Dead Weight

by Ragan, T. R.

  Chapter 9

  Practice, Discipline, and Sacrifice

  August, 2010

  “Behind every story of inspiration is a story of training, practice, discipline, and sacrifice. You must be willing to pay the price,” Anthony Melbourne shouted from the stage. Every once in a while he jogged from one end of the stage to the other, sort of like Mick Jagger, but without the sexy swagger.

  “Maybe that means waking up before the break of dawn,” he bellowed.

  Lizzy imagined Jim Jones might have sounded a lot like Melbourne when he spoke to his followers.

  “Maybe it means giving up Monday Night Football or American Idol each week. You can always find time to exercise. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  Many in the audience clapped, but none more than the woman standing in the back of the room holding an armload of brochures. The woman with her tight bun and dark suit was downright zealous.

  Melbourne had been talking nonstop for two and a half hours. Lizzy had brought a number two pencil and a notebook, not only to add authenticity to her being here, but because she had hoped she might learn something...maybe a trick that would help curb her cravings for Rice Krispies Treats and Peanut M&M’s. But her notebook was blank because the man had said nothing that a million other people hadn’t said a zillion times before. Just do it! Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Motivation is what gets you started; habit is what keeps you going. People do not lack strength; they lack will. It is fatal to enter any war without the will to win it.

  What the hell was she doing here?

  She could have been curled up in Jared’s arms, watching Allie and Noah meet at a carnival and make love in an old dilapidated house.

  It was only three o’clock...two more tortuous hours to go. Her eyelids felt like five pound weights hanging over her eyeballs. She leaned over and reached into her purse, pretending to shuffle through her things while she closed her eyes. Ahhh. Much better. Just a couple of minutes of shuteye and she’d be good to go.

  “You!” she heard someone shout.

  Her eyes shot open, but she stayed bent over. What was going on? Who was he talking to? Please don’t be—

  “You, the one hiding in her knapsack.”

  Lizzy slowly pulled her head out of her backpack and straightened in her seat.

  All eyes were on her.

  Lizzy looked at Anthony Melbourne on stage and pointed to her chest.

  He nodded. “You look like you’re in fine shape. What brings you here today?”

  She was sitting in the very back of the large hotel banquet room. There were plenty of people sitting front and center eager to participate. Why her? She had to think fast. She scanned the brochure in her lap, the one she’d been handed on the way in. “I signed up for your seminar this weekend because...umm...because I have no energy.”

  “So, you’re here because you want to fight fatigue with exercise.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  He turned the side of his head toward her and cupped his hand around his ear. “We can’t hear you.”

  She wondered if she was on some sort of ridiculous new candid camera reality show. The guy was nuts. “Yes,” she said, louder this time, annoyed by the man’s gall at calling her out. “I want to learn all I can about fighting fatigue with exercise,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear, “because three grande lattes with triple shots of espresso aren’t cutting it any longer.”

  She got a couple of laughs, although that wasn’t what she’d been aiming for.

  Melbourne returned to his lectern. “Michelangelo once said: ‘If people knew how hard I had to work to gain my mastery, it wouldn’t seem so wonderful at all.’”

  Lizzy wondered what that had to do with fighting fatigue. Was he comparing himself to Michelangelo?

  God save me.

  ***

  This was one Monday that couldn’t have come soon enough. Lizzy’s weekend with the health guru had felt like a lifetime instead of a mere 48 hours. She’d raced home on Sunday only to learn that Jared had been called out of town. No life-altering sex. No romantic movie while curled in Jared’s arms. Worst weekend ever.

  Lizzy glanced around the parking lot, watching for her sister who had yet to arrive. When time permitted, which was fairly often since a girl needed to eat, Lizzy met her sister Cathy for lunch. While waiting for Cathy to arrive, Lizzy sat in her car and skimmed through Carol Fullerton’s file.

  Ruth Fullerton hadn’t paid her much to find her daughter, but Lizzy probably would have taken the case for free if she had to.

  The poor woman was dying. Her time on earth was severely limited and the woman needed to know what happened to her daughter once and for all.

  Last week, Detective Kent Roth had allowed Lizzy to look through the Fullerton file and take notes. At the time of Carol’s disappearance, there were at least two persons of interest authorities had focused on. The police thought they'd caught a break when an anonymous caller reported that Edward Bishop, a neighbor of the Fullerton’s, had once served time in prison for raping and nearly killing a young girl. Investigators who visited Bishop in prison said that their potential suspect maintained his innocence and refused to speak with officials.

  Another suspect was a boy who attended the same high school as Carol. According to Carol’s friends, the boy had a crush on her. Apparently Carol had rejected him. Police didn’t have enough evidence for an arrest and that was the end of that.

  A timeline of the day Carol went missing was short and sweet. Carol left for school at 7:30 am and that was the last time Ruth Fullerton saw her daughter. A couple of teenagers said they saw Carol after school at a convenience store buying potato chips and ice cream. It was unclear where Carol went next.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzy saw her sister’s BMW pull into the lot. She shut the file.

