314 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  She closed her eyes and enjoyed his foreplay. She’d learned to enjoy it whenever he took the time, which wasn’t as often as she would’ve liked. He climbed over her, already erect, and opened her legs. Rachel pushed his shoulders up as he had his lips suctioned to her nipple, and forced him to look at her. “Alma’s coming with us to Widowsfield.”

  Stephen’s eyes grew wide and a boyish excitement overtook him. “Seriously?” He sat up straight, seeming to lose all interest in intercourse.

  “Yes, that’s what I was trying to tell you. That’s who’s coming over. I’m going to take her out to buy some clothes before we head out.”

  Stephen put his hands on his head and looked like a child on Christmas. “This is great! Rachel, this is huge!”

  “I know. That’s what I was trying to tell you before you started trying to do me.”

  “What made her change her mind?”

  “I don’t know,” said Rachel. “She just called and said that she’s willing to come as long as we let her boyfriend come too.”

  “She can bring the philharmonic for all I care.”

  Rachel chuckled. She liked seeing Stephen this excited. “She wants to have final say on what footage airs, and what we talk to her about, but we were going to give her that anyhow.”

  “Sure, that’s fine by me.” Stephen got off the bed and started to gather his clothes.

  “Hey,” said Rachel as she lay on the bed, watching him get dressed. “What are you doing? You’re just going to get me all ready to go and then leave me cold?”

  He looked at the alarm clock to check the time. “Don’t you have to get ready?”

  She gave him a derisive grin. “I’m pretty sure we can fit in the few minutes you need to finish up here.”

  “Few minutes?” He crawled back onto the bed and over her. “Baby, you’d better get ready for at least, like, five minutes of heaven.”

  Rachel laughed and then squealed as he dove over her and started to bite playfully at her neck.

  * * *

  “Come in,” said Stephen when he answered the door.

  Alma was nervous as she looked in at Rachel and Stephen’s gorgeous apartment. It was on the north side of the city, on the first floor of a converted duplex. The old, stone edifice was gated with delicately crafted wrought iron and the façade was replete with lush ivy. The wood floor looked old, but beautifully so, with dents and scratches that gave it character. All of the furniture inside was white, with black legs, and looked as if it had been set in place with the purpose of being used for a magazine photo shoot. Even the haphazardly tossed magazines on the glass coffee table looked as if they’d been purposefully disheveled.

  “Your apartment is stunning,” said Alma.

  Paul walked in behind her, and even the sound of his boots clopping on the floor was out of place. Alma knew he was uncomfortable without even looking back at him.

  “Thanks,” said Stephen. “That’s all Rachel’s doing. When she moved in, she made me chuck out all my stuff. She likes to pretend she’s the one that picked out everything, but don’t let her fool you. Her father is an interior decorator. He’s responsible for all this.”

  “Well he can come over to my place anytime,” said Alma.

  “Hi, I’m Stephen.” He reached out his hand to shake Paul’s

  “Paul.” The gruff, one word answer would have to do.

  “Come on in, sit down. Can I get you some coffee or something?” Stephen was wearing a pair of tight fitting jeans and a Northwestern t-shirt. He was barefoot, and his steps didn’t seem to make a sound as he padded through the room. However, every step that Alma and Paul took seemed to echo like hammer strikes on the wood.

  “I’m fine,” said Alma.

  “Same here.” Paul stayed behind Alma, as if more nervous than she was. He slipped his index fingers through belt loops on either side of her waist and stayed pressed against her back.

  “Rachel’s just finishing getting ready.” Stephen picked up a wine bottle and smiled as he held it aloft. “We might’ve been a little too liberal with the wine last night during our celebration.”

  “What was the celebration for?” asked Alma as she stood with Paul just past the foyer.

  “Besides the fact that it was Friday?” asked Stephen with a smile. “Yesterday was Rachel’s last day at the station. Yours was her last story.”

  “Oh wow,” said Alma. “She didn’t mention that before.”

