Level Five

by Carla Cassidy

  After breakfast a communal shower led to a watery quickie that had them both giggling like teenagers. Once dressed, they left the house with no particular destination in mind until the afternoon when the plan was to stop by the bookstore and then head over to Teddy and Lisa’s home.

  “How about a walk at the park,” Jake suggested when they were in his car. “It’s not as hot today and we should take advantage of it before the dog days of summer arrive.”

  “That sounds good,” she agreed. “I’ve spent way too much time this week sitting on my butt in front of the computer.”

  “And it’s a fine looking butt,” he replied with a quick glance at her. “But, we’re not going to talk about work today.”

  “Fine with me.” She’d spent the last week immersed in Colette’s story and she felt the need to get away from it all, to have a day filled with something other than the grim details of a crime that had happened years ago and yet lingered far too strongly in the here and now.

  The park was the perfect place to spend a late spring morning. The paths were lined with newly bloomed colorful flowers. They shared the space with families also taking advantage of the unusually beautiful spring day.

  Jake caught her hand in his as they walked at a leisurely pace. “This is nice,” he said.

  She nodded and smiled at him. “It is. I’m glad you thought of it.”

  “Ever think about calling your mother?” he asked.

  “I call her,” she replied as she fought the impulse to pull her hand from his.

  “Yeah, once a year on her birthday. Wouldn’t you like to renew some sort of real relationship with her?”

  This time she did yank her hand from his, stopped walking and looked at him curiously. “Why this sudden interest in my relationship with my mother? Are you consciously trying to ruin a nice walk in the park?”

  “Not at all,” he protested. “I guess I mentioned it because I talked to my mother yesterday. It got me thinking about what an empty space you must have inside you without yours.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You have two half-brothers that you’ve never even met. Aren’t you at least a little bit curious about them?”

  She continued walking as she thought about the mother who had abandoned her a year after Francine’s death. It used to hurt, to think about her in another state, with a new family to replace the one she’d left behind.

  She told herself it didn’t hurt anymore, that the pressure the subject created in her chest had nothing to do with pain. She was over it, had been over it a very long time ago.

  “Sometimes I’m curious,” she reluctantly admitted. “But, the curiosity doesn’t last very long. She’s happy now. Why would I want to insinuate myself in her life and ruin things for her?” Edie shook her head. “I’ll always be a reminder of the daughter she lost. I’d rather be nothing in her life than be that.” She shrugged. “Face it, Jake, some things just can’t be fixed.”

  An hour later they walked up the sidewalk toward the Barnes and Noble store in an upscale outdoor shopping mall just north of downtown Kansas City. Edie’s publicity photo was in the window with a sign announcing the author’s appearance next Saturday.

  Terri, the manager of the store spied them through the window and motioned them inside. “Edie, I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you here next weekend. We’ve already sent out flyers to all our regular customers and expect a nice crowd for you.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Edie replied. There was nothing worse than a book signing where nobody came. “I just wanted to stop by and make sure we were still on.”

  “Definitely, the books are already here and in the back room just waiting for next Saturday’s release date and the signing. We’re really looking forward to a terrific day.”

  “Thanks, Terri, then I’ll see you at two on Saturday.”

  When they left the store Jake paused in front of her picture. “That’s one hot woman,” he said as he threw an arm around her shoulder.

  “Let’s hope she can sell some books,” Edie replied.

  The subject of her books came up again later in the evening when she and Lisa were sitting on Lisa’s deck. The three girls were playing in the miniature house in the yard. Jake and Teddy were arguing about barbecue sauce over the grill.

  “I heard you’re working with Colette Merriweather,” Lisa said. “How’s that been?”

  “She’s Colette Burgess now and it’s been difficult…painful and absolutely fascinating.” Edie paused and took a drink of the strawberry margarita Lisa had made for her minutes earlier.

  Lisa leaned forward and tucked a strand of her strawberry blond hair behind her ear. “What’s she like?”

  Edie frowned thoughtfully. “She’s an intriguing blend of vulnerability and strength.”

  “I heard she was left horribly disfigured.”

  “He cut her face up and she has some terrible scars, but it’s funny after spending a few minutes with her you don’t notice them anymore. What you do notice is the brightness of her eyes, the warmth she exudes. I like her. I’m finding that maintaining my objectivity is tough.”

  A shrill cry came from the playhouse. Patience burst out, crying as she ran toward the deck. “Mommy, Sarah pulled my hair.”

  “Snap, don’t torment your sister,” Teddy yelled from the grill.

  Sarah, the eldest of the three girls appeared in the playhouse doorway. “I didn’t do anything. She’s just a baby, that’s the whole problem.”

  “I’m not a baby,” Patience said through her tears.

  “Come here,” Edie said to the weepy little girl. “Let Aunt Edie check you out.”

  Patience came willingly into Edie’s arms and snuggled up on her lap. “She’s a mean big sister,” Patience exclaimed indignantly.

  “Show me where she hurt you,” Edie said. Patience touched a strand of her hair. “You might not know this about me, Patience, but I have magic kisses.”

