Authors: Yvonne Harriott
“Really mother,” Monika said. “It’s just one day. I promised.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. You should have consulted with us first.” Her mother looked at her father, who nodded in agreement. “She’s sick, Monika and this is where she belongs. Here she can get the help she needs. Remember what happened with that boy?”
“That wasn’t my fault mom. He tried to—”
“They were friends of ours which we lost because of your lies. You’ll stay right where you are, where you belong with your kind.”
“Monika you promised,” she cried. “I took all my meds. You promised.”
“I’m sorry,” Monika said and mom pulled her out of the room. She needed their money to pay for the wedding. That was how their parents controlled them with money.
Dad stayed back in the room. He took her hand and stroked it. “You know I love you, don’t you? I’m the only one that loves you just the way you are. It’s best that you stay here for now as your mother suggested. After the wedding, you can come home for a weekend and we’ll see how it goes.”
She dragged her hand away. “Get out!”
Three weeks later Monika returned after the wedding and honeymoon with pictures. The wedding she wasn’t allowed to attend. Her mother had said she couldn’t go because she would bring shame upon her family. Everyone was at the wedding except for her. There were pictures in the society pages the following day with people she didn’t recognize.
She hated her parents. When she’d called to inform them of Monika’s death they had told her back then they wanted nothing to do with her unless she was back at the hospital.
Her father had given her another option. She could come home, but she knew what that meant. There was one way she could go home. No. Don’t think about it. She would never go back to that house.
Since she had chosen none of her parent’s option, she couldn’t touch her trust fund. They had taken away her money because they couldn’t break her. She didn’t need their money. She was a survivor.
Monika didn’t know what the word survivor meant. She’d allowed Dalton Beck to use her and then discard her like trash. Well, he wouldn’t get away with throwing her aside and replacing her.
“He will pay,” she vowed as she packed. Throwing a couple of jeans and T-shirts in a backpack, she headed to her office to grab the laptop.
Phoenix looked at Malcolm slumped over in the chair, he was barely breathing. His role was complete. By the time anyone found him or Sydney they would be dead.
Placing the laptop carefully in the backpack, she took the only picture she had kept of Monika, tossed it in the wastebasket and headed out the front door. She had no one.
Stepping out onto the sidewalk into the bustle of Chinatown, she put on her sunglasses. Chinatown was located in downtown Boston. One of the reasons she liked Chinatown was because people minded their own business especially where she lived. They didn’t look at you unless you talked to them and she talked to no one unless they were a part of her plan.
Phoenix had chosen Chinatown because of its close proximity to Beck’s office. Now she would have to find another place to finish what she’d started.
What she needed was a place to regroup and she knew just where to go. If she were lucky, Marklynn Brooks would come to her.
• • •
Markie jumped out of Carlos’ Bronco when the vehicle screeched to a halt in front of a three-story apartment building. It had only taken ten minutes to arrive at Phoenix’s apartment, but it had seemed a lot longer with every stoplight and stop sign.
All she could think about was Sydney. What if she was too late? How would she live with herself? She had promised Nan and had made a promise to her parents that she would take care of Sydney. She couldn’t go back on her promise.
Three police cars with sirens blaring and two ambulances arrived at the same time. One of the cars blocked the street. She joined O’Malley, ready to enter the building but she had to wait for him to get organized. He was doing what he was trained to do but to her it was taking too long. They were wasting time.
“You two take the back entrance,” O’Malley pointed to two of the six uniformed officers that had gathered around him awaiting instructions. The two he’d given orders to sprinted down the alley to the rear of the building.
“You two,” he pointed to two of the four officers left, “stay here at the front entrance. No one enters or leaves the building until we’re done. As for you two,” he said to the last two officers. “You’re with me and Brooks. Someone get Brooks a vest.”
Markie thanked the officer who brought her the vest and secured it tightly around her torso with the wide Velcro straps. Markie checked her gun and nodded. She was ready and waiting for O’Malley.
