Chapter 11 of Beauty or the Bitch!

I just got back from a wonderful week in Palm Springs with my sister! It’s our yearly “girls trip.”

And here’s Chapter 11 of http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004UWPPWC!
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Eleven


“David came to me after Shelby went to the police. He asked me to talk to her, tell her it was a mistake. I told him I would. It was always best just to do what David said. I called her. She never answered. And she didn’t call me back.”

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t know. I lied and said I’d talked to her, but that she wouldn’t agree to anything. He ground at me for every detail. I made it all up. If I’d told him she said she’d be quiet, then she turned around and told the newspapers, he’d know I’d lied. So saying I’d talked to her and she’d refused to keep quiet was the only thing I could do.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?”

“I should have. But I didn’t.”

Christ Almighty. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the breath out of her. “Then what?”

“Then he told me to tell Shelby that if she didn’t keep her mouth shut, he’d ruin her. He’d make sure no one believed her, and then he’d drive her into the ground.”

“You didn’t tell her that either, but you told him you did.”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ, why didn’t you at least warn her what he planned to do? You were supposed to be her friend.” He ached for Shelby. She must have been so alone, even in a city of hundreds of thousands.

“Because I was afraid of him. I was afraid he’d do the same thing to me.”

“So you let her sink.”

“Yes. I did. I did do that, Mr. King. And I’m sure, over the last ten years of his life, David Hume killed the spirit of many other little girls, if not their bodies, as he did with Cynthia. I did that, too. I let that happen. For a long time, I believed that we were the monsters. People like me who didn’t say anything, people like the Martins who let him have their little girls, because we were scared of what would happen if we didn’t. You see, we were the sane ones.” She held her palm to her chest. “So didn’t that make us more responsible? Then I realized that David was the master, and we were only the puppets. He knew the thing we wanted, needed, craved the most. He made sure we knew he could take it away just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “That doesn’t make us better than him, it only makes us weaker. But there is one thing I did learn. I learned to spot them a mile away, the users, the manipulators. I want to tell the world that there are people like David Hume out there, and God forbid, don’t let your child near them.”

Dex laughed, bitterly. “You really think your story is going to stop men like him?”

“No. They’ll never stop. But if one parent takes their child and runs for the hills, it’s the most I can ask for.”

But she’d asked for it years too late. “What did he have on you, Eden? What was your button?”

She brushed her cheek with a finger, touched her hair. “I wanted to be a goddess. A goddess at any age. He would have taken that away. He would have ruined my reputation. Then he would have taken all my money. He would have turned me into a bag lady living on the street. I would have done anything for that not to happen.”

“You did do just about anything.” He let the knife slide deep. He had no sympathy. He had no remorse. “So you want me to write all this? You want me tell everyone you were living with a child molester, and you didn’t do a damn thing about it?”

“Yes, Mr. King, I do.”

“Anything else you haven’t told me? Like maybe you brought home little girls for him?”

She winced. “I deserve that. I didn’t do that, but I can’t mitigate the things I did do. The only thing I’d like to add for your story is that I’ve thought often about going up to see Shelby. I never did.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid of him until the day he died.”

Dex blew out a derisive puff of air loud enough for her to hear. “You’re still afraid of him. Otherwise you would have skipped the melodramatic exclusives and gone up there to see her yourself.”

“It’s Shelby I’m afraid of now.”

He rose, picking up the recorder with her confession and stuffing it into his briefcase. “Oh, my dear Eden, I think it’s me you ought to be afraid of.”

She looked up at him. “You’re in love with Shelby, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. She’s always needed a knight in shining armor.”

“All she ever needed was to believe in herself.”

“So right you are. When you see her, will you tell her something for me?”

“Yes.” Before or after he told Shelby what Eden had done to her, he wasn’t sure.

“Tell her I always believed she was courageous. Much more so than I could ever be. You see, I don’t even have the courage to tell her that myself.”

* * * * *

He called Shelby as the car glided through Eden Alexander’s security gate. Shelby didn’t pick up. It was three o’clock in the morning. She was probably asleep. He shouldn’t even have called.

But the phone was right by her bed. She’d know it was him.

Dex got a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Maybe it was only his conversation with Eden eating at his gut, but he didn’t like that Shelby hadn’t answered the phone.

He got out of L.A. long before the rush hour started, and he made good time getting to the foothills. But as he climbed, the sky got darker, the sun disappeared, and the snow fell steadily. He wasted precious time putting chains on, but he didn’t want to end up like he had the last time, nor could he afford to get stuck. Shelby needed him. He sensed it, felt it in the pit of his stomach, the ache around his heart. He called every half hour before his cell phone lost its signal.

She never answered.

He could barely see six feet in front of him. He didn’t even know for sure if he was on the right road. All he could do was trust that he’d get there. Once he made it to the high road, the only thing he could be grateful for was the tow truck he’d had up there days ago had tamped down the original snowfall. He followed the quickly disappearing tracks. His head pounded, his neck ached from leaning forward to see out the windshield, and his knuckles were permanently bent to the shape of the steering wheel. But at least he was within two miles of her. Finally, the car chugged up her long driveway.

