The House Guest

by Rosa Sophia

  “About what?”

  “Oh, I yelled at him when he brought that scotch over. He’s always drinking. We’ve talked about this a thousand times before and last night it made him really mad. He shut himself in his room by six and I didn’t talk to him after that.” Kat shook her head sadly, then rested it in her hands and pretended to cry. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head again.

  She had managed to squeeze out a few tears, which was easy, considering the fact that she really did like Jonny, and all the pressure she was under was upsetting her. She hoped she was putting on a convincing act. Jake was staring at her as though she were crazy. He averted his eyes as quickly as he could so as not to cause suspicion. The only thing that bothered Katherine was that the police officer was writing something down on a pad of paper.

  “What did you put there?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “On your paper. What did you write on your paper?”

  “What you told me,” he replied. “For the record. Also the date and time.”

  “What record?”

  “Kat, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jake said, taking her hand. “Everything will be all right.”

  “Will you please call me if anything comes up concerning Jonathan?” Kat inquired. She didn’t realize how suspicious it sounded until she had already said it. After all, he had died of alcohol poisoning, right? So what could possibly ‘come up’ out of that? The cop that she had spoken to glanced at her with a funny look on his face. The other cop was looking around at the foyer and the dusty corners.

  “We’ll let you know,” Officer Peter Edwards told her. He slipped his paper and pen into his breast pocket. “Just call the station and leave your name and number with the secretary. The medical examiners should be here soon, and then the ambulance will get here to remove the body. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The other cop nodded to Katherine, and walked up the steps.

  Had Jonathan been a killer or had he not? Kat really didn’t have any evidence that could signal in either direction. She only had hunches.

  At least I’m back in 2005.

  ***

  Jake and Katherine ordered pizza for lunch and told the cops they would stay with their friend, Corry, until everything was sorted out. They would leave after they finished eating. It was a warm day, but there was a breeze that blew in through the kitchen window as the two of them sat on the counter and ate without plates or napkins. Kat wondered if this was an unconscious rebellion against all the times their parents had told them as children not to sit on an area on which food is prepared and never—no matter what—wipe your hands on your pants.

  Kat laughed at that thought. She laughed so hard she hadn’t a clue what had come over her. Was she losing her mind? Was laughing for stupid reasons a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder?

  “Are you all right?” Jake asked. His expression was one of genuine concern. For some reason, Kat was sickened by it.

  “No,” she said, grinning.

  He raised an eyebrow at her and finished chewing the last bite of his pizza crust. “I definitely don’t know what to say to that.”

  “So don’t say anything.”

  Kat jumped off the counter and went over to the pizza box. She was wearing a pair of old cutoffs and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

  “I will say something,” Jake said, his tone firm. “Could you hand me another piece? I’m starving.”

  “That’s your big speech?” Kat picked up a piece of plain pizza and gave it to Jake. She took one for herself and pressed several pieces of raw garlic into the cheese.

  “No, it’s not.” He took a bite of his pizza, chewed and swallowed it. “If you didn’t think I was extremely disturbed by seeing Jonny’s body in there, you’re wrong.”

  “Don’t worry, Jake. I never thought you were a sociopath. Just keep your voice down. The cops are still here.”

  “I know. And sometimes I can’t tell what you think.” He lifted a hand and watched as it let off spasms of its own accord. “I’ve been shaking like this all morning. It was all I could do to keep from puking my guts out when I saw that body. I stayed calm for your sake.” He glanced over at Kat. She was staring intently at the floor, holding her pizza in one hand and making a fist with the other. “Kat?”

  “Yeah.” She looked up. “Damn it.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not hungry anymore.” She leaned over and dropped her pizza back in the box, then rubbed her greasy hands on her shirt.

  “I’m surprised you were hungry at all.”

  “A girl’s gotta eat,” Kat muttered. She pushed her braid off her shoulder and let it coil on the counter behind her.

  “There was something else I wanted to tell you. Well, show you, actually.”

  “What?”

  Jake jumped down from his perch on the counter and walked over to the table. One of his Shakespeare books was sitting by a half-empty cup of cold coffee from the day before. He set down his pizza, wiped off his hands, and carefully opened the book.

  “You’re going to recite a play to me? I’m really not in the mood,” Kat said. Her tone was harsh, but Jake ignored it. He took a piece of paper out of the middle of the book.

  “No, I wanted to show you something. Remember how you told me I should go look in the attic?”

  “Yeah.” Kat’s heart skipped a beat. She looked at the folded, fragile paper Jake was holding. “What is—what’s that?”

  “I’ll read it to you.”

  When he was finished, they were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. They could hear the officers talking in the foyer. A door slammed outside. The ambulance had arrived to transport the corpse.

  “I can’t believe it.” Kat’s voice was little more than a whisper. “She had dreams too. Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Who knows?” Jake dropped the paper on the table and looked up. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  Kat bit her lip. “I didn’t think she would believe me.”

  “There you have it. I also found your clothes up there. They’re badly moth-eaten. I don’t think you’ll want to wear them anymore.”

