by Liz Schulte
The next morning I showered, dressed, and brushed my teeth. Surprisingly there was no residual lag from the cold medicine; in fact, I felt great. I walked into the kitchen, humming. Maybe it would be a good day.
My eyes lifted from the pair of dark brown shoes that stood in the center of my kitchen in slow motion up to the tan chinos. I couldn’t make my eyes move any faster or break the paralysis of the fear that seized my body. My eyes reached the man’s plaid shirt and his strong, meaty looking hands thumbing through my mail as if he had every right to be there. His clothes looked like that of an upstanding citizen, but his eyes were something else. When my eyes finally met his, a sinister smile spread across his handsome face, but never reached those cold, reptilian eyes.
My heart skipped a beat, maybe several. I backpedaled as fast as I could. Turning myself around, I sprinted to the front door, a scream lodged in my throat. The door wouldn't open. I pulled with my whole body, but it stayed firm.
I could hear the man casually walking up the hall behind me. Too afraid to look, I dashed up the stairs and barricaded myself in my room. He meandered up behind me as if he had all the time in the world. His heavy footsteps thudded directly to my bedroom door. Each loud thump was like a hammer hitting my head. I sank to the floor against the door, pulling my knees into my chest, and covering my ears. The door behind my head vibrated with each slow, deliberate knock. I could not panic.... I would never survive if I panicked. The third knock was accompanied by a shrill ringing noise. I wondered if I was screaming, but then I realized the sound wasn’t coming from me….
My eyes popped open, darting around the room for a threat. The fog from my dream stubbornly lingered even as I sat up tangled in the sheets of my bed and covered in sweat. My heart was thumping so hard I could feel the vibrations in my ears. My hands were shaking and chills coursed down my spine. The phone kept ringing. With effort I freed an arm and answered, still groggy and sluggish from the Nyquil.
“Hello?” I said, my voice scratchy, my mouth dry.
“Thinking about me?” someone whispered
I dropped the phone like it was a snake and struggled to clear my mind. Surely I’d misheard. I picked it back up. “What? Hello?”
My frantic reaction was met with a low, deliberate chuckle.
“Who is this?”
“That’s the wrong question, Ella. Who I am doesn’t matter. It’s what I'm going to do that should concern you,” the person hissed. “I like watching you sleep. See you soon.” The phone went dead.
The full weight of terror hit me at once. That was Danny's killer. It was hard to breath. Was he bluffing, or had he been in my house? Had he seen me sleeping? I grabbed my cell and scrambled out to the porch, not bothering to get dressed. I couldn’t stay in the house a moment longer. I decided Detective Troy was the only person who would give me the benefit of a doubt, but he didn't answer. I sat the phone down on the railing and started walking, not knowing or caring where I was going, but needing to get away. I walked without seeing for a long while in a trance of fear and helplessness. When I finally started to wake from my stupor, I was at the cemetery. I hadn’t visited Danny’s grave since the funeral, because I didn’t want to keep reliving his death. I lingered at the entrance searching for a reason not to go in.
The gates dared me to cross them. I walked through despite the trepidation I felt. Ending up here couldn't be a coincidence. There had to be a reason, so I didn’t let myself chicken out. The graveyard was not too large, but it was quite old. I wandered among the oldest tombstones looking at the dates reveling at the history, avoiding the present. They all seemed so long ago, but in the greater scheme of the world, it was barely a blink of the eye. I knew I would eventually come to the one grave that meant something to me. I walked even slower and studied the pictures encased in the tombstones even closer. When I found the sectioned off area that housed Danny’s family, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. I went inside the low wrought iron fence. His modest tombstone looked humble amidst the statues that stood at other graves. Danny had never told me about the family plots or the distinguished past of his ancestors—I learned it all after his death—and I wondered just how well I actually knew him. Perhaps he hadn’t known much of his legacy himself, or perhaps he wanted to keep it private.
I knelt down on the grave and rested my forehead against the tombstone, letting all the emotion I’d held back for such a long time wash over me, resulting in machine gun bursts of tears. I missed him. I missed being happy, having fun. Missed the way he made me laugh and the way I felt when he looked at me. It wasn't fair.
I cried until I had no more tears, only dry sobs that jarred my body. Finally I pulled back from the tombstone. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said aloud. “I’m so tired.”
I paced back and forth in a small room. My image did not look familiar in the mirror. I saw a girl in a white dress who looked calm and flawless like a magazine picture. It should have shown a girl who was tired, stressed and trapped.
I can’t do this, I thought to myself. Is Danny really a person who can love me forever?
It was a serious question. I wasn’t easy to be with. I was moody, difficult, and reserved—
My maid of honor, Karen, came back in to check on me. “Ella, you look lovely and everything is perfect out there.”
As if I cared about that. I had an emotional crisis brewing. “Right. Great. Can you go get Danny?”
“You can’t see him before the ceremony. It’s bad luck. You’ll see him in a few moments.”
“I want to see him now. Go!”
Karen left, shaking her head. She’d been my roommate through college and was used to the snappy moods that sometimes came over me. At the moment, I couldn’t think of a nice about her. She seemed to be gone for an extraordinary amount of time—but that’s what I got for sending a moron. I should have gone.
