Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2)

by Dianne, Shannon

  “Huh? Why?”

  “Just do it. I need that deed out of my name and placed in Laura’s. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convincing.

  “Cadence, I need you to be able to do that before the media gets wind of anything. Changing that deed will stop the domino effect that’s about to happen.”

  While I’m talking to Cadence, I’m studying Danielle. She’s now pacing with her arms crossed over her like she’s cold, blinking nonstop and looking around her. She’s nervous. I have a sick feeling that she’s going to run. How do I know this? Part of my job is psychology; it’s to study people, to be a mind reader. I’ve got to predict a person’s next move; I have to be a step ahead of them. My ability to do this is the reason why I’m the go-to man for intricate problems. I can predict the next move of a wayward brat, a disgruntled mistress and a pissed-off wife. I’m always a step ahead of them; I’m holding a cup of water before a match has even been struck. So I’m studying Danielle’s arms, eyes, legs, mouth, movements and current proximity. She’s pacing, standing apart from everyone else, looking back towards the crew, glancing outside of the windows and her eyes are glossing over the tarmac. She zoned out … but biologically, she’s in survival mode. The Weather Channel is on, the volume’s turned up and the current city being featured is Baton Rouge:

  It’s unseasonably warm in Baton Rouge this upcoming week; temperatures will be in the mid-seventies. Plenty of sunshine in the forecast. It’s a dreamland here …

  Consciously Danielle doesn’t hear this, consciously her mind is meditating on that fire. But the human mind is extremely perceptive. Her subconscious has heard that weather report and is storing that information in her brain’s memory bank for future use. This is a biological human survival technique that we’ve named hunches, inklings, or ‘something just told me to …’. With my ten second observation, I’ve learned three things: Danielle’s nervous, Danielle wants to be alone, and now Danielle has Baton Rouge in her memory bank. My conclusion: the seeds are being planted in her mind to run there … and she hasn’t even realized it yet. But she will soon. The subconscious is very convincing. Unfortunately for her, I have to stop her from running. If not, she’ll look suspect.

  “I’ll do it, I’ll change the deed.”

  “Good, I’ll call you from the plane and check in with you.”

  “Alright.”

  “Cadence, this is important. Change the deed.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”

  “Cadence–”

  “I said I’ve got it covered.”

  Danielle

  1:15 a.m.

  Winnie, Nat and Jacob have this jet smelling like a frat house.

  Lucky for everyone, Winnie just happened to have a spare joint in her handbag. That’s typical Winnie behavior, with her wavy brunette bob and cherry red lips; the party hasn’t started until Winnie and her handbag show up. So, when the captain comes in to say hi, Winnie and the fellas all give him a cheery ‘Hey, Jim’, while their puffs of marijuana smoke rise into storm clouds over their heads. Captain Jim looks around at them, at their table for four, and then to Dena and me as we sit in seats opposite each other.

  “Like always, I’ll have you guys down in no time.” Captain Jim says with a wave and smile.

  “No rush, Jim.” Jacob says.

  “We only have one joint, Jacob.” Winnie reminds him.

  “Rush Jim.”

  Winnie giggles, takes her iPod out of her handbag and then puts on some smooth jazz. Within moments, Frank Sinatra starts singing, The Girl From Ipanema and Nat decides to join him:

  Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking

  And when she passes, each one she passes goes – ahh …

  Malcolm’s slowly bopping his head along to Frank and Nat. Jacob starts singing along during the Spanish speaking parts and that’s when Winnie leans her head onto her hands, bites her bottom lip and grins at him.

  “You’ve always impressed me with your ability to speak Spanish.” Winnie whispers to Jacob quite seductively. Jacob winks at her and then bites the air with his teeth.

  What the hell am I missing here? Why are Dena and I the only somber ones in the room? Dena’s somber because her friend is now missing, I’m somber because I tried to kill Dena’s missing friend. Either way, our somberness all begins and ends with Laura. Speaking of Laura, she’s really starting to piss me off right now.

  It’s a little weird that Laura would escape an attempted murder and not check in to tell everyone that she survived it, don’t you think? I mean, does that make any sense? What a selfish bitch. Now I have to sit here and look at Dena’s sad ass, with her perfect chignon bun and immaculate two-carat diamond studs, and it’s getting on my nerves. Why the long face? Laura didn’t die in the fire I had set. Get a grip!

