Inevitable Sentences (14 page)

Lizzie jogged across the wet parking lot, the pavement glimmering like gems under the lights. She jumped over a puddle, unlocked her car and slipped into the driver’s seat, then started the engine and maneuvered the car out of the lot. Another car’s lights suddenly appeared behind her. It could be anyone, but when she stopped under the light at the street sign, she could see it was Stump. Could he be following her? Probably not. He just probably happened to be leaving at the same time.

Lizzie checked her rearview mirror again and confirmed the driver in the car behind her was the warden. She turned left toward Marquette where she was meeting Priscilla at a Wendy’s. They both wanted to get something fast and get the task at hand over, even though Lizzie knew she’d never get any sleep that night.

Stump turned in the same direction. He was following her. So what? It was Saturday. He could be going out for a drink or perhaps meeting his wife for dinner. He had the right to go where he wanted, and Marquette wasn’t all that big. Where did he live? Lizzie couldn’t remember. For all she knew, he lived in the downtown area or perhaps on the other side of Marquette.

Lizzie decided to alter her route instead of going directly to Wendy’s and turned onto Highway 41. Lizzie could see Stump tailing close behind as though not worried about being seen. She turned left onto Jackson Avenue and still he followed. When she turned left onto Adams and onto West Hampton, Stump remained close behind. She could almost see his face in the rearview mirror.

Lizzie’s gloved hands clutched the steering wheel. Sweat bubbled above her lip. What was he up to? She was scared. Once she had confirmed he was pursuing her, she decided the safest place for her was at Wendy’s in the company of the prison’s psychologist. More to the point, Stump might think Lizzie was deliberately trying to hide her destination from him, which would arouse unwanted suspicion, and which it probably already had. Stupid. Stupid. She should have driven directly to Wendy’s as she would have on any other night.

As Lizzie pulled into the lot and parked, she couldn’t help wonder if this was the first time the warden had followed her. She shivered at the thought as she got out of the car and nearly ran to the restaurant. She never bothered to see if Stump came after her until she saw lights flash on the windows as a car circled the lot behind her and left. She chanced a glance at the retreating vehicle, but all she could see were the taillights and she quickly searched the lot. There was no other movement. Still she wasn’t certain that Stump wasn’t somewhere in the maze of cars watching her. She couldn’t let him see her concern—or her fear? Of what? That he was a creep and had a thing for her? Or that he would discover her plan to sneak Chad out of the prison tomorrow?

Lizzie took several deep breaths before she went inside Wendy’s. She had to be calm and in control when she met with Priscilla. She didn’t want to give her any reason to be alarmed. How many more times would she have to tell herself this?

P
RISCILLA BUTTONED HER COAT,
preparing to leave Wendy’s. Once again she had been waiting for over a half hour for Lizzie and had run out of patience. While waiting she’d tried to remember what she’d done all day. Nothing. She had stared at her apartment walls. She could hardly think straight, let alone move. In only seventy-two hours she had become a hopelessly lost soul. All the care she had taken to reconstruct her life and become a contributing member of society could be lost forever in only one more day.

She should tell Celeste. Celeste would understand and get her out of this mess. Even so, could Celeste convince the police that Priscilla hadn’t meant to be Dwayne’s accomplice? Surely Celeste could persuade them to believe Priscilla did what she did because she was afraid of Dwayne. Or could she? Especially when Priscilla herself never could be sure why she had committed the crimes. She had been a druggie, after all.

Priscilla felt empty. She had felt this way since before Dwayne. What would fill her? She had no idea. Did she really want to help Lizzie for the thrill, like she had experienced in her own criminal days? Was she that disturbed? Or was she really just afraid of what would happen if she didn’t go along with Lizzie?

No sooner had Priscilla wrapped a scarf around her neck than the door banged open and Lizzie galloped through like a racehorse. She waved wildly and called out, “Sorry.” Everyone in the restaurant stopped eating and stared at her. “I had to attend to a work matter and it made me late.”

Priscilla wondered what could have kept Lizzie at the prison on a Saturday when hardly an administrator, not even the warden, would be on grounds. Maybe the escape plan had been foiled or at least delayed. Lizzie would sure tell her soon enough. Priscilla heaved a great sigh and got in line to order without saying a word to Lizzie. She had grown tired of reprimanding her. She wasn’t Lizzie’s mother.

