by Liv Bennett
“That’s so sweet. I’ll take you up on your offer very soon! Now, let’s go.”
“Just a second.” I grab my purse but glance down at the iPad in confusion. I don’t want to have any reminder of Austin, but it won’t be fair to leave it here, out in the open either. I slip it under my arm anyway and follow Fran out the door.
My heart leaps when I catch sight of Austin standing across the street, leaning against the wall, even though I knew he’d be out here waiting for me. I can’t avoid him as I wished, but at least, I should return his iPad.
Austin runs his fingers through his tousled hair and waves at us when he notices me. My pulse spikes, my mouth drying. Even the dark of the night can’t hide his beauty.
“Look who’s waiting for us!” Fran nudges my elbow. “Feel free to change your mind about tonight. Ruth won’t make a big deal out of it if you don’t show up.”
If only she knew, nothing could change my mind about Austin. “No, it’s okay. I just need to give him his iPad back. Will we have enough time to catch the bus?”
“Sure.” Another loud, tear-jerking yawn escapes Fran’s mouth.
I glance at her with concern before turning to the street. “I’ll be right back.”
As I scan the street before crossing, Austin is already at the curb, waiting for me. His big hands come around me the moment I step before him, not giving me a moment to visit my anger on him. He smells like soap and aftershave. I pull away before my mind gets sidetracked and watch his grin freeze on his face.
“Everything okay?”
“No. Everything isn’t okay.” My voice is tearful. I push the iPad into his hands. My lips start trembling. How could he do this to me? Why did I trust him so quickly? I should wrap my fingers around his shirt and demand an answer from him. I can’t. I’m a coward, through and through.
As I start turning around, he catches me by my elbow. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Even if I cared to talk, my throat is locked up, and sobs are blocking my airway. I’ll cause a scene with tears and sobs more than anything. I avert my eyes and yank my elbow free of his hold.
He leaps in front of me, his large body blocking my way. “I won’t let you go until I hear what’s bothering you.” His tender eyes are large with worry, begging me to open up to him. His shoulders droop.
My breathing comes in labored gasps, and my chest aches with hurt. The worst part is I want his arms back around my body, his hands all over me, his mouth on mine. I want to return to my blissful morning when I knew nothing about the illicit side of his personality.
“Lena was wearing your mother’s cardigan,” I blurt out and meet his confused gaze.
“What? What cardigan? What are you talking about?”
“I saw the messages you sent to her. I could see them on your iPad. Can you take a break? I need to see you. Now!” I repeat the lines word for word as his message is engraved into my memory permanently.
A look of terror strikes his face. His eyes bulge out, and he gasps for air. “Jesus! Fuck! It’s not what you think.”
“It never is!”
He lowers his head, his chin tilting down to his chest. “Look, I was mad. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was a mistake.”
“That justifies it, right? You got mad, you fucked a girl who’s supposed to be just in the past,” I shout, intending to be sarcastic, but my voice breaks at the end as a sob tears from my throat.
He smiles bitterly and shakes his head. “No, I didn’t fuck her. I’m not gonna lie; I wanted it initially. But, I couldn’t do it. I thought how much it’d hurt you. I didn’t want to be the one to break your heart.”
“I don’t believe a word you say.” Tears run down my cheeks. Crying in front of him is the last thing I want, so I run. Away from him, away from the short-lived love story we’ve had, away from what we could have become.
As high as I was with love for him in the morning, the fall is a long way down, and the pain I’m going through now isn’t something I’ll be able to pick myself up from, ever.
Ch 28
I’D LIKE TO CONSULT WITH A LAWYER
If someone asked me to pick the most motherly woman in the world, I’d pick Ruth. Late thirties, on the shorter side of the height scale, curvy without being overweight, she has an aura of affection radiating from her that makes me want to curl up on her lap and leave the worries and troubles of the world behind.
