by Nenny May
If it wasn’t guilt, could it have been regret? He joined her on the couch, eyes fluttered shut, legs raised and balanced on the walnut coffee table. He’d never been able to draw the line between the two. Guilt was a warm discomforting feeling, like a heartburn that just didn’t let up. Regret was similar, both kept him up till the sun roused from its slumber thinking he shouldn’t have done it. He should have fought his impulses. He shouldn’t have gone all the way with Susanne.
And even after, he shouldn’t have wasted all that gas driving down to Portland. Danielle, their house sitter and one of Claire’s students was yet to see Claire. In fact, she’d been convinced Claire was with him. It took him a whole minute to understand that she meant at Tillamook and not leaned over his shoulder. His fiancé hadn’t been to their home in Portland. She hadn’t left Tillamook. She was right to evade him. He wasn’t the right man for her, she deserved better.
“Have you even considered that I might be able to forgive you?” He chuckled, his eyes prying apart. He took in the deadpan expression on her face. She wasn’t kidding. In the glare of the morning sun, she radiated, there was a certain realism in her eyes… her skin was as detailed as Claire’s. Almost as if he could reach out and…
He flinched; his skin tingled. He shook his head. She wasn’t real. He didn’t know how his head was doing this, but she wasn’t real. For Gods sakes, she was a figment of his imagination.
“How many times are you going to tell yourself that till you realize I’m here to stay? It’s getting pathetic.” She rose to her feet irked.
That morning made four days without proper sleep. It had to be taking a toll on him he didn’t doubt it. That had to be why she’d become more vivid, more… real. But he just didn’t know how he was going to convince his body to delete her. She needed to leave.
And then it hit him. He knew just how he would get rid of Claire Fisher.
He would get rid of the source of his guilt.
He would get rid of Susanne Ellison.
◆◆◆
Nothing could have prepared Claire Fisher for the hell that was Tillamook. If she’d known this was what the trip had in store, she wouldn’t have tagged along with Paul.
He hadn’t even asked her to accompany him. She’d merely followed. Joined him at the Portland Airport and picked up an over-the-counter ticket.
She didn’t think she had it in her to let him leave on his own. She wasn’t codependent. She couldn’t just let him after he’d caught wind of his mother’s murder. The guilt of letting him walk into it on his own would have eaten her up from the inside out. Though, if the tables were turned, she wouldn’t have made that out of the blue call to the University of Portland telling them that she wouldn’t be able to turn in for the next few days. She wouldn’t have made that last call to Danielle begging her best student and only real friend to house sit before boarding their night flight.
She’d been there in a new town less than a week and it was nightmare. She knew next to nothing about the place, she didn’t know anywhere else aside her hotel, she’d risked her career and her freedom to threaten a woman she was convinced had a part to play in her mother-in-law-to-be’s death.
She was on her last penny and her fiancé was missing.
She glanced over her shoulder at the man behind the front window. He didn’t for a moment glance up at her. How long had she been waiting since she’d returned the document he handed to her? A minute? Ten? Everything had blurred into a rattled thought.
She’d fallen into a sequence, glaring at her watch, at the slow ticking hands of the clock, glancing at the window and then rummaging through her bag for her phone, checking it for calls or messages and shoving it back.
She hadn’t let the phone slip from her fingers and into the darkness of her bag when it vibrated against her. She heaved it, her heart hammering in her chest.
Her shoulders fell. It wasn’t Paul.
She swiped the screen.
“This isn’t the best time, Jay,” She glared at her watch and then at the window.
“What’s wrong?” She was in an ornery mood that’s what.
“It’s Paul,” She said instead.
“What that Doushebag do this time?” She knew her elder brother’s words were born from a sincere concern. He knew Paul all too well. He’d known him in is player days, when women were mere pawns in a game. And he’d never been able to chance his perception of him even though she’d promised him Paul had changed.
Their wedding was supposed to be an opportunity to prove to Jay and his twin Alex that Paul loved her and only her. He wasn’t a bad guy. He had a bad reputation, but his heart was pure.
