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  DISTURBED BEAUTY

  Disturbed Beauty © Ashley Beale, 2015

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights. You are not permitted to give or sell this book to anyone for any reason. Any trademarks, product names, service marks, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. All rights are reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events, or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictiously.

  Published by: Ashley Beale

  Beta Readers: Sandi Laubhan, Anita Shofner, Sammy Baker, Lisa McCarty, Christina Concus

  Cover Imagine © 2015 - depositphotos.com

  You have one new voice message. New message received today at five-fifty-three PM.

  "Liv. It's me, Roman. Listen. I know I'm the last person you want to speak with right now, but I need to tell you something. I know you want to go after Clarissa. I know you want to save her, but you can't. If you go after her... you'll both end up dead. Don't tell her parents. Don't tell anyone. I'll call you in one week. Oh, and Liv... I'm sorry."

  Two weeks. He told me he'd call me in one week and it's been two. I've tried calling, numerous times a day actually, and so far nothing.

  I try one more time, and the phone just rings... and rings some more. "The person you're trying to reach has a voicemail box that has not yet been set up."

  I want to punch that operator in her imaginary throat.

  Getting out of the car, I waiver a minute, wondering if this is what I want to be doing. He told me not to tell anyone, but it's been two weeks. Clarissa could be dead. Roman could be dead. I... I could be next.

  Closing the door, I walk slowly to the red front door. It's all a lie. The white picket fence and matching two story home, the shutters shaping each window, and the pillars surrounding the front entrance. This is a home built for a family. A happy, loving family that worked their asses off to be where they're meant to be. This house shouldn't be for her.

  I press the door bell, listening to it echo inside the home. The clicking of heels sound just before the door creeks open. She stands before me, a black and white apron covering her yellow sundress. She runs her hands over the front of it, straightening it out. No hint of a smile anywhere on her properly outlined face.

  "Liv."

  "Can I come in?"

  She looks me up and down before peeking over her shoulder. Grabbing the door handle, she steps outside and slowly closes the door behind her. "What do you want Liv?" Taryn's harsh tone isn't lost on me.

  I was never sure why she chose to live with a filthy rich man twice her age, or why she became a house mom to his kids. It was so sudden, and ever since she met him, she's changed into a woman she never used to be. Now she pretends our existence is obsolete. She is far too good for dad and I.

  "I need to speak to you... in private." I plead with her.

  She props her hip out, placing her hand snuggly on it. She looks bored with me. "About what? Dad drink himself dead yet?"

  "Whoa." I take a step back. Her words cut like a sharp knife. "No, Taryn. I just wanted to know if you knew anything about..." I can't seem to finish my words. I haven't spoken about any of this out loud since Roman walked away from me just over two weeks ago. The emotions clog my throat up, making it hard for me to speak.

  "About?" Her brows lift with curiosity. Or annoyance. Probably both.

  Closing my eyes, I softly speak out the words, "Roman Pelletier and Blaise Cole."

  When nothing is said from Taryn, I slowly crack my eyes open. Her stance has completely changed. Her shoulders sag and her breathing has increased dramatically. I can't find anything more to say. She looks lost in another world. Even though her eyes are looking directly at me, I see the vacancy in them.

  "Taryn?" I softly try to get her attention.

  Her body jolts. With a several quick blinks of her eyes, she finally gives me back her attention. "Stay away from them." She quickly turns to walk back into her home.

  "That's it?"

  She reaches for the doorknob but doesn't open the door quite yet. Without facing me she adds, "They're bad people, Liv. Dangerous. Stay away."

  "They have Clarissa," I quickly add when she opens her door.

  She turns to face me, looking at me through the crack. With a trembling lip she says, "Then she's dead."

  The door latches shut, leaving me alone, just as terrified I was before.

  Dad is home when I get there, sitting on the couch with a beer in hand. He looks my way with a smile when I peek into the living room. I force a smile of my own. I've pretended the last two weeks to either be busy or happy, fooling everyone around me the absolute best I can. No one has questioned anything yet, so it's obviously working.

  "Hey kiddo. Where have you been?"

  I can't exactly tell him the truth, but thankfully I've become great at lying. "With my roommate. We have midterms coming up and we've been putting in extra study time lately, preparing for them."

  He shines with pride. "How is school going for you anyways? Feels like weeks since I've actually seen you."

  "It's... school." I shrug, playing nonchalant. I can't bear the thought of telling him that I've barely been making it to classes and it's possible I'm failing a few courses because of it.

  "Well it's good to see you. You staying for supper?"

  I shake my head remorseful. "I can't. I was just stopping in to grab a few things."

  "Okay." He watches me closely. Just before I'm about to walk towards the bedroom, he stops me. "Oh, Liv?"

  "Yeah dad?"

  "Have you heard from Clarissa? I know you've been busy, but her mom called to say she hasn't been able to get ahold of her."

  I force myself to become unemotional over the topic of Clarissa, and although I know I shouldn't lie by saying I've spoken with Clarissa, the last thing I need is for her parents to call the police. "Yeah, I'm actually on my way to meet up with her. We were thinking of taking a few days to go to Los Angeles together. Get away from the stress of school and everything."

