Chapter 120

word count 1066

Trudy stretched out on her back, resting on the cot in the tiny cell and looking at the ceiling, her mind a million miles away. She hurt all over, not just from the wrestling and fist fight with Simone, but her heart ached. Simone had called her an emotional cripple. Easy to manipulate, hungry for love, she said she pitied her. Pitied her.

Was that how people thought of her, with pity? And was she this wretch who wandered around looking for love like a lost puppy?

Oh my God? Was that how she looked at life? As though everything was about her? Never meaning to please anyone else? If a person hurt her, she picked up her pain and quickly latched onto a new admirer. Until that fell through, then it was all about her pain again until she found another replacement. And she knew she wasn't choosy, hopping into bed with whomever was within reach. And she certainly didn't give a hoot about the person left behind. The previous lover meant nothing once a new one came into view.

She bolted up from the cot and paced the cell. The realization was digging deep, like a sharpened bladed slicing in to reveal her darkest secret...self loathing. She hated herself and kept trying to feel better by getting approval and love from anybody who would give her the time of day. And the only consummate way to do that she knew was sexual, the ultimate profession of love. But she could keep it quick and easy, conversation not even particularly necessary. Words and constancy frightened her. She could see that now. She wanted love but was afraid to stick around in any permanent way for fear of revealing how little she had to offer. Getting excited over Simone was the most commitment she had ever made to anybody, because Simone initiated and guided it along, lathering it all with sweet words and embraces. But it certainly didn't last long which didn't surprise her now that she thought about it.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the bars. This wasn't how she wanted to go on. She didn't want people to be nice to her out of pity. She wanted their respect.

No more brassy lipstick! No more crazy hair or outlandish clothes! No more stilettos! From now on, she would be a plain Jane. She'd subdue herself and choose her words carefully. She'd fade into the background rather than barging into the middle. She'd wait for people to speak to her first, and she wouldn't overwhelm them. She'd let them talk about themselves and lead her rather than pushing herself onto anyone. She'd reveal herself slowly, learn about her surroundings and the people in it. Start from scratch, match herself up to her world, and figure out who she was and where she wanted to be...as an individual by taking the time to listen to herself.

In that dark and lonely cell, on that day, Trudy Hunt found her soul...

***

"Mrs. Dunn, do you hear something?" Buzz's acute hearing detected activity downstairs...next, the doorbell.

"Yes, Detective Miller, I hear Westminster Chimes. Someone is at the door downstairs."

"This is our only chance! Watch me, make noise with your chair, and YELL."

At that precise moment, Mark burst through the door, stopping the two in their tracks. He clutched his police revolver pointed at Mrs. Dunn. Quick thinking made him realize to threaten the innocent woman would freeze Miller in place. He was right.

"Don't get any bright ideas!" He hissed the words while picking up the tape. Pulling some off with his teeth, he slapped a strip across Buzz's mouth, then proceeded to do the same with Mrs. Dunn. Laying down his gun, he checked them both to make sure the tape was secure.

"Mick! There are some gentlemen here to see you!" It was his mother's voice from downstairs. He glared at the two captives.

"You two try anything, and I'll be here so fast your heads will spin, and I'll be coming to blow Mrs. Dunn away." He left the room muttering about what a pain in the ass they'd turned out to be.

When he reached the living room, Hank and Gil were seated having tea with mother. Neither man looked comfortable. Mother had that effect on people.

"What's up?" he asked slipping onto a chair.

"Have you heard from Buzz, Mick? Did you say you talked to him yesterday?"

Uh oh! They must have been comparing notes. A quick slip of the tongue yesterday and they may be now realizing his story's weaknesses.

"Did I say that? I meant I left him a voice mail explaining all that happened. I never really talked to him in person. Have you guys heard from him?"

"No," Gil said. "Did you tell Hank you tried to call me? Because I didn't see a missed call on my phone?"

"I thought I did! Well, maybe I dialed the wrong number. Who knows! Does it matter? I was in a hurry when I did it."

Gil perked up. "Well, why don't you check your phone now and see what number you called?"

"If you don't mind my saying so, Gil, aren't you making a big deal out of this? So what if my call didn't show up on your phone. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were being accusatory, bro!"

Gil swallowed and studied the other man for a moment. Hank shifted in his seat. Finally, Gil spoke. "Yeah, sorry, Mick! Shoulda skipped that third cup of coffee this morning, eh? Makes me jittery!" He looked to Hank. "Let's get going, buddy! See ya at the station later, Mick!"

Mark rubbed his chin, studying Gil, then got up to show them to the door. When they'd left, he looked to his mother. "Mother, I have a bad feeling about this. I think we'd better move our prisoners and escalate our plans."

When they got to the car, Gil got behind the wheel and rested his head on his arm against the wheel. "There's something not right about Mick," he said.

"Yeah, I feel it, too. He's not acting right. I mean, he hasn't been klutzy like he usually is. He hasn't tripped or fallen or dropped anything. He hasn't said dumb things. I dunno. Something's not right."