by Jada Ryker
Marisa filled in her mother on the day’s events.
Barbara nodded. “I bet she sues you for shooting her.”
“That’s all I need.” Marisa wheeled toward her desk, needing an over-the-counter pain reliever for her headache. Too bad it won’t cure my other ails, like a potential civil suit by my childhood enemy.
Barbara grasped Marisa’s arm and shook it. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll finish the job. I’ll kill Alisa Atkins for you and for Mosely.”
A rustling noise caught Marisa’s attention. She noticed the door to the outer office was ajar. She shoved it open. “Clarinda, what are you doing here?”
Clarinda’s laugh sounded forced. “I was so upset, I forgot my lap apron.” She snatched it from the floor next to the visitor’s chair. “Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a thing.” She ran, the lap apron fluttering like a pirate’s ship flag behind her.
“You scared her.” Marisa wasn’t sure if she was impressed or appalled, or both. “I don’t think she scares easily, but you did it.” She stared directly into her mother’s excited green eyes. “No one is going to ‘finish the job’, Mom. She’s in a hospital room, guarded by the police.”
“Alisa is here? In this hospital?” Barbara threw herself into the chair. “We have to speak with her.”
“We can’t.” Marisa waved a hand. “She’s under arrest.”
“If you won’t let me kill her, then we have to at least talk to her.” Barbara ran her thin fingers through her short, spiky hair. Her face scrunched, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth. She brightened. “We’ll come back at midnight.” She looked down at her pink Capri pants and pink-and-yellow striped top. “We’ll dress up in nurses’ outfits. Then, we can get past the guard and into her room.”
“No, Mom,” Marisa said. “It’s quiet at night. Strangers stand out, even in hospital uniforms.”
Barbara leaped to her feet. “You’re right. We’ll go now. The hustle and bustle will give us cover.” She darted out the door and into Marisa’s outer office. “We’ll find the right psychological moment and use it to our advantage.”
Psychological moment? I’m going to regret this. Marisa grabbed her keys and followed her mother.
* * * * *
“I thought the Intensive Care Unit was kept locked, with visitors allowed inside only ten minutes each hour.” Barbara watched in astonishment as a couple, trailed by three children, one of whom was a toddler holding a sippy cup, passed through the open double doors to the ICU. “Adult visitors.”
“It’s the new hospital policy. The nursing director read about it online and wanted to try the idea. It’s called family-centric care.” Marisa pointed to the new sign on the wall. “Entire families can visit.”
“What a bunch of crap.” Barbara led the way through the doors. “It’s not a healing environment for sick people. They need peace and quiet, not chaos and turmoil.” She skipped out of the way of two boys tearing through the hall and screaming at the top of their lungs. “That was a close one. If those boys knock me down and break my hip, I’ll have a new way of getting us close to Alisa.”
As Barbara and Marisa passed the nurses’ station, a short woman with tears and mascara running down her cheeks popped out of a room and directly in their paths. Marisa touched her mother’s arm to stop her.
Ignoring them, the woman lunged to the counter. “I’m his mother, and you can’t keep me from visiting him!”
Marisa drew her mother away from the enraged woman and the gathering nurses. “There are officers standing outside that door. It must be Alisa’s room, since she’s under police guard.”
Officer Josh Landis looked up from his phone. “Wanda Bra Woman! I mean, Miss Adair.” He looked clean and official in the chaotic hallway.
The other officer grinned, his round face alight with recognition. “Marisa Adair, the last time I saw you, a crazed murderer had you trapped in his lair.” He turned to Landis. “I arrived just in time to save Marisa, her boyfriend, her neighbor, and her neighbor’s nasty little dog, which bit me.” He reached down to rub his ankle.
He couldn’t save Mosely. No one could. Marisa tried to smile as she ruthlessly pushed away the memory of her brother on the floor, shot and bleeding, his green eyes confused and frightened.
She concentrated on the policeman. His crescent-shaped eyes, blocky teeth, and bald head made her think of a jack-o’-lantern. Come to think of it, the first time I saw him, he was covered in orange spray tan. “Officer Daviess, aren’t you supposed to say ‘alleged crazed murderer,’ since he hasn’t been tried yet?”
