“Okay, Lord. Let’s rock.”
2. Out for a Run
Kelly had her morning routine. The veterinarian she assisted normally didn’t expect her in until 10:00, which gave her time to run three miles, shower, and eat her cream-cheese-slathered whole wheat bagel without having to wake up before the birds. Today, she would have to call in sick so she could meet with Lynch. Her boss would be cool with it. She never called in sick.
She also never burdened herself with keys or a cell phone when she ran. She could trust an unlocked apartment for an hour. It was that kind of neighborhood.
She glanced at her wall calendar on her way out the door. There was a UJ painting party that night. She, to put it lightly, didn’t want to go. She enjoyed illegal drugs and acts of depravity just as much as the next person, but things had changed since Jeremy’s beating. The “fallen comrade” noise that Arthur spewed forth was all wrong. The UJ paradigm was supposed to have been built off of enlightenment, not muscle. That prick, Reilly, should have been exposed for the fascist bully he was. Instead, he was put in a hospital…the ultimate cliché. She didn’t join the UJ to be counted among the like-minded; she didn’t join to kick anyone’s ass. She joined for the freedom. She joined simply for what the group’s moniker implied. Where was all that now? What does a group stand for if problems are solved with force? That’s what the cops do. The ideals of the UJ had been swallowed up by the will of the few. The general membership had allowed themselves to become what they themselves despised.
All this occupied her mind as she ran. Manatawney Creek flowed across the street from her path, but she couldn’t see it through the row homes and shrubbery. She did a mile and a half out, and then the same route in reverse. A few horny, but harmless old farts always made it a point to be out on their porches or granite slabs when she passed. She would wave just to be friendly when the mood hit her. If only they knew what she got up to at the cloister when the mood hit her.
The cloister. She didn’t even know where it was. The turnover rate of burner phones left the UJ’s communication system, at best, convoluted. An unreliable texting pyramid, along with word-of-mouth, did the trick for simple, cryptic messages such as “gathering tonight 7:00.” More specific, important, and/or secret information simply wasn’t sent. Learning, for example, the latest cloister location was the responsibly of the individual members.
Kelly hadn’t done her due diligence, and she didn’t intend to.
She wiped the sweat off of her face with her t-shirt sleeve as she slowed to a walk outside her building. She did a quick cool-down stretch on the sidewalk and took a swig from the bottle of water she’d left right outside the entrance to the stairwell. She poured the rest over her head before the last part of her workout, which was an easy jog up two flights of stairs to her apartment. She, as a matter of routine, pushed open the unlocked door.
She was half way into her living room before she saw the note that had been taped to the window directly across from her.
DON’T TURN AROUND
There wasn’t time to react. A gloved hand clapped over her mouth, and she was pulled against the body behind her. The intruder’s free hand appeared in front of her face holding her cell phone. The screen showed her last text to Detective Lynch. The intruder threw the phone at her couch and started digging in his pocket. The next thing he showed her was a piece of paper he’d stolen from her memo pad. It read “What did you tell him?”
He loosened his grip around her mouth just enough so she could answer, but kept her against him with his forearm and elbow. Her whole body moved forward and back with his deep and erratic breathing.
“Nothing.”
It was an answer he was expecting. A second piece of memo paper reading “I don’t believe you” was held in front of her nose. He crumpled it and tossed it across the room before forcefully pointing at the note taped to the window.
DON’T TURN AROUND.
He stepped back and ran his hands down her sides as if he was checking her for a wire. It made no sense. She just got back from running. Why and how the hell would she be wearing a wire? Her panicked thought process went to figuring out who this dickbag could be. He was too thin to be Bubbs…too strong to be Arthur…too tall to be Steven. She held back a scream as she felt him grab the hem of her shirt. He jerked it up over her breasts, exposing her sports bra and ankh belly ring.
She spoke in a forced whisper.
“Lynch wanted to know what happened to Reilly. I have no idea what happened to Reilly. I don’t even know where the cloister is! Traci sent me two text messages. One said ‘Irish Pig Roast tonight.’ The second said ‘It’s over. Sorry you couldn’t make it.’ That’s it! That’s all I know!”
He slipped his thumbs under the elastic of her shorts. She hedged her bets on a name.
“Goddammit, Rick! I didn’t say anything, you cock!”
The intruder’s hands stopped. He stood motionless except for his breathing, which was becoming more controlled.
“I’m not begging you, Rick! Kill me or get the fuck out of here, but whatever else you’re expecting to happen…”
She felt him back off. As she looked down at her own bare midriff, it occurred to her that her intruder never produced a weapon. She also realized that there were only a few people who knew her morning routine, none of whom were in the UJ, not any more. Then she heard a familiar voice.
“It’s not Rick.”
She spun around. When she
