No Safe Secret (3 page)

Carefully, she moved her hand down to her genital area and realized that her panties had been removed. With a hesitant hand, she touched herself, felt dried blood and something else she was not even going to put a name to. Slowly, she pushed upright into a sitting position. She was still under the bleachers, but the few lights that had given her attackers a better view were no longer shining on the football field. Surrounded by total darkness and not knowing if her attackers were still lurking nearby, she stood up, her legs weak and shaking. An unfamiliar ache throbbed between her legs, and she cringed knowing why.

Her silver sandals were long gone, and she didn't care. Her heels were bloody and raw from where they'd dragged her down the rocky path, but she was still able to walk. It was then she remembered her clutch purse. She reached inside the deep pocket of her ruined dress and removed the clutch. With shaking hands, she opened it, saw that all the cash she'd brought was still there, along with the dolphin key ring that held two keys. One to the trailer, and the other to the Mustang.

“Thank God,” she whispered, surprising herself. Maybe some of Pastor Royer's sermons had seeped into the deep recesses of her mind. She was thankful, whether it was to God or someone else, it didn't matter. She had to get out of here. She didn't know where her attackers were. For all she knew, they could still be watching her, waiting for another chance to pounce on her like wild animals. Quickly, she ran, stumbling as fast as she could over the rough gravel, not caring that her feet were torn and raw. She gripped the dolphin key ring so tightly in her hand for fear of losing it that she cried out in pain before she realized that the end of the key had punctured the soft fold of skin between her thumb and finger.

As she neared the exit to the gymnasium, she stopped, held her breath, and listened. Crickets, a frog's croak, and the shrill cry of a whip-poor-will could be heard in the grove of trees opposite the gymnasium. A mosquito buzzed above her head. Night sounds all.

The prom must have ended hours ago. The music that had cheered her as she'd entered the gymnasium—so full of hope that, for just one night, she could just be seventeen—could no longer be heard. But she'd had those foreboding feelings, and now she knew they had been a warning. She would never ignore feelings like that again.

Never.

As assured as she could be, given her circumstances, that none of her attackers were still inside the gym, she ran past it, the track, and the teacher's parking lot. Out of breath and trembling, she stopped when she reached the northeast corner of the school building, where only hours ago, she'd fooled herself with hopes of an exciting prom night; she'd even believed she would receive a scholarship to college. She realized now that was just false hope. Scholarships weren't given out during prom week. For some odd reason, she'd had this in her head and dreamily imagined the evening ending with her education secured. What a fool she was. After she caught her breath, she ran the length of the high school, rounding the end of the building where the student parking lot was located. Spying her beat-up Mustang where she'd parked earlier, she sprinted so fast across the blacktop parking lot that she almost lost her footing. Slowing down just long enough to catch her balance, she had the key ready to unlock the door.

Her hands shook like dried leaves on an autumn tree preparing for winter, but she managed to unlock the door and crawl inside the safety of her car. She tossed her clutch purse on the passenger seat as she'd done before, then locked the door. With shaking hands, she slid the worn key into the ignition, and the old Mustang roared to life. She shifted into DRIVE, and the tires squealed as she stomped on the gas, turning onto the main road.

Her tears had completely soaked the bodice of her prom dress now, but she didn't care. She planned on burning the dress as soon as she got home.

Did she really think she could go back home after what had happened tonight? No, she had to go away. She could never go back to that hotbed of hell.
Never!

She was glad she'd crammed all of her cash, around six hundred dollars, into her purse as a precaution because both Marcus and her mother, when that upstanding woman bothered to be around, were known to rummage through her room when they were low on cash. Thankfully, she'd had the forethought to bring it with her tonight and nobody had touched it. Again, she hadn't listened to her other warnings, but at least she'd had the good sense to bring her hard-earned cash with her.

As she came to the last winding curve on Carroll Road, she gave a sigh of relief when the road straightened, both lanes expanding to four at this newly constructed part of the highway. She saw this as a sign that she should get away from the nightmare she'd just lived through and stomped down on the Mustang's accelerator. She watched as the speedometer climbed from forty to fifty, then sixty, steadily climbing to seventy-five, the speed freeing her from the bonds of a life she no longer wanted to be a part of. It was almost like the car had a mind of its own and was doing its best to take her as far away from that miserable life as she could get, as quickly as possible. She gripped the wheel with one hand, then decided that at this rate of speed, she'd better fasten the seat belt. She took another glance at the speedometer and saw the bright-orange needle struggling to reach eighty-five. She'd never driven this fast in her life, but tonight it was warranted.

