Disturbed

by Jennifer Jaynes

  “Okay.”

  “And your job. You’re still able to do it here, from your apartment, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, good. So, then, I take it there’s no reason for you to go out after dark?”

  “No, sir.”

  As she walked them out, Lang turned to her. “You look exhausted. Maybe get some rest? I’ll call and check up on you later.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, Chelsea sat on the couch, aimlessly flipping through the channels while Elizabeth paced from the kitchen to the living room and back, holding a magazine she’d brought with her. She’d ripped out three pages and tossed them on the coffee table. All pictures of hair cut into angular-style bobs.

  With the help of two Valium, Chelsea was now relatively calm.

  But Elizabeth was not.

  Elizabeth kept ticking off pages of her magazine. Her features were harder than usual, her brows meeting in the middle. The vein in her forehead was more pronounced, the way it became when she was angry and had something to say. Chelsea knew that whatever it was, Elizabeth was biding her time before saying it.

  Over the years, she had learned to leave Elizabeth alone when she got like this. It didn’t happen often—her being angry—but when she was, Chelsea made sure to stay out of her way because negative energy had a way of seeping into her blood and making her want to leap out of her skin.

  She understood Elizabeth’s anger. Her serious issues with disrespect, bullying, really with any injustice. And Elizabeth was very protective of her, so she was angry now because Chelsea was being screwed around with.

  Chelsea also thought Elizabeth tended to overreact a little. Whether it was with a company who had double charged one of them for a product or demanding that the apartment manager immediately fix a leak or faulty toilet, sometimes Elizabeth could get pretty unhinged fairly quickly. Once in a while, she’d get so worked up, she’d go on antiestablishment rants. About how she didn’t trust the country’s banking system, the corruption of its politicians, corporations, and government agencies. In a way, Chelsea understood it. Elizabeth, like herself, had spent some time in the foster system, which wasn’t Disneyland for any kid. And although Elizabeth had never gone into detail about her experiences, Chelsea knew enough to know that she had suffered abuse while she was there, and that the abuse had created a woman with many sharp edges.

  But thankfully, only when she was provoked.

  Chelsea watched Elizabeth continue to flick the pages of the magazine, flipping way too fast to be really looking at anything. Then finally, she tossed the magazine on the coffee table and sighed. “So, I take it that things have become serious between you and Boyd?”

  Chelsea decided to tread lightly, knowing Elizabeth was bringing up Boyd because she thought he had something to do with the notes. After all, she’d mentioned it before. And could Chelsea blame her? She had struggled with her own suspicions. She was fully aware of how it looked. Boyd showing up out of nowhere the exact same time the notes began to appear. But the better Chelsea got to know Boyd, the more ridiculous the idea was that he could do something like that. He just wasn’t the type.

  “I don’t know about serious, but things are good.”

  “Do you trust him?” Elizabeth asked.

  Chelsea shrugged. “Yeah. I do trust him. To an extent, of course.”

  “Not completely?”

  Of course she didn’t trust him completely. But that wasn’t a reflection on Boyd. She didn’t trust anyone completely. Elizabeth was as close as anyone got.

  Chelsea decided to just come out and acknowledge what Elizabeth was thinking. “If you’re asking if I think he’s the one leaving the notes, then no. It’s Ethan.”

  Elizabeth regarded her for a long moment, then exhaled loudly. “I agree. It probably is Ethan. But listen to me for a moment, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Look, I want more than anything to just be supportive of your relationship with Boyd. I want to be supportive because I see the changes in you. You’re happier than I’ve ever seen you. Way happier.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “But don’t you think it’s awfully suspicious that right after you meet up with the guy again, all hell suddenly breaks loose with these notes? And not only that, but if the guy was so wounded by everything that happened in Springfield, like you said he is, wouldn’t he want to stay away from you? Far away from anything that reminded him of the murders?”

  “You would think so, but I didn’t. Honestly, I think that’s part of the attraction,” Chelsea said. “That he was there that night. I know it sounds weird. But maybe you would have had to have been there to understand it. The best way I know to explain it is that he helps me feel more connected to the person I was before the attacks. The person I still can’t fully remember. Maybe I miss that person.”

  Elizabeth studied her.

  “Besides, Boyd had no clue a message had even been left on the mirror that night, so if he was the one leaving the messages now, how would he even know what to write? It makes no sense.”

  Chelsea could hear Harry scratching at something in his little hideout beneath the couch.

  “They were roommates, right?” Elizabeth asked. “Boyd and Ethan?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what if Boyd and Ethan are still in touch with each other? What if they’re in on this note business together? I’m not saying they are, but what if? Seriously, these are questions you need to ask yourself.”

  Chelsea felt herself bristle. She didn’t like where this conversation was going. And she could feel a headache coming on. “Boyd wouldn’t do that,” she said, looking past Elizabeth. She was tired of seeing the doubt in her eyes.

  “I’m worried is all. Just promise to be careful with him, okay?”

  Chelsea nodded.

  “Okay. So, now that that’s out of the way,” Elizabeth said, “I brought you something.”

  Chelsea watched Elizabeth reach down to the other side of the recliner and pick up her purse, then carefully pull out something wrapped in black oilcloth. She removed the cloth and revealed a handgun.

  Chelsea’s head pounded. Just looking at the weapon gave Chelsea the heebie-jeebies. For her, it represented violence, death.

