Page 5 of Twisted Revelations

3

Beverly

The drive back to my apartment had me wired as hot sparks flew off the edges of my ripped apart nerves. Inching the car through the darkness, I crept into the alley behind my building, my neck snatching about like an addict. Trash and pebbles crunched under Laura’s slick tires as I squinted, driving without headlights.

My attempt to exit the car undetected was ruined by the elongated squeak of the driver’s side door. I tiptoed through the night with nothing but the alley stink urging me closer to the back entrance.

I tripped over my own feet as my neck twisted back and forth, thinking someone was there waiting. I’d been careful when driving, checking for tails, but I was a novice at dodging woman-snatching bad guys, so I was about as jumpy as a cat avoiding a puddle.

The sturdy back door appeared locked, but I knew as well as the other residents that the heavy door was for show. The dim interior lighting peeked out when I snatched the door open. I jumped at the loud boom of it slamming shut behind me as I dashed towards the stairs.

I rushed up the steps, struggling to keep my anxious steps quiet until I reached the third floor. My head poked past the stairwell, and I peeked down my hall, thankful it was empty. With my keys ready in one hand and one of my trusty switchblades in the other, I dashed from the stairwell toward my apartment with purpose.

As soon as I keyed the door open, I slammed it shut, and allowed relief to sweep through me. To stay on the safe side, I dragged one of the creaky wooden chairs from my small dining room and propped it under the front door knob. The only other way out was through one of the bedroom windows without the aid of a fire escape.

My feet stomped heavily across the floor as I entered my kitchen, yanking drawers open as I tossed items out of my way. I rifled through the two rows of drawers until I found the business card the fake detective had given me.

“Detective Mark Griffin,” I read his name on the card. “Do you know who took my friends? Do you know where Megan is?”

Although I was anxious to dial the number on the card, I needed to ensure my safety first. I packed a quick bag and left my building the same way I’d entered it. Once I’d driven safely from my neighborhood, I sighed, releasing a long breath of relief.

“Laura,” her name seeped out into the interior of her car as I swiped at my teary eyes. My drive to the outer edge of Houston allowed me to let my mind race with thoughts and ideas on how to find her. I drove past two motels and decided on the third I came upon. I’d chosen the area at random, a pinpoint on the map, so I believed I’d be safe until I figured out my next move.

The scruffy-haired desk clerk insisted there were only doubles left although the parking lot was nearly empty. I didn’t argue, but my lips connected with the back of my credit card, thankful it had gone through. My bank account was on life support, and most of the money I made at work usually went back into the center for one reason or another.

After parking Laura’s car on the opposite side of the building I was staying on, I locked myself inside the room. My busy mind kept me from being bothered by the stale scent that greeted my arrival.

I slung my purse and backpack on the bed and plopped down in the burgundy velvet-covered chair that sat next to the scratched varnished finish of the table. The stench of smoke permeated the room, although I’d requested nonsmoking.

Without further hesitation, I dialed the number on the card with shaky fingers, hoping I wasn’t making the situation worse than it already was. A voice answered the call, sounding like the man who’d questioned me months ago.

“Detective Griffin,” my shaky voice called out. “We spoke several months ago about a friend of mine: Megan. I’m calling because I’ve not heard from her since you came searching for her. Now, another of my friends has been taken, and…”

My tight tongue refused to push out the rest of my sentence, and a throaty cry escaped instead.

“Beverly?” the man questioned.

“Yes,” I whispered into the phone, my voice hardly working.

“Is Laura the friend that has been taken?”

“Yes. You remember us?” A pinch of hope cushioned my nerves at the notion that he remembered us.

“Actually, I’ve never met you. It was my cousin, Aaron, you spoke to. Unfortunately, he was killed about five months ago.”

The news took my last bit of breath. I couldn’t piece myself together long enough to ask the questions stacked up on my tongue. Had his cousin been killed by the same men who’d taken Laura? Was Megan dead too? Who were they? Why were they after us?

The man’s voice jarred me back to reality. “Megan is with me. She’s fine, but for a while she wasn’t talking.”

I breathed a long sigh of relief at the news that Megan was okay before a bout of throaty cries burst free. If he were helping Megan, would he be willing to help Laura and me too?

An urgent thought stopped me in my tracks, prompting me to recall all aspects of the situation. Was this guy telling me what I wanted to hear? He could have been a part of the team responsible for taking Laura. How could I be sure that Megan was okay?

“Can I speak to Megan?” I tested, cutting into the litany of questions he’d started.

“Beverly?” Her shaky voice was like the first spark of sunshine breaking through dark thunderclouds.

I gasped at the familiar sound. “Megan.” Her name dragged across my tongue, vibrating through my constricting throat.

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