Almost Dead. Lisa Jackson

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      Marla barely looked up to greet her.

      Oh God, she was in a bad mood.

      Great.

      The euphoria of the escape had obviously seeped away. “Are you really watching this?” Elyse demanded, recognizing a popular reality show on the screen of the muted television.

      Silently, Marla gave her a look that said it all. Somehow, in prison, Marla had gotten hooked on all kinds of weird TV. “I like it. It’s escapism,” she said and offered a hint of a smile, the old cagey Marla surfacing for a second.

      “Okay, whatever. But I thought you’d like to get out of here.”

      “And go where?”

      “Upstairs.”

      “Someone might see me,” she said in a tone that suggested Elyse was an imbecile.

      “You can keep the blinds shut, but at least, at least it wouldn’t be like…”

      “A cell?” Marla said, scarcely moving her lips.

      “Yeah. Like a cell. Tomorrow, I’ll bring cleaning supplies and we’ll fix it up. It’s already furnished.”

      Marla snorted in disgust, her eyes wandering back to a group of people locked inside a windowless house together. Well, at least Marla could relate.

      “Look, I brought you something to eat.” Elyse held out the white paper sack. “A hamburger I picked up before I went to the house. Sorry it’s a little cold, but I didn’t want to stop afterward.”

      “The house?” Marla’s interest was suddenly sharp, though she didn’t seem the least bit interested in the food.

      “Yeah, the house. On Mt. Sutro.” She stepped closer to the chair and leaned down, whispering in Marla’s ear. “I killed Eugenia tonight. Just like we planned. Oh God…it was…perfect. She recognized me, too, the old bitch.”

      “You killed Eugenia? First?” Marla ignored the bag on her lap and glared at Elyse. “That wasn’t the way we planned it.”

      “Hey! Opportunity knocked, okay? And I got rid of her. I don’t see what difference it makes when they die or how they die, just as long as they die!”

      “You little—”

      “Don’t,” Elyse warned. “I risked my damned neck for you, so the least you could do is be interested or say ‘thank you’ or ‘good job,’ but do not, do you hear me, do not belittle me. I won’t stand for it.”

      “Testy, aren’t we?” Marla muttered.

      “Yes, we are. Both of us!”

      Marla composed herself. “All right,” she said slowly. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just so damned tired of being cooped up.”

      “That’ll change soon.”

      “Not soon enough.”

      Elyse scraped her hair away from her face in frustration. That was the problem with Marla, she was so damned moody. “Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you, but I had to work fast when I learned that Eugenia would be home alone. Crap, it’s not easy, you know.”

      “It’s not easy for me either. I’m the one who’s been in prison, and now…now this.”

      “You knew you’d have to keep a low profile for a while.”

      Marla frowned, but didn’t argue, thank God. “I think I just need some time to adjust.”

      “Yeah, well, me too. Go on, eat and watch…” she glanced at the television. “Whatever it is.”

      “House Arrest.”

      “Perfect.”

      Marla laughed then at the irony of it all.

      “I’ll be back. Tomorrow or the next day, whenever I can be free, and I’ll bring things we can use as your disguise. Then you can chance getting out again. How’s that?”

      “Better,” Marla agreed as the show on the television broke for a commercial for some kind of light beer. “Next time you come, make sure the food’s at least tepid.”

      “Right.”

      As Elyse left she wondered why she even bothered with the bitch.

      For the money, remember? The Cahill fortune? Just put up with her for a little while longer. She’s your ticket to wealth.

      But you’re right: she’s a first-class bitch.

      Live with it.

      Heart in her throat, Cissy hunted for her eighteen-month-old son. Please let him be okay. Please!

      “Beej! Honey? Where are you?” Fear pounding through her brain, a dozen horrid scenarios flashing behind her eyes, Cissy jogged the grounds of her grandmother’s house. Her gaze scraped the undergrowth, searching in the darkness. Her heart pounded a horrifying tattoo as the rain began to fall in earnest.

      What if she couldn’t find him?

      What if he somehow slipped through the bars of the gate?

      He was so small…so innocent.

      Oh God, please let him be safe!

      “B.J.?”

      Where were the damned cops? They could help!

      For the last two days they’d been hanging out and…thank God! She saw the first set of flashing lights, flaring red and blue on the hill below. The sirens screamed ever nearer, just as she spied her little boy cowering under an azalea. “Oh, B.J.” She splashed across the cold puddles in the yard and scooped him into her arms, hugging him tightly. He was dirty. And clinging. And crying. His hat was tilted drunkenly on one ear, tied around his neck like a noose. She untied it and pulled it off. He was safe. Safe. She drank in that special B.J. scent of his and swallowed the lump in her throat.

      “Me scay-o-ed,” he said, shivering in her arms.

      “Me too, baby.” She kissed his now-wet crown and held him close. Tears burned the back of her eyes at the thought of losing him. “But you’re okay now. Mommy’s here. Everything will be all right!” She walked to the gatepost, pressed in a code on the electronic keypad, and, as the gates swung open, the first cop car—an old Cadillac with a light mounted on the dash—roared up the hill, stopping at an odd angle on the street, blocking the drive. The second car, a marked cruiser, found a spot on the crowded street. A fire truck and EMT vehicle were right behind, working their way up the snakelike narrow road.

      “The cavalry,” Cissy said to her son, though she had a bad feeling about the boatlike first vehicle. It brought back memories she didn’t want to recall, recollections of another bad time in her life ten years earlier, the horrific events that had landed her mother in prison.

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