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Chapter 1
I hurry east down Broadway. It stopped raining but the streets, still wet, reflect light off the puddles and damp pavement, making the street seem bright and cheery. I enjoy the early November rain that Vancouver is famous for although many people find it difficult to handle. I called Patty to let her know when my meeting ran long but I feel bad for leaving her sitting in Caffe Barney alone for over an hour. Josh was supposed to join us but he called in the afternoon to say he could not make it. The three of us try to meet once a week for drinks ever since we graduated from university. When I called Patty, I could hear her disappointment that Josh bailed on us and that just makes me feel worse for being so late. In my mind I picture her sitting alone and despondent drinking her wine.
The street light changes as I reach the corner so I have to wait to cross. I see the little sidewalk balcony of the pub and scan the crowd, searching for Patty. Even though it’s autumn, the night is warm and many people have opted to sit outside so the patio is packed but I do not see Patty. She must be inside.
While I wait for the light to change, Patty walks out the door and turns to say something to a guy who exits behind her. He is gorgeous. Tall, blonde, and rather like a Nordic god. He and Patty turn and walk south on Main Street. I call out Patty’s name but she does not hear me. Crap. Why would Patty leave?
I reach into my purse and pull out my cell to call her. At that moment, the light changes and I dash across Main Street, waiting for her to answer her phone. I get her voice mail. On the east side of the street, I pop up onto my toes and peer in the direction they have gone but I cannot see them. They disappeared quickly so that probably means they got into a car but I can’t see one starting up. I settle back on my heels and consider what to do. I call Patty once more while continuing to scan the street but I get her voicemail, again. I feel terrible. I wonder if Patty is pissed off at me for leaving her sitting so long but I’m a little confused because she sounded fine when I called to tell her I was running late; she was disappointed that Josh had cancelled but she did not seem upset with me.
Unable to see them anywhere, I peer around some more while I walk up the street a bit and phone her again; still no answer. My meeting left me feeling tired and sitting in a pub alone waiting for Patty to return lacks appeal so, I head home. I call again but this time, when I get her voice mail I leave a message letting her know I am heading home. Since I live just a few blocks away, I choose to walk and continue to phone her. By the time I arrive at my apartment, I have been phoning her without an answer for about 20 minutes. It feels a bit weird that she ignores my calls. She is not normally like this. She must be angry even though she told me she was fine. I decide to apologize to Patty in the morning.
I stand in a dimly lit tunnel. I glance around but cannot find the source of the light. Water drips somewhere in the distance although the air feels dry. An unpleasant smell comes and goes as I stand there trying to determine which direction to go. Both directions appear dark and dank with no visible way out. I think I hear someone scream but it’s right at the edge of my hearing so I’m unsure. The walls appear to have vague images on them. I stare at one spot that makes me feel uneasy. There is… something... I examine it from a slightly different angle striving to figure out what is so disturbing. Is that a word? I reach out a hand, reluctant to touch the dirty surface but wanting to know what the writing on the wall means. The wall feels dry but as I brush my hand across it, it crumbles in a way that reminds me of damp earth. Words slowly appear. At least I think they are words; the letters are about three feet tall, making it hard to read while I stand so close. Fear escalates as I brush the wall more quickly, desperate to know what it says. Once I am sure I have uncovered all the words, I step back to read it.
“Long, long ago when wishing could still lead to something”
The words seem familiar. Did I read them before? Again, I think I hear a scream. I peer down the tunnel in both directions but stand rooted to the spot. The words bounce around in my head like echoes in a canyon. ‘When wishing could still lead to something’ I am sure I have heard that somewhere or maybe I read it. Is it something from childhood? The unpleasant smell comes back making me want to retreat but my feet are immovable. I glance down to find out why I can’t move them and then start in horror. My bare feet transform to roots and implant themselves into the floor. I can’t shift them. As I struggle my legs fuse together and my skin slowly alters its texture into the bark of a tree. The bark climbs higher on my body while I strive to move. Panic surges through me, mounting higher as the bark scrabbles up my limbs. It reaches my waist and I scream!
I awake in my darkened bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I reach out and turn on a lamp. Normally I can just shake off a nightmare but this time I feel I need to get up for a bit. I walk into the bathroom and turn on some lights. Trying to clear the emotional residue of the dream, I turn on the taps and splash some water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look normal, sort of. My straight blonde hair is not generally messed up when I sleep but tonight it is all over the place, as if I have been wrestling or something. I grab a brush and straighten my hair, wishing I could do the same with my thoughts. I set the brush down and examine my eyes. They are strangely golden tonight. Normally their colour ranges from blue to grey to green but occasionally people have commented that they look yellow. I shake my head. The dream just put my emotions in a strange place and I need to get out of it so I can go back to sleep. I grab a glass of water, go back to bed to read for a bit and shake off the dream.
The next morning, with coffee in hand, I arrive at Patty’s place to find the door of her apartment building propped open. A quick look around reveals a moving van a little farther along the street. I slip in the front door and walk up the steps to the third floor, my stiff muscles protesting every step of the way. I have been sore since I woke up this morning, as if I went to the gym yesterday and had some insanely intense work out. While I walk down the hall, I hear the people moving furniture but I can’t see them.
I tried calling Patty several times this morning but she never answered so I decided to try talking to her face to face and just walked over to her place. On the way here, the first vestiges of annoyance built within me. After all, I didn’t intend to leave her sitting there alone last night and I called to let her know when I was running late. When I started my walk to Patty’s place, I was a little annoyed but now, as I walk down her hallway, I also grow a little worried. Patty does not normally react like this so maybe something else is going on. I reach Patty’s door and knock. The door swings inward at my touch, increasing my unease. An old joke of Josh’s leaps to mind; he calls it the inescapable conclusion. In the movies, whenever someone finds a door unlocked there are only two things it could be; either no one is home or someone is dead. His joke always makes Patty and me laugh when we watch a movie but now it creeps me out. I slowly enter, calling out Patty’s name.
Everything looks in order although I notice an unpleasant smell. I take a couple of hesitant steps into her living room, fear twisting around inside me. Glancing around, I leave the front door open. Examining the space, I reflect I have always hated the open floor plan of her apartment, mainly because the door opens straight into her living room area but right now, the openness gives me a feeling of security because I can clearly see that no one is here. The kitchen and dining corner is to the left with the living ‘room’ to the right. There is an alcove-like hallway across the room from the door. The right side of the alcove leads to Patty’s bedroom and the left side leads to the bathroom. Muddy footprints form a path from the former to the latter. I slowly and cautiously walk over and stare down at the prints, wondering why Patty has not cleaned them up. The smell is stronger. I glance left into the bathroom which is a mess, mud splashed all over the place but it’s clearly empty. Fingers of dread work their way inside me and replace the feeling of unease as I slowly turn and see the bedroom door is closed. I convince my feet to move and deliberately advance on the door, the smell and my feeling of dread increasing with every step. I reach out my hand to grab the doorknob, fear slices into me as I touch the cold, muddy knob. Alarm bells ring in my head, trying to tell me the mud is not mud. The door swings open, pulling my hand and my body forward into the room.
Mud is everywhere, splashed on the walls, the floor. Something drags my eyes to the left to discover the bed soaked in mud. Patty sprawls across the bed, naked, dead eyes staring at nothing. My mind screams at me. It isn’t mud! Something punches me in the stomach. I fall to my knees and the room goes dim.
My vision clears and I see spilled coffee on a hardwood floor. My left hand sits in the puddle of coffee while my right hand rests on the floor just inches away from a smear of blood. I take a breath to steady myself and attempt to stand but my legs aren’t quite ready to work. Something... there is something I should do. My mind seems strangely empty. I try to think but the thoughts keep skittering away from me. A muffled bang and someone curses and suddenly my mind snaps back into focus. I have to call the cops. I stand up and shake coffee off my left hand while use my right hand to pull out my cell and dial 911. Energy rushes through me now that I have something to do.
“Nine - one - one. What is your emergency?” A woman’s voice calmly asks me.
I don’t know how much time passes as I stand there waiting for the cops to arrive, listening to the movers cursing and banging around in the hallway. I should remember never to hire that moving company; they are not very good at their jobs. Odd thought at this moment. My eyes involuntarily roam about the room and time stretches out. I can feel my mind detach from my emotions and then my emotions pack up and leave. Cold, cold invades me and walls me off from my feelings. I stare at my feet and will them to take me out of the room but they do not move. I stand rooted to the spot. My eyes stare at the smear of blood on the floor to my right. I force my eyes shuts but they pop open again.
The moment my eyes open, they begin to move, never stopping in one place, shifting from horror to horror. Patty’s bedroom does not look like a scene from a movie because the blood has dried to a dark brown or, in some places, black. I guess they make the blood red in the movies make it more horrifying but I find this worse. The browns and blacks make Patty’s death more real to me. Maybe because the colour conveys to me that Patty has been dead for hours for it to change.
Looking around the room I feel that whoever did this enjoyed themselves. I sense a... feeling of abandon in the blood splashed around the room. The bed appears soaked in blood. There is a wound in Patty’s left thigh. My eyes move towards her face but jerk away before I reach her dead staring brown eyes. I cannot look at them again. Instead, I notice her brown curly hair spread across the pillows looks arranged. My eyes survey the room. At first, my eyes move without any thought or motivation behind them until my mind clicks on. I notice that everything appears to be in order, no sign of a fight. My eyes stare at the blood on the walls and dresser and after looking at it for a while, I realize that there is very little blood just drops and spatters. It reminds me of those splatter paintings, as if the killer painted the walls in his art of death. A shudder runs through me with that thought.
Someone calls out, “Police!”
“In here,” I shout back, relief flooding through me. I don’t have to stand here alone any more. The police have arrived. There are people here who know and understand what needs to be done. Someone will tell me what to do next. Maybe they can make my feet move from this spot. Footsteps approach the bedroom door while I stand still, waiting for help.
“Miss?” a gentle voice calls.
I turn and see a police uniform standing in the doorway. A police uniform, that means something. Just a moment ago, it had deep meaning for me. What was it? After a moment, I realize there is a guy in that uniform holding out a hand to me. That is it. It means safety. The wall that went up to protect me from the horror in the room is shaking as if hammers pound on it. The blood, the smell hammers through the wall and nausea hits me. I take a jerky step toward the cop. Sounds like screaming off in the distance hammers through the wall and hits me with pain. I stare at the uniform, safety there is safety. I watch him holster his gun and move slowly towards me. My vision blurs, I smile then feel something hot slide down my face. He places his hands on my shoulders and I sob. His arms go around me and I cry harder. I feel, rather than see, him lead me out of the bedroom. I lose a sense of time and space, again.
The street light changes as I reach the corner so I have to wait to cross. I see the little sidewalk balcony of the pub and scan the crowd, searching for Patty. Even though it’s autumn, the night is warm and many people have opted to sit outside so the patio is packed but I do not see Patty. She must be inside.
While I wait for the light to change, Patty walks out the door and turns to say something to a guy who exits behind her. He is gorgeous. Tall, blonde, and rather like a Nordic god. He and Patty turn and walk south on Main Street. I call out Patty’s name but she does not hear me. Crap. Why would Patty leave?
I reach into my purse and pull out my cell to call her. At that moment, the light changes and I dash across Main Street, waiting for her to answer her phone. I get her voice mail. On the east side of the street, I pop up onto my toes and peer in the direction they have gone but I cannot see them. They disappeared quickly so that probably means they got into a car but I can’t see one starting up. I settle back on my heels and consider what to do. I call Patty once more while continuing to scan the street but I get her voicemail, again. I feel terrible. I wonder if Patty is pissed off at me for leaving her sitting so long but I’m a little confused because she sounded fine when I called to tell her I was running late; she was disappointed that Josh had cancelled but she did not seem upset with me.
Unable to see them anywhere, I peer around some more while I walk up the street a bit and phone her again; still no answer. My meeting left me feeling tired and sitting in a pub alone waiting for Patty to return lacks appeal so, I head home. I call again but this time, when I get her voice mail I leave a message letting her know I am heading home. Since I live just a few blocks away, I choose to walk and continue to phone her. By the time I arrive at my apartment, I have been phoning her without an answer for about 20 minutes. It feels a bit weird that she ignores my calls. She is not normally like this. She must be angry even though she told me she was fine. I decide to apologize to Patty in the morning.
I stand in a dimly lit tunnel. I glance around but cannot find the source of the light. Water drips somewhere in the distance although the air feels dry. An unpleasant smell comes and goes as I stand there trying to determine which direction to go. Both directions appear dark and dank with no visible way out. I think I hear someone scream but it’s right at the edge of my hearing so I’m unsure. The walls appear to have vague images on them. I stare at one spot that makes me feel uneasy. There is… something... I examine it from a slightly different angle striving to figure out what is so disturbing. Is that a word? I reach out a hand, reluctant to touch the dirty surface but wanting to know what the writing on the wall means. The wall feels dry but as I brush my hand across it, it crumbles in a way that reminds me of damp earth. Words slowly appear. At least I think they are words; the letters are about three feet tall, making it hard to read while I stand so close. Fear escalates as I brush the wall more quickly, desperate to know what it says. Once I am sure I have uncovered all the words, I step back to read it.
“Long, long ago when wishing could still lead to something”
The words seem familiar. Did I read them before? Again, I think I hear a scream. I peer down the tunnel in both directions but stand rooted to the spot. The words bounce around in my head like echoes in a canyon. ‘When wishing could still lead to something’ I am sure I have heard that somewhere or maybe I read it. Is it something from childhood? The unpleasant smell comes back making me want to retreat but my feet are immovable. I glance down to find out why I can’t move them and then start in horror. My bare feet transform to roots and implant themselves into the floor. I can’t shift them. As I struggle my legs fuse together and my skin slowly alters its texture into the bark of a tree. The bark climbs higher on my body while I strive to move. Panic surges through me, mounting higher as the bark scrabbles up my limbs. It reaches my waist and I scream!
I awake in my darkened bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I reach out and turn on a lamp. Normally I can just shake off a nightmare but this time I feel I need to get up for a bit. I walk into the bathroom and turn on some lights. Trying to clear the emotional residue of the dream, I turn on the taps and splash some water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look normal, sort of. My straight blonde hair is not generally messed up when I sleep but tonight it is all over the place, as if I have been wrestling or something. I grab a brush and straighten my hair, wishing I could do the same with my thoughts. I set the brush down and examine my eyes. They are strangely golden tonight. Normally their colour ranges from blue to grey to green but occasionally people have commented that they look yellow. I shake my head. The dream just put my emotions in a strange place and I need to get out of it so I can go back to sleep. I grab a glass of water, go back to bed to read for a bit and shake off the dream.
The next morning, with coffee in hand, I arrive at Patty’s place to find the door of her apartment building propped open. A quick look around reveals a moving van a little farther along the street. I slip in the front door and walk up the steps to the third floor, my stiff muscles protesting every step of the way. I have been sore since I woke up this morning, as if I went to the gym yesterday and had some insanely intense work out. While I walk down the hall, I hear the people moving furniture but I can’t see them.
I tried calling Patty several times this morning but she never answered so I decided to try talking to her face to face and just walked over to her place. On the way here, the first vestiges of annoyance built within me. After all, I didn’t intend to leave her sitting there alone last night and I called to let her know when I was running late. When I started my walk to Patty’s place, I was a little annoyed but now, as I walk down her hallway, I also grow a little worried. Patty does not normally react like this so maybe something else is going on. I reach Patty’s door and knock. The door swings inward at my touch, increasing my unease. An old joke of Josh’s leaps to mind; he calls it the inescapable conclusion. In the movies, whenever someone finds a door unlocked there are only two things it could be; either no one is home or someone is dead. His joke always makes Patty and me laugh when we watch a movie but now it creeps me out. I slowly enter, calling out Patty’s name.
