by Alan Cook
It had been exactly one month since Joy had been murdered. A month during which she had grieved for Joy while she attended school, filled out college applications, and run cross-country. And hunted for Joy’s killer. A month of unrelieved stress. Except for the trip to Las Vegas with Tony. That had been fun, at least until Tony got hurt.
She wouldn’t stay at the party long, only an hour or so. Just long enough to relieve her tension. It was a beach party, mostly outdoors. During the day. What could happen?
The party was already swinging when Shahla arrived. She heard it while still a block away as she turned onto the concrete beach path at the end of a street. Music blared from strategically placed speakers and inundated passersby. As Shahla approached the house, she saw teenagers strewn across the back patio: bikinied girls and bare-chested boys. They were eating, drinking, and shouting at each other over the din of the music.
Shahla stepped onto the stone floor of the patio from the beach path and threaded her way among the bodies, saying hello to several of them, although her voice was drowned out. She entered the house through wide open doors and spotted Lacey ladling some liquid concoction out of a large punch bowl.
Lacey, who was dressed in the skimpiest bikini Shahla had seen for a while, gave Shahla a hug and shouted in her ear, “Have some punch. It’s better than beer because the cops patrol the beach path and might see it. And get out of those clothes.”
The cops should be looking for Joy’s murderer, not underage drinkers. Shahla picked up a cup of the yellowish liquid and looked for a spot where she could stow her daypack. Various articles of clothing were lying along the wall. She picked a corner of the spacious living room, dumped her pack, and took off her jeans and top. She was wearing her own bikini underneath.
She took a sip of the punch as she headed for the patio. It had a sweetish taste. She understood that it contained alcohol, but it couldn’t be too potent. She wouldn’t drink much. Meanwhile, she was hungry. She headed for a table covered with food.
***
A ray of sunlight slanting in through the open doors and into her eyes brought Shahla back to reality. She sat on one of the jumbo-sized leather couches while a boy regaled her with a tale about a wild weekend spent in Tijuana. The sun was setting over the ocean. She hadn’t noticed time passing. The party had gravitated indoors as the afternoon grew cooler, but she had talked, danced, eaten—and drank. She had not thought about Joy or her mother or the necessity for going home for several hours.
Muttering an excuse, Shahla jumped up from the couch. She stumbled as a wave of dizziness overcame her, and she almost fell back down in a heap. Blinking her eyes to clear her head, she searched for her clothes and pack. Fortunately, they were in the corner where she had left them. As she struggled to pull on her jeans without falling, she experienced a moment of fear as she thought about what her mother would say.
At least she hadn’t gone upstairs. Reports had drifted down from the upper two floors—reports about girls losing their tops. And other things. She hoisted her pack onto her shoulders and walked unsteadily out the still-open doors. The cooling evening air helped to sharpen her senses. She needed to call her mother.
Shahla practiced talking to herself as she pulled her cell phone out of the pack, to make sure her voice sounded normal. At least one walker heading the other way on the beach path looked at her strangely. She turned off the path and headed up the hill on one of the residential streets—where the folks lived who couldn’t afford a McMansion adjoining the beach. She was about to place the call when the phone rang. Her mother had beaten her to the keypad.
She pressed the “talk” button. “Hello.”
At first she didn’t hear anything. This couldn’t be her mother. Her mother would have started in on her immediately. She said hello again.
“Where are you?”
The voice sounded unnatural. She couldn’t decide whether the caller was male or female. It sounded like one of the voices the Chameleon used. But of course it couldn’t be him.
“Who is this?”
“I need to talk to you.”
She looked at the number of the caller. She didn’t recognize it. It certainly wasn’t a friend of hers, unless a joker was playing a trick on her. Could a listener on the Hotline who was familiar with the Chameleon be getting his jollies?
“Who is this?” she asked again, more forcefully.
“I’m trying to help you,” the voice said.
“If you don’t tell me who this is, I’m going to hang up.”
“Wait. I’m really trying to help you.”
“Is this Fred?” Shahla asked, using the name she had called the Chameleon.
The voice on the phone didn’t deny it. “Where can I meet you? When are you going home? You haven’t been there all afternoon?”
How did he know that? Shahla’s hands began to shake. She was within ten minutes of her house. Was it safe to go there?
“Where are you now?” Shahla asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
“I’m cruising along Sandview Street.”
Sandview was the street where she lived. It ran most of the length of Bonita Beach, parallel to the ocean. Shahla was just now coming to it, preparing to turn right, toward her house. She quickly looked both ways on Sandview. None of the cars in sight was moving; all were parked. Instead of turning onto Sandview, she ran across it and continued to trot up the hill. Jane’s house was just two blocks from here. She had to get there. Jane and her father would help her.
She heard a car behind her, and looked over her shoulder without stopping. This action made her a little dizzy. After a second or two, she could make out an older couple in the car. No danger there. She swiveled her head back to the front just in time to see a lamppost looming right in front of her eyes. Instinctively she threw out her hands to keep herself from crashing into it. As her left hand hit the post, she heard a sickening crack. The phone had crunched between her hand and the scalloped metal.
