The Uninvited

by F. P. Dorchak

  How goddamned good for her.

  Left her family in the boring town of Wilmington, Delaware for the seductive life of the crime-scene reporter in sunny south Florida.

  Fuckin A.

  Mark threw down the paper and crossed his arms, fuming.

  All she needed now was a little face time on NNC, and she’d be set for life.

  “... and if you’ve been following recent events,” Janelle Forte reported from NNC, “you know that the small town of Sunset Harbor, Florida has been the site of the grisly slaughter of seventy-two residents many are speculating to be cult motivated. Our own Sheila Petrova is in Fort Meyers, where the trial was underway. Sheila, what can you tell us?”

  Mark shot for the Digital Video Recorder remote and started it. Sheila Petrova’s face filled the television screen, her hair blown about by balmy Gulf Coast breezes.

  “Well, Janelle, things are definitely getting quite interesting down here in Fort Meyers, Florida, known more for Spring Breaks than murder trials. Emotions have been running high among the Florida retirement communities, especially in Sunset Harbor, an hour north of here—which lends a bit of irony to this whole thing: not only in the name of the small town, with a population of less than 16,000, but also in the community where the crime took place: the Safe Harbor Retirement Community. Janelle, it’s almost too horrible to imagine,” Sheila continued, her face no longer on screen, as she voiced-over shots of the retirement home, its March crime scene, and surrounding town film footage.

  “Every single resident in this retirement community had been systematically murdered. Safe Harbor is set among the channels and inlets of small-town Sunset Harbor (more file footage). A small community by comparison, the Safe Harbor Retirement Community only boasted about seventy residents in the community, and was in the process of expansion when the murder spree hit. It was a well-orchestrated attack, military in its precision and ruthless in its efficiency.”

  Sheila returned to the screen.

  “One couple managed to survive the initial onslaught, only to have been murdered the following day in a twist that further impressed just how bizarre this case truly is. Jack and Hedda Hocker (pictures of the couple flashed on-screen), both 79, had managed to overcome their attackers, call police, and,” Sheila said, in disbelief, shaking her head, “took the fight to the attackers. Hedda Hocker, as told by one reporter, here, used their hunting rifle, while husband, Jack, a retired and highly decorated Marine Corps veteran and gun shop owner, rushed outside with his....”

  Here Sheila glanced down to her notes, before continuing.

  “... KA-BAR, Marine Corps-issued knife, and .45 automatic, and began picking off attackers as he found them. But, I’m sad to say, Janelle, that the Hockers were killed the very next day, when they stopped to help what they thought had been an injured hitchhiker. The hitchhiker turned out to be the only one of the contingent of killers in the retirement community murderers who’d gotten away. Both of the Hockers were tragically murdered alongside I-75, northwest of Sunset Harbor. Their attacker then took his own life, leaping off the Exit 191 overpass.”

  Janelle Forte was now also in view, as NNC split the screen for both journalists.

  “Wow, Sheila,” Janelle said, with a look of disbelief, “thanks for that rather disturbing report.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ll keep you posted as the trial progresses.”

  “Wow,” Janelle again said, shaking her head. “In other news....”

  Mark hit the DVR’s stop and replayed the recording. The NNC newscast started up again, but this time Mark wasn’t listening to the two reporters, but was studying the screen. The scenes from Florida, where his wife was now, apparently, living, breathing, and writing AP newswires. He soaked up everything about the report and its scenes. Freezing one of the frames on his big screen, Mark came right up before it. He burned a hole into his TV set as he examined one of its images. It had to be her—had to be.

  There, among a gaggle of reporters standing outside the court steps in Fort Meyers, in one of the earlier-shot sequences, had to be none other than Kacey Miller, aka, Kacey Burnett. It was fuzzy and indistinct, but he knew in his bones... this was his wife.

  Emily’s mother.

  2

  Kacey Miller, sans Burnett, typed at her Sunset Harbor Gazette desk beneath a lone desk lamp. A small TV, set to NNC, droned on in the background behind her. She was tired and confused, not a good combination. Tired from the long hours she’d been putting in on this story, the long drive back from Fort Meyers this evening, and confused with everything from Mark and Emily, to Sheila Petrova and the evil humans do. But, she had new meaning to her life, it was exciting, and she was getting paid.

  What more could a girl want?

  “Hey,” a voice called out behind her. Kacey jumped.

  “Jesus—shit! You’re not in the jungle anymore, okay, Banner?”

  “Here,” he said, smiling, and tossed a folded-up USA Today into her lap.

  She picked it up.

  Kacey looked at the article. Not only was she somewhat of a local celebrity, but now she’d put Sunset Harbor on the map, and everyone coast to coast, north and south, was reading her words. Banner leaned on the edge of a desk, arms crossed. Eyed her.

  Kacey scanned the article—then the byline.

  “Oh, God....”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, my God...” she repeated. “... oh, no-no-no....”

  Banner studied her.

  “My name.” she said, tapping the paper. “Oh, my God—my name.

  Banner eyed her. “You’re a reporter. You report. Get a byline. Part of the deal.”

