Authors: Bianca Sloane
Kelly’s tires screeched as she backed out of the space and barreled toward the exit.
I
t was five-twenty, and the early evening sun pierced her watery eyes. She always hated driving at this time of day, because it was so goddamned hard to see. Keeping one eye on the road, she rooted around in her purse for her sunglasses, finally locating them deep in the bottom. She took a deep breath, her head a muddle of thoughts and images. The paramedics were probably trying to revive Mark right now, and seeing it was useless, had most likely just pronounced him dead. Of course, they’d seen the mess in the kitchen and the pile of stuff in the living room.
And soon, the police would be looking for her.
Okay. She couldn’t go to any of her friends. Her parents were out of town, not that she would go to them either. She had a fleeting thought she should leave town for a few days, just to get her head together, until she could figure out what to do. She had apartments in New York and London—should she go to one of them? No. No. Those would be the first places they would look. Besides, she’d never get out of the city, much less the country, without being caught.
Okay, focus, focus. A hotel. That was it. She would check into a hotel. Michigan Avenue, the Loop, out by the airport…? No. Something more anonymous. There was a Sunshine Inn over on Clark, noticeable only for its garish yellow sign beckoning patrons to come on in. Yes, that was it. Just for the night, and first thing in the morning, she’d turn herself in.
She’d take Michigan to Chicago, Chicago to Clark, and then go the few blocks to the motel.
Fixating on something as mundane as directions helped her stay calm.
Kept her from thinking about what she’d just done.
Michigan Avenue was teeming with the usual Saturday evening mix of tourists and locals headed out for a night on the town. A few hours ago, she’d been thinking about her own Saturday night. Now, she was a fugitive after stabbing her husband to death.
She had stabbed her husband to death.
“It was an accident,” she murmured to herself. She swallowed and shook her head several times to help herself concentrate.
“It was an accident,” she said louder. She gripped the steering wheel and felt a slender trickle of sweat creep down her inner arm. She rubbed her arm vigorously against her side to make it disappear into her pink tank top. She touched her forehead and flinched at how hot she was. Yes, she was pissed off at Mark, but she’d just wanted to scare him, show him she was serious about him getting out.
Wasn’t she?
“Who are you trying to convince, Kelly?” she said aloud. If only…Jesus, why did he have to come walking up to her? Why hadn’t she let go of the knife before…oh, God.
Kelly heard the unmistakable wail of sirens. She looked in her rearview. A patrol car was right behind her, lights glaring at her.
Oh, no
. They’d seen her flee the building.
The panic washed over her body and her mouth went dry as paste.
Should she pull over?
Floor it?
Frantic, Kelly’s eyes darted all around the car as she tried to figure out what to do. She began to hyperventilate, and her hands went slick on the steering wheel. She pressed down on the accelerator. The cops were getting closer, and the mirror was a blur of red and blue. The cars in front of her began to pull over to allow the cops to pass. Or stop her. Okay. Play it cool. Just pull over and act like one of the gang. Kelly eased over and held her breath, her whole body quivering. The patrol car raced past her and hurtled south on Michigan, obviously in pursuit of some other criminal. She put her hand to her forehead, her breath coming in heavy bursts. Okay. Okay. She was safe for now.
She looked up and realized she was at Chicago Avenue. Make a right. A few more blocks to Clark. Breathe, breathe, breathe. She hit a light. It would be okay. It was just a light. Turn. Turn! The green came, and Kelly peeled off. Okay, make a left onto Clark. She could see the big yellow sign. Almost there.
Kelly made a jerky right into the covered parking lot of the Sunshine Inn. She found a space in the back, and when she parked, she turned off the ignition and sat quietly for a few minutes. The car was filled with the sound of her heart thundering inside her chest. Just go upstairs, get a room, take the night to collect herself, and then surrender first thing in the morning. Easy.
Right.
K
elly took a deep breath, pulled the keys out of the ignition, picked up her purse, and opened the car door. She didn’t remember walking into the lobby; she just found herself standing at the front desk.
“Ma’am? Can I help you?”
Kelly crashed back to the present. “What?”
The pert front desk attendant with the shiny brown pageboy and dark blue polo shirt smiled. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Oh. Right. Uh, I need a room. Just for the night.”
