Blood Drive

It takes a few minutes but when I can speak without screaming, I hold out a hand to Trish. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Your mother made you - " I gesture toward the ruined computer. "Do that?"



She nods, her face flushing to deep crimson. "I didn't want to."



She speaks softly, yet her humiliation and resentment ring through. "She said I wouldn't be hurt. Not really. And we could make a lot of money. Since my dad left, we've had a lot of bills and not much money to pay them. She said I'd only have to do it once."



In the sadness of her tone, I recognize the depth of her anguish at the betrayal. It's no surprise when she whispers, "It wasn't only once, though."



Ryan has recovered enough to step between Trish and me, and he's glaring again. "You see why she can't go back there? Those men, the ones who make Trish do things, they know all their records are on that computer. They want it back. They went after Barbara because she knew - "



I hold up a hand. "Wait a minute. How was Barbara involved? Did she - ?"



"No." Trish's voice cuts in like a whip. "She didn't do anything . She came to my house one day after school. After the men left. She saw me crying. I know I shouldn't have told her, but I had to tell someone. I wanted to kill myself. She told me to go to Mr. Frey. To tell him what was happening. That he could help."



Again, the realization that everything Carolyn told us was a lie flashes like a white-hot bolt through me. "Did you go to Mr. Frey?"



She blanches and shakes her head. "No. I couldn't. So Barbara said she'd tell him." Her voice breaks. "I guess she never got the chance."



Through the rage boiling inside me, I fight to keep calm. "Do you know who might have told the men what Barbara was planning to do?"



Again, the shake of the head. But she doesn't look at me and her fragile body seems to shrink in on itself. It's more of an affirmation than mere words. I know what she suspects. Somehow Carolyn found out. It was her mother.



I don't know what to say. I know I must stay calm, think rationally. For the kids. The reality, though, is that I want to find Carolyn and rip her lying head off her shoulders.



Trish is weeping again, making no sound. The sight pulls me back. I have to get her to safety.



"Ryan, does anyone know that you've been coming here to see Trish?"



"No." He's got his arms around Trish's shoulders. "I've been careful. My folks think I'm just taking Cujo for a walk. We don't live too far from here. It's been easy to sneak away."



"But what about the men after the computer? Do either of you know who they are?"



He and Trish both shake their heads. Trish speaks first. "There were always two of them. One took the pictures, the other - " Her voice drops off. "Anyway, they never spoke to each other when I was in the room. The one with the camera would tell me what to do. When it was over, they'd take the video, load it into the computer and leave."



"How did you manage to get the computer?"



Trish shrugs. "They'd leave it with the camera."



Ryan jumps in. "Trish was smart. She snuck the computer out when she ran away. Her mom was at the hospital. She wouldn't have noticed it was gone. They kept the thing hidden in a box in the back of a closet. She didn't realize Trish knew where it was." He says the last with a kind of adolescent pride in the bravery and ingenuity of his friend.



The plan in my head forms in slow motion. My options are limited. I can't leave Trish here and I certainly can't take her to my house or my folk's. My mother would be obligated to inform the authorities. That leaves only one option.



I place a gentle hand on Trish's shoulders. "Do you trust Mr. Frey?"



She looks up at me, eyes red-rimmed and world-weary. "I don't know him. Not really. But he was always nice to me. I think he suspected something was wrong. He tried to get me to talk to him about it. But I couldn't. I couldn't."



"I'm going to suggest something to you. If you don't want to do it, I won't make you. But I think, at least for now, it would be for the best. You can't stay here. Your mother knows about this place. It won't be long before she thinks to come check it out. I'd like to take you to Mr. Frey's. I think he can help us."



Trish's eyes widen. "Won't he get in trouble?"



Probably, I think. But frankly, better him than my mother. And when I recall the claws on that paw, I know he can protect Trish better than any human. All this runs through my head in the instant it takes me to say, "He can handle it. Don't worry about Mr. Frey."



I turn to Ryan. "Ryan, I want you to go home. You've been a good friend to Trish, but I don't want to put you in any more danger. Give me your telephone number and I'll call you as soon as Trish is safe."



"No." He says it with firm resolve. "I won't leave Trish."



