by Jada Ryker
Macon motioned with his gun. “Get in now, Marisa. We’re on a tight timetable.”
Marisa’s hands gripped the wheel of her car. Macon held the gun loosely on his lap, pointed at Marisa. “Macon, why? Why did you kill Sarah?”
He laughed. “Haven’t you figured it out? I thought you were the quintessential amateur detective.”
“You must be the head of the porn ring.” Marisa spoke slowly, rearranging the pieces of the puzzle. “You were treating Sarah, and through your sessions with her, you knew her boyfriend Jake would be the perfect partner for you. You would supply the pictures. He could take the risks of actually making the hard copies for the old school perverts, and emailing the electronic files and putting together flash drives for the more savvy lechers. Marina Poole took the risk of trolling the clubs, using the online group as a smoke screen as she sold the pornographic material. And you knew, if things got too hot for you, they’d both make perfect scapegoats for you. They were useful to you while it lasted, then expendable if you needed an out.”
Macon nodded. “Very good, Marisa. I’d applaud, but I need to keep this gun on you. From our sessions, I know you’re a very resourceful and resilient woman.”
Marisa turned to him briefly and then back to the road. “That’s why your wife vanished with your children. She must have somehow suspected you’re not the man you pretend to be.”
Macon growled. “That bitch! I have detectives on her trail. I’ll run her to ground, and when I do…”
Marisa shivered. “Where are we going?”
“We are going to your house.”
“My house?” Marisa was astonished.
“Yes. I’m going to plant the evidence which points to you as the killer. Then...I have a delightful surprise planned for you at my office.”
Marisa’s hands tightened on the wheel. “No one will believe I’d done such a horrible thing.”
Macon’s laugh crawled down Marisa’s spine. “Actually, I think the correct spin on the facts will make it believable. Ironically, your friend Althea Flaxton gave me a piece of information that makes it all so believable.”
The car swerved.
“Be careful! If you wreck this car or catch the attention of the police, I shall go ahead and shoot you. I’ll say you forced me to go with you, we struggled for the gun, and I had to shoot you. We’re almost at your house. If you try to signal to a neighbor or otherwise try to attract attention, I’ll be forced to kill both you and the neighbor.”
Shaking, Marisa pulled the little car into her driveway. Her leg trembled on the clutch.
“Very carefully now, we’ll casually go into the house.”
Marisa’s mind raced as she exited the car. She tried to think, but she was so frightened, she staggered against the car. As she leaned against the cool metal, her gaze fell on Verna’s house. Verna! If only she could catch the old lady’s attention without putting her in danger…
Macon leaned over her. “No tricks, Marisa. If you try to involve anyone else, I’ll be forced to kill him…or her. You’ve ranted enough in therapy about your busybody neighbor. Veronica? Vera? Ah, Verna, that’s it.” He took her arm, and pulled her upright. “I must say, I always looked forward to our sessions, at least before you stopped drinking. I always felt as if I lived through the fun and excitement of your adventures at the strip club and with your friends, almost as if I was there as well. Even after you stopped drinking, your antics with the murders associated with the nursing home and the trauma hospital provided me with entertainment. Now, Marisa, let’s get into the house.”
Trying to look for the tiny, birdlike body of her neighbor from the corners of her downcast eyes, Marisa deliberately took Macon to the kitchen door. It kept them outside longer than the trek to the front door, and the route would increase the chances of Verna spotting them. Marisa felt a surge of hopefulness. Perhaps Verna would see the gun…
As if he had read her mind, Macon slid the gun into his pocket and put his other arm around her shoulders. He squeezed her to him, and forced her along the walk to the kitchen door.
Inside, Laithe leaped into the kitchen to meet her. When his round green gaze fell on Macon, he skittered sideways and hissed. His orange brindle fur stood up and his orange tail fluffed out like a twirling feather duster.
Macon growled at the cat and drew back his foot.
“Don’t you dare kick him!”
The gun was in Macon’s hand. “Sit down and shut up, or I’ll kill you now.”