A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. I threw the door open so fast it slammed against the wall.
“Ella, I’m not supposed to see you!” Danny turned his head away.
“What? Who cares about that? That’s stupid—get in here.” I grabbed him by the arm, pulling him in the room. I had a slight stab of fear that he’d be mad at me, and was relieved he was smiling.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. Why are you marrying me?"
“I’m a glutton for punishment, I imagine.” He gave me a sly smile, knowing I was in no mood to put up with his teasing.
“I'm serious.”
“I know, almost tragically so.”
“You’re... well, wonderful. And I'm, well, me. You shouldn’t marry me. You don’t want to marry me. I'm...”
“Amazing. Kind. Caring, smart, funny, surprising and very, very nervous.” He took my hands.
“I live most of my life in my head—that doesn’t lend itself to a very good partnership. I’ll make your life miserable. I love you too much to want to do that—and I snore.”
“I know you snore. What’s this really about, El? Are you worried I don’t love you?”
“No, I know you love me. I'm worried that, that...” I sighed and coached myself to spit it out. “I'm worried that you'll leave me. That everything will fall apart and I'll be alone.”
“I'll never leave you. You and me, we’re a team.”
I smiled, reassured. “That was lame! We’re a team,” I said mockingly and gave him a light kiss. Suddenly things didn't seem quite so serious. I realized I was marrying the person I loved more than anyone else in the world. “Let’s do this.”
“Well, now I don’t know. I hear you snore.”
“Ha ha ha. You're hilarious.”
“I'll see you in a bit, Mrs. Reynolds.”
I smiled and warmth filled my heart, pushing all doubts to a dim corner of my mind.
My eyes drifted around the cemetery. Studying the makeup of the landscape, I felt almost peaceful. It had been a long time since I’d felt at peace anywhere. The sun rose higher, warmi
ng me, and things didn’t seem so bad, right here, at this moment. I brushed away dirt and leaves that had accumulated around the base of Danny’s headstone. Something sharp stabbed into my hand; I pulled back quickly, blood dripping from my fingers. Using the bottom of my nightgown, I wiped the blood from my hand and discovered a shard of glass protruding from one of my fingers and a slice across the other two. I carefully pulled out the glass and leaned towards the headstone for a closer look at the area I’d been clearing.
Still too obscured by debris to see anything, I pulled a small branch off a nearby tree and swept the area with it. Around his headstone broken glass was strewn as if someone had smashed several bottles. I swept it away as best I could, wondering who would’ve done something like that?
The small, more reasonable voice in my mind said it was probably kids, but the more dominant voice was telling me there was something very important that I was missing. At length I abandoned my efforts. I knew I should head back home and take care of my hand, but was hard to tear myself from this spot that I’d avoided for the past twelve months.
“You said you’d never leave,” I said in a quiet voice and lightly brushed my undamaged hand over his engraved name.
As I walked back to the house, the few cars on the road, slowed as they passed, the drivers turning back for a second look. The state I was in dawned on me. I still wore pajamas, the bottom of which was stained with blood. My messy hair and naturally pale skin probably left me looking like a zombie walking out of the cemetery. A sharp burst of laughter erupted from me which probably only heightened my appearance of insanity. I quickened my pace back to my house, but when it came into view, I remembered why I’d runaway in the first place. My feet slowed again, to the shuffle of a person walking down death row. I couldn’t move faster and I was no longer worried about what people thought when they saw me. I stood at my front door much sooner than I would have liked and I wished with all my heart I could just leave and stay gone. Instead I walked through the door, still ajar from my departure that morning.
I took a quick look around the house. Nothing was out of place; everything appeared to be as I had left it. Holding my hand under the faucet’s cold stream made my cuts burn slightly while my mind relived the day before. If I was truly determined to find Danny’s killer I needed to be more focused in my efforts—and more open minded. No one believed it could have been a ghost except for me—and I’d keep researching that possibility—but considering recent events, I had to consider that idea that the murderer might have been a person? But who? And why? My mind flashed to those who knew us best. Susan? Doug? Perhaps both of them? Why did they suddenly come back into my life? Why did they never find the courage to stand with me when I needed them most? Detective Troy? It was awfully convenient that he’d moved from Chicago and then this town had its first horrific homicide in years. The creepy neighbor, Mr. Sexton? He was scary and deranged enough, and he certainly had the opportunity. But what would be his motivation be? Or could it have been an avid fan? Or Grant perhaps? Sure I’d never met him before, but he seemed to know a lot about me.
The peroxide sizzled as I poured it on the gash across my fingers. The water continued to run in the sink, filling the room with white noise, making it easier to think. I continued to rack my mind for possible suspects when I heard a loud bang from the hallway. I turned off the water straining to hear, my heart quickening as the morning's threat replayed in my head. Why didn't I call the cops when I got back? I continued to admonish myself for my own stupidity, until I heard a familiar, yet somewhat panicky, voice in the hall.
“Ella? Ella, are you here?”
I stepped into the hall, but Gabriel was not there. Now I was completely baffled. Who in the hell was calling me? I crept down the hallway preparing myself for anything, but focusing on the front door, which was standing completely open. The floor board creaked underneath my step making me jump. I reached for the door to close it as someone grabbed my shoulders from behind.
