Guardian Angel

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Is there a rear entrance?” he asked. He knew there had to be one for deliveries.

  No one spoke, but one of the assistants nodded his head to the left and Scott hurried to the door. It let out on a back street. He hurried down to the corner and turned right, making his way toward Olympic Boulevard. He remembered a gas station nearby and went directly to it. Even before he reached it, he called for a taxicab. Ten minutes later, the taxi dropped him off in front of a rental-car office and he went in and rented a sedan.

  He wasn’t that familiar with the street address Anderson had given him, so he was lost for a while and then finally found it. Nearly a half hour later, he pulled up across from the Wallace house, a small one-story with that dull pink stucco that characterized most of the low- to middle-income homes in the area. He recognized the pickup truck and saw a 2000 Ford that had some rust stains and dents, but he saw no yellow Corvette in the driveway or on the street.

  Now that I’m here, he thought, what the hell am I going to do?

  Again, he was extra careful about his speed on the 405 Freeway. Except for his mother’s stupid accident, everything had gone perfectly. Steve was always a believer in fate, in the idea that nothing is purely coincidental. All that had occurred involving Megan underscored this core belief. He saw patterns that made sense to him: He walks into a Beverly Hills hot spot for well-to-do men and women and finds himself directed immediately to Megan. The man who is annoying her provides an excellent opportunity for him to win her faith in him and eventually her love. Her difficult husband gives him the bigger opportunity by being so aggressive, hiring private detectives, barging in on her and threatening her.

  It all was falling into place, just as some divine design might. He had only one thing left to do: convince Megan it was all meant to be.

  Yes, he was sorry about his mother, but maybe she would have been an obstacle, and fate knew that. Fate took her out of the picture, he decided. Later, he’d pretend to come upon her and then call the police and tell them he’d found her dead. He was away for a while and hadn’t been in contact with her. Whatever. He wasn’t worried about that anymore.

  He glanced at Jennifer’s pajama top and then ran his right hand over it gently. Once Megan sees this, he thought, she will be most cooperative and the rest will be easy. He could see the three of them together, planning their future. He’d work harder than hell to get them everything they wanted. He’d even put up with crummy jobs and obnoxious contractors. Every time something unpleasant occurred, he would simply think about Megan and Jennifer and overcome it.

  His thoughts returned to the business at hand. A light drizzle had started. Sanchez had said there was some weather coming up from the south, but from what he had heard, it didn’t promise to be too serious. He regretted that an increase in the wind would rock the boat a bit and imagined Jennifer might get a little seasick. Then again, maybe she won’t, he thought. Maybe she was born to be on the sea, too.

  The cloud cover had brought evening down faster. It seemed like a curtain falling all around him. Car lights were brighter, and at times during his trip the drizzle became more intense. He was riding in and out of the cloudbursts and had to adjust his speed accordingly. What more terrible thing could occur than his being in some sort of automobile accident now? By the time he exited the freeway for Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, however, the rain had all but stopped. In fact, off to the west, he could see a break in the clouds. That was promising. It was as good as a rainbow to him. Cheered, he drove on and finally pulled into the visitors’ parking lot. With the pajama top under his arm, he hurried to the hospital’s front entrance.

  It wasn’t until he was on Megan’s floor that he realized there was a very good chance she wouldn’t be alone. Her sister at least would still be there. When he walked by her room and glanced in, he saw that not only was her sister there, but Tricia Morgan and two other women were too. Megan didn’t see him, but he had a good enough glimpse of her to conclude she was getting tired of her company. They wouldn’t be there much longer. He had no choice, however. He had to go back to the lobby and watch the elevator, keeping himself as unnoticeable as possible. Nearly an hour later, Tricia and the two women stepped out of the elevator, and a good fifteen minutes later Megan’s sister emerged. None of them saw him.

  Now was his time, his chance. He watched her sister leave the hospital and then moved quickly to the elevator. Moments later, he was on her floor. He saw a nurse go into her room and he waited in the hallway. As soon as she left, he headed for the room. Megan had her eyes closed and was lying back on her pillow when he entered. She didn’t hear him, but it wasn’t long before she sensed he was there and opened her eyes.

  It’s no accident that she feels my presence, he thought. We’re in tune with each other and will be forever.

  For a moment she had no expression and then she realized who it was and gave him what he treasured: a small but warm smile.

  “Oh, Steve. I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?”

  He nodded. “Not long. That’s all right. Do you have anything to wear?” he asked.

  “Wear? What do you mean?”

  “Wear. A dress, anything?”

  She widened her smile.

  “Why?”

  “You’re going somewhere,” he said.

  “Now?” She started to laugh.

  “Yes and believe me, you’re going to want to. You’re going to want to very, very much.”

  She pushed herself up on her elbows.

  “What is this?”

  He took Jennifer’s pajama top out from under his arm and handed it to her. She looked at it and then up at him quickly.

  “This is Jennifer’s.”

  “I know.”

  “How did you get it?”

  “Do you have something to wear?”

  “I have what I wore when they brought me here. It’s in the closet,” she said.