Everything looks in order although I notice an unpleasant smell. I take a couple of hesitant steps into her living room, fear twisting around inside me. Glancing around, I leave the front door open. Examining the space, I reflect I have always hated the open floor plan of her apartment, mainly because the door opens straight into her living room area but right now, the openness gives me a feeling of security because I can clearly see that no one is here. The kitchen and dining corner is to the left with the living ‘room’ to the right. There is an alcove-like hallway across the room from the door. The right side of the alcove leads to Patty’s bedroom and the left side leads to the bathroom. Muddy footprints form a path from the former to the latter. I slowly and cautiously walk over and stare down at the prints, wondering why Patty has not cleaned them up. The smell is stronger. I glance left into the bathroom which is a mess, mud splashed all over the place but it’s clearly empty. Fingers of dread work their way inside me and replace the feeling of unease as I slowly turn and see the bedroom door is closed. I convince my feet to move and deliberately advance on the door, the smell and my feeling of dread increasing with every step. I reach out my hand to grab the doorknob, fear slices into me as I touch the cold, muddy knob. Alarm bells ring in my head, trying to tell me the mud is not mud. The door swings open, pulling my hand and my body forward into the room.
Mud is everywhere, splashed on the walls, the floor. Something drags my eyes to the left to discover the bed soaked in mud. Patty sprawls across the bed, naked, dead eyes staring at nothing. My mind screams at me. It isn’t mud! Something punches me in the stomach. I fall to my knees and the room goes dim.
My vision clears and I see spilled coffee on a hardwood floor. My left hand sits in the puddle of coffee while my right hand rests on the floor just inches away from a smear of blood. I take a breath to steady myself and attempt to stand but my legs aren’t quite ready to work. Something... there is something I should do. My mind seems strangely empty. I try to think but the thoughts keep skittering away from me. A muffled bang and someone curses and suddenly my mind snaps back into focus. I have to call the cops. I stand up and shake coffee off my left hand while use my right hand to pull out my cell and dial 911. Energy rushes through me now that I have something to do.
“Nine - one - one. What is your emergency?” A woman’s voice calmly asks me.
I don’t know how much time passes as I stand there waiting for the cops to arrive, listening to the movers cursing and banging around in the hallway. I should remember never to hire that moving company; they are not very good at their jobs. Odd thought at this moment. My eyes involuntarily roam about the room and time stretches out. I can feel my mind detach from my emotions and then my emotions pack up and leave. Cold, cold invades me and walls me off from my feelings. I stare at my feet and will them to take me out of the room but they do not move. I stand rooted to the spot. My eyes stare at the smear of blood on the floor to my right. I force my eyes shuts but they pop open again.
The moment my eyes open, they begin to move, never stopping in one place, shifting from horror to horror. Patty’s bedroom does not look like a scene from a movie because the blood has dried to a dark brown or, in some places, black. I guess they make the blood red in the movies make it more horrifying but I find this worse. The browns and blacks make Patty’s death more real to me. Maybe because the colour conveys to me that Patty has been dead for hours for it to change.
Looking around the room I feel that whoever did this enjoyed themselves. I sense a... feeling of abandon in the blood splashed around the room. The bed appears soaked in blood. There is a wound in Patty’s left thigh. My eyes move towards her face but jerk away before I reach her dead staring brown eyes. I cannot look at them again. Instead, I notice her brown curly hair spread across the pillows looks arranged. My eyes survey the room. At first, my eyes move without any thought or motivation behind them until my mind clicks on. I notice that everything appears to be in order, no sign of a fight. My eyes stare at the blood on the walls and dresser and after looking at it for a while, I realize that there is very little blood just drops and spatters. It reminds me of those splatter paintings, as if the killer painted the walls in his art of death. A shudder runs through me with that thought.
Someone calls out, “Police!”
“In here,” I shout back, relief flooding through me. I don’t have to stand here alone any more. The police have arrived. There are people here who know and understand what needs to be done. Someone will tell me what to do next. Maybe they can make my feet move from this spot. Footsteps approach the bedroom door while I stand still, waiting for help.
“Miss?” a gentle voice calls.
I turn and see a police uniform standing in the doorway. A police uniform, that means something. Just a moment ago, it had deep meaning for me. What was it? After a moment, I realize there is a guy in that uniform holding out a hand to me. That is it. It means safety. The wall that went up to protect me from the horror in the room is shaking as if hammers pound on it. The blood, the smell hammers through the wall and nausea hits me. I take a jerky step toward the cop. Sounds like screaming off in the distance hammers through the wall and hits me with pain. I stare at the uniform, safety there is safety. I watch him holster his gun and move slowly towards me. My vision blurs, I smile then feel something hot slide down my face. He places his hands on my shoulders and I sob. His arms go around me and I cry harder. I feel, rather than see, him lead me out of the bedroom. I lose a sense of time and space, again.
Chapter 2
I breathe deeply, wiping the tears off my face then stare at the hanky someone has given me. I wonder if cops always carry hankies. Is it something they are instructed to carry with them? Do they really take sensitivity training that prepares them with hankies and cups of coffee to hand to distraught victims? I lift my head and look around the room. Officials are everywhere, snapping pictures, measuring things, and talking to each other. The weight of a hand on my shoulder and I turn to look at the owner. He is beautiful. Not good at gauging height, my guess is that he is six two or maybe six three with shoulders to match. Black hair, blue eyes, and hard cheekbones gave him a strong look yet there is a softness to the smile that suggests kindness. He looks like a Hollywood version of a cop who accidentally walked into my bizarre, horribly real, crime scene. Maybe he is on the wrong set. Next I will be accused of Patty’s murder; isn’t that what happens in the movies? I give my head a shake, trying to jettison the crazy thoughts floating around in there.
“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.
“Like crap,” I reply and then laugh, a bit hysterically.
“We need to ask you some questions.”
“I figured that.” I respond and wonder where my saviour is. He wore a uniform. I do not see a single uniform in the room. What did he look like? Would I recognize him?
“Why were you here?”
I explain about the night before and why I stopped by to see Patty.
“The guy you saw her with, had you ever seen him before?” he inquires.
“No,” I answer and I notice there are a couple of uniforms at the door of the apartment. Is he one of them? Would I recognize him?
“Could you pick him out of a line up?” the cop in front of me asks and, for a moment, I am confused. Pick whom out of a line up?
“Yes,” I respond realising he means the guy Patty was with and I start to feel a little stronger because there’s something I might be able to do. “Absolutely, he was incredibly good looking, not the type anyone is likely to forget.” Looking at the cop standing before me I decide he is not the type anyone is likely to forget either but there was something different about the guy last night. I ask, “Did you tell me your name?”
“John Abeara,” he smiles then continues. “I’m going to need your name and some ID.”
“Sorry, of course, I’m Ann LePage.” I say as I reach into my purse to pull out my ID.
“LePage?” he enunciates, struggling to get the pronunciation right.
“Yes, spelled the same way as LePage.” I pronounce it the English way then hand him my ID.
“Thanks,” he writes notes in his little book. “We’re also going to need you to go to the station with us, give us your fingerprints and a few other things. Is there anyone you need to call before we go?”
I think of Josh, how comforting his presence would be. I want him to be with me but I shake my head no. The thought of telling Josh, no it’s the thought of explaining, it’s saying the words out loud that I can’t deal with. How will I tell Josh what has happened. Tears prick my eyes and I yank my thoughts back to the moment. I watch John’s hands as he writes my information into his little book.
John finishes writing then holds up one finger indicating I should wait. He walks over to one of the plain clothed detectives to talk to him for a few minutes. I strive to picture the uniform cop who first showed up but I cannot remember what he up looks like. I want to… to thank him. Is he one of the guys by the door? I cannot pull his face out of my memory; my vision is blocked by images from the bedroom. John Abeara wears plain clothes so he was not the one. Does that make him a Sergeant? I lack any knowledge about this works. I stare at John, my mind going blank for a moment, and then I notice he is directing me to follow him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.
“Like crap,” I reply and then laugh, a bit hysterically.
“We need to ask you some questions.”
“I figured that.” I respond and wonder where my saviour is. He wore a uniform. I do not see a single uniform in the room. What did he look like? Would I recognize him?
“Why were you here?”
I explain about the night before and why I stopped by to see Patty.
“The guy you saw her with, had you ever seen him before?” he inquires.
“No,” I answer and I notice there are a couple of uniforms at the door of the apartment. Is he one of them? Would I recognize him?
“Could you pick him out of a line up?” the cop in front of me asks and, for a moment, I am confused. Pick whom out of a line up?
“Yes,” I respond realising he means the guy Patty was with and I start to feel a little stronger because there’s something I might be able to do. “Absolutely, he was incredibly good looking, not the type anyone is likely to forget.” Looking at the cop standing before me I decide he is not the type anyone is likely to forget either but there was something different about the guy last night. I ask, “Did you tell me your name?”
“John Abeara,” he smiles then continues. “I’m going to need your name and some ID.”
“Sorry, of course, I’m Ann LePage.” I say as I reach into my purse to pull out my ID.
“LePage?” he enunciates, struggling to get the pronunciation right.
“Yes, spelled the same way as LePage.” I pronounce it the English way then hand him my ID.
“Thanks,” he writes notes in his little book. “We’re also going to need you to go to the station with us, give us your fingerprints and a few other things. Is there anyone you need to call before we go?”
I think of Josh, how comforting his presence would be. I want him to be with me but I shake my head no. The thought of telling Josh, no it’s the thought of explaining, it’s saying the words out loud that I can’t deal with. How will I tell Josh what has happened. Tears prick my eyes and I yank my thoughts back to the moment. I watch John’s hands as he writes my information into his little book.
John finishes writing then holds up one finger indicating I should wait. He walks over to one of the plain clothed detectives to talk to him for a few minutes. I strive to picture the uniform cop who first showed up but I cannot remember what he up looks like. I want to… to thank him. Is he one of the guys by the door? I cannot pull his face out of my memory; my vision is blocked by images from the bedroom. John Abeara wears plain clothes so he was not the one. Does that make him a Sergeant? I lack any knowledge about this works. I stare at John, my mind going blank for a moment, and then I notice he is directing me to follow him.
Chapter 3
My arms rest folded on the table and I bury my face into them to hide from the situation, but I still hear the police talking around me. There have been… insinuations that I was involved in Patty’s murder but I do not think the cops really believe it. Confusion constantly besets me. I will be fine for a while and then my mind tries to retreat from the horror of the morning. When I come back to the moment, I find I have missed words and actions in the last few minutes. I play ‘catch up’ with information. My Hollywood cop attempts to keep me focused but I end up staring into his blue eyes and… drifting away, as if those eyes are really the ocean and I can float away from reality in them.
“And you’re sure you’ve never seen him before?” someone demands.
I glance up and I shake my head no. I have lost track of the number of times they asked that question and the movement of my head makes it hurt. That cop drifts away and I put my head back down on my arms, a headache begins to hammer the back of my skull. Movement surrounds me, cops hover over me for a moment and then walk away replaced by other cops. In spite of their questions, I am not worried about my story making sense or being consistent. All I feel, all I can feel, is pain.
“Whoever this sicko is he really enjoyed himself. The blood splatter guy says the walls were deliberately splashed with blood.” The voice comes from another part of the room and the words trigger an image of Patty’s bedroom in my mind. Tears drip onto my arm. I wish I could close my ears.
A bustle of movement and suddenly I sit alone at the table. Whispered voices buzz nearby but I do not bother to listen. Images flash inside my head and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block them out of my mind. I do not want to see Patty’s bedroom any more. A hand gently touches my shoulder but I do not move. I want to sink away into the desk, down through the floor, into the ground, and disappear. The hand squeezes and I know I am expected to look up.
“We’re done here. Do you have someone who can pick you up?” The Hollywood cop asks me, concern written all over his face.
“I can call Josh,” I remember that my Hollywood cop told me his name but I do not recall what it is.
He sits down beside me, “Here’s my card. If you think of anything, anything at all, just call me. Even if you don’t think it’s important.”
I stretch out my right hand to take the card and it seems to take an hour to cross the distance until my fingers can grasp it. I stare at the name on the card. Sergeant John Abeara, yes, I remember it now. He did tell me his name at some point.
“Now, if you tell me your friend’s number I’ll call him for you.”
I give him Josh’s number and he walks away to make the call. The sergeant is too far away for me to hear what he says over all the noise in the station. Ennui holds me in my seat while I watch John approach.
“He’s says he’ll be here immediately. You can wait in the lobby. Do you want someone to wait with you?”
I shake my head no and slowly collect my things. Pulling on my coat seems to take more energy than I possess. As I take a step away, a thought occurs to me. “Sergeant could you do me a favour?” I ask but do not wait for his response. “The officer who found me could you… could you tell him thanks.”
I linger in the lobby of the police station with my headache slowly growing worse, waiting for Josh to arrive and get me out of there. It takes a while for me to realize that the headache inexorably buzzing through my skull is because I have not had any coffee. That cup of coffee sits on the floor in Patty’s bedroom. As that thought crosses my mind, an image of Patty’s bedroom appears before my eyes. I try to shut it out but it stays there blocking my view of my surroundings. I need something else to focus on. I look at the card in my hand. The name written there is Sergeant John Abeara, along with his phone number and email address. I carefully read all the details, all three of them and wish for something else to focus on as that image of Patty floats before my eyes again. I search the interior of the police station and then out the window. Relief floods through me as I see Josh walking up. He flashes a smile at me, the dimple in his right cheek making a brief appearance and I start toward the door, eager to get out of here.
“What the hell has happened? Why are you here?” Josh hugs me.
“I’ll tell you what happened but I need some coffee and a quiet place to sit.”
“Okay, let’s grab some coffee and go to my place.” A look of apprehension appears on his face. I think something in my voice bothers him.
“And you’re sure you’ve never seen him before?” someone demands.
I glance up and I shake my head no. I have lost track of the number of times they asked that question and the movement of my head makes it hurt. That cop drifts away and I put my head back down on my arms, a headache begins to hammer the back of my skull. Movement surrounds me, cops hover over me for a moment and then walk away replaced by other cops. In spite of their questions, I am not worried about my story making sense or being consistent. All I feel, all I can feel, is pain.
“Whoever this sicko is he really enjoyed himself. The blood splatter guy says the walls were deliberately splashed with blood.” The voice comes from another part of the room and the words trigger an image of Patty’s bedroom in my mind. Tears drip onto my arm. I wish I could close my ears.
A bustle of movement and suddenly I sit alone at the table. Whispered voices buzz nearby but I do not bother to listen. Images flash inside my head and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block them out of my mind. I do not want to see Patty’s bedroom any more. A hand gently touches my shoulder but I do not move. I want to sink away into the desk, down through the floor, into the ground, and disappear. The hand squeezes and I know I am expected to look up.
“We’re done here. Do you have someone who can pick you up?” The Hollywood cop asks me, concern written all over his face.
“I can call Josh,” I remember that my Hollywood cop told me his name but I do not recall what it is.
He sits down beside me, “Here’s my card. If you think of anything, anything at all, just call me. Even if you don’t think it’s important.”
I stretch out my right hand to take the card and it seems to take an hour to cross the distance until my fingers can grasp it. I stare at the name on the card. Sergeant John Abeara, yes, I remember it now. He did tell me his name at some point.
“Now, if you tell me your friend’s number I’ll call him for you.”
I give him Josh’s number and he walks away to make the call. The sergeant is too far away for me to hear what he says over all the noise in the station. Ennui holds me in my seat while I watch John approach.
“He’s says he’ll be here immediately. You can wait in the lobby. Do you want someone to wait with you?”
I shake my head no and slowly collect my things. Pulling on my coat seems to take more energy than I possess. As I take a step away, a thought occurs to me. “Sergeant could you do me a favour?” I ask but do not wait for his response. “The officer who found me could you… could you tell him thanks.”
