One Way Or Another You Will Pay (8 page)

“Back
down, Bear,” Debbie warns, taking Amy’s hand. “Don’t make me call the cops.

“Debbie,
don’t be a bitch,” Bear says, moving toward Debbie, his eyes hooded.

I
jump in front of Bear. “Stop!”

He
stops.

I
turn to Debbie. “Bear did not hurt our daughter. He would never …”

She
sticks her palm in front of my face. “I have custody of Amy. Back off!”

“Mummy,
I don’t wanna go,” Amy whines.

Debbie
ignores her cry and pulls her toward the door.

“Daddy!”
Amy cries and latches onto Bear’s hand.

Debbie
pulls Amy, Bear pulls back.

“Debbie!”
Bear shouts. “Leave her alone!”

“You
leave her alone! I have custody of her, just you remember that!”

Debbie’s
boyfriend, JT, who is ten years younger than her and a Justin Timberlake wannabe, was in the car waiting for her. He races inside after hearing the commotion.

“What
the hell are you doing?” he says to Bear.

“You
stay out of it, or I’ll kick your head in,” Bear growls.

“Daddy!
Don’t let them take me. I wanna stay with you, Daddy!”

Ritchie
quickly steps in. “Debbie, Debbie, Debbie! Lemme talk to you.” He turns his whole body to look at Debbie and chats to her in hushed tones. As he talks, I notice him touching her arm and looking deep into her eyes.

Debbie
cocks her head when he talks, her eyes flitting between his eyes and his lips.

When
Toy Boy JT tries to intervene, Ritchie turns to him and says, “This could become a permanent thing. Is that what you really want? No more gigs, no more nightclubs, no more parties?”

JT,
who is supposedly a musician, has a penchant for nightclubs, concerts, and spur-of-the-moment-parties, all of which are paid for by Debbie.

Having
Amy around on a permanent basis would definitely cramp his style.

JT
lifts his hand high in the air and brings it slowly down to the back of his neck, a thoughtful look on his face.

Ritchie
shifts his body to block out JT from Debbie’s view and continues talking to Debbie.

When
Debbie leaves the house, it is without Amy, thanks to Ritchie’s charm. And threats to JT’s liberty.

Ritchie
has always been good at charming ladies. He’s a little shy when it comes to the opposite sex, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to use those baby blues and that husky voice to his advantage. Today, all that he is blessed with comes in handy.

Bear
sits with Amy in his arms, whispering words of comfort, her tearful face buried in his chest.

What
a mess.

As
everyone around me fades, I pace in my dimly lit room, thumbnail in mouth. That’s all I can do. Sleep evades me even though I’m exhausted and drained.

Bear
has fallen asleep on a couch in the TV room, phone in hand.

Eventually,
I lie in bed with Amy and Warren on either side of me, in one of Ritchie’s spare rooms. Both kids have followed me around since Savannah’s disappearance and all the drama that followed and they have become unusually quiet. Understandably so.

In
the dark, my mind wanders to Tom. Such a goddamn liar.

Cancer.
Such a contrived lie.

Such
a skilled liar.

Manipulating
Bastard!

Then
it’s my turn.

I’m
such an idiot!

Such
a simpleton.

How
can I fall for him, knowing what he’s capable off?

Stupid!
Stupid! Stupid!

9
AM. I’m fully dressed.

Leaving
Amy and Warren in Ritchie’s wife, Olga’s care, I grab my car keys and head for my SUV, which was processed by detectives and returned late yesterday afternoon.

Bear’s
already left the house, cruising the streets, looking for his daughter.

As
I drive, I call his phone.

“Hello?”
His tone is clipped.

“Where
are you, Bear?”

“Putting
up posters. What’s up?”

“Bear,
I’m on my way to see Tom.”

”What
the fuck for, Arena?”

“Listen,
Bear, Tom is behind this. I want to talk to him and coax him into returning Savannah.”
If she’s alive.

He
gives an exasperated sigh. “Arena, he is behind bars.”

“Bear,
Tom is responsible. Listen to me, the one thing going for me is my gut, and right now, it’s telling me that Tom is behind this. He’s taken Savannah to teach me a lesson.”

“Arena…”

“BEAR! LISTEN TO ME!”

Bear
falls silent.

“Just…
trust me, okay?”

Silence.

“Please, baby, just trust me.”

