Chapter 2: The Girl she Buried

The club was quieter than usual when Stacey pulled herself back in through the rear door just before sunrise. Her makeup was smeared. Her shoes were in her hand. Her body still ached from running all night, but she had no choice.

Rent was still due. The refrigerator was still empty.

And she had nowhere else to be.

Jack was waiting for her just inside the corridor near the storage closet. His arms were folded, his eyes bloodshot from booze or rage - probably both.

“Look who finally crawled back.” His voice boomed before she made it two steps inside. “You’ve got nerve,” he growled. “Storming out in the middle of a session and showing your face again like nothing happened.”

Stacey tried to speak, but her voice cracked. “It wasn’t- he shut the door. He tried to-”

“I don’t care!” Jack shouted, slamming his hand into the wall. “You embarrassed a paying client. You think I”m concerned with your irrelevant feelings? You cost me business last night.”

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He bent close, his face mere inches from her own. “You’re a stripper, not a daycare worker. Fear is part of the job. You either get tough or you get devoured.”

Stacey took a deep swallow, but she didn’t back away.

“He tried to- he wasn't here for a lap dance.”

Jack waved a hand as if he did not wish to hear. “Spare me the sob stories. You girls all think you’re something special. You think you get to choose who gets your time? That’s not how things go around here, darling.”

Even though every part of her wanted to scream, she nodded slowly as Jack growled, “I’m giving you one last chance. You should consider yourself lucky I’m feeling generous today. VIP suite. Tonight. Make up for it.”

He turned and left, muttering, “Clean yourself up. You look like a ghost.”

What she didn’t know was that Andrew had already been back. And he would not be going away quietly.

----

She wore a garment that gleamed even brighter than she did that night, powered her face, and styled her hair in a pretty curl. A stranger, an empty shell encased in shadow and glitter, was the lady staring back at her through the mirror.

Hours passed in a flurry of dazzling lights and roaring laughter. She danced. She laughed. She fought her hardest not to overthink.

Until everything stopped.

Lying on the chilly floor in a back of the club, Stacey blinked as she slowly regained consciousness in the dark. Her legs were totally numb, and her head throbbed as though as it had been struck by a boulder.

She then saw it.

Blood.

It was everywhere - smearing her arms, soaking into the thick carpet below her, on her hands.

Her breath got stuck in her neck. Her body yelled in opposition as she groggily rose. Her corset ripped. Her stockings had torn open.

The room was heavy with the metallic smell of blood and even worse - panic.

What had occurred?

She had no thought. Only portions.

A beverage she had not placed an order for.

A smile that felt too great on her lips.

Somebody calling her name from the shadows.

Then -

The world tilted as at last she opened her eyes. She battled to stand up; her heart pounding like mad.

Hand-prints streaked the walls; splattered stains; a pool developing beneath a crumpled body in the corner. She did not know the face.

Her body hardened.

Her pulse screaming.

“Shit!” a voice cried from the corridor.

The door swung open.

Jack stared at the scenario in the doorway, his face losing color as he froze.

He entered the room and stopped mid-stride, jaw open in astonishment, eyes wide with terror - “what the hell?” His voice rebounded around the room.

Her hands bloodied, Stacey turned to him with legs shaking as she battled to stand straight.

She backed away trembling uncontrollably until her back struck the wall. Her nails burrowed into her hair. A weak, fragmented sob burst from her lips.

“What the hell-” Jack exclaimed, though his voice came out muffled.

Stammering, she replied, “I-I have no idea what just happened.”

Her turned to face her, then at the blood, then back to the hallway. “Stay here, he snapped, backing off. “I’m getting security.”

But instinct took over when his shadow vanished down the corridor.

She couldn’t stay.

They would never believe her.

They would argue that she lost it.

She had no authority. No money. There were no important names.

Stacey found herself upright. Once her knees collapsed, then held. She grabbed her jacket from the wall, opened the back door, and fled into the darkness.

She tumbled on the floor, shaking uncontrollably, and shut the door behind her. It was not real. This could not be factual.

The blood, meanwhile, would not go out.

The memory never surfaced either.

Tonight, she couldn’t sleep. Before the first gray morning peeked through the windows, she snuggled up on the sofa and stared at the barred door.

Just before 8 a.m, there was a knock.

Three distinct taps.

She stood still.

Another tap.

“Stacey,” a quiet voice called. “It’s Andrew.”

Her chest collapsed.

Opening the door gradually, she revealed the guy she had tried to avoid since the first time he asked for her by name.

He seemed flawless. Smooth. Laughing as though he had little to worry about.

“I was anxious, he said. “Can I come in?”

She stood aside. Lifeless.

“I heard what happened last night.” he murmured, palms in his pockets, “You alright?”

Her throat was parched. “I - I don’t remember anything.”

He nodded slowly, as though he expected that. “About blood. About a body; there is a lot of talk.”

She froze. “I didn’t--

“I know,” he raised a hand and stopped her. “I believe you.” The cops won’t, though. Jack won’t. Nobody’s going to believe the girl in stripper heels over a dead man that can’t defend himself.”

Her heart pulsed. “Why are you actually here?”

His grin lessened. “To assist.”

He came closer. “I can make this disappear. I want your support, nevertheless. From now on, you respond to me. No debating. No inquiry. You do what I tell you, and this small… mess? It is buried.”

Stacey flickered at him. Her head reeled. Something was off. She had not even known he was there that evening at the club. Nobody did. Jack did not even bring him up.

So how did he know what happened?

How did he arrive here first?

Her stomach turned.

She mumbled, “I need to think.”

Andrew smiled, and turned his head. “Of course. Give it a day or two. I’m not unfair.”

With shaking hands, she bolted the door after he departed. Her yes landed on the trash bag next to her couch - her bloodied garments from the prior night.

She was not all-knowing, but she had enough knowledge.

Something Andrew was hiding.

And should she stay, he would have her or worse.

She stood in her small bathroom, comb and hair dye in hand.

She started gazing at the mirror as though it owed her answers after dyeing her hair and burnt her identification.

“Stacey Adams is dead,” she whispered.

Still, she didn’t weep.

Not this time.

A woman named Aria Blake boarded a bus bound for LA the following day. No phone, no ID. Only a bag of clothing and the whisper of a name she barley thought was hers yet.

***

Back at the club, Andrew walked into Jack’s office without knocking.

Jack looked up from a stack of invoices, tension flickering across his face - but he stood up straighter. “Andrew. Heard what happened with Stacey? Hell of a mess.”

Andrew shut the door behind him, calm but sharp. That's the reason I'm here. Where is she?”

Jack hesitated, choosing his words. “I had someone check her place. She’s gone. Cleared out.”

Andrew’s jaw ticked. “You sure?”

Jack snorted. “What, you think I’m lying? She took off right after I found the body. Freaked out and vanished - bolted before I could even ask questions.”

“You didn’t see where she went?” Andrew asked, too even-toned for Jack’s liking.

Jack narrowed his eyes, sensing something beneath the surface of Andrew’s interest. He considered pressing it but decided against it - maybe Andrew had a thing for the girl. Not his problem right now.

“If I knew, I’d have dragged her back already,” Jack said. “You know how many VIPs bailed after that stunt? Cost me more than I care to admit.”

Andrew turned toward the door, his voice colder now. “She ran,” he muttered. “That little bitch ran.”

Before Jack could respond, Andrew was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

He wasn’t finished with Stacey Adams.

Not by a long shot.