She rolled down the window, the night air drying what was left of the tears on her cheeks. She used the back of her hand to swipe at her nose, which felt bruised and sore. Maybe she'd been hit by those perverted scumbags when she'd blacked out? She didn't know, and quite possibly, she'd never know exactly what those sick-ass creeps had done to her. All she cared about now was putting as many miles between her and Blossom City, Florida, as possible, and as fast as she could.

A bit calmer than moments before, Maddy didn't have time to react when she saw the group of guys ahead, gathered in the middle of the road.

“What the . . . ?” she cried out.

Unable to slow the Mustang down fast enough in order to bypass a party of what appeared to be a group still living it up on prom night, Maddy's heart nearly blew out of her chest when she saw a bright-yellow Camaro parked on the side of the road.

Later, she would try to recall what happened, and she would have several theories, but what she was one hundred percent sure of: she had run over at least three of the guys who'd attacked her, and she didn't stop to check to see if they were dead or alive.

 

 

M
olly stood in her spotless, newly remodeled designer kitchen and checked her shopping list one last time before driving across town to Gloria's, her favorite market, which specialized in organic produce, freshly caught seafood, and everything in between. She had ten people coming over tonight for yet another one of Tanner's dinner parties.

This morning, as he was leaving for the dental clinic, he'd said one word to her: “perfection.” He'd winked to soften his sharp command.

It was her warning that the outcome of this dinner party would determine their future. Everything must be perfect. Tanner was a true perfectionist.
A bit harsh
, she thought as she reached for the keys to her silver Mercedes, Tanner's gift to her on their fifteenth wedding anniversary. Now, nearing their twentieth, she continued to drive the same car. It had seemed like only yesterday that she'd gifted him with a photograph of the three children in an exquisite silver frame, an acknowledgment of the best part of their life together. The children. Holden and Graham, twins Tanner had from his first marriage, boys she'd raised since they were toddlers. Their mother, Elaine, had died in a tragic accident just months after they were born. To Molly, they were no different than Kristen, her biological daughter, who idolized her big brothers.

She remembered Tanner that day she'd given him the picture, all those years ago. He had been preoccupied with something and had only glanced at the framed photo, tossing it aside as though it were merely a flyer advertising a window-washing service or someone who was hoping to cut their grass. If he'd only known how hard it'd been to schedule the photographer and get all three kids in the same place for the scheduled appointment, maybe he would have actually appreciated her thoughtful gift.

She hadn't wanted or needed a new car then, didn't really like it all that much now. Her eight-year-old Range Rover had suited her just fine. She'd carted all kinds of sporting equipment when the boys played hockey, followed by football, stinky pads and all. Kristen had insisted on taking French horn lessons that she'd never quite got the hang of, but having such a large instrument was cool at the time, and she could fit it in the back of the Range Rover without a problem. Yes, she thought as she pulled out of the garage in her sleek and shiny car, her old Range Rover held many good memories, as did the other car, the one she'd had restored, which was now tucked safely away in a place where it belonged.

She glanced in the rearview mirror as she backed out of the driveway, aware that she looked older than her actual age. She put her foot on the brake and brought the car to a sudden stop, pulled the visor down, and looked into the vanity mirror. Her blond hair was more gray than blond, and her green eyes were lusterless. Her eyelids had begun to sag, and her once-full mouth drooped in a permanent frown. She traced the web of wrinkles around her eyes, then quickly raised the visor.

Shifting into PARK, she wondered when she'd begun to look so old. She had turned thirty-eight last month, had been dreading the big four-oh, but at thirty-eight she already looked much older than the ghastly forty. She was aging faster than Tanner, who at forty-eight looked much younger. Why hadn't Tanner mentioned this to her? He always critiqued her. What she wore, too much makeup, not enough makeup, too tan, too pale, too fat, too thin, and on and on it went. At least she had good teeth, she thought as she pulled onto Riverbend Road, the most exclusive neighborhood in Goldenhills. She ran her tongue across her teeth. They were as smooth as the mother-of-pearl necklace Tanner had given her on her thirtieth birthday. Of course, her perfect teeth were courtesy of Tanner's expertise; he was one of the top cosmetic dentists in the state.