The front entrance of the building was deserted. She didn’t see an elevator, just three flights of stairs through the large glass window to the left of the building.
“Beck, you and the Jolly Green giant
wait
here.”
Markie saw O’Malley motion to the officer he assigned to the door to ensure his orders were carried out.
“O’Malley—” Beck started to object.
“Brooks can handle herself and she is armed. This is as far as you go. Don’t make me sorry I allowed you to come along,” O’Malley warned.
Beck held up his hands and backed off. Markie could tell he wasn’t pleased but too bad. He can kick up a fuss, but he would be a lot safer away from that crazy woman. She didn’t want to worry about him getting hurt.
“When this is over we will talk.”
Breathing deep, she focused on the task ahead pushing Beck’s words and the disappointed look on his face from her mind.
“Markie?” Carlos shot her a questioning look ignoring O’Malley’s orders. He didn’t like being referred to as the
Jolly Green Giant
. Carlos’ face was set in a stubborn line. He was gearing up to enter the building with her despite O’Malley’s orders.
“Take care of him, Brooks or I’ll have him arrested,” O’Malley warned.
“It’s okay, Carlos. Stay put,” she laid a hand on his chest. “I’ll be fine.”
O’Malley turned the beak of his black cap to the back of his head and shouted, “Apartment 220. Let’s move!”
Feet pounded on the steps as they raced up the stairs. The two officers that were with them approached the door on the second floor. One was a blond jock O’Malley called Parker and the other a red-haired freckled face man who looked like he should still be playing in a sandbox, not cops and robbers. O’Malley called him
Opie
. Markie didn’t think it was his real name.
Parker opened the door on the second floor and they moved into the hallway of the unit. The once beige walls were now the same color as the worn out brown carpet.
The heavy food scent of something Markie didn’t recognize hit her right in the gut. She swallowed hard to keep her breakfast down.
Unit 220 was to the left of the stairwell door a few feet away. O’Malley followed the officers and she was right behind him.
“Clear,” Parker said chomping on a piece of gum he popped in his mouth. She wasn’t the only one trying to keep her breakfast down. They moved towards 220 with precision and speed. A man opened the door to exit his apartment unit across the hall and O’Malley waved him back inside.
“Police! We have a search warrant. Open the door!” The red-haired officer’s voice boomed in the corridor as he banged his fist on the door. What he lacked in appearance he definitely made up in lung power.
A crashing noise came from inside the apartment and the red-haired officer reared back and kicked the door in on O’Malley’s orders. Markie followed O’Malley when he entered the apartment holding her weapon in a firm two-handed grip. Let Sydney be okay, she prayed and adrenalin took over.
The kitchen and living room was cleared with one sweep of the eye. There was a small balcony that could be seen from the living room window. It looked like there were stairs leading from the balcony to a fire escape.
“See where the stairs lead to,” O’Malley said to Parker pointing with the barrel of his gun.
The rest of them headed to the bedroom just steps from the living room. Markie could see the inside of the bedroom from the living room. Nothing fancy just a bed covered with a white sheet. Her heart rolled over in her chest when she saw a large red stain on the sheet.
Blood?
“No.” O’Malley stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder when she started towards the bedroom.
Markie followed O’Malley. The bedroom was empty. In a room off the bedroom Malcolm lay bleeding on the floor. From the blood on the chair and desk it appeared he’d fallen out of the chair. That may have been the noise they had heard outside the front door. She didn’t see Sydney. Whose blood was on the bed? Her heart pounded in her chest as the blood rushed to her head.
“Sydney’s not here,” Markie said willing herself to stay calm.
O’Malley dropped down on his knees to check Malcolm’s pulse. “I need a paramedic in 202!” O’Malley shouted in a radio unit attached to his bulletproof vest. “I have a male, late forties, his breathing shallow.”
“Malcolm,” Markie said when O’Malley looked up at her. “His name is Malcolm Rivers.” The last time she’d seem him he was grinning at her. Now he was clinging to life. Phoenix had done this to him. Her eyes searched the room again. “Where is Sydney?”
