Escapement

by Rene Gutteridge

  I turned quickly, ready to pounce.

  Instead, I was staring right into the face of a plump woman with dark, curly hair and deep-brown, soulful eyes. She looked surprised. I was pretty sure I wet my pants.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  I swallowed. “Don’t move. I’ve got a bomb.”

  I don’t think Rosemary believed I had a bomb. Instead of not moving, she hurried to the other room to find Abbott. I rushed after her.

  Abbott was trying to calm her down. “It’s okay. Rosemary, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

  She eyed me as she stood by him. Her fingers were on his wrist, taking his pulse. Abbott seemed fine. It was my pulse that was skyrocketing.

  Abbott looked at me as he spoke. “This is Mattie. He’s an old . . . high school acquaintance.”

  “With a bomb,” she said, half-terrified, half-annoyed.

  “Okay. If he says so. He’s here to kill me.”

  The blood drained out of Rosemary’s face. She raised an eyebrow at Abbott. “Did you hire a hit man? Is that what this is?” She turned to me. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it if you leave.”

  “I’m not a hit man,” I said, now the one annoyed. “I’m here on a revenge killing.”

  “Revenge for what?”

  “Meanness.”

  “Meanness.”

  “That’s right.”

  Rosemary wasn’t smiling, but if she had, she’d have had a “jazz-hands” smile. Large. White. Showing both top and bottom teeth. Real Kathy Najimy–like, in her Sister Act days. I always thought Kathy was attractive in that habit, which bothered me because I was pretty sure it was a sin to be attracted to nuns.

  Rosemary put her hands on her hips. “Well, looks like you stabbed the wrong guy.” She gestured toward my stomach. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Oh . . . that. No, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. Your shirt is soaked.”

  “Look, enough about me. You need to sit over there in that chair right now.”

  “Or what?”

  “Don’t question me!” I shouted. Rosemary sat down. I picked up the broken piece of plate from the table where I’d set it. “I’ll cut his throat. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “He’s serious,” Abbott said, slicing his eyes to Rosemary. “Real serious.”

  “That’s right,” I said, inwardly wishing Abbott wasn’t so calm and agreeable.

  “I’m concerned about that puncture wound or whatever that is,” Rosemary said. “I think I should take a look.”

  “Don’t get up out of that chair.” I walked closer to Abbott. “One move from you and he’s dead.”

  Rosemary looked exhausted. “Mattie, right? That’s your name?”

  “It’s Matthew. I prefer Matthew. But I want everyone in this room to call me Mattie because that’s helping my cause.”

  “What is this about? Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s really none of your business. I just want you to sit there and shut up.” I paced, checking the pocket watch.

  Abbott was grimacing again. Rosemary was watching him. Then she looked at me. “He needs his pain medication. He’s in a lot of pain.”

  “I know that! I’m a nurse too!” I shouted.

  I glanced at Abbott. He did look tortured. And I didn’t come here to torture. I was hurting too. The wound in my belly was starting to throb pretty badly. “Fine. Give him what he needs. But I am telling you, one false move and you’ll regret it. Do you understand me? And I don’t want him sleeping. I want him wide awake. You got it?”

  I backed away from Abbott and watched Rosemary open the bag she’d brought in with her. She pulled out a medicine bottle, drew something—probably morphine—into a syringe, and put it in his IV. Almost immediately, Abbott seemed to relax.

  Sure. Super. That’s what I wanted. Him all relaxed and comfortable before I killed him. That was going to make more of a statement.

  “Better?” Rosemary asked Abbott, who nodded. His eyes fluttered, but he didn’t fall asleep.

  I wished I didn’t have time to kill. I hated this. I was having to keep my eyes all crazy and my scowl on, just to keep Rosemary in line. Of the two of them, she seemed to be the one less affected by it and the least worthy of being terrorized. Plus, she was a nurse, so it was like we were kin.

  “Well,” she said. “Let’s get some light in here, shall we?” She stood and zipped the curtains right open. The light flooded in, causing Abbott and me to squint. Outside, Mrs. Cavington was walking the other direction, her cane thumping steadily along with her.