I linger in the lobby of the police station with my headache slowly growing worse, waiting for Josh to arrive and get me out of there. It takes a while for me to realize that the headache inexorably buzzing through my skull is because I have not had any coffee. That cup of coffee sits on the floor in Patty’s bedroom. As that thought crosses my mind, an image of Patty’s bedroom appears before my eyes. I try to shut it out but it stays there blocking my view of my surroundings. I need something else to focus on. I look at the card in my hand. The name written there is Sergeant John Abeara, along with his phone number and email address. I carefully read all the details, all three of them and wish for something else to focus on as that image of Patty floats before my eyes again. I search the interior of the police station and then out the window. Relief floods through me as I see Josh walking up. He flashes a smile at me, the dimple in his right cheek making a brief appearance and I start toward the door, eager to get out of here.
“What the hell has happened? Why are you here?” Josh hugs me.
“I’ll tell you what happened but I need some coffee and a quiet place to sit.”
“Okay, let’s grab some coffee and go to my place.” A look of apprehension appears on his face. I think something in my voice bothers him.
Chapter 4
It takes a couple of hours to tell Josh everything that happened to me since last night while we sip coffee and I try to keep from breaking down again. Telling the story to Josh makes me very aware of how strange it all sounds. I think it may be the pain on his face that really brings it home to me. Josh has known Patty almost as long as I have and I see I am hurting him with my story. I stop for a moment and just look at him. His blonde hair hanging in his green eyes grabs my attention for a second. He shakes his head in disbelief, making his bangs swing in a way that makes his hair look live.
My eyes drop to stare at the coffee on the table. I am focusing on Josh’s hair so I do not have to think about Patty. I sit there and I wish I could go back in time. This time I would chase down Patty and stop her from leaving with that gorgeous, blonde guy. I wish I had just left my meeting, told them that I had a prior commitment. I wish the bus had been just a little bit faster, or I had dashed across the street when the light changed or… I wish it were yesterday. I wish... I wish... Suddenly I remember the words from my dream.
“I should have been there,” he mutters.
“Why?”
“I was supposed to be there too.” He reminds me.
“You said you couldn’t make it,” I reply very puzzled.
“I should have gone anyway. I should have been there to protect her.” Josh jumps up and paces in front of the coffee table. “I’ve always told you guys that you could call me at any time of night to walk you home or pick you up or…” his voice trails away and he comes to a stop, energy expended.
“Josh, she chose to leave. She chose to leave knowing I was on my way. She didn’t call anyone. She wasn’t being forced when I saw her leaving with that guy.”
“I should have been there to…”
I wait for him to say more but he does not seem to know where that sentence was going. I shake my head, “Josh, she chose. I understand that you feel guilty but you have no reason to.”
“And what about you?” He stands over me for a moment and then flops onto the couch beside me.
“I feel guilty too.” I admit. “But not… I don’t know. I wish the bus had been a little faster, that I had run across the street instead of waiting for the light, that I had searched for her a little longer, that I…” Silence stretches out between us. “Would it have made any difference?” I ask Josh.
“We would have stopped her.”
“Would we? I mean if she wanted to go would we have stopped her?”
“I don’t get it.” Josh mutters quietly to the floor. “It’s just not like her to do that.”
“I know she’s never done anything like that since I’ve known her.” I respond. Of course, I only met Patty in university so I have not known her that long but she is not a person who sleeps around. Patty just wasn’t like that.
Josh leans forward, puts his face in his hands and mumbles, “I just wish…”
“That it was yesterday,” I finish with a sigh.
“Yes,” he looks up at me, his beautiful thick blonde hair sticking up in various directions.
“I get it,” I say, looking into Josh’s eyes. Somehow, what I see there breaks me and I start to cry. Josh takes me in his arms, holds me, and I feel him start to cry as well. As my sobbing eases off to merely crying I realize I have no idea how much time has passed. I have been in and out of it all day. I have no idea what time of day it is. Is it still morning? Is it still today?
Josh stops crying before I do and he gently strokes my hair. It calms me down and allows me to get my breath back and travel the distance from crying to merely sniffling. I lean away, feeling hot and sweaty from the intensity of the emotions that racked me. I look into Josh’s eyes, blood-shot and swollen from tears, to tell him thanks but I am halted by what I see there. Those green eyes gaze at me filled with sympathy and something more. His hand caresses my face. I see what he wants but it… makes me uncomfortable. I take his hand in mine to stop him, unable to find words that will not hurt him when I say no. Holding his hand, I shake my head and look down. With his other hand, he tilts up my chin and gives me a smile, and that flashing dimple tells me everything will be okay between us. I relax.
I give Josh’s hand a squeeze and let go to sit back, staring up at the ceiling. My thoughts drift back to some random comments that the cops said while I was in the station. The most disturbing comments were the ones that were supposed to make me feel better. ‘There was nothing you could do” along with “it was meant to be.” Several different cops said things like that. Maybe there was nothing I could have done but I refuse to except that it was meant to be. I have had family die but somehow it was different. Patty feels... more dead. Maybe it is because I found the body. Or maybe it’s because I feel guilty.
Josh hesitantly puts his arm around me again and pulls me close but this time comfort is all he is offering. The clean fresh-showered smell of him is soothing and I relax into his arms, feeling tired, pounded flat, and rung out to dry. I breathe deeply and slowly. I remember a comment Patty once made about Josh. We were out at a party while we were still at university. Patty was crazy about Josh since the first day they met.
Patty and I were sitting on a couch while Patty stared across the room at Josh talking to several friends. One of the women put a hand on his arm, clearly signalling her interest in him, as she said something we could not hear.
“I don’t think he’s interested in me,” Patty confided while she watched him laugh at some comment. She pushed her long loosely curled hair over her shoulder and flashed a smile at me.
I did not know how to respond. Friends are supposed to say things like ‘of course he does’ and ‘who wouldn’t be interested in you’ but I was sure that Patty was right. I glanced over at Josh and the woman who was chatting him up. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Well, thanks for not lying.” She smiled her brown eyes regard me for a moment. “I think Josh wants to rescue someone.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer.
“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I have.” Patty looked back at Josh. “I think he has White Knight syndrome.”
“Really?” I laugh, “Why would he have that?”
“Well, he’s mother was a bit of a bitch. She made him feel like he had to rescue her from her bad marriage.” Her full mouth turned down into a frown.
That surprised me. I had never thought of Josh as coming from a bad childhood. He seemed… so well adjusted. “Are you sure it was her that made him feel that way? It seems to me that a lot of guys want to… play the hero.”
Patty looked at me, “That’s what I thought a first but he has said several things that make me think she made him feel he was responsible.”
White Knight Syndrome. I should have known that Josh would feel guilty about Patty. I should have been more careful when telling him about the events of last night. I pull my feet up onto the couch and give Josh a brief squeeze. My mind wanders, thinking about our days at university, hanging out with Patty and Josh, skipping classes, studying. Looking back it was all so simple and easy. Sitting in the library trying to study but really just laughing and talking; memories of Patty teaching me effective study techniques. ‘Tips and tricks to get through homework faster so we can go out,’ she used to joke. At some point, I drift off to sleep.
My eyes drop to stare at the coffee on the table. I am focusing on Josh’s hair so I do not have to think about Patty. I sit there and I wish I could go back in time. This time I would chase down Patty and stop her from leaving with that gorgeous, blonde guy. I wish I had just left my meeting, told them that I had a prior commitment. I wish the bus had been just a little bit faster, or I had dashed across the street when the light changed or… I wish it were yesterday. I wish... I wish... Suddenly I remember the words from my dream.
“I should have been there,” he mutters.
“Why?”
“I was supposed to be there too.” He reminds me.
“You said you couldn’t make it,” I reply very puzzled.
“I should have gone anyway. I should have been there to protect her.” Josh jumps up and paces in front of the coffee table. “I’ve always told you guys that you could call me at any time of night to walk you home or pick you up or…” his voice trails away and he comes to a stop, energy expended.
“Josh, she chose to leave. She chose to leave knowing I was on my way. She didn’t call anyone. She wasn’t being forced when I saw her leaving with that guy.”
“I should have been there to…”
I wait for him to say more but he does not seem to know where that sentence was going. I shake my head, “Josh, she chose. I understand that you feel guilty but you have no reason to.”
“And what about you?” He stands over me for a moment and then flops onto the couch beside me.
“I feel guilty too.” I admit. “But not… I don’t know. I wish the bus had been a little faster, that I had run across the street instead of waiting for the light, that I had searched for her a little longer, that I…” Silence stretches out between us. “Would it have made any difference?” I ask Josh.
“We would have stopped her.”
“Would we? I mean if she wanted to go would we have stopped her?”
“I don’t get it.” Josh mutters quietly to the floor. “It’s just not like her to do that.”
“I know she’s never done anything like that since I’ve known her.” I respond. Of course, I only met Patty in university so I have not known her that long but she is not a person who sleeps around. Patty just wasn’t like that.
Josh leans forward, puts his face in his hands and mumbles, “I just wish…”
“That it was yesterday,” I finish with a sigh.
“Yes,” he looks up at me, his beautiful thick blonde hair sticking up in various directions.
“I get it,” I say, looking into Josh’s eyes. Somehow, what I see there breaks me and I start to cry. Josh takes me in his arms, holds me, and I feel him start to cry as well. As my sobbing eases off to merely crying I realize I have no idea how much time has passed. I have been in and out of it all day. I have no idea what time of day it is. Is it still morning? Is it still today?
Josh stops crying before I do and he gently strokes my hair. It calms me down and allows me to get my breath back and travel the distance from crying to merely sniffling. I lean away, feeling hot and sweaty from the intensity of the emotions that racked me. I look into Josh’s eyes, blood-shot and swollen from tears, to tell him thanks but I am halted by what I see there. Those green eyes gaze at me filled with sympathy and something more. His hand caresses my face. I see what he wants but it… makes me uncomfortable. I take his hand in mine to stop him, unable to find words that will not hurt him when I say no. Holding his hand, I shake my head and look down. With his other hand, he tilts up my chin and gives me a smile, and that flashing dimple tells me everything will be okay between us. I relax.
I give Josh’s hand a squeeze and let go to sit back, staring up at the ceiling. My thoughts drift back to some random comments that the cops said while I was in the station. The most disturbing comments were the ones that were supposed to make me feel better. ‘There was nothing you could do” along with “it was meant to be.” Several different cops said things like that. Maybe there was nothing I could have done but I refuse to except that it was meant to be. I have had family die but somehow it was different. Patty feels... more dead. Maybe it is because I found the body. Or maybe it’s because I feel guilty.
Josh hesitantly puts his arm around me again and pulls me close but this time comfort is all he is offering. The clean fresh-showered smell of him is soothing and I relax into his arms, feeling tired, pounded flat, and rung out to dry. I breathe deeply and slowly. I remember a comment Patty once made about Josh. We were out at a party while we were still at university. Patty was crazy about Josh since the first day they met.
Patty and I were sitting on a couch while Patty stared across the room at Josh talking to several friends. One of the women put a hand on his arm, clearly signalling her interest in him, as she said something we could not hear.
“I don’t think he’s interested in me,” Patty confided while she watched him laugh at some comment. She pushed her long loosely curled hair over her shoulder and flashed a smile at me.
I did not know how to respond. Friends are supposed to say things like ‘of course he does’ and ‘who wouldn’t be interested in you’ but I was sure that Patty was right. I glanced over at Josh and the woman who was chatting him up. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Well, thanks for not lying.” She smiled her brown eyes regard me for a moment. “I think Josh wants to rescue someone.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer.
“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I have.” Patty looked back at Josh. “I think he has White Knight syndrome.”
“Really?” I laugh, “Why would he have that?”
“Well, he’s mother was a bit of a bitch. She made him feel like he had to rescue her from her bad marriage.” Her full mouth turned down into a frown.
That surprised me. I had never thought of Josh as coming from a bad childhood. He seemed… so well adjusted. “Are you sure it was her that made him feel that way? It seems to me that a lot of guys want to… play the hero.”
Patty looked at me, “That’s what I thought a first but he has said several things that make me think she made him feel he was responsible.”
White Knight Syndrome. I should have known that Josh would feel guilty about Patty. I should have been more careful when telling him about the events of last night. I pull my feet up onto the couch and give Josh a brief squeeze. My mind wanders, thinking about our days at university, hanging out with Patty and Josh, skipping classes, studying. Looking back it was all so simple and easy. Sitting in the library trying to study but really just laughing and talking; memories of Patty teaching me effective study techniques. ‘Tips and tricks to get through homework faster so we can go out,’ she used to joke. At some point, I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 5
I stand in a dimly lit tunnel. I glance around but cannot find the source of the light. Water drips somewhere in the distance although the air feels dry. While I stand there trying to determine what direction I should walk, an unpleasant smell comes and goes. The odour seems familiar but I cannot place it. I have a… memory of being in a place like this before. Or is it something other than memory? Maybe I read about it. Checking both directions, I head off deciding that one way is as good as another. I think I heard someone scream but its right at the edge of my hearing so I cannot be sure. The walls appear to have vague images on them. I stop to stare at one spot that makes me a little queasy. There is something... I peer at it from slightly different angles, striving to figure out what is so disturbing. Is that a face?
A scream in the distance and my feet are moving before I think about it. Another scream and I start to run. The walls and floor get wetter as I run through the dank tunnel. Soon my feet are splashing through dark puddles that gleam dully but, oddly, the air is still dry and it begins to parch my throat. Up ahead I spot a lump of something sitting on the floor against the wall of the tunnel. As I approach it my steps get slower until I realize the object is my backpack. The sudden knowledge stops me still. I stand staring at it for a moment. It is definitely mine. I squat to open the bag. Inside I find my laptop and a folder full of papers. I start to pull out the papers when I hear a scream again. I shove the papers back into the pack and start walking while I zip the top closed. As I sling the pack onto my back, I break into a run again.
The smell grows stronger as I near the end of the tunnel. My throat painfully dry, a feeling of defeat fills me and slows my steps. Nothing. A dead end. I have run the wrong way. I will be too late. Tears prick my eyes then I notice the tunnel continues to the right. I walk around the corner and see a body lying on the floor. My chest suddenly feels tight and my legs weak. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself. The wall feels... sticky. I withdraw my hand and stare at it. Covered in blood, I want to wipe it off but I have no way to do that. I back up to scan the walls and the floor. Blood is everywhere. I splash through puddles of blood to reach the body sprawled across the floor. Brown hair obscures the face of a woman so I stretch out a hand to brush it aside. My heart pounds so loudly I am sure the sound is echoing down the tunnel. I fear what I will find but I need to know. Hand shaking, I push the hair aside revealing a face I have never seen before. Somehow, I had been sure that I would know her.
I peer down the tunnel stretching out before me, thinking the killer must have gone that way. Checking the ground for footprints, I stand up and step around the body. I clearly see my own footprints in the blood but there is no indication that anyone else has been here before me. I scan the walls but again find nothing. The cloying smell grows stronger. I look back down at the woman and jump back in horror. The body is... dissolving.
I hear a quiet, mellow voice say, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I wake up in Josh’s bed, alone. I peer around wondering where he has gone and notice that my muscles are stiff and sore. I have a vague memory of Josh telling me to take his bed and sleep. I get up and walk into the living room to find blankets strewn across the couch. Josh must have slept out here. I move to the patio doors and gaze out at the street. It’s afternoon so I have only slept for a couple of hours. Or is it the next day? I stretch up to loosen up my body. It feels like I had an intense work out yesterday. I must be sleeping badly.
Patty’s mother; the thought hits me like a thunderclap. I should call her but I don’t have her number. I decide to check and pull out my phone to scroll through the numbers on the off chance that her number is in there. Who would have her number? The police? It feels weird to call them for a phone number. Maybe she is in the phonebook. I spend fifteen minutes trying to find a phone number for Patty’s mother and get nowhere. I hear the door open and Josh enters the living room with bags in his hands.
