Last Breath (12 page)

“Last chance.”

“Forget it! And I can't wait to see you in jail. Just wait till everybody sees a picture of
that
.” I punched off the call and threw the phone on my bed.

“Shaley, who was that?” Mom's voice was sharp.

I bent over and put my face in my hands. My cheeks flamed at the thought of that picture printed for everybody to see. And it wouldn't be by itself. Oh, no.
Cashing In
would make up a whole embarrassing story about Wendell and me. Wouldn't matter that none of it was true.

How could I ever face Wendell again?

“Shaley!”

I lifted my head, my eyes burning. “It was Cat.” My voice cracked. I told Mom what he'd said.

Her face turned crimson. I knew only the pain kept her from jumping out of bed. “Where's my cell phone?”

“In your purse.”

“Give it to me; I'm calling that policeman you talked to.”

I pulled it from her purse and handed it to her. It was still on, half charged. Mom pressed the number for Officer Hanston as I read it off my own phone. Pacing the room, I listened to her berate him for not finding Cat when he'd been so close to us. “Now he's trying to blackmail my daughter. This is just ridiculous!”

She listened for a minute, steaming, then thrust the phone toward me. “Here. He wants to talk to you.”

“I don't
want
to talk to him.”

“You want Cat caught or not?
Take
it.”

Sick to my stomach, I took the cell. I wanted to throw it out the window. I wanted to be anything but the daughter of somebody famous at that moment. How tiring it was living in a fishbowl! Now I'd have to explain that whole scene between Wendell and me to this policeman, to Ross and the other band members, and all my friends. If only I could crawl into a cave and hide.

My tone flat, I told Officer Hanston what had happened with Wendell, and about the picture Cat claimed to have. And how he wanted me to pay him not to print it.

“I'm sorry this happened,” Officer Hanston said. “We'll keep looking for him. He's probably left the hospital now, but at least we know he's in the area.”

Yeah, he'd left all right—to print off the picture he'd taken. I tried to tell myself maybe it would come out too dark without a flash. But he'd have all kinds of ways to lighten a dark photo.

When the call ended I tossed down my phone and exchanged a searing look with Mom.

“I'm sorry, Shaley.” She sounded so tired.

“It's not your fault.”

She tried to smile. “The price you pay for being my daughter.”

I shrugged.

Mom shifted her head, pain flicking across her face. “Let me tell you some more of my story before the pizza gets here.”

She was trying to get my mind off things. I ran a hand across my forehead. Could I even concentrate enough to listen?

“Come on, Shaley. Don't you want to know what happened?”

Of course I did. But my head was in such a whirlwind, blown between the present and the past. What was I going to do when that picture was released?

I took a deep breath and blew it out. Tiredly, I walked to the chair beside Mom's bed and sat down. “Yes. I want to know.”

Part 8

Rayne 1992

24

T
hat Saturday night, Gary and I were supposed to go out to a movie. I called his house three times to check on him, scared to death he was lying in some hospital, beat to a pulp.

No one answered.

Limbs shaking, I dressed for our date. I told myself he was all right. He was just too ashamed and mad to talk to me. Tears burned my eyes, and my breath came in little puffs. My mom was out with friends, and the house felt as silent and cold as a tomb.

As the eternal minutes ticked by, the fear inside me grew claws. Maybe Gary wouldn't show up at all. How could I make it through the whole night, not knowing what had happened to him?

By 7:00, when he was supposed to arrive, I paced my room, hands clutched to my chest. Every sound in the street made me jump.

If he did show, no way could we go to a movie tonight. I wouldn't hear a word of it. We needed to talk.

If he'd ever talk to me again.

Gary pulled up to our curb at 7:10. Cold relief nearly sank me to the floor.

I grabbed my purse and ran out the door. Gary was just reaching the sidewalk when I flew down the porch steps. I ran to meet him and threw myself against his chest.

“I'm sorry.” I clutched the front of his shirt, crying into his neck. “I'm so sor-ry.”

