CHAPTER SEVEN
Cathy Fletcher hated her job. Her feet hurt, her back ached, and she needed a shower—badly. She felt her thighs where the pole had rubbed when she slipped. It left a red mark that already throbbed. She wanted to go home. Thankfully, it was closing time.
A large man sat at the bar splitting tips with the busty bartender. Despite her obvious efforts, he had no interest in her nor her ludicrously oversized bosom.
Cathy decided to save him. “Walk me to my car, Tim?”
The dark-haired woman behind the bar responded, “Can’t you see he’s busy?”
Tim ignored her and stood. “Of course, Cat.” He took his portion and left the rest on the bar. He pointed at the bills. “That’s a good haul. You should send some of that to your ex-husband and get caught up on your child support.”
She snatched the stack from the smooth bar top and said, “Mind your own business.”
Cathy and Tim exchanged a brief and knowing smile. They both despised the woman, who always spun her stories, hiding the truth that she once abandoned three very young children. She instead chose selfishness and wound up a deadbeat bartender, working under the radar to avoid paying her part.
Once they were outside Tim asked, “You and the boy need anything?”
“We’re fine for now.” She gave him a quick hug. “Thank you though.”
He nodded and opened the door, checking the backseat before allowing her inside. “How’s school going?”
“All ‘A’s’ so far, but I have to do clinical observations soon. That’ll take more of my time and I may have to cut hours here.”
“Is that so bad,” he asked, “spending less time here? You should just quit completely.” He gestured at the blinking marquee of two Siamese cats. “Tell me honestly, is this your crowd?”
“Pussy Galore’s?” Cathy laughed. “I was born to take my clothes off in this joint!” When she realized he hadn’t shared her joke and only stared back with serious concern, she added, “I need the money and sometimes it’s really good.” He said nothing and just stood by the door. “What is it,” she asked, “that’s got you so riled up?”
“I saw you slip on the pole. You’re exhausted.”
“Well, I ain’t quitting, Tim.” She turned the key and pulled the door shut, rolling the window down to add, “I’ll be back tomorrow night and every night after that! You’re stuck with me till the end of the world!” She put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot, leaving him to watch her go. The streets of Kalamazoo were quiet as she made her way to the interstate, and Cat made good time. The trip home to her town of Scott would take only fifteen minutes.
As she drove, she thought of Joshua. His teacher had emailed his progress in class, so she allowed her sister Sarah to give him ice cream after dinner. That should be me, she thought, giving him ice cream. But raising a four-year-old alone was expensive, and she had to make the bills.
Cat was a hard worker, beginning each day with a shift at the bank. Her nursing classes were in the evenings, and her night job was three nights a week. Thinking back to what Tim had suggested, she wished she could quit altogether. But she’d keep dancing—she had to afford ice cream and sitters.
When she returned home, she would face two more hours of studying and hoped her sister had done the dishes. She knew, if she didn’t, she’d end up choosing the anatomy notes over bowls and plates, putting off one more thing for the morning. But mornings were reserved for special time with Joshua and she hated missing that.
Every morning she’d wake him and begin every day asking about the one before. She’d listen to his adventures over breakfast, have reading time, then get him ready and off to preschool. She cherished every second of that time, and so did he. They called it Joshie Time.
Blue and red lights broke Cat from her musings. “Shit,” she muttered, pulling over to the side of the road. A few moments later a highway patrolman stood outside her window. She handed him her license and waited for the cliché question.
“No, officer,” she replied after he asked, “I have no idea how fast I was going.”
“Take it slow, ma’am,” he told her after writing out an expensive citation.
She looked at the ticket. Apparently, she had driven through a construction zone without noticing. There was no way for her to pay the three hundred dollars and also make rent. She’d have to continue dancing at Pussy Galore’s.
“Ma’am be careful being out so late. Several jewelry stores were robbed in Kalamazoo and, about an hour ago, the same crook hit a liquor store in Scott.”
She asked, “How do you know it was the same guy?”
“Surveillance cameras. He drove a late model blue pickup in each robbery.”
“I’m headed straight home,” she promised.
“Good.” He was about to leave when the trooper whirled, abruptly grabbing her car door with both hands. At first, she was confused, terrified by the look of shock and fear on his face. Then she felt it as well. Her car bounced erratically, almost as if a giant had chosen her car as its basketball. The policeman continued to hold on for dear life as the world around him quaked.
After it subsided, the man regained his composure and turned to gaze off into the distance. From the direction of the Kalamazoo River Gas Plant, flames climbed high onto the horizon. Hurriedly, he waved Cat on and rushed to his car, speeding off into the night.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She drove the rest of the way with white knuckles wrapped tightly around the wheel. She hadn’t felt an earthquake before, but they weren’t uncommon even in Michigan. Her father had told her about a large tremor in 2015 that did some damage. “It opened a new fault line to the north,” he had told her. “Scientists say it’s deep underground,” he had insisted, “but someday it’ll connect Lakes Huron and Michigan, just mark my words!”
When she finally pulled up to her complex, she couldn’t help but notice the blue pickup truck parked by the dumpster. She eyed it closely and considered the words of the trooper. Those are dime a dozen in Michigan, she decided. Taking a closer look, she saw something hanging from the rearview mirror. The blue background and silver leaves surrounding a rifle jumped out at once. A combat infantry badge. His favorite medal. No, she thought, not him! Not here!
