by Evie Long
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
He sighed passionately, then nodded and looked out the window again. Well, at least he wasn’t pacing or reciting romantic speeches. Good ghost!
I sat down to do some work since I had my writing group the next day and I had nothing new to send. Dammit. I considered reworking the stuff I turned in last week, but I’d done that before and I think they were on to me – or so I gathered by the inordinate amount of sighs from Rachel during her critique of my story.
I decided to focus on my ghost script instead. Of course it was not actually a script at this point but was more like a ghost of a script - but I figured if I wrote a few pages I’d be okay. And surprisingly…the script flowed. It flowed really well, which I guess is one good thing about having a ghost with a mysterious past in your attic. The script just writes itself!
When I presented it to the group the next day, they liked what I was doing. In fact, for the first time the number of Rachel’s sighs was under ten. I felt so honored.
They did wonder where it was going and I basically told them my Twilight/Fifty Shades ghostly love/sacrifice idea which they thought had potential. Though they did say the story needed just a bit more in the ghost/history department. Like another flashback perhaps.
“Oh no. We’ve certainly had more than enough flashbacks for one lifetime,” I said. ”And even one un-lifetime. Hahaha.”
No one laughed. Rachel sighed twice.
“But why can’t I just end it when I find the ring and – I mean when our heroine finds the ring and returns it tragically to the grave?”
“Arden (sigh) it’s (sigh) just too (sigh) easy that she finds (sigh) the ring (sigh) and figures (sigh) (sigh) it out so quickly (sigh). I mean (sigh) where’s the (sigh) whole third (sigh sigh sigh) (sigh) act?”
Whew. I felt like I’d just swum three long laps. For some reason, I always found myself breathing in sympathetic rhythm with Rachel, and today I feared that if she went on much longer I’d end up in a full on asthma attack. So I quickly jumped back into the conversation.
“The third act? Yes. Okay, the third act. I’ll work on that. Maybe you’re right. Another flashback!”
“Why are you yelling?” Josh asked.
“Sorry,” I said, calming down. I told them quietly that another flashback was certainly something to consider.
Though in my heart I knew that it wasn't. At all.
Another flashback was a horrible and very dangerous-sounding idea.
CHAPTER 31
Strangely, I couldn't get the idea of another flashback out of my head. If there were another flashback, what would it be?
Obviously it would have to reveal something that the other flashbacks didn’t. But what? I couldn’t think of anything that would be remotely satisfying.
I studied Carlo who was still staring out the window tragically. Think, I told myself. Think.
Okay what if the heroine has the flashback and then realizes that she herself is the reincarnated ex girlfriend? No.
Okay what if the heroine has the flashback and then realizes that her DOG is the reincarnated ex girlfriend. Which is WHY it ate the ring.
No.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh. I put my head in my hands. I knew what to do when I got stuck like this. Eat.
I went into the kitchen and stared at the celery and carrots in the refrigerator. Then I opened the cabinet over the sink and pulled out the chips which I found to be much more inspirational. I crunched away, getting crumbs all over my keyboard and causing the ‘D’ to stick slightly, realizing that nothing was coming.
And my place was a mess. I totally needed to clean it up.
So I scrubbed the floors, cleaned the kitchen and finally finished the last of my unpacking. Then I made sure to pack away all of Joel’s police evidence files where Carlo wouldn’t see them. Finally I dragged two huge black bags of garbage out to the cans outside and while Trevor nosed around, peeing here and there, I stood in the small, fenced-in area near the back of my bungalow, sorting through my recycling.
Just then, Blondie came out with a small trash bag of her own.
My first response to a person who was so perfect was irrational hatred. But my second was to feel a kinship with her since I now knew that she too was being cheated on by her boyfriend. I felt an odd camaraderie with her. Odd enough that I said, “Hi, how are you?”
She tossed a small bag of garbage into the bin and didn’t say anything back – at least not to me. I didn't realize before, but she was talking on the phone.
