Surviving the Chase

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  With Payton showing up here, he was beginning to believe that being here was a mistake. He gave her a cold, hard stare as he waited for an answer. Her normally natural hair had been straightened and was styled into a bob with swoop bangs that covered her face from his view. She was avoiding eye contact and seemed to be at a loss for words—all insecure behavior he had never seen from her. She was one of the most overconfident people that he knew. The psychologist in him and expert at reading behavior and body language always knew there was something behind Payton’s bravado. But it would have been inappropriate for her to be his patient so it wasn’t his place to diagnose her ills. She finally looked at him.

  “I saw the story on the news, and I was curious—”

  “C’mon, Payton. You expect me to believe that you saw a story on the news and decided to just show up at the scene of the crime?”

  The murder count in Oakland was through the roof, but this single unsolved murder in suburbia had taken top billing on all the news channels in the Bay Area. Unlike crime in urban communities, there was something just a little sexier about crime in the middle of the suburbs. So her seeing the story on TV was plausible, but there was more to what actually brought her here. And that more was Sydney.

  “Cut the bullshit, Payton. I know Sydney put you up to this, and I don’t appreciate her having me followed. I’m a grown-ass man.”

  “Look, Donathan. Sydney had nothing to do with the reason I’m here. I came here looking for some answers.”

  “What kind of answers?”

  Payton looked away, avoiding eye contact.

  “I think the woman who is castrating these men is my half sister.”

  “What?!” Donathan said, confused by what she was saying. He had known Payton for years, but never knew her to have any siblings. He searched his memory for what he actually knew about his wife’s best friend. Payton grew up in Pittsburg and was raised by her grandparents. He had never heard of her having any siblings. She attended UCLA, which was where she and Sydney met.

  As if reading his mind, Payton continued, “I don’t know for sure, but that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “But you don’t have any sisters.”

  “None that I know of, but a few weeks ago, after the pictures of you and Austyn Greene were plastered all over the internet, she showed up at my grandparents’ home in Pittsburg looking for my mother. I couldn’t place her face initially, but by the time she left I was sure she was the same woman in those pictures on the internet with you.”

  “What did she want with your mother?”

  “That’s just it. I have no clue. It was like coming face-to-face with the dead that I would rather stay buried. Lois has not lived in Pittsburg in over twenty-five years. When I asked Austyn what she wanted, she was very vague in a rude kind of way. I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out what the hell anybody would want with the likes of Lois Greene, but I—”

  Donathan looked around expecting someone else to show up, hop in the car, and tell him he was on one of those practical joke reality shows. If Payton and Austyn were sisters, what exactly did that mean? He was almost afraid to ask the next question.

  “Let me get this straight. Are you saying that Lois Greene is your mother?”

  “Well, I’d prefer that you didn’t call the bitch who abandoned me my mother, but yeah, she did give birth to me.”

  Donathan was stunned. One minute he’d hired Holsey Investigations to track Lois down, but now the key that could lead him right to her and Austyn Greene was sitting across from him in his passenger seat.

  “Do you know where Lois is?”

  “Not really. I mean, I’m not sure. Last I’d heard she was in Los Angeles, but lately, my uncle keeps alluding to the fact that she’s back in Pittsburg.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but the last time I saw him, he was pretty convincing.”

  “Can you get him to take you to her?”

  “We aren’t on the best of terms right now, but I’m headed out to Pittsburg to check on him.”

  “Look, Payton. All bullshit aside. We need to locate Lois.”

  “I thought this was about Austyn?”

  “It is, but if I find Lois, then I’m sure I’ll find Austyn.”

  “And what makes you so sure of that? Austyn doesn’t even look like Lois, and so what if both their last names are Greene. So are a lot of other people’s.”

  “Because the last time I saw Austyn, she told me that she was going to kill me and her mother, Lois Greene, and I believe her.”

  Payton leaned back in the passenger seat, and an uncomfortable expression washed over her face.

  “I need your help.”

  She shot a quick glance at Donathan. “Help to do what?”

  “Find your mother—”

  “There is no way in hell I’m looking for that woman! And don’t call her my mother. Most people care about their mothers, and I don’t give a damn if that bitch gets hit by a Mack truck!”

  “Calm down, Payton. All I want you to do is talk to your uncle to see if you can get him to tell you Lois’s whereabouts.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. He has a serious drug problem and to say he’s not thinking clearly right now is an understatement.”

  “Understood. I just want all of us to be safe, but we have to put Austyn where she belongs to do that.”

  * * *

  After Payton drove out of the parking lot, Donathan noticed a security camera like the one he had at his office mounted to the upper corner of the redbrick building across the parking lot. From the mounted angle, if whoever killed the victim exited on this side of the building, then he was sure the camera would have captured their image. He looked around for any signs of the media or police before he started the ignition and drove the short distance to the building. He didn’t know how he was going to talk them into letting him see the footage, but he had to at least try.