  Patience sat up straight and looked at Edie with widened eyes. “Magic kisses?”

  Edie nodded. “If I kiss your head, then it won’t hurt anymore.” Edie pressed her lips against the strawberry-scented blond curls. For a moment that crazy deep wistfulness that she’d felt on the day she’d learned of Colette’s pregnancy filled her.

  Patience looked at her in astonishment. “It worked!” She jumped off Edie’s lap and went racing back toward the playhouse. “Hey, Aunt Edie has magic kisses.”

  “Ah, the drama,” Lisa exclaimed. “Now tell me more about Colette.”

  Edie watched until Patience disappeared back into the little house and then turned back to Lisa. “She’s happily married and just found out she’s expecting her first child. The book is definitely going to be a testimonial of her strength and courage and her ability to find a happy-ever-after despite what she suffered.”

  Lisa shook her head and shivered. “I can’t imagine surviving what she did. Three years of being held captive? Of being tortured and mentally and sexually abused? I don’t think I’m that strong. I think I’d just curl up into a fetal ball and will myself to die.”

  Edie smiled. “Let’s hope neither one of us ever have to find out what we would do in a situation like that.” She took another sip of her drink and cast her gaze back to where the little girls had abandoned the playhouse. They were now jumping rope.

  Their laughter rode the breeze. As Edie thought of that moment of Patience snuggled so trustingly in her lap, that insane wistfulness filled her once again. She consciously shoved it away.

  “You know, you should have a couple kids of your own,” Lisa said softly as if she’d read Edie’s thoughts. “You’d make a great mother.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not sure my path in life includes children, unless you count Rufus.”

  At that moment Caitlin screamed that Patience had tripped her and Lisa grinned at Edie ruefully. “That’s too bad because there are definitely days I would gladly give up one or two of mine.”

  Edie smiled and looked
at Jake and then back at the girls. There was a piece deep inside her that longed for children, but there was a bigger, more vocal part of her that reminded her of what she’d said to Jake earlier in the day. Some things just couldn’t be fixed, and she was certain she was one of those things.

  Chapter 8

  Anthony stood in the bathroom stall, waiting for the two men at the urinal to finish their business and leave. Anthony never used the urinal, always opting instead for the privacy of a stall.

  It was Monday, midday and he’d been fighting a wave of anxiety since he’d opened his eyes that morning and remembered that yesterday he’d buried his latest project.

  He hadn’t intended to kill her. He hadn’t wanted to kill her yet, but as he’d walked into that room filled with paper from floor to ceiling for a brief moment the hoard had completely overwhelmed him.

  When his gaze had fallen on her she’d looked just like his mother, sitting in the middle of a hoard with a box of newly acquired items from a dumpster.

  The rage had descended like a red curtain in front of his eyes, blinding him. When the curtain lifted the girl was dead.

  What upset him the most was the realization that she hadn’t been the one after all. She hadn’t been the one to heal him, to fix him.

  “He’s gotta be gay,” one of the men at the urinal said. Anthony recognized the speaker as Bob Randolf, who worked in accounting and was something of a homophobe. “I’ve never heard him talk about any woman he’s ever dated.”

  “You’re right. I’ve never heard him mention a woman and at his age that should be all he’s talking about.” The second man was Sam Greer, also from accounting.

  Anthony’s heart began to rap an unsteady rhythm and his stomach clenched with a painful spasm. Were they talking about him? God, he didn’t want anyone gossiping about him, speculating on his personal life.

  The last thing he wanted was to be seen as different or strange, not that Anthony believed gay people were particularly strange. He just didn’t want anyone wondering about his private life.

  “You know he dyes his hair,” Sam said.

  Bob snorted a laugh. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. You really think that tiger-stripe could be natural?”

  Anthony sagged in relief as the two men finally left the bathroom. It was the new hire in development they’d been talking about, not him.

  He left the stall and washed his hands at the sink. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. It could have been you, a little voice whispered in the back of his head. They could have easily been talking about him.

  He was still worried about image and perceptions as he made his way back to his tiny cubicle. He sat at his desk and stared blankly at his computer monitor.

  What did people say about him behind his back? Did people wonder why he never talked about women he’d dated. The men in the office spent an inordinate amount of time boasting about their sexual encounters, but Anthony never added to the conversations.

  He’d had a brief sexual relationship when in college with a fellow student named Amanda. As far as he was concerned sex was vastly over-rated. He’d never felt the desire to connect on a more intimate level with anyone – except the mother who had wrapped her trash and treasures around herself and had ignored her son.

  Punishing the projects for his childhood, for the mother who had never loved him gave him both a sexual and a spiritual release that mere sex could never achieve.

  He’d found his passion in the growing collection in his back yard. As a computer programmer, part of his job was to be analytical. He didn’t need therapy to know that he was working on childhood issues by taking the women and punishing them for his mother’s sins. But he also knew that someplace out there was the woman who would transform him, the one who would make him normal.