“You must be hungry.” Lizzie seemed overly cheerful and a little on edge. She joined Priscilla at the counter. “You hardly waited for me to get through the door before you jumped in line.” She looked over her shoulder at the door a couple of times.

Priscilla wondered what or who she was looking for. Who did she expect to come into Wendy’s?

“Hey, lady, you’re holding up the line,” the clerk shouted at Priscilla. “Are ya gonna order?”

“Yes,” Priscilla nearly shouted herself. The clerk’s voice had startled her. “I’ll have the Mandarin chicken salad and a large coffee.” She didn’t feel all that hungry knowing what the conversation would be about.

Lizzie on the other hand ordered a classic double burger, a bowl of chili and a large Coke. “I guess you’re not as hungry as me.” Lizzie giggled. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Although Priscilla still ignored Lizzie, she couldn’t help wondering what made Lizzie so ravenous. Could it be anxiety about what she was scheming? Priscilla thought that once she opened her mouth she’d lose control and say all the wrong things. She was not only tired of forever waiting for Lizzie, she couldn’t imagine how she got herself into this situation and what her future held. She paid for her food and went to a booth at the rear of the restaurant, far from any other customers. Lizzie paid for her overflowing tray and followed Priscilla.

Both took off their coats and folded them on the bench seat beside them. They were silent as they unwrapped their food and began to eat. Priscilla took a mouthful of salad and chewed carefully. She watched Lizzie as she opened her mouth wide and bit off a huge chunk of her sandwich. Lizzie’s movements appeared frantic, almost out of control, as though she had taken too much amphetamine. Priscilla looked at her closely. Lizzie had been known to indulge in that habit in the past. Perhaps she still did.

“The big day is near,” Lizzie blurted through a mouthful of hamburger. She sounded like she was getting married, rather than preparing to commit a major felony.

Priscilla remained silent. What could she say—goodie, goodie? Instead, she continued to eat her salad with slow, precise actions.

“Look, I know I was hard on you about being a part of …” Lizzie paused and checked the area. No one had taken a seat nearby. “Ya know, the plan. I really do need your help.”

“Crazy scheme, you mean, don’t you?” Priscilla finally said—her words so sharp they cut the air between the two women.

Lizzie’s head jerked up. “I’m not going to defend my actions again to you. I don’t have to.” She swirled the straw in her Coke, spilling some on the table. “You’re going to help me whether you like it or not.”

Priscilla lowered her head. She pushed her fork back and forth in the salad. “I know,” she murmured without lifting her eyes from her plate.

“Good. Now that we have that straightened out, let’s get down to the plan.” Lizzie scraped the remains of the chili from the bowl and shoveled them into her mouth. A little sauce dribbled down her chin and she swiped it with her hand. She again attacked her hamburger and finished it in several large chomps, as though she was afraid someone might take it from her. Eagerly, she slurped down the rest of her Coke.

Priscilla observed Lizzie’s institutional eating style. The woman was clearly a bundle of nerves. She had hardly taken a breath between bites of food. Who wouldn’t be keyed up when planning the escape of a serial killer—if that was all that had her wired? Priscilla, on the other hand, reacted differently, as though some great anchor weighted her in place. “Yes. We might as well get this over with,” Priscilla said in a monotone and pushed her salad away.

“The way you’ve been eating lately, you’ll lose that thirty pounds you’ve gained.” Lizzie pointed to the half-eaten salad. “Maybe my scheme,” she drew out the last word, “isn’t all that bad for you after all. Seems to be a great weight-loss plan.” Lizzie wiped food from her mouth again. This time she used the napkin. Her deep black-red lipstick smeared onto her chin and the corners of her mouth.

“Enough of your gibberish. Tell me what you want from me for God’s sake.” Priscilla lifted her coffee in both hands and leaned back. There would be no way other than to find out what she had to do and do it. Perhaps, if she were lucky, no one would ever find out that she had anything to do with Lizzie and Chad’s scheme. Unfortunately, it would haunt her for the rest of her life, however, especially if anyone got hurt or worse—murdered. She shivered, spilling coffee on her blouse, and she dabbed at it with a napkin. The stain remained. She threw the napkin on the table. “Damn.”