  “I wonder if they just appeared. Out of nowhere, you know?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jake admitted. He told her about his circular time theory and his windmill analogy, and she thought it sounded right. Kat slipped the letter into her pocket.

  After they were finished eating, they packed a few things and left. Kat called Corry while they were on the road, and she was shocked to hear Jonny was dead. She was also a little disappointed that she was about to have a dog, but Katherine assured her that it wouldn’t be permanent.

  ***

  At around six the next morning, the doorbell rang. Kat crawled out of bed, exhausted, barely noticing that Jonathan’s Doberman was watching her intently from the doorway of Corry’s guest bedroom. The dog seemed as if it was doing all right.

  Jake wasn’t in the room, having gotten up to use the bathroom. Kat watched Corry bustle past the guestroom. A moment later, the front door was opened. Just as Kat had stretched and put on her slippers, Corry came in and knocked gently on the door.

  “Katherine. The cops want to talk to you.”

  “Shit,” Kat muttered.

  “You’ll be okay.” Corry patted her reassuringly on the back, and the two women walked out toward the front of the house.

  “Ms. Maslin, how are you holding up?” One of the officers from the previous night shook her hand and entered the house, followed by a second cop. “We met yesterday, if you recall. Officer Peter Edwards.”

  “Yes, I remember. What is it?”

  “I’ll be frank,” he said. “The cause of death was found during the autopsy of Jonathan Stark. I’m afraid it wasn’t alcohol poisoning, as you had assumed.”

  “What was it?” she asked. Part of her didn’t want to know the answer.

  “He died of asphyxiation. The forensics expert who examined him s
ays that he must have died around midnight.”

  “Wha—what?” Kat stammered. “Doesn’t that mean that he was—” Behind her, Corry gasped.

  “There are no marks on his neck,” the officer interrupted. “But it has been determined that someone suffocated him. Your friend was murdered. You’re the prime suspect in a murder. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “Ye…yes.” Kat took a deep breath and swallowed the terror lodged inside her throat. “But I have nothing to hide,” she croaked.

  “I hope you don’t, Ms. Maslin, because we need you to come in for questioning.”

  Kat felt her limbs shake. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  She looked at Corry, but her friend said nothing. Jake had just joined them. He wrapped his arms around Kat.

  “Can I come with her?” he asked.

  “Actually, I was just about to request it. Stark was suffocated and you’re also a suspect,” Edwards said. “If the both of you would follow me, please?”

  During the car ride to the police station, Edwards assured Katherine and Jake that the questioning was a normal routine and they shouldn’t feel threatened. They didn’t need to worry about bringing a lawyer into it just yet. It didn’t take as long as they thought it would. The questions were rather mundane. The cops had no reason to hold them further, so the two of them were taken back to Corry’s house after the officers were satisfied.

  Kat went back to bed and tried to sleep. It didn’t work. She climbed out from under the covers for the second time that day. This time she decided to go to the kitchen and make some coffee. Then she would figure out who Millie was by calling the number Jonathan Stark had left behind.

  The bedroom window was wide open. A curtain was fluttering over the piece of wood that had been set to keep the window from falling shut. Kat went to the closet and pulled a pair of shorts and a tank top from her suitcase. She put these on, re-braided her hair and left the room, suddenly realizing she hadn’t showered for several days. It was becoming evident, but it was nothing new for Jake, who was quite used to her long periods of creativity in which she would paint, declining both food and deodorant without even thinking about it. Especially now, showering was the last thing on her mind.

  When Katherine reached the kitchen, she found a note on the table.

  I’ll be back in a little while. Corry and I went shopping.

  Love, Jake.

  No sooner had she crumpled up the note and picked up the paper with Millie’s phone number on it, then she heard footsteps. It seemed all the hairs on her body were perking up. The room had grown chilly—or was that her imagination? She couldn’t take any chances.

  She heard the front door shut, very quietly.

  A thousand things raced through her mind. Was it Jonathan Stark’s murderer?

  The steps grew closer.

  Was it Julie?

  Each footfall terrified her, and each sound made her want to scream. No matter how much she wanted it, she wouldn’t be able to speak, not even whimper. She also knew if she didn’t hide now, if she didn’t do something, she would die. Whoever it was had paused in the hallway, but they would be here very soon. She thought of her body, her skin as pale as Jonathan Stark’s and her head as gory and disfigured as John Maslin’s.

  Kat glanced desperately around the room. If she were to run through the hallway for the back door, the killer would catch her. She saw the old table, the calendar on the wall. The footsteps had started again and they were coming closer. The fridge, with a few magnets on its surface. Closed windows that would take too long to open. If she chose that escape, her murderer would have ample time to grab her and pull her back, maybe rape her if he felt so inclined and then—

  Katherine saw him and screamed. She felt her body fold in on itself as she curled up on the floor, almost certain Phillip Maslin was standing there. Was he heading for the knife rack to retrieve his weapon, or did he have an axe in his hand?

  She heard heavy footfalls and words that turned into whispers, then nothing. She felt strong hands on her shoulders and heard him speak.

  “Kat, are you okay?”

  She looked up, her heart pounding. But it wasn’t Phillip, and it wasn’t a murderer. It was Jake. Kat realized she was shaking.

