Twisted Proposal (6 page)

Chapter Six

An hour later, we were stuck behind a slow-moving truck, and Stuart had the radio blasting a song about lipstick, which reminded me to put back on my cover-up. I didn’t want to answer any questions about my eye. Another song came on with the same thump thump thump beat, making my head hurt.
Who liked this crap?
I shifted and turned the system off. I’d rather listen to silence.

Stuart flipped the radio back on seconds later. “I like it. Kind of catchy.”

              “Sounds like crap.”

              “What, would you rather I play hip hop or rap?”

              Scowling at him, I found an independent station that played classical music. “You’re full of assumptions, aren’t you? Do you even know who this is?”

“Bach or someone like that?”

“Wrong, Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons. Spring
,” Seconds later, the title scrolled across the screen on the dashboard, and I beamed over at him.

He nodded and flipped the station back to the crappy noise. “That’s…impressive. Do you play any instruments?”

For some reason I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was mocking me. “No. I never had the money. I told you that.”

As we passed an empty corn field, I thought about the time Elizabeth and I got lost in a corn field playing tag. It took two hours to find our way back to town. I remember giving her the silent treatment for at least a week after.
Why couldn’t I just let it go? What was wrong with me?

“Finally,” he muttered, as we swerved to the right, taking an exit leading to O’Hare International Airport.

I broke out in a sweat as we continued down the straightaway. At first, I didn’t see much of anything, but as we got closer, I made out a few towers in the distance.
Where were the planes? Maybe they were all gone?
As we rounded a corner, I spotted airplanes on the runways
. So much for wishful thinking
. My stomach dropped as the traffic became a maze of coming and going.  Another sign, this one orange and gray, welcomed us and I felt my heartbeat quicken mimicking the pop music on the radio.
Was I ready for this?

***

“Flying is nothing,” Elizabeth told me as she washed my hair.

It had been a few weeks since she’d stolen Eve’s identity and I was still getting used to her taking care of me. “Did mommy like to ride in planes?” I asked.

“What did you say?” Elizabeth said. A cruel crazy look set in her eyes as she stared down at me.

“Nothing.” I hoped she would just forget it and I continued to splash the bubbles from my arms. I was almost done.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she said, pouring a cup of water over my back to rinse off the suds.

“No.” What was she talking about?

              She pulled my hair to get my attention, and I stared up at her. “Now I’m only going to say this one more time, Addison. I’m your mother now. And if you keep insisting on messing up, someone’s going to start asking questions. Do you want that to happen?”

              A flash back to the woman with the gaping hole in her stomach made me shake my head no. “I’m sorry…it won’t happen again.”

              “I know it won’t. Now lean back. It’s time to rinse your hair.”

              I did as I was told.

After the last rinse, I ran my hands through my hair and when all the soap was out I tried to sit up, but Elizabeth held me down. She pushed me down farther so that my back was against the warm porcelain of the tub and my head bobbed beneath the surface of the water. I kicked my feet and clawed at her hands, but she didn’t budge. I couldn’t breathe. She was going to kill me and cut a hole in my stomach. I thrashed about until I couldn’t feel anything. Everything was fading away. From underwater, Elizabeth looked like mommy. The pain in my chest went away as well as the light.  Soon I would see mommy, and she would make it all right.

***

“Addison, are you okay?” Stuart asked, bringing me back into the present.

She tried to kill me. That bitch!

“Hello? Earth to Addison, we're here,” Stuart said again.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” I was anything but fine.
My aunt tried to kill me.
Lifting my hand to my mouth, I fought the urge to vomit by squeezing my eyes shut.
Why was I remembering all this stuff now?

“This is a rental car, so we can’t leave anything behind,” Stuart said, distracting me, as he pulled into a numbered row.

So I grabbed my bags from the backseat and trailed him inside the airport. Right off the bat, I noticed people of all ages and races walking in every direction. It was an organized mess that made my head spin.

We joined a line of people and Stuart pulled out his cell phone. Part of me wanted to ask him what we were doing, but then the other half just wanted to disappear into the sea of people.
Would he even notice?

              Shifting my weight, his eyes were instantly on me, and then returned to his phone when I frowned at him.
So I guess that’s a yes.
Relaxing, I tried to remember what happened after the bathtub incident, but kept drawing blanks. It was like my conscience was hiding it from me like a cruel joke.

The line moved at snail speed, and it took us a full fifteen minutes to reach the counter, where a woman dressed in a dark blue uniform stood behind a computer.  Stuart handed her a gold-colored plastic card, and she swiped it.

“Two first class tickets to Los Angeles. Is that correct, Mr. McDaniel?” the woman asked.

Los Angeles? I thought he lived in Beverly Hills? What was in LA?

“Yes,” Stuart said, and she handed him two miniature folders and a receipt.

“I’ll take your baggage now,” she said.

“You can take one bag on board, so uh, which one has clothes in it?” Stuart asked.

I handed him the black sack and kept the green one. It was the most important one anyway. The woman attached a large sticker to the top of Stuart’s and then a smaller sticker to mine.

Stuart signed the receipt and handed it back to the woman, thanking her, and we joined another line. Instead of paying attention to where Stuart was going, I tried to figure out where this line was leading.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” He pulled me off to the side.

“What?”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything illegal on you?”

“I don’t. Besides you already ransacked my stuff.”