Ruth welcomes us with a bright smile at the door, shows us around quickly and offers us homemade cookies and hot chocolate in the kitchen while going through the details about her schedule, what she expects from me, my rent, and the general rules of the house.
Watching her kids on the nights she needs to work at the hospital is what she wants from me in return for a fully furnished room at the rate of five hundred dollars a month with no deposit. Her kids are two girls of seven and three, so I may need to change the little one’s diapers here and there and get them their breakfast if Ruth’s shift lasts a little long and Fran isn’t around.
After I sign a preliminary rental contract which will be amended as we move forward, Ruth shows me my room and lends me a fresh towel and t-shirt for the night.
“I’ll be back for breakfast, and we can get the kids to school together,” Fran says before retrieving a sleeping Emma from the kids’ room. Ruth leaves with them to give them a quick ride back to Fran’s place.
My room is above the garage, and the window faces the street Ruth takes to get to Fran’s home. Cracking the window open, I let fresh air in and stare at Ruth’s green Subaru Forester as it drives off. The neighborhood is comprised of single-family homes for the wealthier families of Boulder and is only a street or two away from the Hill, which is almost exclusively occupied by college students.
The sound of music can be heard faintly from afar, although I’m sure I won’t hear a blip of it when I close the window. A few cars are parked on the street, mostly SUVs and a couple of sedans here and there.
When my eyes land on a black sedan that looks very much like Austin’s Mazda, a sudden wave of coldness hits my core. I shiver and quickly close the window and inspect the car from behind the glass.
It must belong to someone from the neighborhood. There’s no way it’s Austin’s. It’s just a coincidence, a very scary coincidence.
My heart racing, my muscles tense, I watch the car. If the car is indeed Austin’s and he’s in it, there’s a chance he’ll want to come see me in my new home. A male visitor at practically midnight during my first night isn’t something Ruth will appreciate. The room came at a dire time. I won’t let a man ruin it, no matter how hard he made me cum.
Fortunately, there’s no movement in the car even after Ruth gets back from Fran’s. My eyelids droop, and I let out a loud yawn that reminds me of Fran’s. The poor girl…she can never take a break from her busy life. In less than eight hours, she’ll need all her energy to get not only Emma but also Ruth’s kids to school, then study for a couple of hours until her long shift at work starts. No wonder she looks exhausted all the time.
Still, she looked better, healthier, and more energetic during those first days I started working at the restaurant. I hope she’s not sick because an illness right now will ruin the delicate balance of her life.
Heading for the bathroom, I take a quick shower, wash my dress and panties for the next day, and hang them on the pole above the tub. Fortunately, it’s warm enough in the bathroom for the clothes to dry in a few hours. I wear the long t-shirt Ruth lent me for the night. I’ll have to pay a visit to Goodwill for clothes as soon as possible.
I fall asleep right away and wake up to the sound of kids crying while it’s still dark outside. My head feels like a ton of rock against the pillow. I can’t move and just hope the noise will die down in a minute or two. If frequent sleep interruption is what Fran has to deal with on top of her endless list of duties, she deserves a medal.
The crying ends but the noise is still very much disturbing. Giving up, I slide
out of bed to go pee and immediately shield my eyes with my hands when I step into the brightly lit hall. A girl runs past me, I think. I can’t see clearly while my eyes take time to adjust, but there’s no denying the intense smell of poop.
“Good morning,” Ruth calls out from her bedroom that’s at the end of the hall.
Good morning? What time is it? I hold down the urge to yawn and wave at her on my way to the bathroom. I can barely open my eyes to see the clock on the wall that shows five a.m.
Is this the time I’ll have to get up every morning? Ruth didn’t ask for a deposit on the room, I remind myself. Getting up before dawn is a small price to pay for her generosity and immediate trust in me.
Squinting my eyes, I walk down the hall to Ruth’s bedroom. One girl is running around with her diaper full and practically hanging down her legs, and the other one is coughing hard, while Ruth is going through drawers for fresh clothes.
