Witness to Death

by Dave White

  “Because I’m involved. That’s why he’ll help you too. I’ll make him.”

  “You never thought he loved you. He doesn’t care about you.”

  “You didn’t hear him on the phone. He was concerned. I’m in trouble. I’m his daughter. Whether he loves me or not, I’m still his blood.”

  Michelle seemed tentative, saying the words slowly. John wondered if she thought her family was just as questionable as her friends.

  “That’s not how he acted when I talked to him,” John said.

  He thought about the man standing outside, the one he’d gone to check on. John sat in the car, heat running for twenty minutes watching him. As he watched, the man never even looked toward the car, never gave him a second glance. Each minute that passed, John tensed more tightly. His heart pounded harder. His breathing quickened. The feeling was familiar; it was only the cause that was different.

  Finally the guy went into the lobby. John followed him inside five minutes later, and bought a soda from the vending machine. He only relaxed when he saw the man counting the keys behind the counter.

  But they still weren’t safe.

  “He didn’t sound concerned when I talked to him. His voice was cold. I can’t describe it, but it’s not right Michelle.”

  “The police are on their way.”

  John closed his eyes.

  “They’re going to come and get us out,” Michelle said.

  “They’ll arrest me on the spot.”

  “No, they’ll listen to my dad. They’ll get us to safety, and then we can figure this out. He was going to send someone else too. A bodyguard.”

  Michelle sat back on the edge of the bed, out of the light. The life was gone from her face, her skin paled. No, that wasn’t right, John thought. Ashley had the life seep from her face, Michelle was still here.

  For now.

  “The police are going to come and arrest me. Last time, Ashley had to break me out. Someone stabbed me. If your dad knows where we are, so do other people. This bodyguard is coming for you. Not me.”

  Michelle turned to him. “So what do we do?” she asked, as if it were a dare.

  He sat next to her on the bed and put his good arm around her. It was what he’d done anytime they had a fight. When it was over, he’d put his arm around her and hold her close. If she asked what they were going to do after the fight, he’d say he didn’t know.

  Before he could say it this time, there was a knock at the door.

  Michelle went to it. She looked through the peephole, and then stepped back like someone had punched her.

  “What?” John asked, stepping toward her. The room felt as if the temperature had gone up ten degrees.

  “It’s my . . . my half sister,” Michelle said. “I haven’t seen her since . . . a party at college. Before I met you.”

  John shuddered, despite the warmth. “Your half-sister.”

  “I’ve mentioned her before. She hates us.”

  Another knock at the door. Louder this time.

  “Michelle? It’s me, Christine. Dad sent me to get you home safe.” The voice was dull through the thickness of the door.

  Michelle opened it before John could stop her. The woman standing on the other side was Michelle’s height, and trim like a track runner. Her brown hair was in a ponytail, and her face was red and windburned.

  She looked Michelle up and down. Michelle crossed her arms.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Christine asked.

  John felt sweat at the base of his neck. It was so damned hot in the room.

  “I’m fine.” Michelle let her arms drop to her sides. “I didn’t think you and Dad talked anymore. Not since . . .”

  They stood looking at each other, as if each was unsure what to do next. John didn’t know what the proper etiquette was, but he didn’t expect the two girls to hug. Michelle stepped toward Christine, and held her arms out, but Christine turned toward John instead.

  “You,” she said. “You were the one on the news.”

  John leaned back, as if the words were a gust of wind. He’d heard them before. More sweat formed on the back of his neck. His hands were shaking hard. He’d heard someone say those words before, in that exact tone. That exact voice.

  Last night.

  In Ashley’s apartment.

  The girl in the ski mask.

  With the knife.

  He felt like he was going to throw up. Why was she here? He took a step forward, too quickly and nearly lost his balance.

  “Why did you do it?” John asked. “Why’d you kill her?”

  Christine squinted.

  “You killed Ashley.”

  “John, what are you talking about?” Michelle asked, her face going slack.

  “Why did you do it?” John shouted.

  Christine reached behind her back and came out with a gun. She swung it back and forth, from John to Michelle. John felt his legs give way, and suddenly he was kneeling.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why did you kill her? Why is all of this happening?”

  His mouth burned, and he smelled something sour. Christine approached him, tucked the gun in her waistband, and pulled his hands in front of him. She used both hands to hold his wrists together.

  Now was Michelle’s chance to do something. John looked over Christine’s shoulder at Michelle. She didn’t move.

  John tried to force his arms apart, but Christine held tight. “Don’t bother,” she said.