  Taking long, deliberate strides, Donathan tossed different scenarios around in his head as he approached the glass doors. He hoped the camera wasn’t being used as a deterrent and had actually been recording a few nights ago. When he entered the double doors, a security guard sitting at the front desk greeted him.

  “Detective Allen, right?” the guard said, reaching across the desk.

  “Good afternoon.” Donathan nodded, offering him a firm handshake, but choosing not to correct the man on his identity.

  “Man, you’re quick. Wait right here, and I’ll grab the copy of that camera footage for you.”

  Donathan looked on as the security guard trotted down the hallway and disappeared behind a closed door. In his mind he struggled with coming clean about who he really was. He could get into so much trouble for tampering with a police investigation, but his life was in danger and he needed to take a quick look at the video for himself. Once he did, he would find Detective Allen and make sure he received the tape.

  “I still can’t believe someone got murdered,” the guard said, coming toward him with a large white business envelope.

  “Yeah, it is pretty unbelievable for Pleasanton,” Donathan said, really looking at the man for the first time. His name tag read Walter, and his jet-black hair looked unnatural, like he’d given himself a bad dye job.

  “We made a copy of the video feed for the past few days like you requested. I also placed my card inside the envelope in case you need anything else.”

  Donathan nodded and shook hands with the man a second time, then hurried from the building. As he eased behind the wheel of the car, he experienced a moment of deep satisfaction. A few days ago finding Austyn seemed like an uphill battle, but things were looking much better now. Weeks of wondering where Austyn Greene had vanished to would become clearer once he viewed the tape.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tony held the receiver and listened as his aunt Rosemary spouted off unsolicited parenting advice. His insides
were knotted, and after a sleepless night, his patience was thin. Najee was determined to be independent. Berkeley was one thing, but did she possess the street smarts to run around the mean streets of Oakland without supervision? It was his job to keep her safe. How was he going to protect her?

  “You have to let the girl breathe,” his aunt informed him. “She’s a good girl, and she makes good decisions.”

  “It’s not her decisions I’m afraid of.”

  “I know you’re scared, baby, but you have to let her make her own mistakes and learn from them.”

  After ending the call, he sat at the breakfast bar ruminating on his aunt’s last words. Maybe she was right. Najee deserved much more credit than he gave her. Sure, there was a difference between Oakland and Berkeley, but the one constant was street smarts, which were required if she lived in either city.

  He went to her slightly ajar bedroom door, then knocked lightly before going inside.

  “Naj,” he called softly to the mass hidden by the purple and green comforter pulled up over her head.

  It didn’t matter if he was in denial or not. She was sixteen and closer to adulthood than the little eight-year-old girl he used to take to Fentons for a scoop of bubblegum ice cream. He chuckled at the memory of her talking his ear off and absentmindedly picking out each ball of sugar to chew at the end. He smiled at the sleeping beauty peeking at him from squinted eyes.

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  “Oh, Gaaawwwwd,” she grumbled. “Haven’t you heard of summertime?”

  He yanked off the bedding and tickled her like he used to do when she was younger.

  “Stop it! Please stop it.” She squirmed and giggled.

  “I’m about to head out for work.”

  “Please tell me that I do not have to go to your friend’s house.”

  “No. I’m going to let you stay here.”

  Najee jumped up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek over and over again.

  “But here are the rules. When you are not home, I need to know exactly who you are with, where you are going, when precisely I should expect you home, and what you will be doing. I’m not happy about you riding in cars with other teenage drivers, but until I can teach you how to drive and get you a car of your own, I’ll do my best to live with it.”

  “Is that it?” she asked, the statement laced with sarcasm.

  “No, it’s not. I don’t want any boys in the house when I’m not home, nor are you allowed to be in anyone else’s house with boys without adult supervision. On weekdays your curfew is nine o’clock and on the weekends ten o’clock.”

  “Curfew? This is a joke, right? Mom never gave me a curfew. I’m going into the eleventh grade, for Christ’s sake!”

  He flashed her a stern look. “I’m not Mom, and we can talk more about it later.”

  The bedroom door closed, and tears immediately sprang from Najee’s eyes. She fell back onto the bed, curled into a sobbing ball, and grieved for her freedom with each tear that rolled down her cheek. She didn’t understand why he was treating her like she was a child. She wanted her old life back. She wanted to go home. She wanted her mama.

  * * *

  Long after Najee heard the truck pull out of the driveway, she texted her friend Lauren an ambulance emoji, their signal for 911, to call back, and her cell phone began to ring almost immediately. She answered the phone without looking at the screen.

  “Hello.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My life is over!”

  “Uhm, what exactly does that mean?”

  “He gave me a curfew! And a laundry list of things I have to do before I can step foot outside this prison.”

  “Quit being so dramatic. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Actually, I do. I have a curfew.”

  “What? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”

  “Look, after I take my little brother to soccer camp at eleven, I’ll swoop you up and we can go to the movies and hang out on Bay Street. I’ll call you when I’m on the way?”