Which brought her back to the reason for tonight's dinner party. Tanner owned three dental clinics, one here in Goldenhills and two in Ocean Orr, and wanted to open a fourth in Boston, near the Harvard School of Dental Medicine, his alma mater. Tonight's guests were potential investors.

Molly knew that tonight was very important to her husband. She truly appreciated his hard work and dedication, but there were times when she thought he took his business drive to the extreme. Tonight's dinner, for example. He didn't need these investors any more than she needed a snake for a pet, yet for Tanner, having a clinic that actually drew in investors was just another way to feed his already huge ego, though she would never say anything like that to him. Tanner strove to be a good husband and father most of the time, as well as a dedicated medical professional. A tiny thought crept into her head, a truth she rarely acknowledged: in point of fact, he was neither a good husband nor a good father. Right now, she chose not to consider those truths.

Forgiveness. She must remember to forgive thy neighbor.

Isn't that what Father Richard Czerwinski, or Father Wink, as he preferred to be addressed, had shared with her just last week when she'd stopped by the church to light a candle? Religion was a very important part of her life. There was a time when she didn't believe in any formal religion or a higher power, and she felt guilty about that to this very day. But she reminded herself that she'd never really had an opportunity to seriously explore any religion. Her own day-to-day survival had been her top priority. Of course, when Tanner and his twin boys came into her life, all of that had changed. She rarely thought of her life before Tanner and the kids, and when she did, it angered her. For days afterward, she would be in the most dreadful mood.

 

 

M
addy drove as fast as she could, keeping an eye on the odometer. Shaken and unsure if she was making the right decision, she told herself that she really didn't have much of a choice. But hanging around Blossom City was not possible. She drove through the night and pulled into a rest area when she crossed over the Georgia border.

Maddy got out of the car and walked around it, looking for any damage that might have resulted from the accident. The car was so old and banged up that it was difficult to tell if any of the dents and scrapes were new. She got back into the car and sat for a few minutes thinking about what her next move should be. Her eyes were swollen from crying and felt gritty and dry. She longed for a cool shower but had to put first things first. She needed to find a place to stay and get some rest. More importantly, she needed to rid herself of the disgusting teal dress that only a day ago she had worn with so much promise. As soon as she could, she planned to burn the dress, and hopefully that simple act would erase the traumatic events of the previous night. She realized that she was being naïve in the extreme, but she didn't care.

She would never forget last night as long as she lived.

As she pulled back onto I-95, the traffic was light at this early-morning hour. She wished the radio worked now. She was so tired that maybe a loud rock song would keep her awake. She drove several miles until she saw an exit for Brunswick. She used her signal as she switched lanes, then followed the exit ramp to a traffic light. She waited for the light to turn green. Unsure if she should turn left or right, she took a right. Just the word “right” was enough. Slowly, the old Mustang crawled along Main Street.

“Main Street, how original,” she said out loud. Her words were hoarse, broken, unrecognizable, as if they came from someone else. From this moment forward she would do her best to act as if she were someone else. Start over, put the past behind her. Forget last night. Forget Marcus. Forget her mother. Forget her life in Blossom City.

“Right,” she said aloud.

Above the stretch of tall pines, the sun rose, bathing the early-morning sky in shades of pinks, purples, and various hues of deep blue. Off in the distance, clouds darkened in rich shades of slate and silver.

Rain
, she thought as she slowly drove down Main Street. She came to a halt at a four-way traffic sign but didn't come to a complete stop. There were no other cars on the road this early in the morning, so she saw no reason to. Ahead, a bright-green neon sign, flashing
MOTEL VACANCY,
grabbed her attention. Increasing her speed, though not exceeding the posted limit of forty-five, she pulled into the motel's parking lot. Shutting the engine down, she leaned her head back against the seat, the events of last night still spinning crazily in her mind. Even though she'd just given herself a new beginning, she realized it wasn't going to be quite as simple as she thought.

Did her mother know what had happened last night? Had Marcus told some off-the-wall story, one that her mother would believe just because her golden boy told it to her? Usually, she believed every lie that rolled off his tongue. Knowing it would only cause her pain, but doing it anyway, Maddy flashed back to that second when she raced away from the school, coming upon the group of guys standing in the center of the road, the sudden impact as their bodies slammed against the grill, then the thwack as the Mustang's tires crushed flesh and bone. In a blind daze, she'd been too shocked at the time to realize the true significance of what remained on the road behind her, but she'd increased her speed in spite of this. Now, she fully realized, it was very probable that she'd committed a crime after she'd been the victim of a nightmarish crime herself. If she had decided to turn back, would she have spent the rest of her life behind bars for vehicular homicide, or, if no one was killed, just leaving the scene of an accident? Maybe whoever she hit would tell the police they saw her car? She was the only one in Blossom City who drove a battered red 1964 Mustang. At least to her knowledge she was the only one.

