Over the Borderline

by Leanna Floyd

  Shutting his phone off again, he plugged it in to recharge. Then he searched through his shaving kit until he found what he thought of as his first aid kit, a small mint tin filled with a few Xanax, an Ambien, and a half-dozen Adderall. He refilled his water glass and swallowed two that would make him sleep, pulled the drapes tighter and crawled back into bed.

  He slept without dreaming. When he awoke, the room was totally dark, and he had no idea how long he’d been sleeping. He lay there re-orienting himself and trying to return to full consciousness. Glancing at the clock, he realized he had slept over twelve hours; it was early morning, still several hours before dawn. His head ached but not like before. He got up and used the bathroom, downed a glass of water, and grabbed his laptop before getting back in bed.

  “What the—?” For some reason his email didn’t pop up as usual. He propped himself up on pillows and tried again, this time confirming that the hotel Wi-Fi was working. Yet again, he received an error message alerting him to use his correct log in ID and password. Staring at the screen, he suddenly knew what had happened and yelled, “NO!” It was all he could do not to throw his MacBook Air across the room.

  “I’m going to kill her,” he said.

  Alicia had changed his password. He had shared it with her inadvertently once when they were talking about childhood pets, and he had told her about his boyhood dog named Allie, short for Allie Gator because of the way the little Dachshund moved on such short legs. Jacob had let it slip that using ‘AllieG’ and his birthday was his default password. Later, he’d considered changing it but decided to leave it as a gesture of his trust in Alicia and their relationship. There were no secrets…at least on his end, and he had nothing to hide. If only she had felt the same way.

  Now, of course, she had severed his trust. And since he wasn’t returning her calls, he didn’t even want to look at his phone screen—she had played the only card she could come up with. Alicia hoped he would call her to insist that she give him the new password she’d created after deleting his own. Apparently, he assumed, it did not matter if he called her in a crazy rage. What mattered was that she would have contact with him and have another chance to beg his forgiveness, probably with some sob story. He could just hear her, “Oh, babe, Charlie is in the hospital!”—the same old bullshit like everything else she had told him.

  An odd sense of calmness washed over him. Something felt different inside. It was as if he’d been set free. He had felt chained to Alicia and Charlie. He had told so many of his friends about them. Maybe he was just holding on because of his pride, but things felt different in this moment. Alicia had crossed the line by changing his password, but he was not about to give in to her childish games. He would create a new email account, get a new phone if he had to. Nothing that Alicia could do or say could make things right. Their relationship was over. OVER. There was freedom in this thought. He owed them nothing. He was free. FREE. He felt a shift in the atmosphere. It was an amazing feeling. A feeling that made him feel like he was alive. He wished he had thought things through before answering the phone and allowing his hangover to blurt out the truth about knowing her deception.

  But that was okay.

  He was in control now.

  Chapter 43

  “Hey, beautiful, how was your Thanksgiving?”

  “Hey, I was getting worried about you!” Brooke smiled at hearing Jacob’s voice and listened as he launched into a summary of his time at his grandmother’s as well as an excuse for why he hadn’t called. She wasn’t buying it, though. She had known Jacob long enough to know when he was lying. But considering what he was going through, she decided to let it slide.

  “I’m so sorry about your phone,” Brooke said, trying to sound sincere. “I almost didn’t answer because I didn’t recognize the number.”

  “Yeah, I felt so stupid dropping it in the toilet at Grandma’s,” he said. “I’ve dried it out in a bag of rice all weekend and will take it to the Apple store tomorrow if I have time. Meanwhile, I bought this cheapie at a Walmart on the way home.”

  “So, how you doing… with everything?” she said, unwilling to bring up Alicia unless he did.

  “You know, Brookie, I’m feeling better than I’ve felt in a long time,” he said, and she believed him. There was no mistaking that Jacob Connor confidence when life was going his way. “I feel like I’m back in control of my life.”

