Face Off (4 page)

“She is. I don't really know if she believes in all this psychic stuff, but she knows I can do some pretty weird things, so she tries to keep my head on straight through it all. We had a Border collie named Jo-Jo who got run over, and I knew something was wrong and went to find him. Momma loved that dog almost as much as she did Amy and me. When I said something had happened to Jo-Jo, Momma just went to the phone and called the vet. I sort of guessed she must have believed in me, to call the vet before I even went looking for him.”

“Get down, Zero! Get down! Bad doggie! You're going to ruin my new dress!”
Suzanne heard the child's words. Her words. Then her father screaming at her.
“You've killed him, you little devil! You sent him into the road didn't you? Just because he jumped on your dress!”
She could still see her father coming toward her, fury on his face. She had tried to run, but he grabbed her and tore at the pretty new yellow dress her mother had sewn for her.

“You think this dress is so God-damned special? Well, how do you like this?”
And he had ripped it from her body, tearing it into a dozen pieces.

The next day her mother had left to go visit her sister Alma, and it was the last time Suzanne had seen her.

She had begged her mother not to go. She knew something awful was going to happen. When Roy came to her with news of the horrible car accident, she hadn't even been surprised.

“Miss Richards? Are you all right?”

Suzanne shook her head, trying to erase old memories. “Yes, I'm sorry, Jessie. Once in a while when you speak of events that have taken place in your life, it reminds me of my own childhood.” She rubbed her hands across her face as though just waking up from a bad dream. “So what happened to Jo-Jo? Did he survive?”

“Oh, sure. He still goes out to bring in the cows every evening. Out of habit, mostly. Momma says to let him keep doing it, even if he is so old now that he can barely make it. She says if we took his job away, he'd probably just curl up and die.”

Like me,
Suzanne thought.
I'm twenty-seven years old, and feel like I just want to curl up and die. The only thing I ever did that was worthwhile was taken from me.

*   *   *

Four hours later, Suzanne lay in bed listening to Jessie's even breathing coming from the couch. She kept her eyes closed tightly, but sleep wouldn't come. She couldn't even relax. Seeing Jessie, talking to her, had given rise to a host of memories which were flooding through her mind.

She could still remember as though it were yesterday the first time she found a missing child. A dead missing child. Her best friend's little sister.

When Jennifer had called and told her Peggy Ann had disappeared and the police were looking for her, Suzanne had rushed immediately to her friend's house. Peggy Ann had been like a little sister to her, also—always tagging along and making a nuisance of herself as only an eight-year-old can do.

There had been four of them hanging out together that summer. Lewis Martin, Jennifer's cousin, whom Suzanne had an enormous crush on; Bobby Steeples, who lived next door to Jennifer, and the two of them. It had been the best summer of Suzanne's life. They had biked, and swum, gone to all the new movies, and laughed the summer away, as only eighteen-year-olds just starting to find their way in life can do.

Bobby had just arrived with a group of searchers when Suzanne came running up the walk to Jennifer's home. “Have they found her?” she shouted to Bobby. He shook his head, weary from the long hours he had spent tramping the fields. Suzanne went up and put her arms around her friend. “What can I do to help?”

“Just go be with Jenny and her family. They are going nuts. Peggy Ann's been gone for over nine hours now. We have looked everywhere we can think to look.” Then, knowing she would want to know, knowing how she felt about Lewis, he had added, “Lewis is in the house, I think. The group he was with was just ahead of us. We all came back to get something to eat. I'm sure he will be glad to see you.”

Suzanne entered the home that had become almost like her own over the last months. Ten or fifteen people stood around in the living room, trying to console one another and offer support to Jennifer's family. Jennifer saw her and rushed over, dissolving in tears. Suzanne wrapped long arms around her friend and held her tight. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lewis coming toward them. She held out an arm so that he could join in the hug.

The moment Suzanne touched Lewis, cold shivers of fear washed over her. She suddenly knew what had happened to Peggy Ann. Slowly she dropped her arm and began backing away from her friend.

