Mind Games (5 page)

They quickly became reacquainted. After hearing about all of the good work he was doing, she volunteered to help. The sight of all of those raggedy kids lined up, counting on him, nearly broke her heart.

That was when the visions started.

She considered telling Derrick about the visions but feared he’d think she was crazy, and she wasn’t about to risk going to the hospital. She knew better. They’d force her into some kind of psychological evaluation and call her father, the esteemed expert known around the world. He had the power to admit her to the psych ward, and that was one scary place she didn’t ever want to go. HIPAA laws wouldn’t protect her or stop her Dad from getting involved in her personal health.

Derrick finished packing his bag. He looked at his watch, fidgeting with the thick silver chain-link band. She’d kept him long enough. Those kids depended on him. He needed to make up for lost rounds last night.

“Derrick, I’m sorry for all of this. This isn’t how I expected us to spend our first night together.” She laid her hand across his arm.

He covered her hand with his and leaned down and kissed her, a long, deep kiss. His tongue parted the folds of her lips, dipping inside her mouth, soft and sensual. She wrapped her hands around his neck. His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her from the chair and closer to him. His warm body pressed against hers and pushed last night’s tremors and its visions away. She could have lingered in the safety of his arms all day, but pulled back from the heated kiss.

“I think you’re going to be all right. I’ve got to go to work. Can I see you later?”

“Uh-huh,” she said. The warmth of his arms falling away from her sides sent a chill up her spine, a good kind of chill, shivering with desire and longing for so much more from him.

He picked up the medical bag, but before he walked out the door he looked back at her one more time.

“That was inappropriate bedside manner,” he said, winking at her, and then shut the door behind him.

Her lips tingled from his kiss, and her ears replayed his last comment peppered with innuendo. The look in his eyes told her he wanted her. Damn, if only they hadn’t both zonked out on her sofa last night. She pulled open the door. “Derrick, don’t go.”

Derrick pulled out of the space and hit the accelerator. He needed to get home quickly and grab a shower. His morning jog had left him hot and sweaty, and kissing Sparrow made his insides boil. It was inappropriate, considering he’d finished giving her a physical, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d wanted to spend the night with her for some time, but at the end of each of their previous dates he’d been too distracted by work. They hadn’t been intimate, but the sleepover would leave her with the impression he was ready to get serious.

Would that be so bad?

He was learning to make small sacrifices regarding work. Surly she didn’t expect him to go from a single, perpetual workaholic to an attentive boyfriend overnight? He laughed. That was exactly what he had done.

Her dad was a doctor. She’d understand his dedication and the ridiculous amounts of hours he spent working. Doubtful. Not after the way she’d interrogated him about his schedule. Maybe he wouldn’t see her tonight. Yeah, right.

He rubbed his thumb against his lower lip. Their tongues had danced, and he was ready for another tango. He had to stop himself from touching her breasts, rising and falling with each breath she took during the physical exam he’d given her. Unlike many women he’d met, he admired her normal-sized and real breasts. A true find, considering the average cup size was an overinflated silicone triple-D bursting at the seams. He’d never understand why women went to such extremes when it came to their boobs. Any normal red-blooded man appreciated breasts in all shapes and sizes. He didn’t find that plastic look appealing.

He appreciated Sparrow’s classic good looks and understated style. Her light brown hair flecked with gold from the sun flowed across the tops of her shoulders and swayed across the back of her neck. She wore little makeup. Her pale green eyes always seemed to sparkle, and he adored her sweet, delicate smile and rosy lips.

He wanted a
real
woman confident in her appearance. Derrick wanted to settle down with the right woman. He’d learned the title
doctor
came with a price tag attached to his love life. The last thing he wanted or needed was some shallow wife asking him to “hook her up” with this plastic surgeon or that while he watched the missus drain his bank account. He wouldn’t have it. He had plans to fund other mobile health clinics and staff them with doctors. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t be generous with his wife, but at certain things he would have to draw the line. Ah, California, home of wannabe models, actresses, singers, and other starving artists looking to get their meat hooks into a rich man.

He didn’t have those concerns with Sparrow. She genuinely liked him. He could easily see her fitting into his life.

He needed to stop thinking about her like this. He needed to focus on work. He needed to find his sister.

You’ve got a job to do and you’ve created a major obstacle for yourself.

He’d have to tell Sparrow about Kathlyn, and he wasn’t sure she’d understand why he couldn’t give up on the idea of finding his sister. His work and searching for her consumed most of his time.

His mind had drifted so much that he’d neglected driving home. He cruised up and down the inner-city streets of LA. If he couldn’t manage to care enough about himself, how was he going to care for Sparrow? He’d only work a couple of hours before driving home to shower and shave.

