Ghosted (3 page)

4

Cold wind ruffles my hair and I stand outside
the hotel. I wait for my car to be delivered. The valet assures me
the Blacks are covering the bill. I keep my hands in my jeans
pocket to keep warm. A black Mercedes pulls into the semi-circular
drive. The valets sprint into action. The window lowers and the
uniformed guy that took my car converses with the driver of the
luxury car. A few head nods and he returns to his
station.

The Mercedes eases around the drive to where I
stand. I move behind one of the tall, square columns to ease the
brush of the wind. In doing so I see the driver of the Mercedes
clearly because he lowers the passenger window.

There is no mistaking what I see.

That is the attacker, the one who tried to
rape Caroline.

I stare at him and step further back into the
shadows. A luggage trolley sits to my right, burdened with a
family's baggage. I hide behind it and watch in surprise as Mr.
Black exits the building and strides purposefully to the Mercedes.
He bends down and peers through the passenger side window as I
strain to hear them and watch through a gap between brown, leather
bags.

"…stupid!" Mr. Black says. "And now you show
up here?"

If the attacker / driver speaks, his voice is
lost to me in the ambient noise of the driveway.

"No but he got a good look at you. He's going
to the police tomorrow to give a description."

Panic increases the beat of my heart as it
pounds against my chest. He's talking about me! And it's now
obvious to me Caroline's father knows about the attack. And he is a
part of it. Anger taints the panic I feel. How dare this man accuse
me in front of the police!

I quiet my inner drama so I can hear Mr.
Black's words. He straightens as he looks around the entrance and I
duck behind the trolley. I count to ten and look back through my
portal.

"…appear to be here. He's probably already on
his way back to his house." He takes something from his jacket
pocket and reaches into the open window. "This is his address. Make
it look like an accident. And then we try again tomorrow." Mr.
Black straightens and turns just as my car is brought into the
light.

There is no mistaking what I hear. Mr. Black
is telling this man, this attacker, to find me and make it look
like an accident. It doesn't take rocket science to know that it
means. He wants me dead because I saw this man in the Mercedes. And
even more alarming…I thwarted what I believe now was to be a
murder.

"Sir?"

The valet sees me behind the trolley and
points to my car. Mr. Black stands outside the Mercedes. Is he
watching my car? Or am I just paranoid? I am unsure where to go or
what to do. I can't go back inside, that would be the equivalent of
stepping into the lion's den. I believe this man is trying to kill
his daughter and he is doing it in a degrading manner—but I need
proof of this. I need my car to escape.

The valet comes toward me.

I look from the trolley to my car. If I move,
Mr. Black will see me. And I believe he will know I heard him. Not
only is Caroline's life in danger, so is my own.

But I need my car.

A sports car barrels into the drive. Music
blares from open windows and a passenger hangs out the window and
gestures to the valet. "Yo—G!"

As everyone's attention focuses on the
disruption I move hurriedly to my car. I keep my head down and do
not look at the Mercedes or Mr. Black as I get in. The key is in
the ignition. I crank the car as a small crowd of apartment staff
step out of the entrance and converge on the disruption.

I hold my breath as I inch forward and one of
the valets clears the traffic of onlookers and cars to allow my
passage. I do not know if Mr. Black or the attacker see me leave
and I don't look back. I turn right onto the highway and travel in
the opposite direction of my home.

I white knuckle the steering wheel as I
wrestle control of my thoughts and try quieting the pounding in my
chest. I know on an intellectual level that driving in this
direction is pointless, since the police know where I live because
I gave them the information. I wonder if I'm not simply blowing
things out of proportion. Mr. Black and the attacker never said my
name. I have no proof they were talking about me.

But logic kills my internal attempts to
downplay my panic. I saw the man's face when the mask came off. The
same face drove that Mercedes. Caroline's father knows
him.

All of these facts terrify me. I make a few
turns and head to Chloe's loft. There is the chance they won't find
me at first because I'm not registered by that address. I have a PO
box for mail. Not because I like to hide myself, but because for
years I traveled around and it was easier to have a place for
friends and family to find me.

As I drive I keep my speed even, but not
slow.

I pull into the garage as the door lifts. Once
the door is down, anyone passing by won't realize the wooden facade
is an actual carport, engineered and made by me for Chloe. I check
the alarm—everything is still set.

I disarm, and then re-arm in dwelling mode so
I won't set it off. The place still smells like Chinese food when I
enter, but I know that no one else has been inside since Caroline
and I left.

Caroline.

She needs to know she's still in danger. Will
she believe me? I ask myself this as I grab my old duffle bag and
shove clothing inside of it. I take the cash I've saved for the
past five months as well as my own valuables. I remove anything
that connects my name with the apartment. Thoughts of Caroline war
in my head with thoughts of escape. Survival.

I did a good thing and now I'm
running for my life.

As always…no good deed.

I make plans to find a hotel
outside the city and find a way to contact Caroline. I have to warn
her. I have to keep her safe. A thought comes to me to call the
police and tell them I saw her attacker speaking to Mr. Black. I
silence the thought because I am afraid. The Blacks have money…no,
the Blacks
are
money. And I am no one. I'm just ordinary. And ordinary never
really has power.

The thought returns as I pack my car. I think
of Detective Hernandez. Of the ones standing in that room, he is my
choice. I must reach out to someone, if no other reason to protect
Caroline.

