The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) (5 page)

After thoroughly condemning modern science’s
failure to either prevent or relieve the world of evil, Dr. Abe offered the
apple. The key that was lacking, he quietly asserted, was the spiritual side of
healing.

With a jolt, I realized that his argument, while
taking an unbelievably long time to develop, was essentially the same as Tracy
had given me for her decision to practice Christian counseling.

For the last hour, I sat and squirmed under the
duel pangs of a full bladder and the realization that truth holds a lot of
manipulative potential. During the entire two-hour-long monologue, no break had
been offered and no one had displayed the initiative to step out of the room.
Yet another example of the man’s ability to mold outsiders in a remarkably
short time. Group pressure vs. bladder pressure. If I hadn’t needed to pee so
badly, I would have been amazed at the level of discomfort the audience members
were willing to suffer in order to avoid swimming against the current. Then I
wished I hadn’t thought of currents.

As soon as he finished, Dr. Abe shot out the door
in the back. Maybe he needed to pee too. Nobody noticed because we were pelting
en masse to the bathrooms in the other direction.

Thankfully, since coffee is a diuretic, the shop
had wisely installed a three-booth potty. The sound of three women
simultaneously power tinkling rivaled Niagra Falls.

Instead of leaving, I returned to the conference
room where the Elect members were busy cleaning up. The crying woman and her
pals were still huddled near the front, talking. The woman who had sat next to
me was gathering up leftover pamphlets. She looked up, taking note of my
entrance. Pretending not to see her, I made for the trio. As I neared, an
almost palpable wall of exclusion rose from her escorts. I veered off to take a
seat three chairs away. Almost immediately, I was joined by my own assigned
guardian.

I smiled as if to imply that I had crossed an
entire room in the opposite direction from her just so we could have this
little chat. She smiled back as if pretending to believe me, and we introduced
ourselves.

“What did you think about tonight’s message?”
Rachel asked.

Although she hadn’t the dark magic of Dr. Abe, her
voice was also soft and evenly modulated. She held herself very still. Proper,
but not stiff. Free from makeup, her face radiated an old-fashioned
quality—understated and dignified. Her dark hair was caught up in a fat bun and
some tendrils curled around her face, softening the effect. Brown, intelligent
eyes focused intently on me. 

“It was fascinating,” I answered. “I wasn’t sure
what to expect, but my life has been so crazy lately, when I saw the notice at
the school I decided to come. When Dr. Abe talked it just seemed like he had
such an understanding of the world.”

“He’s a wonderful man.”

“I wish I could have spoken to him. I would have
liked to have asked his advice.” I let my voice trail into a slight whine.

“Are you troubled, Letty?”

No need of acting skills here.

“Yes. I am. Things are… scary.” Just saying the
words closed my throat and made my heart accelerate wildly. I flushed warm and
sweat pooled in my arm pits. Knowing Rachel was watching my distress made it
even worse.

Although aware, she continued talking, her words
indistinguishable over the thumping in my chest. But then the clear sound of
her voice, calm and gentle, began to cut through, bringing relief. I focused
hard, trying desperately to anchor myself to the isolated words and phrases.

“…the world is scary... we’re not... Dr. Abe...
alone... troubled times...”

Slowly, the wave subsided. The onslaught loosened
its hold, and phrases became sentences again.

“... can see you are a very sensitive soul. The
world is wearing you down, Letty. We can understand that, but you have so much
to offer. We’d love to get to know you better.”

“That would be nice,” I managed. My tongue felt
gummy and thick, but the room had come back into focus. Regardless of what she
was involved with, she had come out from behind her mask to the aid of a
stranger. I was grateful.

“Would you like to come for supper? It’s my turn
to cook tomorrow night, and we’d love to have you.”

While she went to get some paper to write
directions, I sat back, limp, and waited for her to return. Exhausted, it was
sheer luck and an eerie sense of déjà vu that caused me to tune in to the
conversation on my left.

The female part of the tag team was speaking to
the crying woman. “Cheryl, you’re such a sensitive soul in this terrible world.
We understand. It’s difficult to be alone in these troubled times.” 

