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Chapter 1
Shawn McFadden lay dying. Proof the name Mafia meant business.
Hindsight’s a handy tool, but only if one lives long enough to use it. The cramping hit his stomach before he’d hit the penthouse floor. The wine crystal slipped from his fingers, crashed on the black ceramic tiles, sending splinters of glass across the kitchen floor. Thug One and Thug Two, as McFadden always referred to them when out of hearing distance, hovered above him, laughing. Thug One rammed a toe of his shoe into Mc Fadden’s gut and kicked him over onto his back.
Realization sliced through McFadden’s brain. The wine. They drugged my wine.
Thug Two’s face zoomed out of focus as he leaned over and smiled a slow and deliberate smile. “The Boss sends his regards. Checkout time, pal. Say hello to Satan for me.”
McFadden raised his head to speak, but the words had trouble fighting through the shock waves going off in his body. He let his head fall back to the floor and drug a shaky hand across his face. A bitter taste backed up in his throat. He knew it wouldn’t take him long to die.
He saw them tuck the wine glasses they’d used under their dinner jackets. Thug Two first wiped a cloth over the granite countertop and then turned to salute him with it, a smirk spread across his face. Both men laughed as their feet crunched over the shards of glass. The front door clicked behind them.
They left him alone to die.
The phone.
He rolled up on his side and focused on the cordless phone mounted on the gray ceramic tile above the bar. It might as well be a football field away. He swallowed and shifted his legs to scoot closer to kitchen. His hand grappled with a leg of the barstool, the metal cool to his fevered touch.
He tried to hoist himself up by the chair. Halfway into a standing position, the swivel stool spun him off balance and onto the hard floor. He winced with pain. Muscles tightened and commanded his body into the fetal position. An indication his internal organs were next to give way. He grunted and blew out an unsteady breath.
Time had run out.
He dragged a weak hand across his chest in a familiar gesture. The sign of the cross. “Father, forgive me for I have sinned against you, my family, and on our dear mother’s grave.”
McFadden hissed out the words between clenched teeth. Pain burst through his chest. He swallowed hard as he fought off the fingers of death reaching out for him. His hands clawed at his stomach as if it would do any good. Heat spread through his belly and fire raged down into his groin.
Images of the last meeting with his sister materialized behind his eyes; her auburn hair flowing around her face and green eyes laughing up at him with total trust. The picture of innocence. Remorse and worry fused together to form beads of perspiration along his forehead. He held a clammy hand against the side of his face. “Please God; I beg of you…send… someone to protect my sister… from the harm that I have put her in and don’t let-.”
Regret robbed him of his next breath.
Until this moment, McFadden led a double life. Now that he was dead, the two lives would become one, and soon many people would die.
Chapter 2
Virginia
Two weeks later
Panic tore through her. No matter how much she pleaded with the stranger in the mirror, the woman wouldn’t divulge any answers. “Tell me, who are you? Who I am.”
She clutched both sides of the rust stained sink in a white knuckled grip as if it were a lifeline. Alone in the single stall convenience store bathroom, she leaned closer to peer at her reflection. Damp from walking in the rain, her auburn hair tangled down both sides of her face. Green eyes wandered over her small nose, full mouth and oval face.
A total stranger.
She pushed away from the sink, straightened her back, and squared her shoulders. Her hands joined one another at the sash of the knee length black raincoat tied at a narrow waist. After working the knot out, she pulled the coat open to reveal a gray formfitting sweater worn over black jeans. Strappy heels adorned her feet. Not bad. Whoever she was, she knew how to throw a smart outfit together. The thought did little to quell the rising panic constricting her throat.
Think .
Meeting her own gaze in the mirror, she turned her face to the side and back again. She guessed her age at somewhere around mid-twenties. Holding out her hands, she noted French-tipped nails, but her long slender fingers were bare of any rings. Something shiny caught her attention. A delicate gold chain draped her neck and disappeared below her sweater. Tugging it out, she held a two-toned gold and silver diamond encrusted Celtic Trinity knot in the palm of her hand. As it shimmered up at her, a sense of peace coursed through her veins like strong whiskey.
