Callie giggled and reached for her keys. A folded white sheet of paper was taped to the door. Her stomach lurched, and the taste of cotton filled her mouth at the sight. She unfolded the note and read the typed Bible verse aloud.
“It’s from Romans 1: 26-27. For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature.” Callie re-folded the note and stuck it in her pocket. “It’s signed by the Committee for Morality and Decency.”
The two women stared at each other. Olivia broke the silence.
“What are we going to do, Callie? This person is crazy.”
Callie pulled out her phone and dialed. “I’m calling Salem. We need a plan.”
* * * *
Jack Fowler opened his front door with a sigh of relief. It had been a horrible day. That crazy cokehead, Melissa Wright, had ruined his morning with a ridiculous story about some lunatic who was trying to kill her. He had been forced to schedule an additional staff person just to sit outside her room all night.
I should have stood my ground and just let her leave. Of course, if I had done that, Miss High and Mighty Grace Hanes would probably have accused me of professional misconduct.
He had to admit that Hanes was a good nurse, probably the best one at Passages, but God, she nagged him like a fishwife. Every day it was something—she needed a raise; she wanted a promotion to shift supervisor; if she couldn’t have a raise, she wanted to earn some overtime; he needed to fire most of the technicians and nurses; he should let her interview and hire new staff. There was no way he could fire Grace—she was too good at her job—but he was tempted to kill the woman, or at least knock some sense into her.
Fowler could hear Amy’s voice coming from the bedroom. She was either doing a webcam show or talking to one of her phone sex clients. They had been together for two years, and he was still amazed at the money she earned from her work. In addition to her cam shows and phone sex, Amy Evans was a top food fetish model. She made short videos of herself sitting on the bed naked and stuffing food into her mouth. Judging from the sales figures, a lot of men loved the sight of a nude four-hundred-pound woman gorging on pizza, cookies, pie, and anything else she could find in the kitchen.
He was sitting on the sofa, watching the news, when Amy emerged from the bedroom. She was enjoying a bag of chocolate chip cookies. Fowler watched as crumbs fell onto her enormous bare belly. He felt his breath quicken. Two years, and he still couldn’t get enough of Amy Evans.
She had been working as a cashier at the Shenandoah Mountain Dock marina store when he first saw her. At the time, Amy had been overweight, but not obese. The fact that she was young, vulnerable, and clearly unhappy had drawn Fowler to her like a wolf to a lamb. He had introduced himself as Dr. Jack Fowler and watched her fall in love on the spot.
The job at the marina was a dead end. Amy had finished high school the year before but had no interest in continuing her education. On the other hand, she told him the thought of operating a checkout register for the next forty or fifty years felt like a death sentence. When Fowler asked her to move in with him, she jumped at the chance. He had been the one to suggest she pursue a career in adult entertainment. Phone sex and webcam shows eliminated the risk of STDs and brutality that prostitutes and escorts faced on a daily basis. The idea to transform Amy’s plump body into something huge had come from his personal fetish for super-sized women. The weight gain, along with the sex business, had also been Fowler’s way of ensuring Amy never left him. She had begun doing the food videos as soon as she reached three hundred pounds. They had been an instant hit.
Amy stood before him and swung her forty-four double-F breasts in his face. Fowler batted them around like a tether ball. He grabbed the loose flesh around her middle and buried his face in it.
“I’m through with my show, baby,” she whispered.
Fowler got up without another word and followed her into the bedroom. In addition to her gorgeous face, thick blonde hair, and endless body, Amy was only twenty-one years old and thought he was God. She let him do whatever he wanted with her body.
He used her while she continued to work her way through the bag of cookies. When he was done, he told her about his day.
Amy finished the last cookie and tossed the empty bag on the floor. “I knew something was wrong. That nurse sounds like a witch, and Melissa Wright belongs in a straitjacket, if you ask me.”
Fowler nodded. He was too angry to speak.
“You’re still mad,” Amy said. “I can tell.”
Without another word, she got out of bed and walked over to the chair where Fowler’s pants were neatly folded. Amy removed his belt and returned to the bed. “Whip me,” she ordered.
Jack Fowler grabbed the belt and went to work.
Chapter 11
Melissa turned off the television and re-arranged the pillows on the bed. She had just returned to her room after eating supper in the cafeteria.
It had been a good day. After breakfast, she had relaxed in a hot bath for thirty minutes and then taken a nap until lunch time. She had decided to take a walk outside after lunch and been surprised by how good it made her feel. That was something she never did at the motel. A parking lot wasn’t a great place for a walk. Unless Bo picked her up, about the only time Melissa left the room was to go to the office for a date with Bruce or to visit the vending machines for snacks and drinks.
She had skipped both her morning and afternoon counseling sessions. Grace Hanes had been right about the staff’s attitude. Nobody knocked on her door or tried to find out where she was. Melissa spent the remainder of the afternoon doing coke and watching television. Maybe she wasn’t cutting back on the dope, but at least she was eating better and getting a little fresh air. Her body felt stronger and more rested, even after the previous night’s assault.