I screamed, thrashing against my attacker.
“Christ, not again—Ella, it's me. Calm down. It’s okay…”Gabriel turned me to him pinning my arms to my sides “What happened? Are you hurt?”
I was so relieved to see him that I started shaking. Tension melted out of my body replacing itself with irritation. “You scared me half to death! Never sneak up on someone like that. What if I had my baseball bat?”
“Are you all right?" he asked, his words clipped with impatience.
“I’m fine. You just scared the hell out of me,” I said, hitting him one more time for good measure.
“Scared you? I've called you about fourteen times this morning, but you didn’t answer. When I got here and I knocked, you still didn’t answer. I didn't know what to expect, but, well, you can imagine what I thought. Then you show up like that,” he said through gritted teeth as he pointed at me.
“Like what?”
“What do you mean ‘like what’? You’re dressed for a Halloween ball—death white, covered in blood...” He shook his head. “What in the hell happened?”
“So much, but also nothing immediate to worry about.” His face visibly relaxed as I spoke. “The blood is from my hand. I cut it on some glass; it's not a big deal. I was in the bathroom rinsing the cut when I heard you shout.” I looked at my hand. It was welling with fresh blood. A drop splattered at my feet and I began to feel faint. “I'm sorry I have this thing about blood now...” Gabriel steadied me as I began sway. “Let’s go back. You can tell me the rest.” He took my elbow and led me back to the bathroom.
I sat on the closed toilet while Gabriel soaked a cotton swab in peroxide. He softly pressed the swab to each finger, blowing gently to ease the sting.
“Go on with your story,” he said between breaths.
“Well, after you left last night, in somewhat of a huff I might add—”
“Narration is unnecessary.”
“Whatever. I went to bed. All night I heard noises and craziness in the house. I got up to look around, but never found anything. Eventually I got sick of it and took cold medication so I could fall asleep. Then this morning someone called me. He asked if I was thinking about him and said something about how he liked watching me sleep. It was creepy and I sort of freaked out. I called you, but you didn’t answer so I left.”
“He said he liked watching you sleep?” Gabriel did not look amused.
“Yes. And he had this hideous laugh.” It gave me the chills just thinking about it.
“Are you sure it was a man?”
I thought about his question and honestly couldn't be sure. The voice was too low and raspy to say anything for certain. I shook my head. “No, it just seems more like a guy thing to do.”
“Did you recognize the voice at all?”
“Well, you know I asked for a name, but forgot to write the message down.” I rolled my eyes. “What do you think?”
“Honestly, I don’t know where to start, Ella. First of all, why would you investigate the noises? What would you do if you found someone? You should’ve called the police, that's why they're there. Second, you should never leave the house. What if he was trying to scare you into the open so he could abduct you? Did you think about that? He could have been waiting on the porch for you. You should have secured yourself in a room and called the police.”
“If a person’s behind all this, he’s coming and going from my house whenever he wants anyway, so why would he lure me to the porch? And I called you—you are the police.”
“I was sleeping, and you must have left as soon as you hung up because I called you back immediately.” He eyed my pajamas and messy hair. “Where did you go like that?”
“To the cemetery—no dress code.”
“You were scared, so you went to the cemetery?” He shook his head, the hint of a smile tilting his mouth.
“I went to see Danny ... or his grave, anyway. I hadn’t been there since the funeral. It wasn't like I intended to go there. It's just where I ended up.�
��
Gabriel's expression turned thoughtful, but he didn’t say anything right away. “When did you cut your hand in all of this?” he asked as he put the last bandage on my finger.
“At the cemetery, someone broke bottles on the grave and I didn’t see the glass. I used the bottom of my nightgown to stop the bleeding, then I came back here.”
He nodded, still staring at my hand though his mind seemed lost in thought. His thumb gently rubbed over the inside of my fingers. “You should probably get a tetanus shot.”
“You were worried.”
He tore his gaze away from my hand to look me in the eye, but kept a firm hold on my fingers. “Yes, I was worried.”
“What did you think happened?”
“I don’t know. I kept thinking of how ... your husband was and...” his voice trailed off. “I don’t like you being here alone. It hasn't felt right since I started the investigation.”
I understood, but couldn’t voice my understanding. Horrific images were flooding my head again; I pulled my hand away so I could vacate the close quarters of the bathroom. In the living room, I wedged myself in the corner of the couch and pulled a blanket around myself, suddenly cold. Gabriel took a seat in the chair opposite from the couch.
When I finally had my voice back I asked, “What do you think is happening?”
He hesitated as if he wasn’t entirely certain what I was talking about. “With?”
“With this. The house. I hate to say it, but these things aren’t new occurrences. This has been happening for a while. I need to know. Am I crazy? Is the house haunted? Or is someone doing this to me? I want your opinion.”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, “but my money would be on someone doing this to you.”
“Why?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? If we figure out the why, then we’ll know the who. You said this has been happening for a while. When exactly did it start?”
