by J. D. Bishop
She speed-dialed his number on her cell as she sat back on her bed, putting on her white pumps. Just like every other time so far, her call went straight to his voicemail.
What up? This is Greg. Leave your name, home phone, and breast size and I'll get back to you later. Holler.
She rolled her eyes at his voice message. Greg really needed to grow up. She waited for the beep before leaving a message, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Hey, Greg, this is your sister, Patricia. You know I needed you to take Natalie to school this week. I don't ask you for much, and the one time I really need you, you aren't here. Now I'm going to have to call Mother, and you know how I hate asking her for favors. Give me a call when you get this. Love you, bye.”
She hung up. There was no point in trying Greg again. She was out of time. There was only one other option, the one she hated most of all. Inhaling deeply, she dialed her mother's phone number.
Her mother answered in a sleepy voice. “Hello?”
Feeling slight trepidation, Pat asked, “Hey, Mom. I need to ask a favor of you.”
Through her cell, she could hear the sound of rustling from her mother changing positions in her bed.
“What is it, Patricia?” she grumbled. Her mother did not sound pleased at being woken up early in the morning.
“I need you to take Natalie to school for me, please. Greg didn’t show up last night. He was supposed to take her. She can't take the school bus because it doesn't come down this street, and I wouldn't want her to, even if it did. I can't take her to work with me and I'm terrified of leaving her at home.”
Her mother had all the ammunition she needed. “First, I don't know why you would depend on Greg for anything. Second, you make how much money? How do you not have a sitter to take her to school for you?”
Patricia couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Her granddaughter needs help, and all her mother could do was snipe at her and bitch about being woken up early. Her mother should have won the Granny of the Year award.
“I'll give you $500 to take her,” Patricia hissed through clenched teeth, not wanting to get into a drawn-out argument. Her mother was always about one thing anyway. She had to get to work.
There was a long pause, as if her mother was trying to figure out if she could milk a little more out of her. “I'll be over there shortly.”
Patricia slammed her cell down on the bed. She hated dealing with her mom. She understood why Greg hated living there, although for Patricia, it was her mother more than her father who inspired so much anger.
She didn’t have time for trips down bitter memory lane, though, so she went a door down to her daughter's room and turned on the lights. “Get up, Nat,” Patricia told her sleeping little girl in a stern voice. Her daughter made some grumpy noises as she shifted around in her fluffy pink bed filled with stuffed animals. Her daughter's room was girly, the walls a light purple.
Not liking the necessity but having to, Pat grew stricter. Clapping her hands sharply together, Pat ordered, “Now, Nat! Your Granny is coming to take you to school.”
At this, Natalie sat up with a lazy groan, rubbing at her sleep-filled eyes. “Aww, why isn't Uncle Greg taking me to school?”
Patricia bit back angry words, not wanting to let her frustration with her brother poison what she was about to say. “Your Uncle Greg didn’t come home last night. He probably passed out at his girlfriend, Rebecca's, house.”
Natalie frowned. She was old enough to understand that Greg was dating, but not quite old enough to get the connotation of Greg staying out with his girlfriend all night. Instead, she focused on her immediate problem. “I don't like Granny. She's mean.”
Patricia sighed. She truly hadn't wanted to ask her cranky mother for her help. “I know, baby, but your uncle has left me no choice. I need you to get ready now, sweetie. He’s not going to be here to help you get up like normal.”
Natalie got unsteadily out of the bed and went to her dresser to get a change of clothes. She rooted around before pulling out jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt that she pulled over her head, yawning as she did so. Patricia felt a stab of guilt. Natalie looked younger than her years this early, more like six than nine. Patricia softened her voice and stepped closer to her, brushing a lock of sleep-twisted hair out of her eyes.
“I have to leave, Nat. I need you to be a big girl for Mommy. When your Granny comes, I need you to make sure that it is actually her at the door. I'll leave a stool by the door so you can stand on it to peek out to make sure. Come give Mommy a kiss.”
Patricia knelt and hugged her daughter when she came over, kissing her on the forehead. “Now what did Mommy tell you?”
Natalie smacked her lips, but her eyes were clear as she answered dutifully, “To make sure it's Granny at the door when someone comes.”
Patricia gave her an affectionate smile. Her daughter was precious, and she’d do whatever she could do make sure she was well taken care of. “Good girl. Now go take your shower. Mommy loves you.”
Patricia left the house, making sure she left a stool by the front door for Natalie. Natalie could unlock the door, but the peephole was just a little too high for her on tiptoes still.
The sky was lightening up outside. Several of her neighbors were warming up their cars to go to work. She noticed her Kia missing out of the driveway, confirming her suspicions. Greg must have taken it. She was really going to have to set some boundaries with that boy.
As she got into her Volvo S40 Sedan and began her trek to work, she checked the glove compartment for her father's revolver she kept with her at all times. She’d gotten it from him during the ugly times of her divorce and kept it because a single woman needed protection. It wasn't there. She cursed as she slammed the compartment closed. It must have been in the car with Greg. She hoped nothing stupid wound up happening with the thing. She didn’t need her brother getting himself or someone else shot because Greg wanted to feel macho.
