Transience (23 page)

"Mom?" Rebecca said, her eyes wide and hurt, her lips quivering.
 
Laura looked back at her.
 
"You knew her?
 
You knew she was real?"
 

Laura took Rebecca by the hands.
 
"Sweetie, I was going to tell you-"

"You lied to me.
 
It's not in my head.
 
I'm not crazy.
 
She was real, her name
was
Carmen.
 
All this time.
 
You lied to me, you LIED to me!"

Rebecca turned and ran.
 

"Rebecca!"
 
Laura shot Jack a look that could kill as they both gave chase after her through the woods.

All at once, Rebecca's world began to spin.
 
Her windpipe clamped closed, like some force was pushing her head down.
 
She started gasping and fell to her knees.
 
Laura and Jack quickly surrounded her.

"Rebecca?" Laura shrieked, witnessing her daughter spasm and sputter.
 
She grabbed her by both forearms and crouched down.

"Mama!
 
Mama…lo siento.
 
Lo siento!" Rebecca shouted.
 
Her voice wasn't her own.
 
Her eyes went all funny and distant.
 
She saw flashes of something, like a waking dream, dirty hands reaching for her.
 
Her body became heavy, the blood rushing from her head.
 
Her eyes glazed and she fell head first into Laura’s arms.
 

"Oh God, Rebecca!"
 
Laura held Rebecca like a clamped vice, as if a swirling storm funnel was trying to wrestle her body from her grip.
 

Jack held onto Rebecca's twitching legs.
 
Rebecca stared blankly up into the trees, her eyes lifeless, as if her body were just a shell.
 
Then suddenly her eyes went wide, she shivered, staring intently upon something only she could see, something terrifying.
 

Then, as if a silent bomb exploded inside her, Rebecca let out a spine ripping, banshee-like shriek that made all the birds in the trees scatter.
 
It nearly knocked Laura over like a punch to the gut.
 

Rebecca shielded her face reflexively, as if fending off an invisible attacker, her screams growing louder, more frightful.
 
Laura had been through this every night with her, but never so pronounced, never so lucid.
 
And this time, even with her eyes locked on her daughter's, Laura couldn't calm her, rouse her from whatever evil force was torturing her mind.
 
Rebecca was wide awake, screaming, and Laura could only look on helplessly.
 

Rebecca convulsed so hard, spit started dribbling down the sides of her mouth.
 
Laura cleaned it off with her fingertips as Rebecca's nose started to drip blood.

"Rebecca!"
 
Laura's terror turned to anger, she turned and raged at Jack.
 
"What the hell did you do?"

Jack swallowed hard.
 
"Nothing.
 
I had no idea-"

"You had no idea?
 
You show her God awful pictures of dead bodies, criminal mugshots, put that fear inside her head.
 
You bring her to the gravesite of a murdered girl, show her something she used to wear!
 
What next?
 
Show her the knife she was stabbed with?"
 

"No."

"What the hell is the matter with you?
 
What did you expect to happen?
 
She's a child!"
 
Laura’s rage reduced Jack to an open mouthed statue, frozen, dead inside.
 
One good tap and he would have shattered into a thousand pieces.
 
Guilt curdled his stomach, his brain went tilt.
 
He wanted to get it over with and die right there.

Rebecca stopped twitching.
 
She rolled towards Laura's breast and calmed.
 
Then her eyes slowly opened and looked up at Laura.
 
"I found you.
 
I missed you so much.
 
I’m not angry anymore." Rebecca’s eyes were trancelike.
 
Laura’s face twisted with confusion.

"Rebecca?
 
Rebecca?"
 
Laura’s voice was urgent but calm, she didn’t want to startle or frighten her into another episode.
 
Rebecca closed her eyes again.

"I can breathe again now," Rebecca said.
 
Laura began rocking her back and forth.

"Yes, you're okay.
 
You're safe.
 
You're safe.
 
Oh thank God…"

Jack reached out to touch Laura’s shoulder, but then pulled back, unsure.
 
He got up on one bended knee as Laura scooped Rebecca into her arms.
 

Laura placed Rebecca's head on her shoulder and carried her away in a sprint; no clear direction, she just wanted to get away from Jack.
 
Jack followed sheepishly.

"Laura, I'm sorry, please."

Laura marched a few more yards and stopped out of exhaustion.
 

"Just take us home… please take us home."

Rebecca coughed and opened her eyes.
 
Red had replaced the pale milk color of her cheeks, the spell subsiding.
 
Getting her away from the river — the gravesite, seemed to help.
 

Laura pushed Rebecca's hair out of her face.
 
She stroked her forehead a few times, smudging a little dirt.
 
"Sweetie?
 
Rebecca?"
 

"Mommy.
 
I'm so scared."
 

"Let's get you both home," Jack said.
 

Jack held out his hands for Laura to pass Rebecca to him.
 
She did — reluctantly.
 
She could carry her no further.

The three of them made their way back towards the road.
 
Not another word was spoken.
 

Jack, you asshole
…

CHAPTER 39

The young woman crossed her legs, pulling her thin yellow sundress up above her knee, exposing it to the air — and to prying eyes.
 
Her skin was soft, her hair light blonde, tied behind her head in a ponytail.
 
Ripe fruit.
 

He guessed she was about 23.
 
