CHAPTER 5
Charlotte didn’t return to her house to pack a suitcase. She didn’t know if Luke had gone there to look for her. Instead, she decided to buy whatever she needed when she reached Charleston the following morning. She hadn’t done any clothes shopping for a while, and she deserved to splurge on a few new pieces for her wardrobe.
She and Tony were now zipping southeast through the night on Interstate 26. The inside of Tony’s Ford Taurus reeked of cigars because the car used to belong to his father who, Tony had explained, had smoked several stogies a day.
Tony was speaking on his phone to his friend, whose house they were planning on crashing. When he hung up he said, “All good.”
Charlotte said, “You sure he doesn’t mind us just stopping by?”
“Nah. He has a couple pals over anyway. Do you play poker?”
“I know the rules.”
“What’s better, three jacks or a straight?”
“A straight.”
“All right, you can play. Five dollar buy-ins.”
“Thanks for the permission, Tony. So what’s this guy’s name anyway?”
“Ben. He lived a few houses down from mine growing up. His dad’s my godfather.”
“What does he do?”
“Works for his dad. They own a big pet store.”
“What about your parents? They still in the same house?”
“They retired early and moved to Florida a few years ago.”
“So no meeting the folks, huh?”
“Aren’t you disappointed? What about yours—they still in New York?”
“They’re dead,” she said.
Tony glanced at her. “Shit, Char. I’m sorry.”
“They died a long time ago. I was only eight.”
“What happened to them?”
Charlotte looked out the passenger window but saw little except her ghostly reflection. “They were shot during a break-in,” she said. “My grandparents raised me.”
“I’m really sorry, Char.”
“Thanks.” To change the topic, she said, “How much longer to your friend’s place, do you think?”
“Another hour or so.”
“Mind if I put on the radio?”
“Go for it.”
The frequency was set to 93.3, a Forest City rock station she listened to sometimes. Kid Rock was rapping about topless dancers and his Motown crew. She liked his country stuff better, but even the gangster lyrics were preferable to talking about her deceased parents.
***
Tony’s friend Ben lived on the outskirts of Columbia in a 1950s bungalow that was nearly obscured by a weeping willow in the front yard. They parked in the driveway behind a pickup truck and knocked on the front door. Nobody answered, so Tony opened the door. The entry hall was dark and filled with sneakers. The living room to the left had a large bay window, ornate cornicing, and timber flooring. It could have been described as charming had it not been for the posters of half-naked Amazonians taped to the walls. Voices floated from the adjoining room, which turned out to be a man cave if Charlotte had ever seen one. A neon Budweiser sign blinked sporadically over a red bar fridge. ESPN played on a large screen TV. And an admittedly impressive chandelier made from upside down beer bottles hung from the ceiling. Three guys wearing a lot of plaid sat around a green-felt table crowded with beer bottles and ashtrays.
“Who’s winning?” Tony said, announcing their presence.
His friends welcomed him with expletives and hugs and backslaps. Ben was tall with a hunched posture, as if he was embarrassed by his height. He had curly hair, a turned up nose, and lizard-green eyes. He probably could have passed for the villain in a movie except he had a genuinely friendly smile. The other two were named Steve and John. Steve looked to be of Indian ancestry, was cleanly shaven, and used way too much gel in his short, spiky hair. John had a pasty white complexion, which accentuated the razor burns on his neck, and he was so drunk he could barely stand.
Tony introduced Charlotte.
“What’s your name again?” John said to Charlotte all of five seconds after Tony had told him it.
“Charlotte,” she said.
“Sharlut,” he repeated, nodding astutely. “Listen, Sharlut, I got three words for you. I. Love. Humans.”
“Would you shut the fuck up with that shit?” Ben shook his head. “He’s been saying that all night. He’s not drunk. He actually is retarded.”
“Respect,” John said, flopping back into his chair. “Show some respect.”
“Anyway,” Ben said. “Nice meeting you, Charlotte. Now I know why Tony loves Asheville so much.”
“Awww,” she said, smiling.
“He has to make up for his looks with flattery,” Tony said, “or he’d never get laid.”
“And it works,” Ben said.
“On Jenny maybe,” Tony said. “But so would a steak around your neck.”
Ben swatted Tony’s head, making a face and pointing to the door at the other end of the room.
“Jenny’s here?” Tony said, surprised.
Ben nodded. “I told her you were coming by,” he said, lowering his voice. “She wanted to see you. She brought Amy too.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “Fuck off.”
“Sorry, dude. I told her you were bringing a new missus, but she didn’t care. What was I supposed to do, not let her in?”
“Who’s Amy?” Charlotte asked.
“My ex,” Tony said, running a hand through his hair. “And she’s almost as bad as yours.”
***
Jenny and Amy were in the backyard seated on plastic chairs next to a small swimming pool, which was lit eerily with green underwater lights.
They heard the screen door slide open and, at the sight of Tony, jumped to their feet, squawking happily. They hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, careful not to spill the champagne in their flutes.
The peroxide blonde looked Charlotte up and down like she was the anti-Christ. She was wearing a denim jacket over a turquoise top, a short floral skirt that showed off miles of leg, and ridiculously over-the-top four-inch pumps for a friendly neighborhood visit. “You must be Cheryl,” she said, offering her hand.
