MELT: A Psychological Thriller (26 page)

Chrissie said, ‘She means force parents to donate or look bad in front of their kids.’

‘Really?’ asked Alex.

Megan nodded.

'That's not cool,' said Alex. 'Why do you do that?'

'I'm curious too,' taunted Chrissie. 'Why, Megan?'

Megan looked uncertain for a moment. ‘Because I wanted to do something that matters, and
I don't know what else to do. I hate hassling people. I hate talking to people who ignore me, but I don't know what else to do.'

'That's easy,' said Chrissie. 'It's time to grow up and get a real job.'

‘Well, what do you do then, Chrissie? Or is that a big secret too?’

‘It’s no secret,’ replied Chrissie. ‘I’m the CEO for a company that merges other companies together. When one business takes over another, my company cuts out the dead wood.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Megan. ‘Cutting the dead wood?’

‘It means she decides who gets to keep their job and who gets fired,’ explained Carl.

‘Oh. And you like that?’

‘I’m good at it.’

‘But do you like it?’

‘Let me give you a little life lesson, Megan. In life, you’ll grow to like anything you’re good at. Remember that when you get out of here and you might not find yourself begging for donations in a strip mall.’

 

 

#

 

 

Carl scratched the ice with Ericsson’s belt buckle.

His hand slipped.

TINK!

The buckle hit the bottle. Not hard enough to break the glass, but the noise could betray him.

He hid the buckle and picked up the empty slipper.

The room spun. Every dizzy spell felt worse than the last now. He'd almost fallen twice.

I need food
.

He'd only eaten half of his fish. He'd saved the rest for an emergency.

Perhaps that's now.

Walking around the ice, something slid down the ice in front of him.

Whump!

The object hit the floor.

'What was that?' Megan called.

Carl yelled back, 'An artifact!'

Everyone came rushing around.

'A drawstring bag,' noted Victoria. ‘It’s leather. It looks medieval.'

'And full of something,' warned Alex.

Everyone kept their distance.

Carl crouched for a better look. ‘Is it a trap?’

‘No idea,' said Megan.

'Me either,' admitted Victoria.

'Then we can't risk opening it,' Carl said. ‘I sure wish it was food though.’

'Smell it,' Chrissie urged. 'Maybe it is food.'

Carl scowled at her. 'I'm not putting my face near it.’

'But what if it's food?' whined Chrissie.

‘Then you smell it.’

‘Carl’s right,' said Megan. 'We can't risk it. Not unless we're sure.'

‘Why is Megan in charge?' asked Chrissie.

'I'm not,' snapped Megan. 'Go ahead and open it. I'm not stopping you. I'm hungry too.'

Chrissie shook her head, unwilling to risk it.

As Carl stood, a surge of dizziness blurred his vision. He braced himself on the wall.

I have to eat right now or I'll collapse.

Retreating from the group, he found his hiding place and dug in the loose ice.

Where is it? I know I buried it here.

He checked his position. This was definitely the right spot, but his fish was gone.

Someone stole my fish.

He rested his forehead on the ice, furious at the loss of food and the betrayal.

What did you expect? They think you’re scum.

He went over to the Mayan calendar and kicked away the ice covering the scrotum bag.

He sat on the calendar, peeled open the bag, and tore free the items that looked the least likely to hurt his damaged teeth.

Tilting his head, one by one, he chewed and swallowed the four grubs.

They popped in his mouth like little parcels of vomit.

He shuddered at the vile taste.

Only two locusts and a lizard remained.

The locusts would torture his damaged teeth. The lizard might work. He pulled the lizard loose and held it up by the tail.

'Hey, what are you doing!' cried Chrissie. 'He's eating everything!'

Chrissie rushed over and looked into the bag. 'He's eaten all the caterpillars!'

Carl bit off the lizard's tail. He chewed it gently with his good teeth. It tasted better than grubs, but worse than fish.

Chrissie lunged for the lizard.

Carl kicked her away.

He didn't kick her viciously, more of a push really, but she was unbalanced and went sprawling backward.

'Hey!' yelled Victoria, rushing to help Chrissie up.