I don't have time to argue. "I can't take you with us, Ryan, so here's what we'll do. I'll tell Mr. Frey that you're going to call him. You whisper a code word to Trish now. When you call, if she's safe, she'll give you the code word. If she doesn't, you know something is wrong and you can call the police. Here." I tear two scraps from the paper bag and look around for something to write with.



Ryan produces a pencil from the pocket of his jacket and hands it over. I start to write.



"This is Mr. Frey's address and my cell phone number. Call it in about twenty minutes and I'll have Frey's number for you." I hand it to him with the other piece. "You write your number for me."



"I'll want to talk to Trish when you call," he says flatly. He finishes writing and holds the second piece out to me. "Deal?"



"Deal." I pocket the scrap. "Now I'm going to get my purse from inside and lock up. You give Trish the code while I'm gone."



The kids don't make a move until I'm out of the garage. I glance back and see them standing close together, Ryan's mouth at Trish's ear. I only hope they're not plotting a getaway.



I make a beeline for the house, on the alert for anyone or anything that might be watching. I neither see nor feel another presence. I almost wish I did. A good, physical confrontation would go a long way toward alleviating the blistering fury building with the intensity of a firestorm deep in my gut.



My purse is on the kitchen counter, just where I left it. As I reach down, my cell phone bleeps in monotonous rhythm. The message light flashes. On the move again, I check the text message. It's from David. "Max and I are back at the office. Should we come out to the house?"



I glance at my watch. The message came in about fifteen minutes ago. I'd better call and let them know I'm all right and to stay put. I lock the front door with one hand, and hit speed dial with the other. David picks up on the first ring.



"Hey, Anna. Are you at the cottage? Is everything all right?"



No. It certainly isn't. But what to tell David? There's laughter in the background. Max's voice and someone else's. I recognize the voice immediately. "Gloria's there?"



"She just got here. Listen, we were thinking of heading to Sammy's for dinner. I take it nothing's wrong at the beach house or you would have called, so how soon can you get here?"



To have dinner with Gloria? How about never? I suck in a breath, blow it out. "You guys go ahead. I may be awhile."



David's voice turns serious. "What's the holdup? Everything is all right, isn't it?"



"No, David. Everything isn't all right. Did you forget about Trish?"



There's a moment of awkward silence. "Sorry, Anna. Did you find out anything from that teacher?"



"Yes. And I'm on my way back there now. So go on to dinner. Tell Max I'm sorry. I'll try to connect with him tomorrow."



He starts to say something else, but I've already snapped the cell phone closed. Aggravation like acid mixes with the seething rage twisting my gut. Gloria's here. David's bitchy model girlfriend. Just what I need.



The kids are standing in front of the garage door, now closed, when I get back. Trish is holding her clothes in both hands and Ryan has the blanket wrapped around what could be nothing else but the computer in his.



I hold out my own hand to him. "You need to let me take that, Ryan."



He shakes his head and steps back. "No. It's the only evidence we have. You might have thought you ruined it, but I'll be able to retrieve stuff from it."



I let my hand fall to my side. I don't have time to argue about this. The longer we stay here the greater the risk that someone might see Trish. I want these kids to trust me, but I don't want to put Ryan in any more danger.



When I can't come up with any clever reason why he should give me the computer, I tell him the truth. "I'm afraid for you, Ryan. If you keep that computer, the men may come after you or your family. Do you want to take that chance?"



He gives me a slow, sweet smile and gestures to Cujo, sitting with a stupid dog grin at his side. "I have two other dogs at home," he says. " Cujo is the smallest. I think we'll be safe."



I get a flash of Cujo flying at me, teeth snapping, and admit he's a pretty good deterrent. "Keep Cujo with you - even in your bedroom tonight, understand?"



"I always do."



"Do you want me to take you home before we go to Mr. Frey's?"



He shakes his head. "No. If you do, my folk's might wonder who you are. I'll be fine."



He and Trish exchange a look I can't begin to understand. Some kind of teenage telepathy. I feel a flush of warmth for this scrawny kid who is willing to risk so much to protect his friend. But it's time for us to go. Without another word, Ryan and Cujo walk down the alley and disappear around the corner toward the Boardwalk. Trish and I head in the opposite direction, toward Mission Boulevard and my car.