  Lizzy felt restless and she credited that to Jared being called out of town. Jared was a special agent for the FBI and he was meeting with a source to gather information on a case. She didn’t know when he would be back in town. Bummer. She had hoped to talk to him further about her decision not to move into his place right away. She didn’t want Jared to get the wrong idea. She cared about him. If she didn’t get so hung up on the “love” word every time he said it, she might be able to tell him she loved him, too. Her therapist told her she was over-analyzing. As far as Lizzy was concerned, once someone told another person that they love them, there was no going back. They’re vulnerable. Sadly, Lizzy was certain that her inability to say those three words had something to do with her childhood. Her parents rarely told her they loved her—one more issue to deal with before she could live a happy and healthy life.

  If her parents couldn’t say the words to her, how was it possible for Jared to tell her he loved her? Did he really love her? With all of her flaws and shortcomings?

  Unconditionally?

  Love was not something two people should take lightly. Love was important. And so was moving in with someone. What if she moved in with Jared and then days later realized she couldn’t handle seeing his newspapers piled in the bathroom? What then?

  Lizzy sighed, exited her car and pushed away all thoughts of love as she waved to Cathy across the parking lot.

  At that same moment, she spotted a black Ford Expedition with tinted windows. That same car had been parked there the entire time she’d been waiting for her sister. The sun had been in her eyes, though, and she hadn’t noticed that someone was inside the vehicle until now. Although she couldn’t see the driver, she could make out a dark silhouette. She headed toward the vehicle, trying to make out the license number. “Don’t look,” she told Cathy, but it was too late. Her sister turned her head in the direction she was looking.

  Tires squealed.

  Lizzy took off, running toward the Expedition, intent on getting the license number before the vehicle could get away. The Expedition sped into traffic. Cars honked.

  Too late. Damn.


  “What was that about?” Cathy asked as Lizzy met up with her sister.

  “I have no idea,” Lizzy said. “Whoever it was got away before I could get the license plate number.”

  “Do you think it has something to do with one of the cases you’re working on?”

  Lizzy didn’t want to worry her sister, so she shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I’m sure it was nothing. I’m just a little on edge.”

  Cathy sighed. “You look tired. Maybe you should take a few days off and relax.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Come on. Let’s eat, I’m starved.”

  She and Cathy entered the restaurant, Mikuni’s, a Japanese sushi bar in Roseville. The staff was fun and energetic and they served the best sushi around. “Irasshaimase!” the chefs called out, a traditional Japanese salutation, as Lizzy and Cathy were led to the seating area.

  They both knew what they wanted: Lizzy ordered the grilled white tuna seasoned with a spicy barbeque sauce while Cathy ordered a popular sushi roll called a Train Wreck.

  “Tell me about your weekend,” Cathy said after the waitress walked off. “Did you get to talk to Anthony Melbourne personally?”

  Lizzy pushed the Expedition out of her mind. “You could say that.”

  “I bought one of his arm-shaping devices a few years ago,” Cathy said excitedly. “Who am I kidding? I have every piece of equipment he’s ever sold. I think he’s incredible, don’t you?”

  Lizzy forced a smile, glad she didn’t have to answer before her sister rambled on again.

  “Anthony Melbourne is an inspiration to so many people. His unbridled enthusiasm for exercise and nutrition is contagious. He uses his knowledge and positivity to keep people moving, no matter what their age.”

  Although Lizzy was listening to her sister with interest, she couldn’t help but think that if Melbourne had been as passionate about his work as her sister seemed to think, Lizzy might have been able to keep her eyes open during his talk this past weekend. But then again, Lizzy had never had a relationship with food other than a desire for the occasional sweet or pastry, especially if she caught a whiff of Cinnabon in the airport. Cathy, on the other hand, seemed to understand the message Melbourne was trying to spread. Food was Cathy’s drug of choice. Food talked to her sister and consumed a large percentage of her thoughts.

  “Have you seen Anthony Melbourne’s infomercial?” Cathy asked. “The guy is incredible. Was he as good looking in person as he is on television?”

  Men like Melbourne did not appeal to Lizzy. He looked like a mountain of testosterone, but she hated to burst her sister’s bubble so she skirted the subject altogether. “He seemed like a nice guy.”

  “After all these years,” Cathy went on, still animated, “this is the first time I find myself warming to the idea of you being a private eye. I mean, it’s not all about guns and danger, is it?”

  “Not even close.” Lizzy drank from the water glass that the waitress dropped off and thought about all of the paperwork waiting for her at the office. “I signed up for one of Melbourne’s personal training classes. One hour five days a week.”

  “So you already saw him this morning! How was it?”

  “It’s a private class and yet there were six other women there this morning. He took it easy on us today, but I’m sore just thinking about it.”

  “Is there room for one more?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Look at me. I’ve gained thirty pounds since Richard left. My weight is getting out of control. If you can do Melbourne’s routine, then I know I can do it.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Lizzy asked.

  “You might be thin, but you’re in horrible shape,” Cathy said without filters. “Every time we take a walk, you’re out of breath and red in the face. You’ve never exercised a day in your life. At least I used to do track and field and run four miles a day.”

  She had a point. “I’ll call his office later and see if I can add you on.”