“I went out to get some stuff for dinner.”
“But you don’t know how to cook.” I comment.
“True, so instead I bought some fruit and veggies and snacks. I figure we can order in.” Josh walks into the kitchen and puts the bags on the counter. “I’m guessing you didn’t eat at all yesterday.”
“Did you take the day off?” I ask realising it is the next day. Patty has been dead for a whole day.
“Yeah, it was no problem.” Josh shrugs and starts putting things away.
“I… I’ve been trying to find a number for Patty’s mom.” I tell him as I follow him into the kitchen.
“I have it.” He stops and stands up straight. “I never even thought of calling her. Too fucking selfish.” He berates himself angrily. “Jesus, I should have thought of that.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” I say and take the bananas out of his hand to put them away.
“I’ll get her number.”
A few minutes later, he is back in the kitchen with his phone in hand and just stares at me. “What?” I ask.
“Do… do you think they told her? The cops.”
“I… I don’t know.” I reply and we stand there staring at each other. “I think we should assume they haven’t and try to brea─ break it to her easy.”
Josh nods, “I’ll make the call. I’ve met her.”
I stretch out a hand to grip Josh’s upper right arm, which holds his phone. He peers into my eyes and quickly gives my hand a squeeze with his left. He dials, turns away and walks into the living room. After a moment, I hear his voice, “Mrs Fletcher, this is Josh Eaton. I’m sorry but I have some terrible news to tell you─”
A scream in the distance and my feet are moving before I think about it. Another scream and I start to run. The walls and floor get wetter as I run through the dank tunnel. Soon my feet are splashing through dark puddles that gleam dully but, oddly, the air is still dry and it begins to parch my throat. Up ahead I spot a lump of something sitting on the floor against the wall of the tunnel. As I approach it my steps get slower until I realize the object is my backpack. The sudden knowledge stops me still. I stand staring at it for a moment. It is definitely mine. I squat to open the bag. Inside I find my laptop and a folder full of papers. I start to pull out the papers when I hear a scream again. I shove the papers back into the pack and start walking while I zip the top closed. As I sling the pack onto my back, I break into a run again.
The smell grows stronger as I near the end of the tunnel. My throat painfully dry, a feeling of defeat fills me and slows my steps. Nothing. A dead end. I have run the wrong way. I will be too late. Tears prick my eyes then I notice the tunnel continues to the right. I walk around the corner and see a body lying on the floor. My chest suddenly feels tight and my legs weak. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself. The wall feels... sticky. I withdraw my hand and stare at it. Covered in blood, I want to wipe it off but I have no way to do that. I back up to scan the walls and the floor. Blood is everywhere. I splash through puddles of blood to reach the body sprawled across the floor. Brown hair obscures the face of a woman so I stretch out a hand to brush it aside. My heart pounds so loudly I am sure the sound is echoing down the tunnel. I fear what I will find but I need to know. Hand shaking, I push the hair aside revealing a face I have never seen before. Somehow, I had been sure that I would know her.
I peer down the tunnel stretching out before me, thinking the killer must have gone that way. Checking the ground for footprints, I stand up and step around the body. I clearly see my own footprints in the blood but there is no indication that anyone else has been here before me. I scan the walls but again find nothing. The cloying smell grows stronger. I look back down at the woman and jump back in horror. The body is... dissolving.
I hear a quiet, mellow voice say, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I wake up in Josh’s bed, alone. I peer around wondering where he has gone and notice that my muscles are stiff and sore. I have a vague memory of Josh telling me to take his bed and sleep. I get up and walk into the living room to find blankets strewn across the couch. Josh must have slept out here. I move to the patio doors and gaze out at the street. It’s afternoon so I have only slept for a couple of hours. Or is it the next day? I stretch up to loosen up my body. It feels like I had an intense work out yesterday. I must be sleeping badly.
Patty’s mother; the thought hits me like a thunderclap. I should call her but I don’t have her number. I decide to check and pull out my phone to scroll through the numbers on the off chance that her number is in there. Who would have her number? The police? It feels weird to call them for a phone number. Maybe she is in the phonebook. I spend fifteen minutes trying to find a phone number for Patty’s mother and get nowhere. I hear the door open and Josh enters the living room with bags in his hands.
“I went out to get some stuff for dinner.”
“But you don’t know how to cook.” I comment.
“True, so instead I bought some fruit and veggies and snacks. I figure we can order in.” Josh walks into the kitchen and puts the bags on the counter. “I’m guessing you didn’t eat at all yesterday.”
“Did you take the day off?” I ask realising it is the next day. Patty has been dead for a whole day.
“Yeah, it was no problem.” Josh shrugs and starts putting things away.
“I… I’ve been trying to find a number for Patty’s mom.” I tell him as I follow him into the kitchen.
“I have it.” He stops and stands up straight. “I never even thought of calling her. Too fucking selfish.” He berates himself angrily. “Jesus, I should have thought of that.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” I say and take the bananas out of his hand to put them away.
“I’ll get her number.”
A few minutes later, he is back in the kitchen with his phone in hand and just stares at me. “What?” I ask.
“Do… do you think they told her? The cops.”
“I… I don’t know.” I reply and we stand there staring at each other. “I think we should assume they haven’t and try to brea─ break it to her easy.”
Josh nods, “I’ll make the call. I’ve met her.”
I stretch out a hand to grip Josh’s upper right arm, which holds his phone. He peers into my eyes and quickly gives my hand a squeeze with his left. He dials, turns away and walks into the living room. After a moment, I hear his voice, “Mrs Fletcher, this is Josh Eaton. I’m sorry but I have some terrible news to tell you─”
Chapter 6
The dream about the tunnel and decaying body is on my mind while I attend Patty’s funeral. Her mother, Margery, is very upset because the body is not fit for display. I am relieved. I have never understood the open casket thing but Margery wants it and she claims it was Patty’s wish as well. I hear Margery apologising to people because they cannot get one last look at Patty before they take the coffin to the cemetery and put it into the ground. I stand in the foyer of the church and wonder why people want a visual confirmation that Patty is in the box or, barring that, why they need the assurances from Patty’s mother that her body is indeed in there. Are they afraid Patty might be secretly living-it-up down in Mexico while we are stuck suffering through her funeral?
Margery shakes hands and chats with people while I watch from a quiet corner. Close enough to hear her explain that Patty is “not presentable” Presentable, the word kind of echoes in my mind while I scan the crowd wondering what it means. Presentable? I’m not even sure what that word denotes under these circumstances. Or do I mean connotes? The definition of the word floats through my head. Margery isn’t wrong. The body is not presentable no matter how the word is meant. I was with Margery a couple of days earlier when the cops explained that the body had decomposed at an accelerated rate. Patty had been an organ donor but none of her organs could be utilized because they had decayed beyond usability by the time they got the body to the morgue. I gaze out the door at the drizzly rain. I see more people huddled under umbrellas approaching the church. I don’t want to think about Patty’s decomposing body or the eerily prescient dream I’d had which featured a quickly decaying body.
“I’m sure she suffered a lot.”
Jolted I look around for the person who said that and see three elderly women standing in a small group, all of them nodding to each other.
“Well, I think she deserved it.” One of the women declares. All of them have to be in their seventies.
“Oh, yes, taking a strange man home like that for sex!” Her voice sounds delightfully shocked. I cannot figure out why these women are at Patty’s funeral. I know Patty’s grandmothers are dead so that cannot be it. And the women are far too old to be friends with Patty’s mother.
“Yes, it’s just disgusting how young women behave today.”
Suddenly I know what is going on and I turn away from them. I have encountered this before at funerals; older people who have nothing better to do with their day than attend funerals at ‘their’ church. As if the simple fact of location means they are automatically entitled to an invitation. They show up and discuss the shortcomings of the deceased who they never knew in voices loud enough to be overheard by the friends and family. These funeral aficionados often compare the various services as if they were discussing latest offerings at the local playhouse.
Disgusted, I glance around and spot a quieter corner of the foyer where I can escape to so I will not have to listen to more criticisms on Patty’s character. Of course, their comments also make me feel guilty. If I had been on time, would she have met the murderer? I assume he was there trolling for his victim so Patty would have been safe with me there. He must have been looking for a woman alone. Patty’s behaviour bothers me too. Not that she had taken some stranger home to bed, although that was a little out of character for her, but that she did so in such a short time span. I was a little over an hour late, which meant she had only known him for an hour or an hour and a half at the most. Maybe she had known him previously and just had not mentioned him to me. The cops said it was a possibility but I find that hard to believe. A guy that good looking? I think Patty would have talked about him. Besides, Patty was still hung up on Josh. She had always held back from getting involved with another guy because she was still hopeful that Josh would change his mind. I had tried to get her to move on. It just compounded my guilt that she chose that night to follow my advice.
I walk slowly across the foyer to the quieter corner. I scan around for Josh, hoping he will show up and shield me from this crap. I am sure he will find me as soon as he arrives so I go back to scanning the crowd, trying to do my ‘job’.
“It was just her time.”
The voice sounds familiar to me so I look for the owner and there she stands, near the door. I met her a couple of days ago because she was helping Margery in ‘her time of need’. Despite the woman’s constant and annoying use of that phrase, she does seem to sincerely care about Margery and Patty. The woman seems to thrive on the drama of the situation, which makes it impossible for me to like her. Her (almost) enjoyment of her role as the best friend and helpmate of the tragic mother is just too much for me to handle. I am not sure I remember her name correctly but I’m pretty convinced it’s Lorraine.
“Yes, there’s no escaping our destiny,” states the red head in the group of five women.
“Terrible, absolutely terrible to be taken like that but when it’s your time, it’s your time.” Another woman sadly agrees.
“Oh, yes, I’ve been telling Margery that since it happened.” Lorraine says this as if it is an important part of helping Margery in ‘her time of need’ and she is revelling in her role.
“Good, but you should tell her that when God decides it’s time, it’s time.” The red head says in a way that indicates her advice is sure to result in an easing of Margery’s grief over the loss of her only daughter.
Murmurs of agreement come from all the women in the group and then another woman shakes her head sorrowfully saying, “Destiny is inescapable ... it is whatever God decides.” It sounds like a quote.
I quickly search around for the bathroom. I need to get away from these people. They are really hitting the destiny idea pretty hard. I guess I can’t blame them. Destiny can be an attractive concept. It would certainly let me off the hook. If Patty’s murder was just destiny then I did would have saved her. Her death was inevitable. But I’ve always hated the idea of destiny, that our lives are predetermined. That our choices have no meaning is a horrible concept to me. Someone touches my shoulder and I turn to see Lorraine and her merry band gathering around me.
“Are you alright dear?” Lorraine asks, concern colouring her voice. That I believe her concern is heartfelt does not mitigate the irritation I feel at her enjoyment of her roll.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I reply although the air in the foyer suddenly feels very close and hard to breathe...
“Lorraine told us that you were to meet Patty on the night of her murder.” the red head comments.
“Uh, yes, I was delayed.” I answer, surprised that Lorraine bandied this piece of information about with her friends. Or maybe I should not be so surprised; It is the kind of thing people would be talking about. I have just managed to avoid this type of encounter.
The red head pats my arm, “You shouldn’t feel guilty. There was nothing you could do.”
Her touch makes my skin crawl. Or maybe it’s her inane prattle about destiny. I can almost see what is coming next. My emotions bubble too close to the surface for this conversation. If I have to listen, or worse participate, in a conversation about destiny I’ll start screaming. I do not want to make a scene at Patty’s funeral. It’s so... disrespectful.
“Excuse me,” I mumble. “I need to use the bathroom.” I quickly extricate myself from the group that managed to surround me and practically sprint to the bathroom.
The bathroom, empty and cool, is a welcome relief from the stress of the foyer. I walk over to one of the sinks and place my hands on the sides of the sink. I take a deep breath then lean forward and press my forehead against the coolness of the mirror. I stare down into the sink and my long hair falls forward obscuring my vision. I focus on the white porcelain in front of me, my thoughts in a jumble. I thought I was ready for this funeral but I am having a harder time than I expected. It is the guilt. At least I think guilt is turning Patty’s funeral into a horror show for me. I cannot shake it off. I tell myself it was not my fault. I was only late. I did not know how that one thing would result in Patty’s murder. I did not make her talk to that guy. I did not make her leave with him.
My body feels stiff and sore so I stretch a bit in the hopes it will ease the tenderness. I think back to the dream I had last night and wonder why I have been dreaming about a tunnel instead of Patty. I guess the decomposing body is sort of about Patty but I had that dream a couple of weeks before I learned that her body decayed at an accelerated pace. When Sergeant Abeara first told Margery and me about the condition of Patty’s body my mind instantly jumped back to standing in her bedroom with that… smell. Maybe that was why I dreamed it. Still I expected to dream of Patty, of saving her or just talking to her. Those were the types of dreams I had about my grandmother so why not Patty? An image of Patty’s dead eyes staring at the blood splattered walls flashes into my head. I shy away from thinking about Patty’s bedroom. Maybe that is why I’m not dreaming of her; maybe I’m just not ready to face it.
I wish I could run away from the funeral but that feels wrong. I should be here to honour her memory, to demonstrate respect for her friends and family, and to find Patty’s killer. It is the last one that really matters to me so I pull myself together and then check myself in the mirror to make sure I am presentable. I carefully check that my make-up is still okay. Hair perfectly straight, clothes nice and neat, no signs that I have been crying, yes, I look presentable. I stare myself in the eye to shore up my emotional defences. My eyes are blue. A fitting colour for the day and what I feel.
I walk out of the bathroom and, deciding to go find a seat, enter the nave. I look over the rows of pews, preferring one in the back but knowing I have to sit nearer the front, I choose to find one in the fourth row. As I march myself up the aisle, I spot one of the cops assigned to the funeral. He has a camera and continuously takes pictures of the guests. I find it a bit unbelievable that the murderer would turn up here but Sergeant Abeara assured Margery and me that there was a very good chance he would. I stare at my hand as I remember Margery reaching out and clasping it as the Sergeant told us the murderer might appear at the funeral. I know it horrified Margery that her daughter’s murderer might show up or that she might have to face him. Oddly, I don’t believe Sergeant Abeara really believes the murderer will show up. However, it is proper police procedure and he would follow it on the off chance that the murderer might show up. It was the reason I was standing in the foyer instead of hiding in a corner. I was looking for the guy I had come to think of as Mr Nordic. A hand touching my back startles me. Jumping a bit, I turn to see Josh with an apologetic look on his face.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says and gives me a hug. I squeeze him tight.
“No worries, let’s find a seat.”
Margery shakes hands and chats with people while I watch from a quiet corner. Close enough to hear her explain that Patty is “not presentable” Presentable, the word kind of echoes in my mind while I scan the crowd wondering what it means. Presentable? I’m not even sure what that word denotes under these circumstances. Or do I mean connotes? The definition of the word floats through my head. Margery isn’t wrong. The body is not presentable no matter how the word is meant. I was with Margery a couple of days earlier when the cops explained that the body had decomposed at an accelerated rate. Patty had been an organ donor but none of her organs could be utilized because they had decayed beyond usability by the time they got the body to the morgue. I gaze out the door at the drizzly rain. I see more people huddled under umbrellas approaching the church. I don’t want to think about Patty’s decomposing body or the eerily prescient dream I’d had which featured a quickly decaying body.
“I’m sure she suffered a lot.”
Jolted I look around for the person who said that and see three elderly women standing in a small group, all of them nodding to each other.
“Well, I think she deserved it.” One of the women declares. All of them have to be in their seventies.
“Oh, yes, taking a strange man home like that for sex!” Her voice sounds delightfully shocked. I cannot figure out why these women are at Patty’s funeral. I know Patty’s grandmothers are dead so that cannot be it. And the women are far too old to be friends with Patty’s mother.
