The question and clicking tongue got rid of any high that Trish had left. She sat up straight in the bed and shook her head. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Why would a stranger call her house and talk about Christian? But then, he asked the question again and Trish blinked.
"Who is this?"
"You'll find out." His tongue clicked again. "After what happened to Christian, I'd think you'd be a little smarter. I don't think he'd like to see you powdering your nose on a regular basis."
She jumped out of the bed. The voice was eerie. As her mind cleared, she recognized it as the same person who had called her before, warning her about Randy's fidelity issues. However, that wasn't what sent shudders through her body. There was a humor in the voice of this stranger. He sounded as though he were amused by what he was saying.
"Are you the one?" She wanted to scream, but her words came out in a hush. "Are you the one that killed Christian?"
"Me? Kill Christian?" His laugh was loud and bitter. "Oh, no, Trish. You did that all on your own."
"What?"
"You killed Christian."
"No, I didn't!" She whirled around and stared at the bed. In the dark, she saw Randy's bruised and battered body rise slowly from the bed. She saw a flash of silver and for a minute, she panicked. She flashed back to seeing him in the alley, someone hovering over him with a knife. He started to talk and she relaxed. It was only his cellphone.
"Don't worry." There was a low snicker. "You didn't miss the phone."
"What?"
"He put it on vibrate, remember? Wouldn't want to disturb you while you ruined another life."
"I didn't ruin..." She stopped and shook her head. "Wait a minute... how do you..." Trish ran to the window and peered out. She couldn't see anything, and she doubted anyone could see in. Her nearest neighbor was barely visible, and to stare at her from the nearest building, someone would need a high-powered lens.
"Are you looking for me?" Another laugh. "By the way, nice ass. I can see why Christian stayed with you. Though... whether or not you were really to die for is a completely different question."
Trish whirled around. Randy's voice was raised, but she couldn't understand what he was saying. She stole a glimpse and saw him moving around the room, grabbing clothes and throwing them on the bed. Her head swiftly jerked back forward and she stared across the room.
"Nice rack, too, saline though it may be. Again... not exactly to die for."
Trish stepped forward, barely listening to the phone anymore. He had a view of her that could only have come from one place. Inside the condominium. She rushed forward and, still holding the phone, started throwing things from the dresser across from her. She peered at the mirror and saw nothing but her own haggard reflection. She gripped the wooden top of the rounded mirror tightly, and still the voice droned on in her ear.
"You do know he died for you, don't you? He died because you wanted to live this good, lavish life and you would have tossed him to the side if he couldn't afford you. He died fucking around with the wrong people so you could have your Prada shoes and Louis Vitton. He died because you didn't love him poor."
"Shut up!" She jerked on the mirror. "Shut up!"
"He died because you didn't give a shit about him!"
"Shut up!" She jerked again. "I loved Christian!"
"No, you didn't! You killed him, you strung out little bitch! Christian's dead! It's all your fault, and you're next! You'll fucking wish you went as easy as Flair!"
Trish screamed and hurled the telephone across the room. She screamed, "I didn't kill Christian!" She pulled hard on the mirror and it detached from the back of the vanity table to fall forward in her hands. The weight of it was so much that she nearly dropped it. She turned and struggled with the mirror, then stopped as she saw black tape against the back. Carefully, she peeled the tape back and detached the wire that led up to a small camera inserted through a whole in the top of the wood.
Trish laid the mirrror down and turned slowly to Randy, holding up the camera to him. He was staring at her with confusion. "Somebody's been in my house."
"What?"
She pushed the camera to him and he took it. "Somebody's been watching us. He's... he's watching us right now."
Randy glared into the tiny camera and said, "Watch this, motherfucker." He dropped it on the floor and stomped on it.
Trish looked down at his foot and realized he had on shoes. She travelled up his body to see that he was fully dressed, though it was obvious that he had dressed in haste. His shirt was buttoned wrong and half-tucked in his slacks, which were wrinkled and, though zipped, unbuttoned. Looking at Randy made her remember what else was said. "Ric..."
Randy blinked. He shook his head. "Put on your clothes. We've gotta get to the club."
"He said..." She cleared her throat. Her body trembled with the severity of what she had been told. Judging by Randy's appearance, she suspected it was true. Tears streaked down Trish's cheeks and her bottom lip trembled. "No," she said weakly. "Ric..."
"We've gotta get to the club. Hunter and Dave's cars just exploded."
She shook her head. "This isn't happening... Hunter and Dave... they aren't..."
"They're alright. Chyna's kinda cut up, but... they're alive."
"And Ric? Please... Randy, please..." She stepped up to him and gripped his arms hard. Lately, she had been so careful at how she touched him, but right then, she wasn't thinking that she might have been touching sore sports. "Randy, please!"
He looked down into her eyes. A growl shook his throat and slowly crawled up to burst out of his lips. He closed his eyes and took in two deep breaths, then re-opened his eyes. Trish tried to find something in his eyes that said that Ric was just very hurt, he was still alive, he wasn't dead, but there was nothing there but rage that could have only been caused by one thing.
"Trish... Ric's dead."
...go back