Anybody's Child by Michelle Kidd (polar express read aloud .TXT) 📕

Obviously, Dominic hadn’t intended for her to come around so soon, which meant she had the opportunity to stay one step ahead of them. On the other hand, the authorities might be on their way at that moment. Who knew how long before they arrived? She must move fast.

Her first obstacle would be getting Mackenzie’s body out of her bed. She groaned. Mackenzie easily reached six feet and close to two hundred pounds. How on earth was she supposed to move him? She scanned the room, searching for something to help her. She was smart too, knowing everything he came in contact with had the potential to transfer DNA.

Plastic. She needed something big enough to wrap Mack’s body.

Her brain surged ahead despite the drug coursing through her veins. Okay, Raven. You got this. She ran to the bathroom and pulled down the shower curtain. Wrap everything—body, sheets, quilt. Take no chances!

Shame surged through her like a foul toxin. What kind of life had she chosen for herself? Raven wondered how she’d grown so calloused. It’s for a greater good, she coaxed herself. Even though she hadn’t known him long, Mack wasn’t like some of the other slime balls she’d met in this line of work. Perhaps, in time—if things had been different—she’d like to think.

Snap out of it! She reeled in her thoughts and focused on spreading the plastic across the quilt in the space next to Mack. Raven realized she had to roll him onto it. Easy, right? Wrong! His dead weight was like trying to shove toothpaste back inside the tube.

After several steadying breaths, she grabbed him by the shirt. “Sorry, buddy,” she whispered, and forced herself not to look. She squeezed her eyes closed. Just do it!

But try as she might, she only managed to move him a half inch. The thin fabric felt delicate beneath her hands and ripped from Mack’s dead weight. She gulped in large breaths of air as she let him drop back into the mattress.

No upper body strength, leastways not from this angle. She’d have to go around to the other side and push. Maybe if she leveraged her legs and shoved with her back. Despite the chill of the room, sweat trickled down her face. She wiped the dampness away with her sleeve and circled to the opposite side.

There wasn’t much space between the gap and the wall. How had Dominic managed it? He was twice her size. She squeezed into the tight spot, positioned her hands on Mackenzie’s left shoulder, and placed her feet against the wall. With a shove, she sent him flopping over to his stomach and onto the shower curtain. Success!

Raven panted her relief and took a moment to catch her breath. But she didn’t have that luxury—not with the possibility of the police arriving any second. Her eyes flickered to the clock. It was 3:24.

Move! Raven ran to the other side, stripped the bed of the pillowcases, and shoved them on top of Mackenzie while attempting to gather the rest of the bedding. She hated to sacrifice one of Granny’s quilts, but there was no avoiding it. Nothing must be traced to her.

Once everything was wrapped in the shower curtain like an oversized burrito, she needed to get him to her car. She considered pushing but realized a fall would cause him to tumble out the plastic. Fibers from the carpet might transfer to his shirt and vice versa.

Raven scanned the room, whispering a prayer for help and scoffing at the irony. She spotted the desk chair with rollers and shoved it to the side of the bed. She’d have to crawl up beside him to get enough strength to pull his upper torso to the chair. It wasn’t like she had never seen a dead body, but it didn’t make her any less squeamish at the prospect.

This was insane.

Perhaps she should have placed the sheet on the floor and rolled everything onto it, in the first place. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d wasted so much time. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Then again, it wasn’t every day she needed to dispose of a dead body.

After grappling with Mack, the sheet, and the curtain, she finally pulled the plastic out from under him and laid it flat beside the bed. Precious minutes ticked away. Her teeth chattered despite her arms and legs being drenched with sweat. She had to stop her knees from trembling, or she’d never have the strength to drag him down the hall.

Once more, she wedged herself between the wall and the bed, this time with her back against him. Bracing her feet, she shoved with all her might and winced at the sickening thud of Mackenzie’s body landing on the floor.

Next, she stripped the mattress of bedding before rushing to the linen closet and remaking the bed. Couldn’t risk the chance of the police arriving and questioning what happened to the sheets.

By now, it was after four a.m. Raven ran to the kitchen to check for signs of movement. Her eyes searched the darkness, alert for danger. No flashing red lights, no sun rising over the horizon. There was still time. Water. She needed water.

Grabbing the glass from the sink, she thrust it under the faucet. Too impatient to allow it to fill, she guzzled it down. The water dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt, but Raven hardly noticed. She drained it twice before returning to the bedroom.

