Dead Ringer (13 page)

"Nothing."
Kendall shoved out a breath. "The point of all
this isn't to lay more on your shoulders. It's to tell you that I'm adopted and
I had a really great life with the people who adopted me. They adored me. I
couldn't have asked for more." And still there'd been something missing.
A hole in her heart.
But she couldn't tell Nicole that.

"Thanks.
I don't know if it makes any of this easier," she said, nodding to the full
binder. "But I am glad to know you had great parents."

Kendall
rose. "Do me a favor and keep this under your hat. I'm not ready to go public
yet."

"Oh, sure, of course."

Kendall
suddenly felt very weary. "I'm going to bed. Are you okay?"

Her
too bright smile was lame at best. "I'm good."

Kendall
didn't push. There wasn't more she could say to Nicole to make any of this
process easier. "Okay, good night."

"Hey,
you should talk to Carnie. She's good at finding lost family members."

"I
don't know."

"She's
kind of an adoption detective. If you want answers she's the one to go to."

Was
she brave enough to seek the answers? "Thanks."

Kendall's
legs felt like lead as she climbed the steps. She couldn't wait to slip under the
sheets. Fifteen minutes later, she'd hung up her clothes and washed the makeup
from her face. She opened her medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of
sleeping pills prescribed to her after her surgery. She glanced at the bottle
in her hand. "No. I don't need this."

She
set the pills back and got into bed. She wasn't going to set her alarm clock.
She'd wake up when she woke up. As she drifted off to sleep, her mind was on
the family she'd lost.

The little girl was afraid.

Soft arms with surprising strength lowered her to the floor and pushed
her into the darkened closet. She huddled in the corner. Shag carpet scratched
her legs. Above, winter coats on hangers brushed her head.

The woman laid a baby next to her. Immediately, the baby kicked its feet,
balled tiny hands into fists, and started to wail.

The little girl resented the baby. It was always in the way. "I don't
like the baby!"

"Be quiet," the woman warned. "Don't argue with me." The woman's voice
was normally soft and patient. Now it was angry, afraid, and desperate. "And
keep the baby quiet."

She didn't want to be left alone with the baby. The baby cried and
smelled bad.

The girl held up her hands and started to stand. "No, no! Take me! Take
me!"

The woman, already retreating, roughly pushed her back. Tears streamed
down the woman's eyes. "Stay put. Don't leave this closet."

The door slammed shut. The key in the lock twisted, flipping the
deadbolt in place.

The little girl was plunged into darkness. The baby cried. The little
girl's lips puckered out and she put her thumb in her mouth. She hated the
dark.
Hated the baby.
Hated being
left alone.

Outside the closet door the woman started to scream.
Angry.
Hysterical.
Frightened.

The little girl huddled in the corner, drawing herself up into a small
ball. She squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her head.

She tried not to cry. She wanted to be brave. But it was all too much.

The child hugged her knees close to her body and began to cry. The
infant, sensing her distress, cried even louder.

The child's throat constricted with fear and she burrowed her head back
in the corner. The screams outside wouldn't stop. She was so afraid that she
peed.

And then she heard footsteps moving toward the door. Suddenly, someone
started shouting on the other side. The footsteps moved away. Then the room
exploded with more screams and terrified yelps.

The little girl raised her hands to cover her ears and block out the
frightful sounds. "Mommy, don't leave me."

Kendall
awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her bed. Her heart thundered
against her chest. Her gown was soaked in sweat and she realized she'd been
crying.

She
shoved shaking fingers through her hair and then wiped the tears from her face.

"Damn
it! This has got to stop."

Sunday, January 13, sunrise

The
side of Vicky Draper's head ached as if it had been slammed into a wall. Her
mouth felt as dry as cotton. And every muscle in her body felt so heavy, as if
lead weighted down every fiber. Time was a blur and she was so disoriented.

Crap.
She'd not felt like this in a long time. She'd sworn after the last time she'd
done coke not to get so fucked up when she partied.

Had
it been the shots of tequila at Brian's house? Maybe the coke Ronnie T. had given
her was cut with some shit like Drano.

Vicky's
temper rose. That damn drug dealer was always taking a fucking shortcut to
squeeze a dollar out of someone. She wasn't fooled by his easy grins. Under it
all she knew he'd sell his mother for a buck.