  So, while Dena and I are sitting in seats opposite of each other, next to some windows, Nat, Jacob, Winnie and Malcolm are all sitting at their small table, still passing the joint around.

  And when she passes, each one she passes goes – ahh …

  Everyone is taking their turn at puffing the joint except for Malcolm. Because he’s around me, he’s trying to pretend like he doesn’t do it. And, though I’ve never seen him smoke a joint, Malcolm is a frat boy and a bona-fide former member of Princeton’s basketball team. I know he’s puffed on a laced stogie a time or two.

  “Here you go Mac,” Jacob says to Malcolm as he tries to pass the joint to him, a mischievous grin on Jacob’s face. “Do it just like you taught me how to do it.” Jacob and Winnie laugh and Malcolm smiles.

  “Nah, I’m okay.” Malcolm says and then eases his eyes over to me. He and Jacob laugh. You see, I may be an attempted murderer, but a drug user I am not. I like to create boundaries for myself. So, I turn my head and look out of the window at the oil-black tarmac. I’ll go ahead and let Malcolm smoke in peace. That’s the least I can do for burning his house down. “Damn, I thought she’d never turn around.” Malcolm says loud enough for me to hear. He, Jacob and Winnie laugh but Nat is noticeably quiet now and I know it’s because of Dena.

  Dena Fletcher-March, whose real name is Dena-Jo, is the debutante from hell. Winnie once explained to me that Dena was once Dena-Jo up until she met Nat, that’s when she dropped the -Jo. Apparently, after seeing how her name looked in print in the Boston Globe’s society section, she thought it appeared a bit too trailer trashy. Now, in the tradition of Cher, Prince and Beyoncé, she goes only by Dena. So at her request, we all call her by her stage name.

  Winnie has also told me the story of Laura and Dena and it reads like an all-American classic: they were best friends since prep school, they went to Boston College together where the two of them met Winnie. Winnie, Dena-Jo and Laura pledged Kappa Kappa Kappa sorority together. Winnie, Dena-Jo and Laura joined the Junior League of North Boston together. Laura introduced Nat to Dena-Jo and that’s how Winnie met Jacob. They all triple dated together. Dena (the debutante formerly known as Dena-Jo) married Nat and Winnie married Jacob. Malcolm quit Laura. Insert me here. I’ve moved on, Winnie said, Laura is a damn handful. I’m surprised Malcolm lasted as long as he did. But Dena isn’t as forgiving. Don’t get me wrong, she’s always been nice to me in that sugar-mouthed, Southern belle kind of way, but she’s always kept me at arm’s length. I don’t blame her. Laura was her best friend, if Dena treated me any differently, I’d consider her suspect. No one wants to be friends with a faker. But now that she’s acting really shitty with me, I consider her annoying. And she has no idea what I do to annoying people.

  Right now, Dena hasn’t cracked a smile. She hasn’t said a word. She’s been completely silent. And now, I’m edgy as hell. Paranoid even.

  “Red,” Malcolm says, breaking into my thoughts, “I just want to say that I think that it’s nice of you to be concerned about Laura.” I look at him and watch him give me a reassuring nod. “That’s says a lot about your character, conside
ring you and Laura’s conflict of interest.” Malcolm’s being a faker. What the hell is he up to?

  “Uh-huh,” Winnie says while taking a long pull of the joint, “I agree Danielle. It’s sweet of you to be concerned.”

  “Yeah,” Jacob says as Winnie passes him the joint, “like Mac said, considering your conflict of interest.”

  “Just goes to show,” Nat says, “that when it comes to human life, all differences can be put aside.”

  “Danielle’s living proof.” Jacob chokes out.