  Stephen tossed the empty wine bottle into a trashcan that had been set aside for recyclables. “That’s because she didn’t know it at the time. She didn’t decide to take the plunge until we got home from the restaurant. We got our first deposit from the online ads from our video yesterday. It was more than twice what Rachel makes per month.”

  “Nice,” said Paul.

  “You can say that again. And I’m an independent contractor for the station, so I can keep pulling in an income while we focus on the site. I don’t have to work full time for them if I don’t want to,” said Stephen as he walked to the living room. “Come on in, sit down.” He waved them over to join him.

  “Should I take off my shoes?” asked Paul. He looked hilariously out of place amid the designer decorations that surrounded them.

  “No,” said Stephen as he waved off Paul’s concern. “Don’t be silly. Come on in, have a seat.”

  “I feel bad that you’re going to have to rent a van to haul us,” said Alma as she walked to the loveseat and sat down.

  “I can ride my motorcycle if you want,” said Paul as he sat beside Alma.

  “It’s no big deal,” said Stephen. “I went out and bought a ton of equipment to take with us, so it’s my fault.”

  “Camera stuff?” asked Paul.

  Stephen leaned forward and had a glint of excitement in his eyes. He was a handsome guy, and when he was happy his smile was endearing. “Even better. Rachel would kill me if she knew how much I spent on it, so don’t say anything.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the bedroom door was still closed. “I found a Paranormal Investigation company in Kentucky that was closing up shop, and I bought all of their old equipment.”

  “What sort of stuff?” asked Paul.

  “All sorts of cool things,” said Stephen. Alma was reminded of two men at Christmas comparing gadgets they’d been given. “An EMF meter, a thermometer, motion sensors, stationary cameras, night vision goggles…”

  “Awesome,” said Paul.

  Stephen smiled wide and nodded, encouraged by Paul’s appreciation. “They’re bad ass. I’ll let you check them out when we get to…”

  The door to the bedroom opened and Stephen sat back in his seat, abruptly ending his excited recounting of his list of new toys.

  “Hi,” said Rachel as she came out of the room. “Sorry I’m running late.”

  “No problem,” said Alma.

  Rachel looked exquisite, even in a simple pair of jeans and a sweater. Alma was suddenly ashamed of herself and looked down at her drab outfit. Rachel and Stephen were a different class of people from herself and Paul, and she felt incredibly out of place when with them.

  “You must be Paul,” said Rachel as she came around the love seat to shake Paul’s hand.

  “Hi.” Paul looked uncertain if he should stand up to greet her. He shook her hand and smiled, clearly as uncomfortable as Alma.

  Rachel turned her attention to Alma and looked like she was greeting an old friend as she reached out to take her hands. “Alma! I can’t tell you how excited I am that you decided to come.” She took Alma’s hands and pulled her off the seat. “I am going to get you whatever you want today. Okay? We’re going to go bananas. Shoes, skirts, jewelry, mannies, peddies, anything you want.”

  “You don’t need to do that, honestly,” said Alma.

  “Yeah, babe,” said Stephen. “Let’s not spend everything we made the day after we made it.”

  Rachel gave her husband a wry, knowing smirk. “This coming from the guy trying to hide four
crates of stuff he bought off eBay in our storage locker.”

  Stephen blushed and chuckled uncomfortably.

  “Yeah,” said Rachel. “I know all about it, bucko. So zip it.” She turned back to Alma. “You and I are going to make a day of it. I’ll take you to my hair place, and they’ll set you up. By the end of the day you’ll feel like a new person.”

  “When are we going to leave for Missouri?” asked Alma.

  “We can leave tomorrow,” said Rachel. “He’s still got to get the van and I’m sure he’s going to want to play around with all of his new gadgets. We’ve got plenty of time. Right, babe?”

  Stephen shrugged, aware that he wasn’t being given much of a choice in the matter. “Whatever you say, beautiful.”

  “Paul, do you want to come with us?” asked Rachel, although her tone implied that she assumed he would hate to go along for the girly extravaganza.

  “Shopping, hair styling, manicures,” said Paul. “That sounds absolutely,” he paused, “like the worst day ever.”