His card is in my jeans and I look for my
phone. I placed it in my jacket in the alley. I find the jacket in
Chloe's room and my phone on the bed. I dial the card's number and
wait.

"Central Station, Officer Hotes
speaking."

I swallow and take a deep breath. "Is
Detective Hernandez available?"

"He's on duty. But I can route you to his
voicemail…unless I can help you?"

"Voice mail. I can do voice mail."

"One moment."

But voicemail does not answer the phone. A
woman's voice does. "Detective Pellis."

I am not sure what to say.

"Hello? I can hear you breathing."

"I—I was going to leave a message for
Hernandez?"

"Oh yeah…I picked up his phone. But I'm here.
I can take it down."

I pause again.

"Look, he'll get it faster if you give it to
me."

"Tell him Dan called…and I saw the attacker
talking to Mr. Black. Tell him…tell him Caroline's still in
danger."

"Wow…that's cryptic. You care to
elaborate—wait a sec. Mr. Black?
The
Mr. Gerome Black?"

I start to disconnect.

"Hey! Talk to me. I heard about the attack and
but I'm benched and I couldn't go check it out. How are you
involved? Are you saying he was actually talking to the guy that
attacked his daughter?"

"Yes. Please…we're both in danger. Just tell
Hernandez." Time to go. I disconnect and shut my phone off. I
tremble as I finish loading the car. At last I am done but I do not
know if the one in the Mercedes is close. Chloe's security has
cameras, but they are limited in their focus. I turn on the
monitors in her room. The front door is clear. So is the garage.
But I can't see the back. The alley. I want to leave through the
alley in case they watch the front.

But without knowing, I don't take a
chance.

I get in my car. It cranks easily. I need gas
because there is half a tank, and it will take more to reach the
border. I lock the doors and press the remote button clipped to my
visor. The door opens.

No one greets me. I wait a few beats before I
ease the car forward and onto the street. I watch the door close in
the rear view mirror.

I believe I am safe.

I have never been so wrong.

5

Cold water drips from a wide pipe above me. It
strikes the cold ground beside me and I hear its tap. I stare up at
the monochromatic sky. I have no memory of the rain, but the clouds
look filled with it. My head aches as I reach up to touch it. My
skin is hot and my hand, cold. My thoughts center around a series
of questions.

Where am I?

Why am I?

How…am I?

A flash of light blinds me, but I know the
images are in my mind. It's a memory. And as I lay watching the
sky, more memories return. I see the attacker's face again, only it
comes for me. I fight as if my life depends on it—but I
fail.

And now I am alone.

I sit up and look around. I don't recognize
anything at first. It's as if my mind is a blank white table, with
only a few pictures here and there. Then slowly as I watch, the
table fills and I remember…

Caroline!

I'm running down the street and the ditch I
woke in is gone. Is this a dream? I have no memory of running out
of the ditch to the street. I stand in front of Chloe's apartment.
Police surround the building. I see Detective Hernandez and run to
him. "Detective!"

He does not look up at me. He turns as a young
woman approaches and hands him a clipboard.

"Detective Hernandez," I say breathlessly as I
stop in front of him. "What's going on? What happened in the
apartment?"

He does not look at me. I reach to touch
him—and my hand passes through.

Hernandez shivers and looks around as if an
icy breeze has touched him. I try again, and again, my hand passes
through him. My actions make him uneasy and he moves away. I touch
another officer in uniform—my hand passes through. He moves back as
well.

I look down at myself. My head aches. The pain
is a dull throb that follows me. I still wear the clothes I put on
to take Caroline home. The sky is still gray. Rain drizzles around
us. The officers wear raincoats and plastic on their
hats.

I'm not wet.

Not a drop.

I drop to my knees as I realize no one sees
me. I'm not really here.

"Chadwick? Make sure you sweep the owner's
bedroom. Her drawers and closet look ransacked, as if someone was
looking for something. Oh and make sure to tell Ritz the minute he
gets a hit off the kid's cell phone."

"Hey Jesus?" A tall, thin blond woman in a
suit jacket and dress pants strides with purpose towards him. I
stand close to him, unsure of what's happening or what I should
do.

Am I dead?

Am I dreaming?

Why can't I remember everything? The little
pictures on my desk stop when I see the headlights. Was it the man
in the Mercedes?

And if I'm dead…where is my body?

Hernandez sighs. I hear the frustration and
exhaustion in that single exhale of air. "Pellis—what are you doing
here?"

Pellis?

This is the woman I spoke to before I left.
She looks nothing like the vague image my imagination built in our
brief conversation. Her features are hawkish, thin like her body.
She looks stretched, as if her skin did not keep up with a final
growth spirt. Her eyes are so blue they look washed out.

She holds up her hand. "Don't start with me. I
know I'm in violation of my probation, but you're not answering
your phone."

"So?"

Pellis puts her hands on her hips. "About
midnight last night you got a call from a kid named Dan Grant. He
wanted to talk to you."

Her revelation seems to change everything.
Hernandez lowers the clipboard. "He called me? What'd he say? Are
you sure it was midnight?"

"Yes. I documented everything. He
sounded…upset. Worried. He wanted me to tell you that he saw Mr.
Black talking with the guy that attacked Caroline
Black."

I watch Hernandez's reaction. It is
surprisingly calm. He puts his hand on her upper arm and drops his
voice. "Tell me exactly what he said."

"He said that Caroline and he were in danger."
She frowns at him. "He was supposed to come in and give a
description of the attacker, right? But we never got
it?"