  He went to the closet and took out her skirt and blouse.

  “We’ll get the rest of your clothes later,” he said, turning back to her.

  “What’s going on, Steve? I don’t understand. How did you get this? Where do you want me to go?”

  “I know exactly where Jennifer is,” he said. “She won’t be happy unless you come with me. You want to see her and comfort her, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then trust me,” he said, handing her the clothes. “I’ll wait outside while you dress. Here are your shoes, too,” he added, placing them by the bed. “We’ve got to move as quickly as we can.”

  “But…why don’t we call the police?”

  “Think of Jennifer. The police, guns, strangers. You don’t want that, do you?”

  She looked at him askance.

  “Who took her? Was it Scott?”

  “Everything will become so clear so quickly,” he said. “Did I tell you more than once that I’d be your guardian angel or not? Haven’t I been there for you? I’m here for you now. It’s best if you get dressed and we leave without any fanfare. That will cause more commotion and more problems.”

  “I think I should call my sister,” she said. “She can come along.”

  “No. She doesn’t understand, couldn’t understand, what you and I can do together. She’d only…create some confusion.”

  He looked at her sharply and then at the phone by her bed.

  “I know what’s best for us right now,” he said, walked over to the phone, and ripped the wire out of the wall.

  Her eyes nearly exploded.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want you making any mistakes. I’ll be right outside the door. Hurry.” He picked up the pajama top. “You want to see her right away, don’t you? Well?”

  Megan nodded, but felt her throat tighten. What was this?

  He smiled, brushed her hair softly and then went to the door. He didn’t close it completely, so she could see him standing guard.

  Her guardian angel?<
br />
  Or what?

  She began to dress and couldn’t help but feel a bit wobbly. Managing, however, she went to the door.

  “What are we doing, Steve?” she asked, and he turned and smiled.

  “You look just fine,” he said. Then he took her arm. “We walk directly to the elevator as if nothing is unusual. It’s perfect. Two of the nurses are tending to patients and the one at the counter is busy. Just walk.”

  “But where?”

  “Don’t ask questions right now,” he ordered, his voice suddenly gruff.

  He tugged her forward and she went along. She was feeling quite nauseous, not only from her condition, but from her tension and fear. He was correct about the nurses, however. No one noticed them go to the elevators and the elevator door opened almost immediately after he pushed the button. He practically pulled her into it.

  She watched the doors close and then turned to him.

  “What now, Steve?”

  “Now? Now we go home,” he said.

  Scott got out of the rental car and slowly approached the front door. The house was totally dark, but maybe whoever was in the house was in the rear, in the only lit room or something, he thought, and then pushed the door buzzer. Tricia had said the man lived with his mother. Perhaps the Ford was hers. That could mean she would be home and could tell her where he was, at least. He waited and pushed the buzzer again. After the third time, he went to a front window and looked in.

  It was dark everywhere in side, but lighting from the house next door threw enough illumination through side windows to outline some of the interior. He could see well enough down the hallway and into what looked to be the kitchen. He wasn’t completely sure, but he thought he saw a woman’s legs. She was lying on the floor. He waited to see if she would move, but she didn’t. What was this? He remained there a while, listening for any sounds from inside. There were none.

  He looked around. The neighborhood was very quiet—not a car nor a pedestrian. A slight drizzle had begun. The street took on a sheen, and from what he could see on the cross street, traffic was thinning out a bit. He was as good as a ghost…but what to do now?

  He looked in the window again and strained to get a better view of the woman’s legs, which still had not moved. He returned to the front door and tried the buzzer twice more with the same result. He knocked and called.

  “Hello? Anyone home, please?”

  There was no response.

  He tried the front door, but it was locked, so he went around the left side of the house and came to what was a rear door. He tried this, but this door was locked, only not as securely, he thought. He rattled it and then, looking around first to be sure no one was watching, he hit the door with his left shoulder. He hit it three times before he heard the jamb crack. The door opened and no alarm sounded.

  His heart was thumping. Here he could be caught breaking and entering, and on top of everything else, he’d look more like a lunatic than anything. He paused to be sure no one nearby had heard anything. His neck was wet from the light rain and also from his own nervous sweat.

  What am I doing? he asked himself.

  This is the only lead you have toward any explanation, he answered.

  He entered the house.

  “Hello?” he called. “Mrs. Wallace?”

  He waited, heard nothing and moved through what was a small entry way and a back entrance to the kitchen. As quickly as he could, he found the light switch and flipped it. Then he stopped dead and froze like Lot’s wife in the Bible. For a few long moments, all he could do was gape at the woman sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood around her head, the stream thinning out as it moved and stopped near her arm.

  Except for a drip in the sink, there was no sound. If there was anyone else in the house, there was no sign he or she had heard him enter.

  “Mrs. Wallace?”

  He approached her and knelt beside her, taking her wrist into his hand. He didn’t have to check for a pulse. One look at her glassy eyes told him she was dead. He put her hand down and looked closer at her head. The gash in her temple was ugly. He stood up slowly and listened. The house remained silent. Apparently, there was no one else there.