  “Why did you kill her?” John screamed. “Tell me!”

  She pulled a plastic cord from her jacket pocket and wrapped it around John’s wrists, tying them together tight. They felt as sharp as the handcuffs.

  Michelle hugged herself. Twisted back and forth at the waist. Then, as if waking from a nightmare, she stepped toward Christine.

  “Oh my God. Stop! Don’t do that!”

  Christine swung the gun back to Michelle. “I don’t want to kill you, sis, but I will if you make me.”

  Michelle froze. Christine turned back toward John, and tested the cord. She seemed satisfied and reached back into her pocket. She pulled out a round metal object. As she jammed it into John’s hands, he suddenly realized what it was. But before he could react, Christine pulled the pin.

  She stood up again, and grabbed Michelle by the shirt, pulled her close.

  “Let’s have a little fun. You know what that is, right?” she hissed at John. “You drop it, you got about four seconds before it turns you to dust. Get up.” Then turning her head, “Michelle, don’t you move.”

  Michelle and John did as they were told.

  Pressing the gun into John’s chest, she forced him to walk backward, until he was in the bathroom. She pushed him on to the toilet. His hands were shaking so hard, he was afraid he’d drop the grenade.

  Christine stepped out of the bathroom, and looked at him through the doorway.

  “I called the cops,” she said. “Should be here any minute now. When they arrive, I hope they don’t tell you to put your hands up.”

  She smiled, then slammed the door shut. John heard the lock click into place.

  “What are you doing?” Michelle asked.

  Christine held up a finger as if to say one minute and placed the cell phone to her ear. Seconds later she said, “I have her. We’ll be there in about two hours.”

  She snapped the phone shut and turned toward Michelle.

  “Shut up,” she said. “For the next two hours, I don’t want to hear a word.”

  “You pulled a gun on me. You’re going to blow up my friend.” Michelle tried to sound flippant, at ease. At the same time, when she said “blow up,” her vision blurred a bit.

  She prayed the police would get there in time.

  “What are you involved in, Christine?”

  “I told you to shut up.”

  Michelle could smell Christine’s perfume, a Dolce brand. The last time she’d smelled it was when she was just starting her junior year of college. Her
father was having a party at Fleming’s in Edgewater, celebrating his deal with France to import weaponry for their military.

  She had been standing at the bar, waiting for her apple martini to be made when she looked up to see a woman yelling at her father across the room. Michelle couldn’t hear the words, but the woman was hunched over, arms pressed into her sides. Her father was scanning the room. He finally caught a security guard’s eye. The guard rushed over and grabbed the girl by her arm.

  The girl screamed “No!”

  The room went quiet. The partygoers stopped talking and turned toward the scene. Her father didn’t react other than to jam his hands in his pockets.

  The girl who was being dragged out broke the quiet and yelled, “But I’m your daughter!”

  Michelle felt like she’d swallowed a rock. She downed the martini the bartender had just handed her and followed the girl outside.

  The girl was standing next to a Dumpster, tears and mascara staining her cheeks.

  She wore a long gown, a small black pendant around her neck. She looked up at Michelle who stuck out her hand.

  “I’m Michelle, Robert Sandler’s daughter.”

  The girl hesitated a moment, then took her hand and introduced herself as Chistine Verderese. They started talking. Christine had always wanted to know who her blood father was and hired a private detective to find out. Robert was the answer.

  Michelle told her to wait for her, she was going to go in and get her coat. Michelle got it, and also drink two more martini’s before going back out again. Christine was still there.

  She was three years younger than Michelle, but looked older than eighteen. She was a runner, and had the figure for it, slim with strong calf muscles. She wore too much perfume, however, as if she was experimenting with it. Trying it out to see how it worked. Michelle would have called it an utter failure.

  For most of the conversation Michelle asked questions and Christine shrugged.

  “What are you doing after high school?” Michelle asked.

  Again the shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Thinking about college?”

  “Maybe. I was good in track, but I got kicked out of school after my mom died. Too many fights.”

  The rock in Michelle’s stomach felt like a boulder.

  “This is awful,” she said. “Your dad’s an asshole.”

  Michelle flushed. “He’s—um—your dad too. But yeah, I kind of agree.”

  Christine shook her head. “I should not have come.”

  “Why did you? Why now?”

  Christine shook her head. “I thought I could sneak in and blend in. But once I saw him all I wanted to do was tell him to fuck off. God, this is horrible. I’m—”

  Michelle wished she had another martini, let the cold liquid coat her throat.