“He hasn’t come back, Jay.” The words were heavy on her tongue.
“I will kill that man if he was with another woman.” She shook her head even if he couldn’t see her.
“It’s not like that. I think something bad could have happened.”
“Stop.” Jay scolded almost immediately. “You always assume the worst, Claire. Take a breath and relax.”
“You don’t get it,” Her breathing was hard.
“No, you don’t. Didn’t you say his mother died, he’s probably grieving, somewhere.”
“That’s just it. She didn’t just die; she was murdered and I’m scared whoever went after her got their hands on him too.” She drummed her fingers on her lap.
“Get out of that town, Claire.” His response was almost automatic. “Get out or I’m driving down there to pick you up.” Jay wasn’t in New Delhi with their parents. He was in Portland. He’d taken up a job as a Pharmacist in Target by Sw Woods Street.
“This is why I couldn’t tell you what happened.”
“Because you knew I wouldn’t let you get tangled in a family they were murdering one by one.” He wasn’t going to listen to reason. He was stubborn. But that made two of them.
“He needs me, Jay.” She clipped.
“Bullshit. I need you alive, we all do; Krisha, Rebecca, and Mayra, Alex…” He paused. There was shuffling at the other end of the line and the jingle of keys.
“Humour me, Jay when was the last time Rebecca called? On my birthday? Is that someone that needs me? And Krisha just had a baby, she’s too busy for me.” What was she saying? He was blowing all of this out of proportion. She wasn’t in any real danger… was she? She’d never taken a moment to think. Everything since that plane ride had been a rollercoaster.
“It doesn’t bloody matter, Claire. Get back here, I will cover the cost of your plane ticket. But don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
After what felt like eons, the man behind the window rose his head of dark hair. “Miss. Fisher?” She stood on unsteady feet. She had taken the closest chair to the window, and yet, it felt like miles. The white walls seemed to be closing in on her. She wasn’t one to break down and wallow helplessly. She’d never been helpless before. She’d always been that fierce woman who didn’t let anything bring her to her knees. But if her swollen reddened eyes and drained stained cheeks were any indication, she’d lost that battle. “Whatever you’re about to do, Claire, it’s not too late to stop it. Come back,” Jay wailed from the other end of the line. She loved Paul. She knew him. He wouldn’t just up and leave her because they’d had a fall-out. He wouldn’t ignore her calls. Her messages. He wasn’t like that. Though she was willing to convince herself that he’d changed for the worst all in a bid to keep the aching dread of her rambling thoughts at bay. How was she to listen to her own fears? It persuaded her to believe someone had kidnaped her fiancé. His mother had been murdered, who was to say the killer hadn’t gone after him as well?
“I have to go, Jay.” She shut off her phone shoving it back into her bag.
“We will take your statement.” A woman said. Where had she come from?
Claire gathered her belongings and followed the uniformed cadet. The room she’d been taken to was small, reeked of old socks and the walls matched every other one in the building—white. T
he City Police Department was in dire need of color to splash up the place. Irrespective of the American flags they’d shoved in the corner, of the foyer, Claire was thinking along the lines of potted plants, paintings. Anything to bring the rooms to life. Hell, even a shimmering clock would have done the trick. She wouldn’t even mind a grandfather one.
She hadn’t known who else to tell about Paul Campbell. She had to file a missing person’s report. The sooner the better. If someone had taken him from her, she wanted to get him back. She wanted to find her fiancé alive. She craved an end to the heartache and drama this town had beneath its cozy outlook.
She sat at a square metal table with a thud, counting her breaths, the legs of her chair screeching the against the floorboards. She tapped her fingers against the metal table waiting for the cadet to settle in across from her.
Paul was fine. Wherever he was, he had to be fine… he just had to.
