Her pulse raced as she listened to the other man respond with a barrage of cursing. He wasn’t calm any longer. Suddenly she was afraid to breathe or move. Should she go back to the bar? But they might see her. Better to wait it out. She pressed against the old brick wall. Trying not to breathe in the fumes from the nearby dumpster, she hoped this would end soon.
“Knew. Knowed isn’t a word, you idiot. You won’t get very far in this world if you don’t have a basic knowledge of English. And you certainly sound like a street punk to me.”
“Whatever. It was just a mistake. I knew the right word.”
“Well, that makes two mistakes you’ve made today.”
“Two?”
“Yeah, the other mistake was trying to cheat me. We had a deal. I don’t like it when people don’t keep their deals.”
Adrenaline shot through Chryssie. Maybe she should make herself known. If they saw her, it might calm the situation. She took a step away from the wall.
“Hey, man. You don’t need the gun. You don’t want to pay me no more, fine by me. Not a problem. I’ll still do the…job.”
Gun. A chill traveled the length of her spine. Every nerve screamed at her to run back to the bar, to safety, but her feet were frozen. She couldn’t move. If she ran, it would only draw attention to herself.
“Sorry, I don’t believe in second chances.”
The exact same words Zack had said earlier in the evening. Could it be him? She hadn’t really looked that close at them.
Pop.
And then a moan.
He’d shot the guy. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it. Would she be next? Be quiet. Let him leave, and then she’d help the guy. And call 911.
Pop. Pop.
Or not.
Footsteps pounded on the pavement. And they were getting louder. He was coming toward her.
She should have left when she had the chance. Maybe, he wouldn’t notice her. Looking above at the light shining down on her, that possibility was slim. She pressed closer to the dumpster, hoping it would hide her.
The footsteps grew louder, and then they stopped. A shadow loomed closer. His eyes grew wide as their gazes locked. His arm moved upwards.
Chryssie stared at the gun.
2
Her mind froze. Chryssie tore her gaze from the weapon and looked up at the man. Not Zack, but he seemed familiar. Maybe from the bar? She wasn’t sure—it was hard to think. A thousand thoughts zoomed around in her mind. He was bigger and stronger. But she couldn’t die yet.
Gabriella needed her.
“Please.” Was that barely audible whisper hers? She cleared her throat. “Please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t see anything.”
“You’ve seen me and that’s all I care about.” The man grabbed her arm. His fingers bit into her flesh. Tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled.
He grabbed her hand, forced it toward the gun, and then pressed her fingers into the trigger and handle. “This is good. You’ll come in quite handy. I guess it’s my lucky day.” He dragged her down the alley like she was a sack of potatoes. Fighting against him did no good.
Her stomach heaved as she looked at the man lying on the dirty bricks. So young. A halo of blood surrounded him. He wouldn’t be needing her help. Or anyone’s.
“OK, let’s get this over with.” He dropped the gun on the ground, then another gun appeared in his hand as if he were a magician.
Bizarrely, she wondered if she should applaud his trick. Until he pointed it at her. Her instincts took over as Chryssie pushed him as hard as she could. Her feet unfroze and she ran.
Pop. Pop.
She zigzagged her way back down the alley the way people did in the movies. Finding her voice, Chryssie yelled for help. Her feet pounded on uneven pavement. Running across the street, she turned into another alley.
His footsteps echoed on the bricks.
Pop.
Her wig had slipped as she ran. Chryssie leaned down to pick it up, but she dropped her purse. Scrambling, she scooped them up and kept running. She sprinted down the alley, widening the distance. All her morning runs were paying off.
Was he still back there? She looked behind her.
The killer ran around the corner. He stopped, his head turning, and then he saw her.
No time to watch him. Keep moving. She ran down the hill to the area known as The Flats. A great place to hide, thanks to all sorts of buildings and alleys. Unfortunately, no houses, only closed businesses. She’d find no help, but at least she could find a place to hide.
