She paused, her eyes narrow and full of sorrow, and then they grew wild again, filling with fury. “It was my idea.”
“To do what?” I asked feebly, shaking inside and instantly regretting my question.
“To obliterate her. To get rid of our sick piece of shit mother before she could inflict more damage. More pain.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear more of this twisted horror story, but my gut told me to hear her out.
“Drugging her was easy. She was drugged out to begin with. On a steady diet of heroin and booze. All we had to do was add a healthy dose of Xanax to her nightly nightcap when she wasn’t looking. It was as easy as that. The two of us watched as she began to choke, then vomit, and finally lose consciousness. We took her pulse. Twice. She was still alive. The slightest moan lit a match under my brother. He wanted her to burn in hell for what she did to him and impulsively took her lighter and set her clothes on fire. Before the blaze spread to the rest of the house, we fled and watched as flames consumed the house, taking her with them. By the time the fire department and police arrived, the house was burned to the ground. And her body burned to the crisp. My innate acting skills coming in handy, I tearfully convinced the cops that our drunk, drug-addicted mother had likely conked out with a lit cigarette in her hand.” An exaggerated sniff. “Poor mommy dearest!”
I was too in shock to stop her. How old were they when this all happened? To my surprise, she read my mind.
“Donny, as I affectionately called him, was eighteen. I was only twelve. We were free so we thought. He was; I wasn’t. Not having any relatives—hell, we didn’t even know who our father was or if he was one and the same—I was put into foster care while my brother left Vegas for Los Angeles to pursue his dream of getting into show business.” Her eyes grew misty. “I’ll never forget saying good-bye to him. It was the saddest day of my life. I was crying so hard I couldn’t see straight and clinging to him. Blindly. Never wanting to let him go. He hugged me and told me, ‘Lil sis, I’m gonna make it big and always take care of you.’ And I promised to protect our secret.”
“I kept my word; he kept his. He made it. And thanks to his lucrative career in television production, I was able to go to college, move to LA, and make a name for myself. My brother gave me everything! And you, you . . .”
Speechless, I watched as she yanked out the necklace she always wore hidden under her blouse. She dangled the pendant from between her fingers and I recognized it instantly. Springer’s gaudy gold and diamond pinky ring! Then, she held it up, the boulder-size gem, glistening before me. Her eyes, two flaming embers, burned into mine.
“Thanks to you, this is all that remains of him. All I have left.”
Despite the fear vibrating against my chest, I actually felt sorry for her. My voice softened. “I’m sorry.”
She squeezed the ring in her fist so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes grew wilder. “Sorry for what? Sorry for destroying his career? Sorry for taking away my only flesh and blood? Sorry for taking away the only person who ever cared about me?”
Her voice rose, growing more and more maniacal with every word. She was frightening me again. I needed to calm her down.
“Krystal, listen to me. A lot of people care about you. I do for one.”
“SHUT. UP. BITCH. You don’t know what it’s like to be hurt so deeply you’ve lost a part of your life. I know what it feels like.” She loosened her grip around the ring, letting it fall onto her clavicle. “And soon you will too. You’re going to pay for what you did to my brother. My precious Donny!”
At her menacing words, fear surged inside me. In the distance, Scout’s yelping grew louder. “Krystal, I need to let my dog out and you need to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I have your confession on tape and the whole world knows what you did.”
On impulse, I stepped in front of the lectern, not knowing my next move, and watched her reach into her briefcase. My vision caught sight of the gilded three-letter monogram: KCS, the bold font just like the one on Blake’s overnight bag. Hoping he would magically appear, I was catapulted out of my wishful thinking by Krystal’s shrill, piercing voice.
“Fuck your dog. You’re not going anywhere either. Get back behind the lectern, you stupid bitch.”
I froze in my tracks. Her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and madness, she held me fiercely in her gaze.
And pointed a gun at my face.
“Let’s get back to work.”
