Without Faith (22 page)

And Sheldon had been her first husband,
I remembered.
“We've had five marriages and three children between the two of us. That's why this time, we need to make it work”:
her words to me when we first met.

Now I wondered about her other marriages—and Brayden's for that matter. What skeletons were hiding in his closet?
And how did they even meet?
A million and one questions filled my mind, but none as great as the one about my son—where was he? I had to get out of there so I could help find him.

I looked at the pictures again, realizing I had been too distracted by them. I scanned the office for a phone and saw one underneath a stack of files on the edge of a desk. The only light in the office came from a large window right next to the desk. I had to avoid the window. I did not know if I could be seen.

The sun was up and its rays seemed to be pouring directly into the room like a high-powered flashlight. Though I could not see anyone out there, I was not making any assumptions with a killer on the loose. I got down on the floor and crawled over to the desk. Using one hand, I reached for the receiver, and the stack of folders that had been sitting on top if it fell to the floor.

“Darn it!” I whispered, first because of the noise and secondly because I realized that the phone was one of those types of office phones where you needed to select a line to get a dial tone. I was still low on the floor and could not see the phone's keys or dial pad. I started to stand, but caught myself, too afraid to stand up right next to the window. Holding my breath, and not hearing any other noises, I reached up my hand again, ran my fingers over the many buttons, said a quick prayer, and pressed one, hoping, praying, desperate for a dial tone.

I heard voices instead.

I'd selected a line in use.

Two men were talking.

“She's still on the property,” a deep voice whispered.

“And the other one?”

“On her way.”

There was a pause, and I kept holding my breath, afraid that even a simple inhale would be heard over the receiver.

“Stop worrying,” the second man spoke up again. “I got this.”

“You need to cut the power. Cut the power and all the phone lines.”

“Okay, although there's no way she's getting away, even if she broke free. There ain't nothing but woods around here. The main road is over two miles away. Stop worrying so much.”

“Cut the lines and all the power just the same. I don't want to take any chances.”

“All right, whatever.”

The phone went dead. All the way dead. I ran my fingers over the buttons that were still out of my sight, pressing them to no avail.

Too afraid to even stand, I crawled back over the floor to the entrance of the office. The hallway, which I realized had previously been lit, was now dark. I listened for any sound, any movement.

Nothing.

I went back into the office, noticing that from the open doorway, the files I'd knocked over were visible on the floor. If someone happened to walk by, the disorder would not be missed. I crawled back to the desk, gathered the files into a pile. Still on my knees, I lifted them up toward their original place, but as I did so, a few papers fell out.

Newspaper clippings.

They were headlines from newspapers from cities and towns throughout Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Delaware. The deceased were black, white, Asian, Latino, and even a Greek man, from what I could tell from the accompanying photographs. Outside of being men of great wealth, there were no other obvious connecting threads. I reached for the files again, opened up a new one.

Life insurance policies. Bank account information. Estate valuations. All from the men identified in the articles, and a few more whose names I had not seen.

Now this set of papers did have a common denominator.

In each case, the beneficiary was the same. At least the first name was.

Jenellis.

The last name was different on most of the forms as she was identified as either the wife or girlfriend or partner or whatever role she had managed to get in their lives.

I stared at the documents, blinking, wondering if Brayden knew the danger he was in. Though most of the deaths reported in the newspaper clippings appeared to be accidental, there was no accident that Jenellis was involved, I was certain.

Ain't that many coincidences in the world.

I was flipping through more of the files when a sound at the door startled me. I jumped to my feet.

“Oh, there you are,” she spoke casually, as if we were bumping into each other at the grocery store. “I was wondering where you went.”

“I'm sure you
were
looking for me, Ms. Walker.” I glared at her. “Or whatever name it is you're going by now.”

My bravery surprised me, but I had to get finished with this woman so I could get to my son.

Jenellis glared back at me. “Not sure what you are talking about, but I need you to come with me.”

“Oh, so you can stab me with another needle, tie me up, and kill me?” I still had the scissors, I remembered. I could see the five-bladed shears on the floor under the desk where I had been kneeling.

“Kill you?” Jenellis looked taken aback. “Look, Ms. St. James, I'm not going to deny that you have every reason to believe I mean you harm, the way I've treated you.” She actually smiled apologetically, like she was trying to be my friend. “But consider this: if I was really trying to kill you, wouldn't you already be dead?”

I looked in her eyes, wondering how I missed so much with her. Then it occurred to me, she had no idea that I'd seen those files, found out her game. She did not know I had the upper hand of knowing who, or what, she really was.

A “black widow.”

She was right. She could have killed me, but she still needed me alive for some reason.

