Page 24 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Ruth kept moving forward, slowly, picking up the sounds of TVs as she passed one door, then another. She developed a rhythm. Breath in, step, let it out, another step. Her hands were rigid by her side, tensed, her fists clenched. Dollar bills in one fist, the other she felt her nails sticking into the palm.
She reached the end of the hallway, slowly glanced left at the elevator bank around the corner. No one there. Just ahead and two feet to the right, stood a vending machine. It had water, soda, candy bars, potato chips and nuts. She stood still and listened. Distant voices, the muted thump of a drawer slamming, a door closing, the ghostly echoes of someone shouting, the music from a TV commercial.
Once she reached the vending machine, Ruth began to feed it with one-dollar bills. All the snacks were on display behind the glass, held upright by coils of black plastic that spun them into freefall when she made a selection. Ruth typed in the codes for her favorites and Scott’s. She inserted another dollar and selected orange Fanta and it landed with a clang in the bottom drawer. There was a collection of items there now behind an aluminum flap. She hit the coin return, listened to the rattle of dimes and quarters hitting the change slot. As she bent down to retrieve her change, the ceiling light hit the glass of the vending machine.
She saw something. Something that froze her body stiff.
In the glass she saw her reflection. And the distorted face of a man. Standing behind her.
Her mouth was open, sucking in air in a great gasp. And then she couldn’t let it out. The oxygen turned to cement in her chest. Her eyes were wide, staring, her body unable to move, her voice strangled in total panic.
Suddenly, the lizard part of her brain took over. The back brain. For Ruth, it started with shaking, as the fear pounded through every blood vessel, getting her heart rate up, screaming at her tomove.
She jumped up, and half turned. Her chest opened and she let out a shriek that quickly filled the hallway in a long high-pitched scream.
As she turned, she saw the old man step away from her. He was in his eighties, wearing a brown cardigan and slippers. He raised his walking frame as he stumbled backwards, surprise written large on his face.
There was only the old man. No attacker with sharp features and electric-blue eyes.
She felt strong hands grab her, and she shrieked again, clawing at them. But then she focused her eyes and saw that it was Scott. He was getting further away from her, as if he was falling into the ceiling – but then she realized he wasn’t the one moving. She collapsed and the hallway carpet started swimming around her.
Within minutes, there were people all around. She recognized one of the receptionists who’d checked them into the hotel. The blonde with the big red lips that barely moved as she spoke.
Ruth could smell something foul and powerful. Smelling salts.
She’d felt quite faint, but the salts brought her round. Helped her focus.
‘There was someone behind me. I’m so sorry, I just panicked.’
‘It was just Mr. Perkins,’ said Scott, pointing behind him to the sheepish-looking elderly guy in the cardigan. Someone had brought him a chair. There were more people around her. Hotel staff, other guests. Her head hurt and there was a terrible taste in her mouth. She apologized to the elderly man.
‘Don’t worry, honey. I move slow and quiet with this walker. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ said Ruth.
Ruth had never felt so small. And yet Mr. Perkins somehow made her feel okay about things. She was frightened. And that was all right.
She had Scott to protect her. That was all that mattered.
10
Amanda
Amanda could think of nothing else for three days.
On the third day it proved too much. She packed her cheap laptop into her backpack and set off from her apartment. There was a Starbucks one block away. In Manhattan, like most major cities, Starbucks doesn’t seem to be more than one block away no matter where you are. Amanda walked past it, and down the steps to the subway. She rode five stops, got off at Grand Central, and made her way to the street. She found a Starbucks on Lexington, half a block from the train station.
Nursing a coffee, she took a bench seat facing the window and searched the web on their Wi-Fi. She didn’t find what she was looking for on the first try. The second search, with more refined terms, got a lot of hits. On the fifth page of the search results, she found what she was looking for.
It was fromUSA Today. The date matched the timeline Wendy had given to her. Over three years ago. The dates and the names matched too.
Fifteen-year-old Rebecca Cotton was found dead in a vacant lot by a member of the public last night. She had been reported missing by her mother two days before.
Rebecca’s mother, Naomi Cotton, said, ‘My daughter was raped by her teacher. He threatened her, told her to keep it quiet and before she could tell the truth he strangled her. I know it. That man killed my baby.’
The school issued a statement to say that they were sorry to hear of the tragic death of one of their students, and that Mr. Frank Quinn denies all the allegations made by the late Rebecca Cotton. An NYPD spokesperson refused to comment on the case.
A service for Rebecca Cotton will take place at . . .