“No!”

She would not allow this one mistake to torture her for the rest of her life. With that thought in mind, she grabbed her purse, which was still lying on the passenger seat, tucked it in her dress pocket, again, and realized once more that she desperately needed a change of clothes. She got out of the car, minus her silver heels. Holding the skirt of the long dress with one hand, raking the other through her stiff hair, and not caring what anyone thought, she entered the motel lobby.

A woman who appeared to be in her late sixties, judging by her graying hair and stooped back, looked up when she entered. “Can I help you?” she asked in a kindly voice.

For a moment, Maddy didn't know what to say. She'd never stayed in a motel. Other than what she'd seen on television, which involved signing a guest book and a taciturn desk clerk sliding a single key across the counter, she wasn't sure of the protocol. Licking her lips and tasting a bit of dried blood, she regretted not checking her appearance before coming inside.

“May I help you?” the old woman asked again, showing just a hint of impatience.

Nodding, Maddy reached into her pocket for her clutch purse and pulled out her wad of cash. In a soft voice, she said, “I, uh . . . need a room.” She chewed her bottom lip again.

The woman nodded, then asked. “Single or double?”

Swallowing, she spoke a bit louder this time, “It's just me, so a single.”

“And how long will you be staying with us? There is a discount if you stay at least three days.”

Taking a deep breath, she decided she'd stay. This would give her time to plan, time to make a decision about what to do. “Yes, I'll, uh . . . I'll stay three days.”

“Good choice. We offer free cable TV, and there's coffee available from six to ten every morning.” She motioned to the corner.

Maddy glanced over her shoulder, where she saw a small table with a Mr. Coffee machine, paper cups, and a container of powdered cream, plus a basket filled with little packets of sugar.

“Thanks,” she replied. She didn't drink coffee, but maybe she'd start.

“If you will just fill this out.” The woman slid a form, along with a pen, across the counter, just like Maddy had seen on TV.

Turning her back to return to her former task, the old woman flipped through a stack of papers. “Oh, and I'll need to see your driver's license, too,” she added nonchalantly.

Maddy quickly scanned the form. With an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, she realized she'd have to lie if she wanted to spend the next three nights there. If she let the old woman look at her license, it would open a whole new can of worms. She made a snap decision. If she were going to lie, she might as well make it a whopper. She cleared her throat, dying for a drink, but that would come later, after she'd settled in, and only if the woman believed her and rented her a room. Making a big show of searching through her clutch purse, Maddy removed a tube of cherry-flavored lip gloss, her house key, which she knew she'd never use again, and the stub from her prom ticket. “I think I might have left it,” she answered quickly, “at home.”

The old woman stopped her task, turning around. “Where is home?”

Before she had a chance to change her mind, she spurted out, “Naples, Florida. I'm here to visit a friend.”

When the woman just stared at her, she added, “We're . . . uh, spending two weeks together before we start college.”

“Not that it's any of my business, but why aren't you staying with your friend?”

Good question, Maddy thought. “I confused the dates, she's staying with her grandparents and, uh . . . I didn't realize it until last night when I”—was brutally attacked and raped, she wanted to shout—“left in such a hurry.”

“Is that why you're wearing that?” She pointed at Maddy's prom dress. “You didn't have time to change?”

God, why was this woman making this so frigging complicated? She just wanted a room. It wasn't like she was applying for a job. A dozen lies whirled in her brain. Before she thought too long, she said. “Uh, yeah. Well, last night after the prom, I had a fight with my boyfriend. I was packed for the trip”—Maddy pointed to her car in the parking lot—“but I was just so upset, I didn't bother to go home and change.” Thank God the woman couldn't see her bare and bloodied feet.

“Your parents are fine with this, I take it?” the clerk asked.

“Uh, yes. They're out of . . . the country. They took a cruise. To the Bahamas. For their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and well, I just left, and here I am,” Maddy explained sheepishly.

“Well, go on, just fill out that form. You look like you could use a good night's sleep, though I wouldn't sleep all day if I were you. You'll be awake all night.”

