Page 5 of Twisted Lies

“Rebecca,” she whispers, as if the baby will disappear with the name.

“It’s perfect. Bec would have loved that.” With the last word, more emotion escapes than I want.

“One day, when we get everything back, it will be something we can pass down.”

“I know. I’m going to rest. Can you sit with her a while?” As she closes her eyes, I sit in the chair against the wall. This is a moment she’s giving me. It’s more than I deserve. I’ll make it up to her, to both of them.

Glancing down at the child, I know that no one will ever take her from us. No harm will come her way. I will rewrite the wrongs of the past, and everyone will know who she is one day. One day very soon.

* * *

LILY

Three Years Later

“You’re nothing, Lily. Nothing. I took you from the streets. Without me, you would still be there. You owe me,” Frank hisses from behind. I keep my pace and continue down the sidewalk, trying to get away. I finally had it after he hit me this afternoon. It’s only going to get worse, and the sooner I make a break, the better.

Frank had always been a dick, but he had never touched me till now. I did owe him for helping me out a few months ago. I had moved to Chicago from Florida and lost my job shortly after I got here. The boss decided to hire his niece instead. From the way he was looking at her, I highly doubt she’s his niece, or at least I hope not. Being unable to pay rent, I got kicked out. Moving to a cheap motel where you pay by hour till I got a new job is where I met good old Frank. His pipes had burst in his apartment, and he was staying there till it was fixed. I found him charming at first, with his blond hair and green eyes, but it didn’t take long for his true nature to appear.

“You’re right, Frank.” It was better to just agree with him and hopefully deflect whatever he was going to say next. “Now, you won’t have to deal with me anymore,” I call over my shoulder, not stopping. It’s dark, and no one is on the streets. My mind screams to get somewhere with people around. I try not to panic, but pick up my pace and sense him getting closer. My footsteps are loud against the concrete sidewalk with no other noise around. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. My body tenses, ready, as if sensing something my mind’s not prepared to admit.

My body is yanked back forcefully as his hand wraps in my hair, pulling me into his body. “You don’t get to turn your back on me,” he hisses into my ear before shoving me to the cement. I feel my arms scrape against the cold concrete. Moving to my knees to stand, I’m pushed back a second later, and he’s in my face. I feel his hot breath as he inhales and exhales quickly, as if he’s lost all control and can only focus on the emotion of anger and power. “Bitch.” He mocks. Men are not very imaginative. Bitch always seems to be their go to.

“Frank, let me go.” My voice thankfully comes out stronger than I feel. Showing fear will do no good. I’ve been in worse situations and pulled through. Calm cool and collective. That’s what this situation calls for now.

He starts to say something, but I don’t hear him, as I am distracted by the woman standing behind him with a gun against the back of his head. Her blonde hair is halo-like with the streetlights touching down. She’s in a nice light blue dress, as if she has just come from a dinner. Her trench coat is not buttoned down the front, and I have to wonder how she’s not freezing. I had run out of the apartment in just my jeans and a light sweater. With the sun long gone, the heat seems to have disappeared. I’m thankful I have my boots on.

“Frank, is it? I believe she asked you to move away. My advice is you listen.” Her voice comes with the confidence of someone who would have no issue pulling the trigger. Even her eyes have a clam almost board look to them. Frank must have realized this as well, as he slowly backs away and turns to face the woman. He looks her up and down, and glances down at me before walking in the opposite direction. The woman turns her head to watch him slither away.

“You okay?” she questions, holding out her hand.

“Thanks. I’m fine,” I respond, accepting her hand.

“Your eye looks like it hurts.”

I don’t like how she’s looking at me, as if I were the victim.I don’t need her pity. She can save it for someone who needs it.

“It only happened today. That’s why I was leaving,” I state.

“Good choice getting away. Men like that only get worse. I’m Mia.” She puts the gun back in her Coach purse before swing the bag back on her shoulder. She glances behind I’m assuming to make sure Frank had not popped back. He’ll go somewhere to lick his wounds.

“Lily. Thanks, Mia.” Throwing my thumb over my shoulder, I continue. “I’m going to get going, but thanks again.” I step back. I don’t need a moment of bonding. I’m thankful she stepped in when she did, but it’s time to make my exit.

“No problem. You have a place to stay?” she asks.

I find myself answering her honestly. “Not yet, but I will. I’ll be fine.” I quickly add the last part. I’m always fine, so it’s not a lie. I can always go back to the pay by hour motel. Not best accommodations but it’s cheap.

She nods. “Well, if you find yourself in need of assistance with Frank again, or need a friend, give me a call,” she says, pulling out a card that appears to be a restaurant card. Mamma Mia’s is written in black letters with the address and number. “Give it a call and ask for me. I’m there all the time, honestly.” She smiles, and I have the urge to take her up on the friend part. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one of those. If she wasn’t standing in front of me, I would have hit myself for having that thought. I don’t need friends. I’m perfectly fine on my own. Friends ask questions, and I don’t want to answer those. Forcing myself to turn around, I walk away. I have more important things to concern myself with other than friends. Like figuring out where I’m going to stay the night.

* * *

A few days later, the card beckons me from the bedside table of the motel room. The niceness of the card is out of place in the dingy room with cream colored wallpaper peeling from the edges and stains I don’t want to think about. Even the paper is heaver then most restaurant cards with elegant black writing. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to call. Before I can convince myself, this is a bad idea I grab the card, I quickly type in the number and hit dial before I can back out. I must have hit rock bottom to be calling.

“Hello. Mamma Mia’s.” I recognize her voice.

“Hi, Mia. This is ah…Lily. We met the other day.”

“Of course. I remember. You want to come by the restaurant? I’m off in a few and was going to have a glass or ten of wine.” She laughs. “Want to join?”

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