by Jason Melby
"We thought we needed more space..."
"You look great," said Samantha, trying to keep the conversation on a happy note. She glanced at the baseboards that glistened like wet paint. The polished coffee table reflected the china cabinet with rows of crystal stemware perfectly aligned inside. "It's so quiet out here."
"Alan likes the privacy. Most of our neighbors are snowbirds."
"Is Alan home?"
"He's been traveling, but he'll be back early tonight."
Samantha roamed around the house. "I'm in the mood for a martini."
"We don't have vodka."
"Then let's make margaritas."
"I don't have tequila either."
Samantha stared through the sliding glass doors at the sparkling pool outside. "What do you have?"
"There's beer in the fridge."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Alan likes beer."
Samantha opened the glass doors and stepped onto the pool deck overlooking a spacious backyard with a storage shed and a view of the nature preserve extending beyond the property line. "Then let's go to happy hour."
"I can't," said Jamie.
"Why not?"
"I made dinner for Alan. We always eat dinner together when he gets home."
"I think he'll survive one meal without you."
"He's been on the road," said Jamie. "Tonight's important to him."
Samantha let it go. She dipped her hand in the pool. The warm water felt good. "So what's up with you?"
"Not much. You want something to drink? I've got water and ice tea. There's also diet soda in the fridge."
Samantha dried her hand on her Lucky jeans. "Why do you always change the subject when I ask you a question you don't want to answer?"
"I just asked you if you want a drink?"
"That's what I'm talking about," Samantha complained. "You hardly call any more. You never visit. I haven't seen you in like a year."
"I've been really busy."
"Doing what?"
"Stuff. I volunteer at the library. I keep the house in order. Alan likes everything to be in order."
Samantha wiped her finger on the spotless coffee table. "So what do you do for fun?"
"Alan and I go out all the time."
"I meant for you."
Jamie went to the kitchen and filled a glass from the water dispenser in the fridge. "I'm married now. I spend my free time with Alan."
Samantha stretched out in the chaise lounge beside the pool. "No drinks, no job, no parties, no friends. How do you live like this?"
"I have friends."
"Who?"
"Lots."
"I meant friends who live in Florida. If it wasn't for me, none of the other girls would even know you still exist. You're so sheltered down here all tucked away in your Mayberry town."
"I like Mayberry," said Jamie. "Just because you live in a big city doesn't mean I have the same desire. You're always worried about what I should or shouldn't do. I'm turning forty in two days. I'm not in college anymore. I don't dance on tables or do tequila shots until I'm wasted. Life's always been one big party for you. It's not the same for me."
"Maybe it should be. You're turning forty, not eighty. Loosen up. It's not like you've got a family to take care of."
Samantha thought about her comment after the fact. The topic of Jamie's stillborn son was out of bounds, even for a BFF. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. I'm just saying you're not burdened with a ton of responsibility. You should take more time for yourself, that's all. Ever since you got married, you've become like this different person."
"People grow up. People change. We're not kids anymore, Samantha."
"I think your husband's too controlling," Samantha blurted. "There. I said it. You can hate me if you want to, but it's true. He micromanages your life. I can't tell where he leaves off and you begin."
Jamie got up when she heard the garage door open. "Alan's particular. That's all."
* * *
Alan finished his dinner plate and retreated to his study, leaving Jamie and her uninvited guest to clear the dishes. Locked inside his own sanctuary, he sat at his computer desk and reviewed the log of inbound and outbound calls from the landline phone. He found two outbound calls he made to his mother and several inbound calls from telemarketers, but nothing to warrant further scrutiny.
He checked the video server for digital footage captured on the hidden cameras placed throughout the house. Prerecorded images appeared on separate twenty-one-inch monitors covering the main living areas as well as each bedroom, bathroom, and the garage.
He fast-forwarded through the majority of the seventy-two-hour log, bouncing his gaze from one image to the next. He found nothing unusual at first, until he reached a bathroom sequence with Jamie primping herself in the mirror.
He read the time stamp and questioned why his wife felt the need to paint her face and do her hair at six forty-five in the evening. He dragged the mouse and skipped two hours ahead to find Jamie hauling a load of groceries from the car at eight thirty-five. He watched her unload the food in the kitchen, and he watched her shower before she went to bed.
He closed the file and clicked on the live feed from the hidden camera tucked inside the guest bathroom's exhaust vent. He adjusted the wide angle view and pressed record to capture his female visitor. Aroused by the thought of Samantha naked, he touched himself and played out a violent fantasy. No woman knew him the way Jamie did, but not even his wife could tempt his pleasure the way a stranger in his own house could.
He switched cameras and observed Jamie and her girlfriend lingering in the kitchen. He zoomed on Samantha's breasts, determined to exploit her feminine features in his twisted imagination. It felt good to be home. Content in familiar surroundings.
He touched the staples in his scalp and relived the final moments of the Costa family's life while he stared at Samantha's image on the screen. The tingling sensation brought him to the edge of climax before his cell phone rang and shattered his private moment of reverie.
"Blanchart," he answered on the fifth ring.
"Sorry to bother you at home, Sheriff."