Thank God, I don’t need to worry about that anymore, assuming Fowler keeps his word. What a prick. I feel sorry for anybody who has to work for that guy.
A sharp rap on the door made Melissa jump. She crossed the floor and looked through the peephole before letting Hal Morris into her room.
“I missed you at group. It’s probably a good thing you weren’t there. I got excited just thinking about you.”
Melissa laughed. “I’m glad somebody missed me. A nurse told me the staff doesn’t really care whether or not you show up for appointments.”
Hal shrugged. “Yeah, that’s about right. Nobody said anything. The only reason I go is to have something to do. This so-called therapy is a joke.”
Melissa breathed a sigh of relief as Hal handed her another bag of white powder. She took a couple of hits while he undressed. Morris lay down on the bed and pulled her on top of him. She had just found her rhythm when it was over.
“Sorry, I can never last the first time,” Hal said. “I think I told you that last night. The next one will be better, I promise.”
She rolled off him and gazed up at the ceiling. “Someone tried to kill me last night.”
“What?”
Melissa sat up and looked at him. “You heard me, Hal.”
Morris listened quietly as Melissa described the attack and her desperate escape.
“I met with Fowler this morning. He agreed to post a guard outside my room at night after I threatened to walk out of here. The guard will be here at midnight, so you need to be gone by then.”
Hal shook his head. “That’s unbelievable.”
Melissa glared at him. “You think I’m making this up?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Melissa. It’s just the idea of a killer walking the halls here at Passages. It’s mind-boggling. I’m glad you’re all right, and I’m glad you didn’t leave. I didn’t notice anything unusual when I left last night.”
“It happened a while after that. Whoever attacked me may not have even been in the building until later.”
Hal reached for her, and Melissa moved into his arms. He started with her mo
uth, worked his way down to her toes, and then reversed direction. She was trembling by the time he got to the main course. Melissa watched as Morris sweated and grunted over her like a man driven mad by lust. The race to the finish ended in a tie.
Melissa excused herself to use the bathroom. Hal was sitting on the edge of the bed when she came out.
“Would you like for me to move in here with you? I can keep you safe. I mean, it’s good that Fowler has a guard watching your room, but you said he doesn’t get here until midnight. If the guy who attacked you returns, there’s no guarantee it’ll be after midnight.”
Melissa hesitated. “I appreciate the offer, Hal. It’s tempting, but I think it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to get both of us in trouble. I’ve got drugs in my room, I’m skipping my therapy appointments, and Fowler hates me. If we got caught, they might throw us both out of here. That’s not a problem for me, but you need to complete the program if you want to get another job. You said so yourself.”
Morris got up to use the bathroom. When he returned, Melissa glanced at the lower half of his body and smiled.
“You should get the doctor to check your testosterone levels. You’ve got enough for three men.”
This time the sex was ferocious. Hal Morris was a man with an unquenchable need. Melissa thought her mind and body would explode. It was like being mauled by a wild animal. He rolled off her as soon as he finished. Melissa watched him dress and leave without a word. She turned on the television after he left, but turned it off after a few minutes. Her pulse was racing, and she felt anxious.
I should be sleeping like a baby after the sex I just had. What’s wrong with me? The door is locked, and the guard will be on duty soon.
Melissa went to the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth. It was ten minutes before midnight when she finally crawled under the covers and turned out the light. She wondered if her attacker was out there somewhere, waiting for his next opportunity. She wondered if the person trying to kill her was Hal Morris.
* * * *
Tommy Sale walked out to the parking lot with a smile on his face. The manager of the Shenandoah Mountain Dock marina had just agreed to sell Mama’s Biscuits T-shirts and CDs in their store. The initial order of five shirts and five CDs was small, but it was a start. Tommy made a note to include the store in the band’s merchandise promotion.
It was going to be a busy morning. He needed to update the Mama’s Biscuits webpage, do a status update on Facebook, and send out a tweet to the band’s followers.
Don’t forget e-mail and LinkedIn, dummy. Out of sight is out of mind.
He had one more stop to make at that run-down motel just up the road. It was the kind of place he would normally ignore, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The large music and department stores wouldn’t give him the time of day. Even the small T-shirt and record shops basically told him to come back when the band was famous. Tommy knew motel offices sometimes stocked a small selection of music and other merchandise. It was another way for them to make a few dollars, along with the snack and drink machines.
His good mood was clouded by the disagreement he was having with Olivia. He had seen her relationship with Callie as an opportunity to get the band’s shirts and CDs into both Carson stores, as well as the campground store. Not only did Callie manage one of the stores, she was also good friends with Salem and Krista Matthews. All Olivia had to do was ask. What was the big deal?
Olivia had flatly refused. She didn’t want Callie to think she was using or manipulating her. The relationship was still new. If Callie thought it was a worthwhile business opportunity, she would raise the subject herself. Anyway, it wasn’t like their big goal was to sell a few more shirts or CDs. Sure, a few more dollars in her pocket would be nice, but it wouldn’t change her life or get the band a recording contract and a major tour.