With a yowl, Laithe darted through the narrow opening of the kitchen door and out into the night.
Macon slammed the door and locked it. He eased his trim body into a seat at her table, holding the gun. In his running suit and with his scrubbed face, he looked like an average guy who liked to run as a hobby. The unreality of the scene caused her to feel dizzy.
She knew she had to focus if she was going to get out of this alive. “What did you mean earlier, when you said Althea gave you a piece of information?”
“She told me about your grandfather, Marisa.” He smiled at her, his teeth white and straight.
Tense in her chair, Marisa clenched her fists.
“Ah, I see you know what I’m talking about. Your friend found some photographs. Pictures of children, in various poses and degrees of nakedness. Pictures which included you, Marisa.”
Marisa swayed in her chair with a dizzying surge of nausea. “I don’t understand, Macon.”
“You and your friend had to visit Jake’s squalid little hovel while I was trying to stage his death as a suicide. I decided then I had to wrap up all the annoying loose ends, and you were the key loose end.
“You will send emails to the police, Marisa. In them, you will detail your crimes. You killed Sarah because she figured out you were running the child pornography ring.”
“No one would believe I did such a thing. How could I do that to anyone else, after what happened to me when I was a child?”
“Marisa. You grew up in the deprivation of an alcoholic home. Yet, as an adult, you became an alcoholic yourself.”
“It’s a far cry between a child of alcoholic parents becoming an alcoholic and a child victimized by pornography growing up to sell it!”
Macon tisked sadly. “Haven’t you paid attention to your own sexual addiction group? How many women molested as children end up promiscuous? In the same twisted way, your motive for running the child pornography ring was your own childhood victimization.”
Marisa felt faint with revulsion. She leaned against the table.
“You saw Sarah that night at the club,” Macon continued smoothly. “You stole the knife from the bar, thinking you’d watch for your chance to use it. When she fell off the stage, you approached her under the guise of helping her. In the general chaos, you stabbed her.”
Marisa fought against the waves of blackness. She forced herself to think. “What about Jake? I obviously didn’t kill him. Alex and I found him right after you killed him.”
Macon shrugged. “A man like him had many unsavory associates. One of them killed him.”
A movement outside the kitchen window caught Marisa’s attention. She glanced out.
Verna’s thin body was angled across Marisa’s back fence, and she was peering in the kitchen window.
Marisa put her hands up. “Please don’t shoot me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Annoyance crossed his face. Marisa also thought she saw a shade of disappointment. “I expected better of you, Marisa. I thought you’d be cool and calm in a crisis.”
Marisa looked out of the corner of her eye. Verna was still there, and the kitchen window was open in a narrow crack at the bottom.
Marisa forced herself to wail. “I still don’t get why you’re going to kill me. Jake is dead, and he’s a handy scapegoat.”
Macon cringed at the whiny tone. “You saw me too many times for my comfort, Marisa. The online group has been a good pipeline for my product. I went one night to see the gathering for
myself. You ran into me. Even though I turned my face away, I thought you recognized me. You also saw me at the strip club. You saw me running across the field at the trailer park. You’re a smart woman, Marisa. Eventually you would have put two and two together, and realized what you’d seen. You are a danger to me…a danger which must be eliminated.”
Marisa risked a glance out the window. Verna was gone. She’d either gone for help, or she’d gotten her eyes full and gone about her business.
Macon motioned toward her laptop, open on her kitchen table. “Boot it up, Marisa. Now.”
Marisa had to buy time. “Why would I make your job easier by writing incriminating emails?”
Macon laughed. It was devoid of amusement and made Marisa shiver. “If you don’t write them, your friends will wonder. They will investigate. I can’t afford to have anyone poking around. If you don’t write what I tell you, I’ll be forced to eliminate your friends, one at a time. I think I’ll start with Mrs. Flaxton. I can go and see her, and offer her comfort in her sorrow. It will be easy to bump against her as I escort her down the stairs, and of course I will be inconsolable when I can’t prevent her tragic, fatal fall.”