  “That’s great, babe,” she said, switching to her Bluetooth so she could begin a load of laundry. “You sound really good. You’ve certainly been through the emotional wringer, so I’m really happy to hear you sounding like your old self again.” She tossed in one of the detergent pods and hit the start button. Checking the dryer, she found a forgotten load of towels, which she took out and dumped on her sofa.

  “Well, I feel even better than that,” Jacob said, laughing. “This is the new Jacob, one unwilling to let other people get him down. I feel surer of myself than ever before. Just wait, you’ll see!”

  Brooke smiled at his bluster and swag as she clicked on the TV, muted it, and flipped to a news channel. “You sure sound an awful lot like the old Jacob I know and love, but I’ll take your word for it.” She began folding towels, her mind racing through all that she would need to do before the next morning.

  “And how about you? How was the annual gathering at Dr. Gregory’s?” he asked.

  “You know, it was really great—better than usual even.”

  She hesitated about whether to mention Kevin or not and decided she would wait and tell Jacob about Kevin in person. Glancing at the flat screen, she realized a reporter was giving an update on the Surfside Killer case. “I ate too much, of course,” she said, wishing she could get off the phone before the report ended. The scroll at the bottom of the screen read, “Latest victim of SSK discovered, name has not been released, believed to be a prostitute from South Beach area…”

  “You and me both,” he said. “Yep, my granny knows how to cook a turkey. I swear she wasn’t happy unless I had a plate in my hand.”

  “Hey, babe, can I call you back? Looks like Dr. G is giving me a buzz,” she said, unable to stand it any longer.

  “Of course—no need to call back. Just wanted to check in. Hey, will you be around tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I should be,” she said.

  “Great—let’s talk then. Bye—love ya.”

  She felt bad for ending the call so quick, but Jacob sounded like he was in a good place. Restoring the volume, she just caught the end of the report, “….and FBI spokesman Richard Hodges has just released the latest victim’s identity as 32-year-old Samantha Lynn Sawyer, a part-time dancer and full-time call girl in the South Beach area. Known to friends as ‘Sami’, she was last seen alive Tuesday night at The Grove, a hotel bar less than three miles from where her body was discovered this morning at a construction site near Buena Vista Villas. Hodges stressed they are closing in on apprehending a suspect but urged women, especially those going out alone or working night shifts, to remain vigilant. An anonymous source in the department revealed that they are treating this as a copycat case of the infamous Surfside Killer. More as this story develops. For Tampa’s 10 News, I’m Amanda McClure.”

  Brooke felt a shiver telegraph itself down her back. A copycat killer, really? She clicked to another channel, an old black-and-white movie apparently, and muted the sound once more. She knew Dr. Gregory had returned to Miami on Saturday and knew he would feel terrible that they had not caught the killer before another victim had been claimed. I wonder if they’re really close to apprehending a suspect, she thought, or if that’s just the FBI playing mind games with the real killer?

  Today was the day that I will fulfil my destiny in life, the very reason that I was put on this earth. This was a special victim. A victim who would not receive the usual treatment. No, my plan with her is short but oh-so-sweet.

  I got a hot shower and dressed in my finest suit. Today was a day of celebration, and I needed to look the part.
I got into my car and drove to a modest neighborhood that had probably once been a nice development in prior decades. Now, the entrance was weathered, with spray-painted graffiti across its ‘Welcome’ sign, as though it had not been kept up for years. Cars, many with smashed fenders or two-toned paint, lined the streets while discarded appliances, faded toys, and fast-food bags littered most of the lawns.

  A few Santas, a couple of snowmen, and a life-size plastic nativity set competed with withered brown grass and succulents, the only reminders of Christmas only a few weeks away. It was midday, and the neighborhood appeared deserted in the glare of the tropical sun. Schools were not out for the holiday break yet, and most residents were likely at work or home sleeping in preparation for their graveyard shifts. It was exactly like I wanted it to be.