“You remembered my name!” His dark eyes rolled in ecstasy.
Marisa refrained from pointing to his name tag. “Thank you again for saving our lives. And since you’re rubbing your ankle, Verna’s bad-tempered dog Punky must’ve bit you on the ankle. I feel your pain, since I’m on his list of human victims. I bet Verna has a bunch of human silhouettes on that dog’s blanket, with an X across each one.”
Daviess laughed. “Like flying aces who showed their kills on the sides of their planes.” His utility belt creaked as he tugged up his sagging uniform pants over his rotund stomach.
Landis slid his phone into his pocket. “What are you doing here at the hospital?”
Marisa pointed to her identification badge, pinned to her sage jacket. “I work here. And this is my mother, Barbara Adair.”
Landis stared past them and frowned. “I think we have a situation, Daviess.”
Her messy topknot of blonde hair wobbled as the upset woman wiggled herself up onto the nurses’ station counter. “I’m his mother and you can’t keep me from visiting him. He tried to stop a punk from jacking his car, and the punkhole drove right over him. My baby needs me.” She knocked a vase of flowers to the floor. The glass vase shattered and water splashed. “I couldn’t be with him when he was little because I was in prison, but I’m here now.”
“Ma’am, please get off the counter.” Director of Nursing Tom Cordon, his face and neck flushed with agitation, pushed his way between Marisa and her mother and the officers.
The woman spun on her behind on the counter, her short skirt riding up her thick thighs. Her cleavage jiggled in fury. “Family-effing-centric, my ass!”
The officers exchanged concerned glances. “Should we intervene?” Landis pulled out his phone. “Let me check the regs.”
“Yes, that’s her ass. That woman’s not wearing underwear.” Barbara’s voice rose in shock.
Both officers pivoted toward the nurses’ station.
His bright red hair standing on end, Tom angrily pulled his lab coat straight. “If you don’t calm down, we’ll have to call security.”
The officers moved as one unit and joined Tom at the counter.
Marisa tugged at her mother. “We’re not going to get a better psychological moment. Let’s go in her room.”
* * * * *
Spread on the white pillow and framing her pale round face, Tamara’s red hair was a tangled blaze of color. Her wrist was handcuffed to the bed rail. Her head turned listlessly on the pillow until her gaze fell on Marisa. Her eyes widened. “You psycho bitch! You shot me! Help! Police!”
Barbara closed the door and lowered the shade at the window. “There’s no one to help you.” She ran to the bed and moved the call light out of reach to the nightstand. “Just like there wasn’t anyone to help Mosely Adair.”
Tamara’s mouth opened. She jerked her wrist, rattling the chains of her handcuffs. She struggled to sit up.
Barbara pointed. “That psycho bitch is his sister, Marisa.” Her festive pink clothing at odds with her grim face and stiff body, she tapped her striped chest with her rigid finger. “And I’m the queen of the psycho bitches. I’m Mosely’s mother.”
Panting, Tamara collapsed against the sheets. Her eyes narrowed, and then widened in feigned surprise. “Who in the hell is Mosely?” She cocked her head in innocent inquiry.
“Too late. You recognized his name. We
’re here for revenge.” Barbara advanced on the bed.
Marisa put a restraining hand on her mother’s arm. “We’re here for answers. On the rooftop, you told Alex and me that your name is Tamara. But you have another Phase Page under the name Alisa Atkins.”
Tamara licked her cracked lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My brothers and I went to school with you, Alisa.” Marisa tried to quell her rising temper. “You were so beautiful, with your long, naturally curly red hair and translucent skin. With your flowing dresses, you looked like a delicate porcelain doll. You were also the ringleader for the meanest bullies in school.”
Barbara was stiff with rage. “You called Mosely ‘Brace Boy,’ because of the steel braces on his skinny legs and his crutches. He couldn’t help it if he was born club-footed. But you and your gang of bullies refused to leave him alone.”
