Page 33 of Stone Rules

I don’t miss how he stresses that last part, even as my body wavers between feeling numb and being swarmed with crawling insects at the mention of Tony’s name.

“Kids?” I manage to ask through my disgust.

“Nope.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

He looks at his watch and I know that I’ve already taken up too much of his time.

I take the folder under my arm and head for his office door.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you are contacting these men?” he asks.

I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob. I turn around briefly. “What rule was it?” —I touch the back of my neck in the very same spot he has his CAT tattoo— “Number five? About not playing your cards too soon?”

“It was six actually.” He gets up and walks me out. “Five was about being nice to little old ladies.”

I stop walking and look up at him. “Seriously? Are you telling me you actually have rules? I thought you were making that shit up as you went along.”

“Really?” He raises a brow. “I could have sworn the same thing about you.”

Chapter Fifteen

November 13, 2010

Charlie better not screw this one up for me. She’s become more argumentative lately. Being 16 does not suit her. If she runs this one off as she’s done with some of the others, it could mean my career. Tony Pellman has connections. He says he’s got an in with one of my former producers—the asshole who stopped returning my calls years ago. But the asshole is big time and he could get me back to being big time as well.

Standing in front of Tony Pellman’s townhouse, I recall how he was the only one out of the dozen who ever apologized. After he’d had his way with me, he punched a hole in my wall, cursing himself between his sorrowful chanting.

I’ll never forget that night. Not just because of what he did to me—which by then was nothing new. And not just because it was Friday the 13th. But because I truly believe it was the night my mother completely lost any shred of humanity she had left. After Tony ran out of the house without ever saying so much as a word to her again, she yelled at me so loudly that the neighbors called the police. But I never told them about Tony. About the others. About the fact that my mother had just hit me in the back of the head with her prized Oscar and blood was still trickling down the base of my skull as they questioned us.

Like everyone else, the police were romanced by the once famous Caroline Anthony. And I was too ashamed to speak up.

That day was my rock bottom. I had my suicide all planned out. She’d never even miss the powder. Or the pills. Or the alcohol. I’d done the research and knew just how much would kill me; and I planned to double it. Chances were, she wouldn’t even realize I was dead for days. If it weren’t for the Mitchells, I’d never have eaten a decent meal because my own mother would all but ignore me until she needed me to take care of one ofthem.

But I couldn’t go without saying goodbye to my best friend. Piper had been sick for weeks, battling the flu or something, so I had barely seen her. When I walked the three miles to her house in the freezing cold and found out what had happened to her, my life changed on a dime and I knew I couldn’t leave her. No matter what hell I was going through, hers was worse. It was that day we made a pact to leave the country after high school. To escape from her past and my present. To be there for each other. Cradle to grave we said. Nothing would stand in our way.

Seventeen months we’d have to wait until we had both turned eighteen and could get passports without our parents’ permission. And since Piper’s birthday was only a month before graduation, we promised each other we’d stick it out and get our diplomas. After all, what was another month of torture after enduring twelve years of it? Maybe my mother would come to her senses by then. Maybe she would overdose. Maybe I could slip her something and make it look like she did.

Yup – rock bottom.

But Piper was more important, so I vowed to remain among the living. And my mother never came to her senses. And I never killed her. But I dreamed about her dying every day after that. It only took six more years for my dream to come true.

I pull the strings of my hoodie tight so my face is pretty much hidden under the ball cap secured underneath it. I have no idea what I’ll do if his wife answers. Will I tell her? Will I push her aside and hope that he’s home?

Contemplating my options, I realize minutes go by and no one is answering the door. I’m not sure it’s relief or frustration I feel. On a whim, I try the knob and my heart pounds into my chest wall when the knob turns and the door opens. I stand staring through the half-open door. Is this fate? Should I go in? I could wait for him. I could trash the place.

People pass on the street in front of the townhouse and I instinctively duck inside the front door and close it. There, I did it. I’m in.

Is it still considered breaking and entering if the door was unlocked?

I go to wipe my prints off the door handle but surmise it doesn’t really matter since no one has ever taken my fingerprints before.

I wonder what the P.I. would say about this. Hell, he probablydoesthis on a daily basis for all I know.

I look around the foyer and the first thing I see is a wedding photo starring none other than Tony Pellman. My stomach turns seeing him again. He’s different. Not as skinny and strung-out looking. He looks healthy. Happy. But the way his bride is looking at him—I doubt she’d ever look at him like that again if she knew what he’d done six years ago.

As I stroll through the lower rooms of the home, I come across a study that boasts a wall lined with awards. ‘Best Screenplay’ is what’s engraved into most of the various plaques. So he’s done well for himself. Where’s the karma in that?

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