  When frightening things happened, it always seemed as if something much less horrifying would pop into her mind uninvited. As Kat pulled her legs to her chest, she remembered the first time she’d ever gone on roller coaster at Dorney Park. Once she’d gotten off, she didn’t get sick, but she shook for almost an hour. This was the first time since then she’d experienced such violent spasms.

  “Katherine, I asked you if you were okay.” Jake was almost yelling. She couldn’t tell whether it was from nervousness or plain worry. His arms wrapped around her and she tried to relax.

  “I—I came in here,” she murmured. She didn’t want to talk, because she knew that speaking would only make her want to cry. “Forget it. I’m fine.” She stood up. It was a good thing Jake was there, because her knees buckled and she almost fell. The front door opened and shut again. Corry came in with the rest of the groceries.

  “Is everything okay?” She set down the bags, and they helped Katherine into a chair, but no one answered Corry’s question.

  “Kat, tell me what’s wrong, please,” Jake begged. He knelt before her.

  She started to relax as she realized all of that fear had been for nothing. Kat wasn’t about to get murdered. Her fiancé had only come home from shopping. Her bodily instincts weren’t comfortable with this logic. She continued to shake while she fought back tears. Jake relaxed against her, leaning his head on her legs. “You can tell me whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  A minute passed before Kat was able to speak.

  “I heard you come in and I thought it was my grandpa, or someone. Someone who…” She paused. “Someone who was going to kill me.” Kat felt his hold on her tighten, as though he were trying desperately to keep her together. She was like a cracked vase. Would she shatter?

  “No one’s going to kill you, babe, I promise.” He held her tighter. When his fingers dug gently into her back and he hid his face from her, she knew he was crying. She leaned down and held him. “I hate seeing you like this. I can’t stand it. It’s driving me crazy, Katherine.” He looked up. Sure enough, his eyes were wet. “I know you experienced something. It was horrible. I believe you now, because I can see what it’s doing to you. Anyone could see.” He ran his hand through her disheveled, oily hair.

  Corry squeezed her shoulder and sighed. “No one’s going to kill you. If they try, we’ll kill them first.”

  “I know.” She did know. Jake and Corry would have done almost anything to protect her. Jake got a glass of ice-cold water for Kat. He rubbed her back as she slowly sipped it.

  “Did you call your mother today?” he asked.

  “No. I’m really not looking forward to telling her about Jonathan.”

  Corry took her hand. “Honey, you’ve got to tell her. It’s already in the papers.”

  “I know.”

  ***

  Millie Rosaro was sitting at her desk and smoking a cigarette, which was technically against the rules of the building. She was at work—or, sitting at work—in a small office in Souderton. To say that she was actually working would have been stretching it. She had the window by her desk open. From time to time, she would wave at her cig smoke to make it go outside.

  She brushed back her curly black hair and looked down at her plump body. She wished that when she looked down, she wouldn’t see a gut protruding below her large breasts. Her chest was big enough, so when her gut was actually bigger, she knew it was a bad sign. Fortunately for her, the man with whom she was involved had a taste for big women. She grinned and took another puff on her cigarette. The phone rang.

  “Damn it all to hell,” she muttered. She leisurely opened her left desk drawer, cleared a small area and put out her cigarette on the blackened wood. One could te
ll by the discoloration and the circle of ash in the drawer that she had done this a thousand times before. She carefully covered up the area with a piece of paper and several writing utensils, then closed the drawer and picked up the phone. It would have been obvious to anyone that she hated her job. There was only one reason she was still working there.

  “Law offices of Ryman and Dunne, Millie Rosaro speaking,” she said blandly, for what felt like the millionth time.

  “Ryman?” the voice on the other line said. Whoever it was, she sounded confused. Millie rolled her eyes.

  “This is Mr. Allen Ryman’s secretary, Millie Rosaro. I’m afraid he’s not here.” There was a pause, as though the person on the other line was trying to figure out what was going on. Millie wanted to say, you’re the idiot that called, shouldn’t you know what the hell you want? She kept her mouth shut.

  “Do you, uh—do you know someone named Jonathan Stark?”

  “No, ma’am,” Millie said tiredly. “Can I take a message for Mr. Ryman, then?”

  “No. Uh, actually, yes, you can. Well, what I mean to say is, I—”

  “Yes?”

  “I really need to speak with him. It’s important. I need him to represent me.”

  Doesn’t everyone? Millie thought maliciously. “Mr. Ryman is out of town for a court date. I can take a message, but he won’t be able to get back to you until Monday. Assuming he remembers to call you.” Millie didn’t know why she had added that last bit. It wasn’t professional at all. Perhaps it had something to do with being cooped up in this office all day, dealing with Archie Dunne’s seemingly nonstop sarcastic attitude.

  “Do you have a number where I could reach him?” the woman asked. Millie looked at the scratched white clock on the far wall.

  “You can’t call him now, he’s in court right now and he’ll be busy until five o’clock. He does have a cell phone, but it’s strictly friends and family only. Are you a friend of his?”

  “Yes, I am. I need the number.”

  Why would a friend of Allen not know his phone number? It was preposterous.