Taken by the Beast
by Conner Kressley & Rebecca Hamilton
Chapter 1
I ran through the hallway, throwing open closets like a lunatic. Just shy of two hours—that’s what it had taken me to completely screw up what my best friend Lulu did daily with ease. In that time—one hundred and eleven minutes to be exact—I had burned three grilled cheeses, knocked over a vase that I hoped wasn’t too expensive, and (most importantly) ‘misplaced’ her three year old son.
It was safe to say I wasn’t the domesticated type.
“Jack, this isn’t funny!” I yelled, pulling open the final closet door and coming up empty.
My breathing came more labored now, and not just because I had been running nonstop for the last several minutes. This hall was my last chance. I had now officially covered every inch of this house, attic and all. The little guy was nowhere to be found, and my panic was quickly twisting into dread.
The doorbell dinged, at once breaking me from my train of thought and sending my heart into my throat. What if that was Lulu? What if she forgot her keys? I would have to explain to her how I lost her kid, and that would no doubt send her eight month pregnant butt right into labor.
It might not be Lulu, though. Maybe it was the cops. New Haven was about as big as a shoebox, and before I’d moved away from here all those years ago, it was certainly the kind of place where your wayward child could show up on your doorstep with police escort. Lord knows I had.
I kicked off my heels, because if my seventeen-year-old self had taught me anything, it’s that cops who have come to chastise you don’t really care for the hooker heel look. I doubted that would change just because I’d aged a decade since then.
As I got to the door, I bit my lip, bracing myself for one sort of confrontation or another. The doorbell rang again. God, help me. I twisted the handle and pulled the door open in a ‘rip the Band-Aid off’ sort of way.
Before me stood a polished woman, best guess mid-twenties, wearing a sundress and sporting the sort of unwavering blonde hair that could double as a hard hat if need be. Pearls circled her throat, a purse sat clutched between her hands, and she smirked as she looked me over head to toe.
“How very forceful of you,” she said, running her hand up and down the doorframe. “I would be more careful with it, though. It’s palmetto. Imported all the way from the Carolinas.”
I grimaced. Before I left for New York, New Haven was a farming town. We had two general stores, a diner, and a movie theater that was always three months behind the rest of the country. You could set your watch by it. I hated the town back then, but not nearly as much as I hated it now. Ten years away had seen this place morph into a sort of retreat for the newly wealthy. The general stores gave way to day spas, the diner was replaced by a Starbucks, and last I heard, the movie theater was vying to house an independent film festival in the fall.
And all of that would be okay. I had never been the type of woman to bat away progress, after all. But it came complete with people like her, and that rubbed me the wrong way.
“I’ll try to keep that in mind—you know, when handling it,” I said, trying hard to keep the smarm out of my voice. “Can I help you?”
“Other than refraining from treating my best friend’s door like a jilted lover, you could invite me in,” the woman said, and she brushed past me, completely nullifying the need for an invitation.
“Y-your best friend?” I stammered.
As far as I knew, I was Lulu’s best friend. Sure, she had been cordial with some of these nouveau riche housewives, but that was more out of necessity than anything else. It wasn’t who she really was.
“That’s right,” she said. “Though, to be honest, I’m a little peeved at her. Lulu promised to let me know before she hired a housekeeper. I had more than a few qualified candidates in mind.” She removed a pastel glove and ran her finger along the counter. She lifted her hand and looked at the pad of her pointer finger with disgust. “Not that you aren’t doing an adequate job.”
“I’m not a housekeeper,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I’d hate to think Lulu was actually paying you for this.”
“Who are you?” I asked, marching after the woman.
“Ester Jacobs.” She gave me a little nod.
“I see. Well, I’m Charisse Bellamy.”
“Oh,” she said, setting her purse on the chair, careful to miss the apparently dust-ridden counter. “Lulu’s new friend. I’ve heard of you.”
“Ha!” I scoffed more loudly than I intended. “Well, given that I’ve known Lulu since we were crawling around in the dirt, I’d say that makes you the new friend.”