“Okay,”
he says in a flat, resigned voice. “Okay.”

I
hang up and call Remington to let them know I’m visiting Tom.

When
Tom sees me, his smile is beyond smug. “You look like shit.”

I
do look like shit. My hair needs brushing, my eyes are red-rimmed with dark circles, my crumpled clothes are the ones I wore yesterday. The ones I slept in.

I’ve
lost a child, nothing else matters.

“Where
is she, Tom?” I snap.

He
cocks his head at me, his eyes turning to slits. “Who?”

One,
two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, TEN!

“What
do you want from me, Tom?”

“You
think I have Savannah?” He looks at me slack-jawed, but his eyes are shining.

Don’t
say her name! Don’t say her fucking name, you evil bastard!

“Really,
Arena, you give me too much credit. I mean I’m in here and …”

“Stop
playing FUCKING games with me!” I hiss. “What do you want, Tom, what do you want? Tell me what you WANT!”

He
locks eyes with me, his smile vanishing. “You.”

I
slap my forehead with my palms several times. “You can’t have me! Don’t you get it, Tom?”

He
leans in and looks into my eyes, unperturbed by my fury, my frustration, and my impending meltdown.

“I
want
you
to visit
me
every alternate Friday.”

I
blink rapidly as I stare at him.

Every
alternate Friday? Is he nuts? Bear will die if I say yes.

But
there’s Savannah to think about, and right now she is my priority, not Bear.

“Fine.
I’ll be here.”

He
nods.

I
lean in again. “Where is Savannah, Tom? Tell me. P…please…”

He
smiles.

“Is
she …Tom, is she …” I struggle with the word, “a…live?”

Slowly,
with his eyes on me, he runs his hand across his mouth. “I have charisma,” he says. “I know how to pull women.”

Oh,
please!

“Say
what they want to hear and I’m in their panties in no time, Arena.”

As
if I need to hear this right now. I feel like taking this phone receiver and slamming it against the glass partition.

“Tom,
where is my daugh…?”

“Just
like that!” He snaps his fingers with his free hand.

Deep
breaths, calm down. Let him talk. It’s what he wants to do. Play his fucking game. Play, Arena, just play!

I
manage a small shrug. “You always could.”

He
beams at the three words I just uttered.

Fucking
ego maniac. Prison has in no way eroded his over-inflated ego.

“From
a cleaner, to a government official, to a nurse, to a …a …a fucking doctor, underneath that uniform, there are three things you can be sure of – a pair of tits, a pussy waiting to be fucked and sucked, and a strong need for a listening ear from a
man
. That’s what they want.”

He
has my attention now.

Who
is he talking about?

His
cryptic bragging tells me he has won someone over. Who?

Someone
around here?

A
nurse?

A
warden?

A
doctor?

A
Good Samaritan visiting prisoners?

A
desperate, lonely spinster who writes to prisoners then marries them?

For
the next twenty minutes or so, he brags about his omnipotence, tries to convince me of it. I let him, even though I can’t bear to sit still and I have difficulty paying attention.

Not
only am I sleep-deprived, but my eyes hurt from all my crying. I haven’t eaten anything since Savannah disappeared; I’ve lived on just coffee with sugar.

Concentrating
may be hard, but I force myself to listen intently to every single word.

“Tom,
I’m begging you,” I say, in my most humble voice, “tell me, is my baby alive? Where is she? I need to know. Please!” Scalding tears slide down my cheeks.

He
smacks the counter with his open hand. “Now that’s what I wanted to see – your humility.” He darts his index finger at me. “Not that uppity, I-made-it-on-my-own-and-fuck-you!” his middle finger shoots through the air, “attitude.”

I
nod. “Tell me, please. I have to admire you. I mean, you’ve done so much even behind bars, I mean, like…” my chuckle borders hysteria, “you’re like the mafia!”

The
prick actually gives a tiny bow.

From
God knows where, I manage a smile. We lock eyes and for once, I do not move them away.

“Say
my name.”

“T…Tom.”

He closes his eyes and drops his voice. “Say it again.”

“Tom,”
I whisper in a hoarse voice.

With
his eyes closed, he smiles and moves his head around as if he’s listening to beautiful music on a harp or violin.

“One
more time. Say, I love you, Tom.”

I
can do this.

“I
love you, Tom.”

