James laughs. “Honey, you don’t know 99% of the people who know you now.” Chloe rolls her eyes and playfully snatches the phone out of his hand. She takes the phone and excuses herself from the group and her mother, leaving her in James’ care for the time being. He acts just as pleased to see her. Even if it is all for show, Chloe deeply appreciates it.
Chloe stands overlooking the city on their balcony. She puts the phone to her ear. “This is Chloe,” she answers.
The voice on the other end of the phone is rather sullen and impatient. “Not sure if you remember me, but a while back you came to the police station enquiring about an accident that happened over two decades ago.” Meryl pauses.
It all comes barreling back to her. Chloe stands straighter. She starts to nod as if Meryl can see her. Breathlessly, “Yes.”
“Great,” says the woman. Her tone of voice changes slightly, steeped in something uncomfortable. “Well, I have something for you.”
“What did you find out?” Chloe asks, bracing her hand on the balcony railing.
Meryl pauses, as though she is deciding between telling her or not. “Come see me at the station,” she finally states. “And don’t wait too long.” The phone clicks, meaning the woman has put it back on the receiver. A dead tone follows. Chloe is strangely reminded of a pulse monitor at the hospital and the flat line that follows cardiac arrest. It’s a long, seamless beep, signifying the end of something.
Chloe stares at her cell phone for a moment, perplexed and in a fog. She turns to see James shouldering the doorway, looking back at her in his suit and tie. He tries to prompt her with a confident smirk. He clearly wants a signal that everything is ok.
He doesn’t get one.
•
Chloe is in her bedroom, packing a bag when Cleopatra appears in the doorway. James is behind the bathroom door, taking a shower to cleanse the night’s festivities from his person. They invited Cleopatra to stay in the guest room tonight. It seemed like the family thing to do.
“Where are you going?” Cleopatra asks, watching her daughter mill about the room and seize a pair of low heels from her closet.
“Home,” Chloe replies, adopting a half-hearted smile. She starts laying out her outfit for the morning.
“Why?” her mother continues. She cannot fathom any reason for her to return.
“I have a meeting with someone tomorrow,” she explains. “I have some business to take care of back there. But it won’t take long and I will be back here by the weekend.”
“Oh. Do you have a place to stay?” Cleopatra poses.
Chloe replies without thinking, “We will probably stay at Kathleen’s.” She glances up just in time to see her mother’s crestfallen expression. “It is the closest to the precinct,” she adds quickly, battling guilt.
Cleopatra’s brows knit together curiously. “The police station? Why would you need to go there?”
Chloe kicks herself. She sets her lips into a thoughtful line, her mind racing to conjure a feasible explanation for the involvement of the police. She does not want to remind Cleopatra of Patrick, not after she has come so far. “James got a few speeding tickets last year. We want to get them resolved and dismissed.” Her conscience pinches her for lying.
Cleopatra seems appeased. She folds her hands before her. “I still need to talk to you about something,” she remarks.
Chloe faces her, folding a shirt for the third time. “It’s alright mom. Let’s just leave all that stuff behind us. It really doesn’t matter anymore.”
“But,” the woman starts.
Just then, James opens the bathroom door, striding out in nothing but a towel. A thin mist of steam rolls out of the door and off his well-muscled physique. Seeing Cleopatra, he wheels around and races back inside with a look of alarm.
“Sorry! I didn’t know there was anyone else in there,” he says, his voice muffled from behind the wood. Chloe shakes her head. The poor boy is probably scarred for life. James is a pretty shy person in general and is not about to parade his half naked self in front of his soon to be mother-in-law.
The girls chuckle. “We can talk about it another time,” Cleopatra relents. “Goodnight, honey.”
“Goodnight mom,” Chloe replies, mirroring her adoring smile. She sees her off.
