No,” Hannah said quietly. “I could never do that.”
“Are you sure? It’s no sin, Hannah, especially considering what seems to have happened to you.”
“No,” she whispered. “No, Mr. Mooney. I won’t destroy my own child.”
“Of course you won’t. I hope you’ll forgive me for even bringing it up.”
Hannah was silent after that, lost in the maze of thought that surrounded her latest predicament. Mr. Mooney continued to rub her hands and softly reassure her, and she was content to let him do so. A half hour passed, maybe more. Mr. Mooney knelt in front of her and pushed back from her face the hair that had matted in the tears on her cheeks.
“It’s getting late, Hannah,” he said. “I have to go now. Why don’t we sleep on it for a day or two and then decide the best course of action? There’s no sense rushing into anything.”
Hannah nodded, and shortly thereafter, Mr. Mooney left.
When Hannah had decided to switch jobs, she’d sensed she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t so certain about the decision now, but at least she’d been right about one thing.
Mr. Mooney was a kind and decent man. If anyone could help her, it would be him.
She picked up Patches, who was whining at her feet, and began to rub his belly.
“I wonder if it’ll be a girl,” she said. “No, I hope it’ll be a girl.”
39
Hannah opened the refrigerator and pulled out a cold bottle of water. She noticed the package of chicken she’d purchased at the store on Tuesday. She’d better do something with it tonight or it might spoil. She decided she’d make herself some stir- fry later and closed the door. Patches was barking excitedly in the bedroom, and Hannah called him. She poured some of her water into Patches’s bowl and bent down and petted his head as he lapped it up. She’d come to love him dearly in the short time she’d had him. He was so sweet and docile. He’d make a wonderful playmate for the baby.
It had been a difficult week. After her conversation with Mr. Mooney last Saturday, he’d called her on Sunday and said he’d completely forgotten he was leaving for vacation. He asked her to keep their conversation private. They would call Tanner into Mr. Mooney’s office when he returned to work on Monday, have a conversation, gauge Tanner’s reaction, and go from there.
Hannah had avoided Tanner the entire week. He’d called and left messages on her answering machine- the last one asked whether he’d done something to offend her-but she’d ignored him. She was looking forward to Monday and the opportunity to confront Tanner. She might not like what he had to say, but at least she’d have some answers.
She stood and walked into the bedroom, removing her red Windbreaker along the way. She dropped it, along with her purse, onto the bed.
The strap went around her neck before she could step away from the bed. Hannah felt herself being pulled back and upward. Her feet left the floor. Her hands went immediately to her throat. Something was choking her. She couldn’t breathe. What was it? Who was it?
Whoever it was, he was powerful, far more powerful than she. Hannah could feel the hair of his beard against her face as he pulled her tightly against him. She could smell the musty odor of his breath, feel the air rushing from his nostrils into her right ear. But she couldn’t get free. She kicked and wriggled and squirmed, trying her best to break his hold, but he slammed her face- first into the floor and pinned her there. She felt something warm trickle from her mouth. Blood, I must be bleeding.
When Hannah accepted the inevitability of her own death, she relaxed. She saw her mother’s smiling face, the expanse of Lake Michigan from a sandy bluff, the majesty of the purple Smoky Mountains. Lottie called to her from the kitchen. Supper was ready. Luke jerked in his bed, his eyes alight, a sure sign that he understood the joke she’d made. Aunt Mary patted her hand on the front porch swing on a moonlit summer night.
As the darkness overtook her and the white light appeared, Hannah found herself a bit surprised, even puzzled, by her lack of fear. The thought passed through her mind that perhaps she should thank this man who was taking her life. True, he was taking her unborn child along with her, but since she’d learned of the pregnancy, Hannah had caught herself-more than once-regarding the thought of a child as another tragedy in the making.
Hannah’s heart stopped beating, and the light grew brighter.
The last emotion she felt was relief.
40
The biker who killed Hannah Mills raised a beer can toward the sky.