Marisa had never felt so close to death, even when she’d looked down the barrel of a gun held by a murderer four months ago. She didn’t doubt at all that Macon would kill her and go after the fragile Althea if she didn’t cooperate.
She didn’t want to die. She’d never see Althea again. Her friend had done her best to rescue Marisa from the poverty and neglect of her childhood. She’d never see Tara, her best friend, ever again. Tara, with her addiction to shoes, and her continued denial of her feelings for Dreamus. And Alex. He was such a pain in the ass. She’d never get the chance now to see if…
“Now, Marisa, write what I tell you.”
Marisa slowly turned on the computer. She’d never see Miss Clara again. The portly lunch lady had made sure in elementary school that little Marisa was allowed to eat whatever she wanted. Miss Clara had taken up for her with the children who taunted her. She felt an overwhelming urge to hug the old woman and thank her for what she’d done for her all those years ago.
Clay Napier. She was sure the dapper, handsome man was in love with Althea. So many things about him puzzled her. His cool head in a crisis. His ability to physically defend himself. The whispers of his mysterious past.
Now she’d never get the chance to do what she’d left undone.
Marisa opened her email, and Macon moved to stand behind her. “Don’t try anything cute. I’m watching your every move.”
Her heart sank and she felt tears in her eyes. Verna. She was pinning her hopes on a nosy old woman who liked to peek in her kitchen window and eavesdrop on conversations.
“Type in the email address of the police station. I’ll read it to you.”
Marisa straightened her shoulders. If she was going to get out of this, her only hope was herself. She’d have to watch for the chance to rush him, and try and knock the gun out of his hand.
“Write that Sarah suspected you and Jake were running the child pornography ring.”
Marisa obediently typed.
“Very good,” approved Macon when she hit the send button. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a sheaf of small photographs. “Now, put these in your pockets. We’re going for a little ride.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Seated in front of her typewriter, Althea glanced at the clock. She had some time to work on her story, and perhaps it would take her mind off everything.
Clay…she resolutely pushed him from her mind. As her fingers flew across the keys, she filled the blank paper in her typewriter with images from her busy brain.
Cross to Bear
By Seretha Ranier
Part Five: Conclusion
As Tina bumped her car onto the dirt turnoff, she wondered what she was doing. Had she lost her mind when she’d crossed what she thought of as the Redneck Border between the modern city of Louisville and the backwoods town of her upbringing? She got out and stood next to her car. The moon was high in the night sky, with the tall trees shrouded in darkness. She walked from the car to the road, wishing there were streetlights or she’d brought a flashlight. The sounds of the crickets were loud in the underbrush, and were accompanied by the lower bass of the bullfrogs. When an owl added its mournful call to the concert, she jumped.
Tina walked to the site of her brother’s fatal accident. In the moonlight, the apex of the cross pointed toward the night sky. The figure dressed as her brother looked eerily real, the arms spread the width of the cross and the ankles demurely together at the base. Tina squinted. Were there shining black pools where the eyes should be?
When a dark figure whirled toward her, Tina screamed.
Gloved black hands grasped her shoulders. “Sshh, Tina, it’s me. Chris.”
Tina broke free of the clutching fingers. “Chris? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Stay here. I’m making the roads safer by getting rid of this cross.” He pivoted to the cross, and picked up a shovel. “I always put whatever I find around the cross on the person’s grave. That’s where it belongs, anyway. There aren’t any souls hanging around these roadside monuments.”
“You’re the Roadside Cross Ninja!”
He hefted the shovel. “One of those roadside crosses led to my sister’s death. Now, I have to do what I can to prevent any other tragedies. Grab that beer your dad left. I’ve almost got this cross—”
The heavy wood crashed to the ground.
Chris pulled cutting pliers from the pocket of his thick black pants. “I’ll cut the mannequin loose. I’ve never had to drag a mannequin to a cemetery.” He bent over the still plastic figure.