Everything went silent except her own ragged breathing. She made another turn and then leaned against the building. Sucking in deep breaths, she peeked around the corner. Still empty. She’d lost him, or he’d given up. Chryssie tried to figure out exactly where she was and how to get home. She’d have to walk. There was no way she was going back to get her car.
He could be there waiting for her.
She wouldn’t spend her rent money for a cab, even if she could find one. Which she probably couldn’t at this time of the night—actually morning. She started out for her apartment, being sure to take different streets. Recalling the attacker’s face, the thought came to her once again. He looked familiar. But why? Had he been in the bar that night? It was possible, but she didn’t think so.
As she limped home, she debated what to do next. Should she call the police and report what she’d seen? She would be able to identify him. She shuddered. His eyes had been so cold, it sent a chill up her spine.
He would probably kill her so she couldn’t testify.
If she went to the police, they’d know her name. And then he might find out. It was the right thing to do. If she ever hoped to transform from a caterpillar to a butterfly, she had to keep making the right choices every time. Not just when it was easy.
But she was so exhausted, she couldn’t think clearly. After a few hours of sleep, she’d decide what to do. It wasn’t as if she could help that poor guy who’d been shot. He was way beyond help.
The black sky turned a hazy gray. She looked at her watch. Almost 5:00 AM. She turned the corner and headed down her street. Tears came to her eyes. When the attacker had aimed the gun at her, she’d been positive she’d never see her tiny apartment again. Or Gabriella. Her feet picked up speed. By the time she unlocked her apartment door, the tears streamed down Chryssie’s cheeks. Once inside, she locked the door, then checked and rechecked it.
Would she ever feel safe again?
She hurried over to the dinette, pulled the cheap aluminum chair across the floor, and propped it under the door handle. That was better. No one would get in—not without her hearing them. She was being paranoid. There was no way that the murderer knew who she was or where she lived. But the chair still made her feel safer.
She crawled into bed.
3
Chryssie sat at the out-of-date dinette table. Trying to ignore the guilt pressing in, her finger traced along the cracks of the red aluminum table. There were so many cracks, it seemed as if it were red and gray instead of just red.
Stop thinking about last night, just focus on studying. She’d made a mistake in not contacting the police right away. They wouldn’t be happy that she’d waited so long to come forward.
But since she had, she might as well wait until after she took her exam. It wasn’t her fault she’d witnessed a murder. Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering back to that dark alley—and the terror of that gun pointed at her. It was hard to think about anything else.
Books were strewn on the aluminum table top, open and piled one upon the other. She stared down at the dictionary. She’d been looking up chrysalis, which turned out to be a permanent slate-gray discoloration of the skin as a result of a specific type of treatment. Who knew?
But her gaze had found her name.
Chrysalis…a pupa of a butterfly or a moth; a protecting covering; a sheltered state or stage of being or growth; usually enclosed in a cocoon or protective covering as it
undergoes internal changes to become an adult—also known as metamorphosis.
A protective covering. No wonder she wasn’t a butterfly. Her mother hadn’t provided the protective covering she’d needed. Her grandmother had stepped up and done her best, but she’d died too early from cancer. Chryssie had chosen nursing as her career for that reason.
Chryssie’s grandmother died when Gabriella was a baby. Gabriella had gone into foster care. Chryssie had tried to get custody of her little sister, but the courts had said no. Too unstable. No way to provide for her. Too young. Chryssie had vowed then to leave her worm life behind and morph into a butterfly, so she could take care of Gabriella.
Internal changes to become an adult. As an adult, she should have called the police last night instead of being too afraid. Plain and simple, it was the right thing to do. She’d failed this step.
When she’d awakened, it had almost been noon. She needed to read her notes for the final exam. A very good reason not to go to the police station. She’d do it after she finished studying. Her hand reached around her back and touched the caterpillar tattoo that she’d shown Zack last night.