Alex strode into view. 'What’s going on?’

Carl dropped the lizard back into the bag. He set the bag aside.

'One of you stole my fish,' he said. 'I took what I was owed.'

Chrissie had dropped her icepick when she fell.

Carl picked it up.

‘That’s mine,’ pointed Chrissie.

'It’s mine now,’ said Carl. ‘I’ve earned it. I’m keeping it.’

'No, you won't,' said Chrissie, glancing around for support. 'He's a murderer!'

Only Victoria nodded.

'I've never murdered anyone,' said Carl, too sick to yell. 'And I wouldn't need an icepick to kill you, Chrissie.'

'See!' cried Chrissie.

'Let's vote again,' said Megan.

Carl lifted the icepick to get everyone’s attention.

'Vote all you want,' he said. 'I'm keeping this. You can’t stop me. Unless someone can take it from me.'

Chrissie and Victoria looked at Alex.

‘Sort this out yourself.’ Alex turned and went back to work.

'They're in this together,' declared Chrissie. 'I bet Carl ate his own fish.'

Carl ignored Chrissie. He finally had a tool.

I don’t care if they see what I’m doing now.

When he walked around the ice and started digging, he heard them assemble behind him.

He ignored their chatter.

They didn’t know a thing about him.

He could tell them the truth, but it wouldn’t change a thing.

He’d tried telling the truth before and it ruined his life. At his trial he'd admitted every gory detail.

He’d held nothing back.

He’d even told the jurors about that first conversation in Hank’s white Ford Mustang. They were parked outside the diner, waiting for Hank’s girlfriend to finish her shift.

'I hate home invasions,' Carl had said, glancing at the glove box.

‘It’s not a home invasion if nobody’s home,’ said Hank. ‘Have you got a better idea?’

Carl tapped his bottom lip. 'Have you noticed Rebecca doing the banking?'

Hank shook his head.

Carl pointed inside the diner. 'She hides the money in that green handbag.'

'You want to rob Rebecca? We eat here every day!'

'Not Rebecca,' said Carl. 'I mean people who do their banking on foot.'

Hank thought about it. 'We’d need to find the right business. Learn their routine.'

'We won't even need the gun,' said Carl. 'It's just a bag snatch.'

'A bag full of cash,’ added Hank.

So they had.

Her name was Anita. Anita Broadwater. She worked in a used car dealership.

‘People get better deals buying cars with cash,’ Hank explained.

Anita carried that cash to the bank. They’d followed her for three days. On the fourth day her pattern changed.

'She's turning down a different street,' Hank warned.

'That's normal,' said Carl. 'I saw her boss sell three cars this morning. Today is perfect.’

They cruised after her like a great white shark.

Hank tapped the glove box. 'Show her the gun so she doesn’t fight.'

'No.'

'Take it.'

Carl ignored him. 'Get closer...closer.'

Anita reached a section of narrow sidewalk before a bus stop.

'Now,' said Carl. 'Cut her off.'

Hank swerved into the curve.

Full of adrenaline, Carl thrust open the door to block her path. He jumped out and came face-to-face with Anita.

She didn't run.

She didn't cry out.

She just froze.

Carl grabbed her bag and jumped back in the car.

He didn't realize he'd dragged Anita with him. She stubbornly held her bag's shoulder strap. Carl braced his shoe on the curb and pulled the bag with all his strength. He practically jerked her arm from its socket.

She still held on.

'Let go!' he yelled at her.

'I can't,' she cried.

'Shut the door!' yelled Hank.

'Let it go!' Carl yelled again.

'I can't!’ cried the girl. 'I’m stuck....'

At that moment, two things happened. Carl spotted the bag's shoulder strap twisted around Anita's wrist. She wasn't stubbornly holding the bag. The bag was holding her.

As Carl saw this, Hank hit the gas.

'Stop!' Anita screamed.

'Wait!' shouted Carl, 'She's caught on the—’

Hank powered away from the curb.

Carl felt the massive tug of Anita being yanked from her feet. The bag wrenched from his grasp. The car door swung toward his leg. He shoved at the door to save his leg, but he needn't have bothered.