•
“Salutations, beautiful fiancée. Are you coming to breakfast?” James asks with an impish smirk, peeking around the doorjamb roughly three hours before their flight. “Your mom made some pretty great cinnamon toast!” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Chloe smiles at him, touched by the glee in his eyes and her mother’s actions. “Yeah. I’ll be down there in a second.” James grins boyishly and hurries away. Chloe can hear segments of their conversation. She can smell the coffee and cooking too. Her mouth waters, but there is still one more thing left to do.
Chloe shifts her body to kneel at the edge of her bed. She folds her hands and bows her head. “Hey there God,” she begins.
Chloe has never been staunch about prayer. She speaks to God much like she is speaking to a friend. The ceremony of it all still frightens her, as evidenced by the time she attended Kathleen’s service and the congregation chanted back after her. Christianity, Chloe believes, is a personal relationship. Not that there is anything wrong with structure, except for the creepy element.
“It’s me again. I know I talk to you a lot. I don’t know if you have the ability to get annoyed, but it would come as no surprise to me if you were.” It is true. Chloe prays often these days, at least three times a day if not more. She prays in times of stress and tranquility. She prays for herself and all manner of other people. Sometimes, Chloe prays for nothing at all. She just feels like chatting.
“Anyway. I wanted to thank you for bringing ma’ mom home to me and for healing her. I can see the difference and I know you had a hand in that. Please help me to reach her about you. I don’t know if she believes, but I really want her to. Help me to know what to say to her.”
Chloe grins, reminded of something else to be immensely thankful for by the rock on her finger. She wiggles giddily.
“And thank you for giving James the galls to propose.” Chloe flushes darkly. Did she seriously just say galls to the Lord Almighty? Her eyes snap open before she shuts them again, clutching her hands tightly to make amends for her mistake. “I mean, the courage.”
That is definitely the word she was looking for.
“He did such a great job and he makes me so happy. I know you brought us together and kept us together, Lord. Please continue to do so, as long as it be your will. I want to have a marriage that means something with a man who will last.” She nods purposefully.
“Thank you for the success of the screenplay. Thank you for making ma’ dreams come true. And yeah. I think that’s about it. I’m going to go eat breakfast now. Talk to you soon. Amen.” Chloe quickly rises to her feet and hastens out the door.
She descends the stairs, greeted by a scene she never expected to have the privilege of witnessing. Cleopatra and James are sitting together at the dining room table, smiling. Smiling like a real family.
Chapter 17
Chloe and James catch a flight back home. Chloe is quite accustomed to airplanes by now and finds the trip to be relaxing. She and James sit together in first class. James holds her hand for most of the flight while they sip on cocktails and discuss their plans for the future. James’ career as an architect is progressing. He has found a good location to establish a firm and several promising offers for jobs. Everything is going seamlessly.
When they arrive at the station, they are shown to Meryl’s corner. They sit down at Meryl’s desk after Chloe introduces James. The police station looks precisely the same as Chloe remembers it, as though nothing has changed. Meryl has not aged a day. There is still the same din of activity too. She scans through a file, sifting and sorting through various papers and print outs.
“I had totally forgotten about you,” she starts, which gives Chloe ca
use enough to frown. She put a lot of faith in Meryl back when the woman agreed to go the extra mile for her case, only to find out she forgot. She should have expected that. Meryl, undaunted, continues, “But I was cleaning my desk and came across your contact information. Took me a while to place it.”
“Can you just tell us what you found?” Chloe prompts, wanting to come to the point so she can still find the heart to thank her for her time.
Meryl purses her lips for a moment longer. She removes a photograph from the folder, slides it across the table, and places it before Chloe, who balks. James recognizes the subject in the photo too. It’s a picture of a younger Kathleen Jones.
“That’s my mom,” he states.
Meryl nods in a way that suggests she already knows this. Chloe and James’ engagement is no big secret. The whole town has heard of it, if not most of the civilized world because of all the publicity surrounding Passion on the Cross. “I’m sorry about your loss, although by now you must have gotten over it.” She sits back, steepling her fingers.
