"I have to remember what happened the night of the shooting. I know I can’t go by myself. You can testify to that, since you were watching what I did the first time I tried to go, but with someone I trust I think I can manage. And, lucky you, I trust you."
"It isn’t easy for you to ask for help, I’ve noticed." He smiled and hugged her.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Could I have another of those hugs--just for the road?"
His arm slid up to her shoulders and with a final squeeze, he led her over to the side of the car. "Jen, I would have helped you get a new set of identification papers if you’d asked. Legal ones. You had good reason for getting them. We have a witness protection plan."
She glanced around her. Satisfied no one was near, she reached up and wiped a speck of doughnut glaze from the corner of his mouth. "I never told you, Mitch, but I was adopted and I was going to use my original name. It wouldn’t have been fraudulent, at least not as much." Her fingers pressed tenderly against his mouth then fell to her side. "I’ve never been able to trust anyone to come to my aid as far back as I can remember. I stopped asking a long time ago. But you got the leeches off when I asked, and stupid as it may seem, it was the first time that I can remember placing myself in someone else’s hands." She smiled. "Literally and physically."
Their lips met in a rush of emotions. His heart burst with pride knowing she accepted him for himself, not for his badge. Inside he melted. He was not a tough guy when it came to her. "When do you want to go? Tomorrow morning?"
"Now."
"Jeez, Jen. Don’t you think you’ve suffered enough for one day?"
"If I don’t go now, I may not have the courage to go again. With Spooky’s accident, I realized how short and insecure life is. We don’t know about tomorrows. I can’t live in a fog any longer."
~ * ~
Jen’s breathing became labored the moment Mitch parked her car out in front of the shelter. She sucked in a few quick breaths, hoping to quell the pounding in her chest. Mitch stayed silent, no doubt giving her free rein to proceed as her courage dictated. She knew she was running low on it but, with him here, at least she had some. Her hand slid into his for that extra boost she needed. She gulped and opened the car door.
Mitch quickly joined her as she stepped onto the sidewalk. "Are you ready for this?"
"As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go."
Their stroll to the home holding hands was determined, yet gradual. Jen crossed the pillared veranda and, without ringing the bell, reached for the doorknob. The door was locked. She rang the door chimes. The colored glass, lining each side of the entrance, still held the beauty she’d always admired. She grimaced upon thinking, I haven’t associated anything beautiful with this place since I left. She heard the padding of footsteps inside and gripped Mitch’s hand tighter.
The door opened and a wide grin immediately adorned the face of the plump woman in front of her. "Jennifer, how wonderful to see you."
"The door was locked, Mary. Is this something new for the daytime?"
"Yeah, ‘fraid it is. Ever since you--"
"Ever since I shot that guy?"
"Ever since that hooligan broke in here." Mary looked up at Mitch, taking in his big build, shaggy hair, and bushy whiskers. She scowled.
"Mary, this is Mitch Waverley, a friend of mine. We’ve come to reconstruct the scene of the shooting--to try to put an end to the wondering."
"Then don’t stand out here wasting time. To be truthful, Jen, we’ve all been wondering--not to criticize you, but any of us could be in the same boat sometime, and not one of us is sure we would have the foresight to go for the damn buzzer if a gun were handy. But I guess that’s the question isn’t it? Why you had a gun? Nobody knew about it. The rest of us don’t have one, but now we’re also wondering if we should have that resource. You have our support in what you did, yet we don’t want to kill anyone and that’s the downside if guns were issued."
Jen sighed, then noticed the frown on Mitch’s face. Was he feeling the prongs of Mary’s question, acknowledging that others didn’t trust her now? She had to prod her memory to find out if she at least could trust herself.
The small foyer, filled with sunrays as it was, should have brightened her mood, but reflection told her how dreary the same area could be on the night shift. Especially when frantic women assembled there with their children--afraid of what lay ahead, more terrified of what lay behind.