  Rachel and Alma laughed.

  “You’re welcome to chill here with me,” said Stephen. “We can test out all the new toys. We’ll fire up the grill and get some beer.”

  Paul pointed at Stephen with a gracious grin. “That sounds like a plan.”

  Stephen got off the couch and slapped Paul’s knee as he walked past. “Come on, I’ll show you the gear I got.”

  Paul got up and Alma looked at him as Rachel was whisking her out the door. They smiled at each other and Paul blew her a kiss. Rachel had already pulled her out of the door before Alma could reciprocate.

  * * *

  Jacker had parked at the corner drugstore and walked down the block that his house was on. He couldn’t risk parking on the street because the police might be patrolling the area in search of him. He knew it was a mistake to come here, but that didn’t stop him. He wanted to see Debbie.

  It had been a few days since the incident that forced him to pack his things and run away, and he hadn’t dared come home since. His girlfriend certainly wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him after what he did, and he wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with her either. Yet still he was drawn to her, if only for familiarity’s sake. He’d give anything to sleep in his own bed for a night instead of in the back of the van again.

  He stopped a few houses down and scanned the simple suburban street for any sign of police. His education of police procedure was sourced exclusively from television, so he made sure to look for unmarked vans that a surveillance team might be hiding in. His crime didn’t warrant that sort of attention, but he was paranoid at this point, and had reason to be.

  Everything appeared normal, so he dared to approach. He shared a house with Debbie, his girlfriend of five years, and had planned on proposing to her soon. The events of the past week had destroyed that, but Jacker still hoped they could have an amicable split. He wanted a chance to speak with her, but there was no guarantee she wouldn’t call the police the minute she saw him.

  It wasn’t a wealthy neighborhood, and several homes had the requisite car in the lawn that seemed to be a disclaimer of low property value. He always dreamed of buying a condo in the city, but his career had stalled and was now permanently over. After what he’d done, his future job opportunities were probably limited to aspirations of drive-thru manager status.

  As he walked down the cracked sidewalk, where the weeds had started to sprout, he wished yet again that he could go back one week and never ask Debbie about her relationship with the stock-boy at the supermarket where she worked. If only Jacker hadn’t known the truth, he could’ve stayed happy.

  He wasn’t far from home when he spotted a car approaching from far down the street. It was white, and he stared at it for several seconds as he tried to decide if the black bar on top was a luggage rack or a police light bar.

  “Oh crap,” he said under his breath as he stopped in his tracks. It was a squad car, and it was approaching fast. He didn’t want to run, just in case it wasn’t him they were looking for, but he was only one house away from his. He turned up his neighbor’s driveway and sauntered up as if he lived there. He did his best to act as if nothing was wrong as the squad car rolled up to park in front of his house, less than fifty feet away.

  Jacker got to the side of his neighbor’s house and pressed his back to it. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer as he heard the police car doors open. He looked to his left, further up the driveway, but the tall wire fence was locked shut. He knew his neighbors had two German shepherds, and didn’t want to risk alerting them by trying to climb the fence. He stayed put, and hoped the police hadn’t recognized him.

  He heard them knock on his door, and he dared to peer around the corner of his neighbor’s house. There were two officers on his stoop, beside the flower bed where Jacker had pulled out a fern that Debbie despised. She had asked him to plant flowers instead, and he’d started the laborious task of tearing out the old plants a couple weeks earlier.

  The officers knocked again, and Jacker heard a muffled reply come from inside. Debbie opened the door and greeted the officers. She was in a pair of sweat pants and a Slayer t-shirt, and her loud voice carried easily through the neighborhood. Debbie was far from a timid personality, quick to anger and rooted in her opinions, and she savored arguments. She was a difficult and domineering personality, but that was one of the things Jacker liked most about her. He wasn’t afraid to admit that she ran the household, and he actually preferred it that way.

  The officer spoke too quietly for Jacker to eavesdrop on, but he had no problem hearing every word his girlfriend said. Most of the conversation that he could hear was just a series of one word replies from Debbie.