James blinks, drawing his face into a frown. “…My loss?”
•
It is raining hard. Patrick’s car is speeding down the highway towards the hospital. He receives the text message. His car begins to drift into the wrong lane when he reaches over to read it. He looks up at the blaring sound of a horn, seeing the truck barreling towards him. They collide head on.
Meanwhile, Kathleen is behind the wheel of another car, coming up fast behind Patrick’s. In the commotion, her car is also hit. She dies instantly from the impact when her car flips over Patrick’s and rolls down the road, leaving a trail of metal across the unforgiving asphalt.
•
James stares blankly at the photograph, trying to put reason to the flashback he just experienced. The color is gradually draining out of his face. Chloe, who remembers the incident the same way, closes her eyes to block the sudden rush of emotions. She feels guilt that she did not feel before, being that her father is the reason for Kathleen’s death. But…
But she remembers dinning with James’ mother. She remembers her being the pastor at the church Chloe came to Christ in. This is wrong. Something is wrong. Did she dream all that too? How can she explain that away, especially when she experienced it with James? It is all happening again. They should never have come back.
Meryl sits up and starts leafing through the papers again. “Funny though. There is nothing in the report about her having a kid. Guess we weren’t as thorough back then. Today, we make a point of noting who the victim is survived by.”
James is shaking his head in disbelief. He abruptly gets up, nearly upending his chair, and leaves. Chloe hurries to follow him out.
Meanwhile, Meryl watches them go. She shakes her head, collecting the papers strewn over her desk into a neat stack, clearly expecting more gratitude than she received. “You’re welcome,” she calls to the empty air. She closes the file as the phone starts ringing. She picks up the phone. “Yes, this is Meryl, how can I help you?”
James is practically racing down the steps. His feet carry him farther and farther away from her. He will not slow down. Chloe struggles to catch up to him.
“James!” she calls, her stomach rolling with worry. “Wait. Please!”
James swiftly rounds on her, looking oddly livid. There is thundering anger in his eyes as he fists his hands and squares his shoulders, prepared to do battle with her as well as himself.
“This is crazy,” he starts loudly. “Your paranoia is apparently catchy,” he spits out. “I thought we were over this. Was I just being stupid to believe that? Was none of it enough? Me picking up and leaving for you wasn’t enough? Now you still have to convince me you’re not a raving lunatic by turning me into one?” He shakes his head. “You should stay away from me. Or maybe I should just stay away from you. Maybe I should have always stayed away from you…”
Chloe comes to a screeching halt as her brows knit together, appearing as though she was struck. She has to pause because of the painful writhing turmoil in her heart as a direct result of James’ words. “You think I’m doing this?” she whispers hoarsely, her hand flying to her chest.
James spreads his arms. “Are you?”
Incensed, “No!”
James takes a step towards her and Chloe fights the urge to recoil when he thrusts a finger at her. “You’re lying to me. This is your way of getting me to believe your crazy stories. Is that why you insisted I come with you?”
Chloe shakes her head, staring at him in disbelief and horror. This is not the James she has come to know at all. “I had no idea what I was going to hear. I wanted you with me. I needed you with me…”
James staggers backwards, trying to keep his tears at bay. She can tell he wants to say more, but all that he can choke out is, “Do everyone a favor Chloe and check yourself into a mental hospital,” he pivots on his heel and storms into the parking lot. Chloe is paralyzed.
James gets into their car, slams the door, and peels out through the entrance to the street. She can hear the roar of the engine as he speeds off. Thunder rumbles overhead.
He leaves her standing there, deeply wounded and bleeding all over again. She pulls the engagement ring off her finger and hurls it after him, even though he is not there to see it. Beset by the urge to flee, she yanks off her heels. Chloe veers around, and runs in the opposite direction, leaving the expensive shoes on the side of the road.
