Dancer (7 page)

"I can't believe I left my cellphone at his house." I shook my head, irritated at my  stupidity.

"It's my fault. I never should've convinced you to do this," she said. "It was my fault at the nightclub, too. I begged you to go. If it wasn't for me, you never would've met Chase or got pregnant. None of this would've happened."

"Come on, Allison. It's not your fault."

"Yes it is, and I'm so sorry." She lowered her head. "It's like—I never know when to stop. I don't stop to think about consequences."

"You're not that big of an influence over me. It's just as much my fault as it is yours."

"At least we didn't get caught," she said.

"Yeah, but it's not over yet. My phone's there with all my information. If Chase finds it, I'm screwed."

"You won't be screwed. I'll go back and get your phone." She eyed me with daring determination.
That's
the Allison I knew.

"You can't do that," I said. "It's too risky."

"I owe you and you can't stop me."

There was no way I'd change her mind. It was already made up. "Promise you'll be careful," I quietly said.

"Don't worry. I can take care of myself." Allison left the bed. "I'll just watch and wait till I'm sure they're asleep, then I'll get your phone. What other choice do we have?" She shrugged.

"None, but at least let me go with you. Let me drive."

"No way. You're pregnant, so let me take care of it. Anyhow I can easily get a ride from Josh, have him drop me off a mile from Chase's."

I didn't want her to go, but I couldn't see any other way out.

"Everything will be alright, Sam. You'll see. I'll make it up to you." She disappeared beyond the doorway, her footsteps padding in the hallway.

I wasn't sure why, but her final remark bothered me and alarm bells sounded in my brain. My voice wouldn't work. I couldn't plead for her to stay.

Now Allison was gone.

* * * *

S
aturday. The morning after.

Digital clock on the nightstand read
5:11 a.m.
I was so exhausted last night I didn't remember falling asleep.

I lay motionless in bed, drifting back to dreamland. But Dad's iPhone blared from downstairs and jarred me awake. He kept the ringtone volume maxed for some idiotic reason.

On and on the jingle played, repeated mercilessly until finally I got up to answer it.
Dragged
myself out of bed was more like it, while clutching my growing middle that was getting heavier.

I scooped Dad's mobile from the kitchen table and answered.

"Is this Samantha?" a woman asked. She sounded like Allison's mother.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Oh, thank god it's you. This is Lucy." She started sobbing. "I couldn't get in touch with you on your other phone. It's about Allison. She—she's at Vanderbilt Mercy Hospital."

"What? What happened?" Oh, o
h my freakin' god.

I never got an answer. She hung up.

Before even realizing it, I got dressed and was on the way to the hospital. My thoughts raced as fast as the wheels on my car.

Upon arriving at VMH ER, I jogged to the front desk.

"Allison Lewis." I feared the receptionist's response. She clicked her computer keyboard, peered at the monitor and lifted her gaze.

ICU Room 233. I hurried to the elevators.

"They said it was self-defense," Lucy muttered when I entered Allison's room. Lucy sat in a corner chair. "Allison broke into someone's home and one of the owners—a woman—shot Allison. She was shot in the stomach—" She choked up, bowed her head as her shoulders heaved.

"
Why
?" Lucy said. "Why did Allison do this? It doesn't make sense. She's not the type of girl to do something like this. She's not a criminal."

"I know..." My mind reeled as I neared Allison's bedside.

'Don't worry. I can take care of myself,'
Allison had said, though at this moment she lay still on a hospital bed.

Allison was so quiet and ghostly pale.

Even if she
could
speak, no sound would pass this bulky white tube blocking her throat. Seemed tubes, IV lines and wires cascaded from every inch of exposed skin. Every catheter had a purpose. Each tube formed an unnatural lifeline, kept her alive.

What's the point? She'd be better off...

No. She wouldn't.

Allison. I may never see her again. Never hear her cheerful voice or bubbly laughter. I couldn't fathom it.

My BFF. Sometimes I wanted to be like her. Other times I was glad I wasn't.

An icy sensation rose to my heart, shattered it and filled me with anguish. I didn't realize I was crying until tears wet my lips.

What the hell would I do without her?

Without her?

* * * *

T
wo weeks trickled by.

Allison stayed on my mind, torturing me, reminding me this was all my fault.

And The Dancer's.

She remained in a state somewhere between life and death.

Her insides were obliterated.

Even if she recovered she wouldn't be the same. Her liver was lacerated, she'd lost her spleen and a portion of her stomach. A deadly infection raged in her upper intestines.

I wanted to kill Chase. Whenever I thought of his wife (whom I finally learned her name was Sherrie), I found myself making plans to hurt
her
.

Mostly I was angry with Chase.

My parents headed out to Alabama to visit my aunt and uncle. The two-week vacation would give them a chance to work on their marriage.

Right before leaving, Dad crossed his arms as he lingered by the front door. A suitcase sat by his feet.

"I only want what's best for you," Mom said, hugging me. "And I'll pray for Allison tonight. I love you."

Love you too, Mom.

Dad didn't bother telling me good-bye.

Whatever.

Two mornings later there came a knock at the door. Puzzled, I slid out of bed and went downstairs.

