Kiss Me If You Dare

10

The instructor’s voice swirled like gibberish around me. Had Frank Majestic sent a hit man to take me out? Was someone watching me right now, waiting to line me up in his sights? Or had some conniving student discovered my true identity and was playing a sick joke?

Lots of people had access to my tote, starting with Jane dear, Ms. Rigg’s daughter. Then there were the members of Team B. Celia would never have snooped, but Koby or Portia? I wouldn’t put it past them.

My foot tapped uncontrollably. And there was whoever had been in the locker room with me today.

But how could anyone know who I was? Unless they put two and two together regarding Denton’s only-child status. Or…

I flipped through my notebook, looking for the page I’d used to sign my new name. If someone had come across my practice sheet and been vicious enough to read Patricia Louise Amble through my scribbles… How low could you go?

The page wasn’t there. A line of paper scraps where it had been ripped out was all that remained.

That devious, black-hearted, two-faced, backstabbing Portia. It must have been her. She’d had plenty of time to do the deed this morning before Koby and Celia arrived, knowing I wouldn’t suspect a thing until I came across her cute little HELLO PATRICIA AMBLE note.

She’d had it out for me from the beginning. The question was, what did I plan to do about it? I could be just as devious, black-hearted, two-faced, and backstabbing as her.

But did I want to be?

Around me, students shuffled to get their notes put away and head to their next class. I gave a disgusted sigh, realizing I’d stewed through the rest of the lecture.

I gathered my items into the tote and walked to Walters Hall. Birds chirped and the sun shone, but the sidewalk in front of me was the only thing on my mind. Feet passed by and I ignored an occasional hello.

A quick scan of the directory in the lobby provided directions to Professor Braddock’s office. I took the stairs, sprinting up five flights, letting the flow of adrenaline clear my thoughts.

I knocked on the door and barged in, scaring off a wide-eyed, twenty-something coed.

Denton folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “I’m sure you have a good explanation for your intrusion.” Dropping my tote, I pulled out my notebook and flipped to the fateful page.

“Look at this.” I threw the words on his desk and tapped at them with a heavy finger.

He straightened. “I see.” He studied the page silently. “Any idea who wrote it?”

“Portia Romero.” I spat the name.

He stared at the paper. “Are you certain?”

“Ninety-five percent.”

He crossed his arms. “If by chance it was someone in the other 5 percent, whom would you suspect?”

I counted on my fingers. “Ms. Rigg’s daughter, Koby Rider, and whoever was in the locker room today.”

His eyebrows lifted. “When did you see Jane?”

“She was at Cliffhouse Monday when I got back from town.”

“Hmmm.” He handed the notebook back to me. “That’s all,” he said with a little wave of his hand.

I stared at him, indignant, before stomping out the door. Brad couldn’t have been more wrong about putting me under Denton’s protection. Clearly the man would enjoy having me turn up dead.

My eyes were blurred with rage as I hit the elevator button. The bell dinged and the doors opened. I hesitated. If I stepped inside, then I’d be back to my habit of stuffing my anger. But if I went back in there and confronted him…

I swung around and burst through the office door. His back was to me.

“Uh huh,” he said.

“Hey. Sorry for the intrusion again,” I tried to keep my voice steady, “but I just have to tell you that I don’t feel safe right now. And I feel like you don’t care.”

His chair turned toward me. He held up a finger. “I don’t have to remind you that her safety is of the utmost importance,” he said into the phone. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

He hung up the receiver and stared me down. “I’m not going to dance around my office in a panic, if that’s what you expect. I made a phone call that should resolve this situation. You can go about your life without giving that note another thought.” He opened his desk drawer, took out a pen and tablet, and started writing.

“O-kay. Thanks.” I lingered, confused. “So who was that on the phone?”

“Your bodyguard.”

“Ha ha.” I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Really. I hired a man to keep you under surveillance. He’s one of the best. Highly recommended.”