He thought he’d surely die before he got there, but soon he pulled into the circular drive nestled beneath feet of snow.

It was just past two in the afternoon. The sky was so dark and the snow so heavy, it seemed like midnight. When he climbed out, the wind howled past his ears. No lights glowed in the windows. The electricity must have gone out again.

The door wasn’t locked. He’d never asked, but he didn’t think Shelby ever bothered to lock up.

In the front hall, he stamped his feet and shook snow from his hair. Deathly cold. And silent. His breath formed a vapor in the air.

“Shelby!”

His voice echoed eerily.

“Honey, I’m home.” Like the father in Leave It To Beaver, an icon from way before his time.

He took the stairs two at a time, rammed his hip into the newel post at the top, and crashed into the doorjamb as he went into her bedroom. “Shelby?”

He fumbled to her bedside, felt around the covers, but the bed was made. And empty. The nightlight in the bathroom was out. He flipped the switch. Nothing happened. He checked the phone. Dead again. No fire in the hearth. No glowing embers. He searched the bedside table with his hands, found the lamp and the matches, lit it. A crust had covered the fire’s embers as they’d died and cooled. She hadn’t fed it after he left. Even here, in her room, he could see his own breath.

He tamped down the panic as he dashed down the stairs once more and along the corridor to the kitchen. It was as cold and silent and empty as the rest of the house.

Jesus, where are you? Please be all right. Dear God, please be all right.

He wasn’t a praying man, but he prayed as he took the stairs yet another time. In the nursery, he fumbled at the door to the playroom. The damp and the cold made it stick. In another second, he would have beaten it down with his fists, but it finally gave.

She was in the same chair he’d found her in that last night. Legs curled beneath her, feet tucked in, she wore only her pink robe. A blanket lay beside the chair, but she hadn’t covered herself.

“Shelby?” He touched her cheek. Her cold, cold cheek. Her hair hung in limp strands across a face marred by dry, cracked lips and red nose.

Jesus, oh, Jesus, she was dead. She was gone. He’d left her, and she hadn’t survived. Jesus. He should have taken her with him. He should never have left. He should have—

A light puff of air from her lips vaporized in the cold room.

“Shelby?” He wanted to shake her. Instead, he gathered her cold body into his arms and hugged her to him, rocking her. “Dear God, thank you.”

Cradling her in his arms, he grappled with the lamp. He accidentally banged her feet into the wall, but he got her back to her room. Managing to set the lamp down without either knocking it over or dropping her, he pushed the bedclothes aside and placed her between the sheets. Before he covered her again, he removed her robe. In the bathroom, he wet a washcloth, using it to soothe her face, moisten her lips, and dribble water into her mouth.

She hadn’t moved, but when he felt her throat, he detected a thin pulse.

He jabbed at the hard crust of embers, then piled on two logs and some kindling. He’d never been a Boy Scout, but he did get a fire going. With one last touch to her face, he picked up the lamp and headed for the kitchen.

She’d had little to eat or drink since he’d left, if her dried lips meant anything. Remembering how Shelby lit the stove that last morning, he managed to start it and set the kettle to boil. He opened and closed cupboards until he found a soup mix. All it required was water. He readied two mugs.

The soup made, he put the cups on a plate in lieu of a tray and climbed the stairs once more. The room was infinitely warmer, the blaze in the fireplace doing an excellent job.

Crawling on the bed beside her, he slipped an arm beneath her head and lifted her. “Come on, baby, drink this,” he urged, holding the mug to her lips. He’d cooled it with tepid water from the sink so that she wouldn’t burn her tongue.

She opened neither her eyes nor her lips. He didn’t know how to reach her. And if he didn’t do something soon, he feared she wouldn’t make it through the night, let alone the rest of the day.

Maybe a little tough love was what she needed. “Listen. I’m not going to put up with this shit. Open your fucking mouth and drink this fucking soup or I will fucking pour it down your throat for you.”

She murmured. He almost cried. Then she opened her lips and tested with her tongue. He angled the cup to give her small sips.

“That’s it, baby, come on. Just a little more.”

In the end, he got half the mug down her. It was enough for now. Her eyes fluttered open. Dazed at first, she finally focussed on him.

“Dex.” Her voice cracked. He soothed her neck with his fingers. “You came back.”

“I told you I would.”

“I thought...once you got your story...and you got back to your life in L.A...”

“That I’d change my mind? No way. I’m not leaving you again.”

She traced his bottom lip with her fingertip. “But I don’t think I can ever leave here, Dex. I’m afraid.”

“We’ll take it one day at a time, baby. You’ll leave when you’re ready. But I’m not going anywhere without you ever again.” He lifted the mug once more to her lips. “I don’t trust you to eat enough when I’m gone. Here, have some more.”

She finished the whole mug, then held onto his wrist. “I love you, Dex. I didn’t say that before you left. I should have.”

He tunneled a hand beneath her hair and held her close. “You didn’t have to tell me, Shelby, I knew. I wish you’d believed me.”

“I will,” she said. “I promise I will from now on.”


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And you have it, Chapter 11! One more chapter next week! Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it: Amazon B&N Smashwords.