“Okay,” Lizzie launched into her plans without noticing Priscilla’s shirt or her overreaction to the spill. “The first thing I need to know is whether or not you still have that hand gun.”

Lizzie was nearly salivating. Could she be that excited about using a weapon?

Priscilla swallowed. She should have seen this coming. “You mean my dad’s old Smith and Wesson?” Priscilla knew exactly what Lizzie meant. It was the only gun she’d ever had. She had held on to it after her father died more for sentimental reasons than protection. Her father had taught her how to use it and had often taken her to the shooting range to practice. He had also pressed her to get her own weapon. “Never know when it will come in handy,” he had told her. Priscilla doubted her father had meant for her to use it to help a killer escape from prison.

Priscilla never did get a gun, and until this moment, had been glad she’d held on to the Smith and Wesson. She kept it in her bed table drawer for fear Dwayne would one day find her.

“Yeah. That’s the one.” Lizzie’s eyes widened. The thick black liner stood out against her pale skin and made her look like a mime. Her uniform seemed to contradict her makeup, which emerged more pronounced under the harsh restaurant lights, as though it was part of a Halloween costume.

“Yes, I still have the gun.” Priscilla sipped her coffee, holding the cup close to her face, comforted by the warmth of the steam. “Why do you need a gun?” And why had she been willing to admit she still had it? Surely the strain of the situation kept her from thinking clearly.

“Chad asked for it in case we had trouble.” Lizzie answered as though it were a good reason. “We need ammunition, too. Just in case. You do have extra bullets, don’t you?”

Lizzie’s answer hardly satisfied her. Having a gun only meant Chad would use it. Why else would he want it? Apparently Lizzie had been so duped by Chad, arguing about why he wanted the gun would serve little purpose. Priscilla had to let it go.

“Is it registered? And the bullets? You have them? Do I have to pull every detail from you?” Lizzie sounded exasperated.

“Yes, it’s registered, and I have a few extra bullets. No. You don’t have to force words from me. I can’t put questions or words in your mouth or make up what I think you want to hear.” Priscilla eased back from the table and leaned against the seat back. She shut her eyes. Maybe when she opened them again, Lizzie would be gone and this would turn out to be a bad dream.

“Whose name?”

“What?” Priscilla opened her eyes. “What?”

“Whose name is the gun registered under?” Lizzie pronounced every word as though each was its own sentence.

Priscilla studied the exit. Should she call Lizzie’s bluff and get up and leave? No. She knew that when Lizzie had her mind set on something, nothing, not even a lifelong friendship, would stop her. She would certainly snitch on Priscilla if she didn’t play the game. Hadn’t Lizzie always been self-serving? And now Lizzie showed a meanness Priscilla had never seen before. Priscilla faced her. “Mine. It’s in my name now.”

“Perfect.” Lizzie shrieked and bounced up and down again like a little girl getting an extra ice cream cone. “I’ll need the gun to take with us. When you meet us with a car, have it with you.”

“Car? Surely you don’t think you can use my car as the getaway vehicle.” Priscilla’s head felt like someone had tightened a large rubber band around it. She rubbed her forehead hoping to release the pressure. It didn’t happen.

“Don’t worry.” Lizzie waved her hand. “We’re not using your car. You won’t be the getaway driver. Not this time.”

The reminder of her days with Dwayne felt like a knife twisting in Priscilla’s gut. “What car, then?”

“The one you’re going to rent.”

“What?” Priscilla straightened so quickly her hand knocked the leftover salad onto the floor. She stared at it for several seconds, then finally bent over and picked it up. She slapped the carton on the table, spilling the contents. This time she let them lie where they were. “That means my name will be on the rental application and I will be implicated in your mess.” She felt dizzy and hot and cold all at the same time. Her heart beat out a mantra: run, run. Her body felt heavy. She could hardly raise a hand. She knew she would go nowhere.

Lizzie lifted her extra-large, patchwork-print hobo bag to the table, rummaged through the contents, and pulled an envelope out. She slid the envelope across to Priscilla. “This is your false identification.”

Priscilla picked up the envelope and tore the seal, taking a great deal of time, like someone trying to preserve the wrapping on a Christmas gift.