She closed her fingers over the charm and hugged it to her chest as her eyes fell shut. “Dear Heavenly Father, help me.” She pleaded and then whispered to the empty room, “Just how long was I unconscious?”
She brushed her bangs aside to look at the angry, bruised gash hidden along her hairline. The bleeding finally stopped, the skin around it now a purple swell. She tried to remember if she’d had a purse with her at the scene of the accident. Shaking her head, nothing came to her. She ran her hands into both pockets of the raincoat and came up empty.
A sudden pounding vibrated the bathroom door. A gasp escaped her chest; her hands flew to her face.
“I ain’t got all day to spend standing here. Do your business and get out,” Barked a voice from outside the women’s restroom.
She inhaled deeply. With one last glance at the stranger in the mirror, she ran to the door and fumbled with the lock. “I-sorry.”
A woman with three chins, and without the number of a good electrologist, stood just outside the door. Large hands rested on the wide berth of her hips in an impatient pose. The woman tossed her a glare and brushed past to slam the bathroom door.
Distracted by the store’s hum and buzz of the customers filtering in to pay for gas and stock up on their daily morning junk food left her lost. Everyone in a hurry, a destination in mind, a stark reminder of the fact she didn’t even know where she was. Willing her legs to move forward from the back of the store, she shuffled up the aisle of overpriced pint-sized kitchen items to the front. The tantalizing aroma of coffee reached something deep inside her. Did she even like coffee? The heavenly smell sure drew her attention. She frowned. Did she have any money? She suddenly realized she had never checked her jeans. Running her hands in her pockets, she thought she felt money, but drew out a crumpled yellow sticky note instead. Shaky fingers unfolded the paper to reveal a name and address written in cursive.
Is this my handwriting ? She shook her head. Just one more unanswered question.
Coffee forgotten, she focused her attention on the tattooed cashier behind the counter. She fell into line behind a young mother with two kids begging for doughnuts to go with their fists full of candy bars. The relentless whines the kids made in unison caused her head to throb. She rubbed at her temples.
When her turn finally came she stepped up, the cashier, wearing the name Stan the Stud on his tag, asked, “What pump?”
“I was just wondering if you could tell me how to get to this address here?” She smoothed out the sticky note and turned it around for him to see.
Stan let his eyes wander over her and then winked. He leaned an elbow on the counter to inspect the address, his dark hair, stiff with gel. She caught a whiff of half a bottle of cheap cologne he’d used, and almost choked.
“Okay,” he said straightening his stance and puffing out his chest, “you’ll need to go out the front, that’s Front Street. Turn right, go three blocks west and you’ll run smack-dab into Page Street.”
“Thank you.” She nodded and snatched up the piece of paper.
“Don’t mention it, darlin. Hey now, if you don’t find it, come back and look me up,” he called after her.
She ignored his innuendo and made her way up the aisle. The air was surely fresher out on the street. She pushed through the double doors and stepped out into the mist.
The haze in the sky provided a buffer for the dark rain swollen clouds. A moment of panic shook her core as she realized when the doors behind her swung shut, that her world just got a lot bigger.
Martin Street was busy with pedestrians scurrying to their destinations. The temptation to ask someone walking by for help gnawed at her. She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip. The opportunity however simply wasn’t available as just about everyone was on cell phones talking to someone else.
She couldn’t have felt more alone.
Her first step almost got her in trouble. Two longhaired teens swiped past her as they scraped their skateboards along the sidewalk. She released the breath caught in her throat and tried again.
Brick buildings sandwiched up against one another along both sides of the street housed boutiques and other specialty stores. A flower cart sat against the curb, loaded down with colorful bouquets under a sign marked, “Friday’s Flowers Today.”
She gave a little snort. At least she knew what day of the week it was now, even if she didn’t know who she was or what state she was in. It was a start at least.
The slimy cashier had said to take a right to get to Page Street. She retied the sash around her waist, pulled the collar together, and shivered against the dampness. Careful not to stare at anyone, she scanned the passing faces for someone who might seem recognizable to her. Frustration mounted. She wandered along while taking in every sight, hoping something, anything, would seem familiar. The one thing she kept coming back to was the thought, I wonder if anyone at this address will know me?
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Copyright 2007 Sherry Foley. All rights reserved.