“Yes, it’s just disgusting how young women behave today.”
Suddenly I know what is going on and I turn away from them. I have encountered this before at funerals; older people who have nothing better to do with their day than attend funerals at ‘their’ church. As if the simple fact of location means they are automatically entitled to an invitation. They show up and discuss the shortcomings of the deceased who they never knew in voices loud enough to be overheard by the friends and family. These funeral aficionados often compare the various services as if they were discussing latest offerings at the local playhouse.
Disgusted, I glance around and spot a quieter corner of the foyer where I can escape to so I will not have to listen to more criticisms on Patty’s character. Of course, their comments also make me feel guilty. If I had been on time, would she have met the murderer? I assume he was there trolling for his victim so Patty would have been safe with me there. He must have been looking for a woman alone. Patty’s behaviour bothers me too. Not that she had taken some stranger home to bed, although that was a little out of character for her, but that she did so in such a short time span. I was a little over an hour late, which meant she had only known him for an hour or an hour and a half at the most. Maybe she had known him previously and just had not mentioned him to me. The cops said it was a possibility but I find that hard to believe. A guy that good looking? I think Patty would have talked about him. Besides, Patty was still hung up on Josh. She had always held back from getting involved with another guy because she was still hopeful that Josh would change his mind. I had tried to get her to move on. It just compounded my guilt that she chose that night to follow my advice.
I walk slowly across the foyer to the quieter corner. I scan around for Josh, hoping he will show up and shield me from this crap. I am sure he will find me as soon as he arrives so I go back to scanning the crowd, trying to do my ‘job’.
“It was just her time.”
The voice sounds familiar to me so I look for the owner and there she stands, near the door. I met her a couple of days ago because she was helping Margery in ‘her time of need’. Despite the woman’s constant and annoying use of that phrase, she does seem to sincerely care about Margery and Patty. The woman seems to thrive on the drama of the situation, which makes it impossible for me to like her. Her (almost) enjoyment of her role as the best friend and helpmate of the tragic mother is just too much for me to handle. I am not sure I remember her name correctly but I’m pretty convinced it’s Lorraine.
“Yes, there’s no escaping our destiny,” states the red head in the group of five women.
“Terrible, absolutely terrible to be taken like that but when it’s your time, it’s your time.” Another woman sadly agrees.
“Oh, yes, I’ve been telling Margery that since it happened.” Lorraine says this as if it is an important part of helping Margery in ‘her time of need’ and she is revelling in her role.
“Good, but you should tell her that when God decides it’s time, it’s time.” The red head says in a way that indicates her advice is sure to result in an easing of Margery’s grief over the loss of her only daughter.
Murmurs of agreement come from all the women in the group and then another woman shakes her head sorrowfully saying, “Destiny is inescapable ... it is whatever God decides.” It sounds like a quote.
I quickly search around for the bathroom. I need to get away from these people. They are really hitting the destiny idea pretty hard. I guess I can’t blame them. Destiny can be an attractive concept. It would certainly let me off the hook. If Patty’s murder was just destiny then I did would have saved her. Her death was inevitable. But I’ve always hated the idea of destiny, that our lives are predetermined. That our choices have no meaning is a horrible concept to me. Someone touches my shoulder and I turn to see Lorraine and her merry band gathering around me.
“Are you alright dear?” Lorraine asks, concern colouring her voice. That I believe her concern is heartfelt does not mitigate the irritation I feel at her enjoyment of her roll.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I reply although the air in the foyer suddenly feels very close and hard to breathe...
“Lorraine told us that you were to meet Patty on the night of her murder.” the red head comments.
“Uh, yes, I was delayed.” I answer, surprised that Lorraine bandied this piece of information about with her friends. Or maybe I should not be so surprised; It is the kind of thing people would be talking about. I have just managed to avoid this type of encounter.
The red head pats my arm, “You shouldn’t feel guilty. There was nothing you could do.”
Her touch makes my skin crawl. Or maybe it’s her inane prattle about destiny. I can almost see what is coming next. My emotions bubble too close to the surface for this conversation. If I have to listen, or worse participate, in a conversation about destiny I’ll start screaming. I do not want to make a scene at Patty’s funeral. It’s so... disrespectful.
“Excuse me,” I mumble. “I need to use the bathroom.” I quickly extricate myself from the group that managed to surround me and practically sprint to the bathroom.
The bathroom, empty and cool, is a welcome relief from the stress of the foyer. I walk over to one of the sinks and place my hands on the sides of the sink. I take a deep breath then lean forward and press my forehead against the coolness of the mirror. I stare down into the sink and my long hair falls forward obscuring my vision. I focus on the white porcelain in front of me, my thoughts in a jumble. I thought I was ready for this funeral but I am having a harder time than I expected. It is the guilt. At least I think guilt is turning Patty’s funeral into a horror show for me. I cannot shake it off. I tell myself it was not my fault. I was only late. I did not know how that one thing would result in Patty’s murder. I did not make her talk to that guy. I did not make her leave with him.
My body feels stiff and sore so I stretch a bit in the hopes it will ease the tenderness. I think back to the dream I had last night and wonder why I have been dreaming about a tunnel instead of Patty. I guess the decomposing body is sort of about Patty but I had that dream a couple of weeks before I learned that her body decayed at an accelerated pace. When Sergeant Abeara first told Margery and me about the condition of Patty’s body my mind instantly jumped back to standing in her bedroom with that… smell. Maybe that was why I dreamed it. Still I expected to dream of Patty, of saving her or just talking to her. Those were the types of dreams I had about my grandmother so why not Patty? An image of Patty’s dead eyes staring at the blood splattered walls flashes into my head. I shy away from thinking about Patty’s bedroom. Maybe that is why I’m not dreaming of her; maybe I’m just not ready to face it.
I wish I could run away from the funeral but that feels wrong. I should be here to honour her memory, to demonstrate respect for her friends and family, and to find Patty’s killer. It is the last one that really matters to me so I pull myself together and then check myself in the mirror to make sure I am presentable. I carefully check that my make-up is still okay. Hair perfectly straight, clothes nice and neat, no signs that I have been crying, yes, I look presentable. I stare myself in the eye to shore up my emotional defences. My eyes are blue. A fitting colour for the day and what I feel.
I walk out of the bathroom and, deciding to go find a seat, enter the nave. I look over the rows of pews, preferring one in the back but knowing I have to sit nearer the front, I choose to find one in the fourth row. As I march myself up the aisle, I spot one of the cops assigned to the funeral. He has a camera and continuously takes pictures of the guests. I find it a bit unbelievable that the murderer would turn up here but Sergeant Abeara assured Margery and me that there was a very good chance he would. I stare at my hand as I remember Margery reaching out and clasping it as the Sergeant told us the murderer might appear at the funeral. I know it horrified Margery that her daughter’s murderer might show up or that she might have to face him. Oddly, I don’t believe Sergeant Abeara really believes the murderer will show up. However, it is proper police procedure and he would follow it on the off chance that the murderer might show up. It was the reason I was standing in the foyer instead of hiding in a corner. I was looking for the guy I had come to think of as Mr Nordic. A hand touching my back startles me. Jumping a bit, I turn to see Josh with an apologetic look on his face.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says and gives me a hug. I squeeze him tight.
“No worries, let’s find a seat.”
Chapter 7
The service lasts for three days. Or maybe it’s only three hours. I had hoped Josh would be a comfort but he is a little annoying. He hovers, putting his arm around me, holding my hand, giving me a hanky when I start to cry. It drives me a little crazy. I know he is just trying to offer support but it feels more like clinging. Maybe I’m just overly sensitive. I want to get away from everyone. Actually what I want is to talk to the cops and find out if they have learned anything. The idea that Patty’s murderer might get away really eats at me and sitting through this endless funeral service has only increased my desire to find the guy. I want to help. I want this funeral to end. I want Patty alive, making jokes about the cops. I want yesterday back. No, I want it to be two weeks ago, before Patty died. November is nearly over and each day that has passed has made Patty’s death more and more real to me. It also makes me feel more and more frustrated with the murder investigation.
As soon as the service is over, I tell Josh that I need to use the bathroom so I can get away from him. The old bathroom dodge; a useful excuse at times. Fortunately, Josh does not know I used the same excuse earlier so he believes me. I walk quickly down one of the side isles to avoid the crowd in the centre. I pretend to examine the floor until I sense someone near and look up to find Sergeant Abeara surreptitiously motioning me over to him. I stroll over to stand beside him, looking out over the church.
“Have you seen him?” the sergeant asks, nodding towards the crowd.
“No,” I reply, glancing around.
“How are you holding up?” my hunky Sergeant asks.
“I’m... getting through it.”
“There’s not much left.”
“Of the service.” I turn to look at him. “But the investigation isn’t going well, is it?”
“No,” he pauses for a long moment while the two of us peruse the church and focus on the people milling around in the centre aisle. “We think that your friend’s killer is most likely a serial killer.”
“Yes, I guessed that.” I answer absently while watching Josh spot me standing against the wall. He takes a step in my direction but I shake my head indicating that he shouldn’t join us. “If he is a serial killer then it’s unlikely for him to be here, right?”
“Yes, serial killers don’t feel remorse so they’re unlikely to show up.”
“Isn’t it unusual for a serial killer to kill in someone’s home?” I ask. I have done a little reading on the subject because the thought had occurred to me. The murder was too… neat. It spoke of practice.
“Yes, they like to kill in a place where they feel they have complete control. Being in some else’s place would give control to the victim.” Sergeant Abeara pauses, blue eyes intense and angry, and then says quietly, “At least I’ve never heard of a serial killer doing that.”
“Maybe the guy I saw Patty with had nothing to do with her murder and so he isn’t here. Maybe he doesn’t even know she’s dead.”
“That’s a possibility.”
I glance at the Sergeant again. Somehow, I am not convinced he believes what he just said. He sees my appraising look and smiles.
“No, I don’t believe that.” he confirms.
“Why?”
“It’s just too coincidental. Your friend leaves with someone you’ve never seen before and that night she’s murdered.” He pauses and then continues in a more thoughtful tone of voice, more to himself than to me. “No, that’s just a bit too coincidental.”
“Patty and I were friends but I couldn’t definitively say that she would tell me everything.”
“Maybe, but we have interviewed all her friends we could and none of them have mentioned the guy you saw.”
“That still doesn’t really mean anything,” I reply.
“True, but we still need to talk to him. At this moment he’s still our best lead.” Sergeant Abeara pauses again and then asks, “Is there anyone here you don’t recognize?”
“Sure, there are a lot of people I don’t know.” I look at the Sergeant’s beautiful blue eyes, wondering what he is getting at.
He smiles, “If the killer is not the guy you saw, he might still be here…”
“But I wouldn’t recognize him.” I finish. “I don’t know Patty’s family. You would have to ask her mother.”
The Sergeant nods and then makes a vague gesture towards Josh. “Your boyfriend appears a bit anxious.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say, trying to hide my annoyance while watching Josh watch me. I turned to John Abeara and take a couple of steps away, saying, “I was on my way to the bathroom. Please call me if you learn anything.”
He nods again and I pick up my pace. I really dread the next part. I hate seeing coffins lowered into the ground. At my grandmother’s funeral my mother fell to her knees crying when the first shovel full of dirt hit the coffin. It is an image I have never been able get out of my mind; my mother falling to her knees in the snow on the frozen ground, clinging to her best friend, crying out in pain and fear. Every time I think of my grandmother’s funeral, I re-experience that moment when my mother who had remained strong throughout all the preparations broke down and wailed her grief. I had wanted to run to her side and help her but our relationship did not allow for that. I knew she would not find me comforting so I stood ten feet away, tears flowing down my face, crying for my grandmother, for my mother, and for myself.
As soon as the service is over, I tell Josh that I need to use the bathroom so I can get away from him. The old bathroom dodge; a useful excuse at times. Fortunately, Josh does not know I used the same excuse earlier so he believes me. I walk quickly down one of the side isles to avoid the crowd in the centre. I pretend to examine the floor until I sense someone near and look up to find Sergeant Abeara surreptitiously motioning me over to him. I stroll over to stand beside him, looking out over the church.
“Have you seen him?” the sergeant asks, nodding towards the crowd.
“No,” I reply, glancing around.
“How are you holding up?” my hunky Sergeant asks.
“I’m... getting through it.”
“There’s not much left.”
“Of the service.” I turn to look at him. “But the investigation isn’t going well, is it?”
“No,” he pauses for a long moment while the two of us peruse the church and focus on the people milling around in the centre aisle. “We think that your friend’s killer is most likely a serial killer.”
“Yes, I guessed that.” I answer absently while watching Josh spot me standing against the wall. He takes a step in my direction but I shake my head indicating that he shouldn’t join us. “If he is a serial killer then it’s unlikely for him to be here, right?”
“Yes, serial killers don’t feel remorse so they’re unlikely to show up.”
“Isn’t it unusual for a serial killer to kill in someone’s home?” I ask. I have done a little reading on the subject because the thought had occurred to me. The murder was too… neat. It spoke of practice.
“Yes, they like to kill in a place where they feel they have complete control. Being in some else’s place would give control to the victim.” Sergeant Abeara pauses, blue eyes intense and angry, and then says quietly, “At least I’ve never heard of a serial killer doing that.”
“Maybe the guy I saw Patty with had nothing to do with her murder and so he isn’t here. Maybe he doesn’t even know she’s dead.”
“That’s a possibility.”
I glance at the Sergeant again. Somehow, I am not convinced he believes what he just said. He sees my appraising look and smiles.
“No, I don’t believe that.” he confirms.
“Why?”
“It’s just too coincidental. Your friend leaves with someone you’ve never seen before and that night she’s murdered.” He pauses and then continues in a more thoughtful tone of voice, more to himself than to me. “No, that’s just a bit too coincidental.”
“Patty and I were friends but I couldn’t definitively say that she would tell me everything.”
“Maybe, but we have interviewed all her friends we could and none of them have mentioned the guy you saw.”
“That still doesn’t really mean anything,” I reply.
“True, but we still need to talk to him. At this moment he’s still our best lead.” Sergeant Abeara pauses again and then asks, “Is there anyone here you don’t recognize?”
“Sure, there are a lot of people I don’t know.” I look at the Sergeant’s beautiful blue eyes, wondering what he is getting at.
He smiles, “If the killer is not the guy you saw, he might still be here…”
“But I wouldn’t recognize him.” I finish. “I don’t know Patty’s family. You would have to ask her mother.”
The Sergeant nods and then makes a vague gesture towards Josh. “Your boyfriend appears a bit anxious.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say, trying to hide my annoyance while watching Josh watch me. I turned to John Abeara and take a couple of steps away, saying, “I was on my way to the bathroom. Please call me if you learn anything.”
He nods again and I pick up my pace. I really dread the next part. I hate seeing coffins lowered into the ground. At my grandmother’s funeral my mother fell to her knees crying when the first shovel full of dirt hit the coffin. It is an image I have never been able get out of my mind; my mother falling to her knees in the snow on the frozen ground, clinging to her best friend, crying out in pain and fear. Every time I think of my grandmother’s funeral, I re-experience that moment when my mother who had remained strong throughout all the preparations broke down and wailed her grief. I had wanted to run to her side and help her but our relationship did not allow for that. I knew she would not find me comforting so I stood ten feet away, tears flowing down my face, crying for my grandmother, for my mother, and for myself.
Chapter 8
Standing by the food table, I watch the crowd. I feel I don’t belong. Unfortunately, I’m not free to leave. Margery asked me to help her receive guests at the wake. Well, it is not really a wake since Margery does not allow drinking. She is one of those religious people who believe Christ drank unfermented grape juice. Maybe I can just hide in the bathroom for an hour or so. Maybe I should have smuggled alcohol in here.