"I expect you two would like to carry this out on your own," Mary said. I’ll tend to the children upstairs in the playroom. Call if you need me."
"Thanks, Mary." Jen turned to Mitch and saw his attention had gone to the room off the entrance. The room that held her desk, in plain view.
"Okay, Jen, where were you when the jerk broke in, and was the door locked then, too?"
"That’s my office you’re looking at... and I was sitting behind my desk. Yes, the door was locked, as it always is at night."
"Let’s go in."
"Just a minute."
"You worried?"
"Not yet, but something is different. I want to see what it is." She studied the foyer, then spun on her heel and focused on the entrance. "They’ve replaced the door. The pane of glass in this one is clear. The other one had etched designs on the window."
"Could you see who was out there before anyone entered?"
"No. Because of the nature of the design and the outside light, anyone that came to the door appeared as an opaque form."
"That, in itself, must have been scary at night."
"I was used to it. The veranda light was always on." She stopped. "It wasn’t on that night. The bulb burned out while I was looking in that direction, and I remember thinking I must replace it. Then the phone rang. I had just hung up when that man came to the door." She walked slowly to the door and traced her fingers down the frame. Her hand shook.
"What is it, Jen? What do you remember? Think!"
Her face twisted in pain. "I don’t want to. Let’s get out of here."
"No! Take your time. Don’t panic. What happened to the door that they would replace it? If the lock was broken they could have put in another. Why get a new door?"
"Ohh! The glass... he broke the glass to get in. But that didn’t work. There was a bolt across the bottom of the door and he couldn’t reach it. He smashed his way in, kicking and hitting his shoulder against the wood until the door gave way."
"How long did that take?"
"Long enough for me to get my gun out of my purse." A flash of memory blitzed her mind. "The purse was in the bottom drawer of my desk and the drawer stuck. I had to yank at it several times."
"And all this time the guy was trying to barge in? How did you feel at that moment? Concentrate, Jen. A crazed man is pounding at the door. He’d be yelling obscenities. It must have been terrifying."
"It was at first."
"At first?"
In a sudden motion, unexpected even to herself, Jen rushed into her office and stared at her desk. Mitch strode in behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Sit at your desk and tell me what you saw that night."
"I don’t think I want to remember."
"Take your time."
Her fingertips slowly smoothed over the desk’s mahogany surface as she made her way to the chair tucked neatly behind it. A bouquet of wildflowers wafted a heavy scent into the air. What was that familiar, overpowering smell? "Look, Mitch. In the bouquet is a stalk of goldenrod. The kids think it’s a pretty yellow so they sometimes include a few in the flowers they bring to cheer us up. Can you imagine, they try to cheer up the staff when their own lives are in shambles?" He nodded. She noticed he turned away quickly. This was getting to both of them. It had to come to an end. She shook her head, then moved to her chair and sat down.
She worked up the courage to look at the front door. "It was scary. With the light out, the street lamp behind him cast his physique as a huge dark shadow at the door’s window. That’s when I went for
my gun. The buzzer was never a consideration. Help was at hand and with one touch the police would have been here in minutes." She took a breath. "Mitch? Why didn’t I consider it?"
His raspy voice was almost a whisper. "Only you know the answer."
"No! I don’t! I wouldn’t be here if I did, dammit!" She levered herself from the chair and hurried to the window.
"Calm down. This won’t get us anywhere. What happened next?"
She turned around to face him. Mitch sat on the edge of her desk peering so intensely she felt like hitting him with the phonebook lying under the phone. She restrained herself, but it took a lot of willpower. She wondered why she had always let her temper rule. She could not let it rule now, not with someone trying so hard to help her. "Mitch, I’m sorry. What did you say?"
"I asked what happened next."
Jen braced her shoulders and sidled back a few steps as she looked at the front entrance. Suddenly chilled, she crossed her arms, her fingers rubbing above her elbows to stimulate her circulation. "He broke in and came toward me screeching and waving his arms like a maniac. By then I had the gun pointed at him, but he laughed, called me a whore and wouldn’t stop. The gun went off."