Pretty - not a stunner,
but she'll do
.
 
He checked the left hand.
 
No ring.
 

She thrust her tongue in and out the hole of her straw, an iced coffee, Hazelnut.
 
He'd stood behind her in line, overheard her order.
 
He hadn't followed the girl into the coffee shop.
 
He was there to get one himself, a tea actually.
 
Black tea with milk and sugar.
 
Lots of sugar.
 
He despised coffee.
 
Too bitter.
 
He liked sweet things.
 

He made sure to seat himself where he could observe her, so happy she decided to stay.
 
Then a friend joined her, followed by another, and soon they were three beautiful strangers sitting together, unwittingly blurting out intimate details about their private lives.
 

The blonde's name was Teresa Mason, like the British actor.
 
Thinking that helped him commit it to memory.
 
He didn't overhear them say her name — how often does someone use a person's name during a conversation, especially a close friend.
 
Unless it's someone you haven't seen in years and you need to reassure them you still remember who they are.
 

He gleaned her name from the ID badge dangling around her neck — a pass code key that allowed employees re-entry to secured buildings.
 
She wore it like a piece of jewelry for all to see.
 
Nothing wrong with that, except that it helped add a piece to a heinous puzzle for preying eyes.
 
Teresa Mason, works at
— he squinted to read — …
UIC?
 
UIC Industries was a software firm located in Midland Park Square, a group of buildings situated on a large campus, all corporate offices.
 
Most had very nice places to eat right in their buildings, but not good coffee.
 

He tried to tune out the rest of the background noise to listen in on their back and forth.
 
He overheard one of her friends mention she'd run into Randall yesterday.
 
You remember Randall, that geeky dork who used to follow you around with his tongue hanging out?
 
11th grade?
 
Teresa shrugged and made a face like she hadn't remembered until now.
 
She laughed and asked what he was doing.
 
He's a successful broker now,
the friend said
.
 
He's definitely got money — he was driving a BMW
.
 
Teresa's head tilted, her tongue poked at her straw again.
 

She slurped down another gulp of Hazelnut iced coffee and turned to look at the strange, ugly man staring at her from across the cafe.
 
His annoying gaze had started to wear a hole in her blouse.
 
He turned away, nonchalant, and pretended to be looking at something important on his phone.
 
She didn't notice he was covertly snapping pictures of her and her friends.
 

Teresa turned up her nose in disgust, disregarding him.
 
Her friends were too busy yapping to even notice.
 
She re-joined the conversation and asked what Randall looked like now.
 
The friend described him, said
he'd asked about her
.
 
Teresa lit up with a grin full of perfect white teeth.
 
The other friend, a heavyset one wearing a leather jacket two sizes too small for her, told Teresa
you should meet up with him, might finally snap you out of your funk over Paul.

He had all the information he needed.
 
He took one more look before he left; starting at her ankle, drinking in her bare skin, past the knee, over the thin dress that hugged her curves, to her face, committing it to memory.
 
He felt sympathy for the repressed men who had to work alongside her, confident they must be straining in their seats whenever her tight frame passed their cubicles by.
 
He licked his lips — a new project awaited!
 
In this life, you need to take what you want, boys.
 

He pushed out his chair, tossed his half full tea into the trash, and exited the shop.
 

He climbed into a large white van.
 
On its side read:
Baxter Mills Inc. Bonded Cleaning Services.

He could still see her through the coffee shop window.
 
He reached under his seat and dragged out a laptop, he wanted to jump onto the networking sites before he forgot all the details.
 
Was he close enough to pull from the shop's wifi?
 
He saw two bars, good enough.
 
He agreed to the pointless terms of service page and started typing.
 

He searched the name Teresa Mason first.
 
Quite a few hits came up.
 
He scrolled until he found one for Lansing.
 
There were three actually, but only one with blonde hair.
 
He clicked and her picture enlarged.
 
There she was.
 

Check.
 

She had an open page, allowing anyone to see her history.
 
Too easy.
 
He did a quick search and discovered that she went to Clearview High in Windsor Township, graduated seven years ago.
 
Hmm a little older than he thought.
 
His judgment must be off.
 
He liked them younger.
 
As they aged, they often grew wiser to their own mortal vulnerabilities.
 
The young ones walked the earth in ignorant bliss.
 
Still -
ripe fruit
.
   

He clicked off the page and did a search for Clearview High, then ran a search of alumni.
 
There she was, wasn't she cute?
 
He typed up the name Randall, hoping to only find one.
 
Lucky me
.
 
Randall Peterson.
 
He was a dorky looking boy.
 
Wonder what he's doing now?

He searched and discovered Randall works for Martin Mitchell Investments.
 
Lives in Annandale.
 
Nice address.
 
And sure enough, on the corporate website for Martin Mitchell, there was a contact page for him, with a nice-sized photo.
 
He right-clicked and downloaded it.
 

He went back to the social networking site and expertly created a new page, using a fake email address for confirmation.
 
He wasn't worried about them tracing him, since the computer was stolen from a plumbing job he did weeks ago in Bridgetown, plus the public wifi camouflaged his IP address.
 
One step ahead.
 
Some idiots don't even put a pass code on their devices.
 
This one did, but he was able to crack it.
 
Five minutes on Google.