“Cyprus? You in there?”
Without getting up, I told Aaron to come in.
My two cups of coffee paled in comparison to whatever Aaron had in his system. His eyes darted around the room like they were following an angry fly, and he tapped his right forefinger and thumb together rapidly like he was transmitting Morse code.
“Hey . . . Cyprus. I wanted . . . I just wanted to come by and see how you were doin’. A lot of crazy stuff around . . . We’ve missed you on the runs. Not the same without you . . . and now Randy. The papers say that he may have fired the gun that killed that police officer. Doesn’t make sense, does it? You think you know somebody and . . . WHAM! Out of left field, there it is.”
I waited to speak, in the hope that his eyes would settle on me. For a brief moment they did, and I could see his pupils. They were dark saucers that were taking in too much for the mind to handle. If I had to guess, I would have said that at least one of Aaron’s reasons for obtaining psychiatric treatment was for manic-depressive disorder. Mr. Manic was the one speaking to me now in staccato sentences and fidgeting madly.
“How have you been, Aaron? Have you been holding up okay?”
“Yeah . . . you know, you do what you can. Ever since that Lindsay got killed . . . ever since then, it’s just been one thing after another. She goes and gets killed and all hell breaks . . . well, we’ve got jobs to do, you know? How do they expect us to do that when people are getting smoked? Randy . . . you know, he wasn’t a bad guy. Sure, he was kind of a prick sometimes, but not all the time. I just don’t know what . . .”
I politely pushed my way into the conversation with, “The semester’s almost over. If you aren’t working the summer session, maybe you and Debbie can get away from here for a while. Take a vacation. Maybe take that new boat out. Come back in the fall with a fresh perspective.”
“Oh, that would be a real treat!” Aaron’s hinges came off. “Sit in a car with her pecking away at me the entire time! And she won’t get on the damn boat! Seasick! For twenty years she never got seasick, and now she says she gets seasick when we’re out on a small lake! Doesn’t make sense, does it? I don’t think . . . I know she’s not sick. She sits at her damn book club, sipping tea, bragging about how her big dope of a husband thinks she can’t go out on the boat because she gets seasick!”
I let my right hand find a desk drawer where I kept a pair of scissors. Silently, I wrapped my fingers around their wide base.
“That’s what they do! They talk and ridicule . . . soooo superior. Soooo condescending. And if you don’t agree with them one hundred percent, then there’s something wrong with you! You need to adjust. You need to see your . . . You have to give in to their demands! When you’ve been married as long as I have, you’ll see. You’ll see . . .”
The last sentence trailed off as he drew in a breath. With the influx of air, came a change in disposition.
“You’re still going to run the race, right?” he said. “It should be a good one. The weather is supposed to be great!”
Aaron’s switch had again flipped, and it was as if we had been discussing what type of sealant was best for a wooden deck. He was halfway out the door before I could answer him.
Releasing the hidden scissors, I assured him, “I’ll be looking out for you.”
Mile 24
Pulling my sunglasses back down from the top of my head,I leave Friendship and charge into Bloomfield on Liberty Avenue. Houses vanish as some of the last independent drugstores hang on to real estate pressed between car dealerships and bakeries. Bloomfield could be a snapshot from 1975. Even the Starbucks is embedded in a building that used to serve as a movie theater. Pubs on each corner pledge freedom while a magistrate’s office promises consequences.
Just as I had hoped, he’s right where I need him to be. His stride is powerful and purposeful, but I have pent-up fury at my back. Just like clockwork, he’s done exactly what I expected him to do. Making the exact movements I had envisioned so many times over the past few days, he carries on unsuspectingly. From behind the tint of my shades, I take him in and observe the man run down the hill, past deserted sidewalks on a street where most of the thinned-out runners are spread out in gaping intervals.
The course map had spelled it all out. This was the perfect place. There is a wide spacing between medical stations and few spectators who would notice or be ready to assist him. Any serious spectators have already gravitated to the finish line. Really—who cares about the twenty-fourth mile? It’s the finish that people live for.
My heart skips a beat when he slows down. First to a jog, then to a walk. Even from a comfortable distance behind him, I can feel his entire being radiate distress. He walks past a few locals who are too busy waving at their neighbors from across the street to notice the man pass them. Out of habit, and traditional runners’ courtesy, he moves to the right side of the road to give any pursuing runners a wide berth. I slow down even more, but not so anyone would notice.
One stumble forward, one to the side. He’s in limbo between the street and the sidewalk—the purgatory of dry grass seems to slow him even more. Next, he’s on one knee with one hand clutching at his throat and another waving above his head. Pure hope that someone will notice him. I notice him.
Finally, he puts himself on his back and continues to raise an arm. He turns his head toward a little African-American girl in a church dress. She’s holding her mother’s hand and seems anxious to leave. Her mother is oblivious and converses with a heavyset woman in blue nurse’s scrubs. He raises his hand, pleading. The tiny girl waves back and giggles.
