"Have you told this to the police?" asked
Dotty, still expressionless and cold.
"No," Clarissa admitted. "I don't know what to
do. I just want to get away from Morgan." It felt good to unburden
herself. So much so that she suddenly felt emotionally and
physically spent. Her eyelids felt heavy and she wanted to lay
down. She forced them open. She had to escape and tonight. Sleep
could wait.
"You're safe here, Sally, Clarissa, I'm
sorry," Dotty cooed in her missionary voice. "Why don't you try to
get a little rest? I still have to deliver that baby formula next
door. I'll bring my car around back and come up and get you. We'll
go to your friend’s condo and then I want you to meet a friend of
mine at the county hospital. His name is Doctor
Marenco."
"You don't believe me!" Clarissa shouted at
the woman.
"Of course I do," she said softly. "But you've
been under a great deal of stress, especially if what you just told
me is true. I'll only be about a fifteen minutes or so. Try to
rest."
"Dotty, please help me."
"I'll be back in a little while."
"I have to get out tonight. They know I'm
here. Please come back as soon as you can." Clarissa stifled a
yawn. Dotty had been right. She had not realized the stress of the
last few days and it was beginning to catch up with her. Clarissa
yawned again. She did not remember ever being so tired. Her whole
body felt like lead.
"I will.
"Come back, Dotty. I'll be ready to go."
Clarissa closed her eyes and Dotty eased her head down on the
pillow and lifted her legs onto the bed. The missionary pulled a
blanket up over Clarissa legs, then screwed the lid back on the
thermos. "The coffee....Dotty, I think the coffee....."
Dotty picked up the Styrofoam cup and threw it
in the trash can under the metal desk.
"It's empty, Clarissa. I'm going now. Are you
sure you can go tonight? You look awfully tired. Maybe I should
come back in the morning. I could bring you some
breakfast."
"No, wait," Clarissa feebly groped for Dotty's
hand but her arm would not respond. It fell back to the bed with a
thump. Dotty smiled down at her. "I have to get out
tonight."
"Of course, dear. Rest now." Clarissa did not
stir. "Clarissa? Sally?" Dotty tucked the thermos in the crook of
her arm and hoisted her heavy purse onto her shoulder. "Quite an
imagination you got there, young lady. Good night."
CHAPTER 11
Dusty ran his hand up under the green plastic
visor and scratched his brow thoughtfully. He poured over the
racing form and erased his first choices and marked new ones for
each of the eight races. Then he erased those and stared at the
form perplexed. When he looked up, Rowland was standing at the desk
smiling.
"Granville's Epic in the fourth to win,"
Rowland said. "Best bet."
"What do you know about Merlin's Legacy in the
third?" Dusty asked.
"To show maybe," Rowland said scratching his
stubbly chin. "I'd go for Don't Flinch to win. Sire was Delicate
Choice. Won at Churchill Downs awhile back. Jockey is Ed Cavanaugh.
He's a kid but damn good."
"You're back early, Row."
"Stu fell asleep."
"You going to the track Wednesday?"
"I think I just might, this time," Rowland
grinned. "You want to go with us? Senior citizens from the church
is going on the bus."
"It's my day off," Dusty sighed. "Been a long
time for you ain't it, Row? You don't out to the track much
anymore."
"Too long away from the horses. I got to
thinkin' about 'em last night. Thought I might like to seem again
instead of on the TV."
"You had a way with them."
"Say, that blond girl, Sally Dugan. She gone
out?"
"Can't say I saw her," Dusty
replied.
"She ain't in her room," said Rowland. "She
usually goes to the kitchen with me at supper time. I knocked on
her door but there was no answer."
"She was asking about you this morning," Dusty
told him. "Told her you went over to see Stewart. How is
Stu?"
"Getting along. Granddaughter came to visit
him for the first time in a year. All he can talk about. Probably
give him enough to gab about for another year. If you see Miss
Dugan, tell her I'm in my room. If she wants to go to the kitchen
with me, give a knock on my door 'bout seven thirty. Tell her the
dinner tonight is roast beef and macaroni and cheese."
