The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery

by Carlie Lemont

  “Very funny. Did you get a look at the driver? I tried to, but couldn’t, considering, you know, I was busy damaging other people’s property with my head.” He touched the small gash and winced.

  “Stop that!” Cassidy scolded. “You’re going to get a flesh-eating virus or something. Don’t worry, though, with the way your hair’s receding, the scar won’t be visible for at least a couple more years.”

  At this, they shared a good laugh, although JJ grimaced with his hand on his rib cage.

  “I’m glad you’re all right.” Cassidy looked away, tears now surfacing. “I can’t imagine life without—”

  JJ squeezed Cassidy's hand. “Thank you.”

  Sirens pierced the air, and Cassidy turned as help began to arrive, en masse.

  “And yes,” JJ said, “if one of the paramedics happens to be hot, I’ll try not to take up too much of his time.”

  Cassidy smiled. “See that you don’t,” she said and stood up to wait for the arrival of the EMTs.

  It was clear, she and JJ were being hunted down, and the more Cassidy thought about the dark-colored car, she was convinced it was the same one that’d been following them. But who was driving it?

  Didn’t matter. Time to fight back. Take things into her own hands and get to the bottom of everything, regardless of what the police said, since they weren’t doing anything to protect them.

  While the paramedics worked on JJ, Cassidy retrieved her purse from the car and found Ted's calling card. If she ever needed to defend herself, JJ, or even Max, she was bound and determined to make it a good fight, and if that meant a handgun, a magazine full of hollow-point bullets, and hours of training, then so be it. Now, if only she could find a good signal.

  “Hello? This is Ted.”

  “Hi, Ted. It’s Cassidy.”

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “How did you know something’s wrong?”

  “I gave you my card in case you needed something, and you aren’t the type to just call and chitchat. Tell me what's going on so I can help.”

  “JJ and I just got attacked, so I need to take you up on your offer.”

  “First, tell me if you’re safe; are you in need of rescue... or a ride?”

  “Neither. I’m okay, and don’t need your immediate assistance.”

  “All right, in that case, I might have offered you multiple things. Which one are you talking about, and don't worry this is a secure line.”

  She drew in a deep breath, then forced the request out in a rush: “I want you to teach me how to use a handgun.”

  “Oh! That. Well, of course. That’ll be no problem at all. When would you like to do that?”

  “The sooner the better. Next time we might not be this lucky.”

  “Meet me at the bar tomorrow around noon. I’ll drive you up to the shooting range and teach you the basics, plus how to make a kill-shot, of course.”

  “Perfect. You have an extra gun I can use, then?”

  “Of course. I’ve got an extensive collection. I’ll bring a variety and let you pick the one you like best. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.” Cassidy ended the call and, dropping the phone into her purse, walked back to JJ and the paramedics.

  “Hey, you gonna live?” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” JJ said. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

  “Not on your life. I’m going to stick around to see if any of the policemen are cute, once they show up.” She leaned over in an exaggerated show of searching around for any good-looking men. “Oh, your medic looks kind of sexy. What’s his story?”

  “I don’t know.” JJ shrugged. “Why don’t you go ask him?”

  “Never! If he’s interested, he’ll let me know.” She smoothed down her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Okay, Jamal...” The paramedic paused, confused by JJ’s real name, and took a second look at the identification. “I always suggest going to the hospital to be checked out, but it’s your right to refuse. Keep the laceration to your scalp clean, and if it starts bleeding a lot, you should go to the ER. If you have difficulty breathing tonight with your bruised ribs, call 911. Otherwise, go see your doctor when you’re able to. Any questions?”

  “Nope. Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome. You were very lucky. Pretty much just superficial injuries.”

  JJ stood up, wincing, and said, “Great. I’ll just go back to my apartment and wait for the police, then. Actually, I’m surprised they haven’t arrived yet.”

  “Either they’re busy with another incident or they don't care about us." Cassidy said. “I’d believe either one to be honest.”

  “So, did you want to come to my apartment with me, or are you headed home?”

  “I’d better get home. Max’ll be waiting for dinner. Plus, I have a feeling tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  “Busy day? I thought we had the day off. What do you have planned?”

  Cassidy held up her index finger. “That, my friend, is a secret. Oh, don’t forget to take some ibuprofen and ice any swollen areas for fifteen to twenty minutes each hour.”

  “Right, thanks. I need you to please promise me you’re not planning to do something stupid.”

  “First off, when have you ever known me to do something stupid? Second, I don’t take orders from someone who cries during Folgers coffee commercials.”

  “Hey. That was a long time ago,” he said, “and why is it that you never forget anything?” At this, she chuckled and began to walk away. “If the cops need to talk to you,” he added, “I’ll give them your number and address.”

  “Goodnight!” Cassidy called back, waving over her shoulder. Oh, the cops would certainly pay her a visit tonight. Hopefully, though, she’d have enough time to get cleaned up a bit before they arrived.

  Of course, her prediction came true: a couple of hours later, Detective Sanchez knocked on her door, which had been plenty of time for her to feed Max, take him out, make herself presentable, and enjoy a small glass of wine. She answered every question, gave her best description of the car, and a detailed rundown leading up to the attempt on their lives.

