My Lost Daughter (57 page)

Shana was staring at him with wide, stark eyes. He continued speaking. “It gives you a sense of well-being. Trust me. You're going to love it.”

“I . . . no . . . let me up. Please, let me go.” Tears gathered in Shana's eyes. She began thrashing inside the tarp. Her nose began running. Panicked inside the tight canvas, she felt like a sniveling baby. Why had she gone out alone at night when she knew Alex was looking for her? But this, this was a nightmare come to life.

“Your mother should have come to visit you at the hospital,” Alex told her, going to the bathroom and returning with a tissue. He wiped her nose and then tossed the tissue in the trash can. “I know you've patched things up because I saw you embracing each other at the beach. I could have taken both of you then, but there were too many people around and I wasn't set up yet.” He glanced around the apartment. “I had to get approved for this place. They made such a big deal you would have thought I was renting a palace.” He bent down and picked up a large box. “I want you to see your daughter. She'll look better after we go on our journey. On the other side, we'll all have glorified bodies.”

“My daughter?” Shana tried to pick her head up to see what he was talking about, but her range of motion was too limited. Alex saw this and tilted the box so she could see the contents. Some kind of strange object was arranged on what appeared to be a satin pillow. She was too far away to identify the object but to her, the outside resembled a miniature coffin. When Alex brought the box closer, she saw it and had to suppress the urge to vomit.

Alex was holding a real coffin!

There was something inside that looked liked sticks attached to a round object about the size of a baseball. Finally she figured it out.

A head! It was a skeleton, a baby's skeleton!

Shana opened her mouth and screamed like a banshee. Alex pounced on her and placed his hand over her mouth. “Stop that, Shana. You're acting childish. People will hear you. We don't want that, do we?”

Shana shook her head from side to side.

“If I take my hand off, you have to promise you won't scream. Do you promise?”

She nodded and Alex removed his hand. “What scared you? That?” he said, glancing at the gruesome contents of the box, now on the floor by his feet. “That's just the remnants of what your daughter used to be. Your name in your former life was Jennifer Rondini. You died and then you were born again into your present body. I know
there's a time difference, but they say your former soul doesn't enter your new body until you're older, somewhere around puberty. Before I found you, this was the only thing I had left of our baby. I removed it from the earth. I didn't want my only child in the dirt where animals could eat her.”

“Please let me up or at least loosen this thing over me,” Shana told him. “I can't breathe, Alex. It's cutting off my air. If you don't take it off, I'm going to suffocate. Do you want me to die now, right now? I thought you wanted us to cross over together.”

Alex didn't answer. He appeared to be lost in his thoughts. For an unknown period of time, he just sat there in the chair next to the bed, smoking one cigarette after another and rocking his chair back on its rear legs. Then a curtain of darkness fell over his eyes. He grimaced and stood, walking to the dresser and filling the syringe.

“What are you doing?” Shana shouted. “Don't stick that in me, Alex. Please, I won't make any more noise.”

Shana watched as Alex rolled up his sleeve, slapped his arm several times, and then plunged the needle into his vein. His head fell back and his mouth opened as the narcotic entered his bloodstream. He removed the needle from his arm and refilled it, walking over to the edge of the bed and untying one corner of the canvas tarp. He picked up Shana's arm. She jerked it away, but Alex seized it. He was too strong. She tried to escape through the opening in the tarp, but Alex's body blocked her. He whipped his belt off and tied it around Shana's arm, then plunged the needle in, hitting the vein on the first try. After he finished, he tossed the disposable needle in the trash can by the bed and retied the tarp tightly around Shana's body.

She was flooded with warmth and contentment, a welcome relief from the previous terror. She smiled and Alex smiled back.

