Fear Thy Neighbor (59)
Ali realized she knew very little about her friend. “That’s pretty drastic, though not my business,” she said, wishing she’d kept that to herself.
“I know it is. I was there because I wanted to give it a try. I’d had this silly fantasy after a movie I saw in seventh grade. I just had to go to an all-girls’ boarding school in Switzerland. I begged my mom and dad to let me at least start high school there, and if I didn’t like it, I’d come home.”
“Did you like it?” Kit asked.
“Not as much as I thought I would, but it was quite an experience for a fourteen-year-old. When I came home for the summer, I realized how much I missed living on the island, having the beach at my doorstep. Plus, I never did learn how to snow ski. My parents were thrilled, to say the least. I came home, and the next year, they died in an explosion, a gas leak on their boat. I’m told they didn’t suffer. I’m not sure I believe that. It’s certainly not the ending I expected for them.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ali repeated.
“Thanks, but I’m okay now. It took a while for me to come to terms with their passing, but it was simply a freak accident. I believe our destinies are predetermined, and it was their time to go. Dad took that summer off; no traveling to his clinics. I remember him telling me and Mom he just wanted to spend the summer with his girls. That’s how he referred to us.” Valentina walked across the room to stare out the window. “They’d taken the boat out. They were planning to sail over to Sanibel Island for dinner. They did that a lot during that last summer. It was always so cool to me. Even though I’d sailed numerous times with them, I just got a kick out of taking the boat to dinner, seeing the island from a different perspective.”
Kit remained quiet, maybe lost in thoughts of his own. After a moment, he said, “I remember reading about that in the paper. I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together sooner,” he told Valentina.
“Don’t be sorry for me. I’ve had a decent life. It’s Renée I’m sorry for. I swear I’ll send her to Switzerland. Anywhere that’s far away from that perverted piece of garbage.”
“You’ll do what’s best for her,” Ali said. “Renée is a good kid, just young and impressionable.”
“I get that, but why him, of all people? He’s old enough to be her father! It’s sick!” Val said, then stepped away from the window. “I’ve always disliked him. She knows this. He knows it, too.”
Ali rubbed the old scar on her temple, thinking back to when she was Renée’s age. She had been hardened, wise beyond her years. No way would she have been intimidated by a freak like John Wilson. But before the final experience that sent her running, she’d always held a shred of hope that her life would turn out to be normal, happy, if only the state would find a nice foster family for her to spend the last two years of high school with.
Chapter Thirteen
Covered in blood—her own and his—Alison reached the bus station and saw that it was empty, except for a clerk who appeared lost in his video game. She hurried to the ladies’ room before he could spot her.
Seeing herself in the mirror, then quickly looking away, she turned the faucet on with her uninjured arm. Alison was grateful it was her left arm that was injured, since she was right-handed. She caught the icy cold water in her right hand, splashing her face several times before she dared to look in the mirror again. A cut on the left side of her head oozed blood. She leaned in closely to get a better look. The cut was deep; it probably needed stitches. She also sensed her arm was broken, but medical attention was out of the question. If she showed up at the emergency room at this hour, with her injuries, it wouldn’t take long for someone at the hospital to call Child Protective Services. She’d be returned to the Robertsons’, where she was unprotected by those who were paid to protect her and three other girls.
Each pulse of her heartbeat magnified the pain in her head and arm. Knowing she had to take care of her injuries on her own, she went inside one of the three stalls, choosing the handicapped one, because it was biggest. She slid down onto the dirty tile, not caring there was urine on the floor. She’d seen much worse. With the small amount of cash she’d saved, she had enough for aspirin and some kind of arm bandage. Alison stayed in the stall for another hour before the pain sent her out into the night, searching for relief. Pretty sure IGA was open twenty-four hours, she made her way out of the bus station undetected.
It took an hour for her to walk the three miles. She kept telling herself all the pain in the world was better than being around him. Inside the IGA, the scent of the bakery’s yeasty sweetness filled the air. The tasty donuts were famous around town. Alison wanted one so badly she could taste it. She hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. Finding the aisle where the pain relievers were, she chose a generic bottle of extra-strength acetaminophen, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a box of Band-Aids. Unable to find a brace, she opted for an Ace bandage. She’d figure out a way to use it. Next, she headed to the bakery, where the donuts still smelled like heaven. She took a box of six, along with a small carton of chocolate milk, not knowing when she’d have another chance to eat.
She dropped her purchases onto the conveyer belt. The cashier, an older woman, shook her head. “Girl, you look pretty beat up,” she said as she bagged her items. She took her cash but didn’t speak again. Alison was grateful. Yes, she was beat up, but more mentally than physically. As soon as she left the store, she headed back to the bus station, and again she slipped in without anyone paying attention. She’d had three of the donuts and all of the milk on her walk back. Now back in the handicapped stall, she swallowed four of the pills, using water cupped in her good hand from the faucet.