by Nikki Chase
“Yes. She told me she was going to call the police about her dog earlier tonight. I’ve been here at her house the whole time, but I haven’t seen any cops.”
“We told Miss Lake that we’ll send someone tomorrow morning.”
“What time?”
“Miss Lake didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t been able to reach her,” I say.
“How have you tried to reach her, Sir?”
“I texted her, called her, and I’m actually at her house right now.”
“She’s not responding to your attempts at communication?”
“No.”
“Did you have a disagreement?”
“Well, yes, but—”
The woman sighs audibly into the phone and cuts me off, saying, “I’m sorry, Sir. We can’t help you right now. Give it some time. If she doesn’t turn up after twenty-four hours, call us again. But I have a feeling she’ll get in touch once she’s no longer angry with you.”
“Wait, it’s not—”
“Thank you for calling, Sir,” the woman says before she ends the call.
I stare at the bright screen of my phone with my jaw open. I can’t believe she just hung up on me! I almost wish I was using a landline so I could slam the phone down.
I remain seated, straddling the bike, as I think. Where could Jessica be? What else can I do to find her?
Jessica’s right. It’s not Steve or Caine. I saw for myself how clueless Steve is about everything, and Caine… Well, like Jessica said, there’s little reason why such a powerful man would concern himself with trivial matters, and even less reason why he’d use such cheap scare tactics.
Whoever is doing this, he must know that he’s not accomplishing anything other than scaring Jessica. If the perpetrator is a man like Caine or Stan, then it would make more sense for him to go right for the jugular—kill Jessica for revenge or kidnap her first to prolong her suffering.
My chest tightens and my extremities turn cold at the thought of Jessica being in the hands of someone who wants to harm her.
Why would anyone do this to Jessica, if it isn’t related to Nancy Jones’ death? Jessica couldn’t hurt a fly.
I don’t know what else I can do. Maybe the woman at the police station is right. Maybe Jessica’s just angry with me, so she chooses to not come home tonight, knowing I’m here waiting for her. As much as that would suck, it would still be much better than the alternative. I hope to God the policewoman is right.
It’s almost one in the morning, but I can’t go to sleep like this. I can’t work either, even though the Japanese market is still open. I don’t know what else to do or where else to look.
I take a deep breath and look up at the stars.
I grew up in the city, so when I first got stationed in the Middle East, that was the first time I’d ever seen the stars without light pollution blocking the view.
Ever since I started traveling and staying in small towns all the time, I’ve developed a habit of taking comfort from the night sky. It’s often the only constant in my life.
It’s not like I don’t have good people in my life. I have good friends and a good family, but most of the time they’re not physically near me. My friends are scattered all over the country. After retirement, my parents moved to Costa Rica, where their pensions go a long way.
The stars are there to celebrate the good days with me, when I’m hundreds of miles away from anyone I know. They’re there on bad days too, reminding me that my problems will go away soon.
The stars will still be there the next day, the next week, the next month, the next year, the next decade, the next century. Looking up at them makes my problems seem trivial.
I get off my bike and start to pace the sidewalk. Maybe a night stroll will give me the cool head I need so desperately right now.
After taking just a few steps from Jessica’s house, I see it. Jessica’s beat-up white Toyota, parked in front of Bertha’s house.
The lights in the living room are turned on. I know Bertha is out of town right now, so Jessica’s probably in there. I take a deep, relieved breath. I know she has the keys to Bertha’s place, but in my panic, I didn’t even think about her staying there for the night.
Judging by the lights, Jessica’s probably still awake. Perhaps she’s worried about Max, or angry at me. I guess she just doesn’t want to see me tonight, but at least she’s safe. Maybe I should leave her alone.
Yet a small, angry voice within me protests. Why did she do that without telling me? She should’ve known I’d be worried sick, especially now, when Max has just gotten poisoned. She should’ve at least texted me to let me know she’s okay.
I can’t believe after everything I’ve done for her, she’d just ghost me again like she did three years ago. Maybe I should barge in there and give her a piece of my mind.
I stand there in front of Bertha’s house, trying to come to a decision in the dark. Should I try to be more understanding, and give her some space? Or should I give in to my anger?
Jessica
Is it my phone that’s ringing?
I try to move my hand so I can see who’s calling, but I can’t move it. I can’t move my hands or my arms.
I open my eyes slowly. Why are all my movements so slow? Why is it so hard to do anything?
“Oh, you’re finally awake,” says a woman. Her voice sounds familiar. Who could it be? “This guy has been calling you so many times. He must really like you.”
With great effort, I turn my head toward the source of the voice and see her, standing over me with my phone in her hand.
I part my lips and open my jaw. My mouth is so dry. Coaxing my vocal cords back to life, I say, “Christine?”
“Yes!” She grins like we’ve just run into each other at the mall. “Surprise surprise, it’s me.”
I look around me. This is Bertha’s house.
“What are you doing here?” I squint as I look up at Christine. The light right behind her head is getting in my eyes.