She waved cheerfully at some of her neighbors' housewives coming out to get the morning paper as she rode up the clean residential street with all the suburban houses. It was all an act. She knew most of them couldn’t stand her ass. They schlepped around town in their Levis and frumpy t-shirts and wondered why their husbands ogled Patricia every time she went out of the house.
It was business as usual when she arrived at Channel 9 studios—people scrambling about the newsroom to get stories prepared, other people getting the studio set up, and everyone going in a thousand different directions at once. Elijah Winters, a journalist, ran up to her, his face excited. His curly brown hair was a mess as if he hadn't gotten any sleep. He was very handsome, and Patricia knew he had a crush on her. He’d been nursing one along for years.
She didn't know why he hadn’t asked her out yet. She would have gladly said yes. After going through her ‘bad boy’ phase with her ex, she wanted a good man, and Elijah was one hundred percent a good man.
“You wouldn't believe what happened last night, Trisha,” Elijah told her excitedly, using the nickname he usually reserved for her. He stopped, taking a deep breath as he realized who he was talking to, then, staring appreciatively at her figure, he said, “You look great as usual, by the way.”
“What?” She asked impatiently as she walked toward the news desk, forgetting to thank him for his compliment. Normally, she would have taken a minute to say thanks and to banter with him, but after this morning, she was more interested in what he had to tell her. “Make it quick. I have to get hair and makeup done. I've got to be on in 20 minutes.”
Elijah smoothed back his hair as he glanced around the office. “Some teenagers got in a wreck last night, but that isn't the real story. They wouldn't let me get close to the area, but I heard that there was a crazed man that emergency personnel had to put down. Sources were telling me that law enforcement unloaded several full clips into this guy and he kept coming until finally, someone shot him in the head.”
“What about the teens
in the wreck? Am I going to be reporting on this story?”
Kara and April, the makeup ladies, came up and surrounded Patricia and hastily began applying makeup to her face. They were pros and could turn her from just out of bed to camera-ready on the double if they had to.
Elijah deftly maneuvered around the women so he could look at Patricia while talking the whole time. “No, and that's the weird thing. The boss said we were . . . ah, he used the word ‘asked’ . . . not to report on this story until more information is available. I don't know what happened to the people involved in the wreck. They were taken to the hospital.”
That was odd. They rarely had any stories that they were not allowed to report on. The last time that had happened was when the station had gotten a tip on something that was the beginning of a terrorist plot in the area, and Homeland Security put the kibosh on it. As for the man withstanding many bullets, he probably was on one of those designer, psychotic drugs, and the idea of ‘several clips’ was probably more like the cops shot forty times and hit him four. Patricia had heard about something like that before.
“How long until I’m on the air? And thanks. ‘Lijah, fill me in after the broadcast.” After giving her a wink, Elijah went off to chat with other journalists nearby.
“Ten minutes,” April replied. Only ten minutes? She was gonna give Greg a ration of hell when she saw him again. That was barely enough time to get herself in the zone.
“Where's Ashley?” she asked when April and Kara were finished. Ashley was the hairstylist for the studios.
Kara glanced at April, biting her lip nervously. “She didn't come in to work today. She called in sick. One of us is going to have to fix your hair.”
“Oh, hell,” Patricia grumbled.
“Don't worry,” April assured her, giving her a reassuring smile. “I have some hairstyling experience.”
“I bet,” Patricia sarcastically said as April began fixing her hair.
When they were done, they checked Patricia's appearance repeatedly, making sure their work was perfect.
“You're on in three minutes, Pat,” someone called out.
Patricia continued to check her appearance in the handheld mirror. April's hair job wasn't that bad after all. In fact, it was damn decent, and she gave April a smile of thanks, reminding herself to apologize for her sarcasm later. The girl had stepped up and hit it out of the park.
“You look beautiful,” the two makeup artists assured her.
“Thanks. You did good,” she replied as Patricia handed the mirror to April and went over to the anchor desk, sitting down beside her co-anchor, Matt Gallagher.
Matt was a sarcastic, cocky asshole. Like Patricia, he was in his early thirties. He was still quite childish and hadn't left his high school days behind him. It went without saying that Patricia couldn’t stand him. He looked quite the primadonna today, his brown hair slicked back and makeup piled on as he leaned back in his chair, smirking the whole time.
“Hey, beautiful,” Matt said playfully, looking pointedly at Patricia's ass. “I see you've lost some fat off that wagon of yours.”
Normally, she’d let it slide, but something about today just had her pissed. She hadn’t even had time for a morning coffee. Anger flared briefly inside her chest, and Patricia snapped, “Go fuck yourself!”
Matt was forever putting her down about her weight when she was already a size two. He was one of those guys who were the sole reason that many women had low self-esteem. Patricia had to constantly remind herself that she wasn’t getting fatter and that he was just an asshole.
A snicker from the camera man, Archie, reached Pat's ears. He was forever laughing at the exchanges between the two, but Patricia didn’t find working with Matt funny one bit. To Archie, though, it was all in good fun. He thought the off-screen tension added to good on-screen chemistry.