“Alex Caldwell was the only one in school who tried to stop you,” Marisa said. “He was small and hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. You were tall for a girl. You punched him so hard that he fell and broke his arm.”
Tamara looked away. “Marisa, we were just kids.”
“You weren’t a child when you found Mosely online and stalked him,” Barbara said. “You haunted the same chat rooms. You posted on the same forums. You wrote lies about my son.”
Alisa was silent.
“My brother wasn’t perfect,” Marisa said. “He was an alcoholic. But he wasn’t a child molester or a racist, and he never beat up homeless people.”
Barbara stepped nearer to the bed. “You even created real-looking news reports, complete with photographs. Your current network of bullies helped you spread the lies throughout the internet. Mosely posted his protests and even contacted the sites, but nothing changed.”
“You can’t prove any of that.” Alisa was defiant.
Barbara choked, tears streaming down her face. She drew the paper stained with splashes of brown from her pocket. She shook it at Alisa. “Mosely tried to kill himself. He wrote a suicide note. He wanted to die because of your online stalking, Alisa. Months later, he deliberately put himself in the path of a cold-blooded killer, who finished the job for him.” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Marisa put her arms around her mother. When her mother returned the hug, her purse banged against Marisa’s hip. Ouch. Mom’s purse is really heavy.
Alisa tried to sit up. She gave up and flopped back on the pillows. She fiddled with the handcuff, rattling it. “I had a special score to settle against Mosely. When we were kids, he crossed a line. He spit on me. I had to go to the principal’s office because of him. When I ran across his Phiz Phase Page, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to even the score. I admit I did want to make him squirm. But I would never try to make someone kill himself.”
Barbara slid closer to the bed.
Alisa took a deep breath. “I only married Brent Greenup because my fiancée Addison killed himself. I was upset and I had financial problems. I thought Brent could rescue me from everything that hurt me.”
“Did you bully Addison into suicide, too?” Barbara pulled a wad of tissues from the box by Alisa’s bed.
Alisa clutched the bed rails. “It’s not my fault. I have post-traumatic stress syndrome. You know, PTSD. I’m the way I am because of Fulton Hart.”
Marisa frowned. “That name sounds familiar.” She snapped her fingers. “He was our eighth grade teacher. I think his specialty was history.”
“He did more than teach me that Kentucky had two state capitols during the Civil War.” Alisa turned her face into the pillow.
“She’s trying to make us forget why we’re here, Marisa. Don’t listen to her.” Barbara moved nearer to the bed. Her hand slid into her purse.
Why does Mom have her hand in her purse? Her heavy purse! “Alisa, what are you blathering about? Mr. Hart was a kind and patient teacher.”
“He molested me.”
The words seemed to fill the ICU room, overshadowing the bright lights and drowning out the beeping of the monitors.
Marisa’s chest felt tight. “Did you report him?”
“I told my parents,” Alisa replied. “They called the sheriff. He recorded his interviews with me and my parents. He said he would talk to Fulton Hart. My parents called him many times. First, he said he lost the tape recordings. Then, he said it was my word against Mr. Hart. The next school year, Mr. Hart was gone. Everyone said he’d retired from school to be a farmer. My parents told me to let it go and not tell anyone.”
Barbara shook her head, her hand in her large purse. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Marisa pulled her mother’s hand out of the purse. She gently pulled the strap from Barbara’s shoulder. She peeked inside the bag. “Mom, I can’t believe you brought a gun.” She was furious with her mother.
Barbara glared. “I’m too old and short to throttle her with my bare hands. The gun levels the playing field.”
Marisa put the strap over her own shoulder, gingerly holding the bag against her side.
“What are you whispering about?” Alisa’s sheet moved and her breathing was audible. “Are you talking about me and Fulton Hart?”
Marisa stepped to the bed. She reached out to touch the shaking arm, covered with reddish freckles.
“Marisa Adair, no!” Barbara Adair roared.
Marisa’s hand fell. “No what?”
“Do not forgive her. I forbid it. I see the pity on your face. She’s evil, through and through.”