“As soon as we moved in.” I felt like I kept having the same conversations with him. I know I told him all of this when he first questioned me after the murder, but maybe he was hoping I remembered new details ... or maybe he was hoping I would slip up. Anticipating a question about specific occurrences, I went to my computer and pulled up a draft of the book about Danny's murder.
Normally I never let someone read a book before it was completed, but this would be the easiest way to convey what had happened without reliving it. Besides, I had doubts about whether I was strong enough to verbalize the story for him this morning.
“What types of things happened? What are you doing?”
I held up a finger for him to wait just a moment as I hit the print. “This isn’t everything, but it’s what I have so far. It will give you a good idea of how it all started.”
“You wrote it down?”
“My next book is going to be non-fiction.”
“You’re writing about Danny?”
“You knew that.”
“No, I didn’t. I knew you were writing again, but you said it was about his family. Why would I know that?”
“I thought I mentioned it. I was researching the house.”
“I thought you were investigating the ghost angle.”
“I am. It helps me understand and see new angles when I write things down. Writing has always opened my mind to new possibilities. Why? Do you think it’s a bad idea to write this story?”
“Not if it’s what you want to do. I imagine it’ll be an emotional one for you, though—and there’ll be a contingency of people that think you’re responsible, and they'll use this book against you.”
“I don’t care what they think,” I lied, more to myself than to him. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter—I can’t finish my book until there is an ending. After that I’ll have answers and I’ll be leaving. They’ll either accept what I have to say or they won’t, but the important thing is I won’t be here to hear about it.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home, back to Chicago,” I said as I handed him the pages. “Read. I'm going to take a shower.”
I never could stand to watch people read my work. The anxiety was unbearable. I could barely even tolerate the idea of people I didn't know reading and judging my ideas, my effort. I never read reviews or googled myself—what I didn't know was probably for the best. And this book was of a more personal nature, which made it much worse.
Walking back downstairs, clean if not entirely refreshed, I reminded myself that this was not my best work. I could have done better. I hadn't even read it since it was written. It was probably full of a thousand typos and clunky dialogue. By the time I peeked into the living room to see if he was done, I had completely justified his hatred of the story.
Gabriel appeared to have finished and was casually flipping back through the pages. I couldn't read his expression as I walked into the room.
“Is this a joke?” he demanded before I could say anything. He seemed almost angry with me.
“No ... was it funny?” I asked horrified that it could have been that bad.
“Not at all,” he practically snarled.
I finally placed the expression on his face: disgust. Maybe the story was beyond rewrites; I should just start over.
“Well, it’s a just first draft. I haven’t even read it yet. It’s just some history and what happened right after we moved in. I’m not sure what you expected.”
“That's not what this is.”
“Of course it is. I wrote it. I know what it’s about.”
“Really? You read it.” He thrust the papers in my direction.
The first page was just as I remembered writing it, but every page after was completely new to me.
The birds chirped and the sounds of early morning filled the blackness. The soft vibration of his snore was deafening. When would she be home? How could she abandon me with this buffoon? It would just be the two of us soon. I had it all arranged now, and there would be no going back.
Did she miss me?
Would she realize it was all for her?
Excitement coursed through my veins as I unhooked one side of the ceiling rack over the island. Pot and pans plunged to floor causing a tinny rumble. This should wake him. If it did I would only have a few moments to get everything back in order, before he stomped downstairs groggy and vulnerable. I expertly put everything back in place. I knew where she kept everything. I knew better than he did.
As I held the last pan in my hand I listened. He wasn't awake yet. He was never as dependable about on checking on the house. She cared, she understood. He was only worried about himself.
I hit the last pan against the stainless steel sink until I heard him moving upstairs, then I put it back on the rack. Moving silently to my hiding spot, I awaited my moment. Giddy with anticipation, I could barely hold still. So much planning was finally coming to its beautiful peak. I watched him as he walked into the kitchen. Predictable, always so predictable. He gave up the search almost immediately, deciding to get a drink of water. I was so close to him I could hear him breathing, yet he didn’t see me. All I had to do was reach out a hand. He would never see it coming. But he never saw anything except himself.
I stepped out behind him swiftly and silently. With a quick flash of steel, I severed his spinal cord. He tried to yell, was shocked by his inability to do so as I stepped down on his throat crushing his windpipe. He could do nothing, the only threat in these wee morning hours was me. I was completely in control now. I retrieved the knives, all of them from butcher knife to butter knife slowly inspecting each blade.
I propped him up against the pantry door to begin my real work. My art. I chose two very long thin, strong knives that I had brought with me to pin him to the door. I stabbed them through his shoulders underneath the collarbones. I felt a rush, a wave of exhilaration, as the blood oozed and the panic in his eyes was replaced with fear.
I took my time arranging all the other knives. I used the butter knives on softer areas a
nd the bigger sharper knives on the thicker areas. Life seeped from him much too soon robbing me of my fun. I saved the best knife for last, however, the wedding cake knife right in the heart.
The blood pool on the floor had been growing larger and larger. I had not forgotten a single detail in my plan. She would be home soon. Would she appreciate my work? The attention to detail?
I wanted to watch her reaction, but I knew it would be risky to stay. Worth it though, to see her face when she realized that I had liberated her. I alone had the power to do that for her. I offered her freedom, life. I alone had the power to take life from her and give life to her. I was God.