He scratched at his stubble and glanced down at his rumpled clothes. Right now he looked more like a street person and less like a doctor. He pulled to the side of the road and put on a fresh pair of blue scrubs and one of the sweatshirts he’d purchased to hand out to the kids. He made a mental note to replace it; they needed it more than he did.

Back behind the large RV’s wheel, he turned the key in the ignition and continued down the road. The sight of a young female huddled against a boarded-up storefront caught his eye. When she didn’t stir, his heart hitched a few notches. His rubber-soled shoes squeaked against the wet pavement. She didn’t look up at him. Perhaps she didn’t hear him approaching her.

“Excuse me, miss. I’m Dr. Sloan. Can I help you?”

It wouldn’t surprise him if she was drunk, strung out on drugs, or something worse. Today’s kids were innovative when it came to abusing their bodies and wasting their brains. If they couldn’t get the street drugs they craved, they resorted to other things to get high. And those other things usually made them very sick. One time he met a kid who’d shot himself up with packets of mayonnaise just to get the rush of feeling something enter his veins.

The stories were frightening. Coming face to face with human beings this disintegrated was heartwrenching. Nobody saw these kids. Nobody cared. They were the invisible youth of America, and they were dying.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Look up and you’ll see the health clinic behind me. If you’re hurt or sick, I can help you.”

“Doc, I think you’re going to need the help.”

The male voice came up behind him. Before Derrick could react, something cracked him hard against his right shoulder, bringing him to his knees and face to face with the helpless female. Her eyes narrowed, and she offered him a wicked smile through closed lips.

“We need methadone, doctor.”

Derrick’s hand pressed against the pitted pavement. He lurched forward, and the girl jumped up and kicked him in the balls.

“Ough!” He doubled over and puked. She’d nailed him hard, sending him down to the pavement writhing in pain.

Shit. They started to raid his RV for drugs. He only kept a small supply of methadone. If he distributed a single dose, he was required to deliver the kid to the free methadone clinic. Most kids were so desperate for the drug. They would agree to eat cat shit for a dose of the stuff. Getting them to the methadone clinic was easy.

Stars popped behind his eyes from the discomfort in his crotch. The Mobile Health Clinic’s emergency doors clicked open and glass shattered against the concrete. Derrick winced and staggered to get on his feet.

Please let me have the keys.

He padded the front of his pants pockets searching for the bulging keys. He squeezed a bunch of the soft fabric in his hands. Shit. He’d put on scrubs. More thrashing sounds came from the insides of the Mobile Health Clinic. He approached, certain they’d continue to look for methadone and any other drugs they thought he might have on board. He went to the front of the RV.

The keys hung from the ignition.

He had two choices: open the driver’s-side door and fire the engine—maybe that’d frighten them enough and they’d escape out the back—or confront them and call the cops. He reached for his cell phone only to rediscover the nonexistent front pocket on the scrubs. The phone rested in the center console. He was screwed. The kids came running through the RV’s corridor toward the driver’s cab.

He would not lose the Mobile Health Clinic RV without a fight. Derrick pulled open the driver’s-side door and jumped behind the steering wheel, turned the key, jammed his foot against the metal, and floored his way out of the deserted street. The kids screamed over the groaning engine. More commotion erupted from the back from things falling. The two kids started fighting. He couldn’t make out what they shouted about. He glanced into the rearview but couldn’t see either of them.

“Get out! Angel! Jump!”

Derrick looked in the side mirror. The boy who had attacked him tumbled into the street. He scrambled to his feet, his stringy black hair trailing behind his back. How the hell did the kid survive the fall? He turned around; Derrick memorized his long, slender face and desperate bug eyes, pleading for the girl to abort their mission, his hands flailing against the wind, urging her to leap from the back of the van and into his arms. He had razor-sharp cheekbones and a wide mouth with a visible overbite. His battered jacket flapped open in the wind and the weathered jeans he wore hung off his skinny hips.

“Come on, baby, jump!”

“No! Don’t do it!” Derrick craned his head and yelled toward the back, twisting in the driver’s seat to see her. He pressed his foot to the brake pedal, sending smoke fuming from the tires.

The girl stood on the wide metal ledge of the bumper, contemplating her jump. Derrick noticed her long blonde hair flowing down her back, reminding him of his sister, Kat. Her hand braced against the interior wall of the RV. She lost her balance and fell out into the street. By the time the RV stopped and Derrick got out, panic spread through his body and his heart was pounding. He ran down the length of the RV expecting to round the corner and find the poor girl’s head split open. He told himself that she’d be all right. That he’d get her to the nearest hospital and take care of all her medical expenses.