The girl frowned as she looked at her. “Ma’am, are you alright?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Kelly snapped.
The girl’s hand flew to her throat. “It’s just that you’ve got blood all over your shirt and hands.” She peered at her. “Were you in some kind of accident?”
She looked down at herself, and indeed there were huge splotches of blood tie-dyed across her pale pink tank top.
“Oh, that.” She waved her hands as if to indicate it was no big deal. “I was just having dinner in this restaurant, dropped my water glass, and bloop! Cut myself. Stupid really, how clumsy I am sometimes.”
The girl looked relieved. “Oh, sure, I understand. I’m really clumsy, too.”
Kelly laughed her fake-party laugh. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
The girl rolled her eyes and laughed herself. “Tell me about it.”
The woman turned her attention back to her computer and began to type on her little keyboard. “Two queen size beds okay?”
“Um…yeah, sure, that, that’s fine.” She looked around the lobby, wishing the girl would hurry up and finish.
“Okay, for the one night, that will be eighty-five ninety-nine. And what credit card will you be using?”
“Oh, uh, Visa.” Kelly pulled out her wallet, and then as she reached for her credit card, her hand moved over to where she kept her cash.
“You know,” she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Since I just need the room for the night, would it be okay if I used cash?”
The girl frowned again. “Well, we aren’t allowed to do that…” The girl’s voice trailed off.
She gave the girl a blank stare before she laughed again. “Oh, I won’t use the phone. I mean, I have a cell phone, so you won’t have to worry about me making any calls.”
The girl hesitated a bit. “Well, I really could get into trouble,” she said as she chewed her bottom lip.
Kelly went back into her wallet. “Tell you what. How about I give you an extra hundred…to cover any incidentals. Better yet, I’ll give you three hundred dollars cash for the room. How does that sound?”
“Okay, but…are you sure you’re okay? Should I call the police for you?”
Kelly felt fear pierce her like a needle through a vein, and as she fought to stay in control of the situation, the thrashing inside her chest resumed.
“No, really. I’m fine. So. Do we have a deal?”
Kelly could see the war raging across the landscape of the girl’s face had ceased and she’d won. She’d get her shelter for the night.
“Okay, okay. Three hundred dollars for the room.”
Kelly smiled. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
“Oh. Well, yeah, sure. Happy I could help. And you promise you won’t use the phone?”
She flashed the girl a smile of relief. “I won’t, I promise. Thank you so much—” Kelly looked at the girl’s nametag—“Julia. I really appreciate it.” She forced herself to give the girl a warm smile. Old modeling trick.
“You must not be from around here,” Julia said as she tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard.
Kelly flashed to Mark’s face at the moment she stabbed him. She licked her lips and gripped the front desk to keep from collapsing. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Okay, three hundred please.”
She pulled six fifty-dollar bills out of her wallet and handed them to Julia. “Keep the change.”
Thank God she’d gone to get cash yesterday afternoon before her nail appointment. She’d read a book while she was on vacation a few years ago where the heroine was on the run from someone, and she was supposed to be really smart but kept using her credit cards to stay at hotels. Of course, that’s how whoever was looking for her had found her. Kelly remembered thinking at the time how stupid that woman was, leaving a paper trail like that.
Horrible how that annoyance was coming in handy now.
Julia slid a plastic keycard toward Kelly and smiled. “You’re in room four-twelve. Just go around the corner to the elevator and up to the fourth floor. Check out time is noon. Hope you enjoy your stay.”
She gave the girl a weak smile. “Thanks,” she said and grabbed the key. She tried to walk as casually as she could to the elevator so she wouldn’t arouse any more suspicion. As she got off at her floor, she gave a furtive look over her shoulder to make sure there were no other transients lurking around. Kelly slid the key into the card slot, and the door clicked open. She pushed the door open and, as she closed it, leaned back and closed her eyes, the throbbing inside her chest almost too much to bear. She put her hand to her throat, her mouth feeling like cotton had been stuffed into it. She was exhausted and just wanted to lie down for a minute.
