by E. J. Wood
I conclude that lately work has not improved and take Guy up on his advice; maybe I have been working too hard! The ten hour days could be catching up with me after all. I spoke to Collins, Head of Department and agreed that a two week sabbatical should be sufficient. In this time I decide to travel west and visit a relative I hadn't seen in years. Guy was not too happy at my final words last night. There is nothing I can do. I need some me time to clear my head, find myself again, I have been so neglectful with so many distractions of late.
I feel so guilty and somewhat selfish; but when it hurts too much to pretend and the words burn inside his head he can’t say what he really means, because it’s just not that easy, isn’t an excuse I can accept. I don’t even know what he does for a living for christ’s sake and he never volunteers the information either. Let’s be honest, where is this relationship going? Who am I kidding? How could he love someone like me anyway?
A tap tap of the hollow echo of knuckles come at the front door and I peak behind the curtain to see who it could be at this hour. It is Guy and I hesitate to answer.
‘Amelia,’ his voice is soft and apologetic.
‘Guy,’ I answer.
‘I have been awake all night breathless since you left; I’ve shed tears Amelia and felt like an idiot all by myself in a dark room at 3:00am crying.’
‘I can’t continue like this Guy - I have responsibilities. I’m sure you do too.’ I clutch onto the door frame standing firmly at the threshold as his brows crease and eyes squint.
‘Please?’ He pleads.
‘I don’t even know exactly what you do for a living. You come and go, I don’t hear from you for days at a time. You just disappear without any warning. I need to clear my head.’ He is speechless and seconds pass before he answers.
‘Please don’t go, please I can’t bear it, don’t leave me.’ He kneels on the floor before me grabbing both hands pulling them down towards him begging me to stay.
‘I’m not leaving you Guy. I just need to clear my head. I’m not sure what is happening to me lately, a lot has happened in such a short space of time.’ I pull my hands away and leave Guy on the floor cupping his face in his hands. Is he crying? Do men cry? Please don’t cry; I can’t bear to see a grown man cry, not for me, not for anyone.
***
I climb into my car with suitcases on the backseat and reverse out of my driveway. I can’t help but listen to “someday I will find you and I’ll catch you when you look my way, someday you won’t be afraid and find the words to say, they were always there anyway. My tears are slowly melting down the sides of my face and my heart is stuck on a merry go round. Praying I could find a sign for when this game will end” a perfect song for the current moment by Kelly Sweet. He only needed to say one word, for as Sophocles states, “one word frees us from all the weight and pain in life: That word is love.” Yes love; it’s the only word I can think of that explains my feelings for him. Admit it? Never, how could I, I barely know him. I just cannot admit I might just be a game for him, a chase.
The house soon becomes a distant dot in the rear view mirror and eventually the tears stop and I discontinue making our love into something from a fairy tale. I feel stupid but yes, I am a free lover. I have an inalienable, constitutional and natural right to love whom I may, to love as long or as short a period as I would desire; to change that love everyday if I please, and with that right neither him nor any law can frame or have any right to interfere – as quoted by Victoria Woodhull herself.
An hour into driving towards West Virginia my petrol gage begins flashing red; I have to find a gas station soon! I manage to drive for another fifteen minutes and find a run down barn yard with a middle aged man, short in stature around 4ft 10 inches. A tea sandwich of a man should I say. His Spondyloepiphyseal Dysplasia (SED) more commonly known as Dwarfism has little affected his friendly most welcoming demeanour. He appears to have Achondroplasia, a bone growth disorder responsible for 70% of dwarfism cases. The limbs are disproportionably short compared to the abdominal area and his head with characteristic facial features is larger than normal. He limps towards me, aided by a cane. Such a device is often used in order to aid the person to cope with the effects of dwarfism and lead somewhat a normal life. I have always come to appreciate what I have in life for some of us are less fortunate.
For this man his condition is highly visible and often carries the burden of negative connotations associated with his condition. Suffering from joint pain caused by abnormal bone alignment or from a nerve compression has given him at 4 feet 10 inches, the most inner strength between us. I smile and softly ask for any fuel.
‘I av some outback if ya fancy mi lady?’ He croaks.
Taken slightly aback my his assertive coarse voice, I shockingly reply,
‘That would be very kind of you Sir,’ I smile.
I fill the car, hand over a note and proceed on my way. There is something unusual about that man. You know the feeling, a vibe? A tingle down your back, not literally of course just something not quite right, definitely raised the hairs on the nape of my neck.
Five hours later I arrive in West Virginia. My stomach pained with hunger, grumbles. The only thing I can think about is the nightmare that I am convinced is going to return. A gut wrenching, mind boggling mystery is certain to perplex me until I uncover the truth.
Guy, I put to the back of my mind. This is me time not mind fucking time.
I smile and a slight skip is in my walk feeling all mighty proud of myself for having the strength to distance myself from his hold.
I knock on my Aunts door; she opens with a grin that graduates from cheek to cheek.
‘You’re happy to see me then?’ I ask.
‘Amelia, of course, so what event has taken place this time? Of what delightful pleasure do I owe myself for your coming to see your Auntie Gladys?’