  And while they’re singing my praises, I realize that I’m holding my breath. Just like Malcolm to be a smart ass at the most inopportune and inappropriate time. This isn’t the time for us to have a little chuckle about an inside joke between us. Remember when you burned down the home that you never knew I owned, just to kill my ex-girlfriend who was inside of it? Boy … those were the days. But, while I’m wondering why he’s started such a conversation, I’m also wondering why in the hell Dena isn’t singing my praises as well. As far as she knows, I’m sitting here, as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs, because I’m worried about Laura. How dare she not agree with the others and tell me how amazing I am. I look at her and she’s staring straight ahead at the chair next to mine. She’s giving lazy blinks, the kind that you purposely give in order to relay a message to an onlooker. She’s not buying my ‘concerned for Laura’ act. She has something entirely different on her mind.

  I feel my heart begin to race right before I look to Malcolm to relay a silent message with my eyes. We do that often without having to say a word. If the waitress at McCormick and Schmick’s is flirting with him, I give him ‘the eye’. Can you believe the audacity of this bitch? If a bartender pours me a double shot instead of a single, Malcolm gives me ‘the eye’. Can you believe this muthafucka is giving you double shots, while my glass is sitting here empty? We always give ‘the eye’ and know exactly what the other is saying. So I look to him and intend on giving him ‘the eye’. Can you believe Dena doesn’t think that I’m a wonderful person? But I don’t catch Malcolm’s eye, because he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Dena. He’s already got his eye on her.

  Danielle

  2:15 a.m.

  I’m in Baton Rouge … I can just feel it. Strange, why am I always in Louisiana these days? It’s dark outside, the moon is high and the stars are twinkling like dancing Christmas tree lights. Rena is with me and we’re on Orleans Street, listening to a street band playing an Ella and Louis classic:

  Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

  Sweet dreams to leave all worries behind you

  But in your dreams, whatever they be

  Dream a little dream of me

  Everyone is singing along with the band except for Rena and me. But I know why we’re not singing. We’re nervous. We’re really nervous. I can feel Rena’s nervousness even though she isn’t saying anything. She’s breathing heavy and focused on the band. Yeah, we’re both nervous as hell.

  “Grab her license.” Someone says from behind me. Wait, I know that voice. Malcolm? I turn around and see my great-grandfather standing there, all six feet, three inches of him.

  “Gramps?”

  “Who dat?” He says with a smile, in his regular voice.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him as the smell of roasted herbs and spices drift over me. “Herbs and spices?” I say to him, confused. I don’t want herbs and spices. I’m in Louisiana, I want beignets.

  “And coffee, don’t forget coffee. Chicory blend.” Gramps says in his normal voice.

  “Wait, you heard that?”

  “Of course.”

  “But I wasn’t talking about coffee, I was thinking about it.”

  “I can still hear you.” He rolls his eyes at me and waves me off. And then, I remember something very important.

  “Wait, Gramps. You’re dead.”

  “Does that mean I can’t enjoy a cup of coffee? Chicory blend?”

  “Coffee is to help you stay awake, you died seven years ago.”

  “I’m surprised you remembered, being that you weren’t there.”

  “Oh, I was too. I was there when you called everyone by your bedside and made us sit there for three whole days, promising us that you’d be dying at any moment.” Actually three days was quite remarkable, Gramps was always the dramatic type and it only took him three days to die … much less aggravation then the entire family expected of him. We thought that when his time came, surely he’d contract a slow, lingering disease. He impressed us with his sudden heart attack.

  “And were you there when I died?”

  “Well leave it up to you to die when I run to the bathroom. You did that on purpose.”

  “Death waits for no one. Not even for people on bathroom breaks.”

  “Wait, Gramps, is she dead?” He knows who I’m talking about, I can just feel it.

  “You can’t find her?” Wow, Gramps just sounded a lot like Malcolm again.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Do what? Change my voice?” He sounds like regular Gramps again.

  “Yeah.”

  “It happens.” He shrugs.

  “So is she dead?” I ask, nervousness creeping inside of me.

  “Did you do the deed?” He sounds like Malcolm again.

  “Did I do it? Well, I tried to kill her but–”

  “You can’t do shit right!” Gramps screams at me, sounding just like Malcolm.

  “Gramps, the language!”

  “Fucking great.” Gramps shakes his head at me. What’s gotten into him? Why does he sound like Malcolm?

  “Gramps, just tell me what I’m supposed to do now. Should I confess? Should I run?”

