Web of Lies

by Elizabeth Knox

  Maude stammered. “Timothy? What’s happened to Timothy?!”

  “He’s okay. We have him in stable condition. Timothy was shot in the right shoulder, just under the shoulder blade. He is conscious and we are working on removing the bullet.”

  “Oh, my God,” Maude gasped as the implications began to pile up. Alanna. Where is my granddaughter?!

  “Mrs. Anderson?” the nurse asked patiently.

  “I’m sorry, has a girl come in the ER? Alanna Anderson? Five feet six inches? Thin build. Dark hair and green eyes? I called earlier and they said they would check and call me back but I never heard anything!”

  “We have not seen anyone come in that fits that description. Now, Mrs. Anderson, are you able to help us with some guarantor information for Timothy’s paperwork?” the nurse asked, not understanding Maude’s predicament.

  “Yes, yes . . .” Maude said frustrated. “He’s going to be all right?”

  “Yes. He keeps telling us that the second the bullet is out; he’s leaving the hospital. We have to advise against this . . .”

  “You’re not going to be able to keep him there. Timothy has a strong will, and someone he loves fell into danger tonight.”

  “He can’t leave until he is cleared,” the nurse insisted.

  Maude chuckled darkly. “You can say that all you want. There will be no keeping him in that bed, though.”

  The nurse was becoming flustered.

  “He was shot! Surely, there must be something you could say to him. He is a sixteen-year-old boy!”

  Maude chuckled dryly. “Yes, he is sixteen. He is not a boy, though. He has been handling himself for a long time. Nothing that I say or anyone else for that matter is going to be able to ground him.”

  “Mrs. Anderson . . .” the nurse continued to complain.

  “Go ahead and try,” Maude warned. “If he’s able to walk, he’s going to march right out those doors.”

  Maude proceeded to answer the nurse’s questions and as the conversation ended, Maude begged a final question.

  “If a girl comes in by that description, please call me immediately.”

  Abruptly, Maude hung up the phone as she joined the Detective and Nick in the kitchen with a strained look in her eyes.

  Cris kept his eyes drilled to the ceiling as the sound of a drill jarred his nerves. He was under local anesthesia, and the doctors were working rapidly but cautiously to repair his kneecap which was fractured at several points from the impact of the baseball bat. Cris tried desperately to ignore the scents and sounds of the operating room, but the alternative was to slip further into his mind. Cris’s mind was moving rapidly with pitfalls at each turn. Closing his eyes, Cris tried desperately to calm his racing mind and settle his anguished heart. Despite the nerve-wracking experience of being under the knife, what was even more stressful to Cris was knowing that Alanna was still out there in danger, and he would not be able to help her. He wished there was a way to reach her. He wished there was a way to know that she was okay. Bearing down as tremors of guilt, terror, panic and rage ripped through him, Cris feverishly tried to find calm in the storm.

  One step at a time, man, Cris thought to himself. You can’t give up hope now. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything. Peck is down but not out. I’m not out yet either. Dad said he’d be out there looking. Brian, Torian and Lev are looking, too. Tony and Charlie won’t sit on this either. Tony would ride into war for me. Alanna is Charlie’s oldest friend. They understand all too well the agonizing pain that Luca has thrust upon me; the destructive helplessness that is raging through my core. Don’t panic til you know. Don’t let your heart plummet that low. She’s strong. She’s not weak. She goes through the same shit you do, man. There is a rage that she tries to hide. It bubbles just under the surface, but if they back her into a corner, it will come out of her, explosive and volatile. Look at the damage she inflicted upon Damien. She’s stronger now. She’s better equipped now. She would fight. God damn right, she’d fight. This is why we trained so hard. This is why Peck, Lana and me swatted at that bag five times a day. To prepare for the worst. Well, the worst may have just shown up on our doorstep. Now we have our own hell to dish out.

  As the sounds of the saw continuing to cut through bone, a renewed sense of hope swirled in Cris’s heart. Letting out a deep breath, he pushed down his fears, knowing that Alanna had no amount of quit in her. She will fight on her side. We will fight, too. Somewhere, somehow, we will meet in the middle. I know it. The odds have been stacked before. The odds have seemed impossible to rise above before, too. She proved us all wrong. Maybe she would do it again. Come on, Lana. You know you love to show us up. You know you love to prove a point. Prove it! Prove it! Because if you’re gone, you’ll be taking my mind and my heart and my life with you.