Chapter 21
Blake
The morning swim felt good. After a frenetic week of all-day, back-to-back meetings both at the Bellagio, where I was staying, and the Vegas convention center, I felt refreshed. The NAB conference had gone well, and I’d learned a lot about the future of television. Everything was going digital and in no time, most people would be watching program content on their devices. The future for both big screen TVs and movie theaters was looking dismal. I made a note to tell my old man, the head of Conquest Broadcasting, to beef up emerging digital platforms R&D. To remain the leading global broadcaster, we needed to stay ten steps ahead. The future was now.
As I towel-dried myself, my cell phone rang. I picked it up from the small table next to my lounge chair. The blazing desert sun in my eyes, I squinted at the caller ID screen and recognized who was calling. It was Vera Nichols. My trustworthy and revered Vegas affiliate manager. I jabbed the green button and accepted the call.
“Hey Vera, what’s up?”
“Blake, I’m afraid I have some bad news. I have to cancel lunch.”
With Jen not coming to the conference with me, we had changed our dinner plans at her house to a barbecue lunch so I could get home sooner.
I sat down on the lounger. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Josh.” Joshua was her precocious eight-year-old son, whom both Jen and I adored. I was even his godfather.
“What’s wrong?” Concern underscored my voice.
“He woke up with a nasty bug and has been throwing up all morning.”
I mentally let out a sigh of relief. Oh the joys of parenthood! So this is what I had to look forward to. I silently chortled, keeping the thought to myself as I’d not yet told Vera that Jen and I were having a baby.
“That’s awful,” I said.
Vera laughed. “You have no idea, especially what it feels like to be hit by projectile vomit.”
“Yuck!”
“Yeah, totally yuck!” She chuckled. “I think it’s best you don’t come over. We don’t want you to catch it.”
“You know what they say, Vera. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
“Yup, let’s keep it that way.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “How ’bout a rain check when you come back? Next time with Jen.”
“Deal.” While I’d been looking forward to Steve’s “famous” ribs and feigned disappointment, I was secretly thrilled with the turn of events. I mean, I wasn’t happy Vera’s kid was sick, but I was elated to be able to go home early to my tiger. Surprise her. Fuck her brains out as I’d not been able to have Skype-sex with her with my crazy busy schedule. Not even for five minutes.
Beneath my swim trunks, my cock high fived me. Mr. Burns was as excited as I was.
I missed my tiger terribly. I couldn’t wait to see her.
And here’s a little confession. Don’t tell anyone.
I missed that damn dog too.
Chapter 22
Jennifer
The gun stayed pointed at me.
My chest was so tight I could barely breathe. Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I willed them away. I needed to stay strong. Fierce. Not let the psychopath know I was terrified.
I clutched the lectern harder to maintain my balance. My head was spinning. Think, Jen, think!
Then blink. A light bulb went off.
“Krystal, if it’s money you want, let me get my checkbook. I’ll give you anything you want.” My secret plan was to go to my bedroom and ret
rieve not only a check from my backpack, but also my secret weapon. My pepper spray, something I always carried with me . . . ever since her sicko brother almost raped me in college. I’d hand her the check and catching her off guard, spray her in the face with the blinding aerosol. Then escape as fast as I could.
Scout’s incessant barking sounded in the distance. Another thought came to me. I could let him out of the bedroom with the hope he’d attack her. But on second thought, it was too risky. What if she shot him first? I shuddered at that possibility and quickly quashed it.
Mulling over my offer, the madwoman narrowed her eyes at me and sneered. “You fucking rich, entitled bitches. You think everything can go away by throwing money on the table. That’s not going to work with me. I’m not after your worthless money.”
So much for Plan A. I didn’t have a Plan B. There was no reasoning with this crazed woman. My thudding heart was in my throat, my voice thick with fear.
“Krystal, what do you want?”
“It’s simple. I want you to read the speech I’ve written and confess that you killed my brother. And don’t leave out any bloody detail. Then, I’m going to upload it to YouTube for the whole world to view. By the time it goes viral, you won’t be here.”