“Good stuff, isn't it? You'll sleep now.” Alex's words were thick and slurred by the drug. “I used to be fascinated by death, the process of dying. I never understood why I wanted to kill things and study them as they died. I was only seeking answers like any scientist or researcher. Death, I determined, is going backward through the
evolutionary pond. The life essence that makes you what you are, well, it can be freed to join with the universe or what people refer to as the Godhead, or it can become trapped in another worthless body. So many people hate their lives. I know because they have clubs . . . suicide clubs. They want to die and trade their body in for a new one. I know you want that, too, so I'm going to help you do it, just like I'm going to help your mother.” He exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke. “I know you're probably still harboring resentment over what your mother did, but on the other side, everyone loves each other. There's no anger, no resentment, no depression, no violence. It's paradise, just what we're all seeking, even if we don't realize it.”

Shana was giggling, her eyes closed, her head rolling from side to side. The implications in Alex's words slipped past on a cloud of narcotic-induced delusions. She was back in time, hanging out with her teenage girlfriends, completely and mercifully unaware that her life hung in the balance.

 

A few blocks away, Chris traveled the dark streets, up one and then down another, searching the lawns, the sidewalks, between the houses. He steered the car into the narrow alleys and caused all the neighborhood dogs to begin barking and howling. The gas gauge on the Volkswagen was on empty. He had planned on filling it up that morning. He couldn't drive around any longer on fumes. He would have to give up or find a service station that was open at three o'clock in the morning.

As Chris figured it, Shana had made contact with one of her friends and they had picked her up. They could have gone out to a dance club, and nothing happened at those places until late. But she could have left a note. That is, unless she had connected with her friend after they had gone to bed. Now that made sense, he told himself, a heck of a lot more than an alleged dead guy snatching Shana from her bed.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to see the road in front of him. Here he was, bone tired, a hectic day ahead of him, searching the city for someone who more than likely didn't want to be found.

Good luck on finding a gas station that was open. Ventura was a bedroom community and they rolled up the sidewalks around ten at night. He was heading down the Pacific Coast Highway to find a gas station when the Volkswagen sputtered and died. He had never run out of gas before in his life. You weren't supposed to run out of gas in a Volkswagen. He'd known he was low on fuel and felt like an idiot. He should have taken Lily's Volvo.

“Damn it,” he said, getting out and lifting the hood to raise the chances of someone stopping to help him. He was at least seven miles from the house, and in his rush to leave, he had forgotten to bring his cell phone. Cars zipped past him, but no one stopped. No one would stop at this hour. After waiting beside the road for at least thirty minutes, he locked up the car and began walking.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27
VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

After Chris left, Lily sat up in bed and tried reading, but she kept falling asleep. She reassured herself that everything was okay, that Chris would come home any minute with her daughter in tow. Shana's insomnia might be to blame. Since the hospital hadn't sent her home with any medicine, she would have to take her to their family doctor and get her on one of the new sleep medications such as Lunesta or Ambien. Lily had suffered from insomnia until she had become involved with Chris. He had chased her demons away, and without the past haunting her, she slept through the night without a problem.

She tried to call Chris on his cell phone and became concerned when he didn't answer. Then she heard a ringing sound in the bathroom and realized he'd forgotten to take his phone. Since someone had to stay at the house in case Shana returned, she finally turned off the light and fell asleep.

When she awoke sometime later, she was snuggled up against Chris's back. He must have found Shana, she thought, feeling her body go limp in relief. Because of the blackout drapes in the bedroom, she couldn't tell if it was morning or still dark out. Everything
had to be okay or Chris would have never come home. She felt hot and tossed the covers off. Chris's body was so hot, she wondered if he was coming down with something. Poor man, she thought, he'd become embroiled with her life and her life was never easy. She reached over his shoulder and placed her hand on his forehead, finding it warm and clammy.

Lily suddenly smelled something disgusting and foul. Was it body odor? Chris had never smelled like this before, not in their entire time together. He was meticulously clean.

“Chris,” she whispered, fearful now that he was really ill. Odors were sometimes linked to serious illnesses. He moaned but didn't move or speak. She lightly touched his shoulder. “Honey, are you all right?”

He turned over, only inches from her face, his breath as disgustingly sour as his body odor. She could only see the faint outline of his face in the dark. “What's wrong, baby? Did you have to chase Shana down or something?”