“No,” she said to whoever was on the other end. “I’m at his place. Yeah. No, that was just his neighbor.”
Just his neighbor? Oh well, at least she admitted I existed. I took that as a positive first step in our friendship. And as I stood there separating my recycling from my trash I continued to listen in to her conversation.
“Yeah, okay,” she said. “We’ll be there tonight. Put our names on the list.”
They must be going to a club, I thought, continuing to eavesdrop. “I hope you’re going to pick up that up,” she said, sounding irritated. I wondered what she meant by ‘that’. And what she wanted picked up. Their tickets? No, tickets weren’t a ‘that’ they were more like a ‘they.’ Hmmn…
“Yoohoo, hello.”
I was so busy listening in that I didn’t realize she was actually talking to me. “Oh, hi. Hi.”
She barely nodded.
“Hi. I’m Arden,” I said smiling. When she didn’t introduce herself or smile back I quickly turned my smile upside down in an attempt to mimic her apathetic expression. Though of course I didn’t pull it off with quite the same modelish aplomb. I went back to sorting through my trash.
“So you’ll pick that up right? Your ‘Skinny Cow’ diet ice cream container?” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“Yes, of course. As soon as I’m done with this. I didn’t realize it fell out.”
“Fine,” she sighed, swinging her blonde hair as she headed back inside. And just before she turned the corner I thought I heard her mumble under her breath. Something that sounded suspiciously like: ‘fat cow.’
My mouth went dry. My heart pounded out of my chest. Did she really just say that? I couldn’t be sure – I have been known to imagine/mishear things in my paranoia. Maybe what she really said was ‘cat cowl’ or ‘that towel' or…who knows.
But she couldn’t have said something so cruel, could she? When I was standing right there?
I threw all my garbage into one can and hurriedly closed the lid, then rushed inside. I stormed past Carlo who was still staring out the window tragically and hurried into the bedroom.
I studied myself in the bedroom mirror. No, I wasn’t modelishly thin but I wasn’t a cow.
Well, that was it. I was going on a major diet right that second. I stormed into my kitchen and pulled out all my junk food. Then ate it.
What was the point anyway?
I’d never be a tall svelte beauty like Blondie. Or even Brunetty. And even with their amazing looks, my cute neighbor was STILL cheating on both of them.
Everyone cheated, everyone sucked. Even Carlo who went to the trouble of attempting to murder his love, seemed to fall in love with someone new at the drop of a thong.
But at least I had my Pepperidge Farm chocolate layer cake. After sedating myself with various other sugary and salty treats, I conked out, knowing that tomorrow was another day. And tomorrow night was another night. And the day after tomorrow was another day after tomorrow. And unfortunately, no matter what day it was I’d still always be me.
CHAPTER 32
I woke up the next morning to the sound of voices being raised inside my cute neighbor’s bungalow. He and Blondie were arguing – about another girl.
“You have her picture here!” she yelled. “If you aren’t screwing her then why did you draw her this way? I know she’s totally your type.”
“Dammit, stop it!” he yelled. “I never slept with her. I
never touched her. I drew her, that’s it.”
Huh, I thought. Liar. I knew who Blondie was yelling about – Brunetty. Who was, of course, totally his type. Since she was the exact same type as Blondie who was also, obviously, his type.
Well, I was certainly no fan of Blondie but I must say I was disgusted to hear him out-and-out lying that way. He was an even bigger liar than Hal – if that was even possible. Hah! Those sensitive eyes of his, they were lying eyes. And his sensitive chin? Lying chin! And those lips? Lying lips!
I decided I just didn’t want to hear any more. I slammed the window shut, more loudly than I’d meant to – and they must have heard me because they immediately lowered their voices.
After drinking my coffee, nodding to Carlo (who was back to staring out the window) and walking Trevor (no sign of the ring) I got right back to work on my story. Screw Blondie and my cute neighbor. I could let them get to me and stop me or I could finish my work and become a big ass Hollywood screenwriter.