Flapping wings over their heads made them both look up. “Two crows,” Tina said in relief, the small bodies inky in the dim moonlight.
“Ow!” Chris yelped and crashed to the ground.
Tina ran unsteadily through the high grass to Chris’ writhing body. A long, dark object was coiled around his throat. “Chris! What is it? Is that a snake around your neck?” She grabbed it and pulled at it. “That feels like an arm!”
A crow flew at the object, as if to dislodge it.
“The mannequin has me!” Chris thrashed, trying to throw it off him.
A second crow joined the first one, and pecked viciously at the figure’s head.
The first crow raised its beak and cawed. As if response, a swarm of fireflies filled the clearing.
In the yellowish glow from the tiny bodies, the mannequin slowly raised its bald head. The head seemed asymmetrical, as if it had been squashed on one side. It turned, and the malevolent onyx glitter of the eyes fell on Tina.
The crow cawed again, and its mate joined it. The raucous cries echoed among the mist-shrouded trees.
The skittering sound of hundreds of flapping wings filled the air. Still trying to pull Chris away from the enraged mannequin, Tina looked up at the sky. The moon was completely blocked by the swirling bodies of crows. The black flock converged on the figures on the ground. Slowly, the group rose, the mannequin dangling from the immense flock. The arm was still locked firmly around Chris’ neck.
Tina grabbed Chris’ hips, and pulled as hard as she could. She screamed at the determined figure. “Martin! Let him go! You took enough away from me, you’re not getting him, too!”
Finally, after a few seconds or an eternity, Tina felt the figure release the squirming man. Tina and Chris fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. As Chris drew in choked breaths, Tina looked up. The flock of birds whirled away, the enraged mannequin twisting impotently in their grasp.
Althea gathered together the pages of the story. In the assisted living center office, she placed the sheets in the fax machine. She keyed in the numbers she knew by heart, and waited while the sheets were pulled through the machine one at a time.
The young woman at the desk smiled at her through a swing of unevenly chopped black hair.
“Mrs. Flaxton, if you typed those on a computer, you could email them anywhere you wished.”
Althea laughed. “I just can’t embrace the electronic age, Penny.”
Penny shrugged her heavy shoulders under her orange smock. “If you change your mind, I’ll be happy to help you, Mrs. Flaxton.” She rose and picked up a crumpled newspaper from the counter. “Would you like the newspaper? Wally always reads it during his morning break from his security guard duties, and he’s finished with it.”
Clutching the newspaper, Althea glided through the hallway to the common area. She curled up on the couch. As the clock on the wall ticked, she frowned and folded open the newspaper at the crossword puzzle. A six-letter word for a female monster with snakes in place of hair. First letter M, last letter A. Althea carefully wrote Moiria in the six boxes. She laughed at herself as she wrote in the extra “i.”
The common area of the assisted living center was quiet. Clara sat in her usual chair, at a right angle to the couch where Althea curled up in the full skirts of her navy blue dress. At the other end of the couch, an elderly man snoozed.
High heels tapped across the tiled foyer.
Clara turned her head. She called out, “Hello, Mrs. Peters.”
The tapping stopped. “Clara.” The normally trilling tones were distinctly unenthused.
“Mrs...Ranier. I mean, Mrs. Flaxton,” Moira purred.
Althea looked up from the paper on her lap.
“Mrs. Peters, you look extremely pleased with yourself,” Clara commented.
Moira’s face was flushed with excitement. Her green eyes sparkled. Her sundress was a glorious shade of teal, leaving her shoulders bare. She danced over to them on her matching high-heeled, strappy sandals, her hips swinging.
Moira executed an exuberant pirouette. “It’s a wonderful summer night.” The gloating green gaze slid to Althea’s expressionless face. “For those of us free to enjoy it, that is.” The scarlet lips widened in a smug smile. “I suppose now you don’t have to worry about telling Clay your big, deep, dark secret. Perhaps I’ve done you a favor after all.”