  “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  Najee hung up the phone and started a text to Tony, but then quickly changed her mind. She wasn’t a kid, and it was broad daylight. She was responsible enough to hang out with her friends and be back home before he returned from work.

  CHAPTER 19

  Austyn took a second look at the unfamiliar image reflected back at her in the dust-hazed mirror. Her hair was a mass of long blond braids, and her lips were smeared with black-cherry lipstick, a color she’d never be caught dead in under normal circumstances. No one would recognize her as the woman wanted for questioning related to the Donathan and Sydney James debacle and for killing a bunch of worthless bastards. She was so close to finding Lois Greene, and this little disguise was going to lead her right to her mother.

  Yesterday, she called the telephone number listed on the Glover House website to inquire about volunteer opportunities. After a lengthy telephone conversation with a staff person who answered the phone, Austyn learned that Glover House didn’t accept volunteers. However, the woman did recommend Loaves and Fishes as a great place for charity work. In fact, she went on to say, volunteerism was a huge part of the Glover House recovery philosophy, and all the women in treatment volunteered.

  Immediately, Austyn ended the call and typed Loaves and Fishes into the search bar on her computer. She filled out a volunteer application online, checked a few boxes, and within hours received a phone call to schedule an appointment with the manager. If she couldn’t get to Lois inside, then she’d let Lois come to her outside, and this was the day.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Austyn took a seat on an empty bench outside the administration offices at the food program. She studied the groups of people going in and out of the soup kitchen and focused her attention on a mother holding the hand of a young child. When the mother released the child’s hand to retrieve something from her backpack, the little girl wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist and held on tight as if her mother was her protector. Austyn searched the crevices of her mind, but she could never remember a time when her mother ever held her hand like that.

  As she painted the vivid pictures in her mind, a tool she learned in therapy, she could see images of Lois Greene’s harsh face and every one of those filthy bastards who stole her innocence, including the gang members in Los Angeles who kept her locked in the basement for days, raping her repeatedly before beating her unconscious and leaving her for dead. She woke up from the ordeal alone in a deserted lot in South Central Los Angeles. When she mustered the strength to move, she walked for what seemed like miles before someone stopped to help her. The police questioned her continually, but she told them she didn’t remember anything, and soon the questions stopped. Then payback became her obsession.

  She returned to her life and began the physical healing process, but mentally, she never forgot. And when the time was right, her revenge took her back to South Central, and she found them all existing not far from where they’d raped her. She stalked them, then, using what they took from her, lured them in one by one and made them pay.

  * * *

  A short, stubby man standing in one of the office doorways called out to her, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Hellooooo. I said, may I help you?” His tone was a harsh demand.

  Austyn placed her hand in the pocket of her jean jacket and wrapped it around the cold stainless-steel handle before she made eye contact with him.

  “I’m here to meet with Roberta Clayborne about volunteering.”

  “Roberta is out sick today. My name is Stanley Mason. I’ll be doing your intake and giving you an overview of the program and the tour. C’mon, this way,” he said in a no-nonsense kind of way. He turned his back to her and took quick, hurried steps down a narrow hallway.

  “I don’t know what you did to be ma
ndated to volunteer, but we don’t stand for no foolishness around here, and we treat people with respect. And if Roberta assigns you to my kitchen, you gon’ have to do something with that hair.”

  * * *

  The man placed her in an empty room with a yellow number 2 pencil and a five-page questionnaire. After spending twenty minutes taking the assessment, he gave Austyn an overview of the Loaves and Fishes program, and ended with a tour of the facility. The last stop on the tour was a work schedule posted on the wall in the kitchen. It listed volunteers by first name only and the hours and jobs they were assigned at the facility. She quickly scrolled down the list, but didn’t see the name she was looking for or any reference to Glover House.

  “Do women from the Glover House treatment home volunteer here?”

  The man spun around so quickly, Austyn could almost taste the onions and garlic he had for lunch. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in close before he spoke. “Who does and does not volunteer here is of no concern to you. The only name you need to be looking for on the list is yours. Now, pay attention to what I’m telling you, or we won’t be needing your services. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal,” she said, holding his eye contact and tossing her long golden braids over her shoulder.

  * * *

  Austyn left Loaves and Fishes, a hostage to her thoughts. Did the Glover House women volunteer there, or was she wasting her time? She didn’t notice the lights and sirens in her rearview mirror until the Pittsburg police officer was on her bumper. She checked the odometer and panicked.

  She raked the braids on the wig forward with her hand to cover her face, then inched her skirt up to rest high on her thighs before pulling to the shoulder. She kept her eyes glued to the rearview mirror, watching the officer step out of the black and white vehicle and make his way toward her.

  “Stay calm, stay calm,” she mumbled.

  By the time he made it to the driver’s-side window, pure adrenaline was seeping from her pores. She avoided his eyes, but his voice was stern and no-nonsense.

  “License and registration, please.”