  “C’mon boys,” Hector said as he stood from his seat in the waiting room. Tony and Charlie peered up at him with expectant gazes. “We’re going to drive around . . . See what we can find.”

  Charlie and Tony nodded with somber expressions on their faces. Standing up, they followed Hector as he made a beeline towards the exit. Then when he realized that the boys weren’t keeping up, he turned on his heels and cast them an impatient look.

  “Come,” Hector urged. “Time isn’t on our side.”

  Peck was wheeled into recovery room 6A shortly after 2 A.M. As the local anesthetic was still wearing off, Peck ripped off his hospital gown, jumped down off of the hospital bed against medical advice and began to pull on his jeans and boots.

  Nurse Kennedy rushed into the room and demanded to know what he was doing but Peck did not reply as he rushed from the room, grimacing with pain as he pushed forward. With a white bandage over his wound and a tense expression in his gaze, Peck pushed on. Determined to set everything straight, hell-bent on returning Alanna home safely, Peck moved forward, one staggering step at a time. Forcing his weight upon the door of the recovery room, Peck pushed open the door and stepped into the blinding light of the hallway. As the door slammed shut, Peck traveled east down the long corridor. He made a hairpin turn down another hallway, racing forward towards the emergency exit. As the siren blared loudly, Peck slammed open the door. Stepping outside, Peck peered around at his surroundings and quickly faded from view, swallowed by the dark of night.

  A hard-edged gaze poured from Torian’s eyes as he rolled the truck up to the intersection of High and Florence, one of the toughest corners in Salem Point. A traffic light swayed overhead, the lights flashing yellow in all four directions. A group of guys hung against the wall of a corner store casting shady glances towards Torian and Lev in the truck. Crude graffiti was splayed against the brick façade of the store. A tattered orange awning stretched out from the front of the building, the group talking in muffled voices under the shadow of the structure.

  “What the fuck are you doing stopping?” Lev snapped under his breath.

  “Be cool,” Torian urged as he kept an eye on the group that huddled on the corner.

  “We’re gonna get fucking jacked,” Lev insisted.

  “Nah . . .” Torian said darkly. “We good . . . Can’t show no fear up in here. You won’t make it back to the bridge.”

  Torian’s eyes narrowed on one of the guys on the corner. “You see that dude wearing the Yankees fitted cap?”

  Lev turned his head gently to the left as he glanced over at the corner. His eyes fell upon a stocky guy wearing a blue ball cap. His face was hidden under the cap, and a cloud of smoke swirled from beneath the brim of his hat. Quietly, Lev muttered, “Yeah. What about ‘em.”

  “That’s my cousin Von.”

  “Think he might know somethin’?”

  “Maybe. He runs with the Riverside crew. They run these streets, so if Luca’s tryin’ to mix it up . . . Von would probably know something,” Torian admitted.

  “You gon’ talk to ‘em?” Lev asked.

  Torian turned his face back to the crowd. Seven suspicious faces star
ed back at him, with their hands reaching for their pieces.

  “Yeah, watch my back,” Torian said.

  Despite the leers he was getting from the corner crew, Torian opened the truck door and stepped out.

  Immediately several of the guys stepped forward, calling out to Torian.

  “Aye . . . you lost?!”

  “Wrong colors for this side of the bridge!”

  “This joker wants to see angels . . .”

  Torian ignored their taunts, though.

  “Aye, Von!” Torian called out.

  At the back of the crowd, a cloud of smoke rose in the air. A stocky guy with broad shoulders and a mean mug glared Torian’s way with a blunt between his lips. Taking a drag, Von inhaled the sweet fumes blowing out a cloud of smoke from his mouth.

  “T?” Von asked in a haze as he stepped out from the shadows of the building.

  “Yeah, cuz . . . How’s it goin’?” Torian asked as he stepped forward and slapped hands with Von.

  Von shrugged his shoulders as he greeted Torian. Then his eyes shot up to the truck where Lev still sat in the passenger seat. “Yo, who’s the white dude?”