‘What do you mean Aunt Gladys? Can I not just come and visit?’
‘You only come up a few times a year and normally it's to get away from work.’
I look down at my feet with a smile and walk in.
‘Come on put the kettle on.’
‘What’s this old rag you’re wearing, usually so smart, have you gained weight?’ She questions, ever the same critical Aunt Gladys. Pot calling the kettle black comes to mind. Family never change, they are never the most welcoming and incentive types. Family always want to pull others down to their level. But not today it’s fuck you day and you know what? Today, I’m not going to let anything get me down, not Guy, not her.
The house, as I remembered growing up, has an odour of warm apple pie, scented candles and the unforgettable smell of the subspecies Canis Lupus more commonly known as the domestic dog. Always a lover of animals, Gladys herself gives her home and money to them, believing animals to be treated as fairly as humans. She is a recluse in her home with her animals trying to escape this cruel world we live in. At times I think that how she lives is a good idea for my work evolves around cruelty and misfortune. The room is tidy as always and an apple pie just out of the oven sits cooling on the kitchen window; just slightly out of reach for thieving pests.
With the fragrant aroma filling the house, you imagine apple pie and a flaky crust with sweet warm apple filling; that is what comes to mind. Just add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and the sweet vinegar and cinnamon coating simply melts away in your mouth.
‘Sit down sweetheart. You want a cup of tea?’ She distractingly asks me as I intently glare at the pie.
‘I thought you would never ask,’ I sigh.
‘I suppose you all drink that tar shite down in Washington, D.C. don’t ya?’
‘Tar shite?’ I frown.
‘You know, Coffee.’
Ever the polite Aunt. Perhaps it is a good job she doesn’t get out too much.
As she walks over to the counter and puts the kettle on to boil, she grabs a packet of cigarettes.
‘Smoke?’ she asks pointing a cigarette in my direction.
‘Darling I have missed you dearly. What's happened this time, boyfriend problems?’ rapidly changing subject.
I chuckle at her comment, it is typical for Aunt Gladys to swiftly change topic when something she dislikes arises.
‘Gladys, you've been asking me that question since I was thirteen years old. No it's not boyfriend trouble, but something is troubling me.’
‘What is it dear?’ She closes in, pulling a chair closer to listen intently.
‘I keep having nightmares and they aren't the usual kind. These are different than anything I have ever experienced, more vivid. A woman, I, I don't know what to do, she is being murdered.’
‘Do you know who she is? What happens?’ She looks engrossed at me puffing on her fag.
‘I've been seeing in detail a woman being murdered and a creature; it's as if at times I am the murderer as I see her running in front of me, as if looking through the eyes of the assailant. Could it be me?’
‘I shouldn't think so, it is just a nightmare. How long has this been happening?’ She looks away bemused, mocking me.
‘I'm not sure, maybe a week, two weeks, straight, every night and I'm not sleeping. Guy consoles me but can't . . . ’
‘Who's Guy?’ Suddenly she perks up like a dog hearing its dinner bowl chime.
‘Oh um he's my neighbour,’ she is taken aback; for she had accepted that I was not the relationship type but thus he wouldn’t just be my neighbour. I am fussy, temperamental, focused, strong willed and often speak my mind. I was once told this was a complete turn off to the opposite sex. Relationships weren’t and aren’t my main focus. Solving cases and identifying the dead are my objectives. Concentrating on my career I studied so hard for were more important than boys.
‘You could have told me,’ she mumbles lifting herself off her chair to make tea. There is silence.
‘I'm sorry I thought that this was more important!’ She sits down, takes a sip, sighs and begins. Her four dogs run through the house, a moment I hadn’t missed, creating chaos wherever they went.
‘LIE DOWN,’ her tone strong, assertive and makes the most vicious of storms pathetic and they promptly run to their beds with tails between their legs and ears hanging low.
‘Things haven’t changed much here then?’ I rhetorically ask.
I am given a look of dismay as she begins once again.
‘About ten years ago neighbours of mine had a daughter. There were rumours that the daughter named Sarah Kennedy began seeing a murder before it happened, no one believed her, thought she had a screw loose you know, called her the town loon. You remember her right?’
‘No, what happened to her?’ I inquisitively ask.
‘She died, unknown circumstances, it’s not a closed case.’
‘Where did this take place again?’
‘She just disappeared, Amelia that’s all I know.’
‘I'm sorry to stay such a short time but I must go. I'm sorry. I will phone.’ At that moment, I place her china cup on the table, lean in close and kiss her on the cheek. I wave goodbye and head home. I drive straight to the office, the thought of Sarah Kennedy fresh in my mind.
***
The office is dark and attended only by the night watchman. Heading straight for the unsolved cases I search through the years 1999, 1998 and in 1997 I find the records for Sarah Kennedy.