I didn’t have to wait long. She walked in the door just as beautiful as I had remembered her being. She immediately sensed my presence. She looked upstairs first, disappointing me that she couldn't feel exactly where I was waiting for her. Finally she came into the kitchen. She looked at the door, at my art and slowly reached towards its beauty. She covered her mouth, probably hiding a smile, though she didn’t need to hide it from me; I could see her as no one ever did. She fell to her knees, having never seen anything like this before. Still she had said nothing. She was failing me. I wanted more from her. I wanted a reaction, something grand and worthy of the work I put into it. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she crumbled to the floor, just inches from the blood.
Not quite what I had hoped for, but I understood her mind had been overcome by appreciation for all I had done. I could stay with her no longer. It was time I moved to one of my safer hiding spots. I wanted to be able to watch the police work, not to miss a single detail of this day, my day that I had planned for so long.
As I left her in the kitchen, I moved her hand into the pool of blood never feeling closer to her then I did at that moment. Someday she would know and appreciate everything I had done for her. Someday we would be together.
“I can’t read anymore of this.” My hands were shaking too much to hold the pages. They fluttered to the ground. My eyes filled with tears. I felt the need to shower again or vomit—to do something, anything.... I had to purge this from my memory. Gabriel had been watching me while I read the story.
“You didn’t write this?”
I was flabbergasted that he thought I could write something like this about Danny, my family. I couldn’t speak. I could only shake my head. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I pulled my knees up, tucking myself into a ball on the couch.
Detective Troy seemed to briefly struggle with what he was going to believe about the situation before him. Finally, he came to a decision. “We have to call the police.”
“Fine,” I managed to squeak out. I had nothing to hide. This monstrosity wasn’t mine. “I didn’t write that.”
“I believe you. That’s why we're calling the police.”
“You are the police,” I said weakly, not wanting anyone else to read this horrible account.
“They probably won’t find anything, but we need forensics out here to fingerprint and see what else they can find. This,” he motioned at the mess of papers on the floor, “needs to go into evidence.”
“I don’t want a lot of strangers in my house.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see that you have much of a choice. Do you want us to catch the killer?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll cooperate.” His statement had a hint of a question in it.
I nodded. Detective Troy called police department. He explained the necessary information to the responding officers and told them about the events of the night before and the story on my computer. He managed the chaos and worked closely with the investigators, as this was an extension of Danny’s case.
It was late afternoon by the time they left. They took my computer, the house was just short of a natural disaster, and my head was throbbing. I felt tiny and insecure. Gabriel had made the process as painless as possible for me, but I could feel the toll it was taking. As the last of the cops left, he came back into the house.
“I have to go to the station to file some paperwork. I'll come back. Is there someone who can come over to stay with you?”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not and that’s all right.” Concern lined his face. “I'll leave a black and white outside. If anything scares you at all, no matter how small, get them. They'll check it out for you. Stay in here, near the front window where you can be seen. I'll be back in an hour, tops.”
I didn't respond. I had no right to expect him to stay, but it almost felt like he was abandoning me by leaving.
Gabriel forced me to look in his eyes. “You're stronger than this, Ella. If you have any problems call me.”
“I’ll be here.”
As Gabriel closed the door my heart sank. I knew I had told him I would be fine, but after no more than five minutes, I also knew I would go crazy if I kept sitting in front of this window. I went to the police car parked on the street in front of my house. The officer rolled down his window.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Detective Troy said you are to stay.”
“Detective Troy can kiss my ass. I don’t want to stay and I'm not under arrest. Will you take me to O’Malley’s?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Don’t be an asshole. Please.”
“We have our instructions.”
“If you don’t help me I’ll walk.” They exchanged a look. I could see that they were finally considering it. “I know you wouldn’t want that, especially since there's a killer after me. You can radio Detective Troy and let him know where I'll be if he needs me for anything.”
They exchanged another look. The officer on the driver's side shrugged to the one I was speaking with. The one nearest to me glanced back at me and radioed Detective Troy. He got no reply.
“It’s best if you stay here,” he said to me.
“I’ll call his cell. Come into the house with me.” They both followed me in to make the call. Detective Troy answered on the first ring.
“Troy.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Nothing, but I'm starting to lose it. I need to get out. Can you tell the gorillas in front,” I gave the police officers a sweet smile, “to take me to O’Malley’s? They can leave me there. I'll be safer there anyway.”
“That’s not really their job. They aren’t a taxi service.”
“Fine, I’ll call a cab.”
He sighed. “Let me talk to them.”
I handed the phone over. The officer listened and didn’t make much of a response to anything said, until the end of the call.
“I understand, Sir.” He hung up the phone and looked at me. “We’ll drive you to O’Malley’s.”
“Thank you.”
I sat in the back seat. “So this is what a criminal feels like?” I joked.
“No, ma’am. You don’t have handcuffs on.”
“My mistake,” I mumbled. These guys didn’t have much of a sense of humor. The one who kept calling me ma'am had a strong military vibe, and the other just seemed quiet and annoyed.
“How long have you known Detective Troy?” the quiet one asked, breaking the awkward silence.