"I'll tell her, Row," Dusty said as he went
back to his selections. “Looks like the sky is cloudin’’ up again.
Take your umbrella if you’re going to the Kitchen.”
"Took me one of them grocery carts from the
back alley," Rowland grinned. "Used it to take my laundry down to
the laundromat. Got it up in my room still."
"Put it back so someone else can use
it."
"Always do, Dusty. Takes me awhile, but I
always do."
Rowland tipped his fedora at Graciella Santos
as she struggled to drag her cart of rags in through the front
door. She pulled a purple shawl tighter around her with a black
gloved hand.
"There's a new face," he said to
Dusty.
"They come, they go," Dusty sighed.
"Evening," Rowland said politely but his
courtesy was met with only a sullen glare from the dark haired
woman. Only when she turned back toward the stairs was there a
subtle smile on her lips.
"Hola, Senora Santos," Dusty called to her as
she headed for the stairs. "Que pasa? You got quite a haul
there."
"Hola, Senor," she replied under her breath
and kept her eyes on the stairs. "Si, trabajo mucho.”
"What have you all got there?"
"De todo un poco," Mrs. Santos replied curtly.
"A little of everything."
"Looks like another storm," Dusty commented.
"We sure do need this rain."
"Si," she replied quietly without looking up
from lifting the cart of old clothes up the stairs.
"Senora, did an inspector from the county look
at your room today?"
"No," Graciella said. "Nobody come. Nobody all
day."
"Buenos noches, senora," Dusty
called.
"I'm going up, too," Rowland said.
"Dinner time for me," Dusty muttered. "See ya,
Row." He closed the opening in the wire mesh, folded the racing
form, and went back into his office.
Light from the windows of the apartment
building next door to the Hempstead Hotel glared into Clarissa's
dark room. It threw mottled, rain spattered shadows that ran down
the wall above her bed as she slept. Her restless slumber was
needled with fitful dreams, dark and nightmarish. Distant thunder
rolled and Clarissa stirred.
"Clarissa." The sound was a faint whisper
through the fog, like the hiss of a swirling mist. It was just the
hint of her name, and by the time it reached her conscious mind
there was doubt that the sound had ever been there at
all.
"Clarissa." Her mind reached out toward the
sound and the familiar voice. She struggled through the cobwebs of
languor, her mind slow and reluctant. It was her name. Someone was
calling her from far away. They were looking for her. She was
running, but from whom? There was no place to hide and she could
hear other sounds. Footsteps behind her. A hollow thumping like a
heart beating from terror. The sensation of trying to run but her
feet were stuck in the mire. Blind terror, shapes behind her in the
fog, coming closer. Attempting to run, willing her feet, one foot
then the other. Not fast enough.
"Clarissa." A man's voice, calling, shouting.
If they found her they would kill her. She was lost and the panic
was agony. Her fingertips groped at the heavy curtain of mist,
fighting her way through, tearing at fragments of fear. She could
hear his voice, thick and distorted, but vaguely familiar. Hands
reached for her, grasping, snatching at her clothes. She stumbled
and clawed her way to her feet. She had to escape, had to get away.
Faces leered through the fog; Morgan's evil stare; Marco's
grinning, twisted smile. Clarissa heard her name again, closer this
time. She stopped to listen.
"Hugo!" she screamed and her eyes snapped
open.
The bed beneath her was soaked with her sweat
and her heart was still pounding. "Hugo," she breathed softly,
listening for the voice to call her name. The tiny room was still
except for the pattering of rain and the occasional clap of
thunder.
She was supposed to be somewhere, meet
someone. A car was waiting somewhere to take her some place
important, but Clarissa could not remember who or where. Her mind
refused to clear and her thoughts were just a jumble of random
ideas, vague and distant, like the scattered pieces of a jigsaw
puzzle.
She tried to focus on the wire covered clock
on the wall but when she did there was a blinding, stabbing pain
behind her eyes and squeezing them shut again was a welcome relief.