Before I reach him, an elderly Korean man bends down beside him. The Korean man is trying to ask him if he’s alright, but the sick runner can’t seem to respond. Words won’t come. The Good Samaritan says something to the woman in scrubs and she runs over to her new patient. I can tell from the way her lips are moving, and the exaggerated head bobs, that she’s trying to get answers from him and she’s not having any luck. The nurse turns toward the little girl’s mother and I see the woman dig in her purse for a cell phone. She finds it and dials. Then the nurse speaks to the Korean man, who starts running toward the next medical station. It’s too far away. I know. It’s on the map. I’ve done my homework.
I drift to the right side of the street and drop my speed down one more gear.
Turn.
Look at me, you bastard!
This direction! She can’t help you! Look in this direction!
As if he could hear me, his red, puffy, weakened neck surrenders and his hive-covered face is unveiled to the street. He looks blankly toward the loose gravel around a storm drain and then up at me. Without breaking stride, I raise my glasses and silently confess. Before the race, I told myself I would smile at him, adding insult to mortal injury, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m ending his life and he knows it. There is no further insult needed.
Just as I pull past him, his jaw falls open and awareness leaves his body. His respiratory system has failed him. His throat is closed. The arm he had placed across his chest slides down and off of its lifeless table. As concerned citizens start to form a circle around him, I can still see his arm dangling off the curb.
Feeling a little lighter, and a lot heavier, I pull the sunglasses down again, and continue at the same pace. No rush now. It is a beautiful day for a run.
It was the Friday before the race and a spring rain had blown in from the west. It would be a few weeks until the cold rain would be replaced by turbulent thunderstorms. The structure hosting the school’s athletic facilities and the surrounding fields were nearly empty as most students and professors focused on final exams and made plans for adventurous summer trips.
From the laughable shelter of a half-bare tree, I watched the front of the recreation building and waited for him to arrive. Right on schedule, he ran to the front steps and checked the device on his wrist. He surmounted the steps leading up to the entrance with easy bounds.
Aaron was nowhe
re to be seen. It turned out that in the morning some thug had walked into the parking garage and committed some terrible acts of vandalism on his car. What a shame. He was going to be very busy talking to campus security and his insurance company for quite some time. That garage was becoming a very dangerous place.
When the right amount of time had passed, I flashed my university ID to a student employee who never looked up, and entered the locker room. I turned to my left and waited near my usual spot.
Jacob had a white towel around him when he appeared at the lockers. A drop of water from the shower was still clinging to his earlobe when he saw me sitting in front of my locker. The false display of perfectly white teeth was a nanosecond too late.
“Cyprus! Where have you been hiding? I’ve left you several messages! I thought you would be at Randy’s funeral, but I didn’t see you there.”
“I’ve been busy.”
The coldness of my voice caused his mouth to straighten out, and he retracted a hand he had expected me to shake.
“It’s understandable not wanting to go to a funeral, but it does help us deal with our grief on some level. We need closure more than we realize,” he said matter-of-factly.
“True.”
I started to stand and then stepped forward and delivered a strong punch to his stomach, taking care to miss any ribs. A gust of wind escaped him and he stumbled back onto another bench. He tried to speak, but nothing was forthcoming.
“I wonder what your next move was going to be,” I said. “Were you going to manipulate Aaron into coming after me? Drop him a message? Convince him that I was out to get him? You must have picked up on the fact that he’s unstable, so taking advantage of his mental state had to have been one of your better options.”
A cough from the bench told me that air was starting to flow back into him.
“I’ll admit it. You had me running in circles for a while. You had everybody running in circles. It stops now.”
Gasping, Jacob pleaded, “Cyprus. I didn’t . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t! Don’t even think about trying to spin this. Steven would have done anything for you. He killed Lindsay for you! He tried to kill me for you!”
“You . . . you’re confused. I didn’t even know Steven. Why would he—”
I lowered my voice and said, “You knew him very well. You’ve known him for years. I did some snooping around. It had never occurred to me that his first two years of undergraduate work weren’t in Criminology . . . he was a Psych major right here at TRU. In fact, he took several of your classes.”
Jacob tightened the towel around his waist and held a hand over his stomach.
“I wonder, how long were you seeing Lindsay before you introduced her to Steven? And don’t waste my time denying that you were sleeping with Lindsay. She was in one of your classes. You called her a blonde when every photo of her used by the media showed her with dark hair. Your lies are your admission.”
I balled my right hand up a little tighter and prepared to hit him again at the first indication of a denial. To my surprise, I didn’t get one.
“You can’t blame Steven. He was only trying to protect me. To protect my reputation. He was a brilliant student and I took him under my wing. He was dedicated to me. I mentored him and he looked up to me like a father. Did you know that his father died when he was just a boy? A drunk driver hit him head on. Steven never got over it. I served as a surrogate for his father. I didn’t see how his loyalty to me had gotten to the point that he was irrational until it was too late.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“It’s my fault. I had come to realize what a bastard I had been and I told Lindsay that I was breaking off the relationship. Since Tabatha’s death, I had become a lonely man. I let the loneliness get the best of me with Lindsay. At first, she came on to me, but I wasn’t naïve enough to think a beautiful girl that age would naturally be attracted to one of her professors. Despite what you may think, I’m not a complete narcissist.”
