Janice sat in her modest eastside apartment, anxiously holding a phone in her hand. She was worried. Very worried. The phone felt like lead in her hand, awkward and heavy. She slowly brought it up to her ear, hesitated, and then hurriedly hung it up—for now a third time.
It had been six unbelievable days since Jack’s disappearance. Six days without a sighting, a message, or even a body.
An investigation had been launched just less than twenty-four hours after he’d been reported missing. Detectives had combed his house for clues, but found little. There were no signs of forced entry, or of a struggle. His cars were still in their garages. A check of the airlines showed that he’d not hastily departed on some emergency flight. It was as if the man had simply vanished into thin air.
Foul play had been assumed early on, although Jack had few real enemies. But as one investigator pointed out, a man of Jack Parke’s stature and wealth didn’t need many enemies in order to be victimized.
Kidnapping was the early assumption. But when three days had passed without a ransom note or call from his captors, the theory was abandoned.
Everyone who’d had contact with Jack in the weeks leading up to his disappearance was brought in for questioning. That included Mark Pirelli, six employees from Magnolia’s restaurant, two of Jack’s pilots, a stewardess, and no less than twenty-seven other employees from Parke Studios. Janice and Gabrielle were also contacted. They happened to be scheduled for questioning near the same time and, during their forty-five minute wait in the holding room, struck up a very pleasant friendship. They exchanged numbers and promised to call one another at a future date.
Based on information given by Janice, Portia was brought in, although more as a matter of formality than anything else. They did find her late visit to Jack’s house on the night of his birthday, and her appearance there the morning he went missing, mildly curious, but nothing was ever made of the matter. A world renowned ex-supermodel was a poor excuse for a prime suspect.
Little more was gleaned from anyone else that could help determine Jack’s assailant. The investigators were, however, intrigued to discover that Jack had been suffering hallucinations. Janice, Gabrielle, and Donald Brayer, the waiter at Magnolia’s, had all testified of Jack’s vivid and sometimes violent hallucinatory episodes. They recounted his dreams of Rose, the vision of the magnolia tree, and, most intriguing of all, the hallucination involving Thomas McCain.
Based on their testimony, it was now thought that Jack was suffering from mental illness. Jacquie Parker and Dale Mobley, two noted police psychiatrist, surmised that under the influence of one or more of these hallucinations, Jack might have wandered off his property and gotten lost deep in the four square miles of forest behind his estate.
But that was before the discovery of the fingerprints.
They were found behind Jack’s wet bar, on a package of Russian-imported Belomorkanal cigarettes. There was one thumbprint, and two partials of an index and middle finger. The most surprising part, however, was not that they were found, but to whom they belonged. According to the New York City criminal database, they were none other than those of Thomas L. McCain.
The discovery sparked not only a city-wide manhunt, but a national media storm. It was believed that Thomas McCain, whose barbaric murder of Holly Grace had drawn comparisons to the hacked corpses of the Lizzie Borden case, had come out of hiding to murder Jack Parke, for what reason no one rightly knew. Speculation ran the gamut from Thomas being a crazed serial killer who merely happened to run into Jack, to the wilder conjecture that Jack had been hiding Thomas from the police in his house for the better part of a year, until, quite obviously, something had gone wrong between them.
Janice, however, never once believed any of this.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think it possible that Thomas McCain had indeed murdered Jack—the fingerprint evidence was difficult to ignore—but she could not shake the feeling that something far more mysterious than the random act of a psychopath lay behind his disappearance. She had a gnawing sensation—strong enough to keep her up at night—that Portia might somehow be involved, not only because of the ravaged skull she’d glimpsed in the woman’s face, but because of something else as well.
It had happened just before Portia’s arrival that unfortunate morning. While cleaning Jack’s room, she had noticed something very peculiar about the painting Portia had given Jack. In it was the faint impression of a third man. He was standing just behind the bed, peering out with that same lifeless gaze as the other men. But that couldn’t be, she had thought, because she distinctly recalled there only being two men in the painting. Most peculiar of all, however, was whom this new habitué seemed to favor: Jack Parke himself.
But she couldn’t know that with any certainty. The ringing of the doorbell had drawn her away before she could take a closer look. And even if it was him, she could not be sure what it meant.
However, at this point, it really didn’t matter. She’d already seen enough to know that something very strange was going on, actually had been since the night Portia gave Jack the painting. Jack had glimpsed a woman in a red dress named Rose, and had possibly glimpsed a tree at Magnolia’s restaurant (if the newspaper reports of the vision he’d seen there were to be believed). Add to that the appearance of a third man in the painting, and her own very disturbing glimpse of a skull in Portia’s face, and there could be little doubt that a supernatural explanation, not a natural one, better accounted for Jack’s disappearance.
It was that line of reasoning that had brought Janice to her living room on this late August evening, worriedly taking the phone in hand, then hanging it up again. She felt it imperative that she start her own investigation, beginning with the one person who knew more about Jack’s experiences that last few days than anyone else: Gabrielle.
But taking that step, making that first call, was proving to be extremely difficult. She was vacillating, and she knew precisely why. Because it was already clear where the investigation would lead, to whom it would ultimately take her: to Portia, to the one person she now feared more than anyone on the planet.