He held me for a minute, his muscles stiff. I could hear the anger in each of his breaths.

“Come on.” He nudged me away, glancing around for the curious eyes of neighbors. “Let's get off the yard.”

“Mom's not home.” I wiped my face. “Come inside.”

In the house, he made sure the front door locked behind us. We sank down on the couch. Gary hunched over, forearms on his legs and hands clasped. He stared at the blue carpet, his face dark and brooding. I was afraid to speak. Afraid he'd just snap and walk out the door.

Huddled against the arm of the couch, I waited him out.

He rocked his hands up and down. “I told you not to come, Rayne.” He spoke to his feet.

“I know. I'm
so sorry
.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

I waited for a long minute for him to say more.

“Gary, what—”

“Do you know what you've done?” The words burst from him. His head swiveled toward me. “Now they've got me worse than ever. They already threaten my grandmother. I already have to do whatever they say so they won't hurt her or the house. Now they've got
you
.” His face twisted until I couldn't bear it.

I sank my fingers into his arm. “Who
are
they?”

He turned back toward the floor. His brows knit. “Ever hear of the Westrock Gang?” His voice sounded dull, defeated. He knew my answer.

Air pooled in my throat. No. This couldn't be
them
. Westrock was the toughest Caucasian gang in Southern California. Its tentacles reached through the state and up the West Coast. These criminals, these
animals
, were in the news all the time for running drugs and killing innocent people. Anyone who got in their way could be killed.

“Who hasn't?” I whispered.

“Well, you just met three of its members.”

I didn't know what to say. For a minute I just stared at him. “And the four guys across the street?”

“Oh yeah. You've met seven.”

Thoughts whirled in my brain until I could barely think. “How did they … why are they on your street?”

Gary pushed out a strained laugh. “They have to live somewhere. And wherever that is, they take over the neighborhood. It's the only reason they can get away with all they do. Neighbors might get nosy with all the people coming to the house day and night for drugs. They might call the cops to turn down the noise at late-night parties. But if you've got every neighbor under your thumb, if you threaten to trash their house, take their kids,
kill their grandmother
—they're likely to leave you alone.”

Kill their grandmother
? Fear uncoiled in the pit of my stomach. “You mean they've threatened to hurt Grandma Donovon?”

Gary nodded. He still wouldn't look at me.

I turned away from him, stared across the living room. The mere imagining of Gary's fear broke me out in sweat. How did he sleep at night? How did he leave his house for a
minute
?

“Why don't you sell the house and move away?”

Gary raised his head and pressed back against the couch. “We've tried, Rayne. Don't you think we'd do anything to get out from under this?”

“What happened when you tried?”

Gary's chin jutted out. “The ‘for sale' sign on our yard lasted one day. When I got home from school, it was torn to pieces and scattered on the street. Bart, the leader from next door, was
in my house
. Sitting on the couch with my grandmother, having a ‘friendly chat' about how we were such good neighbors, they didn't want to lose us. How, if we tried to sell our house again, they'd pay us a visit in the middle of the night.”

My mouth creaked open. “They'd … kill you?”

“Oh, probably not
me
,” he said bitterly. “That would be too easy, wouldn't it. They'd beat me till I never walked again. After making me watch what they did to my grandmother—
before
they stuck a knife in her heart.”

My throat closed up. Gary's face blurred. I thought of all the times he'd sat staring into space in French class before we started dating. The way he'd walk down the hall, hardly noticing anyone around him. No wonder he'd kept to himself. The
weight
that must be on his shoulders.

This couldn't be real.

“Gary, I'm so … I just can't …”

He swallowed hard.

“I've done it now, haven't I.” Guilt burned in my chest. I reached out to him, closing my hands around his wrist. “You didn't want them to see me.”

His jaw moved back and forth. “They took your license plate number. They've got dirty cops on their payroll. All they have to do is ask one to run your plate and give them your address. Now they know where you live. It's just one more thing they can threaten me with.”