“Do you need help?” I ask hesitantly, not knowing how I can help her.
Ruth straightens up with an exhale and glances at me apologetically. “I’ll need to get to the hospital early today. The emergency room is fully packed. They need an extra pair of hands. I tried calling Fran. She doesn’t answer. Would you be so kind as to drive over to get her? You can borrow my car. The keys are on the table by the door.”
It takes a while for my sleep-deprived mind to register everything she said, and I’m not exactly sure if I got it all correct. “Uhh, sure.”
I head directly to the bathroom and grab my dress and panties that’re somehow now on the floor. They must have slipped off the pole during the night. At least, they’re dry. I put them on quickly. The car keys are exactly where Ruth said they’d be, and I climb into her Subaru and carefully slide out of the garage.
On my way out, my eyes look for the black sedan that looked suspiciously like Austin’s Mazda.
I let out a sigh of relief when I can’t see it in its location. It’d creep the hell out of me if the car turned out to be Austin’s, and I found him sleeping in it. Nothing says stalker like waiting for someone all night in the car.
Not that Austin will have such a need. He has a few thousand girls at his beck and call for his every need, Lena being the first and easiest one to call.
I pull up on the street across from the apartment building Fran lives in and climb out into a chilly wind that reminds me to add a coat to my Goodwill shopping list. Despite it being barely five a.m., a line of customers is forming before the cash register over at Starbucks, mostly white-collar folks probably trying to beat the rush hour to their place of work in Denver.
A gust of icy wind blows through me, and I run toward Fran’s building and push against the iron handle. Inside, it smells stale and like old carpet. I rush up the stairs to the third floor and hurry down the hall. My feet come to a sudden halt before her door…that’s left slightly open.
My shoulders tighten immediately. Didn’t she take extra security measures and have two locks and a chain on her door? Fear creeps into my heart. Without even daring to breathe, I listen for any noise. My heart starts racing at the eerie silence and goes into overdrive when I remember Ruth’s comment about Fran not answering her phone.
She might have just forgotten to close her door, and her deep sleep is probably keeping her from hearing her phone. Or, she probably forgot to charge it. Happens all the time!
My reasoning doesn’t calm me in the least. Holding my breath, I knock on the door loud enough to wake up everyone in the building before pushing the door open.
The living room is dark except for the light shining from the closed bathroom door. She’d close the bathroom door but not the front door?
“Fran?” I shout, my voice trembling, and scan the living room for any movement. “It’s Ashley. Ruth has to leave early and asked me to come pick you up. Are you awake?”
I swallow down the choking lump of fear in my throat and take slow steps toward her bedroom while eyeing the bathroom door. My stomach feels rock hard with all the possibilities for the strangeness of the situation.
“Fran? Are you awake?” I knock on her bedroom door and count to twenty before opening it. “Fran?”
A movement from the crib startles me. It’s Emma, and she’s still asleep but moving around in her bed. Fran’s bed is empty. She must be in the bathroom. Pulling the door closed, I tiptoe toward the bathroom.
At this point, I’m so freaked out, I’ll pop open a bottle of champagne to celebrate if I find Fran inhaling cocaine in the bathroom, or even blowing a man for money…as long as she’s fine otherwise.
“Fran? Are you in there?” I knock, my heart in my mouth. My palms get sweaty while waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to open the door.”
My hand shakes as I reach for the handle. The door squeaks when I push it slightly, the noise making me flinch. She’s not by the sink, neither is a thief.
“Hello, Fran? I’m coming in. Are you in there?” I push the door wider, my eyes growing large with each new inch of visibility I get. The sight of her blonde head lying on the edge of the bathtub strikes me first, then her arm hanging over the side.
I let out a loud sigh of relief and fully open the door. “Fran? Did you fall asleep in the tub?” I let myself in, feeling my muscles relaxing instantly. After all the yawning last night, she couldn’t make it out of the bathtub to her bed.