  After the detective left, Cassidy took Max out one last time, then went to bed, where she struggled to get to sleep, fighting against the constant replay of the day’s events.

  Will I ever feel safe again?

  CHAPTER 25

  I

  can’t believe I missed running over those two idiots...

  The killer cruised through the streets of Miami, on a mission to destroy those who wanted to hurt her and the others. She’d been unable to settle down and retreat back inside since the failed attack. She needed to finish the job and then safely ditch the stolen car.

  The body in the trunk was beginning to stink in the heat and humidity, which had intensified the decaying process. Wouldn’t be long before it began to liquefy, and fluids seeping out of the trunk would draw too much attention.

  The killer drove into Cassidy’s apartment complex and watched from a safe distance as Cassidy pulled into her parking space. Excitement mixed with rage seeped into searing veins as a craving to kill again mounted. Cassidy didn’t don her usual disguise before getting out of the car. She must have been in a hurry, or maybe she was just shaken up. Either way, the killer planned to wait in the parking area long enough for Cassidy to relax, let down her guard, and possibly even fall asleep in the supposed safety of her apartment. Seeing the prey nervous made the killer feel in control—safe and untouchable, just the way it needed to be. The others didn’t like the violence, but it was her job to protect them. No one else would. No one else ever had.

  The killer looked at her watch and set the alarm, then reclined the seat and settled in to wait. It had been an exhausting day, and soon, her eyelids grew heavy. She fought to stay awake. She eventually succumbed to the weightless sensation that always preceded sleep...

  The
child was stuck, couldn’t move. Struggling to breathe through an ever-rising panic, she glanced around for something, anything that would help her out of this hell. Once again, her stepfather had gotten drunk and had taken what didn’t belong to him; his weight was crushing, and an indescribable pain tore through her body and soul. She’d begged him to stop, pleaded with him to leave her alone. Wouldn’t mommy be upset if she knew? Didn’t she care? Didn’t anyone care?

  Didn’t matter. She couldn’t rely on anyone or anything anymore, except the pain. Pain was ever-present. Even when her physical injuries had healed over—the bruises that ran their course, changing from dark purple to yellow and then back to flesh-colored—the pain inside her heart never, ever left.

  Her nose filled with the stench of Bengay and alcohol, the child struggled to keep from vomiting, tears streaming down her face until her stepfather had finally stopped moving and fell asleep. His loud snoring had become a comfort, indicating the end to her suffering, although breathing grew more and more difficult under his weight. The child sank farther into the bed, but there was only so much give to an old bug-infested mattress. As she wriggled, though, she began to make progress; both his and her sweat combined made sliding out from under him possible.

  When her feet touched the carpet, the child nearly cried out in relief, finally able to breathe and move around freely. She lowered herself to the floor and, like after each night her stepfather had visited her room, she curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth, sobbing. To wake her stepfather was to endure more pain.

  The scissors! yelled a voice from within. Grab the scissors!

  Immediately, the girl was on her feet and padding toward the closet where she’d stashed the scissors after dinner that night. She lifted the corner edge of the carpet along the back wall, grabbed them and, squeezing the handle so hard her arm shook, turned to peer out at her stepfather still snoring and lying in a large sweaty lump—waiting to be stabbed.

  It’s time!

  She crept back to the bed in a growing want for revenge. Soon, she hovered over him, scissors held high above her head, point down, ready to plunge it straight into his back.

  Wait—a stab to his back might not kill him!

  Then it’ll only be worse!

  The girl leaned close and, into his ear, whispered, “Turn over, Larry, honey,” using the phrase her mommy did to stop him from snoring after he would fall asleep watching television on the couch. Her stepfather grumbled, then turned over onto his back.

  It worked! Do it now—now!

  At once, she straddled his chest and slapped him across the face with all her might. His eyes popped open wide in terror while the girl, driven by the inner voices, plunged the scissors down into his throat, sliding them right up to the grip. His head snapped backwards into the mattress, his back arching in agony. This didn’t last long, though, as his gurgling breaths slowed to ragged, frothy, pointless attempts to breathe. Then, his chest rose and fell for the last time. The girl collapsed onto his lifeless body in sobs of fear, pain, and relief. Something warm and wet began to pool around her face, dampening her hair. She sat up and, wiping it away, discovered her hand was covered in his blood. She shuddered but pushed herself up and away, the voices within crying out in bittersweet triumph.

  We will never be hurt by this man, or anyone else—ever again!

  Breep!—Breep!—Breep!—Breep!

  The killer’s eyes snapped open to the sound of her alarm and, at once, she looked down at her watch. Had two hours passed already? Sighing, she wiped away her stray tears and straightened in her seat, antsy and wanting everything to end yet ready to focus on the situation at hand. Upon opening her car door, the evening was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a car pulling into the apartment complex. The killer recognized them. They were the detectives assigned to the case. They were arguing about something, but then the female got out of the car, slamming the door. The male detective stayed behind. Why?