Janice stared at the phone, which she had taken in her hand once more. What if she was right? What if Thomas McCain really didn’t kill Jack? What if his disappearance was supernatural in nature? Shouldn’t she do everything in her power to find the truth? Of course she should, but doing so could bring some very unwelcomed consequences. She might find herself face to face with forces she was ill-prepared to handle, forces that could even threaten her own safety, and that might be far more terrifying than the mere appearance of a skull in a woman’s face.
Janice took a deep breath, anxiously squeezing the phone in her hand. After another moment’s contemplation, she once more moved to hang it up. But thinking of Jack Parke, and that if he was alive, she might be his only hope, she slowly brought it to her ear, closed her eyes, and dialed Gabrielle’s number.
CHAPTER 27 – LOST
Jack was lost. And without him, so was she.
Gabrielle sat quietly in a house that was not as large or lavish as one might have expected. It was owned by a woman of enormous wealth, and yet it was the smallest on a sizeable parcel of luxury homes. Its rooms were stylish, but not overly extravagant, awash in a décor of varying whites and crèmes, accented here and there with plum-colored pedestal vases and a number of large and exotic plants. The woman had exquisite tastes.
Gabrielle had settled onto a plush vanilla loveseat. Directly across from her was a lengthy oriental couch, a delicate beige in color with ebony trim. Directly to her left was a rarely used fireplace. A marble mantle lined with pictures stretched above it.
She gazed beyond it all as if it were all glass, her mind, as had often been the case in the past two weeks, drowning in a sea of contemplations about Jack’s whereabouts.
Of course, there had been promptings it was going to happen. In the days leading up to his disappearance, that dark premonition had spoken in her ear, accosting her without mercy. An
d yet when it did happen, and Jack was confirmed missing, it felt like a massive hole had been blown in her life. Since then, she’d wept almost daily, dead to every emotion short of grief.
She’d expected the premonition, having delivered on its promise, to simply vanish, to fade away, much in the same way Jack had. But what she could not understand was why it still remained, why the stink of its presence still stained the air, still spoke with those stool-colored lips, warning her it wasn’t over.
The weight of that truth seemed too much for her to bear at this point. She was being scourged from both sides, first by the loss of Jack, and now by the certainty that some new terror loomed, and was waiting for her out there in the darkness of the future.
That was what had brought her to this house so frequently the past few weeks. Only here did the voice of the premonition fade to almost nothingness. Only here did she feel protected.
Still sitting there, she now thought about all the mistakes that had carried her to this unfortunate moment. She truly wished she could go back in time, before that fateful morning when Jack had arrived at her house, before she’d fallen in love with him from afar, before she’d allowed her heart to betray her beloved friend. She would have done so many things differently.
But she could not go back. The past was as cold and hard as stone. One could not change it any more than one could raise the dead. But there was something that could be changed: the future.
She had two choices really. Just two. She could move forward, pretending her faithless deed never happened, burying it under the rug of her mind, where it would crawl out and haunt her for the rest of her life, or she could confess her sin, cleanse her conscience, doing the hard thing, yes, but the right thing still the same.
For Gabrielle, the choice could not have been any easier. The time had come. No more running. No more cowering in fear of the consequences. Confession didn’t need to be made. It had to be made.
Today was the day; she knew it the moment she’d awoke, the moment the beauty of the morning filled her bedroom. No more secrets. Everything had to be brought out into the open. Everything, even that fact that she was now—
“Hey,” a woman’s soft voice said. “You okay?”
Gabrielle glanced up and peered at the oriental couch. Her heart began to pound. For sitting there, adorned in a pretty white dress, was Portia. She was staring back, with sterile blue eyes.
CHAPTER 28 – CONFESSIONS
Portia drew her legs up on the couch, taking a moment to look down and smooth the hem of her dress, which had pulled away from her thigh. She then peered back at Gabrielle, adding a smile.
This was not Portia’s first encounter with Gabrielle. Since Jack’s disappearance, now two weeks ago, the woman had visited her house on no less than nine separate occasions. Portia had thought that odd. Of course, she had been curious to know how Gabrielle would react to the news of her lover turning up missing, but she never expected her to start showing up here so often. But if criminals always returned to the scene of the crime, she guessed it wasn’t so unusual for the betrayer to draw close to the one they’ve betrayed.
What brought her here was the real mystery. Was it confusion? Outright stupidity? Bold-face arrogance? Portia supposed it didn’t matter. Gabrielle’s presence was welcomed just the same. It was going to make things so much easier.
Seeing Gabrielle that first time, however, had been a far severer exercise in restraint than Portia had expected. She had phoned Gabrielle the very moment the story of Jack’s disappearance broke in the news, pretending to be distraught and asking the girl to come over right away. Less than an hour later, she arrived. When Portia had opened the front door and gazed at her, time seemed to stand still. Gabrielle was standing there, the same familiar form she had seen a thousand times before, and yet it felt like she was gazing into the face of a perfect stranger. Somewhere in there, Portia knew, beneath that wavy brown hair, beyond the warm glow of that sable skin, was the mind of a snake. And Portia would gladly gouge it out with her stiletto if she could.