  Torian smirked a little. “That’s Lev. He’s cool.”

  “So what’s up? Whatchu doin’ round here?”

  “Lookin’ for some action,” Torian said slyly. “Any parties poppin’ tonight?”

  “One over on Rugger Ave . . . you don’ wanna be messin’ with that crowd though . . .”

  “Oh?” Torian asked. “Why’s that.”

  “From what I hear, Kingpins are comparing notes. Mixing things up . . . I don’t want no parts of that shit.”

  “What’s the address?”

  Von was about to continue talking to Torian when a line of cars rolled past. A white Mercedes Benz followed by several vans moved slowly up the block. As the Benz crawled past, Lev ducked down and yelled, “GET DOWN!”

  As the bullets peppered the night, Torian and Von dropped to their stomachs. Some of the other crew members fled. As the smoke cleared, Torian peered up to see Luca Delgaiso giving him a cruel glare. As reality set in, Torian reached for his gun, but before he could climb to his feet, Luca’s driver had slammed his foot upon the gas pedal, sending the Benz careening down the street, quickly disappearing from sight with the vans following close behind. As the smoke cleared, Von rose to his feet. Giving Torian a heated look, he said, “Whatever it is . . . I got you. I hate that son of a bitch.”

  With the echoes of the gunshots still ringing in their ears, another sound became more prominent. The tempestuous roar of a motorcycle ripping through the night.

  “Shut the fuck up . . .” Torian muttered as he looked up with a hopeful gaze.

  Tearing up Florence Avenue, with a look of vengeful hate casting from his eyes, was a man who had no amount of quit in him when it came to those he loves. Coming to a screeching halt, Peck zoned his eyes to Torian’s face. Torian’s eyes stared at Peck with a haunted quality to his eyes. His eyes fell over his bare chest that was still covered in dirt and smeared blood. He could see the edge of the bandage that was covering his gunshot wound. How the fuck was he still standing, let alone riding?

  Peck nodded at Torian, Von and Lev as a cold look permeated from his eyes. In a rough, gravelly voice, Peck shouted, “Tail me! I’ve got a King to overthrow!”

  Torian’s heart raced as he peered at his old friend with unmuted admiration. He was nothing if not loyal. And to Alanna? He’d throw himself through the gates of hell just to ensure that she saw another day. Peck is not one to underestimate. Torian smiled wickedly as he rose to his feet. Nodding his head at Peck, Torian told his friend all he needed to know. I’m here. I’ve got your back. This is my fight, too.

  Jumping down upon the throttle, Peck didn’t say another word as he tore off down the avenue. Scrambling to their feet, Torian and Von raced to the truck. As the doors slammed shut, Lev slammed his boot on the gas pedal. Careening forward, the bullet riddled truck raced forward as Lev fought to catch up to Peck. Behind them, some of Von’s boys followed suit, backing them up against the man who had just tried to gun them down. Hurtling down the avenue, the pack raced forward with Peck at the helm, hell-bent upon taking down the Kingpin.

  A breath swept over Alanna’s dry lips as her heavy eyelids opened to the world. Her long eyelashes batted as her weary eyes adjusted to the darkness. Her vision was blurry. Her sight seemed drunk, trapped under a wave of confusion. Alanna maintained a stoic expression on her badly mottled face as flashes of her surroundings sped before her eyes. Questions churned in her mind. Where am I? What is happening? Am I okay? Are Peck and Cris okay? The others? Oh, my God . . .

  Alanna’s eyes watered with panic as memories began to flood her brain. They assaulted her, coming fast like headlights down a dark tunnel. Gunshots fired in her head. A terrible series of bangs echoed through Alanna’s headspace, and she quaked violently with the sound of each one. Shouts. Screams. Echoing laughter. The sound of a car gunning around a street corner, wheels squealing in protest. Heavy breathing. An uptick in anxiety. A definitive upsurge in rage.