He came around the back and braced himself, expecting to find her crumpled body bleeding in the middle of this filthy street. The boy who’d struck him fled the scene, a backpack sailing in the air behind him. The bulky sack must have saved his fall. Hobbling along beside him was the girl.

“Hey, stop!” Derrick yelled, as he ran after them. “I’ll help you! You might have broken your ankle!”

The girl grabbed the boy’s backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She jumped on his back, and he took off running with her hitched around his waist.

“Stop!” Derrick choked out the words, but stopped chasing after them.

He couldn’t leave the vandalized RV in the middle of nowhere, and besides that, his damn balls hurt.

Feeling defeated, he dropped his head to his chest and walked back toward the RV. It was going to be a long day, and he had the strange feeling this was only the beginning.

Two bodies lay slaughtered at her feet. Grasping a thick hunk of hair in her left hand, she yanked back the blonde’s head and with enthusiasm wielded a large pair of silver scissors in her right. She whacked off the girl’s long tresses. Smiling, she dropped the corn silk strands into an airtight plastic baggie. Next, she carefully arranged the severed head, torso, and legs on the table.

A variety of scissors and blades in numerous sizes sat ordered on a steel tray. She chose the thinnest blade with the sharpest point and put on a pair of pink-tinted safety glasses. Holding the scalpel high above her head, she stabbed the female’s torso between her large breasts. The plastic cracked at the point of entry, sending tiny shards in all directions.

Preparing for the Alternative Doll Convention was so much fun, as she destroyed the envy of women. She hit PLAY on her iPod and laughed as the words spilled into the room through the additional speaker. She sang along with the song, “Barbie Girl,” dancing around and waving the scalpel in the air.

She stomped her foot to the beat then shouted out the next refrain.

Placing the scalpel back on the tray, she picked up the miniscule white silk lily and drove the green wire stem into the hole, where the doll’s shallow heart, if she had one, would have been.

A hazy purplish-gray vapor, like smoke streaming from an extinguished candlewick, stirred up from the pinprick hole in the doll’s chest. Sparrow stilled. The multiplying wisps of gray knitted together as perfectly as a composite band of DNA.

The music stopped, distracting Sparrow from the binding bands of gray plumes. She squeezed her eyes shut and rushed over to the iPod resting in the speaker cradle and pressed the PLAY button, expecting the music to roar. She snapped her fingers and shook her hips, feeling stupid when she heard her voice screaming the lyrics a cappella while she danced around sans music. She checked the volume on the speaker.

“Sparrow, remember me?”

The unexpected voice made her jump. “Who’s there?”

The voice didn’t respond. She grabbed a scalpel from the metal tray and turned around lightning quick, stabbing at the airy, ghostly image.

The thin blade fell from her trembling hand, sticking her in the foot. Her slack mouth didn’t release the scream trapped in the back of her throat. Her eyes bugged at the young girl dripping wet in torn, faded jeans and a T-shirt. The girl’s golden hair clung in waves along her narrow face. Her liquid, pale blue eyes stared at Sparrow. The girl extended her arms, and Sparrow let loose the scream that had formed deep in the pit of her stomach and crawled its way back up to her vocal cords. She took a step back from the girl’s insistent reach. Sparrow’s hand shook. She blindly reached behind her for a weapon on the metal tray, toppling it over. The hazy apparition rolled over her arms, turning her hands palm up, revealing bruised and bloodied wrists.

“Stop him, Sparrow. You have to stop him.”

Chills multiplied up and down her spine. The same words had dripped off Dana’s dead lips.

“Stay away. Get back. If you come any closer I swear I’ll kill you.”

The girl laughed. “You can’t kill a dead person.”

*               *               *

Derrick cleaned the inside of the RV and then dropped it off for a tune-up. Nothing needed repairing, but the “change oil” light flickered. He’d have it back in a couple of days, and in the meantime he could replace the supplies the kids had destroyed. They’d taken several packets of pain reliever and hypodermic needles. An unmarked and locked cabinet had the methadone they’d wanted. Derrick had the only set of keys and access to the lethal drug.

He drove his Honda Accord to Sparrow’s, zipping in and out of traffic. He hadn’t planned on seeing her tonight, but he needed her help. He turned onto La Naranja Avenida. The wide street lined with manicured palm trees and a pristine median was a far cry from the pothole-ridden and scarred street he’d come from. One end of the city feasted in the lap of luxury and the other pilfered in the bowels of squalor. Poverty existed in the land of opportunity. The middle class continued to shrink while the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. On some days he didn’t know if he was making a difference. He turned on the radio. The rock music blared, beating the philosophical thoughts from his head.