The woman sat; a file open before her. “You filed a missing person’s report?” Claire nodded. “Can you relay what happened the day your fiancé vanished?” She nibbled on her bottom lip. Could she even remember what had happened? It was all a haze. They’d fought the night before. A small one. He’d given her the cold shoulder and he’d just never came home. None of that mattered now, the fight, the anger she’d felt when he’d lashed out. Nothing concerned her, she just needed him back. Whatever it took.
“We fought,” She forced. Her hands tightened into fists beneath the table. A tear ran down her cheek. “It was over his mother, she just died. And… he’s only been missing two nights but you have to understand how she died.”
“How did she die?” The woman leaned forward in her seat.
“She was stabbed twenty-two times and strangled to death in her Miller Avenue home.”
If the woman was startled, she did a good job remaining collected.
“Okay, and can you tell me where he was last seen?”
“Leaving our hotel on 3rd Street.” Her body went cold with dread.
“And other than you, his fiancé, does he have any next of kin? Family members? Neighbors that could help broaden the search party?” She shook her head.
She was all he had left.
◆◆◆
Lisa Patterson had only been seated five minutes when the door to Mocha on the Rocks was tugged upon. The petite café was alive with overhead lights and the chirpy morning sun spilling into the room. Tables and chairs were occupied with busy bees, fingers dancing over keyboards, pens gliding over paper. If there was one thing Lisa adored about Tillamook it was how hardworking the people were. It wasn’t even 10:00 A.M. and people were out hustling and bustling for their morning joe, prepping for that online presentation or drafting up some report to turn in at the office.
Regan Sinclair shrugged off her ankle length coat and slung it over her arm. Lisa waved the lean woman over with a smile she hoped wasn’t too cheeky. She had settled on a table in the middle of the café. It was the best spot in her definition that wasn’t too close to the window and wasn’t too far from the air conditioner. The cool air still caressed her bare arms. Adorned in a sleeveless button-down blouse, she savored the cool air, letting it work spectacles on her spiked temperature.
Indeed, it was a table for four, but the extra chairs were a space to keep her things. She hadn’t brought too much along, a bag a coat and a thick spined book on the Unconscious Mind.
She didn’t welcome early outings on her busiest days. That wasn’t something she was used to. She knew what her clients could get like if she wasn’t behind her desk awaiting them. Especially after she’d responded to their morning calls, assuring them that she would be there. She didn’t appreciate the reviews they would leave. The words they would use to describe her. She didn’t need to give the board a reason to duck her pay. Lord knew they were combing for any opportunity to do so.
However, when Regan Sinclair had explained over the phone that she was not only done with the contract, but she needed someone to confide in about the Campbell murder investigation, Lisa Patterson had lunged at the offer. One bad review from Jessica Stanford, her 9:00 A.M. wouldn’t hurt her career and reputation too much.
“Sorry I’m late,” Regan set her belongings down on an empty chair at the table. Jasmine and Cinnamon were Regan’s signature scent and Lisa Patterson’s muscles tensed. “There was a hold up on Laurel Avenue.” She sat and drew her bag onto her lap. Lisa had heard about that on the radio. Apparently, Channel Six was hosting a gala to celebrate becoming the go-to news station. “You weren’t waiting too long, were you?” Lisa shook her head. Regan tugged out a freshly printed thick booklet. Her eyes twinkled. “Here you go, I would advise you take your time and read through it. But…” Lisa clutched the warm agreement in her quivering hands, her grin broad. It was heavy. She tussled the urge to reach out and pull the woman into her embrace. They didn’t know each other that well.
Her stomach was alive with butterflies at the possibility of being that close to Regan. For God’s sakes it was taking everything Lisa had not to let her tongue hang out.
She didn’t know when she would get the chance to flip through each page, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. “You’re doing this for the wrong reasons, Lisa.” She lifted an eyebrow. Her stomach knotted.
That was the thing about affection that Lisa Patterson loathed. She cared too damn much about what the other person had to say.
“What do you mean?” She clutched the document firmly. She’d kept her tone brusque, flat.