“I know,” the man said. “Why don’t you come over
for supper?” The woman chorused her approval of this plan and reached over to
hold Cheryl’s hand. I held my breath and waited for it.

“We’d love to get to know you better,” the woman
told Cheryl. “I can just tell that you would have so much to offer in the right
setting.”

Chapter Five

I
hadn’t talked
to Eli since the day before I had found out Beth had taken off. In fact, it had
been a week since we’d even seen each other and that had ended in a fight. I
hated to think he may have been right when he’d recognized my potential to
leapfrog over mere research to a deeper involvement. When he heard about the
Peace meeting and my invitation to Corinth House, he was going to be even more
disturbed.

Tonight didn’t bode well.

Siggy, my green-eyed feline companion (or Master
of All He Surveyed, as he preferred), materialized as soon as my guy walked in.
Siggy and Eli, both alpha males, had a complicated relationship. I made supper
and set out in classic female-manipulation mode to mellow him out with a home-cooked
meal. Candles, music, salad, steak, baked potatoes—the works.

I think it was the candles that made him
suspicious. And maybe a little romantic. When I stood to start clearing dishes,
he reached out, snagging me by the front of my jeans, pulling me onto his lap
so that I ended up straddling him.

Siggy stalked out of the room. He didn’t like
caresses that didn’t focus on him.

Eli held me with warm hands on either side of my
hips. His fingers left heat trails as they rode past my jeans. My heartbeat accelerated
with a very non-panic-related emotion while his breathing thickened, slowed. 
Puffs of heated breath on my neck were replaced with his lips, and a moan
escaped my lips. My breath caught. If I didn’t stop this, neither one of us
would be able to stop, and it seemed wrong to start this part of our
relationship with a secret. Or two.

 Sensing my reservations, Eli pulled back about
two inches, his dilated eyes coal black and burning.

Oh, boy.

“Was the steak okay?” My inspired diversion.

Eli sighed and raised his eyebrows at me.
Perceptive males are a burden.

“Beth is in trouble,” I said.

The bald statement wiped the amused look off his
face. He moved his hands to my thighs. I used the opportunity to move back to
my chair. I can’t ride a man and carry on a decent conversation.

“What trouble?”

“She went into the cult. Alone.”

Eli ran his hands over his face. “What the hell
was she thinking?”

I shook my head in bewilderment. I still didn’t
understand my friend’s actions.

Eli sat quietly for a moment, thoughts
formulating. Then, eyebrows furrowed, he asked, “When did you find this out?”

“Tuesday. I hadn’t heard from her so I called her
house. Jimmy answered and told me.” I told him what I knew.

“So you weren’t in on it?”

“Not at all.” All truth. Every bit of it. So far.

“Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

And there it was. That was the big question, and
it wasn’t going to be easy to explain. I cleared my throat.

“Because I knew you would have a fit.”

Okay. Even brain-dead, with fear churning my guts
daily and unrequited lust twisting assorted body parts into quivering knots, I
should have come up with a better descriptor than “fit.” I made my living being
sensitive, for crying out loud. My word choice caused him to frown and bristle
simultaneously.

“Why am I going to have a fit?” Eli’s deep, raspy
voice always sounded like he was growling, but this growl was more… meaningful.
And not in a good way.

“Because I went to one of their meetings.” I took
a deep breath. “Because I’m going in to find Beth.” There. I sat back to watch
the storm break.

Eli ripped his eyes from mine and, jaws clenching,
did the thousand-mile stare over my shoulder. At the bare wall. Minutes ticked
by.

“So you’ve made your decision,” he finally
managed.

I nodded and he nodded back, although not in
agreement.

“What’s your plan?” The question itself sounded
reasonable, but he was as tense as a loaded bear trap and twice as dangerous.

“A woman from the group invited me over to the
house for supper,” I answered. “Right now, my plan is to let them think they’re
pulling me in. Once I’m established, I’ll find out where the main community is
and if Beth and Maggie are there.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “We already know Beth got
caught up in some kind of undertow. How do you know you won’t as well? What’s
your safety plan? How are you going to keep the same thing from happening to
you?”

This was a poser. I didn’t have a plan, and after
several seconds of synchronized breathing, we both knew it.