I needed to survive to get out of there. The police, justice for those poor men, would come eventually. I just needed to get out of there. I bent down as if to fix my shoe, but reached for the scissors instead, tucked them in my waistband.

“Where are we going?” I walked toward her.

She smiled and motioned for me to follow her, completely ignoring my question.
What the heck am I doing?
I asked myself as I fell in line right beside her.
Surviving.
I patted the scissors on my hip for reassurance.

“I'm so sorry about what I had to do to you, but I need you to help me find my daughter.”

And I need to find my son!
I could not even get the words out, only wanted to figure out what I had to do to get out of there.

“So, what do you think of our venue for our upcoming wedding?” she asked as smoothly as she'd just apologized for kidnapping me. We were heading down the hallway toward what looked like the main entry of the restaurant.

I decided to keep playing along until I had a better idea of what was going on. “It's a beautiful place. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they closed it down for the morning. The fantasy date for that dating show, you know? But Brayden and I have talked about it, smoothed out the misunderstanding, and wanted to use this time as a private walk-through to finalize the arrangements and clarify some other concerns.”

“I thought you said this place stayed booked?”

“Oh, it does.” She nodded. “But the next event wasn't scheduled until later this evening, and when you can offer the right price, you can get almost anything done.”

“I really was hoping that Silver would show for the date, though.” She glanced at me as she spoke. I stayed quiet.

Jenellis had no idea how much I knew. My confidence strengthened.

“Where are we going?” I tried again as we entered a small parlor.

“Oh, Brayden should be here now. It's time for our final session. Couples therapy, right?” Jenellis flicked a light switch on and off to no avail. “Why isn't this light working?” She looked genuinely confused.

“Hello, ladies,” a voice, smooth as butter, sounded from behind us. Both Jenellis and I jumped, but she recovered immediately.

“Hi, Brayden, you startled me.” She chuckled. David entered the room behind him. Jenellis's smile dropped.

“David, what are you . . . doing with Brayden?”

All three of them stared at each other, a silent conversation I was not privy to. Jenellis looked nervous, something I'd never seen before.

Whatever confidence I'd felt began deflating from me like a pinpricked balloon.

“First things first,” Brayden spoke, turning his attention to me. “Where is she?”

“Huh?” I was so scared my thoughts had stopped connecting.

“Where is she?” Brayden asked again.

“Where is who?” My heart was beating wildly. Jenellis smiled at me.

“You know exactly who I'm talking about.” Brayden's voice held a threat.

David pulled out a silver chain, a broken butterfly charm dangling on the end.

“Silver?” I tried to keep myself from shaking. “I don't know where she is.”

“Of course you do. That's why Jenellis bought you here, am I right?” Brayden spoke like a man who was very much in control. I wondered if he knew Jenellis's ultimate plans for him.

“What are you talking about, Brayden?” Jenellis blurted. Now I was thoroughly confused. I did not know who knew what anymore.

Brayden ignored her interruption. “I'm going to tell you a secret, Ms. St. James.” He mockingly lowered his voice as he stepped closer to me, but it was clear that everyone in the room could still hear him. “I'm a struggling man. That's right, I am poor. Ain't got but seven dollars and thirteen cents in my bank account. These suits I wear, the cars I drive? They're not mine. I wash the cars and run the errands of a very wealthy businessman in Shepherd Hills. Reggie doesn't even know I've been borrowing his things, but I had to. It was the only way I knew Jenellis would ever notice me. And I needed her to notice me.”

“Okay, stop it,” Jenellis outright yelled. “I don't know what you are doing, what you are talking about, but we need to stay on topic and finish what we came out here for. Brayden, we don't have time for some silly game. Sienna, where is my daughter?” She blinked at me innocently.

“Wait.” Brayden held up his hand. “We'll get to that, but I need to finish my story, because I
am
finishing what
I
came out here for.” I didn't miss the hardening in his eyes. “As I was saying, I'm a struggling man, but I needed Jenellis to notice me. I met this woman here a long time ago and was wowed, and I knew that to ever have a chance with her I needed to up my game. But I've learned that beauty and money mean nothing. See, I do my research.” He turned to look Jenellis straight in the eye. “And I dig all through the past. There's been a stream of men with money you've met, married, and murdered. Fortunately, I'm not going to be one of them. I know who you are, Jenellis. Exactly who you are.”

The files I'd found in the office must have been his, I realized.

Jenellis chuckled. “You're so smart, huh?” She kept smiling. “You think all I've been after is money? Let me explain something to you. The first man I married terrorized me. He beat me and I suffered every single day I was with him. I decided that I wasn't going to take it from him or anyone else and that changed the whole purpose of my life. As far as me having his money—he owed me for what he did to me and my girls. And as far as murder? That's something you're going to have to prove.”