  I let my eyes adjust to the light. I realized I had only one more hour to enjoy beauty. I gazed out at all the trees and bushes and grass and the dimming blue sky. I’d never thought much about nature, but I thought I might actually miss it now. Rosemary sat on one side of the window, Abbott on the other, and I stood between them, looking through the glass at a bluebird.

  “So,” Rosemary said, “is this some kind of nervous breakdown? Are you having a bad moment, Mattie? Because I don’t think you want to do this. You don’t seem like a cold-blooded killer.”

  “Don’t I?” I gave her my harshest serial-killer glare.

  “No,” she said plainly.

  “Rosemary,” Abbott said, “just be quiet. Let the man be crazy if he wants.”

  “He just doesn’t seem like a murderer.”

  “I’m not,” I said, turning to her. “I’m actually quite a decent man, despite all that this guy put me through when we were kids.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “The list is endless,” I said, “but to put it bluntly, he tormented me because I was fat.”

  Rosemary leaned to the side, looking around me to Abbott. Her eyes scolded him. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s come a long way in the last couple of months, coming to terms with all the things he’s done.”

  “Yes, well, death can bring a lot of things into perspective.”

  Rosemary sighed. “But look at him, Mattie. He’s only got a short time to live anyway. What’s the point?”

  “I’ve only got a short time to live as well.” The words felt heavy, like my tongue had to lift and throw each one out of my mouth. “Shorter than Abby over there.”

  “You’re sick too?”

  “Different kind of thing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Trust me. You’re not going to understand.”

  She focused on my belly. “The blood is dripping on the carpet.”

  I looked down and sure enough, blood droplets on the carpet. It was starting to hurt even more.

  “Let me at least bandage that up. Put some Neosporin on it.”

  I would’ve said no, but I have a thing about clean carpets. This one was super plush and white and here I was ruining it by the second. I know, I know—I’m going to kill this guy but I’m worried about his carpet? It’s just one of those idiosyncrasies that Beth found adorable until lately.

  “Fine,” I said. “But you’re not leaving this room without me.”

  “I know exactly where the Band-Aids are. We keep all the medical supplies in the hall closet right there.”

  I followed Rosemary down the hallway, watched her carefully as she opened the door. The closet had lots of shelves, neatly organized. As she grabbed some gauze and other things, I noticed a small white shoe box labeled “power cables.”

  Rosemary closed the closet door. We returned to the living room.

  “Just stay standing and I’ll get down like so,” she said, kneeling. She gently pulled up my shirt. I held my breath. I didn’t like my belly exposed. It grossed everybody out, including me. But Rosemary seemed completely unaffected as she blotted and dabbed and tore medical tape with her teeth. She put something cold on and the pain subsided. “This probably should be stitched up,” she said, putting the bandage on. “But this will do for now.”

  She backed away from me, taking the Band-Aids and things, and sat in her chair, snapping her medica
l gloves off.

  “Thank you,” I said. I sat down.

  “Are we waiting for something?” Abbott asked. “Shouldn’t we just get on with it?”

  “Mattie,” Rosemary said, shushing Abbott, “tell me what’s going on. Why has it come to this?”

  I looked her straight on. “Rosemary, you seem like a really nice person. Genuinely nice. I wish more people were like you and less like Abby. But there is no way you will understand this.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay,” I said stiffly. “Time personified—he goes by Thomas Constant—came to visit me this morning and told me I was going to die in four minutes. He gave me a choice . . . I could either go back and relive any seven hours in my life, or I could extend my life by seven hours. So I chose the latter. And yes, I am using the last seven hours in my life to murder this man. But I don’t want to kill him too early because I don’t want to wait around with the body, and now I’ve got you to contend with, which is making this even more complicated. Questions?”

  Rosemary’s mouth was hanging open.

  “Didn’t think so. Now, let’s all shut up,” I said, trying to get comfortable in the chair.