  “Nope.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  And then her volume grew and he could hear the anger in her voice. “If I do, I’ll call you. And, to be blunt, I’m surprised that you haven’t caught him yet. It’s not like he’s some master criminal or something. He’s not even that smart.”

  The officer responded, calm and quiet.

  “No. No I don’t,” said Debbie. “I wouldn’t let him back in if he came here. I want him in jail more than anyone. More than even that kid’s family, I bet. You need to catch him.” She annunciated every word of what she said next, “I don’t feel safe anymore.”

  Jacker slid his back down the siding of his neighbor’s house until he was sitting on the driveway. He took his glasses off and put his hands over his eyes and rubbed them as he sighed.

  Debbie continued to chastise the officers. “You need to find him. Okay? Put him in jail and throw away the key. He’s no good to anyone anymore. Not after what he did.”

  Jacker took a white pill out of the inside pocket of his jacket and let it sit in his palm. He stared down at the non-descript, circular pill and then popped it in his mouth. He hated swallowing pills without something to drink, but he forced this bitter one down anyhow. The past week had already been as bad as it could get. At least these little opiates helped stave off the bigger demons lurking within.

  He waited for the officers to leave, and then snuck away. He went back to his van, content with the knowledge that Debbie wanted nothing to do with him. He was on his own now.

  CHAPTER 9 - New Friends

  March 10th, 2012

  “I don’t know,” said Alma.

  The stylist was a tall, thin, gay man that Alma was fairly certain was wearing more foundation than she was. He had impossibly blue eyes, surely the result of designer contacts, and surgically plumped lips. His stereotypical lisp seemed exaggerated, but he knew how to make a girl feel good about herself, and he used his talents expertly.

  “Listen, Miss Harper,” he said her name as if he adored the way it sounded coming off his tongue, “I’m here to make you happy. I’ll snip and clip whatever you want me too, but I promise that I know what I’m doing.” He held her long hair in one hand behind her as if putting it into a ponytail
and leaned forward so that their cheeks were nearly touching. He looked at her in the mirror of his station. “I don’t charge two hundred a pop for a Super Cuts.”

  Alma’s eyes widened. “Two hundred? Are you serious? Rachel,” she turned to look back at the reporter who was sitting across the room from the stylist’s station.

  “Don’t say it,” said Rachel with her arms out to her side, fingers splayed as the polish dried. “This is my treat. Too late to back out now.”

  “Oh my God,” said Alma. “I’ve never spent more than fifty dollars on a hair cut in my whole life. This is crazy.” She was more amused than exasperated and settled back in her chair, content to let Rachel pamper her if she wanted.

  “No, darling,” said the stylist. “This is Laurelies,” he said the studio’s name with flourish. “And you know what they say about Laurelies, don’t you?”

  “What’s that?” Alma was starting to appreciate the peek into a lifestyle she’d never enjoyed before.

  “Laurelies gets the men between your thighs.”

  “Julian.” Rachel chastised the stylist with her tone.

  He pointed his silver comb at her. “You know it’s true, you slut.”

  “I honestly don’t know why I put up with you,” said Rachel.

  Julian snickered and turned Alma’s chair so that she was facing Rachel. “Please, honey, you know you’ve always wanted to be my fag hag. Here, look at your friend and help me convince her that I’m right.” He held Alma’s hair to display the short look that he was hoping to achieve. “Wouldn’t she look amazing with short hair?”

  Rachel nodded and said, somewhat unenthusiastically, “Sure, I guess so.”

  “You guess so?” asked Julian, frustrated by Rachel’s passionless response. He spun Alma back around and looked at her through the mirror. “Trust me, honey. You’ve got sharp features and a long face. We want to puff you up a little, you skinny thing. We’ll cut the hair here,” he acted as if his fingers were scissors as he demonstrated, “just below the chin line. Then taper it up in back a little, to give you a sort of pixie, badass thing. The front will be longer, and I’ll show you how to thicken it up to give your face a little more oomph.” He thrust his hips along with the onomatopoeia.