Diners, Dives & Dead Ends (36 page)

I scooted my butt across the
floor.  I reached for the glass, but my hands were shaking so badly, I dropped
it twice.  On the third time, I held it tightly in my right hand.  It felt
awkward, thin and fragile, and I was so afraid I was going to drop it again. 
Then I heard the floorboard above me creak.

Holding the glass as tightly
as my bloodless fingers would allow, I quickly scooted next to the door,
positioning myself behind it, and slid up the wall.  I clung to the piece of
glass, knowing it could be the only thing between me and death.  And seeing
Steve Gunderson’s stupid face was not going to be the last thing I saw before I
died.

I heard the lock slide, and I
prepared myself.  I’d only get one shot.  The door opened and he walked into
the room.  “Rose?”

I shoved the door with my forearms
as hard as I could, knocking him off balance.  He stumbled forward and before
he could straighten, I hurled myself at him, my weight pushing him to the
floor. I landed on his back, slashed it with the shard.

Steve screamed and tried to
buck me off of him. 

I dropped the glass.

But I was in a frenzy of
anger and fear.  I bit the side of the neck.  Hard.  I tasted blood.

He reached back and pulled
my hair.  I retaliated by grabbing his hair, as much as I could anyway, in my
numb, bound hands.

When he tried to stand up, I
pulled a Mike Tyson and bit his ear as hard as I could.  A chunk of cartilage
came off in my mouth.  I gagged and spit it on the floor. 

He flailed and screeched.  I
didn’t let go of his hair, but he let go of mine as he covered his bloody,
severed ear with one hand.

Using his hair as leverage,
I pounded his forehead into the cement.  Over and over and over until he
stopped moving.

I stretched out on top of
him, panting and wheezing.  I rolled off of him and sat up.  I kicked at him
with my feet to make sure he wasn’t going to hop up like Michael Myers in the
Halloween
movies.

Steve was unconscious.  And
bleeding.  Blood pooled around his head.

I scooted toward the door,
which was still half way open.  Using the doorjamb, I managed to stand.  I
grabbed the knob with my hands and hopped backward.  I fell on my butt twice,
my eyes never leaving Steve’s prone, bleeding body.  I shut the door and slid
the lock in place. 

I leaned against the cement
wall of the stairwell.  My chest heaving, I gagged, and threw up what little I
had in me.

I lifted my arms and twisted
my head, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, before I turned around
and sat my butt on the first stair.  Leaning my head against the wall, I just
sat there, every muscle in my body aching.  I knew I was going to have to get
up those steps, but it looked like Mount Everest to me.

I’m not sure how long it
took, but I finally I gathered my strength to move and slowly climbed the
stairs, using my legs to push my ass to the next step.  Just make it up the
stairs, I told myself over and over.

I took a few minutes to
catch my breath when I finally reached the top.  Then, as best I could, I clung
to the wrought iron railing, and hopped up the last stair.  The door to the
family room was open.

I rolled over on my side and
tried to catch my breath.  Steve’s house was small.  It looked like it had been
built in the seventies.  Or at least that was the last time it had been updated. 
Brown shag carpeting and ugly flocked wallpaper.  The family room held a flat
screen TV and one recliner.  

Gathering my strength, I crawled
like an inchworm across the floor to the kitchen, but the carpet burned my
belly and arms, even through my sweatshirt.  I flipped over, sat up, and went
back to the old butt scoot.

I made it to the kitchen and
stood up using the refrigerator as leverage.  I glanced at the harvest gold
stove and the wallpaper covered in red and green mushrooms.  On the gold laminate
counter next to the phone, I spied my purse.

Hopping a couple of times, I
unzipped the bag with my teeth, and upended it on the countertop.  My wallet,
keys, lip gloss, tampons, and various receipts went flying.  I leaned down and
managed to grab a pen with my tongue and work it into my mouth, then reached
for the phone.  It skidded out of my hands, landed next to the garbage can.  Sinking
to the floor, I snagged for it and struggled to sit back up.  It was difficult
trying to flip open the phone with my hands still tied, but I managed.  With
the pen clenched between my teeth, I dialed and hit send.  I spit the pen out
on the floor.

“Help me.”

Within fifteen minutes
Sullivan kicked in Steve’s front door.  “Rose?”

“In here,” I said.  My voice
sounded scratchy and faint. 

Seconds later, he was in the
kitchen.  Shock marred his handsome face as his gaze swept over me.  He bent
down next to me on the floor, his hands probing my head and torso.  “Where’s
the bleeding coming from?”  His elegant fingers glided over my jaw.  I winced.

“It’s not my blood.  It’s
Steve’s.  He’s in the basement.”

“Henry,” he said.  His
attention to me never wavered.

“I’m on it.” 

I heard Henry stomp through
the family room.

“Untie me,” I said.

He looked strange, swallowed
a few times, and seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn’t.  He went
to work on the cords.  Once I was free, he rubbed my wrists and hands.  Tingling
was too mild a word for what I felt when the blood started flowing back into my
fingers and toes. 

“Did you kill him?” he
asked.

“I don’t know.”

Henry walked into the
kitchen.  Eyes on Sullivan, he shook his head.

“I bit him.  I bit off his
ear,” I whispered. 

Sullivan smoothed a hand
over my hair. 

He stayed with me, crouching
in front of me, petting me.   Then he sat down next to me, pulling me onto his
lap, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.  I buried my head in the crook
of his neck, while he murmured into my hair and continued to stroke my head.

“I have to go to the bathroom,”
I said after a while.

“Do you need help?”

“No,” I snapped.

“Okay.  I’ll wait right here
for you.”

He helped me up.  My muscles
were stiff and achy, and I shuffled like a little old woman down the hall. 

