Bryan sat the folder on the counter and lend back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. He'd been going over the same folder for a hour now and the words were beginning to run together. He looked at the stove's clock. “One hour until this meeting and all we've got is her current back accounts, of which show nothing and maybe a paragraph of background history.” he said, sliding the folder across the counter. Angel picked it up and started reading though it.
“It says, Alexandria (age 10) and Meria (3 months) Anderson were placed in foster care by the state of California, after their mother and stepfather were arrested on drug and child abuse and neglect charges,” She flipped the page. “The father of the children had died in a car accident two years prier so the two were placed with a Michele Lawson. One year after being placed, the home burned. No survivors were found,” She flipped the page again. “The fire was thought to be an act of foul play, but with little evidence and no witnesses the case went cold.”
“What of the mother and stepfather?” asked Craig.
“I believe I saw that somewhere in here.” said Etta, as she flipped through the pages in her folder. “Yes, here it is. The stepfather, Richard Michael went to the Los Angeles County Prison and the mother, Lillian (Franks) Michael went to the Central California Women's Facility. Uh...” she flipped the page. “Michael died in the prison's medical center from a stab wound to the neck and Franks hung herself with a bed-sheet in her cell, both three months after their sentencing.”
“Not much to go on.” said Angel.
“No, but it is a long history of violence, all the more reason for Angel to be there.”
At that moment, his phone rang. He looked the caller ID, blocked number. He looked at Craig, who nodded, “Speaker.”
He nodded and pressed the speaker on. “Hello.”
“There's been a change of plans. We need to meet now.” Anger rode her voice. Bryan looked over at Craig; again he nodded answering his unspoken question.
“45 Marks Streets, Long Beach.”
“I'll be there in twenty.” she said and hung up.
“Well, it seems that we all get a chance to see the great Ghost.” said Etta, a smile forming her lips. “I think, I'll make some sandwiches and we can take it in the den.” she said, getting up. Craig stood, Bryan and Angel following him to the den. Twenty minutes later, Etta came in followed by the Ghost and two men. Etta sat the tray of sandwiches she had been carrying on the coffee table and wrapped her hands on the front of her apron before sitting on the sofa. Angel lend on the arm of the same sofa, her eyes skimming the woman and men, before coming to rest on the man in the middle. Bryan kept his eyes on the Ghost, who stood between the men. She was relaxed just like she was the other night. As though, the tension that rode the room was nonexistent. Those baby blues met his and her lips turned up in a smile, the same smile she had given him the other night, the same smile that knotted something deep inside his gut, enabling him to say anything. What is it about this woman that makes me so speechless? Her eyes flashed as they left his, as if forcing herself to look away. She took a deep breath,
“Etta Glason, the Black Widow, Max Craig, the Hammerhead, Angelia Craig, the Viper and Bryan Conner, the Jaguar, all in one room. I had no idea we would get the pleasure of meeting all of you.”
“Like wise...” said Angel, “Jac Tyler, the Goron, Marshall Tyler, the Phoenix, and of course, Alexis Johnson, the Ghost.” Her eyes brown eyes held the Ghost’s blue ones with indescribable fierceness. There had been many times that Bryan had been on the wrong of that glare.
“If the pissing contest is over, we would like to get down to business.” said Marshall Tyler, his gaze skimming Bryan before coming to rest on Angel. Angel smiled a smile of innocence,
“Of course, please come in.”
The men took the chairs, Etta had set up near the fireplace and the Ghost lend against the far wall near the door. No doubt ready to flee if needed. Her eyes studied him, unreadable emotion flashing. “So, Tyler to what honor do we owe this visit.” asked Craig. Tyler looked at Craig.
“This is Alexis’ meeting. My son and I are here for protection, nothing more.”
“I see, well Ms. Johnson. You have our full attention.”
She walked over to the coffee table and threw down a cassette player, pressing play before returning to her place on the wall. At first there was nothing but static, then the low sobs of a girl. “Are going you going to do as you were told, or do I need to break another finger.” said a man's voice. The sobbing got louder as the girl started choking on her own tears.
“A..Al..Ali. Please, save me..”
“That isn't what you were suppose to say.” said the man, and then the sound of bone against bone and the girl screamed, her sobs coming in gasps. “Now say what you were told to say.”
“O..o..okay. Mr. Peters says to do as you were told, o..o..or he'll k..kill me and Marshall and Jac. Ple...Please, Ali. Whatever it is, do it. Th..there, was that better?”
“Perfect. Now, come here.” There was the sound of a zipper and her screams. Horrible screams. Screams and sobs that filled the room and bounced off the walls, mixed with his grunts and the smack of flesh. “Good girl.” came the voice of the man. The girl whimpered and the type died.
The room was quite, no one moved. Bryan kept his eyes on the Ghost. Her head was down, her hair covering her eyes, he could feel the anger though, anger that dug deep. She wasn't the only one feeling it. He looked at the two men, red anger between them. Angel's eyes had gone black, something they did when she was about to explode. Tears swam down Etta's cheeks and Craig sat in his big chair, his face a deep red. He could feel the anger, as well, swelling inside him, its heat climbing his neck. He met the eyes of the Ghost, feeling her anger as it rolled off her. He found himself wanting, longing to just wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay, that she'd soon get her little sister back and the man on the tape. He knew though, that it wouldn't be okay until she had her sister safe and everyone involved, died, maybe even him if he tried to interfere. She brought her head up, as if knowing what he was thinking. The iris of her eyes were white, not blue. A chill crept its way across his skin. It's those eyes, the way they turn white, that she gets her name. He had a feeling that if anyone tried anything they would be dead, no questions asked. He looked at the clock, the minute hand ticked, only a few minutes had pasted.