CHAPTER 10
Name: Sarah Kennedy
Age: Approx 21 years old
Family: Unknown
Status: Missing
Briefing: 21 year old woman went missing on August 3rd 1997
Psychiatric evaluation taken two years before:
Hallucinations
Contact: Maria Gonzalez
I stand perplexed for a while, there has to be someone who knew this woman. According to Aunt Gladys her experience is uncanny to that of my own. Who was Maria Gonzalez? Was she still alive? No wonder this case became forgotten so quickly, speed is of the essence. The notion being that if any case is not solved within seventy two hours or has lack of significant evidence for a conviction, it has little likelihood of ever being solved, regardless of any expertise and resources deployed. Her short briefing didn’t match that of typical unsolved cases, for they are generally associated with gang/drug/immigrants/homeless or un-solved police shootings. None of which category our victim Sarah Kennedy fell into. My phone vibrates inside my pocket.
From: Guy Davidson
To: Amelia Sharpe
Message: Please return my calls Baby. Anyhow I hope you arrived safe, can’t wait for you to come home, take care x
Ah sweet sweet Guy and I smell the air remembering his sweet smell. Not now, I tell myself off for availing the situation at hand. I search the phone book, one hundred and twelve hits, typical; nothing can ever go without a hitch. Seventy calls later a woman answers the phone:
‘Ya’ a raspy tone echoes down the phone.
‘Hello, is this Ms Gonzalez?’ I ask softly.
‘Who is this?’ her aggressive tone displaying immediate discontentment.
‘My name is Dr. Amelia Sharpe. I'm a Forensic Pathologist and investigating an incident that took place a few years ago involving a woman called Sarah Kennedy.’ There is a silence between us then a gentle voice answers.
‘Yes.’
‘I've read that you are first point of contact and therefore I presume you are aware of the hallucinations diagnosed approximately two years prior to her disappearance?’
‘Yes.’ Her answers are short.
‘Do you mind elaborating?’ I hope she opens up over the phone.
‘Sarah and I were best friends and since college we shared everything. I knew her like a sister. One day she explained to me that she had a dream, unlike anything she had had before. It was a vivid, grotesque and very much real dream.’
‘Go on,’ I urge.
‘It lasted for about two weeks; the first blurred, but as they grew closer Sarah said that the image of the woman of her dreams began to become more and more apparent.’
I hold the receiver in my hands pondering what to ask or how to even deal with what I had just heard. The description is remarkably uncanny to mine; it can’t be a coincidence, can it?
‘Miss Gonzalez, is there anything about the dreams that Sarah specifically mentioned were unusual?’ my curiosity descending the receiver. Once again silence, then...
‘Yes, there was, the last thing she told me was that the woman in the dreams appeared to own the same shoes as the ones that Sarah owned.’
I gasp silently as my heart flinches and inquisitively ask.
‘Is there anything about the aggressor?’
‘Just that his face always shied away from view,’ she was right; I never caught a glimpse of the assailant in my dreams either.
‘Hmm, thank you very much for your time; I may be in contact again if that's alright?’ I hang up and continue riffling through the unsolved case. A picture of a young woman and older man drops from the folder, the man has a face that I recognised but couldn't place my finger on. I dial the number of Maria Gonzalez once again.
‘Hello Maria, sorry, it's Dr Amelia Sharpe again. I've just found a photo of a young woman and older man in what looks like the countryside. Would you know anything about this?’
‘Yes that's Sarah and her father, I gave the photo to the police when she went missing, he is still alive, he has a shack just off the I-68 towards West Virginia.’
‘Thank you for your time I will be in touch. Goodbye.’ This was it, keeping it real. Doing it old school and taking no shit. Talking the talk and walking the walk. I’m sitting in my seat and refraining myself for not wanting to bitch slap Ms Gonzalez for being so vague but she gave me what I wanted in the end. I stare intently at the photo, two faces with a beautiful background. Then it hits me. The man at the gas station!
I run to my car and start her up. The e
ngine roaring as I put the pedal to the metal and head home to brief Guy of my sudden findings and continue on for approximately twenty minutes before the car starts to slow. Steam stews from the beneath the hood and I stop.
‘FUCK,’ I shout. Some new piece of crap I yell, and my tone echoes into the surrounding countryside as I thump the steering wheel. I get out and kick the front wheel.
‘Useless piece of shit!’ of course I don’t mean it but we all have those moments in life of utter frustration! Stroking the wing I beg my car to start, forgive me, I bet my Prius wouldn’t have broken down. I sit in wait for a car to pass but decide to walk; mechanical engineering never was my strong point.
The sun descends and everything becomes quiet. Typically my phone has run out of juice and I look down at my feet which are pointing inward. Feeling sorry for myself I sigh and decide to tootle down the road in my stilettos. It is dark as I stumble down the road then all of a sudden a sweet-smelling, dense liquid covered cloth covers my mouth. I try to scream but it is no use. Instinctively I try to tear it away, frantically pulling at a hand that is mercilessly pushing the smothering cloth against my mouth but the hand is too strong. I hear a voice.
‘Don't struggle, just relax and breathe, please don’t struggle, come on, Sweetie, be a good little girl just follow my instructions!’ The more I struggle the deeper I breathe as the sickly sweet odour invades my nostrils. My head becoming lighter and lighter, my eyes close and my breathing slows. I start to lose all control in my limbs with an anesthetizing effect. ‘That’s a good girl, relax,’ at that he scoops me into his arms as I descend into the deep pit of darkness.