“Who is he? Do I get to meet him?”

“No. He’s been operating undercover since your arrival. I’ve just informed him of the note and he will let me know if there is any imminent danger, or simply take care of it should it arise.”

Wow. My own bodyguard. Oddly, I didn’t feel any safer. Where had the guy been when I was dangling on the side of that cliff? I couldn’t recall a pair of arms waiting below to catch me. He was overpaid, whoever he was.

Defused, I took the elevator to the lobby, mulling the whole way. Denton made it seem like I should drop the whole thing, simply because he said so. But it wasn’t that easy. It hadn’t been so long since I’d been jailed, framed, chased, set up, and shot at. I wasn’t about to let down my guard.

I took the bus to Cliffhouse, snuck a sandwich from the fridge, and climbed up to my room.

The alarm clock woke me at the crack of six the next morning. I slammed the snooze. My shoulder paid me back with a shot of pain. Too much time on the sledgehammer yesterday. I should have broken in my body gently.

Even my brain hurt. I hadn’t really slept, just dozed in and out of a bad dream. I’d been chasing a doe through the woods. The crunch of shoes through the underbrush. The scrape of branches against my face. I had to catch the doe. But she was gone, and I was standing at the edge of a babbling brook wondering what I was doing there. Someone called my name from the bushes behind me. I crept close. A pair of muddy Nikes stuck out from beneath a shrub. Everything in me wanted to run away, but I had to see who was there… I pulled back the leaves…

A face.

Brad’s face. And there was a bullet hole between his wide-open eyes.

The sheets had been damp with sweat when I sat up in the pitch-black, awake. I’d had a hard time falling back to sleep. Each time I dozed off, the doe would be there, and I’d have to chase her again.

I shook off the images and got out of bed. Of course I was dreaming about Brad. I missed him so much.

The shower took a minute to warm up. I brushed my teeth while I waited. It seemed an eternity had passed since Brad and I had last been together. Had it only been two weeks?

I finished my routine and headed downstairs, meeting Denton in the dining room. By now I understood why he sat in the formal area rather than the kitchen. Less drama. Thankfully, Ms. Rigg treated me kindly in his presence, even pouring my coffee.

“Do you recall your doctor appointment at eight, Alisha?” Denton asked.

“Mmmm.” I chewed my bagel and swallowed before answering. “Yep. All set.”

“How have you been feeling?”

I glanced at the gash on my arm, the skin now neatly knit together. “Great. These stitches are ready to go.”

Denton squinted at the wound. “It seems to have healed nicely. You were very fortunate to have such a minor injury.”

I tossed a third of a bagel back onto my plate, losing my appetite at the reminder of the worst day of my life.

Denton took a sip of his coffee, looking at me over the rim. “I understand the gunman was at very close range.” “Gunwoman, actually.” I saw Candice’s pistol go up, heard the explosion, then lost everything in the flash of white that followed. As always, pain rushed up my arm at the memory.

I must have flinched, because Denton reached over and touched my wrist. “Give it time. The pain will lessen.”

I nodded, pushing away from the table. “Well, gotta go. Have a good one.”

“Goodbye, Alisha.”

I grabbed my tote and dashed outside for the bus. k The single-story medical building was at the edge of campus. I signed in at the seventies-era sliding-glass reception window. Alisha Braddock, I was careful to write on the sheet. I sat in a corner by a low, square coffee table covered in tattered, outdated magazines. The room carried a faint musty odor. Dark wood, patchy wallpaper, plastic tub chairs, and mite-laden carpeting screamed for a remodel.

A few minutes later, a woman called my name. I followed her down a narrow hall.

We entered Room 3. She gestured toward the exam table. I hopped up, hands suddenly clammy. As she ran through the temp, weight, and blood pressure routine, I pondered the significance of the multicolored fish that swam across the blue background of her jumper.

“Everything looks good,” she said, writing her findings on my chart. “Dr. Vandenberg will be just a few minutes.”