  Of course, his first thought was to call the police. He had no idea what they would think, but this woman was dead. He wasn’t sure how long, but it looked as if she’d been dead a while. He turned toward the wall phone and paused to look at a note on the table. Slowly, he lifted it to read it.

  Would you please tell Mr. Lester that she wants her rag doll. He left it in his car and she’s getting sick over it. Please.

  It was as if the note were aflame, burning his fingers, and he dropped it to the table. He even took a step back. Those were the exact words Arlene Potter had quoted to the police, words meant to condemn him.

  Who were these people? Why were they doing this?

  Where’s Jennifer?

  He looked back at the dead woman and actually cried, “Where’s my daughter?” Did he expect she would enjoy a resurrection, sit up and confess?

  “Jennifer!” he screamed.

  He went quickly through the rest of the house, turning on lights and looking for her. He opened closets, checked the bathroom, even pulled the shower curtain open to look at the tub. There was no evidence of her anywhere. Then he returned to the kitchen and reread the note as if he had to reconfirm what he was seeing was real.

  He gazed at the dead woman.

  How did she get that horrible gash in her head? Could he somehow, someway, be blamed for this, too?

  He saw something else under the table. A wallet. He knelt down and picked it up. When he opened it, he felt the gasp in his chest as if he had developed a second mouth there.

  Ed Marcus’s wallet! They’d killed Ed Marcus, but here he was touching it. His prints were on it. He dropped it quickly.

  He was certainly gun-shy when it came to the police. This woman didn’t matter anymore anyway. She was dead. She couldn’t tell him or the police anything about Jennifer or about Ed Marcus. But there was one thing he had to do. He had to call Megan to let her know what he had discovered. He had to get her to see he wasn’t the monster she thought he was and that he was in pursuit of their daughter and her kidnapper, the man she apparently had trusted, who was obviously a murderer as well.

  And what about this man and his mother? If neither he nor his father had yet received a ransom note, what was the point of attacking Megan and taking Jennifer? What were they dealing with here? Megan had to talk to him now, had to tell him more about this man.

  He called the hospital and asked to be connected to her room. It rang and rang but she didn’t pick up, so he hung up and called the hospital again, describing his inability to reach his wife. The operator connected him to the nurse’s station on her floor.

  “I’ve been trying to reach my wife,” he said. “Her phone rings but she doesn’t answer. Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. Let me check to see what’s with her phone,” the nurse said. “Hold on.”

  He waited what seemed like an eternity but was really only four or five minutes. When the nurse returned to the phone, he heard her note of panic.

  “Your wife isn’t in the room, Mr. Lester, and someone tore the phone out of the wall. I’ve called security and we’re calling your wife’s doctor.”

  “What? Oh, God,” he said.

  He hung up and spun around. For a few moments, he was unable to think, even to move. Fear and indecision planted him to the kitchen floor. The sight of the dead woman seemed to hollow out his heart. He took a deep breath and told himself to get a hold of himself. This was no time to have a panic attack, no time to be the son his father thought he was.

  As calmly as he could, he reviewed the information Anderson had given him. One thing stuck in his mind: that reference to Wallace’s wife, Julia, who had drowned, and her being Megan’s age. Of course, it made no sense to dote on that coincidence. What was Wallace, a serial killer who only went after women o
f a specific age? But there was something about it, something else that could be a big lead.

  The man had a boat, what Anderson had described as a yacht. People could live on yachts. That made the most sense right now, he thought. He went into what was clearly Steve Wallace’s room and began a rigorous search of anything and everything. He was looking for one thing in particular and when he found some bills that gave him the dock information he sought, he charged out the same back door he had broken through and ran around to the front of the house.

  The street was as quiet and deserted as before. The rain shower had stopped. It was as if all the houses had dead people in them. Maybe it was good that no one had seen him arrive and leave. Suddenly, though, a house door opened and closed. He heard a man and woman talking. They got into their car, backed out of their driveway and started away. He hoped neither of them had noticed his rental car. He had kept well in the shadows, so he felt confident they hadn’t seen him.

  It was only after he got into his car and started away, however, that he again realized his fingerprints were all over the place back there where a woman lay dead-on the wallet, the phone, everywhere.

  Anyone would think he had killed her for revenge.

  He almost wished he had.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Megan couldn’t believe how exhausted she was by the time they reached Steve’s yellow Corvette. He opened the door for her and then lowered the back of the seat so she could lie back. He returned to sounding soft and concerned, making sure she was comfortable and that she had her seat belt on. Then he hurried around, got in, started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. She kept her eyes closed and tried to get her bearings and drive down the nausea.

  “Are you going to explain all this to me, Steve?”

  “Oh sure. I knew from the very moment I set eyes on you, Megan, that you needed me,” he said. “I certainly needed you,” he added, turning to her and smiling. “You know, sometimes it just takes some people longer to find the one who they belong with. Many people, most in fact, make mistakes along the way. I did. My first wife was one big mistake. She had me fooled. I thought she wanted all the things I wanted.