  Mrs. Cavington was walking by once again, the other direction. “What is she doing?” I asked, gesturing toward the window.

  Abbott turned to look. “She does that sometimes. Just walks down the block and back several times. Probably exercising or something.”

  Rosemary leaned forward. “How much time do you have?”

  My eyes cut to her. “Don’t pretend like you believe what I’m saying.”

  “I’m just curious.”

  I pulled out the pocket watch. “Forty-eight minutes.” I turned the watch to her. “See how it’s missing some of the numbers? It’s only got the exact number of hours and minutes I’m going to live.”

  Rosemary leaned further forward. Her eyes glowed with confusion even though she was nodding. Was she or wasn’t she seeing it?

  Whatever. It didn’t matter if she believed me or not.

  “It’s probably going to be a heart attack,” I continued. “I’ve always had a premonition that I was going to die that way. And also a doctor telling me every six months that I was. So after I kill Abby here, I’m just going to drop dead right on this carpet.” I eyed her. “Don’t try to revive me. It won’t help.”

  Rosemary nodded again, like this was all making perfect sense to her. She kind of reminded me of Beth in the early days, when all we had was hope for a great future. You know the era . . . when you’re broke and destitute, but you’re sure if you just hang in there long enough your life is going to improve.

  “Rosemary,” I said, “will you do me a favor? Could you contact my wife after I’m gone? Tell her where the body is. And tell her that I love her very much. Her name’s Beth and she’s in my contacts list on my phone under Hershey Kiss.”

  “Sure. Okay. Of course.”

  I looked at Abbott. His eyes were glazing over. The medicine was probably putting him into a semicoma. “Abby! Snap out of it!”

  He flickered to life.

  “So,” I said to Rosemary, “Abby tells me that you talked him out of suicide.”

  “I believe life is precious and a gift from God. Every part of our lives. Even the end. I told Abbott that God had a purpose and a plan for every minute, even as he was dying.”

  “Yeah. He looks real purposeful over there.”

  “I know it doesn’t seem that way. In the last few weeks, though, Abbott has had some epiphanies about his life and God’s will for it.”

  “So God just forgave him for everything? Even though he’s made many people miserable? And those are his words, not mine.”

  “Yes, God forgave him. Just like he’ll forgive you if you ask him.”

  “God and I aren’t on speaking terms, so I guess I’m out of luck.” I turned to Abbott. “So how many people did you trample to get all this wealth?”

  “Too many,” Abbott said.

  “How did you get so wealthy, anyway?”

  Abbott paused for a moment. What was he, a Wall Street heavy or something? Was I staring down an anemic Bernie Madoff?

  “I’m a psychologist,” he said softly.

  The words sat in the air for a moment.

  “I wrote a book about nervous breakdowns that sold three million copies.”

  “Awesome.” I tried to smirk but it didn’t really launch off my face like I’d hoped.

  Rosemary clasped her hands together. “Maybe Abbott would like to share his views about your visit from Time and this seven hours you’re speaking about.”

  “No thanks. I’d really like everyone to just shut up.” My eyes were slicing back and forth from him to her like some paranoid freak.

  “But, Mattie,” Rosemary said, her eyes locked on me, “what if you’re not going to die? What if your mind is playing tricks on you and this isn’t real?”

  “Shut up!” I yelled. Then I felt bad because Rosemary has one of those faces that you feel guilty for yelling at.

  She wasn’t deterred. “Mattie, have you been under a great deal of stress lately?”

  “Not at all,” I said smoothly. “I lost my job because I’m fat, and then I lost my wife because I lost my job, and then I lost my will to get up in the morning because I lost my wife. So everything is going perfectly fine.”

  “See!” It was like she didn’t speak sarcasm. “That could be it. Abbott, tell him. This could be his mind playing tricks on him, right?”

  Abbott shifted uncomfortably. “Rosemary, let the man be. He doesn’t want to be psychoanalyzed.”

  I smiled all Cheshire cat–like. This could be fun. I mean, obviously he didn’t want to play. So why not make him?