“If they find anything, I swear…”

“Look, I don’t have anything. Are you hiding something?” I countered, and he rolled his eyes maneuvering us back into the line.

“You have to understand you can get into a lot of trouble nowadays if you have anything suspicious, like bottles of lotion and stuff.”

“I think you’re just paranoid,” I said, crossing my arms. He didn’t answer.

I hated that he was so unpredictable. One minute he was nice and the next a complete dick.
Maybe he was off his meds or something.
Leaning to the side, I could see we were headed straight for metal detectors, like the kind they had at the police department. A security guard stood on either side of the station watching a screen and answering questions.
Man, he wasn’t lying. They wanted to know everything.
Stuart tapped me on the shoulder, and we were at the front. I approached the guard, unsure of what to do.

“Do you have metal in your shoes?” the man asked.

I glanced down at my ripped sneakers Elizabeth had picked up at the second hand shop down the street. “I don’t think so.” My mouth was dry, as if I had sucked on a cotton ball.

“Well, take them off just to be safe,” he suggested.

I slid my shoes off and placed them in a grey bucket along with my bag and walked through the detector. Nothing happened, and I was allowed to put my shoes back on.
Here’s your chance. Disappear!

I immersed myself into a group of kids my age and took refuge behind a stone pillar. Peering around the column, I watched as Stuart place his bag on the conveyor belt and his shoes in the bin. For some reason, they swiped him with a wand before allowing him to put his shoes back on.
He was hiding something? A gun?

“Now boarding for Tampa, Florida at Gate 22,” a woman’s voice announced, and I squinted up at a huge screen with the names and destinations of the different flights, along with their gates numbers. Beneath that was a map with a directory of services in the airport: a McDonald’s, several shops, and even a day spa.

“Don’t do that again,” Stuart said joining me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, playing dumb.

“We’re at Gate 11, so why don’t you go ahead and I’ll meet you there?”

              Wait, he just going to let me go?
“Okay, where’s that?” I turned around, unsure of my surroundings.

Startled, he fixed his gaze on me. “You’ve never flown before?”

              “I figured that was obvious.”

              He scratched his nose and motioned for me to follow him. I cursed myself for not taking the opportunity to run away. We arrived at our gate five minutes later, a secluded area with green and red plastic chairs. People chatted in small groups and others were on their cell phones or computers.
Now what?
 

“So why don’t you relax and I’ll be back,” he said.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a drink.”

“Can I come?”

“You’re sixteen.”

I shrugged.
Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy a drink.

“Just sit here and wait for the plane.” He walked off.

Fine, maybe I will and maybe I won’t.
I sat in a red chair with my bag on my lap and watched him disappear down the hall, his phone plastered against his ear.
Was he talking about me?

I played with the ticket in my hand.
If I offered to sell it, would anyone buy it? Would it be enough to get me home?
I rose to leave just as a tall boy in a video game shirt blocked my path.

              “Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing to the chair next to me. I sat back down.
Where did he come from?

“No.”

              “Good.” He plopped into the chair, bumping me with his elbow, as he dug into his bag.
How rude.
He pulled out a small mp3 player and offered it to me.

“Uh, no thanks.” I wasn’t going to take anything from a complete stranger.

“Well, just so you know your dad’s paying me to make sure you don’t run off, so the least I could do is entertain you.”

What?
“My father’s paying you?”

“Yeah, Mr. McDaniel right? He showed me your picture and gave me forty bucks. How cool is that?”

“It’s not.” I muttered.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” the boy commented.

“Don’t pretend to care about me,”

“Just making conversation.” He returned.

I didn’t want to be babysat, the need to jolt from this place increased. “You know where the restroom is?” There had to be more than one way out.

I darted down the hall ahead of him annoyed that Stuart had the gall to hire a random guy to watch over me.

“Hey,” the kid said, catching up to me, but I didn’t let him finished, because I spotted the women’s restroom.

Inside, I paced the floor, annoyed that Stuart had me pegged. I stopped in front of the counter and emptied the cash in my pockets, counting it. Forty-five dollars and some change. That wouldn’t get me anywhere.
Shit, what was I going to do?
I pulled my hair back and forced myself to think.
Maybe there was something useful in the keepsake boxes?

So I went to the wheelchair stall, locked the door, and sat on the cold tile floor. After pulling everything out of both containers, I started with a bunch of IOU’s and realized that if I did return home there would be people hunting me down for money now that she was dead. Elizabeth borrowed money from anyone willing to give it to her. No matter the interest. I couldn’t go back home.
Maybe I could go to the city?

Picking up the stack of photos and going through them, I realized that I didn’t know anything about my mother and aunt. They were laughing, dancing, even in strange poses, like the way models in magazines. It was weird. I’d never seen half of these before and I’d gone through the rose keepsake box several times. Flipping through them again, I found some baby pictures of me and my mom before she died. Anger flickered like a flame, as I realized everything I knew about them was a lie. Shoving the pictures away in one of the boxes, I moved on.
There had to be something….

The rest of the papers weren’t important, so I pitched them along with the IOU’s. It wasn’t like I was going to need them anyway. Then repacked my bag and sat against the wall. What was the point in fighting? It wasn’t like it was going to make a difference.
Maybe Dr. Franklin would find something on that Maddox guy. That’s all I can hope for.