  Alanna’s eyes widened as she took in the environment in which she found herself. Confusion was rank in her mind as she resurfaced from her chemical intoxication. Hot summer airbrushed through a cracked windowpane and billowed a pair of curtains that had yellowed from age. The frame of the window was nailed shut some ages ago, and the pane of the glass had been splintered with a quarter-inch hole where a bullet had careened through. Alanna’s hands fell to the surface she laid upon. Clasping onto the rough surface of the wood pallet, a splinter of wood dug deep into Alanna’s palm triggering a memory. Alanna’s rage upticked some more. She could feel the blood rush to her face as two males fought for absolute control of her thoughts. Damien rolled in with the fog, Luca lingered in the mist. As anger flooded through Alanna’s bloodstream, her temper bubbling hot, she glared up at her surroundings with a furious glare shooting from her eyes. As her body recovered from the drugs Luca had given her, a post-traumatic episode threatened to break loose. Alanna sat up slowly, her hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes taking in everything around her. Her stomach wretched. She felt like she was going to vomit, but there was nothing in her stomach to discard but anxiety.

  Looking around her, Alanna realized that she was sitting in a bedroom of a run-down row house. The walls were covered in crude graffiti. Trash was strewn upon the floor. In the far-right corner of the room, an old blood-stained mattress lay haphazardly upon the stained orange rug where three skinny teenage girls slept. Alanna’s eyes fell upon one of their faces. She recognized them immediately as more fury burned from her heart.

  Through gritted teeth, Alanna spat, “Teagan.”

  While Teagan may not have been the one who took her or set her bloodstream on fire through the pinch of a needle, Teagan was the one who sold her out. She had been running her mouth to Luca as a way to get into his good graces. It was the ultimate betrayal. Despite Alanna saying her name, Teagan did not stir as she slept next to Rory and Erin, who looked gaunt and strung out. Alanna recognized the drunken expression on her face. Teagan had taken too many pills again, and she was slipping under the chemical wave. Breaking her eyes from her former friend, Alanna shook her head in disgust as she continued to scan the room. A Salem Point phone book sat upon a dusty end table next to an assortment of used needles. Alanna’s eyes fell upon the thick yellow phone book as her heart hammered in her chest.

  “Fuck,” Alanna muttered under her breath. Salem Point, Alanna thought. It’s like jumping from the frying pan right into the flames.

  Alanna couldn’t remember how she arrived here. She did, however, fully remember all the events that had occurred before she was jabbed with the needle for the second and third times. Alanna was taken. Pinched. Injected with drugs against her will, not once, not twice, but three separate injections. Belladonna crushed into Alanna’s gums to silence her. She was roughed up, beaten, threatened. Peck was shot. Thrown down i
n the dirt. Spit upon and abandoned. Peck was left to die. Cocaine injected through a needle will typically keep a person down for two hours, sometimes more, but Alanna had something else going for her. Adrenaline. The way her heart pounded when she was pinched? The erratic state of her mind when a post-traumatic episode takes hold? These all forced the drug to work overtime to rip Alanna’s mind into unconsciousness. She was always conscious. Alanna’s mind never ceased to churn. Even when her body could no longer move, Alanna’s mind was constantly aware. She remembered much of what happened before her eyelids shut out the world.

  “Oh, my God, Peck,” Alanna cried softly as her hand raced up to her mouth.

  Although Alanna’s eyes were dry, moisture wet her face. Gently, she touched her cheeks as the warm droplet of water streaked down her face. Then two more droplets fell upon her hand and slipped down her arm. Confused, Alanna peered up, and suddenly she understood where the water was coming from. She could see the night sky through a massive hole in the ceiling. Thunder roared overhead, and as Alanna peered up at the sky, a feeling of dread rolled through her body. Looking up at the midnight blue sky that was peppered with stars, Alanna closed her eyes and let the rain fall upon her face. Clasping her hands together, Alanna sent up a silent prayer to the heavens. Her lips moved softly as she whispered a plea to God.

  “Give me your grace, grant me your mercy . . . Lord, give me the strength I need to fight my way out of this hell. Guard my boys. Protect my love. Spare my Peck. Give me a calm mind, a tempestuous heart, a fast strike. Please just let me see the morning light. Let me see my family’s faces again.”

  Opening her eyes again, Alanna released a deep breath. Strength radiated through her body. A sense of calm settled in her mind. A fury, rabid and unrelenting raged unchecked in her heart. She opened and closed her hands into fists, prepared for the fight ahead of her.