Sparrow’s car was parked in her usual space. He pulled into the guest space and walked up the sand-covered sidewalk to her turquoise front door. A female screamed. He shoved open the door and rushed inside, racing through the living room toward the high-pitched horror. Sparrow clutched a pair of scissors, screaming and stabbing at the air.

He rushed toward her and dodged to the side before she could stab him with the gleaming blades. “Sparrow, it’s me. Put the scissors down.” He grabbed hold of her wrist.

She dropped the scissors to the floor. Her body trembled. He pulled her close to him. She slumped against him. He tilted her face back. Her eyes rolled in their sockets.

“Oh, no, baby, stay with me.”

She fainted. He carried her across the hall to her bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and checked her pulse. It was strong. Something had frightened the hell out of her in that room. “Sparrow? Hey, baby? Are you with me?”

She stirred a little. He patted her hand, and she squeezed his palm. “I’m getting you a cold washcloth.”

He went into her bathroom and returned with a moistened washcloth. He pushed her bangs to the side and placed the cool cloth on her forehead. He held her hand, giving her time to come to.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I think…” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye.

“It’s okay, stay still. We don’t have to talk about this right now. I’m going to see if you have any orange juice. Are you diabetic?”

She shook her head from side to side.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt for you to drink a small glass.”

He returned with the pulp-laced juice, surprised to find her out of bed and across the hall in the guest room that she’d converted to a yoga studio. He maneuvered past the dismembered doll parts and held out the glass of juice.

“You should drink this.”

She accepted the glass with a blank expression on her face, but he detected something troublesome in her eyes. They stood in silence. She drank the orange juice to avoid speaking, while he looked around the room. He had never seen a home yoga studio before.

Breathtaking landscapes lined the light gray walls of the windowless room, something he found peculiar, considering the picturesque artwork, featuring autumn trails, sun-glistened rocks and mountains, blue shorelines with bubbling waves, and stormy skylines cracked with lightning. A long bar was mounted against one wall. He guessed she used it for stretching.

He walked over to the array of knives, scalpels, and scissors scattered on the dark gray-carpeted floor. He turned over the familiar metal tray and placed the weapons on top. Disassembled dolls and plastic baggies filled with hair littered the floor. He placed the metal tray on the oblong table centered against the wall and then turned back to her. He didn’t know where to begin with the questions. This morning he’d found her disoriented, staring out at the ocean, and now this. His eyes went from the odd assortment of doll parts on the floor to her. She was out of orange juice and out of stalling time.

“Derrick, I know this stuff looks weird and you probably think I’m crazy, but it isn’t what you think.”

“What is all of this?”

She picked up the doll torso with the white lily stuck in its chest. “This is art. I was going to tell you about my hobby, but I was afraid you’d think I was weird. I wanted to tell you after we knew each other better.”

Great. The last thing he needed was a girlfriend who withheld information from him because even she thought her own interests far too strange for human consumption.

“Go on.”

“I recently got involved with the Alternative Doll Convention. I-I have a real aversion to the stereotypical images of women, especially growing up here in Southern California, so by accident I came across this website when I was looking for Barbie collectors. My mother loved the iconic doll, and I have a collection that would rival Tori Spelling’s. Anyway, when I learned about the Alternative Doll Convention, I decided to destroy the dolls and create art.”

Hmm, maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. He was looking for a woman with self-confidence, one that wasn’t constantly shooting herself up with Botox and searching for the fountain of youth. From the outside looking in, the array of severed doll parts, not to mention the bagged appendages and hair, seemed weird and creepy, but in retrospect it was probably very healthy for a woman to destroy what she secretly envied to boost her own self-worth and confidence. It made good sense to him, but it still didn’t explain why she was screaming and stabbing the air.

“Maybe you can show me the website later, but right now, I’d like to know what made you scream and nearly stab me to death.”

She took in a deep breath and loudly exhaled. He guessed she was relieved of one situation, but her green eyes avoided him, which told him she had some explaining to do.

“Derrick, my back was turned to the door and I heard someone say, ‘Sparrow, remember me?’ She didn’t respond when I asked ‘Who’s there?’ I freaked out and automatically started to defend myself. That’s when I saw her.”

“Who?” He placed his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her face, searching for a logical answer. No one was in the room now and no one had run out of it when he busted in.

“The girl. She was dripping wet, standing right there in torn, faded jeans and a T-shirt.” She pointed.

Derrick walked over to the spot on the floor Sparrow pointed at and knelt down to touch it. The matted, dark carpet was soaked. He rubbed his thumb along his moist fingers and looked up at her. She had told him truth, but her wide eyes conveyed the same shock running through his system. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but where was the person who’d broken into her house?