  “Great. I’ll help keep an eye on him for you.”

  “I bet you will.” They both laughed, and then made room on the table for their food. Fast, efficient, delicious: exactly why Lizzy liked to eat at Mikuni’s. As soon as the waitress walked away, Lizzy took a bite of her tuna; it melted in her mouth. “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Lizzy said. “I also signed up for Melbourne’s retreat that’s being held at the Granlibakken Conference Center in Lake Tahoe. Want to tag along just for fun?”

  “What would I do about Brittany?”

  “Hayley would be there,” Lizzy reminded her, “but if it would make you feel better I could ask Jessica to stay at your house for the weekend, too. She doesn’t start school for another few weeks and she loves hanging out with Brittany.”

  Cathy seemed excited at the prospect of getting out of the house and doing something different. Although Lizzy had never cared for Cathy’s soon to be ex-husband, Richard, it was easy to see that her sister had been lonely since he moved out.

  “Let me talk to Brittany,” Cathy said, “but yes, I think a little getaway is just what I need.”

  Lizzy agreed. For the first time in a long while she felt the gap between her and her sister shrinking. After Lizzy was abducted, their parents had allowed their grief to consume them. Even after Lizzy escaped the madman’s clutches and returned home, her parents were unable to come to grips with what had happened: blaming the world, blaming each other, blaming Lizzy.

  To get some much needed attention at the time, Cathy ended up pregnant and eloped with Richard Warner. Her niece, Brittany, had been the by-product of that union. No regrets.

  “Speaking of Hayley,” Cathy said between bites, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I caught Hayley leaving the house after midnight the other night.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I made a strong pot of coffee and waited for her to return. It was nearly four in the morning by the time she came back to the house. She didn’t look right.”

  “How so?”

  “She was wearing an old ragged sweater and stained shirt and pants with holes in the knees, despite the fact that I just bought her some new clothes. Her hair was a mess and I smelled alcohol the moment she walked through the door.”

  “Did you ask her what she was doing out that late?”

  Cathy nodded. “She told me she was just walking around, thinking about things.” Cathy pointed her chopsticks at Lizzy. “I like Hayley, I really do. I’m not sure if Brittany could have gotten through her ordeal without her. Hayley can be tough and hard-hitting, but she’s also kind and caring, helping me around the house, offering to run errands for me, things like that.” She shook her head. “If this sort of behavior continues, though, I won’t be able to let her stay with us.”

  Lizzy nodded. “I understand. I’ll talk to her.”

  Chapter 10

  No More Candy Bars

  Sierra Mountains, Day 1

  Early summer, 2010

  He checked the metal band around her ankle, making sure it wasn’t too tight; easier said than done considering she weighed 300 pounds. She was the second heaviest woman to ever enter the program—a program that was a well-kept secret.

  Many people might look at Vivian Hardy’s mountainous folds and find her to be disgusting, but he thought the endless rolls were mesmerizing.

  Females were genetically designed to be rounded with layers of fat, not skin and bones like the typical fashion model. Fat deposits on the breasts, hips, thighs and buttocks created the body shape that distinguished women from men.

  He liked curvy women. What he didn’t like was an overweight woman who let her fat control her every thought...and her life. Attitude was everything. But he would never get rich telling overweight people to be happy with their bodies. The breast-loving, hips-hating society was insane, but it also made for an endless goldmine of opportunity for guys like him who had no trouble turning a
way a warm beignet covered in fresh powdered sugar.

  While Vivian Hardy walked around, testing the limits of her new chain, he held up a logbook. “I want you to write down every single thing you put into your mouth during your stay.”

  She tried to reach the front door but the chains stopped her at the red line about two feet from the exit. She went to the window next and worked on the latch.

  “The window cannot be opened,” he told her.

  “What about fresh air?”

  “Central air will keep this place at a comfortable sixty eight to seventy degrees at all times.”

  “What if I get cold?”

  He pointed to the treadmill. “Start walking. It’ll warm you up in no time.”

  The kitchen was small, but the entire cabin was perfectly aligned so that his clients could reach the sink, the refrigerator, the dining room table, the bed, and of course, the bathroom. The bathroom door had been cut short so that the chain could fit underneath when the door was closed. She could even lock the door for added privacy. There was a large metal hook on the side of the treadmill for the chain so the heavy links wouldn’t get in her way when she walked. Yeah, exercising with a chain around her ankle may take some getting used to, but all in all, it was a minor inconvenience.

  “What about television?” she asked.

  “No television. It defeats the purpose. You need to learn to occupy your time in other ways.”

  “I was told I could have a television if I wanted one.”

  Damn. This wasn’t the first time his assistant had promised his client something that went against his principles, not to mention his clearly defined regimen. “I’m sorry she told you that. Television is not part of the treatment. People have been programmed to want sugary soft drinks and fast food.”

  “You think television made me fat?”

  “I’m sure it played a big part. Your application said that you watch at least five hours of television each day. The advertisers are hypnotizing you, motivating you to want nothing but creamy caramel candy bars dipped in rich chocolate and juicy hamburgers served with mounds of greasy fries.”