  “Why don’t you enlighten me, Abby?” I said, threading my fingers together. “Am I going nuts?”

  Abbott sat there for a long time, breathing shallowly, his eyes staring at the carpet. Then he looked at me but said, “Rosemary, were all the numbers on the pocket watch that Mattie showed you?”

  Rosemary’s eyes were a little too round. She slowly nodded.

  I looked at the watch, still in my hand. It was plainly missing numbers.

  “Mattie, there is a chance that you’re having a delusion here.”

  “So now I’m fat and delusional?” I laughed one of those laughs that scares young children. “Perfect. Well, the better to kill you with, my dear.”

  “Don’t you see?” Rosemary said. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. Sometimes our minds can’t handle it all.”

  “Maybe you should talk to my split personality about that,” I snapped.

  “Mattie, this may be your mind’s way of dealing with tremendous loss,” Abbott said. “It’s convinced you your time has run out because you don’t want to live anymore but you don’t want to kill yourself either.”

  Rosemary nodded eagerly.

  “Yes, well, nice try. But I’m still going to murder you.”

  “Mattie . . . ,” Rosemary said.

  But Abbott raised his hand. “You heard the man, Rosemary. There’s no use trying to change his mind.”

  I cast a sharp look toward Abbott. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

  Suddenly a tear rolled down his cheek. “This is no way to live,” he said quietly. “I just want to go. I have nothing left on this earth.”

  “You have me,” Rosemary said gently. She went and knelt by him, holding his hand. Well, I guess that’s one way to win friends . . . die horribly and gain the sympathies of the hospice nurse.

  “How do you do this?” I asked Rosemary. When I worked as a nurse, there was always hope they’d live. This was so different. “How do you get so close to someone when you know they’re going to die? I mean, don’t all your patients die?”

  “Yes, they do. But I want them to know how much God loves them. And what there is for them on the other side. It’s the job God has for me. It’s not always easy, but I’ve seen God work in extraordinary ways, an
d his timing continues to amaze me. What are the chances that Abbott is a psychologist and you’re having a nervous breakdown?”

  I couldn’t help it. The glare just morphed my face. I could feel it. Rosemary looked like she wished her filters had been in place.

  “I’m not having a nervous breakdown,” I said calmly, like before-the-storm calm.

  “Of course. I’m sorry, Mattie. I sometimes don’t think before I speak. I get kind of excited when I see God working.”

  “God working?” I angrily waved my hand between the three of us. “How, exactly, is God working here? He’s rotting away. I’m going to murder him and then either die or get arrested for murder. And you’re kind of at risk for being collateral damage. Cue the harps.”

  “God works in mysterious ways,” Rosemary said. “But that’s neither here nor there. The point I’m trying to make, Mattie, is that God loves you. And if you’ve only got forty minutes left in your life, then that’s what he’ll work with. Forty minutes.”

  “You’re cheery. My Beth is cheery. I’m kind of a sad sack of a human, but Beth, she likes to skip. Who likes to skip?” I didn’t know why I was babbling about Beth and skipping. Things were just spilling out.

  “How are you going to explain this to Beth, Mattie?” Rosemary asked.

  “I’m not. You are.”

  She looked sad as she seemed to imagine how that conversation would go. I kind of felt sad about it too. Sure, Beth had been threatening divorce, but I knew she didn’t mean it. That’s why I wouldn’t sign the papers. Then she was going to get a phone call. From a total stranger named Rosemary, who, though a kindred spirit in the happy department, would be delivering some awful news. Not only was I dead, but I’d killed someone in the process. How was she going to fathom that? I can’t even kill the mice in our condo.

  I looked at Rosemary. “You need to explain to Beth, when you call, that Abbott was a horrible person. Okay? Make sure she knows that I didn’t kill the archbishop of decency. Mention he made fun of my weight. Tell her that I estimated he was responsible for at least 180 pounds.”

  For some reason Rosemary smiled. I don’t know why. But I smiled too. Good grief, this was not going down at all how it had in my head.