“You killed her! My God, Lewis, you killed her!”

“Are you crazy?” he yelled at her. “I've been out looking for her all day. Just ask anyone.”

Suzanne slowly shook her head, then she turned to Jennifer's father. “Peggy Ann's in the trunk of his car! She's been there all along. He raped and choked her. Oh, God! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!”

Lewis had tried to run at that point, but many hands grabbed onto him, holding him down as they searched his pocket for car keys.

Afterward, the police had questioned her for hours on end, not believing she hadn't known about Peggy all along. Even when Jennifer assured them she, herself, knew about Suzanne's psychic powers, they still hesitated to believe her story.

Finally, a detective had entered and handed her a can of pop. As she took it from him, her hand brushed against his. Instantly, she grabbed hold of his hand, holding it tight. She looked up at him, speaking softly. “You are worried about your son, aren't you?” Without giving the officer time to answer, she went on. “You had a fight with him earlier this evening. He's been getting in a lot of trouble lately, and you suspect he's taking drugs. You hit him, sir. Then he ran out of the house. David. His name is David, and you are afraid you were too rough on him. You came in to ask if it would be all right if you left early to try and find him.”

Detective Sands pulled his hand from Suzanne's grasp and sank down in a chair. He looked at the other three officers in the room. “She's right. She's absolutely right. And even my wife doesn't know about that fight. I've never hit David before, not even when he was little. But I lost it today. I just lost it.”

“Oh, Christ, Sands,” Detective Charles Botello said. “She's the same age as your boy. She probably knows him or heard about your fight from a mutual friend. You surely aren't going to buy into this crap, are you?”

Suzanne pushed away from the table and stood up. She moved across the room and placed her hand on the officer's arm. “Really, sir, you had better quit fooling around with … Millie, isn't it? Your wife, Barbara, is a very nice person, but she is going to kill you if she finds out.” She moved to another detective. “And you, Mr. James. Your wife is about to give birth to your first child. Oh, and I see you already know it's going to be a boy. You've even decided on a name. Winston, isn't it? After your grandfather?”

“Suzanne,” Detective Botello spoke, promising himself to break off his affair with a waitress named Millie just as fast as he could get to a phone. “I want to apologize for putting you through the last several hours. As far as I'm concerned, you're free to go home now.” He raised his eyebrows at the other officers in the room. “I assume that's all right with everyone? Or do we want to wait until she blurts out all our histories?”

Detective Sands stood and offered his hand to Suzanne. “Well, I don't know about these other gentlemen, but I want to thank you for your help. And please understand why we hesitated to believe your story. As police officers, we are bombarded daily with nuts claiming to have knowledge about a crime due to some dream or vision they had, and we are forced to follow up on what they tell us. We just get so sick and tired of wasting man-hours on this kind of—as Charlie said—
crap,
that we aren't open to the
real
thing when it comes along. I for one am stunned at your ability. I've never seen anything like it. Would you perhaps be willing to help us out on occasion?”

Suzanne nodded her head, not knowing at the time that Sands's innocent question would embark her on a journey through some of the most incredible moments of her life, then plunge her deep into hell.

Chapter Four

What had started out as a reasonably pleasant May day, was rapidly turning into a scorcher. The hot sun beat down mercilessly on Suzanne's old gray Cutlass. Even with both windows open, the heat was stupefying.

“I'm sorry, Jessie, I've been meaning to get that air conditioner fixed. I guess I just forgot how Kansas City temperatures can change fifty degrees in the matter of a few days, and sometimes a few hours! It seems like only last week I was still wearing sweaters.”

Jessie hung her head out the window of the car. Her long, red hair billowed in the wind, then snapped back, stinging her face. “You know what I think?” she said. “I think you need to get organized!”

Suzanne grinned. “No kidding.”

“No kidding,” Jessie parroted. “All you could find for breakfast was some crummy stale crackers, you didn't have anything clean to wear, your apartment is—well—let's just say, bulldozer material, your air conditioner's broken, and there's about an inch of crud on your car. You need to get a plan. You seriously need to get a plan!”