  “Don’t do shit because obviously everything you touch gets fucked up.” Gramps says in his Malcolm voice again.

  “Does not!”

  “Yes it does! She’ll be out there with no medication. None. You know how she gets off her meds.”

  “Meds? Laura’s on meds?”

  “Of course she is.” Gramps says in his regular voice.

  “Wow, I had no idea. So what do I do now? Do I run?”

  “Everything has to look normal.” He says in his Malcolm voice. Why does his voice keep switching back and forth like that?

  “Wait, everything has to look normal? Does that mean she’s dead?”

  “It’s the reason why doing the deed was so important.” He says in his Malcolm voice.

  “I tried to do the deed! It’s not my fault she didn’t die! At least I tried!” The nerve!

  “When I do shit, it gets done right the first time! The very first time! No excuses!” Gramps says in his Malcolm voice.

  “Please! I’m not in the mood to hear that story about how you strangled some white man with your bear hands one evening after Sunday Mass, because I don’t believe that. You don’t strangle someone who cheats at a poker game, you shoot them. Everyone knows that. I swear, this family gives no credit–”

  “Red.” Rena says to me, but she sounds an awful lot like Malcolm too. I look at her and see that she has her eyebrows creased. “Red.”

  “Since when do you call me that? And why do you sound like Malcolm too?”

  “Red’s in trouble.” Rena says to Gramps in her Malcolm voice. A rush of adrenaline shoots through me.

  “Trouble? Why am I in trouble.” I ask.

  “What’s going on?” Gramps asks but now he doesn’t sound like Malcolm, now he sounds like Jacob.

  “She’s gone.” Rena says to Gramps in her Malcolm voice.

  “I’m not gone, I’m right here.” I say to Rena. “What the heck is going on?”

  “Did she say anything before she left?” Gramps asks in his Jacob voice, as he totally excludes me from the conversation.

  “I’ve got to get out of here!” I say to them; my nerves are mangled.

  “She kept mumbling something about black and red.” Rena answers. She’s ignoring me too.

 
; “I’ve got to run!”

  “Black and red? What the hell does that mean?” Gramps asks in his Jacob voice.

  “I have no idea what black means,” Rena answers, “all I hear is red.”

  “Red.”

  “Run!” I yell as I jolt out of my sleep. I turn to see Malcolm kneeling beside me. Our eyes lock before he drifts them over to Jacob who’s standing by the cabin door. By the time he looks back at me, his face looks … different.

  “We’ve landed.” He says as he squints his eyes at me. “Nightmare?” Goodness, he looks different. I narrow my eyes to concentrate on his face. I know that I’m looking at him like I’ve never seen him before, can he tell? He looks so different: bigger, wider shoulders, darker hair. But wait, did I have a nightmare? Yes, I had one … Gramps was there, Rena was there …but, shit … now I can’t remember what happened. All I can remember is the word ‘run’. Run. Did Gramps return from beyond the grave to give me a warning? I look around the plane, getting my bearings, trying to remember why I’m on this plane. The fire. That’s why. I’m on this plane because of the fire. Winnie and Jacob are at the cabin doors smiling at me, waving for me to come on. But for some reason, they don’t look like themselves. Their smiles look like the Joker face … no, like the Scream face. What the hell? “Are you okay?” Malcolm asks. His voice echoes in my ear, like I’m in a crowded stadium at a concert, and he’s speaking over a microphone. Crowded stadium … microphone … concert … Beyoncé … Dena. I look at Dena. She’s asleep and she looks like … an angel. This bitch would look like an angel. Nat’s whispering in her ear and nudging her awake. Damn I feel groggy.

  The last thing I remember is Jacob handing Dena and me glasses of Malbec. Next thing I know, I’m dreaming of my dead great-grandfather and he’s warning me to get out of town because … did Gramps say something about Malcolm killing me? Wait, now that I think about it, I think he did. Oh shit! He mentioned something about death waiting for no one, something about running and I remember thinking about Malcolm. Oh. My. God. I was just given a warning from beyond the grave. Oh shit! Oh shit! I shoot another look at Malcolm and he’s looking at me like he has no idea what’s going on. I’ve figured you out Malcolm! That’s what’s going on!