“To gettin’ ’er done,” he yelled. Cyrus “Red” Mc-Kinney was in a celebratory mood. “The job” had gone off without a hitch. The girl had been missing for two weeks, and the cops didn’t have a clue. He was certain they would never find her.
Sitting across the table from Red was his cousin, Ricky “Barrel” Reed. Barrel had been the only person Red trusted enough to help him with the job. Red knew what they were doing was strictly forbidden by the gang’s code, but he also knew Barrel would keep quiet about it. He’d cut him in for five thousand of the twenty thousand he’d collected from the Mexican. Barrel had wanted an equal share, but because Red had done the actual wet work, he figured he earned the extra money.
It was Saturday, the last night of Bike Week in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The news had quickly spread through the ranks of Satan’s Soldiers that the officers had negotiated a fat deal with a gang in Charlotte, and the booze and drugs were flowing. They were hanging out at a bar called Dante’s, a run-down hellhole in Garden City that they took over for a week in the spring each year. Rock music was blaring, bitches were dancing topless on the tables, and two dudes had already ridden their choppers through the place. Red had downed nearly a case of beer during the day and had made two trips to the bathroom in the past hour to snort crystal meth. He was feeling like a conqueror.
“Me and you are two badass motherfuckers,” Red hollered.
“Fuckin-A!” Barrel replied.
“That bitch was just the beginning! We’re gonna be the next Murder Incorporated. Hit men, by God! I always wanted to be a hit man. Fuck this Mickey Mouse shit we been doing! We’re going big-time, baby!”
“Keep your voice down, Red! People can hear you.”
“I don’t give a shit!”
Red rose from his chair and raised both fists into the air.
“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil,” he yelled, “for I’m the baddest motherfucker in the valley!”
It took less than a week for word to reach the officers. Inquiries had been made, meetings held. And now Red found himself in a barn in Unicoi County, tied securely to a metal chair, surrounded by men he thought were his friends. Barrel was next to him, whimpering like a child.
Red watched the man circling him. He was known as Bear, the president of Satan’s Soldiers. He was six feet tall and thick as an Angus bull. Muscles rippled beneath the tight black tank top he was wearing. Everything on him was covered with thick black hair-his head, face, sh
oulders, back, and chest-and he was wearing the gang’s signature black bandanna. The rest of the officers were leaning against a stall about ten feet away, watching as he toyed with a length of braided rawhide and the knot at its end. They were known as Turtle, Rain Man, and Mountain.
“Know why you’re here?” Bear asked.
“We ain’t done nothing,” Red said.
The knotted piece of rawhide smashed into his temple. Red saw a bright flash as pain shot through his head and down his spine.
“Don’t lie to me, Red. It’ll go a lot easier on you. That girl you killed worked for the DA. You think they’re gonna stop looking for her, you damned fool? Now we gotta clean up the mess you made.”
“Ain’t no mess,” Red said. “Ain’t nobody gonna find nothing.”
“We got rules. You break the rules, it affects us all. What the hell were you thinking? Going on your own. And a girl! She hadn’t done a damned thing to us. And now, all this heat.”
“There won’t be no heat. They ain’t gonna find nothing.”
“Won’t be no heat? How do you think we found out about it? Because you’re too goddamned dumb to keep your mouth shut. You and this fat lump of shit next to you.”
“We won’t say nothing, Bear,” Barrel cried. “I swear to God we won’t say a word.”
Red heard the whiz of the rawhide and the dull thump as it struck his cousin. Barrel screamed.
“Shut your mouth, lard ass!” Bear yelled. “Now, I’ve known the two of you long enough to know that ol’ Barrel here doesn’t have brains enough to get in out of the rain. So you must have been the one who set it up. Right, Red?”
Red nodded his head and closed his eyes. He listened as Bear’s boots crunched the dirt floor as he continued to circle.
“Who paid you?”
“Some Mexican down in Morristown.”
“What Mexican? How’d he get in touch with you?”
“Don’t know his name. I found out about the contract from another Mexican dude I party with. I told him I might be interested, so he gave me a number to call. I set up a meet and went to Morristown.”