“I don't have to prove anything. From what I understand, your own daughter is ready to rat you out. It's a shame she has to be hidden from you, her own mother.”

I was taking notes as their conversation bounced back and forth. I also was creeping unnoticed closer to the door. David was in my way, but he appeared to be too engrossed in the heated dialogue to really pay me any mind.

“There is absolutely no way that I would ever hurt either of my daughters.” Jenellis spoke evenly, pointedly to Brayden.

“And yet, one is already dead. Shot to death two months ago, burned beyond recognition. And the other has been in hiding, staging her own kidnapping just to stay out of your view.”

“If that is what you want to believe, I can't help you. I'm sorry it's come to this. I really liked you, but I can't let you hurt me or my daughters. And I liked you too, David.” She smiled sadly at the younger man.

She'd said “daughters.” I did not miss that.
Impossible.
The other one was dead, right? I wanted something to make sense. I wanted to get out of there.

Before anyone could say another word or move, both men suddenly dropped lifeless to the floor and I screamed.

“What . . . what happened?” I ducked, I ran, I kept screaming.

“Oh, hush, Ms. St. James.” Jenellis rolled her eyes. “They'll be okay. Just a little tranquilized until we decide what to do with them.”

“We?” I gasped, still trying to understand how Jenellis had even shot them. Her hands were empty.

“Don't be silly. You would never last as my partner. Would she?”

“Never.” A voice came from behind me.

Silver.

A sophisticated-looking tranquilizer gun hung from her right hand.

“I . . . I don't understand.” I tried to speak quickly because I didn't think a pair of scissors was any match for that thing in Silver's hand, and I didn't know if they had yet decided on a plan for me.

“That fool thought I was an idiot. I figured out his game a long time ago. I only wanted to see how much he
thought
he knew, and he just told me. I do actually like him, but, unfortunately, he is messing with my mission.”

“Mission?”

“Ms. St. James, you and I really are on the same side. We just go about getting results in two very different ways. See, all Brayden saw was that the men I've been with are wealthy; what he did not realize is that they all—all of them—had a history of abusing women. After my experience with Sheldon, I decided to do something about it. Whereas you advocate talking it through and ‘therapitizing' these creatures, if that's even a word, I just get straight to the point. I make sure these dirt bags know what it means to suffer, that they know what it means to be at the painful mercy of someone bigger and stronger than them.”

“But only rich dirt bags, right?”

“Hey, teaching these bastards a lesson isn't free. And the way I see it, those pigs didn't deserve their wealth. For what I've been through, I deserve every last penny they have.”

“You and you alone. You have become the representative and the sole compensated victim of abused women everywhere.”

“If I'm the one brave enough to step up, why shouldn't I be the one to live it up? Come on, sister, I'm sure that, as a therapist, you see firsthand the hurt, the pain, the suffering that so many women endure because of domestic abuse. Am I really wrong for what I do?”

“Yes, I do see the hurt, the pain, and the suffering and I recognize the devastation abuse of any nature can cause.” I glanced over at Silver, who quickly looked away. “But there are ways to address it that bring healing and real help, and not simply revenge. Think about it, Ms. Walker, we're standing here with two men down—two innocent men, mind you—and a trail of other bodies over the past, what, ten years? And are you really healed and whole?”

“I'm winning.”

“So, basically, you're admitting to murder and calling yourself righteous?” Even as I asked her, RiChard flashed through my mind. The social revolutionary who accepted any cost for the sake of freedom as he defined it.

He was still out there and I was still here.

God, don't let my son be the ultimate cost for RiChard's self-directed quest for justice and my willingness not to question him.
There were principles, spiritual and otherwise, that were surfacing in my well of thoughts and feelings, but I did not have time to draw them up, to examine them.

I just needed to get out of there.

Alive.

As if reading my mind, Jenellis gave me a large smile. “You really are a nice person. I am so sorry that you had to get in the middle of this. I must admit, I guess there is some value in therapy. Now that I've gotten all this out, I do feel better about myself. Silver, can you please see Ms. St. James out while I tend to these two? The tranquilizer should be wearing off soon, and I'm still deciding how to end this painlessly for both of them after I find out the last thing I need to know.”

Silver immediately pointed the tranquilizer gun at me. “Let's go.” When I didn't immediately move, she added, “You can walk out or I can drag you out. Your choice. Let's go.”

The scissors in my waistband would do me no good if I was sedated, I decided. I needed the right moment to move, and this wasn't it; though I was not sure what that moment would be—or even what I would do if and when the moment came.

Survive,
I reminded myself.
For the sake of my son,
I convinced myself, trying to brace for possible action that would involve stepping out way beyond anything I'd ever come close to doing.