Blanchart recognized the deputy's voice. "What is it?"
"I dumped the cell phone records like you asked. The phone's registered to a Sheila Jarvis on Pinkerton Street. It's a trailer park near—"
"I know where it is."
"Her last call went out to a Josh Sullivan. I pulled his DMV record and got a last known address at the same location. You want me to pick him up?"
"No," Blanchart answered decisively. "I'll take it from here."
Chapter 45
Jamie relaxed in a pool-side lounge chair with a baggy shirt over her one-piece swimsuit. Sheltered from the gecko lizards, garden snakes, and other creepy crawlers outside the screened lanai, she sipped her margarita through a straw, compliments of Alan, who'd bought the margarita mix and the bottle of top shelf tequila to go with it. A special gift for a special celebration, he had told her before he went on duty.
Samantha finished her second margarita in her favorite pink bikini and her D&G shades. "I could get used to this—especially with the Cuervo buzz I'm getting."
Jamie crossed her legs and looked over at her friend. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too."
Jamie sipped her margarita until a brain freeze set in. "So tell me about this guy you met online. Is he cute?"
"He's cute enough," said Samantha.
"What else?"
"We met at a coffee shop in Manhattan and talked." Samantha smiled. "Nothing happened."
"Did you leave together?"
Samantha licked the salt on the rim of her glass. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"Desperate."
"I am not."
"You said so yourself."
"When?"
"The last time we talked."
"Like you remember what we said."
Jamie tapped her head. "Like a steel trap."
"You're full of shit."
Jamie laughed, something she hadn't done in a long time. It felt good. "You said your vibrator batteries went dead."
Samantha blushed. "Stop it."
"So what happened on this date?" Jamie pressed her closest friend. "What is it you're not telling me?"
"Honestly, he was cheesy like all the rest. He didn't even look like his picture. He uploaded his brother's photo online because, and get this, he told me, 'The camera makes me look fat.'" Samantha laughed until it hurt. "The camera didn't give him bad breath. Or the bushy eyebrows and the big honking nose."
Jamie touched Samantha's arm. "You're so mean. I'm sure he wasn't that bad."
"He was cheap, too. I had to pay for my own coffee."
Jamie chuckled. "You can't find a good man on the Internet. There are too many creeps out there. You never know who you'll end up with."
Samantha slurped the bottom of her glass through her straw. "I think all the good men got beamed into a spaceship and shipped to another planet to be sex slaves for some dying race."
Jamie twirled her straw in her glass. "Do you ever think about having kids?"
"Are you kidding me? My cat is all the stress I can handle right now. And it's not like I need a man to have a baby." Samantha got out of her chair and dipped her foot in the pool. Her gold ankle bracelet shimmered in the sunlight. "You ready for another refill?"
"I better not," said Jamie. "How much tequila did you put in these?"
Samantha went back inside to dig her cigarettes from her purse. "You only turn forty once, and I need a cigarette," she said from the kitchen.
"Don't smoke in the house," Jamie hollered. "Alan hates the smell. He'll be home soon."
Samantha carried the margarita pitcher and a pack of cigarettes outside and poured two refills. "Relax..." She lit up and blew smoke away from Jamie. "My smoking's not the problem."
"What are you implying?" Jamie snapped.
"Nothing. Let's have a toast. It's your birthday."
"I can't change who I married."
Samantha tapped her ash in an empty Diet Coke can. "Why not? People change partners like they change their sheets."
"Alan's not my partner. He's my husband."
"Who treats you like the family pet."
"That's not true."
Samantha took a long drag and pointed to the burned patch of skin on Jamie's shoulder, just visible under the shirt. "What happened to your butterfly tattoo?"
"I had it removed."
"Because you wanted to or because your husband made you do it?"
"I never liked it in the first place," said Jamie. "It was an impulse decision. Those are always the worst kind to make."
Samantha rubbed her tan leg and pointed to the bruise on Jamie's thigh. "You didn't get that pulling weeds."
"I work hard around the house. Not all of us can earn a living on stage."
Samantha blew smoke. "Alan keeps you on a leash. I'm sorry. I had to say it."
"Sometimes he's strict about things."
"He's controlling."
Jamie covered the bruise with her hand. "He has a stressful job."
"Is that how you got the bruise on your leg?"
"It's not a bruise. It's a mild discoloration. I could have got it having sex."
Samantha lowered her tinted glasses on her nose and studied Jamie's expression. "With Alan?"
Jamie shied away—she didn't want to go there.
But Samantha was already there. "Oh my God! I should have known. You met someone, didn't you?" Her grin lit up her face. "I knew you were acting weird yesterday. It wasn't me you were expecting to see!"
"That's not true."
"Then tell me I'm wrong. Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not having sex with another man."
"Keep your voice down!"
"Alan's not home."
Jamie felt lightheaded. She'd stuck her foot in her mouth so deep the laces tickled the back of her throat. "I'm not having this discussion."
"It seems so obvious now. That's why you didn't return my calls. You were hooking up."
"Stop it. If Alan found out—"
"Then it's true."
"I'm not saying it is."
Samantha dropped her half-smoked cigarette on the pool deck. "Is he good in bed?"