"He was in front of you and you missed his heart?"
"I didn’t aim for his heart. I didn’t aim at all, I just fired."
"Then that says something."
"That I’m a killer?"
"It tells me you were in a panic. As anyone might have been."
"But it doesn’t tell us why I didn’t call for help, Mitch."
"You’re right, it doesn’t, but it seems to me that maybe if you panicked you forgot."
"How could I forget all that training? And if I didn’t, it’s pathetic and makes me a bad person."
"Don’t talk silly. We’ll get to the bottom of this."
She moved back to her desk, knelt down on the floor and looked up at the buzzer. An alarm went off--in her subconscious.
"What’s the problem?" Mitch kneeled beside her and examined the attachment. "It’s just your average buzzer like you see beside a lot of doors."
"I want to leave now. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’ll take you back to my place and you can pick up your bike."
Mitch scratched his head, looking like he’d rather pursue the matter, but he didn’t protest.
"If that’s what you want."
"I’ll let Mary know we’re leaving." Jen rose and hollered up the stairs. "Mary, we’re going."
Mary came to the head of the staircase. "Oh, Jennifer, can you give me some idea of when you’ll be back to work? We’re very short staffed and Julie is off sick."
"I’ll let you know tomorrow. I really can’t think straight now."
"I sure hope you can come back soon."
Jen nodded and turned away. She had no idea if she wanted ever to return. As it stood now, her answer would be never. Mitch tugged at her hand and held it all the way to the car. On the drive to her apartment he switched on the music channel to give them both a break. He parked out front, leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. "You’re okay?"
"Yes, don’t worry."
He made no effort to get out and she knew he was waiting for an invitation to go inside.
She placed her hand on his. "Thanks. I mean it." When she didn’t offer more, he opened the car door and saluted, then shut it forcefully and walked across the street to his motorcycle without looking back.
Mitch’s concern and help had carved a lasting impression on her. He’d been gentle, yet strong enough to make her carry through with a brief return to the night of horror. Her last sight of him was in the rearview mirror as he drove away. A lump stuck in her throat. Now that his mission was over, it was fitting he should be on the contraption that had riled her so. Because he’d been there for her when she needed him today, she had to forget their romantic liaison was only part of his pretense, or she’d resent him the rest of her life. Could she overlook his deception as Nightspook, though? It was probably part of his surveillance technique. Still, didn’t one turn deserve another? Or to be more specific, didn’t she have the right to reciprocate? Just to even things. When she entered the apartment building her concentration on forming a plan overlooked the sound of a passing motorcycle.
~ * ~
Mitch rode down the street and turned around. He drove past her building. He wanted to go in but lacked the nerve to push himself on her. He was more bushed than he thought. It had been one hell of a day, but there was something else he had to do and would have done it sooner had he been sure. He pulled over, yanked out his notepad from his inside jacket pocket, and flipped the pages to a listing of phone numbers. When he came to the number for Dr. Freda Masters, he took out his cell phone and dialed.
His call completed, he glanced up at the front of her building, shook his head, then made the long drive back to the lake. Once home, he showered, donned a robe and grabbed a glass of milk and a box of Ritz crackers. Maybe one brief play at a computer game would unwind his frayed nerves. Free cell usually held his attention, so he started a game, but couldn’t focus.
His mind kept going back to his favorite redhead’s face, homing in on those liquid green depths that had a way of transferring her emotions straight to his hormones. Restless and getting more irked at himself by the minute, he entered a chat room, then another. Finally he stopped in the room where he’d first talked with Jen. To his surprise, Pixie inhabited the occupant column. He’d thought she’d be whacked like him, but have sense enough to lie down, or have dinner, or both. He didn’t feel like a big meal. He just wanted a heavy carbohydrate fix. Maybe she was the same way. Was she eating something, too?