She quickly unbuckled and slid from the car, fumbling for her phone and dialing 911. But the line was dead, most likely due to the fires and downed lines in the area. She pushed forward, hurrying up the stairs in such a panic she fumbled twice placing the key into the hole. She dropped it once but retrieved it and turned the deadbolt. When it finally opened, she walked in on Sarah watching a movie.
The younger woman jumped to her feet the moment she entered. “He wouldn’t leave, Cat!”
She pointed a finger at a ruggedly handsome man with a disarming smile. He was dressed in boots and a union shirt that read unfair wages grind my gears. In his hand was a pistol.
Cat tossed her purse onto a chair, careful not to look directly at the man. When she turned, it was casual, as if to remind him she’d never fully be under his control. “You need to go, Clint,” she said at last.
“You can’t keep me from seeing Josh,” he replied, standing slowly and tucking the gun in his waistband. Three steps later he was close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath. “He’s my boy and I aim to spend time with him,” he demanded.
“You have to come back with a court chaperone, you know that. Now leave and go through the proper…”
His fist met her eye before she finished the sentence and she fell with a thud. Sarah cried out, but that sound muffled when she also struck the ground. Cat’s vision swam as she tried to focus on her sister, limp and motionless beside the couch. Clint held the pistol drawn, looming over them both.
“Go pack you and him a bag and let’s go,” he commanded, “and give me your phone.” She gave it up before hurrying to the bedroom.
Cathy had moved so many times since leaving her ex that she no longer needed to pack, instead keeping a bug out bag ready for both her and her son—always beside her bed and full of their most needed items in case they had to flee into the night. She grabbed these now, feeling a slight bulge behind a row of stitching in the liner. A quick press on this hidden pocket was comforting, knowing the object was there. Someday she would find the courage and need to use it, and she wondered if this night was the time.
She stalled, knowing he would expect her to take a few minutes, and dug into the nightstand for a prepaid phone Tim had given her months before. “Just in case,” he had said, letting her know his number was saved as number one on speed dial. She breathed deeply, turning it on and counting to ten to calm her nerves. She breathed out while it dialed, but finished with a sigh after realizing the lines were still down. With a deep breath she turned it off and tossed it into the bag.
She dreaded returning to the living room, but found her way there to discover Josh was already up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He stared cautiously at his father then looked to his mother and waited. She nodded and he stepped into outstretched arms.
Clint picked him up into the air and hugged him tight. “I’ve missed you, boy! We’re gonna have so much fun now that we’re together!”
Cathy looked for Sarah, but she was no longer lying on the floor. A glance toward the kitchen revealed she wasn’t there either. The younger woman was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Sarah?” she demanded.
The look from her ex screamed don’t ask, but she wouldn’t back down. Not this time. She moved to the bathroom and placed a hand on the door.
“Don’t do it,” he commanded.
Terror filled her gut, twisting her nerves and squeezing out bile as she realized what he might have done. With a deep breath Cat turned the knob slowly and peeked in, steeling her nerves for the closure she needed. The shower curtain was drawn and the lights were out, but the hallway glow revealed a shadow resting in the tub beyond the vinyl sheet.
Josh must have sensed her dread and began reaching toward his mother standing in the doorway. Fearing what Clint would do if the boy left his side, she shook her head, smiling weakly. Though her face urged calm, her gut screamed with anger and loss. Clint tightened his hold on the boy.
Cat crept inside, placing one foot in front of the other as she made her way toward the bath. She trembled when pulling the curtain open, and her eyes violently closed as if someone had flicked the switch in a darkened room without warning. She was terrified to open them.
He wouldn’t, she told herself. He’s not a killer. He’s a lot of things, but not that. Reluctantly, her eyes fluttered open and grew wide at the stream of blood against Sarah’s temple. Her sweet sister lay motionless—never to again awaken. Remembering Josh, the scream she yearned for caught in her throat, turning to bile and rising as vomit instead. Bent over the toilet, she allowed terror to escape to her body, retching until tears eased out instead of sobs.
“Hurry up,” the monster called from the living room, and she squeezed both fists as if tightened around his throat.
She tried to forget the woman in the tub was family—that it was Sarah, and fell upon her nursing knowledge for guidance as she took a closer look. There were only moments to reason out what had happened. He struck her in the living room, she realized, so she was lifeless when he dragged her in here. Treating the moment like the medical trauma photographs from classes, she examined the wound. The gash on the side of her head caved slightly, revealing blunt force. His pistol, she realized. Pistol whipped. He killed her in cold blood when she was vulnerable and unable to defend herself.
Cathy fought back tears, resolute to mourn later since now was not the time. She had to remain strong for Josh, returning her thoughts to the object in her bag now sitting on the floor next to Clint. I’ll get my chance at him later, she vowed, only then will I cry for you, Sarah.
Filled with mourning she backed away, pulling the door shut behind her. Pushing past Clint and his devilish smile, she picked up the bags and held her hand out for Josh.
The killer in her living room shook his head, hugging the boy tighter against his hip. She was his captive as long as he had control of Josh, unable to scream, powerless to fight, and unwilling to flee.
“Let’s go,” he commanded. “You lead the way.”
She led them to the blue pickup and placed their bags in the backseat. She paused, taking notice of several black bags already on the floor. A bottle of whiskey protruded from one but the others were tightly sealed. The state trooper’s words echoed in her memory and she didn’t need to peek inside to know they were filled with gold and jewels—the spoils of Clint’s most recent crime spree.
He placed Josh in the seat next to him in the front. “Buckle up, boy,” he commanded. “I’d hate for something to happen to you.”
Cathy knew those words were a warning for her instead of concern for Josh. She slid into the cab beside her son and tried not to think of Sarah.