Patricia was about to get into it with Matt when Archie suddenly raised his hand. “You're on in five, four, three, two, and one.”
The teleprompter in front of the anchor desk began rolling with words for Patricia to read while in the overheads the Channel 9 morning news theme played. Patricia's face went from being highly annoyed to perfectly pleasant in one instant. She’d had lots of experience over the years teaming with Matt.
“Good morning, New Orleans! I’m Patricia Oakley, and this is your wake up news. First, Channel 9 is coming to you with breaking news. There's been an outbreak of a flu-like virus in the New Orleans area over the past twenty-four hours. The CDC says it's nothing serious. It is not influenza but just a particularly nasty version of the cold. You do not have anything to worry about. They are asking you to stay inside your houses and avoid other people if you have the symptoms. The hospitals will not be able to accommodate an influx of people who are worried that they have the virus just because they might feel like they are sick.”
“That's right, Patricia,” Matt said in the handoff as Archie’s camera went dark and camera two went hot, picking up where she left off. “So far, while the effects seem severe, the CDC is reporting that most of those afflicted will have symptoms pass in twelve to twenty-four hours. If you have any kind of common cold medicine, that should be enough to control the symptoms. Just stay warm in your bed . . .”
Patricia zoned Matt's voice out and just stared ahead with a pleasant smile on her face just in case Archie’s camera went hot again. She could not stand listening to Matt and his smarmy, fake-concerned voice. Elijah came rushing up the side of the newsroom, off -camera, waving his hand wildly at her. Patricia tried her best not to look over at him, thinking he was trying to pull a prank on her like many people around the office did.
It was one of the oldest pranks in the book—try to break a talent’s concentration on air. One time, when she was still doing the human interest circuit, someone had ordered a stripper to come stand off-camera and shake his junk all around at Patricia while she was on air, in the middle of a story about elderly homeless people and the healthcare challenges they faced. She knew if she broke, if she smiled or if she just laughed, she’d never get the chance at an anchor desk like she’d been gunning for at the time. Keeping a straight face that day was the hardest thing she had ever done.
Elijah was really going out of his way to grab her attention this time though, jumping and waving his hands frantically about. But she refused to look, her eyes flickering to the clock in the corner of the teleprompter. The commercial break was coming up soon, so she could find out then if he was actually serious.
Elijah wouldn’t stop, though, and Patricia started to wonder what was wrong with the man. When the break was called, he came rushing breathlessly forward.
“What the hell were you doing over there, Cross-fit?” Patricia asked him in annoyance. “You know I can't stop what I'm doing to talk to you.”
Matt shuffled some papers and chuckled. “He was probably signaling a tractor to come move that big ass of yours.”
Gripping her news pen tightly, Patricia's face flared red with anger. Goddamnit, enough was enough. “You know what, Matt? I’ve had about enough of your childish bullshit.”
Quickly getting in between the two, Elijah, snapped, “Quit it, Matt. Your shit gets old, okay?”
Matt sputtered, clearly having nothing to say to a male figure who could probably kick his ass. Elijah had always been easygoing, but he was clearly the better athlete of the two, and unlike Matt’s diet- and gym-muscled body, Patricia knew that there was some real hustle behind Elijah’s muscle.
Elijah turned back to Patricia when Matt offered no rebuttal. “Sorry, Trisha, I have sad news. I was finally able to get ahold of the names of the teens who were in that car crash last night. Your brother's name was on the list.”
CHAPTER 3
P atricia's heart froze as soon as the words were out of Elijah’s mouth. It was the last thing she needed. Her parents would definitely hold her accountable if something really bad happened to Greg. She thought she’d been cool, letting him have some time to get
headspace, but now it had come to bite her in the ass. She should have set rules with him, instead of acting like a friend, like a responsible older sister would.
“My God,” she whispered in horror. “Do you know if he's okay?”
Shaking his head, Elijah said, “I couldn't get that information, but I'm sure you can if you head up to St. Adrian's hospital. I was able to get that much at least.”
Heart pounding, she quickly got up out of her seat. Elijah was good at his job, and if that was all he could find out, some heavy shit was going down. “Take my chair. Kara, April . . . come do Elijah's hair and makeup. He's taking over for me.”
Matt waved his hand. He just had to stick his hand up to object. “Hey, now, wait a minute. People don't dig two-man news anchors at the same desk with no other female present. They think it’s too Hunter-Brinkley.”
“Don't worry, Matt,” Patricia snapped as the two makeup artists scrambled over to Elijah and started frantically applying makeup and fixing his hair, “I think you’re bitch enough for the female role. Just pitch your voice a little deeper so they think your balls are missing and not just being pinched.”
“The boss isn't going to like this one bit,” Matt warned her. “He’s really not going to like it.”
“Fuck it. Some things just can't be helped.” Turning, Patricia scurried from the news room. As she reached the outskirts of the room, she could hear Matt bitching at the makeup girls behind her. “Hurry the fuck up. We go live in one minute!”
Driving quickly, disregarding the rules of the road, she nearly got into several accidents on her way to the hospital, speeding like the devil and running red lights three times. When she reached the hospital parking lot, it was chaos, and she nearly got into another accident just getting parked.