There was no time to check for damage, so she shoved the phone into her pocket. She was panting freely as she turned the corner onto the street where Jane lived. As she approached Jane’s house, she didn’t see any lights on inside, and it was now quite dark outside. She ran along the driveway, which sloped downhill, and then up several steps to the front door. She rang the bell. She heard the chime, but no other sound came from within the house.
Then she remembered. Jane and her father had taken an overnight trip. They had been going to leave soon after Shahla left the house. There was no help here. She started shaking again. What could she do? She turned and faced the street. Nothing was moving. But she wasn’t safe here. The driver of any passing car would spot her.
The house sat on a hillside lot that slanted down toward the ocean. It had a lower floor with an entrance in the back of the house. The rest of the floor was underground. Shahla quickly walked around the house toward the back. She felt minor relief when she was no longer visible from the street.
He must be lurking nearby. He would be looking for her. She had to stay out of sight. The entrance to the lower floor of the house was a sliding glass door. She gripped the door handle and tried to slide the door open. It didn’t budge. What now? There was a window beside the door. A screen covered it. Shahla looked through the screen and saw that the window was open. Thank Mother Nature for warm weather.
First she had to get the screen off. It was set into grooves on either side of the window, but it could be slid horizontally out of one groove at a time. If only she had something to hold onto. The screen was smooth on this side. She had to slide it by putting pressure on the screen and her shaking hands had trouble applying any pressure.
She put her body weight behind her hands to exert more pressure. Just when the screen started to move, her weight caused its mesh to pull away from the frame. Now she owed Jane’s father a new screen. Since the screen was ruined anyway, she pulled out enough of the mesh so that she could stick her hand through the gap. T
hen she was able to grip a tab on the inside of the screen and pull the screen out of one of the grooves. And then the other.
Shahla opened the window wide enough to admit her body, dropped her pack inside, and then crawled through. Her feet found the floor, and she stood up. She reached back through the open window and picked up the screen, which she had left leaning against the house. She replaced it in the grooves and flattened the damaged mesh as much as she could. At a glance, nobody could tell it had been tampered with, especially at night, which was fast approaching. She closed the window and locked it. She also closed the curtains.
She felt momentarily safe. She pulled a sweatshirt out of her pack and put it on. Now she had to call her mother. Drapes covered the sliding door, so it was dark inside the room. She wasn’t about to open the drapes. She tried to picture the layout of the room. Jane had brought her down here from the upstairs once. This floor was used primarily for storage of furniture. There was a bathroom at the other end. The bathroom had a light. She needed to use the bathroom anyway.
She started walking gingerly toward the bathroom. Not gingerly enough. Her toe hit something hard. “Shit.” Trying to ignore the pain, she continued, using her hands to help her locate pieces of furniture she had to navigate around.
After what seemed like a cross-country trip, during which she was careful not to look behind her because something might be following her in the dark, she reached the bathroom and found the light switch by feel. Being able to see again calmed her a little. After using the toilet, she retrieved the phone from her pocket.
One glance convinced her that it was damaged beyond repair. What had been an intelligent electronic device was now an inanimate mixture of scrap plastic and metal. She threw it savagely into a wastebasket. What alternatives did she have? She was sure there wasn’t a house phone on this floor, but to make sure, she opened the bathroom door wide and used the light that came into the main room to scan it for a phone.
The piled-up furniture blocked her view of all the corners, but she didn’t see a phone in any of the logical places. She did see the stairs to the upper floor and those gave her an idea. She would use the phone upstairs. She found another switch that operated a light that lit up the stairs. She padded up the stairs slowly—her toe still hurt—and turned the latch of the door at the top.
The door wouldn’t open. It was locked from the other side. Shahla would have screamed, but there was nobody to hear her. Instead, she hit the door and hurt her knuckles. She plodded slowly back down the stairs. She was cut off from the world.
She saw a third switch and flicked it. A light in the ceiling came on. She immediately turned it off. It might be visible from the outside, even through the drapes. She walked over to the sliding door by the indirect light coming from the bathroom and the stairway. She peeked through the drapes.
It was almost dark outside. Maybe she could make a run for it to her house. She removed a security stick from the slide and was about to open the door when she saw something move out there.
She froze, momentarily, and then quickly pushed the drapes back into place. Even the dim light could silhouette her. She was panting as if she had just run up the hill from the beach. She went to the wall beside the door and pressed her body against it. She didn’t move for a few seconds. But she couldn’t stay here. She inched sideways slowly, and peeked through the drapes again.
At first she didn’t see anything except a last glow of daylight over the ocean. The house that was directly behind was too far down the hill to see, and apparently fences blocked lights from the houses on either side. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see shapes of trees and bushes in the yard. One of the bushes was large enough for someone to hide behind. It was located approximately where she had seen something move.
Shahla dropped to the floor and quickly crawled in front of the door, until she could reach the security stick, beneath the drapes. She replaced it in the track of the sliding door. Then she got up and ran back to the stairs, dodging furniture, and turned off that light. Next she turned off the light in the bathroom. She leaned against the wall, trying to get her breathing under control. No way was she going outside in the dark.