I follow Margery’s movement through the various groups of people. Although she has been holding up well, I see grief is taking its toll. I look away as I remember her grabbing my hand at the graveside when they started lowering Patty’s coffin into the ground. She clung tightly, painfully so, and I could feel her get a little unsteady on her feet. She held onto me so she could stay standing upright while she cried but I think Margery also held onto me as the last piece of her daughter. It made me think of my mother. Margery was quieter but her grief was equally intense and now I can see her running out of energy, running out of strength, running out of whatever has made it possible for her to smile while her heart is breaking.
I always envied Patty’s relationship with her mother. They had the kind of relationship most women wish they had with their mothers and daughters. My own relationship with my mother was a little more... fraught. I guess my mother would show up to my funeral but she certainly would not have taken Patty into her confidence the way Margery confided in me. Actually, I doubt my mother even knows who my friends are.
“So, I told my mom about Josh,” Patty said while flicking through the clothes on the rack during a shopping trip.
“Really, why?” I did not need any new clothes but Patty needed some ‘professional clothes’ for her new job so I was helping her shop.
“I wanted to know what she thought I should do,” Patty explains, pulling a shirt off the rack and holding it up.
“What did she tell you?” I could not imagine calling my mother for advice, especially about men. She had me so she must have had sex at some point but I have never seen her date or even express an interest in men. I sometimes wonder if she is gay.
“She basically said the same thing as you. That Josh doesn’t appear to see me as more than a friend and I should try to move on with my life.” She hung the shirt back up with a sigh, “I don’t know why but I find that really hard to do.”
“Maybe it’s because we hang out with him so much. It’s hard to move on if he’s always present.” I watched how Patty would take that advice.
“Yeah, but the trouble is I still want Josh for a friend even if I can’t… maybe I’m not ready to let go.”
“Did your mother offer any advice on how you could move on?” I asked, curious.
Patty laughed, “Her reply was ‘Baby if I could figure out an easy way to move on from a man I’d open a store and get rich helping other women.’ My mom’s such a nut.” She concluded with love and amusement in her voice.
“It was a beautiful service, don’t you think?” a female voice says beside me, pulling me back to the present.
“Yes,” I reply, preparing myself to face more insensitive crap before turning to look at the speaker. She has light brown hair and blue eyes. She is not anyone I know but there is something about her. Something I can’t quite pin down.
“Did you know Patty well?” she asks.
“We were friends. I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are.”
“Oh, I was in a couple of classes with Patty back in university. She helped me bit and I wanted to... say good-bye.” She answers obliquely.
“And your name is?” I ask.
“Oh, sorry, it’s Kathy.” she tells me, holding out a hand.
I shake it, “I think I remember Patty mentioning you. I’m Ann.”
Kathy smiles and looks around. “Yes, Patty told me about you. She was really good to me, always willing to help me out when I got stuck. She used to tell me that helping others in the class helped her learn the material better. Sometimes I thought she just said that to make me feel better whenever I imposed on her. Other times I believed she really meant it.”
I smile too, “It was probably both. She wouldn’t want you to feel bad about asking for help and she enjoyed teaching people. She would often talk about her teaching sessions. She truly believed that everyone could be taught and that it was up to the teacher to find right method.”
Kathy peers at the floor. “The world’s a poorer place without her.”
“Yes,” I agree, fighting back tears. After all the insensitive comments, I have been hearing Kathy’s remarks feel like a fresh wound. Not prepared for something sympathetic, thoughtful, and kind, it hurts but at the same time, I greatly appreciate it. I resist the urge to hug her.
“Thank you,” Kathy whispers.
“For what?”
She clears her throat a bit then replies a bit louder. “It just seems like you’re the only person I’ve talked to who has wanted to remember Patty. I mean who she was, the things she did. All anyone else has wanted to talk about has been Patty’s horrible murder.”
I look at her, “I thought it was just me who was getting that because everyone knows I found her.”
Kathy stares into my eyes and, once again, I am struck by... something. It is there but I can’t figure out what ‘it’ is. Maybe Patty introduced us at some point. Kathy gives me a small, weak smile. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” She says with true empathy in her voice.
“It wasn’t fun,” I reply, “Actually, it’s still not fun.”
Kathy glances over to Margery and then back at me. She holds out her hand again and as we shake she says, “It was nice to talk to you. I’m going to give my condolences to Patty’s mother and then leave.”
“It was nice talking to you too. Good-bye.”
She nods and walks off, slowly making her way to Margery. I watch her join the line of well-wishers who are also leaving. Surveying the group, I notice that Kathy stands out from the rest. It is not that she is beautiful but rather has a kind of gracefulness that sets her apart. I really want to join her in that line up and get the hell out but I know I’m expected to stay.
“Who was that?” Josh asks right at my shoulder. He must have approached while my attention was on Kathy.
I explain who she was and what she had said.
“I had almost forgotten how much Patty liked to teach,” Josh sighs, his voice filled with regret. “I’m surprised there aren’t more like her here.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to intrude. Or more likely they just didn’t know how to deal with a funeral.”
“Do you really think that?”
“Yes, people are very uncomfortable with funerals. They worry about saying the wrong thing, which is appropriate considering how many people do say insensitive things.”
“Not everyone has been to as many funerals as you have.” Josh replies gently.
“No, but all you have do is say you’re sorry for their loss and keep your opinions to yourself. It shouldn’t be that hard.” I say a little angrily. “I guess I feel that people should try instead of hiding away from it. It’s cowardly. I think that maybe death frightens people. Or maybe it’s just the intense emotions of a funeral that frighten people. Whatever it is they should just get over it.” I know I am rambling but I cannot stop myself. “Death is a part of life. My grandmother use to tell me, ‘Ain’t none of us getting out alive.’ And of course she’s right. Or maybe they should stay home instead of spouting all the insensitive things that they do. How hard is it?” I continue to babble, talking in circles, making no sense.
“Are you alright,” Josh asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I nod, take a deep breath and try to calm myself. Josh’s hand squeezes my shoulder and then his arm slides around me, turning into a brief hug that manages to burn through the crap I have been listening to and soothes me.
“What have people been saying?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I respond with a sigh, suddenly not caring about any of those people. Josh squeezes my shoulders again and I just want to grab him and run out of the place. Go somewhere where it is just the two of us; no worries, no funerals, and no other people. Guilt follows hard on the heels of that thought.
“It’s almost over.” Josh reassures me, “Look at the line of people who are saying good-bye to Patty’s mom.” I look over to Margery to see he is right. The line has reached a kind of quorum, prompting the other guests to join the line, assuming the service has reached its end. Soon the last people will be gone and it will be over. But I know it’s not really over. Not for me. It won’t be over until they catch Patty’s murderer.
I follow Margery’s movement through the various groups of people. Although she has been holding up well, I see grief is taking its toll. I look away as I remember her grabbing my hand at the graveside when they started lowering Patty’s coffin into the ground. She clung tightly, painfully so, and I could feel her get a little unsteady on her feet. She held onto me so she could stay standing upright while she cried but I think Margery also held onto me as the last piece of her daughter. It made me think of my mother. Margery was quieter but her grief was equally intense and now I can see her running out of energy, running out of strength, running out of whatever has made it possible for her to smile while her heart is breaking.
I always envied Patty’s relationship with her mother. They had the kind of relationship most women wish they had with their mothers and daughters. My own relationship with my mother was a little more... fraught. I guess my mother would show up to my funeral but she certainly would not have taken Patty into her confidence the way Margery confided in me. Actually, I doubt my mother even knows who my friends are.
“So, I told my mom about Josh,” Patty said while flicking through the clothes on the rack during a shopping trip.
“Really, why?” I did not need any new clothes but Patty needed some ‘professional clothes’ for her new job so I was helping her shop.
“I wanted to know what she thought I should do,” Patty explains, pulling a shirt off the rack and holding it up.
“What did she tell you?” I could not imagine calling my mother for advice, especially about men. She had me so she must have had sex at some point but I have never seen her date or even express an interest in men. I sometimes wonder if she is gay.
“She basically said the same thing as you. That Josh doesn’t appear to see me as more than a friend and I should try to move on with my life.” She hung the shirt back up with a sigh, “I don’t know why but I find that really hard to do.”
“Maybe it’s because we hang out with him so much. It’s hard to move on if he’s always present.” I watched how Patty would take that advice.
“Yeah, but the trouble is I still want Josh for a friend even if I can’t… maybe I’m not ready to let go.”
“Did your mother offer any advice on how you could move on?” I asked, curious.
Patty laughed, “Her reply was ‘Baby if I could figure out an easy way to move on from a man I’d open a store and get rich helping other women.’ My mom’s such a nut.” She concluded with love and amusement in her voice.
“It was a beautiful service, don’t you think?” a female voice says beside me, pulling me back to the present.
“Yes,” I reply, preparing myself to face more insensitive crap before turning to look at the speaker. She has light brown hair and blue eyes. She is not anyone I know but there is something about her. Something I can’t quite pin down.
“Did you know Patty well?” she asks.
“We were friends. I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are.”
“Oh, I was in a couple of classes with Patty back in university. She helped me bit and I wanted to... say good-bye.” She answers obliquely.
“And your name is?” I ask.
“Oh, sorry, it’s Kathy.” she tells me, holding out a hand.
I shake it, “I think I remember Patty mentioning you. I’m Ann.”
Kathy smiles and looks around. “Yes, Patty told me about you. She was really good to me, always willing to help me out when I got stuck. She used to tell me that helping others in the class helped her learn the material better. Sometimes I thought she just said that to make me feel better whenever I imposed on her. Other times I believed she really meant it.”
I smile too, “It was probably both. She wouldn’t want you to feel bad about asking for help and she enjoyed teaching people. She would often talk about her teaching sessions. She truly believed that everyone could be taught and that it was up to the teacher to find right method.”
Kathy peers at the floor. “The world’s a poorer place without her.”
“Yes,” I agree, fighting back tears. After all the insensitive comments, I have been hearing Kathy’s remarks feel like a fresh wound. Not prepared for something sympathetic, thoughtful, and kind, it hurts but at the same time, I greatly appreciate it. I resist the urge to hug her.
“Thank you,” Kathy whispers.
“For what?”
She clears her throat a bit then replies a bit louder. “It just seems like you’re the only person I’ve talked to who has wanted to remember Patty. I mean who she was, the things she did. All anyone else has wanted to talk about has been Patty’s horrible murder.”
I look at her, “I thought it was just me who was getting that because everyone knows I found her.”
Kathy stares into my eyes and, once again, I am struck by... something. It is there but I can’t figure out what ‘it’ is. Maybe Patty introduced us at some point. Kathy gives me a small, weak smile. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” She says with true empathy in her voice.
“It wasn’t fun,” I reply, “Actually, it’s still not fun.”
Kathy glances over to Margery and then back at me. She holds out her hand again and as we shake she says, “It was nice to talk to you. I’m going to give my condolences to Patty’s mother and then leave.”
“It was nice talking to you too. Good-bye.”
She nods and walks off, slowly making her way to Margery. I watch her join the line of well-wishers who are also leaving. Surveying the group, I notice that Kathy stands out from the rest. It is not that she is beautiful but rather has a kind of gracefulness that sets her apart. I really want to join her in that line up and get the hell out but I know I’m expected to stay.
“Who was that?” Josh asks right at my shoulder. He must have approached while my attention was on Kathy.
I explain who she was and what she had said.
“I had almost forgotten how much Patty liked to teach,” Josh sighs, his voice filled with regret. “I’m surprised there aren’t more like her here.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to intrude. Or more likely they just didn’t know how to deal with a funeral.”
“Do you really think that?”
“Yes, people are very uncomfortable with funerals. They worry about saying the wrong thing, which is appropriate considering how many people do say insensitive things.”
“Not everyone has been to as many funerals as you have.” Josh replies gently.
“No, but all you have do is say you’re sorry for their loss and keep your opinions to yourself. It shouldn’t be that hard.” I say a little angrily. “I guess I feel that people should try instead of hiding away from it. It’s cowardly. I think that maybe death frightens people. Or maybe it’s just the intense emotions of a funeral that frighten people. Whatever it is they should just get over it.” I know I am rambling but I cannot stop myself. “Death is a part of life. My grandmother use to tell me, ‘Ain’t none of us getting out alive.’ And of course she’s right. Or maybe they should stay home instead of spouting all the insensitive things that they do. How hard is it?” I continue to babble, talking in circles, making no sense.
“Are you alright,” Josh asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I nod, take a deep breath and try to calm myself. Josh’s hand squeezes my shoulder and then his arm slides around me, turning into a brief hug that manages to burn through the crap I have been listening to and soothes me.
“What have people been saying?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I respond with a sigh, suddenly not caring about any of those people. Josh squeezes my shoulders again and I just want to grab him and run out of the place. Go somewhere where it is just the two of us; no worries, no funerals, and no other people. Guilt follows hard on the heels of that thought.
“It’s almost over.” Josh reassures me, “Look at the line of people who are saying good-bye to Patty’s mom.” I look over to Margery to see he is right. The line has reached a kind of quorum, prompting the other guests to join the line, assuming the service has reached its end. Soon the last people will be gone and it will be over. But I know it’s not really over. Not for me. It won’t be over until they catch Patty’s murderer.
Chapter 9
I stand in a dimly lit tunnel. I have the uneasy feeling I have been here before but I can’t remember when. I glance around but cannot find the source of the light. Water drips somewhere in the distance although the air feels dry. An unpleasant smell comes and goes as I stand there trying to determine which direction to go. The odour seemed familiar but I cannot place it. I set off deciding that one way is as good as another. I think I heard someone scream but its right at the edge of my hearing so I can’t be sure. The walls appear to have vague images on them. I stop to stare at one spot that makes me feel uneasy. There is something... I peer at it from a slightly different angle striving to figure out what is so disturbing. Is that a face?
I reach out a hand, reluctant to touch the wall but wanting to know what is there. The wall feels dry but as I brush my hand across it, it crumbles in a way that reminds me of damp earth. As I wipe the image begins to appear but then it starts to disappear. I brush the wall quicker, desperate to know what the image is but I just rub the picture away. I stop and then take a step back… And I stumble over a body.
I splash through puddles of blood to back away from the body sprawled across the floor. Brown hair obscures the face of a woman so I stretch out a hand to brush it aside. My heart pounds; I am afraid of what I might find but I need to know. Hand shaking, I push the hair aside revealing a face I have never seen before. Somehow, I had been sure that I would know her.
I peer down the tunnel stretching out before me, thinking the killer must have gone that way. Checking the ground for footprints, I stand up and step around the body. I clearly see my own footprints in the blood but there are no indications that anyone has been here before me. I scan the walls but again find nothing. The smell is cloying and growing stronger. I look back down at the woman and jump back in horror. The body is... dissolving.
I hunt around again, frantic for a way out. The tunnel seems to dead end in both directions. I give my head a shake. I was sure that a moment ago the tunnel, in both directions, continued straight until it disappeared into the gloom. I am not sure which way to go. After a moment I decide it does not matter and walk towards one end to see if there is a way out. It looks like a dead end but the tunnel actually makes a left turn. I approach the corner cautiously, afraid of what I might find. I glance around the corner and find ... nothing. I continue. My throat, dry and scratchy, hurts as I search for a way out. I see the tunnel goes around another corner, this time to the right. I hear voices but they are unclear. Again, I approach the corner slowly and peer around. I see a woman who appears to be talking to a dog. She seems to sense me and looks up to meet my eyes.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” she says with a smile.
I wake up in my darkened bedroom and turn over to stare up at the ceiling. These dreams are driving me crazy. I turn on the light and get up to get a drink. I have been having similar dreams ever since Patty’s murder. In the kitchen, as I pour myself a glass of water, I realize that is not quite true. I had the first dream on the night that Patty was killed, before I knew she was dead, and I have not had a good night’s sleep since.