Charlotte shook. “Charlotte,” she corrected, “but close enough. And you must be Amy.”
“That’s right, darling. And this is Jenny.” She indicated the brunette, who waved shyly. In contrast to Amy’s showy outfit, Jenny was dressed in a slouchy sweater, a frumpy scarf, and loose jeans.
“It’s so good to see you, Tony,” Amy said, turning her back to Charlotte. “God, how long have you been gone for now? We’ve missed you here.”
“It’s good to see you guys too,” he said.
“So Ben says you’re going to Charleston to see your sister? How’s Maria doing anyway? She’s still with the theater?”
“Yup.”
“And Gregg?”
“They broke up.”
“Oh no! He was such a gem. What happened?”
“Guess they just didn’t work.”
“So what show’s she doing now?”
“Young Frankenstein,” Charlotte said.
“She’s fantastic, Tony,” Amy said. “She really is. Remember when we watched her in A Christmas Carol last year? You absolutely must say hi to her for me.”
Charlotte wanted to roll her eyes, or puke. She’d met at least two dozen sorority girls at NYU who could have been Amy’s twin sister.
“Sure,” Tony said. “I’ll give her your best.”
“So what’s the occasion?” Amy asked.
“The occasion?”
“You’re not driving four hours to Charleston just to say hi to Maria, are you?”
“It’s her debut in Young Frankenstein,” Charlotte said.
“If you wanted company, Tony,” Amy said, “you should have asked me. I would have loved to go.”
Charlotte had had enough of the snub. “Hey, nice shoes, Amy,” she said.
Everyone looked
at Amy’s pumps.
“Thanks,” Amy said hesitantly.
“You on your way out?” Charlotte asked.
“Out?” Amy said.
“A night on the town. I mean, they’re not your everyday shoes, are they?”
Amy sniffed. “We’re meeting friends later.”
“Really?” Jenny said. “I thought—”
“Tony, you should totally come!” Amy added promptly. “It will be so fun!”
Tony cleared his throat. “I think we’re going to take it easy here tonight.”
“Well, where’s your drink then? We have so much to catch up on.”
“I should go catch up with Ben for a bit first. Char?”
“Oh no you don’t,” Amy said, touching Charlotte’s arm. “Tony can go say hi to the boys, but you’re staying right here with the girls. I heard you’re from New York City. I’ve never been, and I want to hear about everything I’ve been missing.”
***
Hanging out with Legally Blonde was as excruciatingly painful as Charlotte had known it would be. Amy didn’t ask a single question about New York. All she wanted to do was blab about Tony—specifically all the things they had done together when they’d dated. Charlotte listened stoically, even though after each story she wanted to ask Amy if she and Tony had been so good together, why’d he dump her?
During a lull in Amy’s insecure ramblings, Charlotte said, “You know, I should probably go and check in on Tony.”
“Tony’s a big boy, dear,” Amy said. “I’m sure he’s fine without you.”
“Actually, dear,” Charlotte replied, “we’re quite inseparable.”
Amy smiled tightly. “How long have you two, you know…?”
“Been dating?”
“I don’t know if a few weeks means you’re dating.”
“We’re not dating. We’re just fucking.”
Amy recoiled as if slapped. Then her eyes flashed daggers. “Watch it, you little tramp. You’re not going to last a month with Tony. He’s not into skanks.”
“I guess that’s why he dumped you.”
“You bitch!”
“Maybe it’s time you let your shoes do the walking straight on out of here.”
“Jenny is Ben’s girlfriend,” Amy snapped. “I have way more right to be here than you do.”
“You’re right. Excuse me while I go find the bed where Tony and I will be sleeping tonight.”
Amy tossed her champagne in Charlotte’s face.
“Bitch!” Charlotte said, wiping the champagne from her eyes, then from her shirt.
She looked up just as Amy shoved her hard in the chest. Charlotte cried out, wind-milled her arms, and splashed into the swimming pool. The freezing water almost stopped her heart. She kicked off from the bottom and crashed through the surface, gasping.
Amy was crouched on the pool’s coping, smiling nastily. “Hope you have something dry to sleep in, slut.”
***
“There’s no way I’m staying here, Tony,” Charlotte said. She was in the guest bathroom off the kitchen, attempting to dry her clothes with a blow dryer. Tony had offered her some of the clothes he’d packed, but she’d refused; she wasn’t going to let Amy see her trotting around in oversized men’s clothes.
Tony said, “I’ll tell her to leave.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“She will.”
“Forget it. She’ll probably sneak back here in the middle of the night and plunge a knife in my heart while I’m sleeping.”
“You want to drive the rest of the way to Charleston?”
“Why not? It’s only another two hours or so, right?”
“We’re already here.”
“She’s here.”
“I told you, Char, I’ll tell her to go.”
Charlotte turned off the blow dryer. Her clothes were still uncomfortably damp, not to mention they smelled like chlorine, but she would cope.
“We’re leaving, Tony,” she said, and left the bathroom.