“He investigated my husband’s death.”
“Are the two of you close?”
Not sure what he was getting at, I decided less information was best. “Not really. We just ran into each other a week or so ago.” I couldn't tell if he believed me or not, but at least he stopped asking questions.
The rest of the ride was quiet. When we arrived, the officer let me out of the car.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, gentleman. Have a good evening.”
“Ma’am.” He nodded to me.
I gave them a tight farewell smile and headed inside. It was the same as ever. Joe was behind the bar and he waved at me as I walked to my booth. In a matter of moments he had my vodka to me, and I was relaxing in my dar
k corner. I watched the people come and go, visiting with one another. Surprisingly I felt less melancholy than the last time I was here. My mind naturally started to drift back over the events of day and that horrible story, but I shoved all such thoughts to the side. I had suffered enough for one day and besides, I needed to remain calm and functioning. I would wait patiently and not think about anything at all.
Unable to maintain idleness for too long, however, I took the safer route of contemplating my suspects again, and a new one popped into my mind: Dr. Livingston.
Maybe he was a sadist who toyed with his patients and their families, even to the point of torturing and killing them. Perhaps he distorted the minds of his clients during the day and snuck into houses at night to do tricks that would prey on his clients’ mental health—it was a great way to keep up his clientele. And he knew I was writing again. He could’ve broken in and changed my document....
“Is this seat taken?” Gabriel asked with a tired smile, sitting down before I could answer. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I imagine.” He scanned the dark little bar for possible threats out of what appeared to be more habit than paranoia. “So ... come here often?”
I laughed. “Please don't tell me you use that line on anyone.”
“I can't swear that was the first time,” he said with a grin. “What were you thinking about?”
“Just who’s doing this to me.”
“Did you make any determinations?”
“No one stands out anymore than the rest. I was just running over possible suspects in my mind and they're all fairly ridiculous.”
“I can check them out if you like.”
“I don't know. I'm sure you’ve already considered most of the people who knew Danny and me. It isn't like we had a ton of friends here. It would probably be a waste of time.” I shook my head in frustration. “Did you have a nice time at the office?”
“Not really—look, do you want to stay here or do you want to go somewhere else?”
My ears perked up as his tight, guarded tone. “Go where? I'm not going home yet.”
“I wasn’t planning on taking you home. We could get dinner then maybe a movie. A night away from that house and from everything else might make you feel better.”
He was completely right. I did need to get away, even if it was just a temporary reprieve. What did I have to lose? “Take me wherever you want. I'm completely at your disposal.”
A slow smile spread over his face making my lips twitch upwards in return. “I was hoping you’d say that. I made reservations.” He gave me his hand to help me out of the booth.
“That was rather presumptuous of you, after all that happened today.... A couple of weeks ago, after today's brand of fun, I would have medicated myself into a stupor and hid in bed.”
“I made that reservation yesterday.”
Trying to hide the nervousness that engulfed me when I realized this was more than likely a date, I walked out of the bar without waiting for him. Had he asked me out I would have said no, but somehow he managed to get me on a date without ever uttering a word about it. Gabriel was much smoother than I’d given him credit for. He caught up, falling in step with me.
“Where are you going?”
“What?”
“I’m parked in the other direction.”
“Oh, right, sorry.”
“Are you okay?”
I nodded and we walked to his car side by side.
We went to a small restaurant that looked fairly shabby from the outside and for a moment I doubted the need for reservations. Inside, however, we could barely squeeze into the room.
“I think I've heard of this place. I was supposed to come here with Danny when I got back from my book tour to celebrate.” As soon as I said it I realized my mistake. I shouldn’t have mentioned Danny.
Christ, I couldn’t do this. I couldn't start dating, not yet. Maybe not ever. Heat rose to my cheeks. What was I doing on a date? It was absurd.
“It’s the best Italian in Montgomery.” Gabriel turned his attention to the hostess. “Reservation for Troy.”
She checked her book then led us to a small corner table with a cliché drippy red candle in the center of a checkered table cloth.
“What’s good here?”
“Everything.”
I looked at the menu for a while, narrowing down my selection, though my mind kept wandering back to the house.
“Why would the person or whatever it is kill Danny and not me? If it wants the house then why not kill us both?”
“No, we’re not talking about that tonight. Tonight we’re two normal people—no murders, no ghosts of any kind.”
“Right.” That left me with nothing to talk about. "So what did happen at the office, you never really said.”
“That either. Normal, remember?”
“I'm not sure I know how to do normal.”
“You'll find a way,” he said with a smile.
“I’m sure I could,” I said slowly, “but this is the only thing on my mind.”
He sounded disappointed but answered my earlier question. “My captain wanted to see me to make sure that this case hadn’t become too ‘personal.’”
“Has it?”
He lifted an eyebrow at me, his eyes searching mine.
“The officer that drove me to O’Malley’s was asking questions about how long and how well I know you—got to love small towns—but you are always available to me.”
“So?” I wondered if I was imagining it or if Gabriel bristled a bit.
I held up my hand. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s great. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
He took a long drink of water and refilled his glass with the pitcher the server had left at our table. “But?”