  “What are you going to school for?” Christine asked, her anger gone in a flash.

  Michelle almost choked, but forced the saliva down. Christine’s face was emotionless, flat, like she was done talking about the weather, and moving on to some other benign topic. The whole situation was bizarre, but Michelle couldn’t help but talk to her. Her father wouldn’t. No one else would.

  “Teaching.”

  “A lot of studying?”

  “I’m doing my practicum now. Once a week in the classroom.”

  “You like it?”

  “It’s tough, but I’m starting to get the feel for it. The kids are good, but the lesson planning’s a pain in the ass. Remember back when you were a kid and the teacher let you grade your own test, how fun that was?”

  Christine nodded.

  “Yeah. Not as fun when you have to grade one hundred and twenty of them.”

  “Social studies?”

  Michelle shook her head. “Language Arts.”

  “I always liked math.”

  Michelle took a deep breath. “Let’s try this. Why don’t you come up and visit me at school next weekend. Maybe we can talk some more.”

  Christine wiped beneath her eyes. “I’d like that.”

  Michelle wondered what had happened in the six years since. She hadn’t seen Christine since that college weekend.

  “Christine, this wasn’t a smart move. But let’s go back and get John. Let’s figure this out. We’re family.”

  Christine put her hand on the gun in her lap. “Shut. Up.”

  “What happened to Ashley? None of this makes any sense. I have only pieces of this. And now you’re here. People are dying Christine, and now you’re here with a gun.”

  “No more!”

  “I’m going to get out then.”

  Michelle reached for the car door, actually got her hand on the handle before Christine grabbed her by the hair and tugged. Michelle’s scalp felt as if it had been snared by a dozen fish hooks. Her arms shot out in front of her, and tears filled her eyes. Duct tape was pressed over her mouth.

  Christine said, “I have a taser in the console. Try that again, I’m putting volts through you. Believe me, it’s no fun.”

  Michelle blinked the tears from her eyes and felt something dig into her wrists. She looked down to see the same type of plastic straps Christine had used on John being wrapped around her wrists. She tried to fight against it, but couldn’t.

  “You should have listened to me,” Christine said and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

  ****

  A couple of hours later, Christine pulled up to a warehouse, just a few miles from the New York State border in Northern Jersey. Michelle hadn’t made a sound since Christine pressed the gray tape over her mouth. She sat up straight, stared directly ahead, and the hints of tears in her eyes had long since vanished.

  If anything, Christine thought, she seemed to get tougher.

  Christine reached over and tore the tape off Michelle’s mouth. Michelle’s eyes widened and she opened her lips, taking in air. When she exhaled, she opened and closed her mouth, as if trying to get the feeling back into her lips.

  “Here’s how it’s going to go,” Christine said, “you’re going to do what I say and we won’t have any problems.”

  “You told me that already,” Michelle said, shaking hair out of her face.

  Christine said, “We’re going into the warehouse.”

  Michelle didn’t say anything.

  Christine undid Michelle’s seatbelt, got out of the car, and walked around the front to the passenger side door. She pulled it open and then nodded toward the door of the warehouse. Michelle didn’t speak, twisted in her seat and dropped her feet on to the ground.

  She walked ahead of Christine. At the door, Michelle stopped and Christine opened it. It smelled much like stale potatoes. She pushed Michelle through the open door into the middle of the empty room. As Christine followed, she noted it was as cold inside as it was outside.

  “I have to go,” Christine said.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Christine smiled and rubbed her index finger and thumb together.

  “Money? That’s it? You killed my friends. And this is about money?”

  Christine didn’t want to talk to Michelle, but she couldn’t help it. She felt her stomach tighten. Michelle never made any sense.

  “Not only money,” she said.

  “You hated our father,” Michelle said. “Now you’re working for him? He sent you?”

  Christine shook her head. “I don’t like you either. Remember Nick Partkis?”

  Her ears felt like they were on fire.

  “That was college! That was six years ago!” Michelle shouted.

  Michelle was shivering now. Christine hoped she froze.

  “Time doesn’t heal all wounds.”

  Michelle didn’t say anything.

  “You thought, despite everything, that Dad always loved you,” Christine said. “He was always there for you.”

  Michelle looked off to the corner of the room. Christine waited for her to say something, to rebut the words, but Michelle just stared. Michelle didn’t
understand how much of Christine’s life had been ruined. Even when people tried to help, they just screwed it up even more. And each time she pictured the people who messed things up for her the most, she saw Michelle and Robert Sandler.