2
KERRI
Ishouldn’t have called him.
Hisnumber should have been the last one I dialed of all the contacts listed in my phone. And yet, knowing Havoc is on his way is a balm I didn’t realize my nerves needed. Still, I worry my hands raw as I pace the shabby motel room. With its green shag carpet and brown Formica furniture, the 1970s chic décor has somehow survived the Civil War. It even smells like dust and rot, having been around too long, and came out the worse for wear. The rapid thud of my heart is a hammer threatening to crack my sternum, and I swear the seconds that tick by play tricks on me because it feels more like hours.
Every car that pulls in the dimly lit parking lot has me peeking between the seam that separates the two stiff brown curtains. I’m not doing such a fabulous job of remaining outwardly calm. In fact, I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Disappointment shoots through me when a blue sedan parks in a spot several spaces left of the window and a tall man unfolds his long limbs from behind the wheel. His ill-fitting dark suit hangs on his lanky frame, and I see his mouth move but can’t hear what he says to the intoxicated woman who practically tumbles from the passenger’s seat. She pulls a full crotch shot before adjusting her skirt. Lucky for me I get the full frontal of her shaved vagina. She trips twice over her feet, yelling at her male companion to “hurry the fuck up” as she shuffles toward the concrete stairs that lead to the second floor of the decaying motel.
She leaves a shoe behind, like a drunken Cinderella straight out of a demented fairy tale.
Once they’re out of sight, I extract the finger I used to nudge the curtains apart and instinctively wipe it on my Tom Ford cocktail dress.
My nerves are shot. I’m functioning on pure adrenaline. I switch back and forth between numbness and hysteria, the latter seeming to be my current go-to as I try to think about tomorrow. And the next day. Even the day after that one, but I keep hitting a figurative brick wall.
Eight days ago, my life made sense. I had a clear path.
Now…
I can’t even predict ten minutes from now.
Everything changed the night my father got shot. What happened tonight is a byproduct of that tragedy, and I fear the dangerous butterfly effect it will have on my future.
Wait. I jumped ahead a step.
Even having a future depends heavily on whether I make it out of this room.
See? Therein lies my immediate problem. It’s the reason I called Havoc. Given his line of work, his experience in dealing with…sticky situations…I’m putting all my trust in him to at least get me out of here.
Onto Step Two of Kerri Ward’s Fucked Up Situation.
Step One was surviving long enough to make it to this motel.
My feet, stuffed into black Louboutins, ache, but I’d sooner chop them off at the ankles than walk barefoot on this disgusting carpet. I’d sit while waiting for Havoc to arrive, but the bed… Are those actual bloodstains on the faded yellow quilt? No thank you. I’ll stand. Pace, actually, despite how the balls of my feet are screaming in protest with each step I take. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing that, despite the chaos of the situation, I’d remembered to grab my coat from the car. The dry heat barely sputtering from the vents does almost nothing to chase out the bitter October chill blowing in off the Appalachian Mountains. If anything, it heightens the stench of stale body odor and filth clinging to every molecule in this room.
The television is background noise, with the news having yet to report the…incident. I’m not surprised. It’s the middle of the night, and it happened on a rural road between Brighton and Seagrave.
No one saw.
At least, I don’t think anyone saw.
My stomach turns…Oh God, what if someone saw?
A toxic cocktail of fear and anger has me shaking so hard I need to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from banging together. I am a complete and total mess. I stride into the bathroom and splash more water on my face. Not that it helped to calm me the last two times I did this. But the third time’s a charm.
Right?
Wrong.
It doesn’t help this time, either.
A glance in the mirror tells the terrible story of my night. This night shouldn’t have happened. Why did I go? My mother warned me to stay home. With everything going on in our lives, shewarned me. I didn’t listen and look where my defiance got me. And for what? I accomplished nothing.
My father is still lying in a hospital bed. The only thing keeping him alive is the battalion of machines hooked to his body.
This man.
My father.