“Oh, come on, be nice. That’s no way to greet a neighbor.” She laughs, then continues, “But then again, what can I expect from you? All this time you’ve just been putting on a mask, pretending to be a good girl, an innocent schoolteacher. I can’t expect you to play that role when you’re like this.”
“Like...what? What did you do to me?” I don’t feel any restraints on my body. No rope, zip ties, or masking tape. But I can’t move. My whole body feels heavy, like gravity has an extra strong hold on me right now.
“I just gave you something to calm you down so we can have a conversation, darling. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“You drugged me?”
“Drug is such an ugly word. Let’s just say I medicated you.” Christine smiles at me, but the shadow on her face makes her look creepy. Her facial features look all distorted. Has she always looked like that?
“You made me snort some kind of date-rape drug.” I say these brave, accusing words, but my speech is slow and slurred. I’m sure I don’t sound half as intimidating as I try to.
Christine’s foot connects with my shoulder. It’s not a particularly hard kick, but I don’t have the strength to put up any kind of resistance. I slide down against the wall I’m leaning on and fall into a heap on the floor.
Shit. Why can’t I do anything, or move any part of my body? What has she done to me?
While the kick wasn’t particularly painful, the realization of just how weak I am hits me like a truck.
I’m completely vulnerable. Christine can do anything to me and there’s nothing I can do about it. And from the looks of things, she wants to do all kinds of evil things to me.
I don’t know if it’s just the lighting or if I’ve just noticed something that has always been obvious, but she looks crazy. She looks like she belongs in an institution.
“Did you give the same drug to Max?” I shift on the floor so I can keep my eyes on Christine.
“You mean the dog?” She pau
ses and gives me a weird smile. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t waste such an expensive medicine on an animal. That was just good old rat poison.”
“It was all you? The letter, the break-in?” I frown. I can’t believe it. I can see her flapping her mouth, saying some words, but what she’s saying doesn’t make any sense.
“Yes,” she says calmly, like she hasn’t just admitted to being the perpetrator of multiple crimes.
“Why?” I’m thoroughly confused. I haven’t done anything to this woman. I’ve always tried to be a good neighbor. I’ve never even played loud music or leave Max’s shit on anybody’s lawn. What reason could she have to hate me so much, she’d commit crimes and risk being arrested?
“Isn’t it obvious?” She gives me a look that I often give to misbehaving students, the look that says she knows that I know what I’ve done.
Except I have no idea how I’ve wronged her.
Christine clicks her tongue, annoyed at me for playing innocent. “I have to protect Ashbourne from women like you.”
“Women like me? What are you talking about?”
“You know darn well what I’m talking about. Women like you lure men into your trap and ruin families.”
“What?” I must’ve heard wrong. That doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever done in my life.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re innocent. I know your kind. You seduce married men, you take their money, you make them forget all about their families,” she says with utter conviction, as if she has seen me do every single one of those things with her own eyes.
Sure, there were some married men who visited the Pussy Cat, but my relationship with them—and with all the customers except for Jacob—was strictly professional. If anyone should be blamed for married men who stray into strip joints, it’s not me. It’s those men.
That’s what I would’ve told Christine if I weren’t so weak. It’s hard to even say short sentences, much less defend my innocence in a debate on the institution of marriage and the moral responsibility of cheating spouses.
“I never did that,” I say instead. Eloquent argument, I know.
“My Toby was a great husband. We had the perfect family. Everything was perfect. Sure, we weren’t as active in the bedroom as we used to be, but we had kids and careers. Nobody just keeps doing it like rabbits forever.”
“I don’t even know your husband,” I say weakly from the floor.
“Of course you don’t,” she says condescendingly, like she can’t believe how stupid I am. “He moved away long before you came here. With a woman just like you. She took my husband from me, but I’ll never let that happen to any other woman in Ashbourne.” Christine shoots me a sharp glare and pauses to let the weight of her threat sink in.
I watch her, dumbfounded. My eyes blink frequently because of the bright light behind her. Maybe I do look like an idiot, but I honestly don’t know what to say. S
he’s punishing me for her husband having left her for another woman, a woman I don’t even know? Is she serious?
“When Bertha told me her daughter used to work at a strip club with you, I knew exactly what I had to do. I feel bad for Nancy, but maybe what happened was for the best. She used to be such a good girl. I never would’ve imagined she’d end up being a stripper,” she says, spitting out the last word like it’s caked with dirt.
“I’ve changed. I have a new life now,” I say.
I don’t actually have any moral qualms about being a stripper. I wouldn’t have worked at the Pussy Club for so long if I did. I just want to try appealing to her sense of compassion. Maybe if I act like I’m remorseful, she’ll let me go.
“Women like you don’t change,” Christine says. “You act like you’re just a good little schoolteacher, but I know it’s all a lie. You’re putting on a mask. I can see right through you. You think I don’t see you, seducing multiple men in town? That neighbor of yours, the date you were on when I called you. You think men are toys. You don’t care about them, or their families.”