“But what are you sacrificing to help me with this and why? This is my life and I have nothing outside of it, so it’s easy for me to forget that you probably do. You probably had a life before this.”
“I'm here because I want to be here. I assured him I could remain impartial.”
“Can you? Had I written that story what would you have done?”
His intense eyes searched mine, though I didn't know what they were looking for. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I know I need to see this through to the end. If I turned over this investigation would you let another police officer into your life?”
“Probably not.” Gabriel was a truly nice man and I probably didn't help his case insisting the cops drive me to a bar. “I'll try to behave myself so you don’t get into anymore trouble.”
“I would appreciate that. Does this mean you’ve dismissed your ghost theory?”
“I don’t know. The things that have happened, without so much as a trace of any person ... well, a ghost makes as much sense as it doesn’t. However, the story of the murder sounds so much more like a person—I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I've never believed it was a ghost, but I can’t figure out how they do it. Whoever it is has some end goal, I just don't know what.”
Detective Troy looked exhausted and it was probably my fault—so much for his hope of having a dinner free from talking about my troubles. But why did he care so much? I held back that question knowing that I couldn't ask it until I was ready to hear his answer. Pity for the poor man who was trying to help me made me change the subject to something a bit lighter.
“So ... who do you think will win the Super Bowl?”
He smiled. “That’s over. It was months ago.”
“World Series?”
“I have no idea. I don’t watch much baseball.”
“What is it you do when you aren't detecting or breaking down my door?”
“I like movies, hiking, camping, things like that.”
“Things to escape reality—those are all pretty solitary.”
“They can be, but they don’t have to be. What do you do when you aren’t writing
or being terrorized by ghosts?”
“Well ....ummm, I really don’t do much besides those things, especially the last couple years. I like reading. I used to like cooking and games.”
“Games?”
“Yes, games like Scrabble, Monopoly, poker, spades, pinochle, you know—board games, not mind games.”
“I would never guessed you as the game type. It's so…”
“Juvenile?’
“Normal.”
Now it was my turn to smile. I hadn’t been called normal in quite some time. "Ah, so you thought I meant games like cult games and sacrificing small animals and what not... I gave that up for Lent.”
“Why don’t you do those things anymore?”
“Cult activities? Well, they’ve become so passé. Everyone is doing it these days.”
“No. Play cards, be with your friends...”
“Who has the energy, or friends?”
The rest of the meal carried on the same way: light and easy. Gabriel was right. We both needed a night off, away from the reality that haunted both of us. After dinner, we went to see an old movie that was playing in an equally old theater. We chose Arsenic and Old Lace in hopes that the light comedy would put us further at ease, besides who doesn’t love Cary Grant? The movie was a good choice. It was easy to lose myself in the story, laughing along with the other people in the theater. All in all, it was a great evening, which was surprising after the horrendous, roller coaster of a day.
But too soon we were outside of my house. Dread filled me as I looked at the door. I didn't want to go inside. However, I got out of the car when Gabriel opened my door. A light on upstairs in the master bedroom caught my eye. I hadn't been in there since Detective Troy opened that door. That light had not been on since then; at least I did not think it had been. Who had been in his room? I grabbed Gabriel's arm and pointed up at the window.
“That wasn’t on.”
He looked up “Are you sure?”
“75%.”
“Get in the car. Lock the doors. I’ll check.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Ella, get in the car.”
“No. I've walked into that house to find one person dead already. I’ll be damned if I'm going to find a second one. If you go, I go too.”
“Fine. Stay close.” He pulled his gun from the locked glove compartment.
We silently crept into the house and upstairs. Gabriel flung open the door to the room, but now the light was off. I reached around him and flipped the switch. Nothing was there. It was just as we’d left it. We proceeded to check the rest of the house, but again found nothing at all. After we’d exhausted our search, Gabriel looked at me with a helpless expression.
“You don’t have to stay here tonight.”
“Where am I going to go?”
“You can come home with me.”
I stared at him, my mouth becoming cottony. Part of me wanted to laugh hysterically, part wanted to walk away, and still another, smaller part wanted nothing more than to take him up on his offer, if only—
“Not like that,” he said quickly “I just meant you can stay at my house for the night. Not with me. Separate rooms.”
“Right.” My mind was swimming, but I pressed through it trying not to let things get any more uncomfortable between us. “I'll have to come back here eventually, so what's the point of running away now.”
“Stay at my house tonight. I'll come by here tomorrow with a police dog and see what I can find. Speaking of that, have you thought about getting a dog?”
“I had a dog. She died.”
“When? From what?”
“I don’t know the date. We’d been here a few months. She was acting funny after we moved in, then one morning I woke up and she was dead at the bottom of the stairs.”
“What kind of dog?”
“Toy poodle.”
“I was thinking something a little bit bigger, something for protection. The house, the investigation can wait until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I echoed. It was such a nice word. Everything could be put off until tomorrow and tomorrow never had to come. Gabriel was offering to extend my peace of mind for a few more hours and right now that was the nicest thing anyone could do for me. I let him lead me back to the car.