Big ass is right, I told myself as I placed a plate of celery next to my computer and sat down to work. I tried to remember where I was in my script outline. Something about a flashback…
Oh yes, Rachel from my writing group had suggested that I needed another flashback. Something other than just returning the ring to the cemetery. I sat munching on a celery stick as I tried to envision the scene – I thought back to the flashbacks I’d shared with Carlo.
But they all happened so fast and I’d been so freaked out.
I glanced at him again to make sure he wasn’t paying attention, then I pulled out Joel’s evidence files again and started reading them over.
I looked over Audrey’s interview. I looked over the crime scene photos. I looked over the proposal note.
I felt like there was something that I wasn’t seeing. But what the hell could it be?
I glanced at Carlo in the window. Did I dare? It was crazy but…
I sighed loudly, trying to get his attention as I spread the crime scene photos all over the table.
Then I picked up the bloodied proposal note and started reading it aloud.
“My beautiful wild flower. I have loved you since the moment I first saw you and now that I have found you, I will never let you go. You and I will be together for all eternity. My dream is to sleep with you forever and never let you go.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him listening. He came towards me, slowly. He frowned, looking at all the stuff on the table.
I realized I’d left the letter opener on the table and decided that I didn’t actually need for him to have that. And as I reached for it, planning to put it somewhere safe – his hand covered mine, crushing it against the metal of the letter opener.
“Ouch!” I cried.
But he didn’t let go. I gasped.
The room swirled all me.
“Carlo,” I said. I was speaking in Audrey’s smart-assy, tough-dame voice.
Unable to stop myself I dangled the note between my sharply manicured fingers. “I found your note on set,” I continued.
“Do not make fun of my feelings,” Carlo said, looking up from the fan mail he had spread out on the table. A hint of vulnerability softened his intensely, masculine face.
“Carlo, I told you. You need to drop this – it won’t work out. ”
“Never!” he said coming closer and grabbing the note out of my hand.
“Carlo, please…” I begged.
“Never!” he said, stalking towards me. “Never! I will never ‘drop it’. Don’t you know? True love never dies. It goes on and on. Beyond death even! I will never let it go.” His eyes flashed. His hand held the sharp letter opener, grasping it tightly.
As he came towards me, eyes glowing, I reached into my bag and pulled out my gun. I looked Carlo in the eye and said, “Then…I’m sorry.”
I shot.
He fell back. Staggering. Dropping the letter opener.
Shocked by the gun’s recoil, I let go and it fell to the ground.
As I bent to pick it up, Carlo stood up and came towards me – the letter opener in his hand.
“You’ll never…,” he said weakly, staggering towards me. “You’ll never…get…”
I grabbed the gun and aimed it with shaky hands . Carlo slashed out at me – cutting my face.
I tried to pull the trigger but the gun was jammed.
“You’ll never…get…away…,” he said as he came back at me and slashed out again, slicing through my shoulder. I backed away from him and tripped on the rug. I fell to the floor.
Terrified and bleeding, I pulled myself up, holding onto the wall, leaning against it with my bloodied hands. Then, breathlessly, I aimed and shot again.
This time the bullet hit his chest. He fell.
“You’ll never get away…with this” he said as his eyes closed.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 33
I’m not sure how long I was out, but I awoke with a gasp and looked around -- everything was as it should be. There was no blood, no dead bodies, no bullet holes.
Carlo was still there – but now he was sitting on the floor, staring down at the spot where his dead body had been lying only moments before. He was holding his head in his hands, his face covered, saying, “No, no, no.”
I hurried over to my computer in order to write the whole flashback scene before I forgot anything. I wondered whether now that we’d relived the whole thing, if Carlo might be able to let go and move on.
But I didn’t get my hopes up.
As I typed the scene in, I was again plagued by the feeling that there was something that I wasn’t seeing. Something that might give my script just the ending it needed.
