Last Hit(39)

Slipping off my boots, I take the stairs to the second floor. Our elevator is not working and with no tenants, I have had no desire to repair it. One less avenue of escape or entrance.

My sock-covered feet make no noise as I glide to the door. The handle moves easily and without resistance at my light touch. Unlocked. She is inside then. Standing on the right side of the wall next to the knob, I twist it and push it open. Back flat against the wall, I wait for a gunshot, a noise, anything. But it is eerily silent. Gun out, I go in low and then rise, spinning toward the windows. Empty.

To the kitchen. Nothing but empty cooling racks she uses for her cookie making.

On the counter is her phone. It’s cool to the touch. The last messages are from me. I squeeze the sides hard enough to bend the metal.

Swiftly I move through the rest of the apartment, but it is as I feared. She is not here. In hurried but economical movements, I shod my feet, pocket my gun, and snatch the motorcycle keys from the bowl near the entrance.

As I race down the stairs, I hear a thump and then a muffled high-pitch noise as if someone is screaming behind a hand.

There is someone on the third floor. Hurrying there, I see the door to apartment 301 is slightly ajar and light is spilling into the hallway. I nudge the door open but do not waste time.

Another quieter but sharp sound fills my blood with terror. I charge in.

On the floor to my right is Christine. Her head is turned away, but there is blood around her face.

Where is Daisy?

I hear a crack of flesh against flesh. Sounds of struggle leak out of the rear bedroom. I race toward it and kick open the door, my gun in my hand, my finger on the trigger.

The sight that greets me is horrifying. I take it all in, barely processing each detail. A large male form is on his knees. His jeans are sagging around his ass. One hand is fumbling in front of him while the other is covering the face of my Daisy. Her feet are thrashing, but her upper legs are pinned to the ground with his knees.

I lunge forward and pull him backward, tossing him to the side. He roars in anger at being deprived of his foul deeds. His fist glances off my cheek, but his much heavier frame takes us to the floor.

We grapple. I am surprised at how strong he is. I strike an elbow on his head but he is barely dazed. It is then I realize his eyes are unfocused. Drugged. He will not even feel the pain. His teeth are bared and he grins at me.

“Motherfucker, you want to dance with me? Then come on.” It is as if this violence is as intoxicating as sex.

I glance over at Daisy; she is huddled against the broken frame of the futon.

Surging forward, I grab his head in both my hands. He is a drugged meathead and too slow to evade me. With a vicious jerk, I sever the spinal cord and drop his gormless body to the floor.

In the corner of my eye, I see a whirlwind of color and I turn, just in time to catch Daisy as she jumps into my arms.

Her entire body shakes as she sobs into my shoulder.

“Shh,” I whisper, stroking her hair and holding her firmly against me. I will take her downstairs, draw her a bath, and this will all become a memory. “You are fine. I am fine. Feel our heartbeats.” They are both thrumming rapidly at the wall of our chests, like trapped butterflies trying to free themselves.

“He followed us,” she sobs. “Then he hit her so hard. Is she okay?”

Wriggling free, she escapes me and runs into the front room. And stops short.

Kneeling above Christine is McFadden. He has rolled her over and is talking in his phone. Behind me I wonder if he can see the dead man. I glance at the open door. It is possible that I can be in the wind before he rises. I have my keys. This money, identity, guns in my safe apartment. The urge to flee is overwhelming until Daisy reaches out and clasps her hand in mine. Unknowingly she tethers me to her or perhaps, as she gives me a wry smile, she knows me all too well.

There are options here. I can kill McFadden and hide him as well as the man in the back room. Given a day, I can dispose of both bodies so that no one can find them. Without a body, there will only be mysteries that will be unsolvable. Alternatively, Daisy and I can leave. We would have to abandon her father, but we could arrange for care. There are places in this world where even McFadden would not be able to locate us.

Leaving Daisy is not one of those options.

He straightens. “I’ve called 911. They’ll be here in ten minutes. Want to tell me what happened?”

I step forward, angling my body slightly in front of Daisy. She will have none of it, and impatiently shoves me lightly to the side.

“Christine’s boyfriend has been abusing her. He followed her here and he, um, tripped and fell and hurt himself.”

McFadden rolls his eyes. “Where is he now?”