  Checking the address again, I had no second thoughts, no apprehension, no contemplation about whether this was a good idea. I was confident, elated, and on a natural high. It all seemed so clear to me now—this was what everything in my life had shaped me to be. Everything had been leading to this. I parked my car down the block from my victim’s house, so I would not be seen from the living room window.

  Walking up the sidewalk to the front door, I paused and took a look around.

  Scattered amidst a sun-bleached rock garden, I saw a kid’s bike lying on its side with a flat tire, and I smiled wondering about its owner. I also noticed an old plastic swimming pool caked with dried leaves and pine needles, a rusted-out charcoal grill, and several unread newspapers still in their plastic bags.

  This was it—show time. Running my fingers through my hair, I adjusted my sunglasses and rang the doorbell. My heart was racing with excitement, and my feet felt as though they were lifted off of the ground. No one answered, so I rang the bell again. I knew she was home—I had not been watching her all week for nothing.

  As the door chimes echoed and faded, I could hear heels clicking against the floor on the other side. My stomach churned in anticipation and the door slowly opened. It was like watching a film in slow motion. The woman’s eyes popped wide, her body tensed, and her mouth opened in a perfect silent ‘O’ of surprise and confusion.

  “Hello, Alicia,” I said in a mischievous tone. “It’s good to see you…”

  The woman smiled nervously.

  I slowly pushed her back into the entryway of her home, knowing I would soon be placing my hands tightly around her neck. She definitely weighed more than my last victim, but I would manage. I already had a perfect resting place and shell picked out.

  Chapter 44

  Hector drank his thick molasses colored beer lost in his thoughts and looked out at the beach from his perch at the bar. At first, when his bitch of a boss told him that he had to leave Miami and go to Tampa for a week, he was pissed. He hated leaving Alicia in such a distraught state. He had a lot going on dealing with Alicia, and when she found out about his going to Tampa, she insisted he meet up with Jacob to plead her case. Hector was becoming impatient waiting for Jacob. He anxiously shook his right foot, in a subconscious attempt to soothe his agitation. The shit she gets herself and me into! Did she really think she could keep playing with Jacob? What the fuck was she thinking? Now I have to sit here and wait for him to show up to smooth things over? What for? This is just fucking pointless and stupid!

  From his bar stool, he could see hip twenty-somethings enjoying the beach, playing volleyball, and sunning themselves in the aureate rays. Multicolored striped umbrellas and seafoam green and pale-yellow beach huts lined the sand. He could see happy families with children wading in the surf looking for shells. He had met a macho-model type guy earlier at the bar, Juan, who had promised that the Tampa nightlife would be awesome. Across the way to his left was a small metered parking lot, he saw a beautiful champagne blonde with soft waterfall waves get out of a blue Prius. Well, well, Hector thought, things are looking better here in Tampa. I will have to get to know that one.

  Brooke clicked the key pad to lock the doors of Carl. She knew Dr. Gregory had warned her about being careful, so she looked around and decided to be a little more careful than usual. She shook her head in a shiver fashion in an attempt to dislodge the dark thoughts swirling inside her mind. She had a tendency to obsess over trivial details, but it wasn’t the details that bothered her the most. It was the possibility that she too could just as easily become a victim of the killer. All the research and documentaries she’d watched were not doing her any favors. What is going on with this Surfside Killer? I feel so close to this case, but I can’t put my finger on what it is or what I’m missing. The killer is targeting young women. But, what’s his motive? And the shells…what’s the meaning? She thought that a run on the beach or a swim might help her organize the turmoil of thoughts jumbled in her head. She flicked off her sandals and squished the sand between her toes. The sun was set high, and the sky was baby blue with a few jumbo white clouds floating above the waves.

  What a gorgeous day, she thought. The beach felt a little too crowded for her, so she walked a short distance looking for a quieter and less congested spot to setup her chair. She headed towards a small sand dune covered in marram grass when she heard someone call her name, “Brooke!”