“Say,
I wanna fuck you, Tom.”

“I
wanna fuck you, Tom.”

A
smile lights his face. “Around 9 PM,” he says, his eyes still closed.

My
body leans in, hanging onto his every word.

His
head bobs around, his eyes still closed. “Yep, 9 it is.”

Hope
surges in me. “T…tonight?”

His
nod is so slight I have to ask again. “Tonight, Tom? She’s alive?”

He
opens his eyes. “That’s every
alternate
Friday. Don’t get it wrong, Arena
Botha
.”

Savannah
is alive!

My
head bobs as he talks.

“We
have a deal, right?”

Savannah
is alive!

“We
have a deal,” I say with all the enthusiasm I can muster. “Yes! Yes!”

His
eyes linger on my breasts. “The next time you visit, wear red.” His eyes remain glued to my breasts. “And wear a skirt. A short one. And wear your hair up. I don’t like it this way.”

“Sure!
Sure!”

Savannah
is alive. Oh God!

It
takes every ounce of self-control not to run out of the prison.

“Savannah
is alive!” I mutter as I drive home. “Please, God, don’t let him be messing with me!”

On
my way home, I find Bear on the street, putting up posters. Helping him is Ritchie.

On
the opposite side of the street, I see friends of ours putting up posters of Savannah.

I
pull over to the side and frantically motion for Bear to come over.

He
hesitates and looks at Ritchie.

Ritchie
points to me, gesturing for him to go.

Bear
nods and saunters over. Hunched and unshaven, his hair is ruffled, he has stubble and he has dark circles around his eyes.

Without
looking at me, he gets into the passenger seat of my SUV and shuts the door. He sits with his hands linked on his lap and stares ahead.

“Bear,
listen, someone’s helping him. A woman. Someone from the prison, I think.”

Bear
eyes remain on the road.

“I
don’t know for sure, but, Bear, he…he says, I will…
we
will get Savannah back tonight.”

Bear’s
head snaps to look at me. “He said that? Those were his words?” His face lights up.

“No…no…no.”

His face falls.

“But,
Bear, he was cryptic, talking in riddles, but I begged him and …” I lift and drop my shoulders as tears roll down my face. “9 PM, B…Be…ar.”

Bear
swallows hard, his desperation tangible. I can tell he really wants to believe me, to cling to hope but after our last nightmare with Tom, how can we possibly trust him?

Evil
has no heart, remember? Just a charismatic smile.

“I
don’t wanna tell the cops, Bear. I wanna wait and see. Give him the benefit of the doubt. I just don’t want to spook him. Let’s get Savannah back and then we’ll do what we have to.”

Bear
nods and looks ahead again. It’s clear he’s not convinced.

“They
want you to take a polygraph,” he says. “I said you will. Best to get that out of the way.” He looks at me again.

I
nod. “I’ll do it right away.”

“They
said we can move back home.”

“What?
So soon?”

“Yep.”

“But…but did they gather evidence, spend enough time …?”

“Evidently
they did.”

I
think it’s too soon. Surely they need more time?

Well,
I guess they know what they’re doing. Anyway, it’s good to go back home. I was not comfortable with the tension between Ritchie and Olga.

“Right,”
Bear says, before he opens the door and slips out. No goodbye hugs and kisses.

“Bear!”
I lunge forward and grab a fistful of his shirt

He
turns and looks at me, then at my hand on him.

Reluctantly,
I release him. “Bear, I’m sorry.” I swallow hard. “I…I just couldn’t sleep knowing that he was dying of cancer and that I was denying a dying man his wish and…and…and, I wanted to do the right thing and I thought I would check him out and like…like…Bear…I’m so sorry.”

He
stares at me, his eyes glassy. Then he shakes his head before walking away, back to Ritchie.

“Bear,
please!”
I need you. I need your arms around me. Right now, I need you more than ever, please don’t stay away from me.

He
joins Ritchie without looking back. I’ve never knew Bear could be so cold like he is now. It hurts so much to have this gulf between us.

Ritchie
walks over to me and opens my driver’s door.

“Give
him time,” he says, his brows knitting.

I
nod through my tears.

“He’s
sleep-deprived and struggling, sis.”

I
nod.

Ritchie
reaches up and gives me a hug.

“Thanks,
Ritchie,” I say grateful for his help and support.