Page 23 of Sinister Savior

Alice has no clue what she’s doing or what a great risk she’s taking. I can’t be mad at her, and I can’t let her do it. I have to get her back before my brother finds her and my whole plan blows up.

17

ALICE

My hair is barely dry, still reeks of the ammonia in the hair dye, and I collapse on a bench at the bus stop. My money bought me a ticket to Vegas, but I have to keep some money back to get food along the way. If I skip meals, I’ll end up being sick and throwing up constantly. That idea doesn’t appeal to me. But I figure I can pick up a quick few hundred bucks getting a job in Vegas, even if I have to find a shelter to sleep in overnight.

My feet are sore from walking and my shoulder aches from carrying my bag. The added weight of Mario’s gun, now wedged into the bag because it was uncomfortable in my waistband, only made my shoulder hurt more. The bag sits on my lap and my arms wrap around it protectively. I want to shut my eyes and sleep a bit, but I can’t. I feel someone watching me. I’ve felt their eyes on me for the past hour.

Nothing seems out of place here, though. There aren’t many people waiting for buses. The attendant told me mine won’t leave for hours, anyway, so I have to sit here and wait. He offered to call me a cab to a local hotel, but I have no money for that. I can’t even buy a snack right now. My money has to go farther than is even humanly possible.

I try to relax, to let my mind disengage and forget what’s happening around me, but I can’t. Hypervigilance has me so uptight, I can’t even stop searching for someone who could be hunting me. They’re everywhere. I see them in the shadows, with my eyes shut, and everywhere in between. My palms are perpetually sweaty, my chest tight and uncomfortable. I should have stayed with Mario. This is insane.

My head starts to dip, nodding off and bobbing as sleep threatens to consume me. I force my eyes open to stave off the worst of it, but I’m struggling.

Then I see someone moving in the corner of my field of view. I don’t turn to look at them, but I see them there, a dark figure moving stealthily. They sit three benches over, and I’m on alert again. My mind wars between needing sleep and needing to know who is there watching me. I can feel them watching me. But I have no excuse to look at them, and if it’s one of “them”, I’ll regret looking in their direction.

But I can’t help myself. The fear is too pervasive, the torment too unrelenting. I turn and glance at the person and see it’s a man clad in almost all black. His ball cap is navy blue with an LA Clippers hat on. He’s not looking at me. He’s staring at his phone, but I’m positive he’s one of them. In fact, I’m positive I saw him on the subway too.

My heart leaps up into my throat and I have an intense urge to get up and run away. The fatigue is instantly dissolved in the rush of hormones fueling my body to action. I saw a woman going into the bathroom only a few minutes ago. I could lock myself in there and hide, call for help. But I don’t have any numbers programmed into my phone, and even if I did, I’ve taken the battery out to avoid being tracked.

Dammit, I need Mario with me. What the hell was I thinking going out alone? He warned me this would happen, that they’d find me, and I ignored that warning. I was sure I could get away from here and indoing so keep him from being in the middle of this mess, protect him from his brother.

“Calm down, Alice,” I tell myself, trying to steady my nerves. I don’t know for a fact that this man is one of them or that he is following me. I just know I saw him on the subway. That could just mean he was going the same place I was. That he’s here because he, too, is catching a bus. A lot of people got off at the same stop as me, and a few of them walked the same direction as me. This bus station is a common destination.

I swallow hard and glance at the man again. He’s still staring down at his lap, but now his phone is pressed to his ear and he’s talking quietly. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I’m instantly panicked that he’s calling Paolo Gatti to get backup. That he’s hunting me and he’s closing in, about to snatch me up. My counselor told me this is classic PTSD, that my triggers make me believe these things. I just don’t know how to believe anything else right now.

Not everyone in this city is out to get me, least of all every man, so I decide to test it. I pick up my bag and stand, strutting away to a bench across the room. I’m several more strides away from the man and feeling so geared up I don’t know if I’ll ever come down again. When I’m settled and in place, I pull my phone out of my pocket and put the battery back into it, but I don’t power it on quite yet.

I observe what happens. The man, once minding his own business, looks up and directly at me. It makes my heart stop when he smiles and waves because we’ve made eye contact, and then I’m scared to death. No amount of rational thought will undo the absurd way my brain jumps to conclusions. I hold down the power button to my phone as I stand and heft my bag back to my shoulder. Then I charge directly toward the ladies’ room.

Inside, I hear a woman mumbling to herself. Her voice echoes around the tiled room, bouncing off the walls. It makes her sound crazy, and then I’m doubly scared. With my bag bouncing off things,I cram myself into an open stall and lock the door as I sit down on the toilet, still clothed, and use my phone to search for the rectory’s number. There is no number programmed into the phone, so I have to use the browser. Why the hell didn’t Mario at least put his number in here?

I dial the number that is shown on the website, and it rings and rings. So I call it again, then again, until finally, Father Thomas picks up, sounding groggy. Mario must still be out.

“Hello?”

“Father Thomas, it’s Alice. I’m in trouble.” I hear the fear in my own voice and don’t try to mask it. “Get Mario, please. I’m at the bus station on Hope Street.” It never struck me as ironic that the bus station I selected is on Hope Street until now. There is no hope to be found in this city tonight.

“Alice, Mario isn’t here. He took my car and went out earlier this evening. I’ll try to get word to him, but?—”

“Open the fucking door!” I hear a man barking, and I drop the phone out of fear. It skitters across the ground, and I stand and hug my bag to my chest.

“Oh, my God, lawd. Can’t a woman even take a piss in peace?” The woman in here with me flushes the toilet, and I hear her mutter some unsavory things, but I also hear the bathroom door swing open so hard it slams into the wall. “Heavens, honey, you got the wrong facilities.”

“Get out,” the man barks, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. This can’t be happening to me. Why didn’t I listen to Mario in the first place? I shouldn’t be here. I should be safe in bed, sleeping. I want to throw up.

I hear shoes squeaking on the floor and then the stall doors slamming open one by one. Each bang makes me jump with fright as the man nears me.

“I know you’re in here, Alice. Just come out and give me the money.” Another door slams. I jump again.

I don’t have his money. I don’t know where his money is. My mind goes to the gun in my bag where I stashed it when dying my hair, but before I can reach for it, the door in front of me jiggles and then I see a shadow moving before it swings open violently.

“Fuck!” I cower, dropping my bag and covering my ears as the man lunges at me. His hands grip my arms and grab my bag. He’s strong and furious, and I recognize the ball cap on his head immediately. I was right the whole time. This was the man watching me on the subway and on the bench in the waiting area.

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

My whimpers are met with gruff actions as he yanks me out of the bathroom and puts a pistol into my side. He shoves my bag into my arms, and I again think of the gun. If I make a move to pull it out, he’ll see what I’m doing and shoot me before I have a chance to defend myself, so all I can do is go along with him and pray I get a chance to run away.

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