“They’re single.” I know this is a stupid response, yet I can’t help but point out this fact. I honestly don’t see how I’m a threat to all womankind when I’m not even friends with any married men—except for Tony, but he doesn’t count here.
“Sure, it starts with the single men. Sooner or later, you’ll catch some married men in your web as well. Luckily for Ashbourne, I’m here to stop you.”
Who does Christine think I am? Some kind of a polyamorous seductress on a quest to build my own harem of men? I can’t understand how she could believe her own fantasy. She seemed so normal before tonight!
“What are you going to do to me?”
“I tried to tell you to leave, but you just wouldn’t budge.” The way Christine looks at me as she says that, you’d think she was doing me a favor with the break-in, the threatening letter, and the poison for Max. How nice of her to try to resolve this without hurting me, how noble.
“Maybe I would’ve, after you poisoned my dog,” I say.
“Maybe. But you have that guy staying with you now,” she says, scrunching her nose like she finds it absolutely offensive that two consenting adults are sleeping together under one roof.
“When I saw you come here, I knew that was the right time. I was going to wait until tomorrow, when you were supposed to let the repairman in, but this was better. Sometimes things just turn out better than you could ever plan,” she says with a cheerful smile on her face.
She crouches down, looks threateningly at me with her crazy eyes, and strokes my cheek with her cold fingers. “I’m going to destroy your pretty mask, so everyone can see the real you, the way I can see the real you. This is the only way to protect the town from you. I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.”
Christine stands up abruptly and strolls toward the kitchen. She stands in front of the shiny magnetic strip on the tiled backsplash, choosing a knife as she hums the cheerful tune of Mack the Knife.
A chill runs down my spine. She’s going to cut me?
I stretch my limbs as much as I can, trying to grab onto something, anything that can help me get up and run away. But I just end up kicking one of the wicker chairs in the living room, making it fall on the floor with a loud crash.
Christine calmly turns around and smiles when she sees what I’ve done. Obviously, I don’t pose any threat to her.
I keep trying, but I’m only strong enough to topple pieces of furniture onto their sides.
I should’ve listened to Jacob. He was right; it wasn’t safe for me to be on my own. It should’ve been obvious that some deranged person wants to hurt me, and yet I was doing whatever I wanted, oblivious to the dangers facing me.
I wish Jacob were here, and not just because he could rescue me from this crazy woman. I desperately need comfort right now. Somehow, unexpectedly, he has become the most comforting thing I can think of.
Jacob
I'm about to fucking lose my mind.
I know I can just walk away and that's probably best for both of us, but I know that's not a good idea either.
If I go home right now, I’d just end up lying in the dark, wishing I’d gone inside Bertha's house. I’d drive myself crazy, thinking about why she's angry at me, wondering how I should've done things differently, trying to come up with ideas to make it up to her.
I’ve been running all over town looking for Jessica, trying to make sure she's safe. Now that I’ve finally found her, I can't just leave without seeing her. That would be crazy.
I walk down the concrete pathway leading to Bertha's front door. After I changed her locks, Bertha told me to place one set under her welcome doormat.
I crouch down to lift it up and see nothing but concrete. Of course. If Jessica used the spare key to get in, then she’d have it with her inside.
If I can't get in on my own, maybe I should ask Jessica to let me in. Sure, it sounds ridiculous to suggest that she’d let me in when the reason why she's here in the first place is to avoi
d me. But there’s no harm in trying.
I press the raised round button by the door and hear the speaker inside play some electronic tune.
The door doesn't open, but I hear voices inside. Female voices.
That's strange. If Jessica needed to talk to anybody, the person she'd approach would probably be Tony. I'm not aware of her having any close female friends. At least that's what her phone records indicate.
Maybe I’m wrong and she has a girl friend after all, or maybe she's just watching TV.
Whatever it is she's doing, it obviously doesn't involve opening the door for me.
Maybe I should leave her alone after all, give her some time to cool down. The police said they were going to come see the backyard in the morning, which means she's coming home in a few hours. I can wait a few hours.
I turn around to leave. Just as I’m about to reach the sidewalk, I hear a soft crash inside.
I ring the doorbell again, but there's still no response.
I round the house to get to the backdoor. Bertha doesn’t keep any spare key in the backyard as far as I know, but Jessica could've left it open. I turn the doorknob and push.
It doesn't budge. I should've known. It's just not my night.
There's nothing else I can do, unless I want to break something to get in, and I feel like that would be overkill. I don't care about Bertha hating my guts, but I know it would only make Jessica angrier. I don’t want her to report me for trespassing when the cops arrive in a few hours.
Just as I pass a window on the side of the house, I hear another crash.
Okay, once could've been an accident, but twice is suspicious.
Sure, Jessica's in a sour mood, but she wouldn't destroy things that belong to other people.
Maybe something's wrong after all. Maybe she's not doing well. She could be sick, or she could be held prisoner in there by someone.
“Jessica!” I yell by the window.
I'm not leaving until I see her and make sure she's fine, at the very least. Maybe that’ll make her angrier, but who cares? What's she going to do, give me two silent treatments instead of one?