Shaking, I processed her words. It boiled down to this: she was going to kill me! Bile rose to the back of my throat; my stomach twisted. I thought I might vomit.
“You’re never going to get away with this!”
She scoffed at me. “You think I’m going to kill you?”
I swallowed hard past the golf ball-size lump in my throat. A cold shiver ran down the length of my spine. I couldn’t get a word out if I tried.
“Let me answer that question for you, Jennifer. I’m not going to kill you.”’
The tiniest sigh of relief spilled from my lungs. I inhaled and exhaled from my nose. Breathe in one . . . two . . . three. Breathe out one . . . two . . . three.
“What are you doing?” she snapped.
“Your breathing exercise. To calm myself.”
She snorted. “So, you’ve actually learned something. Touché.”
I’d also learned that perception was everything. I was going to play along with her sick game, whatever that was.
“Krystal, I’d like to read over the speech you prepared. So I don’t screw it up.” And can buy myself some time, I added silently.
“Fine.” She fired the word at me. Better that than the gun. “I’ll give you two minutes. That’s it.”
“Thank you,” I murmured as she programmed the teleprompter. In the background, Scout was still barking madly and I could hear him scratching at the bedroom door.
“I wish you could shut up that awful beast,” Krystal growled. “I don’t know how you can concentrate. I should just put him down. Silence him forever.”
“Please don’t hurt him! He’s just a puppy.”
“Shut up, slut! Focus!”
My gaze returned to the teleprompter. As my eyes darted back and forth between the two screens, the shocking reality of what she was going to do to me hit me like a rockslide. Fast and hard. The terrifying bottom line: she was going to kill me! Except she was going to make it appear to be a suicide. I’d admit to destroying her brother, taking his life, and then stare straight into the camera and say I could no longer live with my all-consuming guilt. I’d do a final tearful apology before the screen went black.
Then bang! A bullet to my head. Fired by Krystal!
“Time’s up,” I heard her say and caught her glancing down at her gold watch. The gun was still in her hand, aimed at me. I could already hear the blast in my head and then out of the blue, the words of Blake’s shrewd father whirled in my head. Ones he attributed to making him to one of the most powerful and successful businessmen in the world.
You gotta fight fire with fire.
I had no choice. Maybe it was going to work, maybe it wasn’t. I was going to fight crazy with crazy.
“I’m ready,” I said in my strongest voice. Ready or not, here I come. My beloved father’s voice echoed in my head. The words he always said when we played hide-and-seek. I was playing a whole new game. Go for It!
Uncrossing her ankles, Krystal began to tap one of her stilettos on the hardwood floor. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Drowning out the sound of Scout’s barking. Woof, woof, woof, woof. And my thudding heart. Thump, thump, thump, thump.
My eyes met hers. “I’m going to start from the top, if that’s okay with you.”
She grinned wickedly, her evil smile reminiscent of her brother’s. “An excellent idea. It’ll make the speech way more coherent and easier to edit.”
Fortifying myself with another lungful of air, I began, repeating back the first two lines of the speech she’d written.
Then . . .
“I’m standing here before Krystal Clare Springer, a mentally disturbed woman, who is pointing a gun at me with the intention of shooting me. She is blaming me for the death of her brother, Don Springer, a sick evil man who sexually assaulted me. On more than one occasion. I did not kill him! He tried to kill me! If you don’t believe me, contact the Los Angeles Police Department. It’s all on file. You must believe—”
She cut me off. Sharp, fast, and furious. Her cheeks burning crimson, she parroted my earlier words.
“That’s not what I wrote!”
My eyes shot up and then they grew wide. One of my hands flew to my mouth.
My heart skipped a beat.
Oh my God! I couldn’t believe it.
Chapter 23
Blake
Jesus. What clusterfuck had I just walked into? What the hell was my wife saying? And why?