CHAPTER 6
They were back on Interstate 26, the radio playing a song Charlotte had never heard before, the heaters blasting warm air from the vents.
Charlotte had finished venting about Amy, Tony had finished apologizing for the psycho bitch’s behavior, and now they were in what might be considered their first non-speaking fight. She wasn’t angry at him, of course; he hadn’t known Amy was going to be at Ben’s. She was just angry in general. First her ex threatens her life, then Tony’s ex pushes her in a freezing cold swimming pool. What was next tonight?
“It’s probably nothing,” Tony said, ending the silence that had stolen over them, “but do you know what kind of car your ex was driving?”
Charlotte frowned. “No, why?” She saw him looking in the rearview mirror and spun around in her seat. A red car was behind them, though it was too dark to see the driver.
“See the white van?” Tony said.
It was a hundred feet behind the red car. “So?”
“I think I saw it parked on Ben’s street.”
“You think?”
“I saw a white van when we were leaving. I don’t know if it’s the same one.”
She faced forward again. “It can’t be Luke.”
“Maybe he followed the taxi to my place?”
“And then followed us all the way to Colombia?”
“He drove all the way from New York to find you, didn’t he?”
It couldn’t be Luke, she thought. No way.
But what if it was?
“Pull over,” she said.
“Right here?”
“On the shoulder.”
“He’s not going to be so obvious to pull over behind us.”
“Well, if he drives by,” she said, “he can’t follow us anymore, can he?”
“Good point.” Tony flicked on the blinker and eased to the shoulder, slowing gradually. The red car zipped past on their left, followed a few seconds later by the white van.
Charlotte exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Knew it wasn’t him.”
“We’ll sit here for a minute, to make sure—”
Five hundred feet ahead of them the white van’s brake lights flashed.
“Holy shit!” Tony said.
Charlotte’s thoughts raced, trying to find an explanation for why the van might be stopping other than the explanation she knew to be true.
I’m going to kill you, Char.
“Back up,” she said in a voice too composed to be her own.
Tony said, “I’m not backing up on the highway.”
“Back up!” she repeated, the composure shattering into panic. “He’s reversing!”
“I’m not backing up—”
“What if he has a gun?”
“He has a gun?”
“Go!”
“Go where, Char?” Tony said, shouting now too. “It’s like a mile back to the turnoff. I’m not backing up for a mile.”
“He’s getting closer!”
“Fuck it,” Tony said. “I’ll outrun him.” He goosed the gas. The tires squealed. They shot forward.
As they rocketed past the van, Charlotte caught a shadowed glimpse of Luke behind the wheel.
“He’s coming,” Tony said, his eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror.
“Go faster,” she said.
“This isn’t a Corvette.”
Charlotte looked at the speedometer. The needle was creeping past sixty miles an hour.
“He’s gaining on us,” Tony said. “Shit—he’s going to ram us!”
A moment later there was a loud bang. The Ford jumped like it’d hit a speed bump. Charlotte lashed forward against her seatbelt.
She glanced wide-eyed at Tony. “Slow down!”
“You said go faster!”
“He’s going to run us off the road!”
“Shit—hold on!”
The van slammed them again. This time the Ford veered wildly to the right
before Tony regained control.
The van pulled even with them. The two vehicles went nose for nose for a few seconds. Then the van sideswiped them. Metal crunched.
They swung onto the shoulder. Charlotte cried out. Tony steered hard to the left, squeezing back onto the road.
Charlotte braced herself in her seat, a voice in her head screaming that she was going to die. The van would out-muscle them next time. They’d shoot off the road and crash into a tree. Given the speed they were traveling, there’d be nothing left of them but dismembered pieces.
Tony braked hard, and they screeched to a terrifying stop. He’d timed it just as Luke tried to sideswipe them again, and instead of colliding with the Ford, the van knifed through empty space to the shoulder. It swung back onto the road, then weaved a drunken S-pattern down the highway before spinning out of control, the smoking tires leaving curlicue skid marks on the macadam behind it.
It came to a rest a hundred yards away, facing them. One of the headlights had blown out, presumably when it had rear-ended them.
Luke accelerated toward them.
Tony stamped the gas.
“Tony!” Charlotte cried. “No!”
Tony’s face was fixed in a grim mask, and he didn’t reply.
The van’s single headlight grew into a blinding wall of white. Charlotte shut her eyes and waited for the imminent impact.
***
It never came. Tony swerved sharply to the right at the last moment, and the Ford nosed into a grassy culvert that lined the highway, where it skidded to a halt. For a few seconds Charlotte couldn’t move or think.
Tony groaned and touched his forehead, which he’d apparently hit against the window or steering wheel.
“Are you okay?” she asked him quickly, half expecting Luke to come racing into the culvert after them. “Can you drive?”
Nodding, he angled up the side of the culvert to the highway, which was empty in either direction for as far as they could see.
“Where the hell did he go?” Tony said.
“No idea,” she replied. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
Tony accelerated.
Charlotte remained turned around in her seat, looking out the rear window—and spotted Luke emerge on the far side of the road.
Dark Hearts: Four Novellas of Dark Suspense Page 17