All she could hear was his breathing, heavy, labored.

Suddenly it was as if a huge animal was squeezing her insides. Bile rose in her throat and she began pushing the thing next to her away, certain it wasn't her beloved Chris.

“Lily,” the voice said softly. “It's time to go now. Everything is ready.”

It wasn't Chris's voice. She screamed, scooting off the edge of the bed as fast as she could and frantically trying to find the newspaper rack where she kept a revolver. It had to be the man who'd been stalking Shana—Alex, the man who was supposed to be dead. He certainly wasn't a ghost. He was a flesh-and-blood human and she had to find the gun so she could defend herself.

In a flurry of movement, he was on top of her, pinning her to the floor, his naked body pressing into her. The gun was so close, just a few feet away. She pushed and kicked with all her strength but he was too strong.

“Stop fighting me,” he said. “I'm here to protect you. I'll never
let anyone hurt you again. I already have Shana. She's waiting for us. You're both so beautiful. You must be angels.”

Lily continued to struggle, but his body was fueled by the abnormal strength of madness. He stood and she lunged for the newspaper rack. Before she could reach it, he placed his foot on her neck.

He was going to kill her!

She was choking, clawing at the carpet with her fingernails. He picked up what had to be his clothes and dressed, his foot still on her throat, alternating his feet so fast, she didn't have a chance to get away.

He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She grabbed on to the door frame as he passed underneath, but he continued walking and she lost her grip. He carried her into the living room, out the open front door, and then darted outside.

Lily screamed, “Call the police! Someone help me! He's going to kill me!”

They were in the front yard, and Alex threw her to the grass and fell on top of her, sealing her mouth with his sweaty palm. Now she could see him clearly in the light from the neighbor's house. His appearance was shocking. An insane look shot from his eyes. He was unshaven, and his hair was filthy and uncombed.

“Why are you fighting me?” he said. “I've planned this for years, searched all over the world for Shana. This is what we want, what Shana and I want. She wanted her mother to go with us, so I had to come and get you. You don't want to be left behind, do you?”

Holding her tightly around her neck, he removed his T-shirt and stuffed it in her mouth as a gag. Then he picked her up again and tossed her over his shoulder, continuing on in the dew-covered grass. The sky was a dusty gray, but Lily could tell the sun was rising. The pain in her back was so excruciating, she feared she might have broken it.

Alex moved faster now, weaving through the houses, oblivious to the barking dogs. They walked past one window and Lily saw a
man at a table drinking a cup of coffee. She started kicking and tried to scream inside the gag. With her head upside down and her body raging on fear, she vomited inside the gag and tasted the bitter contents of her stomach.

The man in the window was gone now and they were passing another yard. How could this happen? How could she be carried like a dead body through a heavily populated area, without anyone coming to her rescue?

Alex had to cross another street. Lily looked down at the asphalt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a boy on a bicycle riding toward them, his basket filled with newspapers. He was looking right at her. He had to see her, had to see she was in trouble. He rode right past them, turning to glance over his shoulder at the odd sight and then turning the corner and disappearing.

Everywhere she could see signs of life: cars, televisions, children laughing. Someone had to see her. Alex was traversing a parking lot of an apartment complex. He stopped and laid her on the ground beside a Dumpster, reaching into his pocket and removing a syringe. She tried to pry his fingers off her neck. “This is the best part, the part you'll like. Shana loves it. You'll see when we get to our temporary housing.”

Shana? God help her, he had Shana!

Up until now, she had thought he was bluffing, that Shana was safe somewhere with Chris, maybe having breakfast at the local Denny's. Pinning Alex with her eyes, she felt on the ground for something she could use as a weapon: a rock, a coat hanger, a bottle. Alex put a knee on her forearm and inserted the needle into her vein. She watched in a dreamy fog as he then plunged the needle into his own arm. A few minutes later, he removed the gag, caked with her vomit, propping her up against the metal trash container like a rag doll.