Tommy had argued that a few more dollars was a few more dollars, but it was more than that. Anybody who wore a Mama’s Biscuits shirt was a walking advertisement for the band. Every person who bought a copy of Down Home Cookin’ was a possible repeat customer. If they liked the music, they might buy more copies for birthday or holiday gifts. Word would spread.
He turned into the motel parking lot and parked in front of the office. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a pasty face was behind the counter, reading a newspaper.
“Morning, I’m Tommy Sale.”
Bruce Patterson looked up from his paper and nodded. “What can I do for you?”
Tommy explained the purpose of his visit.
“I recognize you,” Bruce said. “You’re the drummer, right? I’ve seen Mama’s Biscuits a couple of times at the Channel Marker. Y’all are good. I’ve got your CD.”
“So, what do you think?” Tommy asked.
Patterson gazed out the window. “It’s not a bad idea. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it. I’ve got enough room to put in a merchandise table. The problem is that it’s January. My business won’t pick up for a couple of months. How about if I take five CDs now, and you come see me again the middle of March? I’ll order some T-shirts then and some more CDs if these have sold.”
Tommy felt light-headed as he left the office. It was either the euphoria from the sales or the fact that it was time for lunch. He headed back to his apartment. A couple of sandwiches and some chips, and he would be ready to spend the rest of the afternoon promoting Mama’s Biscuits on social media. He couldn’t wait to see Olivia’s face when he told her the motel and the marina store were now carrying the band’s merchandise. Maybe she would at least agree to stick that little tidbit in Callie’s ear.
He decided to check the band’s e-mail first, before he forgot. It was old technology. Like most people, Tommy relied on various social media platforms to communicate with friends, connections, fans, and followers. After he sent out an e-mail blast to the people on the band’s contacts list, Tommy could focus on the website, Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn. He also needed to check his text messages.
There were fourteen messages waiting for him. He quickly deleted several that had somehow escaped the e-mail program’s spam filter. Two messages were from fans who had purchased copies of Down Home Cookin’. Tommy sent a quick reply, thanking them for their support. He finished going through the rest of the e-mails and prepared to send out an update to the people on his contacts list.
A new e-mail popped up just as he started to close the program’s inbox. Tommy stared at the screen. Cold sweat popped out on his arms and hands. He felt queasy and shaky. The contents of the message could vindicate the most important decision he had ever made and the awful price that had come with it.
He had been playing with Mama’s Biscuits for about a year. The band was popular, mostly because of Olivia, and they had a steady stream of paying jobs almost every weekend in the clubs and bars around the area. Halfway through his junior year in college, Tommy told his parents he was dropping out to pursue a fulltime career in music. College was a waste of time. The history degree he was pursuing, along with the two-point-eight GPA, would do nothing for him in the real world.
His parents, particularly his mother, had been furious. They were both successful, driven professionals and had expected their only child to follow the same path in life. The history degree would be followed by either law school or a graduate program designed to ensure a prestigious career, respectability, financial success, perhaps even fame. To Tommy, it sounded like being buried alive.
He hadn’t spoken to them in two years. They had disowned and disinherited him the day he left school. Tommy had been stunned by the revelation that he was apparently nothing more than a box on a To-Do list his high-powered parents had checked off two decades earlier. How could he have not seen that?
Olivia and the other guys in the band thought he was rich. That wasn’t the case. The trust fund from his grandparents was invested in stocks and bonds. The total value of the account was approximately three hundred thousand dollars. He lived off the
dividend income of nine thousand dollars a year, along with the three hundred dollars a week from the Channel Marker gig and the pocket change from the shirt and CD sales. Tommy made it work by living small. He could have taken a day job like the others, but he was serious about making music his life.
Tommy wiped the sweat from his hands and clicked open the e-mail. He read the message and felt chills on the back of his neck. The attachment was three pages long. He read it carefully and wiped his eyes.
My God!
He grabbed his keys and bolted out of the apartment. Ten minutes later, he roared into the Channel Marker parking lot.
“Olivia!”
She was wiping down the bar while waiting to deliver a lunch order.
“You know Skynyrd’s playing the Roanoke Coliseum next Tuesday, right?”
Olivia gave him a funny look. “Of course, I know that, Tommy. They’re touring with .38 Special. I wanted to surprise Callie with tickets, but I can’t afford it.”
“You can now,” Tommy said. “We’re going. The whole band is going.”
Olivia squealed and wrapped him in a bear hug. “If you were a girl I’d kiss you. God, I’m glad you’re rich. Five tickets…that’s expensive.”
“I didn’t get tickets, Olivia. I got an e-mail. Something came up, and .38 Special can’t make that date.”
She frowned at him. “That’s not funny, Tommy.”
He looked at her.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes, Olivia. I’ve already signed the contract. Three thousand dollars for a thirty-minute opening set. That’s enough time for us to play half of our catalogue from Down Home Cookin’. What do you think about that?”
Olivia buried her face in his chest and cried.
Chapter 12
Supper was over, and everyone was seated at the table.
“Monday’s asleep,” Anderson said. “I told her one of my favorite bedtime stories.”
“I love children,” Olivia said. “Which story did you tell her?”
Pieces of January Page 7