While waiting, I redecorated the tiny space with brighter lighting, new ceiling tiles, modern wallpaper, and fresh flooring. The re-do disappeared as the doctor entered the room, chart in hand.

Sleek and elegant, the woman looked more like a movie star than an MD. Skin the color of mocha, full lips, and sparkling brown eyes. I wondered why she wasn’t doing her internship at U of C Hollywood instead of here in Del Gloria.

“Hello, Alisha. I’m Dr. Vandenberg. I see you’re new to campus.” She set the chart on the counter and proceeded to feel the glands in my neck.

“I’ve been here a week or so.” I swallowed at her command. “Um, I’m just here to have some stitches removed. Everything else feels fine.”

A stethoscope slid down my back.

“Breathe in,” the doctor instructed.

I took a breath.

“Your chart says you’ve been assigned to the Revamp Program. I understand that is a very rigorous curriculum. I want to make sure there are no other health issues as you go into it.”

“They sure put a lot of extra information in those medical charts.” I couldn’t remember my major being printed next to my weight back at Michigan State’s clinic.

She tapped a rubber hammer to my knee. “At Del Gloria we don’t separate physical, mental, and spiritual health. The mind and soul are parts of the body. We treat them as one.”

“And what does that have to do with me getting my stitches out?”

“Say ahhh.”

A bright beam panned over my mouth, then into my eyes. The doctor clicked the penlight off and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “Let’s talk about your stitches. Tell me why you have them.”

A bead of sweat broke out on my forehead. I rubbed at it, pretending to have an itch. How much could I tell without giving myself away? Perhaps it was better to just keep pretending I couldn’t remember the details. I closed my eyes and concentrated, picturing Candice’s weapon, aimed and loaded. The white flash, then the pain in my arm again.

My breath came in gasps. “I was shot.” I avoided her eyes.

“By whom?” She hugged my chart to her chest as if to hide the answers from me.

I shrugged. “A woman with a gun.”

The doctor stared at me, perhaps waiting to see if that was my final answer.

“Well,” I felt compelled to keep talking, “she was a friend of mine. At least I thought she was.”

“And this friend shot you?”

I nodded.

“Are you having difficulties with your memory?” she asked. “Do you forget where you put things, forget what you were about to do next, draw a blank when you try to remember your childhood?”

“No. I remember stuff.”

Dr. Vandenberg nodded and set my chart on the counter. “It can take time to recover from a traumatic event like the one you experienced. Let’s take a look at those stitches.” With a few swift moves, she pulled what looked like fat fish line from my arm. “There. That didn’t hurt a bit.”

I cranked my arm around for a look. The stitches were gone. A patch of red skin remained to prove my tale.

“That will lighten up over time. Nobody has to know about your adventure unless you tell them.”

“Thank you.” I scooted to the edge of the table, ready to make my run to freedom.

“Alisha,” the doctor said, “I want you to start writing things down. Keep a daily journal of what’s going on in your life. Then read back over it once a week to remind yourself what you did.”

I sighed and slid to a standing position. “I don’t really see what that has to do with anything. I have a great memory.”

“I’m sure you do.” She clicked her pen and hung it in the hinges of the clipboard. “It’s just an exercise to keep your mind sharp. Nobody reads it but you. I think you’ll be fascinated by what’s revealed.”

She made her exit.

I stopped at the front desk then hustled outside. Glaring sunshine washed out green lawns. The chatter of birds rang from tree branches as I headed to the curb to wait for Dogpatch.

I sat on the weathered plastic bench, one leg jerking rhythmically. Dr. Vandenberg might have a degree in medicine, but if she knew anything about me, she’d understand why keeping a journal was a bad idea. Three simple words from my past-Patricia Louise Amble- had already stirred up trouble in this new life. Imagine if I had an entire notebook filled with memories. A shudder coursed through my flesh as I imagined the Grim Reaper plunking down next to me on the bench.