“Paul isn’t your guy. He might have had motive, and opportunity… but he’s not Blake’s killer.” Lisa Patterson tilted her head and huffed.
“And what do you think his motive was?” Lisa seemed genuinely curious.
Regan Sinclair studied Lisa, the way her full lips had been set in a hard line, jaw tightened. She hadn’t intended to put her on edge. If anything, she was only looking out for her. Protecting her from digging an empty grave. “I understand the opportunity. It was his house, he’d grown up there, he had access to the home… My question is what his motive could be? And I see you’ve put two and two together drafting this up for me, so… save me the time and tell me what the District Attorney of Tillamook thinks Paul Campbell’s motive is for murdering his mother.”
Lisa dreaded to admit it, but she wasn’t comfortable with the way she felt in the presence of Regan Sinclair. She felt helpless, agitated, she was hormonal and filled with hope for what she knew would never be and couldn’t help but snap at nearly everything the woman had to say.
She was being unnecessarily difficult. She could have given her the benefit of the doubt, she could have taken a breath, waited before she’d reacted. But this was a difficult topic… No, her feelings were making things that much harder. A woman had been killed, quite horridly in her Tillamook home… She could bet discussing the matter with anyone else would have gone smother than it was currently. For one, she wouldn’t be besieged with fantasies of disrobing the person she was conversing with.
She was however worried there was a slim chance she could have been compensating for the fact that Stuart Middleton was frolicking in a field of gullible ears. She resisted the urge to shake her head. This was different. Stuart’s desire to relish in the praise of his colleagues didn’t drive her actions, or in this case, reaction. It burdened her, more than she was willing to admit. He was a fraud, but it wasn’t the reason she’d lashed out on Regan Sinclair.
A woman approached their table. Lisa recognized her instinctively. She’d recently been interviewed on Channel Six. She was the woman that had seen Blake Campbell displaying signs of schizophrenia. “Welcome to Mocha on the Rocks, I’m Gina Laval, may I take your order?” The woman had a pen and a notepad in hand.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Lisa placed the contract on the table and reached out a hand to shake Gina’s. The woman’s hands though lean and frail were firm to shake. “I enjoyed your segment on Behind the Body with Channel Six, and I was wondering�
�� why didn’t you talk to her, you knew she was going through something, you could have… helped… couldn’t you?” Lisa didn’t mean for her words to tumble out in a harsh manner. But they had. If she’d had the opportunity to speak with Blake at the time, she would have gotten the woman the therapy she deserved. She didn’t believe there were patients who couldn’t be saved. To Lisa Patterson, everyone could be saved from their own mental captivity, even if they seemed too far gone… it was a matter of time, effort, and applying the right techniques to bring them back.
“Excuse me?” The woman glanced her up and down, sizing her up, her face contorted into something dark, a vein popped out in her neck.
“I’m sorry… forget what I said, I’ll have a mocha latte. And my friend would have…” She turned to Regan who’d been occupied by the phone in her hands. She didn’t value Regan’s dependence on that thing. When people were out, phones were supposed to be secondary, they ought to live in the moment and not glimpse at their phones whenever they got the opportunity.
“A black coffee, please.” Regan finally said. The woman nodded, scowled at Lisa, but turned and walked over to the counter. That woman was going to spit in Lisa’s coffee she could guarantee it.
“You’re his psychologist, Lisa. You better than anyone know why he would have killed her. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have sought my intervention.” Lisa shook her head.
“I didn’t seek your intervention, Sinclair. Don’t get it twisted. Hell, I have searched heaven and earth and I can’t find where I asked for your opinion.” Lisa snapped. This wasn’t going to work… Collaborating with Regan was going to get messy, complicated… difficult. Nothing in her life had been difficult since graduating with a degree in psychology.
Regan Sinclair faked a smile.
“I didn’t come here to fight with you, Lisa. I came because I could use someone to… confide in about this case… or at least what I found.” She rubbed her temples. The woman’s breathing was strained. Lisa took note of the darkened bags beneath her eyes, the tremble in her lips.