  Now was not the right time. There’d be another, better opportunity, she’d make sure of that. Careful not to draw attention, the killer buckled up and slowly pulled out of the parking space.

  Time to ditch the car.

  CHAPTER 26

  C

  assidy stretched both arms over her head, letting out a soft groan. Her dreams had been anything but restful. Though the details were a little fuzzy, she could recall guns, hostages, and running—lots of running. She was exhausted. But now, Max had crawled up alongside her in bed to cover her face in his ultimate specialty, sloppy puppy kisses, while his tail wagged with all the force of a baseball bat.

  Cassidy looked at her nightstand clock, “Ten a.m.!” then sat bolt upright. “Good Lord, I’m so not a morning person. Oh, Max, you poor thing. Let’s get you outside quick. I’m sorry, buddy.”

  She peeled herself out of bed, hobbled into the kitchen to grab his collar and leash and, after a quick puppy pee, came back inside to make his breakfast. Once Max was happily eating, Cassidy started to prepare a pot of coffee. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been to the grocery store in at least a month, with no coffee in the apartment for at least twice that long. So she grumbled, resigned to a morning Chock Full O’ Irritation and Fatigue, and instead poured herself a tall glass of almond milk, wondering briefly what spoiled almonds would taste like. A couple of tablespoons of chocolate syrup added, though, made it an adequate substitute for her much preferred caffeinated beverage. As long as it doesn’t make me sick, this will work out just fine.

  Another quick potty break for Max, and after removing her identity-obscuring disguise, Cassidy sat down to call JJ, who answered right away.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey,” she said, “I just called to see how you were feeling. Considering, you know, you almost died and all that stuff.”

  “I didn’t sleep a wink. Other than that, I’m doing all right. Honestly, I’m glad we’re not going to work today. I don’t think I could keep from constantly looking over my shoulder now.”

  “Understandable. I had a hard time falling asleep last night, too. I kept thinking I heard something in the dark. Weird how our minds play tricks on us.”

  “Yeah, I know. Hey, I want to thank you again for your help yesterday. It means so much to me that you were willing to risk your own life to protect mine.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Cassidy smiled, stroking Max’s head. “Next time it’s your turn, though.”

  They both laughed.

  “Yeah, I owe you big time.”

  “Well, that being said, I could use a new pair of pants.”

  “Why?”

  “I ruined them saving your life. No rush, though. I’m not in the mood to go shopping right now.”

  “Fair enough. So, you never told me. What are your plans for today?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Cassidy said.

  “Um, no.”

  “I told you it was none of your business. No offense, though. It’s just not.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “You’re trying my patience, Jamal. I’m not caffeinated this morning and my fuse is very, very short.”

  “I just don’t want you to do something dangerous.”

  “Trust me, I won’t.”

  “Well... as long as you promise,” he said, though his tone betrayed his doubt.

  “I promise. Have yourself a good day.”

  “You, too.”

  With that, Cassidy disconnected the call, leaving the conversation on a high note before JJ had a chance to say anything else. Last thing she wanted was for him to stress out and call her every five minutes, or worse, ask to go with her. Besides, she needed to get ready.

  Cassidy mentally rummaged through her closet, trying to imagine the perfect shooting lesson outfit. Nothing she owned struck her as appropriate, though, and since there wasn’t enough time to buy something new, she’d just have to pick something and be content with it.

  Venturing into her walk-in closet, Cassidy started with th
e basics. Nothing too fancy, although she did struggle with the idea of not looking her absolute best. No way would she walk into a place predominantly frequented by men and look like someone who’d never cracked open a fashion magazine. If she wanted to look like a troll, she’d have invited Randi over to offer fashion advice.

  Cassidy closed her eyes to picture what she might encounter—guns being fired by sexy manly men who’d no doubt be shouting to be heard over the noise, and she might be the only female there, or at least the only one they’d be watching. Plus, the better she looked, the better she’d feel.

  Much to her delight, Cassidy unearthed a brand new, never-worn white jacket and matching low-rise pant outfit by Marc Jacobs, which would pair perfectly with the three-and-a-quarter-inch black-and-light-colored cork leather heels by Bebe, footwear she’d purchased online just last week. And here was the ideal occasion to wear them.

  After donning the outfit, Cassidy admired how wonderfully everything matched and how well it all complemented her body’s strengths while de-emphasizing her flaws, as though the designers had had her specifically in mind when they made the clothing. For the next few minutes, she posed in the mirror, Charlie’s Angels style, to ensure she looked good and, satisfied by what she saw, Cassidy smiled.

  “So, Max, what do you think?”

  Max gave a resounding woof of approval.

  “Hey, if this doesn’t knock ’em dead, then I guess the gun will.” She chuckled and gave Max a head rub.

  After filling Max’s water dish, Cassidy hurried out the front door and down the walkway. No stalkers in sight—no one sneaked up behind her to invade her personal space; no one asked her to go to Burger King for a hot date; not even Sasquatch approached, with his toothy yellow smile and inappropriate attempts at hugging. In some strange way, she kind of missed the attention. But she was running late, and the fewer the distractions, the better. She kept on walking, breathing a sigh of relief as her car came into view.