Yeah . . . really, a guy would have to be pretty full of himself to . . .
“I asked her what she was up to—why she was acting like she was attracted to me. After a while, she told me about a project she was working on. She planned on exposing the degenerates and hypocrites who are taking over academia while getting famous in the process. I won’t bore you with the details, but I was fascinated with her boldness. I didn’t discourage her in the least. In fact, I told her it would be better received as an academic piece rather than some internet sensation. She asked me to help her with her work and I agreed.
“Needless to say,” Jacob dropped his head, “over time, I became what I was hoping to help root out. Words aren’t enough to express my shame.”
Dripping from the showers in the next room filled a few seconds. Jacob snapped back from a moment of introspection.
“When Steven heard Lindsay’s conversation with you, he showed up at my home and told me about it. He was convinced she was going to expose my relationship with her. He told me my career would be over and my name would be tarnished forever. I told him to let it go. I told him I would try to reason with her. He told me that he was going to try to scare her. We fought about it, and in the end he stormed out of the house and sped off.”
Jacob held his head in his hands and sobbed openly.
“He showed up again later that night and his arm was bleeding. He told me what had happened. Steven had looked up Lindsay’s address and gone down there. He went to her apartment to talk to her. Lindsay was determined to ruin me and she told him so. Things got out of control, and Steven said the next thing he knew she was dead on the floor and his hands were around her neck. He used a duffle bag he found in her apartment to carry her body to his car. Then he dumped her body in the Hill District, figuring she would be written off as the victim of some drug dealer.”
I unclenched my hands and took a step back.
“And you didn’t think to call the police?”
“How could I? He was like a son to me. Much like I feel about you sometimes.”
I leaned down and said, “The last time I saw him, he didn’t seem to be in a brotherly mood.”
“I don’t know what he was thinking. His protective instincts had turned into the most dangerous kind of obsession. Steven said that we couldn’t chance that Lindsay had talked to you after he left your office. He said that there was a chance that she could have told you everything. I told him I wouldn’t turn him in for killing Lindsay. I knew I was the real reason she was dead, and Steven going to prison wouldn’t bring her back. It was a terrible mistake, but I selfishly thought we could get past it if we sat back and did nothing. I told Steven that if he harmed you, I would have no choice but to go to the police and tell them everything. He calmed down, and by the time he left my house he had convinced me that he had regained his senses.”
“So you were obviously mortified when you found out that Steven had tried to kill me.”
“More than I can ever say. My sorrow was twofold: Steven was dead, and he died while attacking my good friend. But at that point, my going to the authorities wouldn’t have done anybody any good. Steven had sinned, and unfortunately, you had to be the one to deliver the inevitable retribution.”
Calmly, I said, “And if I would have faced criminal charges for killing Steven, you would have come forward, right?”
“Of course! I couldn’t let you be punished for my mistakes.”
Walking a slow circle around Jacob, I asked, “And what about Randy?”
Jacob turned around and followed me with a confused look.
“I don’t know exactly what he was up to. The only thing I can figure is that Randy had succumbed to Lindsay’s advances while she worked on her project. Randy must have thought that either Lindsay left some of her work in the apartment—or perhaps her roommate came across something and threatened to expose Randy. I think we have to assume that Randy killed the roommate.”
“Her name was Virginia.”
“Virginia,” he said as if he were uttering the opening syllables of a eulogy.
He withdrew his focus from the name and said, “As to who killed Randy, I have no idea.”
“That’s an easy one. I did.”
Jacob’s neck twisted unnaturally and revealed a look of horror as he slung it around to watch me walk behind him.
“Wha . . . why?”
“I really didn’t have much choice. He was about to give me a pretty serious case of suicide.”
“I don’t understand why you were even there, but I’m not going to judge you, Cyprus. You’ve always shown strong moral character. More than I have, I’m afraid. I’m sure you did what you had to do. As far as I’m concerned, your secret never has to leave this room. If you feel you need to tell the world about my relationship with Lindsay, then I’ll understand. No matter what, I’ll never tell a soul about what you have just revealed to me.”
My series of circles came to an end right in front of the weeping genius. His eyes were puffy and he was the picture of emotional atrophy.
“My God, Jacob.”
“I know. I’m so—”
“You—are—a—complete—fucking—sociopath.”
The puffy eyes sought clarification. I stared down and provided it.
“Let me give you another version of events. We’ll put this one on the nonfiction shelf.”
My orbit resumed, but in the opposite direction.
“You were having an affair with Lindsay. You got that part right. After that, your facts are a little shaky. And I don’t doubt that you were very close to Steven. In fact, I’m sure of it. The guy who told me about Steven being a Psych major was very helpful in that respect. He told me that during his freshman year, Steven talked constantly about the brilliant mind and extraordinary talents of one of his professors. This guy told me that it didn’t take him long to figure out that Steven was head-over-heels in love with this professor. At first this was very upsetting to this fellow, since he and Steven were lovers. But over the years the man learned he was going to have to share Steven, if he wanted to have any kind of relationship with him. My new friend says that he’s always been a big believer in practicing monogamy, but he became very tolerant of Steven’s divided attentions because he wanted him to be happy.
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