She stared at the plastic-wrapped body, blinking as she considered how to get it down the hall and to her car. There was no way to carry it. She’d barely pushed him from the bed. Think, Raven, think!

Raven would need to slide it. She realized her mind had already disengaged—survival instincts kicked in—referring to his body as a thing rather than him. No time to consider how her thought process had descended into anarchy. She was thankful the hardwood floor provided a smooth surface. Once more, Raven maneuvered the blanket beneath the body enough to ease it down the hall and to the door.

Until now, she’d relied on her brains, but to move him from here—to the porch, down the steps, and into the car—it would take sheer strength. She squared her shoulders and imagined her Granny working on the quilt and the pains she’d put into all the stitches. What would she think if she could see her now?

Beth longed for the escape sleep offered, a place where she wouldn’t have to think or feel. But like wild dogs, her dreams gnawed at her with their shiny fangs and refused to allow her to rest. The night had become her enemy.

The same vision plagued her, varying only slightly, always beginning with a noise. As much as she wanted to stay in bed, a force compelled her to rise. Her feet followed the same path as that fateful evening. As sure as she sensed the evil lurking beyond, she was helpless to stop herself from reaching for the doorknob, entering her mom’s bedroom, and watching the gruesome event play over in her mind. Unlike the first time, she often confronted a hooded figure. A dark shape loomed over her mom, dripping blood from a glittering blade. The killer would reel about, angry at being discovered, and chase her through the house. Some nights she made it outside. Her frantic banging woke the neighbors, but no one would open the door for her. The lights would go out, and she would be forced to flee to the next porch with the monster close on her heels.

 Sometimes, like tonight, she’d open her eyes and see a figure standing at the foot of her bed. Beth would lift her head and try to run, only to discover herself paralyzed. With a scream locked inside her throat, she’d awaken breathless, covered in sweat, and her heart beating like a wild creature trying to hammer its way free.

Even now, as Beth waited for her pulse to return to normal, she did her best to convince herself the images weren’t real. Her mind reasoned the unlikelihood, but she couldn’t shake the impression someone had been in her room, watching. The oversized hoodie blocked the face, hiding any recognizable features.

Beth sat up and blinked. Was it possible she’d seen her mother’s killer but blocked it from her memory? She shivered in her damp T-shirt. Someone had been in her room that night. The knife was found in her closet—probably placed there while she slept.

Wide-awake and all hopes of sleep gone, she threw the comforter to the side. Her throat was dry. She needed a drink. Something warm might help her to relax.

She made her way into the hallway and stopped to check on Mindy. She tiptoed to the bed, careful to avoid the squeaky board that might disturb the sleeping girl. In the soft, pink glow of the nightlight, her sister’s face looked flushed. Beth brushed aside a silky curl and sighed. A sudden protectiveness welled inside her. She tucked the blanket tighter around the tiny figure and eased into the hall.

About halfway to the kitchen, she realized the light was on. Her pulse raced. Dad? The refrigerator closed with a soft sucking noise, and the familiar shuffling of slippered feet reassured her everything was okay.

When she entered the kitchen, Dad looked up, surprised. “Beth?” He balanced an aluminum pan, a fork, and a mug. “Another nightmare?”

She nodded and gestured to the food. “Just came to see what was in the fridge.”

“Well, here.” He set everything on the table and pulled out the chair. “Join me.”

“Guess you can’t sleep, either.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the drawer, plucked out a second fork, took his seat, and peeled back the aluminum. After a minute, when Beth didn't move, he looked up. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

Beth blew out a breath, sending her bangs swirling before she flopped down. “Dad, why won’t you talk to me?”

He forked a bite of pie into his mouth, swallowed, and gazed at her with a resigned expression. “I told you this morning. I don’t want to discuss it. You’re dealing with enough right now.” He handed her the other fork in a manner that said the discussion was closed.

But Beth wouldn’t let it go. She accepted the utensil but held it in her fist rather than join him. “I’m not a baby anymore. I’ll turn eighteen in August.”

“Beth.” His tone took on a warning note. “This isn’t about your being a child. This goes deeper than—”

“So, there is something you’re not telling me.” She pounced on the words.

“Let it go, honey. I can’t discuss police matters.”

“But you do think Uncle Mike had something to do with it,” Beth accused.

“First of all, he is not your uncle; and second, I didn’t say that. I’m not sure what to believe. Mike’s been a good friend, but what explanation could he have for running off without a word to anyone?”

“You are suspicious he’s gone. You suspect him, don’t you?”

His strained expression betrayed him.

“Did it occur to