“There is a storage unit in the basement. The stairs on the other end—”
Markie raced out of the apartment towards the back stairs.
“Brooks!”
“W
e need a paramedic on the second floor,” the officer with the brush cut manning the door said.
“What’s going on?” Beck asked but the officer ignored him. Along with guarding the door like it was the Holy Grail, the officer didn’t let him or Carlos out of his sight.
Beck hated waiting. Half an hour had passed since he had watched Marklynn walk through the door into the apartment building and disappear from sight. He’d wanted to follow and would have if it weren’t for the threat of being arrested by the gatekeeper.
“Move, move it!” The officer motioned to the two men standing beside the ambulance and held the door for them.
“What’s going on up there?” Beck asked inching closer to the open door.
“I’m here with you. How am I supposed to know?” he said and closed the door when two paramedics ran pass them into the apartment building.
Beck stood by the front door of the apartment building eyes fixed on the wall of glass window as he watched the men hurry up the stairs carrying the gurney. No one else had been allowed to enter or leave the building since they arrived and residents of the apartment complex started to complain. A crowd began to gather outside the building and Carlos was pulled on duty to help with crowd control until more officers showed up.
The mid-day sun beat down on the back of Beck’s neck, but all he could feel was the chill that had taken over his body. In the last three months, his relatively calm life had turned into a nightmare with each passing day. He could very well lose everything—his company and Marklynn.
Who was he kidding? Marklynn wanted nothing to do with him. He had chosen his company over her sister’s life and she would not forgive him for that. It couldn’t end this way between them. He wouldn’t let it. She needed to understand why he couldn’t give up his company.
The front door of the apartment building burst open fifteen minutes later and Malcolm was wheeled out on a stretcher towards one of the waiting ambulances. His face was gray, swollen and covered in blood. What about Sydney?
“Parker where are you?” Beck heard O’Malley yell over the radio. “Brooks is heading for the basement.”
• • •
“Brooks! Wait!”
Markie heard O’Malley’s voice. It sounded far away in the distance instead of two flights of stairs above. His footsteps pounded on the steps echoing in the narrow stairwell as he raced to catch up with her.
Markie reached the basement and yanked the door open. There were several storage areas with items behind chain-linked fencing.
The basement was dark and dingy and the smell of mildew hung in the air. The only light source came from under the door of the storage room at the end of the long narrow hallway. As she neared the door she noticed the deadbolt.
Markie turned her head away and fired one shot. The lock broke and fell off the door on the ground. Sydney was curled up in a fetal position on the cot when she entered the room. The noise from the gunshot blast hadn’t aroused her and she feared the worst.
“Sydney. Can you hear me?” Markie lay her gun down on the cot and checked for Sydney’s pulse. “Oh God.” She worked frantically to loosen the rope from her wrists but couldn’t. A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly.
O’Malley entered the room and swore. He yelled for medics in the basement in his radio.
“I got it.” He took a small knife from his vest.
“No. Let me do it.”
“I got it, Brooks.” With one swift slice of the knife the ropes fell away from Sydney’s wrists. He checked her pulse. “She’s still alive.”
Within minutes the small room was filled with some of the officers he had given orders to earlier.
“Where are the paramedics?” Markie yelled at O’Malley. She couldn’t get this far and loose Sydney. Not now. “Call them again.”
“Right here.”
“She’s barely breathing,” Markie said to the dark-haired man as she moved out of his way so he and his partner could attend to her sister.
Sydney lay like a rag doll on the cot, head to one side, her breathing labored. The deep red marks around her right and left wrists stood out against her pale skin. Markie had never seen her sister so wan and frail.
The feeling of wanting to do something but couldn’t left her feeling empty inside. She watched as Sydney was hooked up to an IV.
“She’s dehydrated,” the other paramedic said. “We need to get some fluids into her and get her to the hospital. She seems like a fighter. I think she’ll pull through.”