One of the pieces of furniture stored in the room was a couch. Once again in the dark, she carefully felt her way to the couch and sat down. She would spend the night here. It was large and soft, and she felt somewhat protected by it. A noise outside made her jump. It sounded like the howl of a cat. After a few seconds of panic, she determined that it was probably just that.
Her mother would be worried about her. That couldn’t be helped. She hoped the caller wouldn’t go to her house. If he knew what street she lived on, he must know her address. Were her mother and Kirk safe? He was apparently after her, and he knew she wasn’t at home. That didn’t make her situation any better, but at least it relieved her mind a little concerning her mother.
She could see the outline of a heavy lamp on a table beside the couch. If necessary, she could use that as a weapon. She intended to keep her ears open all night, but she soon became very sleepy. What had been in the punch? And how much had she drunk? Maybe if she rested for a few minutes, she would feel better. She put her head down on the couch.
CHAPTER 31
Tony couldn’t stay still. After he had left the Hotline, he had conducted another search of Bonita Beach by car. It was more difficult on a sunny Sunday morning than at night because a lot of people had apparently decided to go to the beach, perhaps for the last time this summer. Automobile traffic was heavy, as was pedestrian traffic, so if Shahla did happen to be walking, he could easily miss her.
He finally parked the car at the northern boundary of Bonita Beach and decided to walk the beach path the couple of miles to the south end and then back. He walked slowly on the concrete path, still favoring his left leg, attempting to observe everything that took place within sight and hearing.
A lot was taking place, what with the bicyclists, inline skaters, joggers, and walkers on the path. In addition, hordes of unconscious beachgoers constantly crossed the path without looking, intent on getting to the sand. As a result, near-accidents occurred regularly.
In addition to scanning the traffic on the path, Tony tried to check out all the girls on the sand catching the late summer rays. However, the beach was so wide that he couldn’t possibly get a good look at all of them. One of the attributes that made this beach desirable now worked against him. To help him concentrate, he scored the girls, depending on their looks and what they wore. He scored one for a pretty girl in a nice bikini. Using his system, he could score an additional point for an unfastened top or a thong.
Some of the best-looking girls were competing in a beach volleyball tournament. Competing here in the birthplace of beach volleyball, which was appropriate. Tony slowed down as he walked past the courts. He recognized Martha, Joy’s friend to whom he had spoken about her murder. She was partnering with another girl. She had a good figure. And her volleyball playing wasn’t bad, either. She couldn’t be the murderer. Especially if the murderer had kidnapped Shahla.
Shahla. He had to keep focused. He had to find her. He wondered if he would ever see her again. No, don’t think like that. Think positively. He would find her. Or somebody else would. He kept walking.
***
Shahla awoke because somebody was pounding on her head with a hammer in time to her heartbeat. She didn’t want to move, but she couldn’t stand not to. She had to make him go away. How long had she been asleep? She opened her eyes. There was a film over them, but she could see objects, however blurry they looked. It must be daylight outside. A little light was seeping through the drapes. She looked at her watch and blinked her eyes, trying to focus. As the watch hands slowly became clearer, she read the time as quarter to eight. She had slept all night. She sat up and immediately felt nauseated.
She sat on the edge of the couch, wondering whether she was going to vomit. The pounding in her head continued. She thought about trying
to get to the bathroom, but was sure she wouldn’t make it. She sat motionless, waiting for the nausea to pass. After a few minutes, her stomach steadied, although her headache continued. She got up, feeling wobbly, and made her way to the bathroom.
After using the toilet, she thought about what she could do to make her body livable. She didn’t have any pills with her. She didn’t have any food or drink. Water. She needed water. She turned on the sink faucet and placed her mouth under it. She sucked in the lukewarm liquid and swallowed it until she couldn’t drink any more. She straightened up and felt a little better.
She determined that the only food she had eaten since yesterday morning was whatever she ate at the party. She had snacked on chips and dip and other so-called food that Lacey had randomly pulled off the shelves of a supermarket, but nothing substantial. What Shahla needed more than anything else was a good meal.
And to call her mother. She suddenly realized that her mother must be frantic by now. Where was her cell phone? Then she remembered. Well, she’d better get home, on the double. She took the security stick out of the track of the sliding door and opened it. Once outside she closed it again. She took a look around, but of course nobody was there. Had she imagined that she had seen something last night? She might have seen an animal. Maybe the cat that howled.
The route to her house was two blocks downhill and then relatively level along Sandview Street. At least it wasn’t uphill. Shahla walked slowly, in time to the throbbing pulse in her head. Food would help, she knew. There was food at home.
She arrived at her house and opened the door with her key. Inside she was greeted with silence. “Mom,” she called. No answer. She looked at her watch. It was a little after eight. At least her mother should be up by now, even on a Sunday morning. She went into the kitchen. A few dirty dishes sat on the counter, but they were not breakfast dishes.
Shahla went upstairs. Her mother’s bed was made. She went into Kirk’s bedroom. His bed was also made. That was indicative. He wasn’t known for making his bed in the morning. That bed hadn’t been slept in. Where had they gone? As of yesterday morning, her mother had not had any plans to go anywhere.