  Dad cocks his head to the side, obviously confused by the random last minute trip out of state. "And you weren't planning on telling me?"

  "We honestly just discussed it last night. I was going to let you know before we left. Her parents have their vacation home there, and whereas I've never been out of state before, we thought it was a great idea. School has really been getting the best of both us."

  I hope my lie doesn't sound like one. Everything just comes out naturally, it was never thought of beforehand.

  It's almost as if he thinks on it for a moment, but he doesn't argue when he speaks. "Well, I don't exactly feel comfortable saying yes, but you've been working hard and you're an adult now. Call me when you get there and before you leave, please."

  "Will do, Daddy." I walk over to hug him and kiss him on the forehead. "Love you."

  "Love you too, kiddo. Be safe."

  "I will be."

  As I walk out of the living room, he yells out, "And have Clarissa call her parents!"

  "Okay," I yell back. I'll absolutely have her call her parents... if she's alive.

  Getting into my room, I quickly grab my suitcase and throw it open. I can't be sure exactly what it is I need, but I want to make sure I have enough. Most of my clothing and hygiene products are at my dorm, so I grab mainly extra shoes, socks and sweatshirts, then I empty out my piggy bank into my suitcase. It's not much, but surely it's enough for a few meals.

  Last th
ing I grab is my passport. My dad got the family passports the summer before my mom passed away. We were going to go to Mexico on a family vacation, but it never happened. It's been sitting here unused all these years. I'm not sure if there is anything more that I need aside from a passport and identification to cross the border, but I'm going to have to try.

  Once everything is loaded into the suitcase, I tell my dad goodbye once more. He is so occupied with football, that he just waves a hand at me with a reminder to call when we get there.

  At the dorm, I load my suitcase with everything I'll need for at least a week, possibly more.

  Once I’m ready to leave, I glance at a picture of Clarissa and I hung over my bed. We're both wearing glasses far too large for our faces and colorful boas wrapped around our necks, with pursed kissy lips. That picture is one of my favorites of us. We had to have been ten at the time, and life was just... simple. We were happy. It was a time before school work got hard, family life became nonexistent, and boys had cooties. It was us- living happy and carefree.

  Next to the framed picture is my mom's mirror. An oval one surrounded in gold. I stare at the girl looking back at me. A lost soul. A girl who has been hurt far too many times and hasn't seen the light at the end of the tunnel yet. I may never see it.

  With a deep breath, I tell myself, "You can do this. You have to do this. For Clarissa. She needs you." I nod my head, as if answering myself. I may not be prepared, but I'm ready. I'm entering their world.

  Border patrol wasn't nearly as bad as I expected it to be. Ridiculously busy, but with a quick check of my passport and a couple odd questions, I was good to go. The last three hours of driving through Mexico however has been quite the adventure. Not that anything has actually happened per say, it's mainly learning the new street signs and getting used to the particular way people are in this foreign country.

  Needing to use the restroom, I park my car in the lot of what seems to be a small cafe.

  I grab a few belongings and lock the car up tightly before heading inside. No more than five people are seated among a lengthy bar, talking with the extremely pregnant waitress serving them an early dinner. I smile her way and ask¸ "Por favor, podría usar el baño?"

  Her eyes squint but no words leave her mouth. Maybe I didn't ask to use the bathroom correctly, or maybe it’s not like America where you're able to use public restrooms. It's the first place I've seen in the last half hour though, so I didn't want to risk driving any further. Her finger points to the back end of the restaurant and I thank her in my tarnished Spanish.

  After using the bathroom, I quickly wash up and stare at myself in the mirror. I look exhausted and pale. These last couple weeks have really been eating at me. Using the paper towels, I dampen one with warm water and wipe at the back of my neck. I just need a second of deep breathing to settle my gut. It's been upset since I reached the border.

  Honestly, I have no idea where I'm going or what is going to happen when I get there. I faintly remember Blaise mentioning the name Delicias on the phone to one of his friends, and twice I heard the name Pedro. Not to mention the words of Roman before he left... "I'll be there in about ten hours."

  I researched cities and towns in Mexico. A little more than ten hours from Roman's home is a city called Pedro Meoqui, just miles from Delicias. It doesn't mean I'll find Roman, Blaise, or even Clarissa in either of these cities, but I'm hoping it'll at least push me in the right direction.

  When I walk out of the bathroom, the lady from behind the counter grabs me and pulls me into her utility closet. She does it so fast, I don't even have time to react. I wouldn't want to anyways, not wanting to harm her unborn child.

  Her English isn't well, but she manages to speak clear enough. "You shouldn't be here." Her voice remains whispered and harsh.

  "Excuse me?" I ask softly.

  The only thing lighting up the small square of space is a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It dangles back and forth, leaving a soft glow over the panicked woman and me. She seems truly concerned, and it’s almost as if she knows me. "Leave. Peligroso. Danger." Her eyes widen, possibly in fear herself.

  I can't help but look down at her ever-growing stomach and wonder if this was a blessing or something created from a curse. I don't question it though, knowing it's not my business, nor will it help me find what I'm looking for.