She opened her eyes and looked around, recoiling a bit at the swirling blue, white, and brown bedspreads that screamed “cheap,” the hulking radiator under the window on a low hum, rattling the plastic blinds. Even from a distance, it was hard to miss the chipped and scarred imitation wood dresser and nightstand.
Well…no one would ever think to look for her here, that was for sure…seeing as how she wasn’t exactly the Sunshine Inn type.
She felt along the wall for the light switch and flipped it up. Light flooded the front part of the room. She turned around and slammed the extra latch over the door before she trudged over to one of the beds and plopped down, ignoring its creaks and the sharp, polyester smell of the bedspread. The remote for the TV was resting on the nightstand in between the two beds. She pushed the “ON” button and began to flip through the channels, not stopping. Mark always told her she watched TV like a man, because she never stayed on one channel more than a few seconds. She figured, why linger over channels? You knew right away if you wanted to watch something.
She stopped, realizing Mark was dead and she’d killed him and why the hell was she thinking about stuff like this now? Kelly shook her head to wipe the slate clean. The room got E!, so she parked the TV on that channel and then leaned back on the bed. She looked down at her shirt and hands and jumped, having forgotten about all the blood smeared across both. She jogged to the bathroom and pulled the faucet handle up, running her hands underneath the stream as she waited for the water to heat up.
She located a slim bar of hotel soap and ripped off the paper covering it. She scrubbed her hands until they tingled and the water was too hot for her to stand. Kelly shook her hands several times into the sink before she grabbed a white towel off the towel rack to finish drying them. She pulled her tank top over her head, turned it inside out, and put it back on. Her hair was long enough in the back that it would cover up the tag.
She looked at her watch, wondering if she had time to run out and buy a shirt, sweater—something to cover up her tank top. But where? Not like she could go strolling into Marshall Field’s. She sighed and realized she wanted to do a quick check of her phone to see if she had any texts or emails while she thought about what she wanted to do. Not that she’d answer any of them. She picked up her purse and rummaged around for her phone.
“Wait a minute,” she murmured, turning it over in her hands. “This is Mark’s phone.” Their phones looked identical and…she must have grabbed it off the table by mistake as she fled. Was her…? With shaky fingers, she turned the phone on and began to scroll through the address book, searching for a clue as to who
she
might be. She recognized every name so far. Friends, family, clients, some business contacts. She knew every single person in there.
Wait.
Was
it someone she knew? Son of a bitch. She couldn’t decide what was worse. A complete stranger or someone who had eaten stuffed mushrooms at one of their dinner parties.
Alright. Check the call log. All the calls in received, missed, or dialed calls were from the address book. Kelly threw the phone on the bed. It had to be someone she knew. Who? She picked the phone back up and began to go through the address book again.
Claire. Claire Donaldson was a media consultant he worked with. She lived in Hyde Park, and hadn’t Mark told her she was gay? Okay, scratch Claire.
Portia, his devoted assistant. Too mousy. Besides, considering the moony eyes Portia made at Mark when she thought no one was looking, Kelly knew Portia wouldn’t be able to hide her glee at having bagged the boss. Keep going.
Lindsay Wayne.
Lindsay.
She used to be an attorney with the firm and had opened her own practice. She and Mark were good friends, and they’d gone out with her and her husband, Julian, a few times. Lindsay. Beautiful, brilliant, Lindsay. Lindsay, who with her gleaming white teeth, size zero waist, legs up to her boobs, middle-of-her back weave and flawless sable-colored skin, looked like she could have given Kelly serious competition during her runway days. Lindsay, who Mark had lunch with on occasion. Lindsay, who always seemed to be bickering with Julian. Shit. It had to be her. Had to be.
Kelly tapped the phone with her nail as she stared at Lindsay’s number.
“You bitch,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. “Why couldn’t you stay the hell away from my husband?” She dropped the phone in her lap and sighed. “Why couldn’t he stay away from you?”
Kelly’s tears came full force now as she sobbed for Mark, cried for what she had done to him, wailed for what he had done to her. How did she get here? A tacky motel room somewhere in the city of Chicago while, thanks to her, her husband lay in a body bag. Kelly clutched one of the pillows to her and cried into it, the rough cotton of the pillowcase scratching her face.