My veins turned to ice. I wasn't even sure who I was more scared for—me and Mom, or Gary. “Would they come here?”

“If they have to.” Gary pulled away from me and stood. “Now it's
my
job to make sure they don't.”

I slumped against the couch, staring up at him, my fingers digging into my jeans. There was more, I knew it.

“What do you mean?” The words barely squeezed out of my mouth.

He swung away from me, a sick look on his face.

“Gary?” I bounced to my feet and caught his arm. Slowly, he rotated to face me.

“They've got jobs they want me to do, Rayne, okay?”

“What kind of jobs?”

“Delivering drugs. Collecting money.”

My jaw dropped. “You can't do that! You could go to
jail
.”

“Yeah, and my grandmother and you can get killed if I don't.”

“But this—No. No way. You have to go to the police.”

“Really?” He glared at me. “And how do I know which cop won't run right to the gang and tell them? And even if I do get an honest one, then what? I'd have to tell the police everything I've seen, testify against gang members. You think I'd live through that?”

My fingers slipped from his skin. I stepped back, weak-kneed. This was a nightmare. “There has to be
something
you can do.”

“Oh, good. Tell me what.”

“I don't know.
Something
.”

“There
isn't
, Rayne. I was trapped before, but things were going okay as long as I kept my mouth shut like the rest of the neighborhood. But they've been harder on me from the beginning, because I'm just the right age to recruit. They need fresh blood to do their dirty work. Now
you've
shown up. The minute you left, Bart announced he had a ‘favor' for me to do. Since he was ‘kind enough' to let you leave.”

I dropped my face into my hands. I just wanted to fall to the floor. What had I done to Gary? I'd give anything to turn back time and change that drive to his house.

But it was too late. Gary couldn't tell Bart no. He couldn't go to the police. He and his grandmother couldn't leave the neighborhood. As I stood there, trembling, crying into my palms, I looked down the future and saw nothing but terror for Gary. And I couldn't stand it. Couldn't bear to think what I had done.

At that moment I knew somehow, some way, I had to reverse the damage I'd caused. I had to find Gary a way out of this.

Part 9

Monday 2009

25

M
ale voices rose from the hospital hallway. Wendell, talking to someone.

The pizza had arrived.

I pushed from the chair and headed for the door to take the box from Wendell. Just seeing his face brought back all my rage against Cat. At least Wendell didn't know about the picture yet. He brought in the soft drinks and plates. The pizza smelled great, but I barely noticed. My thoughts bounced all over the place.

I'd never dreamed Mom had lived through such a nightmare. Had my father done some ‘favor' for that gang—and ended up running from the cops?

What if it wasn't his fault at all? Maybe he really was a good man. And Jerry had lied. I so wanted to believe that.

“We got extra for you, Wendell.” I set the box on my bed. “And here's a Coke.”

“Great. Thanks.”

I took out two pieces each for me and Mom, and left the rest for Wendell, which was a lot. With all those muscles burning fuel, he'd have no problem eating it. He returned to the hallway, carrying the pizza box and his Coke. I took Mom her plate.

The first bite of pizza burst in my mouth with flavor. Hot, salty, spicy.

Mom and I ate in silence.

As I finished my second piece my cell phone rang. I tensed. Leaning over my bed, I focused on the ID.
Detective Myner.
My breath hitched. Had he found my father?

I wiped off my greasy hand and picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Hi, Shaley, Detective Myner here.” Muted voices rumbled in the background. Sounded like he was in a noisy office. “Hope you don't mind me using your cell number. The hospital's not letting any calls through to your Mom's room.” He chuckled. “Probably half the callers are claiming to be police officers.”

“Yeah. That's okay.”

“I promised to call as soon as I learned anything about your father.”

I sat down on my bed, stiff-backed. To Mom I whispered, “They've found something.”

Please, God, let me hear Jerry lied!