It’s not like this is unfamiliar to me. When my grandmother died, dreams haunted me for months. Of course, those dreams were about my grandmother not a tunnel or some other metaphorical thing. I did not eat or sleep in the two weeks that followed my grandmother’s death. While trying to deal with her death a counsellor told me that sleep and food were essential to get through a grieving period. The counsellor explained to me how not eating or sleeping causes chemical changes to take place, which make it harder to deal with grief. The counsellor explained all the cold-hard facts about grief, the best way to overcome it. Sleep, eat right, exercise, spend time with family and friends, allow yourself time to grieve alone, and push grief aside to go out and try to bring back your life. It all sounds so easy to do, a straightforward recipe for success, and yet it is so hard to achieve.
Grief, it’s such a short word to encompass so much pain. I lean against the doorway and sip my water. I am not anxious to get back to bed. In fact, I’m a little afraid of it. I do not want to be pulled into more dreams. The dreams make me feel confused and... young. They make me feel like that scared little kid growing up alone with a mother who was distant and cold. While my grandmother was alive, I was not so alone but after her death I felt like I had been shoved out into the world before I was ready. It took me a couple of years to fully deal with her death. Grandmother; she was more of a mother than my real mom had ever been. My mother had also grieved deeply over her mother’s death but it did not bring us closer. It created even more distance between us. I realized later that my grandmother had been a bridge between my mother and me. Without her, we were lost.
I give myself a shake. What I really need is food, exercise and a good night’s sleep but, at this moment, I’ll settle for just the last one. I turn to go back to bed when my cell phone rings, scaring the hell out of me.
“Hello?”
“Ann? Are you okay?” Josh sounds panicked.
“I’m fine, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, thank god,” he breathes into the phone.
“Josh?”
“Sorry, it’s stupid. I…”
“You had a bad dream?’
“Yes, it’s stupid, I know. I just had to call to check.”
“No, I understand.”
“Sorry, I’ll let you go back to sleep. You are at home right?”
“Yes, I’m safely home and the doors are locked.”
“Okay, sorry again. Have a good night.”
“You too. And Josh,” I call his name when it sounds like he is hanging up.
“Yes?”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Really, I thought you’d be pissed.”
“No, you know I have some pretty intense dreams. I understand the need to check.”
“Thanks,” he laughs. “It was like I couldn’t tell what was real anymore and just needed to make sure.”
I smile, “Yeah, I’ve been there. I once had a dream that I woke and my apartment was on fire. Then I woke up and my apartment was on fire. And then, I woke up. After that I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or awake.”
“Creepy,” Josh sighs. “Thanks for understanding. Good night.”
“Good night.” I say and, as I hang up the phone, I feel soreness creeping into my muscles.
I reach out a hand, reluctant to touch the wall but wanting to know what is there. The wall feels dry but as I brush my hand across it, it crumbles in a way that reminds me of damp earth. As I wipe the image begins to appear but then it starts to disappear. I brush the wall quicker, desperate to know what the image is but I just rub the picture away. I stop and then take a step back… And I stumble over a body.
I splash through puddles of blood to back away from the body sprawled across the floor. Brown hair obscures the face of a woman so I stretch out a hand to brush it aside. My heart pounds; I am afraid of what I might find but I need to know. Hand shaking, I push the hair aside revealing a face I have never seen before. Somehow, I had been sure that I would know her.
I peer down the tunnel stretching out before me, thinking the killer must have gone that way. Checking the ground for footprints, I stand up and step around the body. I clearly see my own footprints in the blood but there are no indications that anyone has been here before me. I scan the walls but again find nothing. The smell is cloying and growing stronger. I look back down at the woman and jump back in horror. The body is... dissolving.
I hunt around again, frantic for a way out. The tunnel seems to dead end in both directions. I give my head a shake. I was sure that a moment ago the tunnel, in both directions, continued straight until it disappeared into the gloom. I am not sure which way to go. After a moment I decide it does not matter and walk towards one end to see if there is a way out. It looks like a dead end but the tunnel actually makes a left turn. I approach the corner cautiously, afraid of what I might find. I glance around the corner and find ... nothing. I continue. My throat, dry and scratchy, hurts as I search for a way out. I see the tunnel goes around another corner, this time to the right. I hear voices but they are unclear. Again, I approach the corner slowly and peer around. I see a woman who appears to be talking to a dog. She seems to sense me and looks up to meet my eyes.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” she says with a smile.
I wake up in my darkened bedroom and turn over to stare up at the ceiling. These dreams are driving me crazy. I turn on the light and get up to get a drink. I have been having similar dreams ever since Patty’s murder. In the kitchen, as I pour myself a glass of water, I realize that is not quite true. I had the first dream on the night that Patty was killed, before I knew she was dead, and I have not had a good night’s sleep since.
It’s not like this is unfamiliar to me. When my grandmother died, dreams haunted me for months. Of course, those dreams were about my grandmother not a tunnel or some other metaphorical thing. I did not eat or sleep in the two weeks that followed my grandmother’s death. While trying to deal with her death a counsellor told me that sleep and food were essential to get through a grieving period. The counsellor explained to me how not eating or sleeping causes chemical changes to take place, which make it harder to deal with grief. The counsellor explained all the cold-hard facts about grief, the best way to overcome it. Sleep, eat right, exercise, spend time with family and friends, allow yourself time to grieve alone, and push grief aside to go out and try to bring back your life. It all sounds so easy to do, a straightforward recipe for success, and yet it is so hard to achieve.
Grief, it’s such a short word to encompass so much pain. I lean against the doorway and sip my water. I am not anxious to get back to bed. In fact, I’m a little afraid of it. I do not want to be pulled into more dreams. The dreams make me feel confused and... young. They make me feel like that scared little kid growing up alone with a mother who was distant and cold. While my grandmother was alive, I was not so alone but after her death I felt like I had been shoved out into the world before I was ready. It took me a couple of years to fully deal with her death. Grandmother; she was more of a mother than my real mom had ever been. My mother had also grieved deeply over her mother’s death but it did not bring us closer. It created even more distance between us. I realized later that my grandmother had been a bridge between my mother and me. Without her, we were lost.
I give myself a shake. What I really need is food, exercise and a good night’s sleep but, at this moment, I’ll settle for just the last one. I turn to go back to bed when my cell phone rings, scaring the hell out of me.
“Hello?”
“Ann? Are you okay?” Josh sounds panicked.
“I’m fine, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, thank god,” he breathes into the phone.
“Josh?”
“Sorry, it’s stupid. I…”
“You had a bad dream?’
“Yes, it’s stupid, I know. I just had to call to check.”
“No, I understand.”
“Sorry, I’ll let you go back to sleep. You are at home right?”
“Yes, I’m safely home and the doors are locked.”
“Okay, sorry again. Have a good night.”
“You too. And Josh,” I call his name when it sounds like he is hanging up.
“Yes?”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Really, I thought you’d be pissed.”
“No, you know I have some pretty intense dreams. I understand the need to check.”
“Thanks,” he laughs. “It was like I couldn’t tell what was real anymore and just needed to make sure.”
I smile, “Yeah, I’ve been there. I once had a dream that I woke and my apartment was on fire. Then I woke up and my apartment was on fire. And then, I woke up. After that I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or awake.”
“Creepy,” Josh sighs. “Thanks for understanding. Good night.”
“Good night.” I say and, as I hang up the phone, I feel soreness creeping into my muscles.
Chapter 10
I am sitting on the small balcony of Caffe Barney, waiting for Josh when I spot the guy Patty was with before she died. I see him just as he crosses Main St sauntering towards the café. My body tenses up. Although there is no proof that he killed Patty, I am convinced. I know the cops want to speak to him so I dig into my purse for my cell to make the call. When he walks up to the door of the café, I drop the phone back in my purse because he’s so close I’m sure he will be able to hear my conversation with the cops and he’ll run. For a moment, he stands close enough that I can stretch out a hand and touch him. Then he languidly reaches out a hand to pull open the door of the restaurant and enters.
Conversation in the restaurant momentarily stops while everyone turns to look at him. I covertly watch through the open patio doors as he scans the restaurant for a seat. Once again, I am struck by how beautiful he is. He really looks like a Nordic god, tall, blonde, with a perfectly sculpted face. The interior is dim so I cannot see the colour of his eyes but I assume they are blue. Something about him sets my blood pumping, and yet, as I watch him choose a table near me I realize I’m not the slightest bit attracted to him, my reaction stems from anger.
The adrenaline pumps through me, making me hear and see better. At least, that is what it feels like. He orders a drink from the waitress and then glances around. He does not appear to be looking at anyone in particular; more like he is waiting for someone. Does he know what happened to Patty that night? Did he kill her?
“Hey, how are you doing?” Josh’s voice startles me out of my thoughts. I pull myself together as I watch him enter the café and walk out onto the balcony to take a seat next to me.
“Uh, good. How are you?” I lean on the small table railing of the patio.
He reaches out and touches my hand, “Are you sure?”
I flash him a smile but don’t really make eye contact. We make small talk while I think about telling Josh the man I suspect killed Patty is sitting near us but in spite of the noise, I’m worried Mr Nordic would over hear me. After a couple minutes, the restaurant goes still again as a new man enters. Dark haired and shorter, the new man is as beautiful as Mr Nordic; it’s a very different look and yet the same kind of beauty. The second man peruses the room and, spotting the person he is looking for, sits at the same table with Mr Nordic. Again, I consider calling the cops. Would Mr Nordic know I was the one who called? What if he is the killer but the cops don’t have enough evidence on him and they are forced to let him go? Would he then come after me? They are sitting so close.
Josh and I order our drinks and chat while I surreptitiously kept an eye on Mr Nordic. I worry that they will leave before I decide what to do. Their conversation seems intense but very quiet as if they are arguing. Their table is close enough that normally I would be able to overhear the odd word or phrase but I cannot hear a sound from either of them. I glance around the restaurant and notice that I am not the only person who keeps looking at them. Their stunning good looks attract a lot of attention, which gives me a feeling of relief. With so many people watching them, I hope I won’t be noticed or stand out. Should I call the cops? Was there a way to let the cops know but keep my involvement a secret from Mr Nordic?
“You seem distracted.” Josh’s voice yanks me back to him.
“Yeah, sorry, I had a horrible dream the other night and I haven’t been able to shake it off.” I deflect.
Josh smiles, “Me too, obviously. Tell me hearing about your dream.”
I smile too. My dreams are fascinating to Josh. He does not remember his own dreams very often while mine are vivid and strange. His phone call the other night was definitely an oddity not just because he called but also because he remembered his dream after waking. I tell him about my dream.
“It’s sort of odd.” Josh comments when I am done.
“Well, I guess it’s about Patty’s murder even though it wasn’t Patty in the dream.” I reply, idly watching the bartender mix drinks while covertly keeping an eye on Mr Nordic.
“No, I don’t mean that.” He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “No, it’s odd that you have violent dreams so often.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly,” he places a hand on one of mine. “You’re probably right about it being about Patty. I’ve had a lot of dreams too.”
“Really that’s unusual for you,” I stare at his hand on mine. An urge to hold his hand comes over me but before I can act on that desire an uncomfortable feeling hits me and I want to pull away.
“Yeah, they’re all kind of similar. In my dreams I somehow manage to arrive in time to stop Patty from leaving with that guy.” He tells me while he slowly withdraws his hand. I feel sure he senses the strangeness between us.
“That’s understandable. I haven’t had any like that; just this weird reoccurring dream about a tunnel that is sort of obliquely about Patty. At least I think it’s about Patty.”
“Well, maybe it makes sense since you found… her.” Josh’s reluctance to use the word ‘body’ is very clear.
I reach out and give his hand a quick squeeze then reach of my drink, “Maybe I can’t go beyond when I found her. Every time I close my eyes I see her room and her…” I trail off, picking up my beer.
“In way I find it hard to believe she’s really gone. It’s as if she’s away on vacation somewhere and I’ll see her when she gets back.”
“I wish I could feel that way,” I take a sip and place my beer carefully on the bar. “It’s all just a little too real for me.”
Josh gives my hand a squeeze again and I look into his eyes and smile.
“Wow,” Josh leans away from me.
“What?”
“Your eyes are... sort of yellow. Or maybe a yellowish green.” He says leaning forward again and peering into my eyes carefully. “I’ve never seen them that colour before.”
“Really? I’ve seen them turn that colour before.” I reply thinking of the night Patty was killed. That night, I was woken up by the first tunnel dream and, when went into the bathroom, noticed my eyes were yellowish.
“Cool.” he pauses, still examining my eyes. “It’s really different.”
I shrug. I am use to my eyes changing colour but it does take other people by surprise. My mother was very creeped out by it. She would get angry any time someone mentioned it, as if it scared her and she did not want any reminders. Maybe my father’s eyes changed colour too. Silence settles over Josh and me as he finishes his beer and then looks at me for a moment.
“I need to go home. I have to get up early tomorrow. I have a meeting,” he tells me.
“Sure,” I reply.
“I’ll walk you home,” he offers but, in that moment, I know that I have subconsciously been planning to follow Mr Nordic.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m only a couple of blocks away.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.” Josh states, staring at me.
I smile, glance at Mr Nordic who has just had another beer placed on his table and reply, “Okay, let’s go.”
Josh drops money on the table for our drinks and says, “My treat.”
“Thanks.”
We walk outside and start heading towards Broadway but I change my mind about calling the cops so I pull Josh into the parking lot to tell him what I want to do.
“What the hell?” he asks bewildered.
“The guy that I saw Patty leave with is inside.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to let him know that I recognize him. I don’t think he knows I saw him with her that night and if he did...” I pause.
“Where was he sitting?”
“At a table by the window. The one farthest from the door.” I explain.
“One of those really good looking guys everyone was staring at?” asks Josh with real surprise in his voice.
“Yes, the blonde one.” I look at Josh. His shock seems a little odd. “I told you he looked like a Nordic god.”
“Yeah, I remember but he just doesn’t look like the type.”
“The type? What is the type?” I ask.
“I… I don’t know.” Josh’s voice wavers. “I guess I was expecting someone more dangerous looking.”
I am not sure what to make of that response so I don’t say anything.
“I guess I was expecting one of those crazy looking serial killers.” Josh amends.
“Ted Bundy was supposed to be very appealing.” I point out.
“Yes, I guess.” Josh’s voice is full of doubt.
“And anyway, what can you really tell from looks?” Astonished by Josh’s attitude I wonder why he is so reluctant to believe me.
“I guess,” he replies.
I stare at Josh for a moment. “Look, even if he isn’t Patty’s killer he was the last person to see her alive. The cops need to talk to him for that reason alone.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should call the cops.” Josh remarks, looking edgy.
“Okay, we’ll call the cops but we should keep an eye on him. I don’t want to lose him.” An idea occurs to me. “Let’s go pretend we’re waiting for the bus.”
Conversation in the restaurant momentarily stops while everyone turns to look at him. I covertly watch through the open patio doors as he scans the restaurant for a seat. Once again, I am struck by how beautiful he is. He really looks like a Nordic god, tall, blonde, with a perfectly sculpted face. The interior is dim so I cannot see the colour of his eyes but I assume they are blue. Something about him sets my blood pumping, and yet, as I watch him choose a table near me I realize I’m not the slightest bit attracted to him, my reaction stems from anger.
The adrenaline pumps through me, making me hear and see better. At least, that is what it feels like. He orders a drink from the waitress and then glances around. He does not appear to be looking at anyone in particular; more like he is waiting for someone. Does he know what happened to Patty that night? Did he kill her?
“Hey, how are you doing?” Josh’s voice startles me out of my thoughts. I pull myself together as I watch him enter the café and walk out onto the balcony to take a seat next to me.
“Uh, good. How are you?” I lean on the small table railing of the patio.