I stopped dead in my tracks and about twenty feet away, my gaze met Jen’s. A mixture of terror and surprise flickered in her eyes; her jaw hung open, and she was white as a ghost.
Still holding my leather overnight bag, I took in my surroundings. The lectern with my frightened wife standing behind it . . . the video equipment . . . the teleprompter . . . and a woman with an auburn bob who was seated in an armchair, her back to me. In the background, I could hear Scout barking madly and scratching at something. He must be locked up in our bedroom.
“Jen, what’s going on?” I tried to keep my voice steady. Keep my cool.
Before she could utter a word, the mysterious woman jerked her head and glared at me. Venom poured from her eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I live here, lady. Who the fuck are you? That’s what I wanted to say, but Jen stopped me.
“Blake, she’s Don Springer’s sister and she has a gun!”
As Jen’s words sunk in, the woman sprung to her feet. Facing me. The gun in her hand, pointed at me. “And, you’re Blake. The slut’s husband.”
I didn’t acknowledge her. My pulse in overdrive, I instead replayed fragments of Jen’s speech I’d just heard in my head. A mentally disturbed woman . . . she is blaming me for the death of her brother.
Not moving a muscle, I stared at her straight in the eye. “Krystal, you’ve got it wrong. My wife didn’t kill your brother.” A pregnant pause. “I did! It’s me you want!”
“No, Blake!” Jen screamed out as Krystal pondered my words. She gave my tiger a sideways glance and then, with a sneer, refocused on me. A witch-like cackle accompanied her wicked smile.
“Maybe I should just shoot you both.”
“You won’t get away with this! Walk away, and we’ll pretend this never happened.” I was lying through my teeth. I was going to put this woman away. I swear over my dead body.
She snorted. “Seriously, Blake, do you think I’m that stupid? I honestly pegged you for being a lot smarter than you are. You stupid fuck!”
“We’ll even give you a million dollars in cash. Anything you want!” Panic began to fill my voice.
With a look of contempt, she rolled her eyes. “You’re just like your pathetic whore wife. Thinking money is the answer to all your problems.” She paused, and her voice grew
louder and angrier by decibels. “All the money in the world can’t bring back my brother, you fuckshit!”
My heart hammered; my mind raced. She was smart. She was determined. She was irrational. A bona fide psycho bitch.
As I frantically pondered a new tactic, she brandished the gun in Jen’s direction, then mine. “Eenie, meenie, minie, moe. Hmm . . . who should go first?” Lifting her free hand, she pressed her thumb under her chin and tapped her zip-locked lips with her index finger. She was either stalling or thinking. Time was running out. I had to make a move. Come up with something.
Still dangling from my hand, the weight of my heavy overnight bag was making my arm ache. A momentary distraction, but suddenly—bing!—an idea came to me. It was worth a shot. Even if it meant dislocating my shoulder. With a fortifying breath, I lifted up the bag, and with a grunt and all the muscle power I had, flung it twenty feet across the room at the pyscho.
“Huh!” groaned the stunned Krystal as it struck her in the chest, knocking her to the floor. And the gun out of her hand. I couldn’t believe my luck! I should have been an Olympic discus thrower.
“Run, Jen!” I screamed out as the disoriented woman crouched on the floor. Dazed and confused, clutching her chest. The gun by her side, a hand’s reach away.
My heart pounding against my chest like a jackhammer, my eyes stayed fixed on my tiger as she leaped from behind the lectern and took off like the wind. Thank goodness, she’d taken up running since being with me.
“Run, baby, run!” I shouted as I ran to meet her halfway. In my peripheral vision, I could see Krystal scrambling to get up, the gun back in her hand. “Hurry!”
Then before I could blink, the unexpected happened.
“Jen!” I cried out as I watched her trip with a gasp and go flying across the floor. My Calamity Jen! Her goddamn heel had gotten caught in one of the teleprompter’s cable wires.
THAT MAN 8 Page 11