He’d called it a worm—a much better description of her life. What had possessed her to even show it to him or explain what it meant? And to Zack of all people. It was obvious he wasn’t into self-improvement. Chryssie closed the dictionary with a sigh.
Every time she shut her eyes, she was back there in that dark alley. Seeing that poor guy. Seeing that gun pointed at her. But every time she picked up the phone, she couldn’t hit 9-1-1. Tomorrow—she would do it tomorrow. In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t make any difference if she called the police today or tomorrow after her exams.
She had to pass that exam and graduate. Then she’d be able to get a nursing job, take Gabriella out of foster care and they’d be a family again.
Chryssie had two call backs for interviews after she passed her exam. One was for a doctor’s office and one was for the emergency room at one of the biggest hospitals in Cleveland. The doctor’s office offered stable hours while the emergency room job paid more money. She had to go with stability for Gabriella’s sake.
It was time for a break. She’d walk over to the bar, pick up her car, then back home to study for a few more hours. Time to morph back into Glitter. She slipped on the low-cut T-shirt with shiny baubles. Then came her jeans, tight but comfortable. Running shoes—her one concession to comfort. She moved to the bathroom mirror, took off her glasses, and put in her contacts. First came the outrageous eye shadow, complete with glitter. Then the bright red lipstick with more glitter. And finally to make the change complete, she tied her soft brown hair in a ponytail and pinned it up, then slipped on the jet black wig.
The metamorphosis from Chryssie to Glitter was complete.
She supposed a good friend might recognize her. But since she had none, it wasn’t a worry. Would Zack recognize her without all the glitter? Would he even be attracted to the real Chryssie? She rolled her eyes. Where had that thought come from?
Zack wasn’t a part of her life. Not now, not ever. She’d had fun with him that day he’d taken her out to lunch. More fun than she should have. Forget Zack. He isn’t the one. She’d had more experiences with that sort of guy than she wanted to admit. She wanted a respectable guy.
With a critical eye, she checked herself out in the mirror. Perfect.
Chryssie couldn’t explain why she put on a different persona when she worked at the bar. It wasn’t that she was hiding her identity. People knew her name—even if they called her Glitter most of the time. For now, she had two personalities—Glitter the bartender and Chryssie the student. If all went well, they would morph into Chryssie, the nurse.
She was as ready as she could be for her final. Chryssie walked through her two-room apartment. An exaggeration—it was a small living-room-kitchen combo and an even tinier bedroom. More like a closet. But it was affordable. And that’s what counted. As always, she picked up the picture of the adorable six-year-old girl, kissed it, and whispered, “Good-night, my sweet sister. Pleasant dreams tonight and always.”
Time for another walk. Chryssie shuddered at the thought of going into the alley to pick up her car.
The parking lot behind the bar was full, which was odd for a Sunday afternoon. Sundays were usually slow except when there was some sports event in town. Oh, wait. There was a play-off today. That explained the full parking lot.
She’d stop in and say hi, then go back home to do a little more studying and a lot more sleeping. Hoots and hollers from the customers assaulted her as soon as she opened the door. Apparently the team was having a good day. She wished she could say the same. Last night’s adventure and her lack of sleep were catching up with her. But she’d go to bed early so that she’d be ready for that exam tomorrow.
“Hey, Marquetta.”
“Glitter Girl. Glad you’re finally here.” Her last words were almost lost in the shouts of the crowd as she turned to the tap and started filling up frost mugs.
Chryssie grabbed two mugs. “Finally? I’m not scheduled to work. I just stopped in to say hi.” No reason to explain the real reason.
“Scheduled or not, I could really use the help. We’re getting slammed. I’m being run ragged here. Every time someone makes a basket, that group in the corner orders another round.” She rolled her eyes. “They better leave a really good tip if they know what’s good for them.”
“Well, let Marv help you. I really need to finish studying.”
