Hayley glanced at the couch, saw the Ghost’s boyfriend passed out and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. She walked slowly down the narrow hallway. The boards were creaky, but the snoring would take care of that. She eased open the door to the bedroom, and there on the bed was Nora Belle, sleeping peacefully.
After locking the door behind her, she stepped to the side of the bed and watched the Ghost sleep. Hayley pushed her sleeves to her elbows, then climbed atop her on the bed and made herself comfortable.
Nora Belle’s eyes shot open. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the Phantom,” Hayley said, and then she started pummeling her, hitting Nora Belle’s face with such force and so often that very soon all she was aware of were the crunch of bone beneath her fists and the spray of blood on her face. Nora Belle bucked beneath her, but she was trapped beneath layers of sheets and blankets.
Hayley wouldn’t stop. She drew back and hit her again and again until her knuckles began to hurt.
When she at last stopped to examine her aching knuckles, Nora Belle laughed wetly beneath her. A number of her front teeth were broken. Her nose would never look the same. “Not so easy, is it?”
Hayley reached over to the bedside table, grabbed hold of a lamp, and bashed her over the head with it.
That silenced her. Finally. Hayley felt for a pulse. She was still alive.
Hayley walked into the closet, gathered all the white sneakers she could find and shoved them into a duffel bag.
Finished with the shoes, she turned about to survey her work.
Satisfied, she headed back the way she came, walked past the boyfriend, and slipped out the front door. After she delivered the shoes to the homeless, she told Naomi and friends the Ghost’s full name and where she lived. They assured Hayley they would take care of the rest. Hayley didn’t know what that meant exactly, but it was out of her hands now.
It was later than shit by the time she made it back to Kitally’s house. Tommy was sitting on the front stoop waiting for her. If not for the front light being on, she wouldn’t have known it was him.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Out and about.”
“Doing what?”
“Walking. Thinking. The usual. What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately, and I wanted to talk. I heard from Lizzy that you were thinking about moving away.”
“It’s true. Once I’m sure Bennett is no longer a threat to Lizzy and Kitally, I’ll start making plans.” She sat down next to him, close enough to smell a hint of soap, or maybe something more. “Are you wearing cologne?”
He ignored the question, his expression bleak. “Were you ever going to talk to me about this harebrained idea of yours to move away?”
“Sure . . . eventually I would have gotten around to it.”
He looked into her eyes and held her gaze. “You have no idea how I feel about you, do you?”
“Tommy, you wear your feelings and emotions on your sleeve. Of course I know how you feel. But here’s the problem. You have no idea who I am. I’m bad news, Tommy. I’ve done things I can never talk to you or anyone else about. Things I don’t even like to think about myself. And the thing is . . . I don’t know if I can stop, or if I want to.”
“I love you, Hayley. Whatever it is you’re going through, I want to help you.”
“I care about you, Tommy, you know I do. But whatever you think we’ve got going . . . it’s over.” She pushed herself to her feet and walked to the door. “I can’t let you into my life.”
“I know you better than you think,” Tommy said. “I know you’re all screwed up, but I’m never giving up on you, Hayley. You might not be able to see it yet, but I can. I can see the light shining out from inside of you. It’s bright. Blinding, even. Even tonight, when you first laid eyes on me, I saw it all—your strength and goodness, your compassion, your need to help others because nobody was there to help you when you needed it.”
“Go home, Tommy.”
“Sure, I’ll go.” He stood. “But if you do decide to move away, no matter where you end up, I’ll be somewhere close, waiting for you to understand that me and you are going to spend the rest of our lives together.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
All the girls—Hayley, Jessica, Kitally, and Brittany—had come to Lizzy’s new house to paint the baby’s room. The problem was, they wouldn’t let Lizzy help. Sniffing paint while eight months pregnant was not advised. Instead of arguing with them, Lizzy kept herself busy in the kitchen, but she made sure to check in and bark orders every once in a while just to keep them on their toes.
As she stood over the kitchen sink, she thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Her head snapped up, and her gaze roamed over the property. The beat of her heart accelerated. There was nothing out there.
She counted to ten.
Calm down, she told herself. You’re safe.
“We’re finished,” Kitally said before Lizzy could enter the baby’s room. “Where should we put these brushes?”
“Bring everything outside. I’ve set up two buckets of warm water by the faucet,” Lizzy said as she led the way. Once outside, she watched them walk single file out of the house. Every one of them had more paint on their faces and bodies than they had on their brushes. They dropped their brushes into the first bucket. Brittany worked on getting paint from the brushes while everyone else washed paint from their hands and faces using water and hand soap.
Lizzy put a hand on her belly, prompting one of them to ask, “Boy or girl? Do you know yet?”
“I have no idea,” Lizzy said. “I told the doctor I didn’t want to know ahead of time.”
“Any ideas for names?” Kitally asked.
“Not yet. But don’t worry. I won’t take as long as Salma did to come up with a name.”
“We need to hurry this along,” Hayley said, “if we’re going to get Jessica to the airport on time.”
“When are you coming back to Sacramento?” Lizzy asked Jessica.
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll give you a call next week.”
Lizzy watched the girls and found herself smiling, relieved to think that their vigilantism had been short-lived. Nobody, including Detective Chase, ever brought up the file regarding the unnamed man with the bag over his head, leaving Lizzy to believe, or at least hope, it had been a suicide, just as she’d thought. Owen Dunham, the man who’d had his balls cut off, and Donald Holmes, the prison guard, were nowhere to be found. Holmes was a wanted man. If he ever did reappear, he would be thrown in jail, since they had searched his house and discovered he had uploaded thousands of indecent images of children on the Internet. Wallace, the first on their list to be thrown in jail, would be serving the next ten years locked up. Scott Shaffer, number four on the list, had been arrested after one of his homemade bombs was detonated. They’d found five more bombs along with detailed letters on his computer of the buildings he planned to destroy, including the state capitol. Hayley and Kitally both swore they had nothing to do with the bombing incident. Ironic was the word Kitally had used when Lizzy asked her about it. Hayley had responded with a shrug and nothing more. Lizzy got a different response from her when she’d asked about Nora Belle Castor, also known as the Ghost. Within twenty-four hours after Hayley had delivered the Ghost’s name and address to a group of homeless people, the girl had disappeared. Hayley swore she had no idea what had become of her.
Wayne Bennett was the only one on their list who was free to do as he pleased. His crutches slowed him down, and, according to Detective Chase, he would be undergoing an extensive and painful recovery. Even so, there would come a day when he was back to his old tricks. Grady Orwell, prosecutor and now friend, had a new plan he wanted to discuss with Lizzy, and she would be meeting with him next week.