She wanted to sleep but was afraid of the nightmares. She needed to
get up, to move, but couldn't remember why.
"Clarissa!" the voice was a sharp hiss that
filled the room.
"Hugo, I’m here," Clarissa said and forced her
eyes open. The room was empty. "Hugo?"
She struggled into a sitting position on the
bed, her arms holding her up. The room swam before her eyes, the
walls elongating and contracting as she forced herself to her feet.
Someone was waiting for her. Hugo? No, someone else, but she could
not remember who. Her knees felt wobbly and weak and she fell back
onto the bed, resting her aching head in her hands. Rubbing her
temples seemed to help a little, but did nothing to clear her
fogged brain.
"Where are you, Hugo?" she tried to call out.
"Please answer me. Where are you?"
"Clarissa."
The voice was coming from the hallway. Maybe
it wasn't Hugo after all. Maybe it was Rowland. That's who she had
been waiting for. Rowland. Dinner at the church. She was pleased
that she could form a complete thought that made some
sense.
"Rowland," she called out feebly. "I'm here.
I'm here. I'll go with you. Rowland?"
She took another stab at standing and was more
successful that time. She took a faltering step toward the door and
pitched forward, catching herself on a chair. She aimed one hand in
the general direction of the door and caught the knob. Holding on
tight, she slipped back the dead bolt and opened the
door.
Her stomach heaved as she peered down the
undulating hallway. The floor tiles rose up in a sea of waves
toward her. Clarissa clutched the door jamb with both hands and
closed her eyes against the pitch and toss of the floor. By sheer
will her stomach relaxed and she forced down the rising bile in her
throat. When she opened her eyes again he was there, just starting
to descend the stairs. He was dressed to go to dinner in his fedora
and tweed jacket.
"Rowland!" she called but her throat was
parched and dry and all that came out was a raspy murmur. Rowland
did not hear her. He would go to the church kitchen without her.
She had to follow him.
She took one halting step into the hall,
testing for motion. Her foot remained firm until she opened her
eyes. The hall rolled toward her and the walls seemed to stretch up
and away until Clarissa thought that they would tear.
She caught her breath and planted her feet
wide to keep her balance. Rowland would wait for her in the lobby
as he had done the past couple of nights. If she hurried, Clarissa
would catch up to him downstairs. Where were the stairs? The
hallway was so much longer than she remembered. It seemed to be a
least two blocks long. It made her laugh and she giggled. She would
have to walk two blocks down the heaving hallway just to get to the
stairs. This damn place should at least provide a boat.
The idea struck her so funny that she
collapsed laughing. Tears ran down her cheeks and her sides ached.
Her hysterical cackling echoed down the hallway and came back in a
distortion of her name.
"Clarissa. Clarissa. Come to dinner, Clarissa.
Come to the church."
It sobered her and she tried unsuccessfully to
stand.
"Who's there?" she cried. "Who are you?
Rowland? Damn you, answer me. Where are you?"
Clarissa clawed her way up the wall until she
was on her feet. A sudden gust of wind slammed shut her door and
jolted her to scream. A streak of lightning from a window at the
end of the hall lit the hallway in stark white light and made the
shadows jump at her. She cowered against the wall, digging her
broken fingernails into her palms until they bled.
She had to get to the stairs, to God's Kitchen
and to Rowland. He would protect her. He would take her out of this
heaving hell and drive her to Virginia's. There was something not
right about that thought but she could not remember exactly what.
Someone was going to take her to Virginia's to get her engagement
ring. The diamonds. The necklace. Morgan Wolfe.
The sudden terror of that name cut like a
saber through the chaotic fragments of Clarissa's murky reality.
For a fraction of a second Clarissa's mind cleared and everything
fell neatly into place. Byron Roth's murder, Morgan's eyes as he
saw her in the window. Her escape from Marco, Virginia stripping
her of everything, an axe falling on her fingers. The Hempstead
Hotel, Rowland, Dusty, and Randy. Then the curtain closed like a
heavy drape and only an acute dread remained. She had to run. She
had to escape. They knew where she was hiding and they would kill
her.