The
drugs were gonna kill her if she didn't knock this shit off. She resolved then
and there never to touch the stuff again. Going forward, she would be all about
clean and sober.

Her
eyes were still closed as she tried to move her hands. She quickly realized she
couldn't lift her arms. Fear mingled with anger. Damn, Ronnie T.! What had his
drugs done to her? Digging deep, she opened her eyes and looked down.

Her
blurred vision cleared slowly, and when it did she really thought she must be
tripping. Pink. The dimly lit room was filled with pink everywhere. It was like
she was trapped inside a ball of cotton candy.

Shit.
This wasn't right.

Squinting,
she focused on the room's sole source of light: a small bedside lamp with a
low-wattage bulb. Her gaze darted to the right to a canopied bed covered in a
pink chiffon comforter. Stuffed animals--rabbits, puppies, ducks--crowded the
bed.

The
faint scent of urine rose up and assailed her nose. She realized her pants were
wet and she'd soiled herself. Embarrassment washed over her.

Sitting
straighter, she said, "Where the fuck
am
I?"

Again,
she tried to lift her arms and couldn't. Her mind had cleared enough for her to
realize her hands were tied to the chair.

Panic
sliced through her. Oh crap, was Ronnie T. behind this?

Her
head pounded. "If this is some kind of joke, I'm not laughing."

Her
gaze skipped around the room again as she jerked at the bindings. She was in
all-out survival mode.

She
was in a little girl's room and she was tied up. This kind of setup wasn't
Ronnie T.'s style. The drug dealer wouldn't have gone to this kind of trouble
if he was pissed at her.

Crap,
maybe she had hooked up with a kinky john. She'd turned a few tricks in her
time, but it was always straightforward--no weird sex. But the kinky stuff paid
really well. And she'd been short on cash. What had she gotten herself into?

Outside
a frosted window, she saw an orange sun through naked trees. Sunrise. There was
no snow on the branches of the trees. It had melted. How many days had passed?

Desperation
rising, she tried to think where she'd last been before this room. She'd called
in sick to work because Brian had invited her over for shooters. And then
they'd run out of tequila so she'd headed to the corner liquor store for more.

And
then that guy had approached her in the alley. He had followed her like some
freak. And when she'd blown him off he'd looked hurt and then mad. And then
he'd hit her.

"Hey!"
Her voice sounded weak, raspy. She cleared her throat. "Whoever you are, I'm
sorry I got so mad. My name is Vicky. Vicky Draper. Can we talk about this?"

A
song started to play, drifting into the room on an unidentified speaker. The
song was old.
Pop crap from the 1980s.
Duran
Duran,
or something like that.

She
craned her neck toward the closed door. Her heart hammered in her chest. She
needed to get out of there. She jerked at the ropes. "I don't know who you are,
but I don't do tricks anymore."

Footsteps
sounded in the hallway outside the door. Vicky sat straight, clenching her
fingers into fists. She'd talked her way out of some bad stuff before. Hadn't
Ronnie T. wanted to cut her hand off last year for stealing from him? She'd
sworn never to cheat him again and as an extra measure said she'd pledge to
work for free. He'd relented and given her another chance.

Sweat
rolled down her back.
Stay calm. You can get out of this.

The
knob twisted and the door opened. A man stepped into the room. He was dressed
in jeans, a dark shirt, and work boots. Muscular build.
Short
hair.
And wore an odd grin on his face that didn't sit
well.

"You're
up," he said pleasantly. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't wake up in
time."

She
tried not to look as terrified as she felt. "What am I doing here? Do you work
for Ronnie T.?"

"I've
never heard of Ronnie T.
He a friend of yours?"

He
softly closed the door behind him. The room was large enough, but with him in
it the space shrank. She felt trapped. "He and I have worked together before."

"I
see." He crossed the room and pulled a wooden chair from a desk and set it in
front of her.

This
guy was the guy from the alley. The guy who'd hit her. Like in the alley, he
appeared so average. Like Richie Cunningham on
Happy Days
.
Just an ordinary putz.
If she'd passed him on the street,
she'd never have given him a second glance. The straight-laced types had never
done it for her. "Who are you?"

He
straddled the chair and leaned toward her. "You don't recognize me?"

"From the alley."

"I'm
talking about earlier."

"No."

Leaning
a fraction closer, he clasped his hands together. "I thought you'd remember."

"Man,
I don't. And if you've snatched me because you think I can remember something,
I don't. You can let me go because I don't know
nothing
about anything. Ask anyone."

He
looked disappointed. "I was hoping you would remember."

Vicky
twisted her hands. She felt as if she were going to jump out of her skin.
"Mister, I don't."

He
shook his head. "That's too bad."

Too bad?
Was he an old john? "If you want me to
remember I'll try harder." If she could get the guy talking maybe she could come
up with something to convince him to let her go.

He
shrugged. "There's no point in going into it all. Once you've joined the
Family, you'll understand."

"What
family?"

"My family.
Our family."

He
rose and reached in his pocket as he moved around her.

Vicky's
heart pounded against her chest. What the hell was the family?
Maybe a cult.
"What are you going to do?"

"I've
got a present for you." He gently brushed her hair away from the nape of her
neck. "You have pretty skin."

Tears
welled in her eyes. She wasn't a crier, hadn't been since she was a kid. But
something about this guy scared the piss out of her.

She
twisted her head and tried to meet his gaze. "Mister, you've got the wrong
girl.
Really.
I don't have a family. My name is
Vicky."

He
pulled a gold chain from his pocket. On the end was a small oval medallion. It
caught the dim light and sparkled.

"Remember
this? I showed it to you in the alley."

Her
pulse thrummed. "Yeah, it's pretty."

He
draped the necklace around her neck and fastened the clasp. The medallion felt
cold against her skin and hung just above the vee of her sweater. Looking down,
she could see it had writing on it but couldn't make out the script.

"Do
you like it?" Gently, he stroked the top of her head.

Tension
exploded inside her. Dear God, no matter what she said she feared it wasn't
going to be the right answer. "Yeah, it's nice. You were sweet to give it to
me."

"I'm
glad you like it."

She
clenched and unclenched her fingers. "Look,
mister, how about
letting me go
? I don't want trouble. I just want to leave."

He
came around her, squatted beside her chair, and laid his hand on her knee. "I
can't let you go. It's just too dangerous out there for you."

"I
can take care of myself.
Really."

He
frowned, clearly saddened. "You should be with your family."

"I
don't have a family. I was a foster care kid. And my ex-husband and I don't
really like each other."

"We
should honor our father and mother."

A
desperate smile lifted her trembling lips. She did her best not to think about
her mother and father. She'd not seen them since she was eight and thinking
about them only made life all that much harder. "I would if I knew them."

The
more she talked the more distressed he seemed. "You've been alone too long.
You've picked up so many bad habits."

"I'm
not perfect. I get that." She had no idea what he was talking about. The guy
was a nutcase. He could do anything to her. And then it hit her that she'd told
him she was estranged from her parents and her ex-husband. "I have lots of
friends. And they're expecting me."

He
rose again and moved behind her. He laid his hands on her shoulders. Her pulse
jolted wildly under his fingertips. "Friends come and go. Family is forever."

She
was about to argue the point when she felt his hands move up to her neck. "What
are you doing?"

"Sending you to the Family.
Ruth is waiting. And I know she is
so anxious to see you."

The
growing pressure of his hand made it hard to swallow. She gagged. "I don't know
any Ruth."

He
started to squeeze. "Yes, you do."

She
started to twist her head from side to side and kick her feet. God, if she
could only bite him. But his hands were amazingly strong, and despite her
flailing he maintained a steady pressure.

"Don't
fight it." His voice was so soft and gentle. "I'm giving you what you always
needed."

Getting
air into her lungs became the priority. At first she could manage sips of air
between gags but quickly that became impossible. She was going to die because
he'd mistaken her for someone else.

Soon
her vision blurred and she felt light-headed. Her body screamed for air. Her
muscles cramped. Black dots formed in her eyes. Her chest burned.

Her
mind skidded to a memory she rarely allowed.
Her mother.
Smiling at her.
Calling her Peaches.

And
then her heart stopped beating and everything went dark.