With one hand Suzanne shook out the last cigarette from a crumpled package of Winstons. “Hey, kiddo, I'm the one helping
you
out, remember? I would have been perfectly content to get up this morning, drink black coffee, put on my sweats and loll around the house. I didn't know I was going to be entertaining Martha Stewart!”

Jessie pulled her head back inside the stuffy car. “Now, that's not what I mean at all, and you know it. It's just that it seems to me you're sort of, I don't know,
hiding out
from the world, or something. How long have you been ordering in fast food? And I bet you haven't been to the grocery store in a month.”

Suzanne kept her eyes on the road as she fished through her bag for a lighter, found one, then lit the slightly bent cigarette dangling from her mouth. “Guess I'll have to go now,” she muttered. “That's my last cigarette.”

“Come on, come on,” Jessie persisted. “How long has it been since you went to the grocery store? Or better yet, how long has it been since you were even out of your apartment?”

“Okay, okay! I haven't been to the store in over a month, and I haven't been out of my apartment since about a week ago when I ran down to the Stop and Plop for cigarettes and lunchmeat.” She turned to Jessie. “Are you satisfied?”

Jessie nodded, deciding to drop the subject. “Is there really a place called the Stop and Plop?”

Suzanne's laughter filled the car. “No, no. That's only my little pet name for convenience stores—
all
of them.”

Jessie's reaction was one of surprise. “Do you know that's the first time I've heard you laugh? You should try it more often!”

“And you, my young friend, should try minding your own business a little more often!” The smile on Suzanne's face told Jessie her words weren't meant to be harsh. “And instead of sitting there giving me all this grief, why aren't you planning out what I'm going to say to get in to see Clark? After all, this is
your
idiotic scheme. I can't believe I let you talk me into this. If I get thrown in jail, have you figured out what
you
are going to do?”

“Oh, they won't throw a
nun
in jail. Besides, no one will pay any attention at all to you, I'll bet. Who would think to check up on a nun?”

“You'll forgive me if I don't hold with your strong sense of optimism. The way things have gone for me lately, they'll not only put me in jail, but they'll move me in as Clark's cellmate!”

Jessie couldn't help grinning. “Well, isn't that just what we want?”

Suzanne threw the cigarette butt out of the car window. “Easy for you to say, kid. Easy for you to say.”

*   *   *

“That's it, guys.” Sidney Hollings flung one arm up in the air, his thumb pointing skyward. “We're all set.” He looked at his watch. “Take the floors assigned to you and give them a final check. I want everyone back here in fifteen minutes. We need to blow before the winds get any stronger.”

Eight men in hard hats began walking back toward the old eight-floor office building. They had checked it as they finished setting the charges, but each man knew how easy it was for a homeless person to sneak in when they weren't looking, or a child to wander in looking for a place to play.

Michael Thatcher was new on the job. In the three months he had been working for Hollings, the man had yet to trust him to sweep a room. He had watched as the other men painstakingly opened every closet, checked under debris, and did everything they could to ensure no one was trapped when the building imploded, but as yet, he had not been trusted with an unsupervised sweep.

He stood waiting for Hollings to join him and was surprised when the man nodded toward the building. “Go on, Thatcher. This is your baby. First floor.”

Michael unhooked the flashlight from his belt. “Yes, sir!” He trotted toward the building.

He could hear the other men as they called out warnings on the floors above him. He opened the first office door and walked in. It was a small alcove, only one small rest room to check. His voice bounced back at him as he called out, “Anyone in here? The building is coming down, you must exit the premises before she blows.”

He worked his way slowly down the offices on the west side, then crossed over to begin the larger rooms on the east. Michael's flashlight picked up splashes of red stain on the old hardwood floor, and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “What the devil—” The severed hand was placed between the door and the door jamb, and at first Michael thought the other men were setting him up—trying to give the new kid on the block a little scare. He pushed the door open with his foot. He could see body parts scattered over the room. He let out a loud scream as he backed slowly out of the room, then turned and puked all over the hallway.