Chloe walks along the roadway in the pouring rain, drenched and clutching her arms across her chest as tightly as she can. She is crying so hard that the cold is not too much of a bother. Tears and rain are streaming down her face. She would not be surprised at all if they were one in the same.
Later, she comes to a park and finds herself on the main path.
The rain has not let up when Chloe finds a bench and takes a seat. She hunkers down against the downpour with her arms folded tightly. She is just about to break into another chorus of sobs when an umbrella opens over her head. Chloe, red eyed and blotchy cheeked, looks up. She sees Patrick, her supposedly dead father, sit beside her, holding the umbrella. He is simultaneously the only and the last person she wants to see right now.
She should have never come back. This place will not let her leave again.
“I don’t understand,” she weeps. “I was happy. I was so happy. Everything was perfect. I mean, it wasn’t perfect but is was what I wanted. I worked so hard. James worked so hard. Why did this have to happen now? We were so happy.”
Patrick swallows thickly, his face a picture of fatherly sorrow as he regards her. “How long did you think that was gonna last, sweetheart?” he says gently “A day. Two days?” He pauses long enough for Chloe to remember their talks about the inconsistencies in this world. “We are caught in a vicious cycle Chloe. Remember?” But there is an anvil in the air, some sort of elephant in the room that he is more reluctant to bring to light. Slowly, “For it to end, the writer must die.”
A laughing sob bursts from Chloe’s throat, automatically assuming he is referring to her. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, all but throwing her hands up in despair. “I already killed ma’self. I stepped off a building. I jumped in front of a truck. I just keep waking up. It’s just like you said: No matter what I do today, I’m going to wake up tomorrow, just fine.”
Patrick looks confused. Chloe notices his expression. “It’s not you,” he whispers, as though the realization has just dawned on him.
Chloe shrugs. Tersely, “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Patrick frowns, mulling it over. It is as though he is sorting through more potential suspects behind his eyes. He nods to himself, determined not to deviate from his theory. “Our life is being written. I know it is. For the story to end, the writer must die.” He meets her eyes. “I thought you were the writer.”
It would make sense, because by all other accounts Chloe is a writer. But she is not the author he is looking for. The idea is amusing, in a morbid sort of w
ay. Chloe would not know how to come to terms with the fact that someone else is writing her life, while she writes as her livelihood.
“If I am not creating this, then who is?” she demands with as much gumption as she can conjure.
Patrick considers until the tension leaves his face. The same revelation lays in wait in the darkest part of Chloe’s suspicions. She does not want to believe, or even acknowledge it. But… “I think we both know the answer to that,” he states.
This cannot be happening. Her father cannot possibly be suggesting… “You want me to kill ma’ own mother?”
The sorrow floods back into Patrick’s face. With a heavy sigh, “You’ve got to make a choice, Chloe. No matter how hard you try, nothing will ever change. All your work will mean nothing until this ends. Something must be done and you have to be the one to do it.”
Chloe regards him in silence, horrified. “Maybe you’re the crazy one.” Chloe stands from the bench and quickly strides off into the pouring rain once more.
He can’t be serious. Cleopatra is her mother. A child could never kill her own mother. That is an unforgivable crime, by any means and to everyone. She can get her life back together. She can make it through this so long as she has James. They will do it together. He made that promise when he proposed.
He promised.
Chapter 18
It feels like forever since Chloe has even seen James’ house. Naturally, she assumed that would be the first place he would go at a time like this. Chloe ascends the steps and knocks briskly, her knuckles rapping on the whitewashed wood. To Chloe’s relief and astonishment, Kathleen opens it. They stare at one another for a long moment. Meryl must have been mistaken. Chloe cannot recall the flashback.
She must have imagined it.
Chloe shakes herself out of the stupor. “Is James here?” Chloe asks, trying to peek past the woman and into the house beyond, picturing him sulking in one of the chairs. If he has seen his mother, clearly he knows Meryl was mistaken. He knows this is all one big-
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