  “Shit,” she again said, shooting out of her chair, newspaper falling to the floor. She nervously ran her hands through her hair. Stared to the paper now on the floor.

  “There something you wanna tell me?” Banner asked, picking up the paper. Kacey turned to him, opened her mouth... and turned away. Looked to the clock.

  “Shit.”

  Kacey reached for her bag, which she missed on her first attempt, but snagged on the second. She darted away from her desk, stopped, then spun around. Brought a hand to her head. Pulled hair away from her weary face, and said, “I, ah... just... just... oh, never mind.”

  Banner watched Kacey spin back around and beat it out the door.

  * * *

  Kacey floored it to the post office. Of course it wasn’t open, but she had to mail that letter. Now. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it when she’d first written it, but now had no choice. She pulled up beside the 24-hour drop box, and looked at the times. Ten-thirty a.m. was the earliest.

  Double shit!

  What had she expected this time of night? She wouldn’t have time to deal with it tomorrow. She put the car in park and brought out the battered and folded-in-half envelope. Unfolded it. Smoothed it out. Looked to the address. Mark and Emily Burnett. She exhaled long and nervous, smoothing over the Forever Stamp to make sure it was really on there, and stroked the envelope. Then she extended her arm out the open window. Watched as she held the letter just in front of the open, narrow slot of no return. You drop it in, and leave it—if you try to get it back, you can find Federal charges levied your way, so you better be wholly sure this is what you really, really, wanna do, Little Missy.

  Closing her eyes like a suicidal jumper, Kacey flicked the battered little package through the slot, and into postal service control. In about four days, they should have it. And they’d know. They already might know where she was, that little syndicated piece saw to that—why the hell hadn’t she thought of that? Just another strike against her being journalist material. She had to let them know she wasn’t quite ready to return. Not yet. No, that would take a little longer—and she might have to again move if they tried to come after her. Which would suck. She’d finally found a niche for herself, and she’d hate to have to pull up stakes again.

  But hadn’t Mark and her also found a niche for them
selves, once?

  One person’s niche is another’s ledge...

  * * *

  Kacey sat in her car, parked in her apartment complex’s parking lot, her driver’s side window stuck in the down position.

  Well, that hadn’t been real smart, had it? Couldn’t she had made up a totally different name? Now Mark would see that and know where she was, and come looking for her. Just great. She’d set herself up wonderfully, this time. Tell me, girl, do you even use that God-given brain of yours? Now what was she going to do? Go back? Make up?

  Could she?

  No... she just wasn’t ready... still had too many issues pinging around inside her head. It just didn’t feel right, going back, now, as evil as that sounded. If she went back now, what was to keep her from doing the same thing again? She had to get right in her head, first, because when and if she ever did return, it had to be forever. No turning back ever again. In it for life. Raising a child and a loving family. A husband...

  Kacey dumped her head into her hands and began to quietly sob. All her life she’d tried to be true to herself and what she’d wanted. She’d never wanted to desert her family... never, never in a million years would that have ever crossed her mind... yet she’d done just exactly that. It was a part of her now. Her legacy. There would always be some speck of doubt in Mark’s—hell, Emily’s—mind, now. Would she ever do it again? Did she really love them? She’d tried her best—but would her best good enough? Was she cut out to be a wife and mother? To be... tied down? As much as she thought she wanted to return to Mark and Emily, as much as what she’d just written Mark and Emily—did she? She still had so many oats of her own to sow. So many things and places she wanted to do and see, preferably with another who wanted the same—but bringing a child into the picture?, well, that about changed everything.

  Was supposed to.

  No going back. For the next eighteen years your life was solely devoted to another other than yourself—and maybe that was at the core of the issue: selfishness. She wanted what she wanted. She didn’t like answering to anyone other than herself. Children were for other people... not her. Some were built to be parents, and she didn’t count herself in among that crowd.

  But, apparently, Mark did.

  She still needed adventure and adrenaline... did Mark? It looked like he’d already sold out to the family and corporate world. He got a real job and had given up his old life. Traded adventure for diapers and Sesame Street toys. How did she really feel about that? Could she live with it?

  That, she found, she really didn’t have an answer for.

  Enter Sheila.

  If she was totally honest with what had happened, alcohol or not, she’d wanted to do it—oh, yeah, she had. The booze and Sheila’s aggressiveness had just been convenient catalysts. How could she love Mark (and did she really?) and Emily, yet hop into bed with another—man or woman? What the hell was wrong with her?

  Does one night with a woman a lesbian make?

  Yes, she’d wanted Sheila that night, and when she’d seen her again in the newsroom the feelings from that night had resurfaced, and that’s what had frightened her, what had sent her scurrying to the ladies room. She was afraid of what she might reveal by her presence, eye contact. That she might, again, show whatever interest had attracted them together in the first place, and was flat-out frightened. It had been hard avoiding her since, but there was just something about Sheila, something about her touch, her—

  “Kacey? Oh, my God, it is you....”

  Kacey jumped.

  There, standing outside her car in the dark, and staring in at her with a look of grave concern, stood none other than Sheila Petrova.

  “Are you all right?” Sheila asked.