“You’ll catch a co—” The sight of her purple lips and ashen face stuns me. As I step closer, my eyes follow her equally pale, naked body down to the lake of blood she’s sitting in. Her wrist is slashed open and coated with a crust of dried blood. I can barely hold down a scream.
She’s sitting in her own blood, lifeless. My brain freezes. Her face changes to Ruby’s. Merely three weeks ago, she was found dead in the same spot, in the same condition.
“Fran?” I whisper and rush to her side. Her skin is colder than ice when I hold her hand that’s hanging down over the side of the tub. My fingers shaky, I search for her pulse on her neck. Nothing. Nothing at all. No movement. No warmth. She must be dead.
Dead.
Just like my sister. In the same bathtub with her wrist slashed.
Jesus!
My mind screams at me in disbelief. This can’t be real. Fran can’t have killed herself. No matter how deep in shit she might have been, she wouldn’t just end her life while her toddler daughter is sleeping next door…the daughter she went so far as to steal money for to give her a roof over her head. She wouldn’t do it. Just like Ruby wouldn’t do it.
Once my shock subsides a little, I storm out of the room in search of a phone and find Fran’s cell phone on the kitchen counter. I call 9-1-1 and recount to them what happened without using the word suicide, then immediately dial Ruth’s number. She doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either.
After I disconnect, I walk back to the bathroom just to make sure my sleep-deprived brain didn’t play tricks on me. No! The sight of Fran’s dead body hits me like a blow. How did I miss the rusty smell of blood earlier? The contrast between her pale skin and the dark-red of the blood is nauseating. I rush back out.
While waiting for the police, I tiptoe into Fran’s bedroom to check on Emma. Tears flow down my cheeks when I catch sight of the beautiful little girl sleeping peacefully unaware of her mommy in a bloodbath next door. I cover my mouth to keep my sobs quiet.
What’s going to happen to her? She’s so young; she won’t remember her mother a couple of years from now. Fran wouldn’t do it to her. There’s no way she’d abandon her daughter this way.
Red and blue lights flash out on the street, and I hurry out of the apartment and run down the stairs to meet the paramedics and the police officers outside. I repeat to them what happened while we all run up the stairs. They ask me to stay back as they enter the apartment.
Emma’s shrill cry comes, ripping my heart apart. A female paramedic carries her out, the poor little girl scared out of her skin. As soon as the paramedics examining Fr
an pronounce her dead—within a couple of minutes— officers enter to investigate the scene.
A police officer approaches me for my statement. Then a man in plain clothes arrives and introduces himself as Detective Carlson and asks for my statement for a second time.
I recount everything that happened since I woke up, Ruth’s unanswered phone call to Fran, followed by her request for me to pick her up and bring her back to Ruth’s, the slightly open door, the dark home, Emma sleeping in her crib, my several knocks before entering the bathroom, Fran’s purple lips and pale skin, her hand hanging down over the side of the tub, the bloodbath.
“Did you touch Miss Becker when you found her in the bathroom?” Detective Carlson asks, after dutifully jotting down everything I say word for word.
I nod several times, the sheer impact of the morning making me overreact. “Yes, to check her pulse on her throat.”
“Did you touch her wrist or anywhere else with blood on it?”
“No, just her throat. Well, I touched her hand too, but the one that was hanging down over the edge of the tub, not the...” one with the slashed wrist. I swallow, the heavy words clogging up my airways.
He writes down my response, his handwriting quick and neat. “Okay, how do you explain the blood stain on your dress?”
“Blood on my dress?” My eyes shoot down on my dress. He wasn’t tricking me. The hem of my dress indeed has a smear of blood that’s big enough not to go unnoticed. A moment ago, I was sure I didn’t touch the blood, not accidentally, not on purpose. But, now, staring at the blood stain, I’m confused.
“I don’t know how it got there.” I raise my hands up to him as proof I didn’t touch the blood.
“Are you aware of another case of a death that took place in the same apartment on October 2nd to a Miss Ruby Evans?”