Gabriel lived across town in an old brick house with a large porch and stained glass windows. It was charming. Inside, the furnishings looked comfortable and lived in. It wasn’t a large house by any means. It had only one bedroom, which utilized almost the entire upstairs except for a bathroom and some storage. The main floor had a living room, kitchen, office, small utility room, and a small restroom. There was no basement or attic. It was small and comfortable—perfect for one or two people. The best thing about his house was it felt safe and secure. It felt like a home.
Gabriel handed me clean sheets and offered me his room.
“You should have your room. I'll stay on the couch.”
“No, I insist you take the bed. There are clothes in the bottom two drawers.”
“Thank you.” I didn't have the words to express how big of an impact he was making in my life. “You do so much for me and you don’t have to—.”
He looked like there was something he wanted to say, but he settled for “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I went upstairs and found a baggy Northwestern shirt to sleep in. Crawling into his bed, I was ready to crash when he spoke softly from the stairs.
“Ella, may I come up?”
“Sure.”
Gabriel came around the corner wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants. I could see the other tattoos on his arms.
“How many tattoos do you have?”
He looked slightly taken aback, obviously not expecting this question. “Uh, eight. I came up for a pillow.”
“Oh, sorry here you go.” I handed him an extra pillow. “Are you sure you don’t want your bed?”
“No, you have it,” he said quietly as he took the pillow from me, then he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and brushed a piece of hair off my face.
“Do you have everything you need?” He still looked like he wanted to say something else. Something more.
“I’m all set,” I said, careful not to invite him to say what he was concealing. We were both better off if words that couldn't be taken back weren't spoken. I wasn't ready to hear whatever it was and Gabriel seemed to understand that too. He gave me a warm smile before he stood up.
“Sleep well. If you need me I'll be downstairs.’
“Night.”
He gave me one last look before he shut off the light. I heard him trot down the stairs and I drifted off to sleep in a matter of moments. It was, seriously, the best night’s sleep I’d had since I moved to Montgomery—and I didn’t wake up the next morning ‘til after nine. I wondered for a moment if Gabriel had left me there alone, but the notion was quickly dismissed when I heard the lovely sounds of breakfast being made and the smell of coffee wafted up through the air. I got up and pulled my jeans on under the oversized t-shirt. “Good morning. How did you sleep?” Gabriel asked brightly.
I couldn't suppress the small smile that crept to my lips. “Too well. I'd forgotten what it's like to have a good night’s sleep. Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what he was trying to make, but he had a mess. “Can I help?”
“That’s okay” Then he looked at the stove and counter and seemed to rethink his stance. “Actually, that would great. I'm not very good at this.” He said with a sheepish grin.
“Scoot over. What are we making?”
“Pancakes.”
“You have way too many ingredients out.”
He gave me an exaggerated shrug.
“You’re hopeless. I'll make them.”
I cleaned up his mess and started over. Gabriel kept looking over his shoulder at me, while he made orange juice. I got a pinch of flour and waited for the next time he glanced back and then I blew it in his face. Laughing as the puff of
flour dusted his face, I grabbed another handful.
“This is war,” he declared and shook the wooden spoon covered in orange juice at me. Before he could finish I hit him with next handful and grabbed another. I moved around the counter to give myself some coverage, but this enabled him to grab his own handful of flour. I was saved by the phone ringing.
“Truce?” Gabriel asked and offered me his hand to shake. I extended my hand, only to have him shove his last handful of flour in my face. Laughing, he made a mad dash for the phone. I laughed too, wiping the flour off my face.
The kitchen was once again terrible mess, but it was worth it. My opportunities for fun were so few that the joy of having one brought tears to my eyes. After the room was once again reasonably clean, I made batter. Gabriel came back in as I was about to flip the first pancake.
“Do you have to go to the office?”
“No, I took the day off. That was the lab. They didn’t find any prints except for yours and a few of mine.”
“I didn’t think they would, did you?” I asked spooning another dollop onto the skillet.
“No. But I was hoping.”
“The eternal optimist?”
“Just looking for a break.” He leaned against the counter next to the stove.
“Hmph. That’s funny.”
“What?’
“I hadn’t thought about this stuff since last night.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes and no. It's nice to have a break and not be shrouded in darkness all the time, but it isn’t helping me stay focused on what’s important.”
“Maybe it's good to take your mind off the prize for a while, that way you can go back in with a clear head.”
“Maybe.” I broke eye contact with Gabriel and flipped the lightly bubbling pancakes. I found myself hoping he was right. That I could go back to the house with new eyes and maybe find clues I had missed before. I looked over my shoulder at Gabriel. “I think some of your hope is rubbing off on me.”
“It’s contagious.”
“Lots of things are—and very few of them are good for you. But, hell, I’ll give it a shot. What else do I have going for me?”
“I imagine there's a lot more than you think.”
“So what’s your plan for the day?”
“Ah, I’m glad you asked. Today we scour your house.”
“What? We’ve searched the house a thousand times. It’s neither fun nor relaxing.”
“No? Well, that’s too bad. It's time for this to be over with once and for all. If someone’s been hiding in your house, there has to be evidence. I'd look alone, but you know the house better than anyone. We'll start at the top and work our way down. We're missing something; I just don’t know what.”
“Top to bottom,” I agreed, dread knotting my stomach.
Chapter Ten