by Paul Sating
"Honestly, Janis, you're lucky to have friends like her. Angelique truly cares about you. You're blessed to have her so close."
Janis sagged against the countertop, trying to ignore the grime. "That's great. Now can you be decent enough to answer my question?"
"She was worried about you!"
"So?"
Pam patted the table near her, encouraging Janis to sit. Janis remained standing. "So, when people are worried about you, don't you think it would be helpful if they understood where you're coming from? Especially Angelique? You want to keep her close, right?" Pam asked. "I swear, Janis, you never come by here unless you're having a bad day because you don't follow your therapist's advice. And when you do come, you only yell at me. And don't get me started on church. When was the last time you went?"
"Don't you dare play victim."
"Why?" Now Pam's voice was rising. "Because only you are allowed to be one?"
"Fuck you."
Pam clutched her crucifix necklace. "Please Jesus, forgive her."
It was a laughable gesture, just like so many of Pam's routines. "Between the two of us, you need forgiveness much more than I do," Janis reminded her mother. "Let's not forget that. This problem that is me? That's on your head, Mother. You could have fixed me if you bothered when I was a kid. But you weren't, were you?"
"I've tried, Janis!" Pam still clutching her necklace. "I tried for years to get through to you, to help you bury these demons. But you've refused almost everything from me. Honestly, I'm shocked that you took my guidance on how to take care of your—"
"You tried? When? When did you try?"
Pam set up a little straighter, blinking her eyes slowly in a pretentious gesture. "Let's not use this crutch forever, okay?" she said in that calm tone that felt like needles under Janis's skin. "Will you ever let this victim stuff go? You know, Father Reynolds forgave your grandfather, and your father. Your father paid his debt for what he did to those girl's parents. An unfair debt, I might add. He's done more for you than you'll ever know."
Janis slammed her hand against the cupboard. It rattled, and for a second she feared should have to find the money to repair the door. "Oh my God, what kind of mother says something like that? I'll tell you; a horrible one. What should I expect from a woman who covers for her own perverted father? At least my problem is that my father didn't love me enough; your problem is that you allowed your father to love me inappropriately!"
Pam's nostrils flared. "He got help and made amends!"
"Amends? To whom?"
Pam extended her thumb, touching it with the tip of her opposite hand, as if she was counting points, "He went to confession! He was forgiven. And he changed his ways. He didn't bother you anymore when he came back."
"He didn't bother me because he knew what that would mean for him," Janis sneered. "He knew he'd go back to jail forever if Dad didn't kill him first! Pull your head out of your Bible and look at the real world, Mother. It's right there in front of you."
"You wouldn't talk like this if your father was here or if you had a little more belief in something bigger than yourself," Pam snapped. "Look at your life, Janis! Would you have beaten that girl nearly to death in middle school and or got fired from that nice job if you put your head in the Bible a little more often? You would've learned how to deal with life's troubles a lot better had you."
"Well Dad isn't here right now, is he?" Janis was not letting this go on addressed. "And that girl and her little gang tortured me for years and you wouldn't protect me! She pushed and pushed until I snapped. You seem to forget what they did to me. They only stopped when I stood up for myself. I didn't attack her, and I didn't nearly beat her to death, Mother. That's not even close to the truth."
"You put her in the hospital!" Pam countered. "And your job? The one you were fired from?"
"I was harassed, every goddamn day!"
A corner of Pam's mouth turned up in a victory smile. "Isn't that always the case? Nothing is ever your fault, is it? Never were the dirty little girl, were you? Never have been, never will be in your own eyes. You take after your father in that respect. Blind."
"You're a horrible person," she growled, reaching for the table, almost laughing when her mother's eyes snapped wide and she pulled back. Janis swiped the box from the table in one swift movement, tucking it under her arm. "I'm taking this now and will come back for my other things this weekend, if I get a chance. If not, I'll get them within a week or two. Then we can be done with this charade. Done with each other. You know, you've always acted like that mother who didn't want anything to do with her child. There been a lot of nights I wondered what I did wrong, what I could have done to be a better daughter and I learned a few years ago there was no answer that could make you happy. You are always going to be a miserable, lying manipulator. You're never going to change, never going to accept me for who I am. But there is one thing you'll always do. You'll always blame me for what happened." Janis' face prickled with adrenaline. She was at the precipice, on the verge of breaking down. First Monica, now her mother. What a fucked up day. With the last bit of strength she leveled her voice, "I'll come by to get the rest of my stuff when you're at church, that way we don't have to see each other."
She made her way to the door, her feet pounding on the cheap linoleum. Flinging it open, the sound of the knob jiggling as it struck the wall made her chest swell.
"Janis, wait!" The sound of a chair scrapping, one levelers broken off years ago and never replaced, digging into the floor, broadened Janis' smirk, even as her mother yelled. "It's not like that. Please! We need to talk. We still have work to do!"
But Janis wasn't listening. Slamming the door closed was cathartic, like slamming her mother out of her life.
Why couldn't it have been you instead of Dad?