And as I thought about it more and more, I started to get that zingy feeling---that zingy feeling that meant that a script might actually work. I didn’t know what it was but it felt like there was something just beyond my reach – something that would tie everything together.
I got up and started pacing. I thought about the flashback.
And it hit me – Carlo didn’t actually say, “You’ll never get away,” as his neighbor had told the police. Instead what he’d really said was, ”You’ll never get away with this.”
Did that make a difference? I wasn’t sure. I kept pacing, trying to figure it out – feeling that maybe I was on the verge of getting it, when Trevor came up to me with that expression on his face. That, ‘I have to poop now. Now! Now that I see you’re in the middle of something important’ expression. I would normally just let him go outside on his own but I wasn’t about to risk missing the ring’s ‘passing.’
“Fine,” I said, irritated. I grabbed his leash and totally lost my train of thought.
CHAPTER 34
I walked Trevor through the alley and down the side streets, talking to myself, trying to get back to where I was. Thinking about the fact that Carlo said, “You’ll never get away with this.” What on earth did that mean?
“What did that mean, Trevor?” I asked as he squatted down in the grass. He didn’t have the answer. But he did leave me a big pile of poop to squish through. I scooped it into a plastic bag and started mushing the poop around. And, of course, at just that moment, my cute neighbor got out of his SUV and started walking towards me. He looked at the bag of poop and then back at me, frowning.
“Uh…I’m…he ate something,” I blurted out, wondering why I still felt the need to explain myself to this cheating, lying cheater.
“Obviously,” he said, staring at the mushed poopy bag in my hand.
“I mean…I need to get it back. What he ate.”
“Ah,” he said, with a smile. He started to walk away, then turned back. “By the way, sorry about this morning. I know we were pretty loud.”
“It’s fine,” I said. I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to hide my anger. “I mean if you want to cheat on your girlfriend, I don’t care.”
“ Lexi? I’m not…,” he said looking pissed off. “I
mean…she’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh? Well I guess the brunette will be happy to hear that.”
“Elle?”
I shrugged.
“Yeah, she’s not my girlfriend either.”
“Really? Was there a redhead that I never saw?”
He smiled. “Yeah, and she’s not my girlfriend either. None of them are. My girlfriend and I broke up 6 months ago when I caught her cheating on me. These girls are just – there.”
“Oh right. And I’m sure you’ve told them that," I said in my snarkiest tone.
“Yeah. I did. I told them both I wasn’t ready for anything serious. Or exclusive.”
Well how was I supposed to know that? And how dare he just steal my self-righteous thunder with all that...sincerity.
But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. “Well then,” I said smugly. “Why was blondie…er…Lexi, so upset that you drew a picture of Brunetty?”
He looked at me for a moment. “Elle. ‘Brunetty’s’ name is Elle. And it wasn’t her picture that Blondie found.” He shook his head. “Seriously, you shouldn’t just make assumptions about people," he said. Then he walked off.
Wow. Was he right? Was I judging him the same way I felt like everyone was always judging me? How awful. I felt really terrible. Unless he was lying. Was he? I didn’t know. How could I know? I’d hear bits and pieces of things and put two and two together and come up with four. Or maybe I was coming up with sixteen and assuming it was four. Who knew? How could I know? How could anyone ever know?
I went into my bungalow and sat down at my computer, thinking about it. About how we’re all always judging and assuming and how we could be wrong like ninety percent of the time and not even know it.
It was almost like that neighbor of Carlo’s who heard him saying, “You’ll never get away,” when he really said, “You’ll never get away with this.”
Who knew for sure which was right? Or whether it even made a difference anyway.
After all, Carlo definitely tried to kill Audrey and she killed him inst…
Then it hit me. I was viewing the flashbacks through a lens skewed by Audrey’s story. Just as the police did. Just as the neighbor did. But what if…what if we were all making wrong assumptions? And what the hell was that smell?