He reaches out and touches my hand, “Are you sure?”
I flash him a smile but don’t really make eye contact. We make small talk while I think about telling Josh the man I suspect killed Patty is sitting near us but in spite of the noise, I’m worried Mr Nordic would over hear me. After a couple minutes, the restaurant goes still again as a new man enters. Dark haired and shorter, the new man is as beautiful as Mr Nordic; it’s a very different look and yet the same kind of beauty. The second man peruses the room and, spotting the person he is looking for, sits at the same table with Mr Nordic. Again, I consider calling the cops. Would Mr Nordic know I was the one who called? What if he is the killer but the cops don’t have enough evidence on him and they are forced to let him go? Would he then come after me? They are sitting so close.
Josh and I order our drinks and chat while I surreptitiously kept an eye on Mr Nordic. I worry that they will leave before I decide what to do. Their conversation seems intense but very quiet as if they are arguing. Their table is close enough that normally I would be able to overhear the odd word or phrase but I cannot hear a sound from either of them. I glance around the restaurant and notice that I am not the only person who keeps looking at them. Their stunning good looks attract a lot of attention, which gives me a feeling of relief. With so many people watching them, I hope I won’t be noticed or stand out. Should I call the cops? Was there a way to let the cops know but keep my involvement a secret from Mr Nordic?
“You seem distracted.” Josh’s voice yanks me back to him.
“Yeah, sorry, I had a horrible dream the other night and I haven’t been able to shake it off.” I deflect.
Josh smiles, “Me too, obviously. Tell me hearing about your dream.”
I smile too. My dreams are fascinating to Josh. He does not remember his own dreams very often while mine are vivid and strange. His phone call the other night was definitely an oddity not just because he called but also because he remembered his dream after waking. I tell him about my dream.
“It’s sort of odd.” Josh comments when I am done.
“Well, I guess it’s about Patty’s murder even though it wasn’t Patty in the dream.” I reply, idly watching the bartender mix drinks while covertly keeping an eye on Mr Nordic.
“No, I don’t mean that.” He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “No, it’s odd that you have violent dreams so often.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly,” he places a hand on one of mine. “You’re probably right about it being about Patty. I’ve had a lot of dreams too.”
“Really that’s unusual for you,” I stare at his hand on mine. An urge to hold his hand comes over me but before I can act on that desire an uncomfortable feeling hits me and I want to pull away.
“Yeah, they’re all kind of similar. In my dreams I somehow manage to arrive in time to stop Patty from leaving with that guy.” He tells me while he slowly withdraws his hand. I feel sure he senses the strangeness between us.
“That’s understandable. I haven’t had any like that; just this weird reoccurring dream about a tunnel that is sort of obliquely about Patty. At least I think it’s about Patty.”
“Well, maybe it makes sense since you found… her.” Josh’s reluctance to use the word ‘body’ is very clear.
I reach out and give his hand a quick squeeze then reach of my drink, “Maybe I can’t go beyond when I found her. Every time I close my eyes I see her room and her…” I trail off, picking up my beer.
“In way I find it hard to believe she’s really gone. It’s as if she’s away on vacation somewhere and I’ll see her when she gets back.”
“I wish I could feel that way,” I take a sip and place my beer carefully on the bar. “It’s all just a little too real for me.”
Josh gives my hand a squeeze again and I look into his eyes and smile.
“Wow,” Josh leans away from me.
“What?”
“Your eyes are... sort of yellow. Or maybe a yellowish green.” He says leaning forward again and peering into my eyes carefully. “I’ve never seen them that colour before.”
“Really? I’ve seen them turn that colour before.” I reply thinking of the night Patty was killed. That night, I was woken up by the first tunnel dream and, when went into the bathroom, noticed my eyes were yellowish.
“Cool.” he pauses, still examining my eyes. “It’s really different.”
I shrug. I am use to my eyes changing colour but it does take other people by surprise. My mother was very creeped out by it. She would get angry any time someone mentioned it, as if it scared her and she did not want any reminders. Maybe my father’s eyes changed colour too. Silence settles over Josh and me as he finishes his beer and then looks at me for a moment.
“I need to go home. I have to get up early tomorrow. I have a meeting,” he tells me.
“Sure,” I reply.
“I’ll walk you home,” he offers but, in that moment, I know that I have subconsciously been planning to follow Mr Nordic.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m only a couple of blocks away.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.” Josh states, staring at me.
I smile, glance at Mr Nordic who has just had another beer placed on his table and reply, “Okay, let’s go.”
Josh drops money on the table for our drinks and says, “My treat.”
“Thanks.”
We walk outside and start heading towards Broadway but I change my mind about calling the cops so I pull Josh into the parking lot to tell him what I want to do.
“What the hell?” he asks bewildered.
“The guy that I saw Patty leave with is inside.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to let him know that I recognize him. I don’t think he knows I saw him with her that night and if he did...” I pause.
“Where was he sitting?”
“At a table by the window. The one farthest from the door.” I explain.
“One of those really good looking guys everyone was staring at?” asks Josh with real surprise in his voice.
“Yes, the blonde one.” I look at Josh. His shock seems a little odd. “I told you he looked like a Nordic god.”
“Yeah, I remember but he just doesn’t look like the type.”
“The type? What is the type?” I ask.
“I… I don’t know.” Josh’s voice wavers. “I guess I was expecting someone more dangerous looking.”
I am not sure what to make of that response so I don’t say anything.
“I guess I was expecting one of those crazy looking serial killers.” Josh amends.
“Ted Bundy was supposed to be very appealing.” I point out.
“Yes, I guess.” Josh’s voice is full of doubt.
“And anyway, what can you really tell from looks?” Astonished by Josh’s attitude I wonder why he is so reluctant to believe me.
“I guess,” he replies.
I stare at Josh for a moment. “Look, even if he isn’t Patty’s killer he was the last person to see her alive. The cops need to talk to him for that reason alone.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should call the cops.” Josh remarks, looking edgy.
“Okay, we’ll call the cops but we should keep an eye on him. I don’t want to lose him.” An idea occurs to me. “Let’s go pretend we’re waiting for the bus.”
Chapter 11
Josh nods, hesitantly but he nods so we cross Main St to wait at the bus stop directly across from the restaurant. According to the sign, it is seventeen minutes until a bus will arrive. Caffe Barney has closed their sliding glass doors so I search through the window, trying to spot Mr Nordic. I see two guys sitting at the table where Mr Nordic and his friend were sitting just a few minutes ago but there appears to be two new guys sitting there. Blonde and dark haired, the men are similar but not even close to being as beautiful as Mr Nordic and his friend.
“Crap, they’re gone.” I say.
Josh looks at me then back at the restaurant. “What the hell are you talking about? They’re right there, still sitting at the same table. Unless you meant someone else?”
I can’t figure out what he is talking about. The two men sitting at that table look different, not ugly but certainly not attractive and definitely not the beautiful guys I had seen earlier. I peer at them, trying to decide what to do. There is no point in calling the cops since Mr Nordic has left.
“Jesus,” Josh gasps.
I turn to see what he is looking at and spot a beautiful dog. I give Josh a puzzled look. “What’s the matter?”
“That’s a wolf,” he says, edging away.
I laugh, “You really don’t know anything about dogs, do you? He’s a Husky. I’ve always loved Huskies; they have such nice dispositions. You know, a lot of people buy them because they look similar to wolves.” I reply while the dog walks towards me. The dog calmly stares into my eyes and he moves a couple of steps closer to me and then sits on his haunches. I squat and hold out a hand for him to sniff while I check for his tag. Very calm, almost grave he looks me in the eye while I continue to hold out my hand. The dog edges a little closer. I can’t see a collar but he must have an owner around here somewhere.
“Ann, I don’t think you should get so close. Seriously, what are you trying to do?” Josh’s tone has more than a little amazement to it.
I am about to reply when two guys walk out the door of the café. Shock hits me as I recognize that they are Mr Nordic and his friend. How the hell could they look so different? Why was Josh still able to see them while I couldn’t?
“That’s them,” I gesture to Josh.
He gives me a look like I am crazy, “That’s the same two guys who were just sitting at the table.”
“Whatever.” I respond, “Let’s follow him. Once he gets home we’ll call the cops.” I glance back at the dog. The husky, now standing, has an interested look on his face. Josh starts to move but I grab his coat sleeve and warn, “Slowly.”
The two guys walk south down Main St while Josh and I pace them on the other side of the road. As they near the intersection, we slow a bit more to see which way they will go. They cross Main St to our side of the road, which could mean trouble for us. I watch them walk west down Eleventh Avenue. Damn. Josh starts to dart after them but I grab his arm again and when he looks at me, I shake my head.
“Slowly,” I whisper to Josh. He gives me a look filled with frustration. Funny, a few moments ago, Josh was reluctant to do this but now he seems more anxious than I do. We reach the intersection and look down Eleventh, trying to spot them but they have disappeared. Josh grants me a dirty look.
I scan around as we start down Eleventh. Main St is busy and therefore somewhat safe but Eleventh is a quiet street, which makes us very vulnerable. I know there is an alley, which runs parallel to Main St so I approach it cautiously and gesture for Josh to do the same. I quickly glance around the corner and see Mr Nordic and his friend facing each other in the middle of the alley.
“I followed the rules,” Mr Nordic is saying. He stands straight and stiff with his hands clenched as his side. His voice is as beautiful as his face.
“Well, they still found the body too soon,” is the melodious reply.
“I followed the rules. I called the cleaners. They did not have time.” Mr Nordic reiterates while Josh and I exchange stunned looks. It is clear that the second man knows Mr Nordic killed Patty.
“Yes, but you called them too late for them to have time.”
“I had some trouble. Work called.” Mr Nordic’s flat voice makes it sound like the other guy knows what he is talking about.
“You still should have called immediately. Mistakes like that put us all in danger,” the dark haired guy continues in a tone that sounds like it is meant to be soothing. “Look, you are in an important position and we would not want to you to jeopardise that but the cleaners are important too.”
“Yes, of course, James.” is the sarcastic reply. “But they still sent you to warn me.”
It occurs to me that we are in a great deal of danger, more than I had originally thought. Instead of following one possible murderer, we are following two. Or maybe it was one murderer and an accomplice. Either way we are dealing with two dangerous guys and following them has been a stupid idea. I should have called the cops as soon as I saw Mr Nordic. I am a damn fool; the kind of fool who gets killed. Worse, I could get Josh killed too. We need to get out there. I start to retreat but Josh doesn’t follow me.
“It is protocol.” I hear James state while Josh and I stare at each other, not moving; me trying to communicate silently that we need to go and Josh trying to get me to stay. Josh wins our silent argument by not moving.
“Okay, I have received the message.” Mr Nordic replies. “Everyone can relax. No one is going to learn anything about us.”
Not speaking, Josh and I continue to stare at each other. Josh frowns then darts around the corner and into the alley. I make a grab for him but miss. Idiot! I’m not sure if I mean Josh or myself.
“Where did the other guy go?” I hear Josh demand while I scan the area, searching for help. I am surprised to see the same dog standing near the intersection, facing me. I curse myself again and, feeling helpless and incredibly stupid, I dash around the building, unwilling to let Josh confront two possible murders alone.
“Crap, they’re gone.” I say.
Josh looks at me then back at the restaurant. “What the hell are you talking about? They’re right there, still sitting at the same table. Unless you meant someone else?”
I can’t figure out what he is talking about. The two men sitting at that table look different, not ugly but certainly not attractive and definitely not the beautiful guys I had seen earlier. I peer at them, trying to decide what to do. There is no point in calling the cops since Mr Nordic has left.
“Jesus,” Josh gasps.
I turn to see what he is looking at and spot a beautiful dog. I give Josh a puzzled look. “What’s the matter?”
“That’s a wolf,” he says, edging away.
I laugh, “You really don’t know anything about dogs, do you? He’s a Husky. I’ve always loved Huskies; they have such nice dispositions. You know, a lot of people buy them because they look similar to wolves.” I reply while the dog walks towards me. The dog calmly stares into my eyes and he moves a couple of steps closer to me and then sits on his haunches. I squat and hold out a hand for him to sniff while I check for his tag. Very calm, almost grave he looks me in the eye while I continue to hold out my hand. The dog edges a little closer. I can’t see a collar but he must have an owner around here somewhere.
“Ann, I don’t think you should get so close. Seriously, what are you trying to do?” Josh’s tone has more than a little amazement to it.
I am about to reply when two guys walk out the door of the café. Shock hits me as I recognize that they are Mr Nordic and his friend. How the hell could they look so different? Why was Josh still able to see them while I couldn’t?
“That’s them,” I gesture to Josh.
He gives me a look like I am crazy, “That’s the same two guys who were just sitting at the table.”
“Whatever.” I respond, “Let’s follow him. Once he gets home we’ll call the cops.” I glance back at the dog. The husky, now standing, has an interested look on his face. Josh starts to move but I grab his coat sleeve and warn, “Slowly.”
The two guys walk south down Main St while Josh and I pace them on the other side of the road. As they near the intersection, we slow a bit more to see which way they will go. They cross Main St to our side of the road, which could mean trouble for us. I watch them walk west down Eleventh Avenue. Damn. Josh starts to dart after them but I grab his arm again and when he looks at me, I shake my head.
“Slowly,” I whisper to Josh. He gives me a look filled with frustration. Funny, a few moments ago, Josh was reluctant to do this but now he seems more anxious than I do. We reach the intersection and look down Eleventh, trying to spot them but they have disappeared. Josh grants me a dirty look.
I scan around as we start down Eleventh. Main St is busy and therefore somewhat safe but Eleventh is a quiet street, which makes us very vulnerable. I know there is an alley, which runs parallel to Main St so I approach it cautiously and gesture for Josh to do the same. I quickly glance around the corner and see Mr Nordic and his friend facing each other in the middle of the alley.
“I followed the rules,” Mr Nordic is saying. He stands straight and stiff with his hands clenched as his side. His voice is as beautiful as his face.
“Well, they still found the body too soon,” is the melodious reply.
“I followed the rules. I called the cleaners. They did not have time.” Mr Nordic reiterates while Josh and I exchange stunned looks. It is clear that the second man knows Mr Nordic killed Patty.
“Yes, but you called them too late for them to have time.”
“I had some trouble. Work called.” Mr Nordic’s flat voice makes it sound like the other guy knows what he is talking about.
“You still should have called immediately. Mistakes like that put us all in danger,” the dark haired guy continues in a tone that sounds like it is meant to be soothing. “Look, you are in an important position and we would not want to you to jeopardise that but the cleaners are important too.”
“Yes, of course, James.” is the sarcastic reply. “But they still sent you to warn me.”
It occurs to me that we are in a great deal of danger, more than I had originally thought. Instead of following one possible murderer, we are following two. Or maybe it was one murderer and an accomplice. Either way we are dealing with two dangerous guys and following them has been a stupid idea. I should have called the cops as soon as I saw Mr Nordic. I am a damn fool; the kind of fool who gets killed. Worse, I could get Josh killed too. We need to get out there. I start to retreat but Josh doesn’t follow me.
“It is protocol.” I hear James state while Josh and I stare at each other, not moving; me trying to communicate silently that we need to go and Josh trying to get me to stay. Josh wins our silent argument by not moving.
“Okay, I have received the message.” Mr Nordic replies. “Everyone can relax. No one is going to learn anything about us.”
Not speaking, Josh and I continue to stare at each other. Josh frowns then darts around the corner and into the alley. I make a grab for him but miss. Idiot! I’m not sure if I mean Josh or myself.
“Where did the other guy go?” I hear Josh demand while I scan the area, searching for help. I am surprised to see the same dog standing near the intersection, facing me. I curse myself again and, feeling helpless and incredibly stupid, I dash around the building, unwilling to let Josh confront two possible murders alone.