Janis held her tears until she got to the car and pulled away. For the second time today she barely escaped humiliation.
Things were starting to fall apart and if she didn't act to regain control, she might lose it for good.
25
Martyr's Park was a great place to reflect. Peaceful and relatively quiet, the park is tucked between the city and the wide expanse of the Mississippi River. Janis often found herself walking its length, but even more so since working again. On pleasant days, the park is filled with walkers. Hundreds, if not a few thousand people walked the long path lining the Mississippi, checking out sculptures, or enjoying a small slice of nature over the course of a nice weekend. All things in balance, Martyr's Park was a refuge.
A place she desperately needed.
She was cycling too quickly for her own comfort and it was The Times' fault. This story had taken a toll and she couldn't be honest with anyone, not even Angelique, because of the implications of doing so. Keeping up with everything that was going on, details Marshall shared, inundated her. She was drowning and no one noticed.
The Memphis PD was good, keeping her on her toes, filling her days and evenings. Exhaustion had become a constant companion.
Back when she'd begged Angelique to pull some strings so she could land this job, Janis hadn't expected to tire because she was confident in her ability to deliver on all her promises. But all too quickly, the potential of promise slipped away. People were changing around her too. The moment of consequence was Monica's reaction to the first part of the series. Then it expanded to an overall feeling of being ostracized, by her and others, adding weight to an already pressurized situation.
And her mother wasn't helping.
"Hey," a teenage punk gave her a stiff nod as he passed.
Janis stared him down until he looked away. Teenagers didn't hang out in Martyr's Park. This kid was scoping for an easy target. His day would get a lot worse if he decided Janis was someone he'd snag a purse from.
His steps picked up and carried him toward the north end of the park, giving her one reprieve until her thoughts took her back to her unfaithful and meddling mother.
They hadn't spoken i
n the days since their blowup. Pam Herring was never going to change, and in the emptiness of her life, Janis realized those scars were blinding her to some of her mother's more rational opinions. Though she would never admit it, Janis knew she wasn't taking care of herself.
Some people with mental health issues got by, their diagnosis allowing them to operate under the radar, hidden among their normal counterparts. That fortune didn't smile on Janis. Her brain couldn't handle the challenges of stress coupled with the heavy shit that came with her condition, a high-wire act on her best days.
And because she wasn't following up with her therapist or staying on her medications, her physiology suffered. Her energy levels were all over the place in the last couple of weeks as she cycled. Strong enough to keep it disguised, Monica had no complaints with her job performance, but it created headaches for Angelique when Janis was full of boundless energy.
That capriciousness frustrated her friend, at times, like now, pushing her away, and it scared everyone else. Throughout her teens, other kids kept a wide berth when what they saw as mood swings reared up. Now it was happening at work too.
The invite to the most recent Happy Hour at the Lamplighter must have been lost in the mail.
Janis didn't care, she was busy anyway. While they wasted time drinking and maneuvering for favor, she was taking another step to giving Memphis a story it would never forget.
It was exhausting to keep up the façade to maintain relationships. From her professional life to her love life, she always paid the price.
How much easier would this be if I had a man to fuck? Janis gave up waiting for Mr. Tall-and-Mysterious to drop in her lap and made her way up the Riverwalk, not in search of him, he didn't exist anymore, but for something else.
Janis scrambled through her memory bank, sifting through a lineup of unrecognizable faces to recall her last stable relationship.
Tom Sanders.
A nice, boring guy. As boring as his name.
He was decent to her, much more so than any guy before or after had been. Tom was very similar to her father in that respect. Maybe that's why she was attracted to him; the old maxim that women look for men who remind them of their fathers held true. Far worse men than Tom Sanders populated the world.
They met in college. He was a philosophy major. Janis smiled, shaking her head at the sidewalk as she remembered, with disbelief, that she'd ever fallen for someone with that type of outlook. But he knew how to cultivate thrilling conversations. He actually cared more about her brain than her pussy, in a time when the latter seemed to be her only redeeming quality to most guys. Tom saw the world differently and helped Janis explore it in a way that forced her to leave her comfort zone. It was so exhilarating. No matter the subject, religion, politics, or social issues, he always had a different perspective, and he made her think. He challenged her, stimulated her.
And I fucked it all up.
The heavy weight of guilt pressed down on her chest.
It was the end of the school year and she was up to her neck preparing for finals. Shit was happening with her mother because shit was always happening with her. Janis had done her best to focus on her studies. But it still impacted her; she missed the discipline required to stay on her medication schedule. Skipping appointments with the school-provided therapist didn't help.
It all fell apart on a Saturday night on Beale Street. She and Tom were enjoying themselves at a bar when he saw friends from high school, a chance encounter that led to an entire evening of reminiscing about things she'd never been a part of.
By the time midnight welcomed the next day, her mood had darkened. Tom was hers, not theirs, and they'd stolen her night. Back in Tom's car, she let loose. They had a horrendous fight, with her calling him horrible names, and saying things he didn't deserve.
Even now, under the bright Memphis sun, walking up the picturesque Riverwalk, shame enveloped her through the contrivance of memory. Janis knew she'd scarred that poor man.
