Quench My Thirst. R. Moreen Clarke
jets—two above her head, two at shoulder height, one mid-back, two lower down near her knees—spurted to life, quickly filling the shower with steam. She stripped off her clothes and stepped into the multiple streams of hot water.
Fifteen minutes later she emerged from the shower; wrapping her long black hair in a towel, she tied her robe around her waist. She took a few minutes to smooth moisturizer on her face, spread skin-toning lotion on her body, and brushed her teeth. Nina returned to her bedroom and selected a pair of jeans and sweatshirt. It took her a few moments more to call the concierge and tell him to make sure her car was waiting downstairs. Her long wet hair loosely gathered with a scrunchy at the back of her neck, she wore dark sunglasses and an oversize army jacket as she strode quickly through the hotel lobby and out to the waiting limousine.
ESCAPEE—Marissa pulled her car into the garage and turned off the engine. She sat there for a few minutes, quietly thinking. The overhead light on the garage-door opener began to dim, casting the garage into total darkness. Still, she sat motionless. Toby was working tonight, and she need not fear having to deal with his tantrums, but she felt no motivation to move from her seated position.
The cell phone trilled in her purse, startling her out of her trancelike state. Hastily she grabbed her purse and rummaged around in the bottom until her hand touched the cold metal. She checked the caller ID and recognized her husband’s number. Please don’t let him be pissed, please don’t let him be pissed, she silently chanted. Nervously, she answered.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“I’m home,” she replied.
“No, you’re not. I just called the house. Where are you?” he repeated.
“I am home. I mean. I’m in the garage. I just got here. I’m still in the car,” she said quickly. Oh, God, she thought. He was constantly tracking her down again. She could barely go to the store without his timing her return.
“Where the hell were you?” he demanded.
“I was over at my mom’s. Remember, I told you I was going to drop by to pick up the plants for the garden,” she explained, praying he would remember the conversation from early this morning.
“Yeah, whatever,” he said, “I forgot to set the VCR for NYPD Blue. Set the one in the living room. Do it now before you forget. You always forget shit.”
“Okay,” she replied, climbing out of the car and feeling her way toward the mudroom door. She silently prayed this was his only request. Fumbling with the key, she opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. “Is there anything else?” she asked.
“No, I gotta run,” he said and disconnected the call. She stood inside the kitchen door for a minute to allow her heart to slow its accelerated beating. She placed her purse on the kitchen table and proceeded to the living room to set the tape as instructed. She would have only four hours of peace before he got home.
She picked up her purse and pulled out a handful of folded bills. Quickly she went to the bookcase and found the book she was looking for. It was hollowed out in the middle and contained two compartments. Popping off one of the covers, she removed the bills already there, wrapped the new bills around it, and rubber banded them together. She shoved them into the compartment, replaced the cover, closed the book, and slipped it back into its slot on the shelf.
She was stealthily collecting money for the past several months. Her job had initiated a bonus program for sales reps exceeding their monthly quota. She never mentioned the bonus plan to Toby. The checks were being mailed to her mother’s house. When the checks arrived, her mother would call her at work to let her know. Marissa would then stop by on her way home, sign the check, and her mother would cash it at her bank and hold the money until Marissa could stop by to pick up the cash. Between the bonus and what she could siphon out of the house account, she had managed to save almost six thousand dollars in the last eight months. It was her escape money.
The phone rang in the kitchen, rattling her nerves again. She peered at the caller ID. The words PRIVATE CALLER illuminated. She picked up the receiver and answered. A short click and then a dial tone buzzed in her ear. It was Toby; she knew without him even saying a word. He was checking to make sure she really was at home. Angrily she slammed the phone back down on the base. “I hate you!” she yelled aloud. She was a prisoner in her own home, and she was tired of it, tired of him. “Soon,” she said aloud, “soon,” and then walked down the hall toward her bedroom.
2
Desmond watched Olivia out of the corner of his eye. She shifted nervously in her seat next to the aisle. He reached over and squeezed her hand, assuring her that everything would be fine before returning his gaze to the fluffy white clouds outside the airplane window. They were still a good hour out from the Chicago airport. He had debated all night and the following day about giving her more information about Trevor. He still did not have all the details. A brief search on the Internet the following morning allowed him to peruse the Chicago Sun Times newspaper. The story wasn’t the headline, but it still nonetheless made front-page news. FORTUNE 500 EXECUTIVE ARRESTED IN LOVE-TRIANGLE MURDER. The details were yet to be disclosed, but one victim remained comatose, and another was dead. Trevor was arrested at the scene of the crime.
Olivia had walked into his office while he was reading the article, and at the sight of Trevor’s face in the grainy newspaper photo, tears had filled her eyes again. They weren’t able to get a flight out the next day and had to wait an additional day to travel. The extra time gave them a day to advise their jobs and family where they were going and why.
Olivia’s parents told her to give Trevor their best and assure him he was in their prayers. She tried to contact his family to find out if they were going to see him. His older sister answered the phone and said no, they were not going to get involved. Olivia, surprised by the sheer venom in his sister’s voice, questioned why. Edith, the eldest of the Calhoun clan, snidely remarked they knew his sinful ways would catch up with him one day. Just like chickens coming home to roost, this was bound to happen. Olivia was appalled by her lack of concern and puzzled by the “sinful ways” comment. When she pressed her about it, she simply told her to ask Trevor or the other demon, Damian.
Olivia didn’t mention her comments to Desmond. She told him due to some family issues, the Calhouns would be unable to assist Trevor. She pondered the comments now as she waited for them to arrive in Chicago. What did Trevor get involved in, which led to all this trouble he was in? She knew he would never kill anybody; of this she was certain. She closed her eyes and said another silent prayer for Trevor.
Trevor sat quietly in the tiny cell at the Cook County Correctional Facility. He looked around his surroundings and wondered how he had messed up so badly to end up here. What clues had he missed because he’d gotten “soft”? Damian had warned him, but he was too tired, too drained, and too caught up in the game to pay him any heed. He leaned back against the cement wall and stared at the dirty metal toilet and sink, both placed so low on the wall it cramped his six-foot, five-inch frame just trying to use them. His bed was a white metal rack attached to the wall, and even it was too short for his body length.
He leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. He hadn’t intended to get anybody killed. He was just trying to protect himself. Damian had hired him a lawyer, who assured Trevor he could get him released. The lawyer told him it was a clear-cut case. Trevor had been processed through the system, but no charges had been formally filed. The police were still gathering evidence to present to the state attorney’s office to determine what he would be charged with. Though he had no prior record, he would have to wait for his arraignment to see if bail would be granted. Meanwhile, he was stuck here in this hellhole. Every passing day was one day too long.
Damian had told him Olivia and Des were on their way. Trevor cursed Damian for calling her. There was no way he could keep his secret life from her anymore. At this point the cops weren’t aware of the real reason he was in the hotel room, and they weren’t digging too deeply into it. They were taking it as an affair gone badly. If this went to trial, it was sure to come out why he’d gone there and how he