She did show restraint, however. Pretending great sorrow, she merely extended her arms and gave her so-called “good friend” a big hug. She had to keep in mind that this was not Gabrielle’s time. Patience and restraint was best for now. Besides, it was too soon after Jack’s disappearance anyway.
Portia had expected the woman to show some grief over her lover’s absence, but nothing prepared her for what she saw in the days following. Oh, Gabrielle tried to hide it as best she could, but despite the woman’s acting prowess, she was perfectly miserable at keeping her heart off her sleeve. Anyone could see how depressed she was. She was much more quiet than usual, and she often sat in a haze, her mind having wandered off somewhere. She didn’t realize it, but grief often consumed her face to the point that it actually sapped some of the woman’s natural beauty. It was incredible. Lovely. One of the most beautiful things Portia had every witnessed. Because finally the treacherous bitch was getting a taste of what she deserved.
She did her best to make Gabrielle feel like things were as good as ever between them. She found pretending to know nothing of the affair frighteningly easy. She never slipped up once, and Gabrielle never suspected a thing—which would make the moment when she revealed that she did know, that she had always known, absolutely priceless.
Portia did wonder, however, just what had happened between Jack and Gabrielle to make her react so strongly. But that musing was easily overshadowed by the sheer pleasure of watching the little rat suffer, realizing that as the days passed, Gabrielle was growing worse, not better.
Of late, Portia had decided to have some fun with those apparently deep-seated emotions. She’d made a point of it to bring up Jack’s name at every possible opportunity, frequently reminiscing about the good times the three of them once had. It was unbelievable fun watching all the color drain from Gabrielle’s face each time she did so. On one occasion, she’d almost brought Gabrielle to tears by asking what the circumstances were the last time she’d seen Jack. Gabrielle had related some obvious lie about it being the night of his birthday party, and that made Portia have to bite her lip to keep from laughing in the woman’s face.
But as much as Portia had enjoyed these past few weeks, she now growing anxious for vengeance. Gabrielle’s time was approaching. She’d take Tuesday and Wednesday getting the house ready, and then next Thursday, finally do what she’d been aching to do for so long.
She gazed across to Gabrielle, and felt a thrill in the pit of her belly.
“Would you like a drink?” Portia asked.
Gabrielle shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“You sure? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.”
Portia grinned thinly. “Alright then. You said you needed to talk to me about something?”
“Yes,” Gabrielle replied.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
Gabrielle drew a deep sigh, and nervously folded her hands onto her lap. “Portia, what I’m about to tell you is… very serious.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not sure how you will take it… but, um…” She trailed off.
Portia waited, intrigued. Just what had the backstabbing little bitch come here to say? “What is it, Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle offered a pained grin.
Portia assured her, “Gabrielle, whatever it is, it’s going to be alright? Okay? Don’t be afraid.”
Gabrielle’s eyes fell to her lap. She then looked up again, sighing once more. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…” Another sigh. “This is really hard.”
Portia leaned forward, pretending sudden and great concern. She just couldn’t help herself. “They found him, didn’t they?”
“What?” Gabrielle said confusedly.
“Jack. They found his body. That’s what you’re here to tell me, isn’t it?”
"No,” Gabrielle said, a bit thrown by the comment. “No, that’s not it at all."
“You’r
e sure?”
“Yes.”
Portia leaned back, feigning relief. "Oh, thank God."
Gabrielle grimaced. “But what I have to tell you does involve him.”
Portia turned her head. “How?"
Gabrielle shifted in the loveseat. “Listen… there’s no easy way to say this, so I guess I’m just going to have to say it."
Portia looked on coolly.
"Jack and I… we had an affair."
Portia stiffened. “What did you say?”
Shame had reduced Gabrielle’s voice to almost a whisper, but she would not allow herself to look away. “We had an affair, Portia. I’m sorry.”
Portia frowned very hard, staring off in wonderment. She was surprised, stunned actually. Of all the things Gabrielle could have come to tell her, a confession was the one thing she did not expect. How different of her, she thought. None of the others had had the decency to do such a thing.
She brought her gaze back to Gabrielle, and spoke as calmly as possible. “When did it begin?"
"Almost three months ago now."
"Three months ago?" Portia glanced off briefly, searching. "While Jack and I were still together?"
Gabrielle nodded. "It began the same day he broke up with you."
Portia stared at her for some time, emotionlessly, then asked: “How?"
“How?” Gabrielle echoed.
“Yes. How did it begin?”
Gabrielle answered, though reluctantly. “Jack… came to my house very early in the morning. He was drunk. He’d just left your place. He passed out on my couch and when he woke up, I brought him some coffee. Then he pulled me toward him and…” She trailed off again.
“And what?”
Gabrielle grimaced. “And we… kissed.”
Portia gazed at her in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then, much to Gabrielle’s alarm, Portia slowly rose to her feet. She strolled toward Gabrielle, showing no emotion, the sway of the white dress making her seem almost surreal. Then she stopped, standing over Gabrielle, who was looking up at her, petrified.
The Glimpsing Page 22