Mitch yawned and keyed in:
Hi there.
Pixie’s response was immediate.
Hello.
How have you been?
Great, thanks, she replied.
Mitch kicked back and raised his hands behind his head. He grinned with delight. He was amazed at how energized he felt. And happy to have this cyber contact with her. If he concentrated, he could play on their imaginations and not be curtailed by images of her sadness.
Have you had an exciting day?
Oops, that was going too far--might make her think he knew something. It was going to be rough confessing he was Nightspook, there really wasn’t any need for her to know, and she might be disgusted with his deceptive approach. Maybe he could simply steal away, and she’d forget about Nightspook. Still, he loved this shower of fantasy. Also, it was a way to stay in touch, too. A way of reaching her heart without being dragged down by misconception and appearances. Pixie responded:
Life is very dull at times.
He bolted upright. What was she trying to prove?
How was your day?
She hadn’t waited for him to comment. Good thing, too. He knew damn well her day had been anything but boring. Mitch put a restraint on his urge to fill the dialogue box with expletives. Oh well, why not reveal a bit of himself for a change? He hated dishonesty.
My day was hectic, and there’s a long night ahead.
Aren’t there other spooks there to entertain you? Pixie asked.
I suppose there could be now that I’m free.
Free?
Loose and fancy free... as in no tie-ups.
Same here. I’m thinking of calling a male friend. I haven’t had anything to eat yet, and I’d like to go out to a seafood place on the wharf for dinner.
Damn, but he’d like to talk to her on the phone right now. She couldn’t reach him while his computer was hooked to his phone line. He could hardly wait to hear her voice ask if they could keep company tonight. The invigoration he felt now would allow him to stand another trip into the city. And he’d be more than willing to take her to dinner. He could broach his plan to help her after he’d gotten her into a receptive frame of mind.
I’d better let you make your call. It was nice talking with you.
Great hearing from you. Bye.
Mitch disc
onnected and waited, rubbing his hands against his jeans. "Okay, Jen, call. Hell, I’m even perspiring." He watched the phone. A throb appeared in his forehead and got fiercer the longer he waited. "Ring, damn you, ring!"
No ring.
"Shit!" he said to himself sweeping his hand through his hair. "She must have meant some other slob. Some nerve!" He waited a few more minutes then connected again and checked the chat room. No Pixie.
Mitch disconnected and pushed away from his computer. He stormed to the veranda. A slight mist rising from the water’s surface clouded his view and emphasized his disappointment. He glanced toward her cabin. The emptiness of knowing she wasn’t there added to his solitude. He moved back inside. "This is dumb. I’m acting like a lovelorn teen. No sense in it at all." The only seafood restaurant he knew on the waterfront was Salty’s. She must be going there for her dinner. He could do something about it being peaceful.
~ * ~
Jen smiled as she shut down her computer. That should give Mitch something to think about tonight. She dilly-dallied around her apartment wondering whether she should unpack. Every muscle in her body ached and begged for rest. So did her mind. She lay down intending only a quick nap but it was forty minutes later that she awakened, feeling surprisingly refreshed. The apartment seemed empty without Spooky’s presence. Though it was a cheerful, sunny suite, at times the walls had a way of closing in on her. The closeted feeling had a way of knocking her off key, making her depressed when there was no reason to be.
She made a quick call to the vet on her bedside phone and was happy to learn that Spooky was still perky and licking the vet’s hand. The trip to a restaurant isn’t such a bad idea. She smiled when she thought of her little joke on Nightspook. Did Mitch care that she’d said she would go there with someone? He’s probably nestled in front of a fire in his living room, not giving it a thought. Her imagination darted to the night she’d experienced the firelight dance and making out. Her mind replayed the scene, and she could once again hear the music, taste his lips and thrill to his touch. Exasperated with herself, she left her bed and dressed in fresh clothes. Glad to be going somewhere pleasant, her step had a spring in it as she walked to the restaurant.
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