“Come in,” she said. “The door is unlocked.”
Eddie entered the parlor area of the suite, noticed the flowers on the table, the champagne bucket, the flute glasses, the fresh-squeezed orange juice, the chocolate-covered strawberries. He could hear soft music coming from the bedroom. Callie stood across the parlor, leaning against the wall, dressed to the nines in a yellow sun dress, hands in her pockets, cutting an angle as practiced as any American model.
Eddie let out a low whistle.
“I gotta hand it to you, Monica. You do know how to set the mood.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering lunch. I hope that’s okay.”
Eddie Ray liked to order his own food, but what the hell, this wasn’t about eating. Still, she was probably some kind of model, skinny as she was, and he didn’t care much for chick food. He looked again at the champagne and the orange juice and the flowers. All this, he thought, and not one beer. What were the chances she’d order him a hamburger and fries, he thought. Zero, right?
Eddie Ray said, “Whatever you’ve chosen will be perfect, I’m sure.”
“I take you for a guy who likes his steak and potatoes,” she said.
Eddie’s face lit up, and he said, “Can I pour you a drink?”
“If you’ll join me,” she said.
They had one, and it was a sissy drink, but it wasn’t that bad. He relaxed on the couch, and she made him another. This one tasted stronger, and he was starting to feel the effects of drinking without eating first. He figured he’d leave this part out tonight when he told the guys at the bar about his big date.
She smiled and said, “When you finish your drink, I’ll give you a kiss.”
“I’ll drink the whole damn bottle if you take off your dress,” he said with a wink, then wished he hadn’t.
“Why, Eddie Ray!” she said, but she said it with a laugh, so he guessed they were still okay.
“I was just kidding,” he said. He gulped down the rest of his drink, and she said, “Now, about that kiss.” Eddie couldn’t believe his luck.
Eddie Ray stood to collect his kiss and got about five feet before making a strange face and grabbing his chest. He took a couple of steps sideways and staggered into the wall.
She asked, “Are you okay?”
He looked at her and said, “I don’t know what’s happening.” He sank to his knees and fell on his side, his face contorted in pain at first, then agony.
Callie pulled a chair next to him and sat. “You don’t have much time,” she said, “so pay attention.”
Eddie had lost all feeling in his feet and hands. “What,” he gasped, “have you done?”
“I’ve poisoned you,” she said.
“But why?”
“I did it for Monica. She wasn’t your girlfriend, by the way. She was five years younger than you. Fifteen, the night you raped her.”
“What are you … talking about?” he said. He was having diffculty speaking, but right now it seemed his voice was the only part of his body that was working.
“You were hosting a keg party at your house,” Callie said. “The party had moved to the front yard. Monica was walking home from a dance class at the high school. You knew her from the neighborhood and called her over. You grabbed her and raped her on your front lawn and threatened to kill her if she told anyone.”
“H-how do you know all this?”
“She was a bit snooty,” Callie said, “but she was a friend of mine. She had class. Unlike you.”
“Help me,” he said.
“Fat chance. Here’s my best offer. Give me the names of two people who ruined your life the way you ruined Monica’s. If you want justice, this is your chance. But speak quickly, because you’re about to pay for your sins in a permanent way.”
He named his coach and the kid from Woodhaven, the one who took the cheap shot on the football field a full second after the whistle had blown.
Callie wiped down any and all surfaces she might have touched, including the orange juice lid, the bottle, and the champagne bottle. Then she placed the champagne cork and flutes in her duffel, along with the note she’d written that she fished out of his pocket.
Callie stopped for a moment, inspecting the room. Deciding it was sterile, she headed for the door, pausing only long enough to step over Eddie Ray’s shuddering body. She was done here, was tired of being Monica.
CHAPTER 52
Kathy Ellison had nearly finished walking her golden retriever, Wendy, around her neighborhood circle when she saw a hulking man standing beside a parked sedan directly in front of her. It was mid-morning, a beautiful sunny day, and theirs was a gated community in Marietta, Georgia, just outside Atlanta. Crime was virtually nonexistent in neighborhoods such as Kathy’s, where all houses were priced in the million-plus range.
Even so, the man standing in her path was so huge and his face and head so grossly disfigured, she stopped in her tracks some twenty feet away. Wendy noticed him, as well, or had picked up on Kathy’s fear as dogs will sometimes do. The hair on Wendy’s back slowly began to stand on end. She let out a long, low growl. Kathy decided the sensible thing to do would be to turn around and go home the way she’d come.
As she spun around, she heard the man call her by name. Kathy froze in her tracks, stunned, frightened. There was no reason for this monstrous man to know her name.