Tom got upset, yelled in defense of his actions, shouting terrible insults he wouldn't have said under any other circumstance. Everything, so unlike who he truly was. It was her fault; she'd pushed too far and shattered their relationship.
Within minutes, it was over. A night that started with them enjoying the city together, ended with them going their separate ways.
Then the wave hit her. The memory of the worst moment of the night, when he said it was over. Janis punched him. Not once. Not twice. She hit him over and over and over until he bolted from his own car to free himself from the assault.
Tom walked home, leaving Janis in his car. Most of the rest was a blur, moments lost forever. As he faded into the night and out of her life, Janis began smashing his dashboard. Combine a steady pair of heels and a fiery woman, and no dashboard stood a chance.
Even in reflection, the shame was overwhelming, forcing Janis to choke down a sob. An elderly couple strolled by, gleefully lost in one another and their endless string of memories, until they looked her way. Then it was like someone drew the curtain down on their expressions and, in unison, they cast their gazes down at the sidewalk.
I'm a fucking mess.
Trudging through the guilt and shame of the memories created a fire inside. Tom didn't care enough to reach out, even months later when they came back to school. All she heard from him was absolute nothing. Thinking back now, his abandonment still hurt, almost raw.
One more in a long line.
This was her mother's doing.
The woman who somehow always escaped culpability and responsibility. Her mother, worthless. Most of the men in her life, past and present, were worthless. And so-called friends were worthless.
Angelique was the exception.
Angelique would always be there until the end.
The walk along the Mississippi brought no peace.
26
It is time.
27
"Goddammit!" Janis quickly signaled, pulling into the turn lane and whipping the car around to head back home. The walk up the river had done her head no service. She felt less clear than when she set out.
Nothing ever worked.
She was on her way into the office and was almost there when she remembered her tablet was still sitting on the kitchen table. The unscheduled detour would make her late. Again.
Police didn't camp out for speeders at this time of day, so Janis tempted fate and tried to make up time, setting a new speed record for Memphis and even gathering a few red light upgrades to her belt.
She pulled down her street and slowed. Cops might not be watching for reckless speeders, but the neighborhood's old people and unemployed housewives sure as hell did.
That's when she saw him.
Janis did a double-take.
As she pulled up to her house, the man on her porch turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. Their eye contact lasted only seconds before he made the three foot jump to her front yard, racing toward an old Mustang that was pulled alongside the street.
"Fuck!" Janis couldn't be sure, the man wore a ball cap and sunglasses, but she was sure it was him.
Whipping into the driveway, she kept an eye on the escapee in her rearview mirror. The Mustang's brake lights illuminated as he started the engine. A small puff of white exhaust escaped his tailpipe, the lights darkened, and the Mustang tore down the street.
Without looking for traffic, Janis sped backward out of her driveway in pursuit.
Disguise aside, this was the man in Marshall's mugshots, the one she swore she knew, the one she needed to talk to. And he had come to her.
As he accelerated out of her neighborhood and Janis gave chase, she put no thought to what would happen if she caught him. Right now she didn't care. All that mattered was getting to him, confirming information her gut urged her to validate. Linked to the story or not, this transcended everything else.
I have to know.
They turned onto E. Carolina Ave. speeding forward until it became W. Caroli
na Ave. Janis had no idea where this man was headed but took solace that if he knew she was following him, at least he wasn't leading her out to the country, where all rules faded.
Without stopping and only barely slowing, the man made a left on Riverside Drive and weaved through traffic, disappearing as he turned down Channel 3 Drive. An odd decision to go this way. There was too much traffic in this part of the city. It would slow him down, make his escape more difficult. Plus, he was nearing the city's organized crime unit and a television station, further increasing his risk.
Janis circled the railway building, coming back up the south side on Virginia Avenue. She'd lost him.
Janis punched her steering wheel. "Goddamn!"
The road looped back to Channel 3 Drive, and she made a quick–and–illegal left turn. Between the news channel and the railway parking lots, there were enough cars in the area to hide him. It was the only thing that made sense. Pulling into the lot, she slowly made her way through the lanes. Tucked in the northwest corner, next to a row of trees, sat the Mustang. Janis parked and got out.
At the end, less than fifty yards away, the trees opened to a cement pathway leading to a grassy mound. A figure raced away down that open space.
It was the same man.
Janis pursued, pulling the recorder from her pocket as she did. If this ended badly, someone needed to be able to find out what happened. The man's head disappeared behind the mound as he descended, down toward the Mississippi. Whether or not it was a smart thing to do, Janis picked up her pace, closing the distance between them while she was out of his direct eyesight.
"Monica ... Angelique ... Marshall ... Mom," she said in the stilted, disjointed speak of someone nearing a full sprint, "I saw him again and I'm following him right now. He was at my house and followed him back to Martyr's Park now. He's heading toward the Riverwalk. I'm a good two or three hundred yards behind him. Please understand, I need to be sure. I ... I have to know. He's ... shit, I'm losing him."