The Girl They Forgot To Kill

Chapter 2

June's arms hit the tile, then nothing. She couldn't tell which way was up. The red lights under the water made everything look like blood.

She was going to die on her first night.

Then a hand clamped around her upper arm and yanked.

She got to the surface coughing, choking, water pouring out of her mouth.

Alvin dropped her on the pool deck like she was a wet bag of trash.

He was soaked to the elbows. His black coat was in a puddle beside him. He hadn't gotten in, he just reached down and pulled.

"Stand up." He spat.

June couldn't. Her legs wouldn't work. She curled on her side and coughed until she vomited the food she had eaten that morning.

Alvin walked to the edge of the pool, hands in his pockets now. Water dripped from his sleeves onto the marble.

"You die in my building, i have to file a report." He said. "You live, you work. Simple math."

"I am sorry sir." June whispered. "I didn't mean to touch it. The necklace, i was scared."

"I know what you were doing." He crouched. Finally looked at her. "You were snooping. And then you ran into a room you weren't supposed to find."

He grabbed a towel from a cabinet and tossed it at her. It hit her face.

"Rule one." He said. "This room doesn't exist. You never saw the pool, you never saw the door. You understand me?."

June nodded, shivering. The towel smelled like bleach.

"Rule two." Alvin continued. "You just became my night cleaner. Indefinitely, you'll clean my office, you'll mop this floor every night at 11:47pm and you'll pay me back for the inconvenience."

He stood and walked to the hidden door. Pressed the panel. It clicked shut.

He paused at the exit without looking back.

"If you tell anyone about tonight, June." He said her name like he read it on her badge, "I won't pull you out next time."

The door closed.

June sat on the cold floor, wrapped in the towel, listening to water drip into the pool.

She was alive.

And she was in debt to the man who almost let her drown.

~ ~ ~

HAWSON MANSION, Bedroom.

Dark. Expensive. Empty.

A jazz record crackled. RICHARD HAWSON, 55, was sitting on a chair getting a blow job from a blonde, a drink sitting in his hand.

"You're too sluggish, f**k off." He pushed her to the ground and wore his robe.

He reached for his drawer and opened it. He grabbed his black pistol.

"I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to..." Boom. Blood splashed everywhere. It stained his white robe and the wall.

On the couch laid 2 women in their early twenties, they were on their phones. Bored. They laughed when Richard looked at them, like they were paid to do.

He tried to join in and touched one girl’s shoulder.She didn’t move away and she didn’t move towards him either.

The phone rang and Richard answered, grateful for the interruption.

RICHARD; (putting on 'dad' voice)

"Alvin?."

ALVIN; "I'm not coming to dine with you in that house."

RICHARD; "Come on, kid. I invited someone for you. She's a nice girl, future Mrs. Hawson."

ALVIN; "You’re so embarrassing. I'm glad my mother ran away from you."

CLICK.

Richard held the dead phone for a bit, then forced a smile. He straightened his robe and walked out. The jazz kept playing and the girls continued pressing their phones.

~ ~ ~

The bus ride took about 47 minutes.

June didn’t blink once.

Her clothes were still damp under her uniform. She squeezed it in the office bathroom and pretended they just got caught in rain. The towel from Alvin was stuffed in her bag, it smelled like bleach and him.

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw red pool lights. Saw the door clicking shut, heard him say her name.

'I won’t pull you out next time'

The apartment smelled like fried onions and cheap detergent. The light in the hallway was out again.

June unlocked the door to the room they called 'hers'. She sat down and pulled her knees up. She was alive, she should feel relieved.

Instead she felt like she was still drowning.

The door slammed open 10 minutes later.

"Finally." Her stepmother snapped. "Where were you?."

Her stepfather came in behind her, tie loose, already drunk.

"Did you get paid?." He asked. No greetings. "Hawson jobs pay good. We need C$1000 by Friday or landlord is throwing us out."

June shook her head. "I just started tonight. I get paid at the end of the week."

"Then you better not mess it up." Her stepmother said, dropping a bag of groceries on the floor. Rice spilled. "You clean better, you smile more. Those rich people like that."

"I almost.." June started. Then stopped.

Who would she tell? That she found a hidden room? That her boss almost let her drown? They’d just say she was clumsy.

Her stepfather grabbed her chin and tilted her face up. His fingers smelled like beer.

"You look like shit." He said. "Wash your face, and be at that building on time, tomorrow. You hear me?."

"Yes, sir." June whispered.

They left, arguing about the rent in the hallway.

June sat in the dark.

She replayed the pool. The necklace. Alvin’s face.

Then she replayed her stepfather’s hand on her jaw.

No safe place. Not at work. Not at home.

She pulled the towel from her bag and held it. It was the only thing in the room that wasn’t hers, and the only thing that proved tonight actually happened.

~ ~ ~

NEXT DAY, 6:07PM.

The Hawson dining room was too big for three people. Crystal chandelier. Marble table. Cold.

Alvin walked in still wearing his work coat. He hadn’t changed, he didn’t want to come.

His dad was already at the head of the table, cigar in one hand, wine in the other. Richard Hawson, same sharp jaw as Alvin, but softer. More practiced smile.

And sitting to his right, in a pink shiny dress, was a girl. Early 20s. Bianca Whitmore, hair pinned back, makeup too neat. Her hands were folded in her lap, gripping each other so tight her knuckles were white.

She didn’t look at Alvin when he came in. She looked at her plate.

"Son." Richard said, standing. "You’re late."

"I told you i wasn’t coming." Alvin said.

"You did." Richard smiled. "And i told your mother’s lawyer i’d handle this personally."

He gestured to the girl.

"This is Bianca. Her father owns 18% of Whitmore Logistics. We merge our shipping with theirs, we own the West Coast in two years. She’s smart. She’s presentable. And she has agreed to the terms."

Bianca’s head lifted for half a second. Just long enough to scan the room, like she was counting doors. Then her eyes dropped again. She picked at a loose thread on her pink dress.

Alvin stared at her. Then at his dad.

"You don’t get to pick who i marry." He said quietly.

Richard set his wine down. The sound echoed.

"I already did." He said. "The engagement is announced next month. The press release is written. The rings are being sized."

He walked around the table and put a hand on Bianca’s shoulder. She went completely still under it. Her smile stayed, but it was thin and wrong.

"Say hello to your fiancé, dear."

Bianca opened her mouth. A sound caught in her throat. She swallowed and looked at her water glass instead.

The ice shifted.

Alvin’s jaw clenched. For the first time tonight, he wasn’t the one giving orders. He was the one being sold.

Richard looked at him and smiled.

"Don’t make this difficult, Alvin. You of all people should understand how contracts work."