  “What—”

  “Are you all right?” Sheila again asked. “I was taking a walk, over there,” she motioned, “and, well, heard you—”

  Kacey wiped away her tears, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t know about you, but where I come from, ‘fine’ doesn’t look anything like....” Sheila put a hand to the door, peering in more intently. “Wanna talk?”

  “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you—”

  “In Fort Meyers?”

  Kacey wiped away more tears, sniffling and trying to get herself back under control.

  Sheila looked away, then back. “I was, oh... I had some business to attend to, and—”

  “What are you doing here? At my apartments?”

  “Your apartments?”

  Sheila stared at her.

  “To be honest, I didn’t know you lived here... I’m staying just across from you, over there,” she said, pointing. “Isn’t this a surprise,” she said, giving a strained smile, and nervously crossing her arms.

  Kacey stared at the Pelican Palms hotel across the parking lot, to where she’d pointed. “Wonderful. Now you’re stalking me.”

  Sheila took up a more defensive posture. “No—that’s not what I’m doing. Look, can we talk—I mean, without this car between us?”

  “Oh, what, like alone and up in my apartment?”

  Sheila looked away, hurt. “I’m sorry to keep bothering you,” she said, and turned to leave.

  Kacey sighed, then shot out a hand to her.

  She paused; collected herself.

  “No... I’m sorry. Again. I had no right to bite off your head like that. I apologize. It’s just... I’ve been through a lot lately.”

  Kacey took another deep breath.

  “Sure, let’s talk. I think we really need to.”

  * * *

  Kacey brought Sheila a cup of hot Chamomile tea, then sat on the couch beside her. The patio door was open, allowing in the cool, night, gulf breezes. Palm trees gently rustled outside beneath security lights. Kacey settled in beside her, stirring honey into her own cup. They both sat in silence.

  “How are you doing?” Sheila finally asked, in a low, concerned, voice. “I mean... really?”

  “I’ve had better lives.”

  Both set down their teas.

  “Why don’t you tell me some of your story,” Kacey said. “You know all about me... what brought you here. What brought about... your life decision.”

  Sheila waffled. “Well, I don’t know if I know all about you—”

  “You know enough. What brought on your decision to leave your family?”

  Sheila straightened up.

  “It’s not much different than your own, really. When I left Jeff I was also confused. We’d had a great life together, plenty of money, powerful positions—he’s also an executive in the industry—but toward the end that spark seemed to be missing. When we’d married I really did love him, more than life itself, but something happened along the way and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Short of questioning my orientation. People—lesbians and gays—say it isn’t something they so much as decided, as who they are. I don’t know... I can’t honestly say I’d felt trapped within my sexuality, but I’d always wondered about it. Experimented in college. It was a source of surprisingly great curiosity for me. I just thought everyone was as curious. I’ve since found that isn’t exactly the case.”

  Sheila took a sip of tea.

  “When I began to realize the propensity of my curiosity, I bought a Playboy to see if I really was attracted to my sex, and, to make a long story short, found I couldn’t throw the thing away.

  “I’d had my first relationship with someone from work. We’d been working late at the office, not unheard of in this business, as I’m sure you’re discovering, one thing lead to another, and I’d had my first affair—with a woman. To say I was riddled with guilt was like saying what happened at Safe Harbor was a polite misunderstanding. I tried to keep it from Jeff—not to mention myself. Kept trivializing it by saying I’d been with a woman, so it hadn’t really been an affair... but of course it had been. Full-on.”

  Sheila didn’t look at Kacey.

  “It was much more than what we did, or what I did to you.�
�

  Kacey looked down to her tea and took another, nervous, sip.

  “And for which I’m eternally sorry—really I am,” Sheila said, looking up to Kacey. “I hope to one day convince you of that.

  “Anyway, I found I really couldn’t keep my mind off this woman. It became a regular thing, and, of course, Jeff found out. Actually,” Sheila said, growing fidgety, “he’d walked in on us.”

  Sheila cleared her throat, nodding. Her hands trembled and she took another sip of tea. Her face began to swell with emotion, but Kacey saw she quickly got herself back under control.

  “He took it rather well for finding his wife in an affair... maybe it was the ‘guy thing’ of two girls going at it... I don’t know. I had to give him credit, though, because he tried to understand it—me—but, eventually, we just unraveled and fell apart. It wasn’t pretty.”

  Unable to hold back the emotion any longer, Sheila finally gave in to the tears. Kacey gave her her napkin.

  “He even resorted to letting me continue on... with this other woman... that he still loved me,” she said, dabbing her tears, “but I realized I no longer loved him. Not in that way. I couldn’t stay with him—I mean, how could I? So, I left.”

  Sheila let out a huge sigh.

  “Fast forward to you, me—and here I am, today, one powerful lesbo in a male-oriented world.”

  The two sat quietly.

  “Have you been with anyone else since—besides—me?” Kacey asked.

  Sheila snickered. “You know, that’s where this all falls apart. After I left Jeff and my first fling, I’d been with a handful of others... some of whom I even tried to make work... but none of them ever did. In none of them—not one—did I ever feel what I felt... when I met you.”

  Sheila turned to Kacey, giving her full eye contact. Holding her hands close in to herself, she continued.