Maddy's heart pounded. She couldn't wait to escape this old woman's scrutiny. “Yes,” she said, then proceeded to fill out the form before the woman had a change of heart. She wrote as fast as she could, and none too plainly. She made up an address, 2806 Palmetto Way. Naples was a ritzy city, so she figured that if she'd made up something like 123 Elm Street, it would be a dead giveaway. She decided it was best if she didn't use her real name either. If the police in Blossom City were looking for her, well, she wasn't sure how lying about her name would matter, given the fact that her Mustang was easily identified as belonging to her. She'd lied about everything else, so why not about her name? She put Molly where the form asked for her first name. She didn't dare add Ringwald, her favorite actress from the cult favorite movie
Sixteen Candles
, so she put Hall as her last name. Michael Anthony Hall, the geeky actor from
Sixteen Candles
. She liked her new name. Molly Hall.
It sounded quite nice
, she thought, as she slid the registration form across the counter for the woman to view.

A chain with a pair of glasses hung around the woman's neck. The old woman put them on before reading the form.

Maddy leaned forward, trying to see if she'd added something she shouldn't.

“Okay, Molly. I'll put you in 108. It's at the end of the building, and it's our last room.”

Finally
, she thought as she offered up what she hoped was a thankful smile. “I appreciate this, Mrs.—” Under her current circumstances, she'd completely forgotten her manners and hadn't asked for her name.

“Mrs. Wilkins. My family has owned the place for close to fifty years.”

“Mrs. Wilkins, uh, thanks.” She turned around, anxious to get out of the office, when Mrs. Wilkins called out to her.

“Aren't you forgetting something, young lady?” She'd put extra emphasis on her last two words.

Maddy, Molly, turned around. “I don't think so,” she said because she truly didn't.

“The fee for the room,” Mrs. Wilkins stated.

Crap! How could she be so stupid? “Oh.” She gave a false laugh, like something Scarlett O'Hara would have done in
Gone with the Wind
. “I'm sorry. How much?” She'd almost walked out and left her cash on the desk. She grabbed her money, stupefied that she'd forgotten it.

“Thirty dollars per night, which comes to ninety dollars, plus tax, but since you're spending the three nights, it's a flat seventy-five dollars.”

Seventy-five dollars! Maddy almost choked. Quickly, before Mrs. Wilkins noticed her shock, she took three twenties, a ten, and five one-dollar bills from her wad. “Here,” she said, holding the money out in a fanlike position so the old woman could see she wasn't trying to cheat her.

Mrs. Wilkins took the money, then handed her an old blue key ring, the numbers so faded that they were barely discernible.

“108,” she called out as Maddy/Molly turned to leave.

She nodded, waving as she hurried back to her car. Had she known the cost of a motel, she would've slept in her car, but she needed a shower, and a night to rest in a real bed. Maybe she should've opted for just one night. Too late now. If she asked Mrs. Wilkins for her money back, explaining she'd changed her mind and only wanted to stay one night, it would draw even more attention to herself. She started her car, driving slowly until she found the parking space for Room 108. She glanced around before getting out of the car, fearful that Ricky, Marcus, or whoever else had been in the group she had plowed into were just waiting to grab her. And God forbid that the police, alerted to what she had done, were watching her, intending to arrest her and return her to Florida.

She wondered if she'd hit Marcus last night. Wondered it he had been one of the guys standing in the middle of the road. Telling herself she was being overly paranoid, she got out of the car, locked the door, then took the key, preparing to insert it into the lock. The key was worn and thin, and the brass doorknob looked like something out of the fifties, but the key slid smoothly into the lock, and the knob turned effortlessly.

Closing and locking the door behind her, Maddy walked across the room and turned on the TV in search of any news about the accident. Finding none, she perused the room that had cost her a large chunk of her savings. A full-size bed, bigger than any she'd ever slept in, was in the center of the room. The bed was neatly made with a brown chenille bedspread and two pillows tucked in neatly. Maddy walked the few feet to the inviting bed, where she traced the spread and touched the pillows. They were soft. Curious, she pulled the spread down, exposing clean white sheets that appeared to have been ironed. She lifted the sheet to her nose, inhaling sunshine and fresh air. A night table was placed on each side of the bed, near the head. One held a lamp; the other, on the right side, toward the door, had an alarm clock, a small pad of paper, and a pen with the motel's name spelled out in large dark-green letters: