Forever Young: Blessing or Curse (Always Young Trilogy) (31 page)

First
things first. Before she exploded, she crossed the kitchen, and headed to the
bathroom to relieve herself. Washing her hands afterward, she frowned at her
disheveled appearance. She hadn’t the time to try and look decent, so she
turned away from the sight. She must get on the road.

As
she opened the connecting door to the garage, her heart hammered. What if her
car wasn’t there, containing her purse and pills?

Taking
a deep breath, she glanced into the garage. Thank God, her pretty blue Hyundai
sat patiently waiting for her. Letting out a breath of relief, she waddled as fast
as she could to the car door, which remained unlocked due to her hasty
departure.

Her
sweater still hung over the top of the passenger seat and the uneaten sandwich
below. A glance inside her purse assured her all was accounted for: pills, cell
phone, charge cards, keys, and about a hundred dollars in currency.

She
buckled up, finding it hard to believe everything looked so normal, almost as
if she were embarking on a shopping trip instead of fleeing for her life.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Dorrie
clicked the garage doors shut as she exited. Where should she go? Before she
could decide, a contraction hit, making her wince. Hopefully, it was another
Braxton Hicks and not the real thing.

Her
eyes smarted and her back ached in protest at driving into the night. The
dashboard clock read nine, but so much had happened since she’d spoken to
Keith, it seemed an eternity had passed.

With
her head in a fog, she headed out blindly, not paying attention to where she
was going, only knowing she dare not head for Tomahawk, her true home. That
would be the first place the squat man would look.

The
gas gauge showed a quarter of a tank full. She had to get more money out for
gas, before the gnome got the opportunity to trace her withdrawals and charges.
When she got far enough away, she’d take out her daily five hundred dollar
limit while she could. Frowning, she wondered if she’d ever see the rest of the
savings she worked so hard to get.

 The
specter of losing a healthy chunk of badly needed cash
sent her drifting
into the next lane. A blaring horn shook her out of her trance, jolting her
attention back to the road. Hers and the baby’s lives were more important than
money.

Five
miles later, she pulled to the shoulder to get her bearings, and discovered
she’d automatically headed toward Phoenix. She’d find a bank and gas station
there with no problem, but dare not remain in the vicinity.

She
hit speed dial for Keith’s number, but it kicked into voice mail.

Keith,
where are you?

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

 “Keith,
you were right. I’m in real trouble, and need your help. Please call as soon as
you can.”

Okay,
Keith was out of reach, and she couldn’t use him as a crutch. It would have
been so easy to place her troubles on his doorstep, let him take over and tell
her what to do.  

Dorrie
bit her lip in thought, then thrust her shoulders back and took a shaky breath.
Okay, she could do this. She had to. When faced with an insurmountable task, the
best approach was to move one step at a time. First, get gas.

After
she’d done that, instead of going to a bank, she discovered an all-night
drugstore where she pulled out her five hundred dollar max.

Next
stop, Flagstaff. The contractions came and went on her journey, spaced
forty-five minutes apart, distracting her from her other worries. If the baby
decided to make an appearance, the chances of discovery would increase.

On
the outskirts of the city, she noticed an all-night Wal-Mart, and pulled into
its parking lot. She’d heard somewhere the chain’s management encouraged
travelers to sleep overnight in their lots, so her presence there would not
seem unusual. This would be the perfect spot to eat something, but the dried
up, now germy sandwich on the seat was out.

As
she slid from the car, wouldn’t you know it, the torn seam spread higher.
Hopefully, not many shoppers would be around this time of night to notice her
unkempt appearance.

The
bright lights of the store blinded her tired eyes. Once she’d adjusted to the
glare, a nearby cart proved helpful not only for carrying items, but also for
making her dress rip seem less noticeable.

A
few other shoppers milled about, seemingly intent on making their purchases. It
all seemed so mundane she started to relax and even began humming to the Muzak.
At the register, a half-asleep, middle-aged woman did the check out. Dorrie
couldn’t help noticing her ring finger was bare. Did she work here to stave off
the lonely nights?

Dorrie’s
bags were light enough to carry without using the cart. Inside the Hyundai, her
stomach growled as she spread the turkey sandwich, chips and milk chug on the
seat beside her.  She was so famished the sandwich and chips tasted like a
five course meal.  

The
sound of a car engine interrupted her last chug from the milk. Heart in her
throat, she nonchalantly wiped her face with the napkin, and checked to make
sure her doors were locked before stealing a glance at the driver who’d taken
the space next to hers.

The
Oriental man didn’t bother to look in her direction as he adjusted his seat
into a reclining position. He was probably harmless, but she didn’t care for
his close proximity. What if someone questioned him later? The longer she
stayed here, the more he might remember.

Dorrie
drove a few more miles, searching for a safe place, before coming upon a church
with an adjoining lot. She parked under a tree near the edge, turned on the
inside light, and spread her purchases on the passenger seat.

“I
wish I didn’t have to do this,” she muttered, grimacing in the rear view
mirror, and mourning each blond lock which fell past her extended belly into
the bag on her lap. Since her reversion, she’d admired her long shiny hair.
Gone now was its beauty, replaced by a horrid, choppy looking punk cut. Her
hair’s mutilation was but the beginning.

She
opened the driver’s side window to reduce the possible fumes and mess. Next,
she picked up the two drop cloths and spread one in front, the other to the
right. She donned a pair of latex gloves, then, while shielding her eyes with
her left hand, sprayed black coloring onto her punk cut. That done, she
deposited the used items in the bag and closed the window.

For
further effect, she applied pale pancake makeup so her skin would look
pasty,  followed up by charcoal eye liner on her eyebrows, and grey eye
shadow under her eyes to make it seem like she had circles. She pulled out the
weak bifocal reading glasses she’d found in the optical display, and lastly,
applied remover to her pretty pink nail polish before clipping her fingernails
down.  

After
she’d destroyed her appearance as best she could with the Goth look, she slid
onto the passenger side and turned off the light. Though she hadn’t heard any
car motors in this new spot, she couldn’t help but glance furtively around
before pulling out the rest of her disguise.

She’d
have to change clothes for this part. Even without the interference of the
steering wheel, it wasn’t easy getting undressed and re-dressed in such tight confines.
She kept bumping into the dashboard and handles. Finally, she’d put herself
together in the new outfit.

Unfortunately,
the car could not be disguised, since she dare not drive without her plates,
and couldn’t get the papers out of the Scottsdale safe deposit box. She had no
idea how long Roman could hold the gnome off before the creature came looking
for her, so something must be done soon about changing or hiding her car.
Though she told herself it wouldn’t happen, the possibility of discovery still
loomed. Genius, whether for good or evil, had a way of triumphing.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Face
burning, Roman stumbled out of the lab. His cell phone rang, but he ignored it.
Nothing was more important than the present crisis.

With
one eye open, he lurched toward the men’s room. He pushed at the swinging door,
and flung the gun onto the counter. Cupping his hands under the automatic
faucet, he waited impatiently for the water to spout out. As soon as he’d
gathered some, he threw it onto his face, then gasped at the searing pain. Each
new splash brought fresh agony.

It
was no use. He needed professional help and soon. Before he got it, he must
allay his suspicions.

He
had to look, though he knew he’d regret it. His legs shook in anticipation at
what he’d see. His blood ran hot and cold. He could barely stand as, eyes still
shut, he slowly raised his head.

Waiting
won’t make it any better. Go ahead. Get it over with.
Bracing himself, he slowly opened
the eye that would obey him. The other  remained obstinately shut.

For
a stunned moment, he stared at the mirror, then howled in disbelief. From what
depths had this hideous monster sprung? This couldn’t be him.

He
couldn’t believe that in a heartbeat he’d lost his most prized possession, the
joy of his life. This horror of a face, with its pealing, raw, oozing, ridged
skin, was not the Angel Man’s handsome visage. It had to belong to someone
else, yet he was the only one here.  

He
must get to the hospital and get his face fixed. He’d call an ambulance and
wait out front. To save time, he’d call the guard also and tell him to
immediately admit the emergency vehicle, no questions asked.

He
pulled his cell from his pocket, but before he could dial, the door burst open.
The squat man appeared, laughing like a maniac, with blood dripping from his
arm.

Roman
reached for the gun on the counter, but the squat man swiped it up first,
training the nozzle at Roman, laughing with that unnerving cackle. “My, my,
ugly boy, aren’t you a charming sight, with your half-gone face matching your
feeble brain. Try what you might, no matter what you do, it won’t get better. I
chose that specific formula especially for you. It’s comprised of the highest
quality, exceedingly strong, corrosive acid. Only the finest for my most honored
and respected employee.”

“You’re
insane.”

“I
beg to differ. Compared to you, I’m exceedingly rational. I saw how smitten you
were with the widow, and devised contingencies in the event you ignored reason.
It was no coincidence the acid vials stood within reach.”

“What
if I’d gone along with you? What would you have done?”

The
squat man chuckled. “That’s my secret. All you need know is someday I’ll look
normal, while you’ll still be an ugly son of a bitch. You’ll stay that way,
unless out of the kindness of my heart I relent and allow you to be young
again. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Depends on how you behave.”

“I
wish I’d never met you.”

“Ah,
but how could you resist? Where else could you show off your pretty face and
get paid for it?”

Despite
his burning skin, a cold chill swept over Roman. He, who prided himself on his
looks, had lost them, yet the ugly man before him would morph back to normal.
Something was very wrong with this picture.

Completely
out of his element, he had no idea how to function in his new capacity. He
didn’t fool himself into believing the man would take pity on him any time soon
and allow him to take the pills. No, not after the sin he’d committed. In
recompense, he’d suffer long and hard, clutching at the slim hope that someday
the man might relent. Until then, Roman would remain in bondage, suffering the
ignominy of ugliness.

“Diablo,
get used to your new name. Now, listen carefully. If you know what’s good for
you, you’ll follow my orders exactly.”  

Through
a haze of pain and fear, Roman listened to the devious man’s concoction, which
was as far from the truth as it could be. If he weren’t in such dire straits,
he’d refuse straightway and ensure that the man got what he deserved. As it
was, Roman could only nod in acceptance.

“I’ll
dial, then you pick up the phone like a good boy and tell the story, nothing
more, nothing less.”

After
Roman spat out the words to the dispatcher, he silently watched the squat man
deposit the gun in the furthest toilet tank. With the weapon disposed of, Roman
could flee if he chose, but that would prove futile. The man’s hold on him was
stronger than any bullets from a gun.

They
proceeded to the front entrance. The paramedics arrived in record time. He
cringed as they glanced first at him, then the squat man, and finally at the
ground. If he weren’t the object of their scrutiny, he would have laughed at
their discomfiture. They’d sure have a story to tell about this gig.

When
they arrived at the emergency room, the squat man was transferred to one
cubicle and Roman another. The temptation to unburden himself to the nurse
overwhelmed him, but fear clamped his mouth tight.