“I’m not evil. Mayla Kenton was truly evil, but not me. I’m a victim of circumstances.” Tears rolled down her white cheeks.
“Mayla Kenton?” Marisa bent over the bed. “What about Mayla?”
“There was a news report on the television just a few minutes ago about Mayla Kenton. Her mother has offered a fortune to the person who can solve her murder. Mrs. Kenton yapped about Mayla’s beauty and gentle nature. I’ve read about sociopaths. I think her daughter fits the criteria.” Alisa frowned. “As a matter of fact, I thought I saw her on campus—”
“Just shut up!” Barbara Adair pushed her daughter away from the hospital bed. “You’re trying to stain Fulton Hart’s reputation to excuse the evil you started as a child and continue today. Fulton was a football star at Grayhampton High. He played football with your dad, Marisa, and we both knew him.”
Marisa stiffened. I don’t want to hear anything about my dad. She brought her hands to her ears.
“Fulton also played college ball at the University,” Barbara continued, ignoring her daughter’s ‘Hear No Evil’ actions. “He was slated for pro football when he suffered a crippling injury. He finished his teaching degree, married a cheerleader, and become a schoolteacher.”
I’m being childish. I haven’t seen him in years. My father can’t hurt me now. I’m a grownup. He can’t scream at me or beat me. Marisa forced herself to lower her hands.
“Fulton was a football hero,” Barbara continued. “He was tall and wide. With his sparkling eyes and curly hair, he was so handsome. He loved to laugh, and he liked grown up girls.” She glared at Alisa. “He even did volunteer work in his spare time. If there was anything wrong going on, Alisa, your parents wouldn’t have made you drop it. It wouldn’t make sense for them to cover up their own daughter’s injuries.”
Alisa’s mouth dropped open. “Are you senile, Mrs. Adair, or just a major hypocrite? Everyone at school knew Mr. Adair was an out-of-control alcoholic. His violent rages when he was drinking were legendary. Marisa and her brothers came to school with bruises, cuts, and marks from his belt. You’re the queen of cover up.”
Barbara stiffened. Her thin body shook. “That is none of your business.” She sputtered, spittle flying. She turned her head to meet her daughter’s mesmerized gaze. “Marisa, are you going to let her talk to me like that?”
Images of violence, poverty, and fear flashed through Marisa’s mind. “She’s right, Mom. You either couldn�
��t or wouldn’t save us and yourself from the deprivation and the abuse.”
Barbara Adair looked at Marisa as if she’d lost her mind.
Maybe I have lost my mind. Marisa didn’t back down.
Barbara clenched her fists and took a deep breath. “Marisa, it was over thirty years ago. We lived in that isolated backwater hell. Women didn’t have the options then that they do today. Plus, the law wouldn’t do anything. The last time they came out, when you were little, I was the one who got arrested. I had to stay with your father. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has choices, Mom. You said earlier it didn’t make sense for Alisa’s parents to order her to drop her accusations against Fulton Hart. Alisa is right about you. For whatever reason, you didn’t protect us or defend us from our father. Especially Mosely. He was the one our father especially picked on—” Marisa glanced at Alisa. “—or targeted. He made Mosely’s life miserable at home, while Alisa and her gang made it a living hell at school.”
“Marisa…” Barbara wailed.
Marisa ignored her distraught mother. “After Mosely grew up, the pattern continued. You enabled him, just like you did our father. My brother was like a pre-teen stuck in a man’s body. You met his every need, paid for his truck and gas, and even paid his legal bills.”
“He couldn’t stand on his own two feet.” Tears rolled down Barbara’s wrinkled cheeks. “I had to take care of him.”
“He didn’t stand on his own two feet because he had you to do it for him,” Marisa said. “Now, you think hurting Alisa will somehow help Mosely. You could have helped him when he was alive by assisting him to be a strong, independent man. Instead, you chose to help him as he took the same path our father walked.”
Twisting to the hospital bed, Marisa shook off her mother’s desperate hand. “I’m sorry you went through all of that, Alisa. I’m sorry your parents didn’t have the strength to stand up for you, either.”
