"‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’ came out probably a decade ago. Don't you ever get out, Anthony?"
They were in Anthony's truck and not two seconds out of the driveway when Nisha said, "Well, that brush-off was more than obvious. Too drunk to drive? I know when my brother is lying."
"I don't question your brother,” he said, without turning to look at her. He heard her scoff.
"Whatever," was her reply. A beat passed, and she said, "I think there might be a flight in the morning. It was full, but if you get me there early enough, I could probably shoot for standby. Although, everybody that missed today's flight will also be trying to get on that plane."
"Maybe you'll get lucky," he replied.
She leaned back against the truck door and eyed her brother's friend. He was definitely a Paul Newman look-alike, with the exception of his hair. It was the same light brown as her favorite movie star, but this guy's hair was longer, curling at the ends. And he needed a shave. "I don't even know your name," she said. Her tone held an undercurrent of frustration and most likely some hurt by Anthony's rejection. Her big brother couldn't get her out the door quick enough.
"Call me X," he answered.
"X?" she asked, her tone indignant and doubtful. "What kind of name is X?" she practically spat.
"What kind of name is Nisha?” he countered. "Doesn't sound Native American."
"It's not," she quickly replied. "I don't know where my mother came up with it. I think it's Asian-American. It means ‘night.’” She shrugged her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at him. “At least it's a name as opposed to being the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet," she mocked. "What does that even stand for? X-ray? Ex-husband? X marks the spot?" she asked sarcastically, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
He shook his head and thought, you owe me big time for this one, Bear. This was going to be one very long night.
Chapter Six
Naples, Florida 1978
After practically shoving his sister out the front door, Anthony quickly returned to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He stared at the woman who looked like she was sleeping, but he knew better. She wasn't asleep. She hadn't regained consciousness. Her head was tilted to one side, and her hair was covering the bump on her forehead. He reached for her face to move it so he could assess the damage. She let out a long agonizing moan at the same moment he realized she was hot to the touch.
Her eyes fluttered open and she said, "Hurts."
"You have a nasty bump there, princess," Anthony told her. Her eyes were glassy and he couldn't tell if she recognized him.
"My head," she groaned, and then sat straight up. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Anthony half-carried, half-dragged Christy to the master bath where he respectfully stepped out while she emptied the contents of her stomach. He could hear her retching and wondered if she'd somehow ended up with a concussion.
He could hear her cleaning up at the sink and when the bathroom door finally opened, instead of coming out, she leaned against the jamb weakly. Her head hung low, but she managed to look up at him and said, "You hit me."
"No, I didn't. I grabbed for you and you pulled away from me and face-planted into the edge of the door. I'll get you some ice." He didn't worry about leaving her alone. He didn't keep a telephone in his bedroom and there were bars on all the windows. If that wasn't enough to deter her, her poor health surely was.
He returned a few minutes later and found her slumped on the floor. Tossing the ice bag aside he kneeled beside her and picked her up. Cradling her in his arms he brought her face up to his and placed his cheek against hers. She wasn't hot. She was on fire. This wasn't from a bump to the head. She was sick with a fever.
He walked directly to the large tile shower and turned on the cold water. She flinched when it hit her, but it still didn't completely revive her. Mourning the ruin of his new boots, he stood holding her under the cool stream. He eventually leaned back against the tile wall and slowly lowered himself to the floor, making sure the water was spraying on her.
Christy was trapped in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken. A nightmare that made no sense. She was in her old home climbing the stairs but she couldn't get to the top. With each step she took, the stair crumbled beneath her feet. She looked behind her and saw Lester, the lawn man, smiling and winking at her. Behind him floated a dark and menacing presence. She couldn't make out a face or any features, but she knew it was a dangerous force and it was hovering behind her new friend. It frightened her and heightened the sense of panic she was already feeling. Her legs felt like lead. Litzy, who had been more of a mother to Christy than Vivian had ever been, stood on the top step, her arms outstretched and her warm eyes filled with tears.
"Come, child," she beckoned. "I'll save you," she pleaded in her thick Guatemalan accent.
"You already saved me," Christy answered. "You saved us both, but I let you down. I couldn't save her. When you needed me the most, I couldn't save her for you. I'm so sorry, Litzy."
Closing her eyes tightly, Christy attempted to lunge toward Litzy and instantly felt herself falling. She landed in a pool of freezing water, gasping for breath as she tried to recover from the icy shock and claw her way to the surface. She couldn't see it, but she knew the dark presence that had hovered behind Lester was keeping her from reaching the top. She realized then that she hadn't been moving up because her arms were stuck at her sides and she was pinned against a rock-hard surface, unable to move. She heard soothing words in a language she didn't understand. She couldn't see anything. She was surrounded by blackness, but the voice had a calming effect on her. She was no longer frightened or cold. In fact, she was feeling the opposite. She suddenly felt warm. And safe.