My jaw dropped at the sight of a—very—unexpected visitor.

Holy...

He wore a navy blue dress shirt, open collar displaying his smooth chest. Sunlight beamed on his glittering, side-swept blond hair, making him angelic and boyishly cute.

All he needed were a feathery pair of wings.

Oh, how looks were indeed deceptive.

"I need to talk to you," said Chase Richardson as he stalked into the house.

My
house.

––––––––

8

"I
think I have something that belongs to you." He reached into his jeans pocket and brought out a mobile phone. "Is this—yours?"

I snatched it. "Uh, thanks." What the hell else could I say?
I owe you one? I owe you another fuck? I owe you my best friend's life?

Fresh anger welled within me.

"That
is
your phone, right?" His slender brows arched as he peered at me in a sideways glance.

Could this motherfucker be any more sarcastic?

"Fuck you."

"Sure, an encore would be nice." His sensuous lips pulled to a smirk.

"So—you
do
remember me."

"How could I forget? You were pretty goddamn hot." Huge white grin. Shit-eating.

"
What
do you want, Chase?" My whole body tensed.

"I got your email a few weeks ago. I want to be in my baby's life." His obnoxious grin collapsed.

"You do?"

"Why not? As long as it's my baby. It
is
my baby, right?" He narrowed an eye.

Fucker
.

"Yes Chase. It's your baby. I promise."
Please just leave before I smash your goddamn face.

"Good, because Sherrie—my wife—can't have kids. If you agree to give us the baby I won't press charges for you breaking and entering, or for scratching the fuck out of my car." His mouth twitched.

"Is it a deal?" He questioned when I didn't answer. I almost laughed.

Is it a deal?? The infuriating nerve of this motherfucker!

"While you're mulling that over, you mind if I smoke? I quit for a while but fell into old habits once this shit started."

Aww! Poor you!

Stuck in disbelief over his proposal, I wasn't thinking when I said 'okay' about his smoking. Though I
did
take a step back.

And then another step.

As he puffed on his cigarette, acrid smoke floated to me.

No consideration whatsoever for my pregnancy.
And he wanted custody?

"I can take you to court and sue you for custody, thanks to Sherrie's money. I'd win too, so it wouldn't do you any good to fight. I hope you realize that." Another drag of his cig as he stared.

That's when it dawned on me. "You're only doing this because
Sherrie
wants you to. If you don't do exactly as she says, she'll dump you and take away your money and precious mansion. You don't give a damn about this baby and you know it." Instinctively I embraced my sloped belly.

He glared and took a hit of his cigarette. "You don't know shit, sweetheart."

"What's wrong, Chase? Did I hit a nerve? Is your wife still pissed at you for getting another woman knocked up?"

"I said—
you don't know fucking shit, you stupid bitch
." His lips curled as he spoke.

And something snapped where I literally saw red. Awful events of past months flickered within my imagination. Everything in slow motion.

In that instant I made plans. Plans of exactly what I was going to do to him.

It'd be perfect, very diabolical and delicious. Self-satisfaction swelled and I hadn't felt this joyful in a while.

"Sherrie doesn't know you're here, does she?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

"What's it to you?" Fingers faintly trembling, he took a drag.

"No reason." Brief pause. "You know, I never wanted this baby anyway. I almost got an abortion but chickened out. So—why don't we go upstairs and talk more about it?" I warmed my expression but didn't smile. I couldn't get
that
far.

Just being nice to him made me wanna barf.

"Upstairs?" His brow quirked. "Okay I guess."

He threw open the front door, flicked his cigarette stub outside. There came the sun's platinum gleam which brightened his hair, then abruptly darkened when he shut the door. Golden strands still glittered, to my intense disgust since it made him devastatingly attractive.
Ugh
.

Why the fuck did I have to be partial to blond men? Let alone blond men who could expertly dance.
Fuck
.

He followed me upstairs.

"Would you like a drink? I have some pinot noir," I offered.

"A little early, but sure." His low tone hinted of suspicion.

Yeah. He had good reason to be suspicious.

Once he settled on the loveseat outside Mom and Dad's bedroom, I returned downstairs.

In the kitchen I smiled, hummed as I carefully used a spoon to crush three Unisom tablets.

I sprinkled the powdery results in the
dumb blond's
drink.

9

C
hase stirred. How precious he looked while he slumbered like a baby. An angel.

A devil.

Satan
.

Sea green eyes gaped and the look of horror on his face was absolutely priceless.

"What the—
holy fuck
?" He struggled, squirmed, madly trying to loosen the long thick cords which tethered his wrists to the headboard. I'd snatched the pink and white braided strings from Mom's arts and crafts basket.

Now the pretty ties bound Satan (or Chase or The Dancer) to Mom and Dad's queen-sized bed. What a terrific use for crafty items.

Thanks, Mom.

Awesome
.

"Oh wow," I said, unable to resist a smile. "You seem to be... stuck."

I brought my finger to my chin and tapped it, feigning deep thought while I surveyed him.

"I swear to god if you don't untie me—" He thrashed as if possessed, his torso lurching upward like Regan from
The Exorcist
. And the bed shimmied. I almost expected it to start floating.

Poor poor baby. Poor Satan/Chase.