  Instead of asking what it is that's so dangerous, I ask, "Do you know Roman Pelletier?"

  She shakes her head no and points to the door. "Tiene que ir."

  "I need to go?"

  "Si, go."

  Taking a step back towards the door, I risk asking one last question. "Do you know Blaise Cole?"

  She immediately holds her stomach as her face turns to pure white.

  "You do," I say. "Please, tell me where to find him."

  "Tiene que ir," she yells. "Go, go." Her hands force me back against the wall. "Go home. Never come back."

  Instead of leaving, like I know I should, I place my hand softly on her stomach. "Did he do this to you?"

  Her hand smacks mine away. I can see tears starting to brim in her eyes. I didn't mean to make her cry, and for that, I feel awful. The poor woman is only trying to help. She knows where to find him though, and for that reason alone, I need to ask one more time.

  "Please, tell me where to find Blaise. Por favor!"

  Her shaking hands finally grab mine, holding them the way I imagined a mother would. There is protection in the way she holds my hands snug between hers. "Archdiocese."

  "Wait, what does that mean?"

  She looks down at her stomach once more, still holding onto me tightly. She speaks even softer than before, almost to the point I can't understand her. "Find Archdiocese and you'll find Blaise."

  It's not exactly what I was expecting, but it's a hint. It'll have to do. "Gracias," I say, thanking her.

  As I walk out of the closet, she whispers, "God bless." I don't turn around, instead I bow my head, avoiding contact with anyone else, and walk through the restaurant towards my car.

  When I settle in the seat, I call my dad to check in. The estimated drive from home to Los Angeles is six hours, and it's been close to seven hours since I left. He answers on the second ring, obviously a bit worried. "Are you there?"

  "Yeah, we just got here," I lie. I hate that I have to keep lying.

  "Good." I can hear the tension leave his voice. "The Kingston’s have been worried sick. They said Clarissa never called, nor did she mention anything about Los Angeles."

  Shit. I didn't think about that when it came to the lie. I think quickly and say the first thing that comes to mind. "Oh, she was driving and we got caught up on the sites and gossip and singing. As soon as we settle in, I'll have her call. Promise."

  There is a slight pause then he breathes out heavily, causing a rattling sound to come through the speaker. "Okay. I trust you. Have fun, but not too much. Call me in the morning, please."

  "Will do dad. Love you."

  "Love you too, kiddo."

  I hang up the phone and immediately dial Roman's number one more time. This time it goes straight to the stupid ladies voice, telling me once again Roman is too lazy to set up his damn voicemail. My body starts to shake and I can feel the vomit start to rise. I was expecting to drive another couple hours before I reached where Blaise is, but according to the woman inside the restaurant, I'm closer than expected.

  Down the road a few more miles is a hotel. I pull off into the parking lot and head inside to the main office. I don't plan to get a room, although I may have to at this point. Mostly I need to ask about the town, and what or who archdiocese is.

  The man behind the desk is older, probably in his sixties. He definitely looks too old to be working still, especially all by himself. He grins widely at me, causing his wrinkles to sink further into his skin. There are hardly any teeth left in his mouth, and the ones that are there are coated in a brownish-green color, obviously rotting.

  "Hola," he welcom
es me kindly.

  "Hola," I return the greeting. I use my best Spanish to ask if I can ask him a question. The oxymoron is not lost on me. "Puedo hacerte una pregunta?"

  He laughs lightly and nods his head yes. "Si."

  I'm not sure how to ask, so I do my best. My Spanish is a little more out of practice than I realized. "Tú conoces, archdiocese?"

  He nods again before using his hands to first point to his forehead, then the middle of his chest, followed by each shoulder, making a cross. Does that mean religion? God? Someone has died? I can't figure it out.

  The man seems to understand my confusion. "Pray," he says in rusty English. He does the motion with his hands again. "Pray." He then points behind me to the left, as if telling me to go down the road. "Archdiocese."

  "Archdiocese, that way?" I point the same way as him.

  "Si. Si." He grins. "Pray."

  "Gracious," I thank him, grateful to get somewhat of an answer. A direction and a hint that it either has to do with religion or someone's passing. Either way, following the direction he pointed should help get me there.

  I get back in the car and quickly make my way further down the road, going slower. I glance at every sign, looking for another hint. Nearly a half mile down the road, I spot a massive stone building with a giant cross on the top, obviously a church of sorts. Two angels are on their knees next to the cross, with their hands pressed together in prayer. I pull to the side of the road in front of the church to find any signs.

  To the side of the church is a stone sign with lights illuminating over it. The words Cristo Rey are carved into it. Christ the King. Not exactly what I was looking for, but I have a feeling this may actually be it. I slip out of the car, locking it up, and walk towards the church, holding my cellphone tightly in my hand in case I need it.

  The front door is locked and the stained glass makes it hard to see inside. I walk around the church, but I'm too short to see in any of the windows. Near the backside is another entrance, a wooden door with a black handle. Although it's locked, it's a pinhole lock. I don't have bobby pins in my hair, so I search the ground for a small enough stick. When I find one, I push inside the lock and twist around. I feel the pop and remove the stick, then I cautiously open the door.