I turned on the overhead
light in the bathroom, realizing for the first time it was fully dark outside. 
I looked at myself in the mirror and gasped.  I looked like Ma’s video game
zombie who’d gone on a feeding frenzy.  Steve’s dried blood smeared my pale
face, and there was a dark bruise covering my jaw.

I bent over the sink and
scrubbed at my face with hot water.  It floated through my mind that I would
need an AIDS test.  Probably other STD tests as well.  It’s not every day you
take a bite out of someone.  The thought made me giggle, hysteria started to
creep up, but I quickly shook it off.  I wiped my hands and face on a blue
towel hanging next to the sink, used the toilet, and washed up again. 

As I walked out of the
bathroom and down the hall, I heard Sullivan and Henry whispering.  They
stopped talking when I walked into the room.  Henry turned and went toward the
family room again and Sullivan took both of my hands in his.

“Tell me what you want to
do, Rose.”

“I want to go home.” 

“About Gunderson.”

“I just want to go home.”

He let go of my hands and
rubbed up and down my arms.  “I know, sweetheart.  But what do you want me to
do with Steve?”

I shook my head.  I still didn’t
understand the question.  All I wanted to do was fall onto my futon and pull
the covers over my head.

“I can make his body disappear. 
Is that what you want, Rose?”

“What?  What are you talking
about?”  I understood the words but I didn’t comprehend their meaning.

“Steve’s dead.”

Wordlessly, I shook my
head. 

He pulled me close, wrapped
his arms around my shoulders.  “You did the right thing.  You were protecting
yourself.”

I’d killed a man.  I’d
pounded his head into the concrete and killed him.  I should have felt guilty,
horrified.  But I felt numb.  I survived.  I was still standing and Steve was
dead.

Sullivan drew back.  “I’ll
call someone I know on the police force.  But listen,” he gave my arms a little
squeeze, “you got away from Gunderson, you made it to the kitchen, and you
passed out.  Do you hear me?  You passed out before you called me.”

It finally dawned on me what
he was saying.  “How long has it been since you got here?”

“Four and a half hours. 
Now, repeat what I said Rose.”

Had Steve died because of
the delay?  If I’d called the police instead of Sullivan, would he still be
alive? 

Sullivan shook me. 
“Repeat.”

 “I passed out in the
kitchen before I called you.” 

“I told you not to do
anything until I got here.  Say it, Rose.”

I repeated everything he
told me, like a robot. 

He led me to a kitchen
chair, knelt down, and hugged me while we waited for the police to show up.

Yesterday I felt nothing but
anger for this man who used the police and political figures for his own
purposes.  Now I was relieved he had so many connections. 

Grateful he was here.

Two detectives, uniformed
officers, and four EMTs arrived. 

The paramedics checked my
vitals and pronounced that I was in shock.  The detectives questioned me
briefly as the paramedics bundled me onto a gurney.  Sullivan climbed into the
back of the ambulance and held my hand the entire way to the hospital.

“Do you want me to call your
parents?”

I swallowed and shook my
head. 

“What about Axton or your
friend Roxy?”

“No.”  I didn’t want them to
see me like this.

“What can I do for you,
Rose?”

“Don’t leave me,” I
whispered.

It took four days of being
questioned by the police, a two night stay in the hospital for observation—my
jaw was only bruised, not broken—and three visits with an attorney my dad insisted
on, before I finally got back to my life.

I don’t know how Sullivan managed
it, but my name stayed out of the news.  I watched the coverage from my
hospital bed and my name was never mentioned.  The helmet-haired reporters said
Steve Gunderson had kidnapped an unnamed victim and died during an ensuing
altercation.

Altercation.  Right.   

When my parents visited me
in the hospital, my mother was slightly less rigid than usual.  We chatted
briefly before my father asked to speak to me alone.  My mother glared at him, but
left the room.

“Did Sullivan have anything
to do with this?” he asked, once she was gone.

“No, Dad, absolutely not. 
In fact, he helped me.”

I saw doubt on his face.  He
scanned my features, checking to see if I was lying, I guess. 

“It’s true.  I called him
for help.  He came to Steve Gunderson’s house and called the police.  He even
rode to the hospital with me.”

“Where is he then?  I
haven’t seen him.”

I hadn’t seen him either. 
He stayed that first night, but when Roxy, Axton, and Eric arrived, Sullivan
disappeared faster than a pot brownie around Stoner Joe.

My dad kissed my cheek and
left. 

When my sister and Allen
came to the hospital, they brought flowers and a card that Scotty made. 
Eventually Jacks sent Allen to get me some ice chips, but really, she just
wanted some privacy.

“I’m so sorry for those
things I said, Rose.”  I could tell by her puffy, red eyes she’d been crying. 

“No, Jacks, it’s okay.  I
love you.  You’re the best sister in the world.”  I think I was feeling a
little loopy from the sedative the nurse had given me.

“I love you, too, Rose, just
the way you are.  And you’re not a loser.”  She laid her head on my stomach and
began sobbing.

I patted her hair until I
fell asleep.

Ma didn’t let me work for a
week.  I told her I needed the money, but she insisted it would be a paid sick
leave.  That was really generous of her.

After I got home from the
hospital, Axton bought me a new TV and a DVD player.  He christened it with
Mars
Needs Women
—which according to him was a classic.  He and Eric stopped by
every night for a week and usually brought pizza.

Ma and Ray came in the
afternoons and brought real food.  Jorge’s wife, Marisol, sent enchiladas. 

Roxy came bearing anime DVDs
and nail polish.  My toes never looked better.  And I was hooked on
Eden of
the East
.  “Told you,” she said smugly.