Marquetta shook her head. “Can’t. He took his wife away for a romantic weekend. Won’t be back until late tonight or early tomorrow. And Susie refused to come in when I called her. Come on, help a girl out, will ya?”
A guy walked over and leaned on the bar. “Another round.”
“Yeah, yeah. Already getting them for you,” Marquetta said. “Be over in a minute.”
The guy pounded on the bar.
Chryssie didn’t want to leave Marquetta alone with this crowd. “I can help for a while, but just until things slow down.”
“You’re a sweetie! Thanks.” Marquetta nudged Chryssie as she filled up the last of the mugs. “Did you hear what happened in the alley last night?”
Chryssie’s stomach knotted. “What?”
“Some guy got shot—murdered.”
And she’d almost been the second victim. “Do the police know who did it?”
“Not that I know of. Probably just some punk drug dealer killing off the competition. I don’t know why the cops don’t clean up this neighborhood. After all, that’s their real job.”
Her words triggered Chryssie’s memory. The guy had said he’d go ahead and do the job. What job? Clearly he hadn’t been an innocent victim. Had it been a drug deal gone bad? The man with the gun hadn’t looked like a drug dealer—more like a respectable businessman. So what kind of job would the other guy have been doing for him? She closed her eyes, still trying to figure out where she’d seen the shooter before.
“Maybe the guy was in here last night.” Marquetta called as she walked away with a mug-laden tray.
“Could be.” Not last night, but another night. That would explain why he looked familiar.
“Did you have any kind of trouble?” Marquetta asked when she returned.
“Not really.” That wasn’t completely true, thinking back to the drunks Zack had rescued her from. But they didn’t have anything to do with the shooting.
Chryssie checked the patrons at the bar as Marquetta worked the room. A few minutes later, Marquetta was back. “I’m surprised the police don’t want to talk to you since you were working last night. At least check to see if the guy that got shot was in here last night. He was found just down at the end of the alley.”
“Don’t know why they would.” Chryssie’s stomach twisted. If that happened, the police wouldn’t be very sympathetic that she hadn’t come forward sooner. She would definitely go to the police station—tomorrow, the moment her exam was ove
r.
Marquetta walked over to the kitchen window, called an order, and then looked back at Chryssie. “You never know. You might know something without knowing that you know it.”
“Uh, OK…whatever that means.” Chryssie knew plenty more than she wanted to know.
Marquetta’s phone jangled.
“It’s from my babysitter. What’s wrong?” She asked the person on the other end, then glanced at Chryssie. “Marqie fell down and hit his head and is bleeding. They’re on the way to the emergency room.” Her gaze fluttered around the room.
“Go, Marquetta. I’ll stay here. You go.”
“Are you sure? You gotta study. It wouldn’t be fair to leave you. You’re the one doing me a favor.”
“Your son needs you. I’m fine. You go.”
After a quick hug Marquetta ran out of the bar. Once the game was won, the crowd trickled out with only a few regulars staying. It gave Chryssie a moment to get off her throbbing feet. She sat on a bar stool.
“Well look who’s here. Glitter, I thought you weren’t working today.”
“My plans changed.” She smiled at Zack. “Stopped in for a minute and Marquetta was getting slammed, so I stopped to help. Then she had an emergency and had to leave.”
“Slammed?” He looked around the almost empty bar.
“The crowd left after the game. I think a bunch of them wanted to head downtown to celebrate.”
“A night with no business is a good thing. Didn’t see you at church today.”
“And you won’t.”
He grinned. “Don’t you believe in God?”
“Never really thought about it.” Not exactly true. Her grandmother had been a believer and talked about God often. But she’d died so what good had it done her to believe?
“Maybe you should.”
“Want something to drink?”
“I don’t drink.”
That was one of the things she liked about Zack. “I know that. I meant a soda.” She stood up. “On the house.”
“If you insist.”
“What about that hamburger I owe you?”
Broken Trust Page 2