"Samantha..."
"I'm just asking."
"It's not about the sex," said Jamie.
"Yeah right. And you're fucking him for his inner beauty."
"I like him. I feel safe with him. I feel like I can be myself. He makes me feel good on the inside."
"I'll bet he does. What's his name?"
"Lloyd."
"Ohhhh... That sounds, sophisticated. What does he look like?"
"He's tall. Handsome. Strong. He has a big tattoo on his arm. And he rides a motorcycle."
"Bad boys aren't your type."
"He's not like that," said Jamie, defending her reputation in spite of the truth.
"How did you meet him?"
Jamie stared through the screened enclosure at a sand crane family trolling for grubs in the grass. "In the library."
"You're kidding."
Jamie blushed. "Swear to me you'll never share this with anyone."
Samantha rummaged in her purse for a folded pamphlet stuffed between her pocketbook and her makeup case. "I want you to look at this."
Jamie read the title, A New Beginning. "What is this?" She read the introduction and said, "I'm not going to a women's shelter."
"You said yourself you feel trapped in your marriage. I know how Alan treats you, Jamie. These people can help you."
"Where is this coming from?"
"If you're brave enough to have sex outside your marriage, you're brave enough to leave your husband."
"I can't. I'll lose the house, my marriage—"
"What marriage? Alan abuses you. Can't you see that? The longer you stay with him, the worse it's going to get."
"Have you ever seen me with a black eye or a broken nose? I've never been to an emergency room."
"That doesn't mean he doesn't hurt you. Alan controls every aspect of your life. Where you go, who you talk to, who you see. You should have left him a long time ago."
Jamie sniffed a peculiar smell from her drink. An odor she hadn't noticed before. "Alan can be stern sometimes, but he never hits me."
"He doesn't have to. I see how he looks at you. I know the kind of life you've had with him. You deserve so much better."
"It's not that simple."
Samantha touched Jamie's hand. "I have a contact in New York who can set this up."
"I'm not moving to New York. My life's here."
"You mean your lover's here."
"My friends are here."
"What friends?"
Jamie gave the pamphlet back. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"I just can't."
"I'm not leaving here without you," Samantha prodded. "This is for your own good."
"What do you expect me to do? Just pack up my stuff and leave?"
Samantha flipped her hair back. "Women do it all the time. I've already contacted someone who can help. I told her about your situation. She wants you to come to New York."
Jamie shook her head. "Forget it. Alan would find me."
"My flight leaves tomorrow. I bought an extra ticket."
"This is crazy," said Jamie. She heard her own words echo in her head. Her eyelids felt heavy. "I need a glass of water."
"Don't change the subject on me."
"I'm serious. My head's killing me."
"I'll get a glass," Samantha offered, standing up.
* * *
Samantha entered the kitchen through the sliding glass doors and heard a noise in the bedroom hallway. She filled the tumbler from the water dispenser in the fridge and called out, "Hello?"
She a felt her stomach grumble. As usual, her buzz and hunger pains went hand in hand.
A noise brought her to Blanch
art's study. She knocked softly and found the handle locked. "Hello?"
When no one answered, she stepped to the door at the end of the hall and entered the room decorated with children's wallpaper. A crib with a hanging fish mobile occupied one wall. A changing table with an empty diaper bin sat between the crib and an open closet with tiny pajamas and boxes of infant Huggies.
Samantha inspected the empty crib with a baby blanket neatly folded against a Webkinz monkey. She nudged the gliding rocker and watched the chair slide seamlessly back and forth in its frame. She felt happy and yet somewhat melancholic at the same time.
She left the nursery undisturbed the way she found it and gently shut the door. She carried the glass of water to the guest bedroom and searched the medicine cabinet for a bottle of Tylenol to suppress her sudden headache.
She shut the medicine cabinet and stared at the room's reflection in the mirror. The image looked hazy like a picture out of focus.
Her balance was failing as she began to sway.
She pulled the shower curtain open to placate her paranoia and swallowed two extra-strength capsules before her legs gave out and the floor rose up to meet her.
The glass smashed on the tile.
Dazed and disoriented, she found Alan Blanchart standing over her, his multiple heads a distorted menagerie of crooked smiles and sutured foreheads.
Blanchart rolled Samantha on her front and dragged her into the bedroom. He ripped her bikini bottom off and used his crushing weight to bear down on her.
Samantha endured the assault, her mind and body powerless against the drugs in her system and the monster disguised as a man.
When Blanchart finished, he zipped his pants and whistled a post-coital tune. "I own this town and everything in it, including you. Remember that before you drop by again unannounced."
Samantha curled herself in a ball. "I'll kill you."
Blanchart tucked his uniform in his pants and fixed his hair. "Those are big words."
Samantha felt the room sway.
Blanchart smirked. "Next time, smile for the camera. You never know how far a video will travel these days."
Samantha stood on wobbly legs and steadied herself against the wall. She knocked a picture frame with her elbow. "You won't get away with this."
Blanchart squeezed his hand on her throat and pinned her against the wall. "Remember this, Sweet Pea. You have no one to blame but yourself. And I have friends in high places."