“Eli…”

“You can’t just go in there blind,” he said. “It’s
too dangerous. You’re talking now about two people who have dropped completely
out of sight. Two.” He flashed a couple of fingers that definitely didn’t
symbolize peace.

“Yes, but technically they both could have gone
voluntarily. In fact, it’s more likely th—”

“But you don’t think so or you wouldn’t be going
in after them,” he countered.

“I have to make sure. I’ve already let Beth down.”

“You’re operating out of guilt, babe. Beth went
off half-cocked and now you’re about to do the same.”

“Eli, quit! I can’t do this with you. You’re
making it worse.”

I regretted the words as soon as they cleared my
lips. His face paled, and he sat back as if I had slapped him.

“Eli,” I said, reaching for his hand. He pulled
away and stood so abruptly the chair nearly tipped over.

“I can’t do this either, Letty. I won’t sit back
and watch you put yourself in danger all over again. I won’t.” Bending stiffly,
he dropped a kiss on my forehead and shot out the door.

The swiftness of his decision and abrupt departure
floored me. Confusion, anger, and the ever-present spiking panic rapidly cycled
through my body, flashing in hot waves like emotional menopause.  My body
rattled in the chair as it fought with the onslaught of emotions. I was on the
edge of something very bad.

My two best friends had abandoned me.

Just one drink. Just this once. One won’t hurt.

So tempting.

I
won’t lie. It
was a bad night. I didn’t drink, but I killed off two pints of
chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream and gave myself a migraine.

As dawn approached, I struggled to convince myself
that a migraine was a victory over a hangover. I failed. Same pounding,
stabbing pain and scrambling thoughts which resulted in a stranglehold on the
toilet, barfing. I called in sick, took some medicine, and went back to bed.

What progress?

By afternoon, the pain in my head had abated,
though the one in my heart had not. I discovered a wellspring of resentment for
both Beth and Eli had begun to rise. Beth’s decisions were forcing me into
behaving in ways I desperately wanted to avoid; Eli was demanding. I needed to
make an impossible choice.

I needed to talk to someone. Problem was—who? My
mother would be drunk and weepy or drunk and nasty. She didn’t come in a lot of
flavors. After being instrumental in sending my sister Kris to jail for
conspiring to kill me, she and I didn’t have a lot to talk about. Or maybe we
had too much. A.A. friends would club me over the head with logic and/or their
Big Book. I just didn’t want to hear it. My therapist, whom I hadn’t seen for
weeks anyway, would lock me up.

It took longer than it should have to come up with
the idea to call Tracy. She agreed to meet me at her office between clients, so
I hauled my ragged body off the couch and stuck it under the shower.

When I emerged, I felt a smidgen better. Feeling
better translated to feeling hungry, so I swung into Wendy’s to order something
politically incorrect. I was reminded again of old times and the search for
greasy foods to squash a hangover. Been there, hated it, burned the T-shirt,
stomped it to ashes.

I was late and had dripped ketchup on my jeans.
Tracy’s office was in the basement of a century-old Methodist temple. I parked
in the lot behind it and crunched my way across the season’s first offering of
fallen leaves.

The door was unlocked. I let myself in to a small
entryway with a kitchen branching off to the left and the Fellowship Hall
before me. The church was quiet. Then a toilet flushed and Tracy appeared in
the door, drying her hands with a stiff, brown paper towel.

“Hey!” Her smile was wide and friendly.

“Caught you on a potty break.” I grinned back.

“Well, you know… with all the coffee I drink…”

“I know.” I said. “Sometimes I’m scared I won’t
make it to the end of the session. And a counselor who wets herself doesn’t
inspire much confidence.”

She led the way down a dimly lit hall to the back
of the building. Racks with metal folding chairs lined the wall, taking up half
the space, indicating the church had outgrown its storage. The office we
arrived in was an oasis of cozy warmth. Bookshelves crammed full with dusty
relics and stacks of journals dominated the room with a scarred wooden desk
that butted up against the side wall. Farther back, two stuffed armchairs
squatted cheerfully in front of a bank of wide windows which overlooked the
churchyard.