  Startled, she looked around and quickly scanned the beach trying to find the caller. In the distance, she saw a good-looking Hispanic man sitting at the beach bar. He smiled at her, but he wasn’t the caller. She continued to turn around, doing a 360. Then, she saw him waving at her.

  “Brooke!” he called, as he softly jogged towards her.

  “Hi, Kevin! I didn’t expect to see you here!” She was excited to see him, but a little unsure of why he was there.

  “I know. I just thought that you might come here to clear your head. I thought that I would surprise you.”

  “How nice!” Brooke said, still unsure if she should be flattered or alarmed by his ‘surprising’ her there.

  “I thought that maybe we could walk the beach, talk, and, maybe, find a shell or two.”

  “Sure,” Brooke replied in a neutral tone. There was something about Kevin that was mysterious, and she was drawn to his unpredictability. There was this side of her that was so intrigued by the unknown that her rational senses abandoned her. It was like she had to figure him out. I mean, that’s what she did best, right? Analyze and figure people out, before they have a chance to hurt her or disappoint her. Besides, she thought that maybe she could work something into their conversation to find out perhaps why Kevin hadn’t run into Dr. Gregory in Miami when they both had been down there investigating the SSK. It wasn’t that important, but it seemed to be a detail that kept popping up in her mind. She liked having all of her questions answered, even if they weren’t that important. Maybe he would have a new detail about the SSK that would salve her mind, and her other SSK thoughts would fall into place, too. Maybe she could bounce some ideas back and forth with Kevin. She smiled at Kevin and said, “Let’s walk this way. It’s not as crowded.” She grabbed Kevin’s hand and glanced at his beautiful green eyes. He caught her glance and smiled.

  This will be good, Brooke thought. Little did she realize how close she was to having all of her SSK questions answered.

  Chapter 45

  Awakening with a stiff neck from the arm of the sofa, Jacob knew he’d dozed off.

  He had been watching news coverage of the Barton trial and its spectacular ending. Apparently, little brother had more going on with Abby Winters than any of them realized. Jacob would miss working on the trial. He had certainly learned a lot from working at the firm and attending the Barton trial, broadening his knowledge of the justice system and criminal trials. But most of all, he’d learned a lot about human nature, and the powerful dynamic between women and men, the kind of warped love that could drive one to take another human life.

  Now that the trial was over and his relationship with Alicia was over, it was time to begin a new chapter. Brooke remained his last connection to his past, the voice of his conscience, and a remin
der of who he once had been. But he had seen her at the trial talking to that scruffy-looking reporter and knew they were probably sleeping together by now. He knew Brooke and her type, even though she claimed not to have one. Well, good for her, right? She deserved to be happy. And so did he. The time had come for him to move on, to be himself, his true self, for the first time and to discover all that he was meant to accomplish.

  He sat up, held his head in his hands, and was tempted to return to his bed, but he suspected the outcome would be the same, now that he had started thinking about his future. He took a sip of bourbon and grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels again. Even at three in the morning, the same kaleidoscope of programs flashed by him—sitcoms, infomercials, old movies, reality shows, documentaries, and game shows.

  The volume was low, but the buzz of voices and laugh tracks still annoyed him. Then a familiar scene flashed on the screen, a shot of nightlife along South Beach in Miami, where he had been only days ago. He paused and turned up the sound.

  “…And here among the glamorous clubs and luxury boutiques of the world’s tropical playground, a killer still lurks, stalking his next victim. I’m John Clark and this is a special edition of News Owl that we call ‘Murder in Miami’.”

  Jacob remembered seeing this show before, similar to 48 Hours or Dateline. The TV host, once a network news anchor, was an aging African-American man with compassionate eyes and a rich baritone voice. He wore a dark blue pinstriped suit, but no tie, while round tortoise-shell glasses framed his eyes. He had a wiry fringe of silver hair cradling his bald head like a halo, while a neatly manicured salt-and-pepper mustache gave him a distinguished look.