  In the meantime he was a self-actualized man. He killed women who looked like the mother he hated. It made him feel good, because it released the enormous knot of rage that occasionally made breathing impossible. It gave him the same kind of euphoric release he assumed other men got from the act of sex.

  Even now just thinking about it had him hard and even though he’d buried his latest the day before, he felt the burn of need in the pit of his stomach. It gnawed at his guts, setting them on fire. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes in an effort to get control of himself.

  He had no idea when the right woman would walk into his path. It could be days or even weeks before he found the special one who could fill his soul, satisfy his needs. He had to stay in control until he had a new project.

  “Anthony?”

  His eyes snapped open and he sat upright, for a moment still caught in the grip of the monster of his desire. Susan Springer stood at his doorway, clutching a small pink paper plate holding a couple of cookies.

  “I brought in some homemade cookies this morning and put them in the break room, but I noticed I hadn’t seen you in there yet so I thought I’d bring you a couple.”

  “Thanks, Susan.” He took the plate from her as his mind whirled with possibilities. Susan stirred nothing in him, no passion, no anger, and no emotion what-so-ever. That made her perfect for what he needed.

  He picked up one of the cookies and took a bite. “Hmm, chocolate chip are my favorite. You’re a good cook.”

  Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Thanks and they aren’t just those slice and bake kind that you buy at the store. I made them from scratch.”

  He reared back in his seat and forced a smile at her. “You know, I’ve been thinking maybe it would be nice if you could have dinner with me this Friday night. I know a great Italian restaurant in the Zona Rosa shopping area.”

  Stunned surprise danced across her slightly plump features. “Just you and me?” The color in her cheeks deepened.

  He forced another smile and nodded. “I believe it’s called a date…unless you aren’t interested.”

  “Oh, I’m interested,” her voice was half-breathless. “I’d love to have dinner with you Friday, Anthony.” She said his name as if it were a prayer.

  “Great. Why don’t I pick you up at your place around seven?” There had been no doubt in his mind that she’d agree to the date. She’d been sniffing around him like a bitch in heat for months. He would have to be a dead man not to see her interest in him.

  “Seven would be fine…perfect. Do you have my address?”

  “I’ll figure it out between now and Friday,” he replied. He was done with her now and just wanted her to go away, to get out of his space. “Thanks for the cookies,” he said. “And now I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Of course,” she replied as she backed away. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared from the doorway. Instead of focusing on his work, he thought about the date night to come.

  He could do this. He could be a charming dinner date. He could be a good boyfriend to Susan as long as she understood that she’d never be invited to his home. She’d never really be a part of his life. She was his beard, a disguise that would make him appear normal to his co-workers.

  He picked up another cookie from the plate and chewed with relish. It was perfect. She was perfect and if she failed to live up to his expectations then he wasn’t completely averse to adding a blond to his collection of mommy look-alikes in his backyard.

  Susan stood in front of her closet, staring at the contents in dismay. There was nothing…absolutely nothing that was adequate…no, there was nothing that was absolutely perfect for her first date with Anthony.

  First date with Anthony. The words shot a tremulous thrill through her. She’d wanted this for so long, had dreamed about it since the moment she’d first met him. She’d pinched herself all day at work to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She hadn’t told a soul, not even Peggy. She’d just wanted to savor it by herself for the day.

  She still couldn’t believe he’d actually asked her out. Thank goodness she’d decided to be bold and take a couple of her
cookies to him.

  She flopped on her bed, her mind spinning with fantasies. A vision of his handsome face filled her head. She was finally going to be with him. Her dreams were going to come true. She could feel it in her gut, in her very soul.

  A first date would lead to a second, and then a third. Before she knew it they would be a couple, planning their future together, building a life of happily-ever-after.

  Reaching into her purse she pulled out her cell phone. She punched in Peggy’s cell phone number. “I want you to go shopping with me after work tomorrow. I need a new outfit for a very special occasion,” she told her friend.

  Edie had just zapped a microwave chicken dinner when her cell phone rang. Her stomach clenched as she saw the caller ID. “I need some cash,” the deep male voice said when she answered.

  “There’s nothing here to eat.”

  “Then I’ll bring you groceries,” Edie replied, her stomach still twisted in a painful knot.

  There was a long pause. “A twenty would do.”

  “I’ll bring you some groceries,” she repeated more firmly.

  Another long pause. “Okay. When.”

  Edie looked at her dinner and knew she wouldn’t be enjoying the chicken breast or the mashed potatoes and corn. Her appetite had completely left her the minute she’d seen the familiar number on the caller ID. “I’ll be there in about an hour or so.”

  Minutes later as Edie made her way down the aisles of the nearest Price Chopper grocery store, she thought of all the many paths that had led her to this place at this time.

  Greg Bernard, the pedophile who had killed Francine had set into motion a chain of events that nobody had been able to forecast at the time.

  For a year after her sister’s death, Edie had tried to be the best daughter, had tried to somehow fill the hole her sister had left behind. But, of course it had been an impossible void for anyone to fill.

  She’d desperately needed somebody to tell her they were glad she was still alive, that she was as important as the daughter that was gone, but that hadn’t happened.