  “Just hear me out,” Elizabeth said. “I spoke to this guy at the gun shop in Dorchester. He’s an ex-cop and teaches self-defense classes. He recommended this one for you. He says women like it because it’s small and can fit in a purse easily. I also worked out some shooting lessons at the gun range.” Elizabeth held out the gun. “Just hold it. It won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  Reluctantly, Chelsea took the weapon from Elizabeth’s hands. It was surprisingly light, probably less than a pound.

  “So, are you cool with taking the lessons?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I guess so.”

  “Okay, good. Because there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “Look, I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this, but I think I have to.”

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t freak out, but I think I might’ve seen Ethan last night.”

  CHAPTER 12

  ELIZABETH WAS LATE. It was 5:30 a.m., and the sun was still below the horizon. Chelsea sat in her car, sipping hot coffee and staring at the single-story, redbrick building that housed the shooting range. It looked identical to all the other buildings in the industrial park except for the small sign on the door that read “Suffolk County Gun Club.”

  She thought about Elizabeth possibly seeing Ethan. Elizabeth said she’d seen someone of his description standing next to a sedan on Dartmouth, not far from where Chelsea thought she’d seen him in a car a couple of weeks earlier.

  Chelsea looked at the building again. Although she didn’t yet have a license to carry a handgun, Elizabeth knew the owner of the gun club, and he’d agreed to allow them inside before opening hours. The license would have to come a little later.

  The front door to the building flew open, and a
short, stocky man looked out. He looked to be in his early thirties, with longish black hair and a heavy five o’clock shadow. His eyes found her. He pointed to her and waved her to the door.

  Crap. Where’s Elizabeth?

  Chelsea switched off the ignition and stepped out of the car.

  “You Elizabeth?” he called.

  “I’m her friend Chelsea. I’m afraid Elizabeth’s late.”

  “You’re the friend who wants to shoot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, good. Curtis told me to expect you. Come on in. I’m Tony.”

  Inside, the two stood in what looked like a waiting area at a doctor’s office, except the magazines were all copies of Field & Stream and the posters on the walls were all of rifles and hunting gear.

  Tony walked behind the counter. “Can I see it?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  Chelsea pulled the handgun out of her large tote, unwrapped it, and handed it to him. Tony studied it. He felt the weight, checked the magazine and the barrel.

  “Ruger LC9. Good little pistol. Seven-round magazine. Nice firearm for protection.”

  Tony looked up at her. His eyes took in the scar on her cheek, but he didn’t ask. He waved for her to follow him again, and they walked through a door into a long hallway with several offices off to either side. The place was empty, and the only light was a single fluorescent strip in the center of the hallway. Chelsea noticed an odor in the air. Sulfur. It reminded her of the odor after a fireworks display, maybe combined with oil.

  They walked through another door and into another room. She recognized it instantly as a shooting range from what she had seen in movies and on TV. It was a long, narrow room separated by several felt-covered wooden panels into individual shooting cubicles. Even though the rest of the room was dark, she could see that the cubicles all opened out to an empty room about seventy-five yards deep.

  Tony set her up in one of the cubicles and flipped a switch, illuminating a target about fifty yards in front of her. She had been expecting the target to be a human silhouette, but it was just a generic circular target. He handed her a pair of heavy, protective earmuffs and safety goggles, then reached in a bucket and grabbed another set of earmuffs and goggles for himself.

  Tony loaded the magazine with bullets and took aim at the target. When he shot the gun, the loud pop was very different from the usual sound guns made in movies. Still, the fact that it was a real gun shooting real bullets made her mouth go dry.

  After shooting twice more, Tony nodded in approval and handed the gun to Chelsea.

  “You know how to hold it?”

  “No. I don’t know anything.”

  “No problem.” He stood behind her and showed her how to hold the gun, how to aim it, and how to squeeze the trigger. She didn’t like the way it felt in her hands. It felt wrong. The thought that someone could be killed with what was between her palms made her uncomfortable. But Elizabeth was right. With Ethan out there, she did need something in the apartment stronger than pepper spray. If someone tried to break in, it would be either her or him. And now with Boyd in her life, she was pretty sure she wanted to live.

  Tony backed away so she could fire. She aimed and squeezed the trigger. It kicked, but not as bad as she thought it would. She looked over at Tony.

  “Go ahead.” He smiled.

  She returned her attention to the target and fired again.

  And again.

  By the time the magazine was empty, she was feeling more relaxed, more accepting of the weapon. She set it down on the counter, realizing the barrel was warm to the touch.

  Tony stepped forward and pressed a button. She heard a buzzing sound, and the target slid on an electric conveyor belt toward them. Most of her shots were in the circle. Two in the bull’s-eye.

  “Jesus, lady. You’re a natural. You sure you never fired a gun before?”

  Chelsea smiled at the compliment.

  “Smoking hot and a sure shot. No wonder you need protection. I bet guys are climbing all over each other to get to you.”

  More like shattering windshields and leaving sinister notes.

  She watched him yank the target off the conveyor. He handed it to her, then clipped on a fresh target and sent the conveyor back out.

  “I don’t think you need lessons, but I’d be happy to give you some, anyway. In exchange for, maybe, dinner with me sometime?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  The phone in the front office rang. He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Jesus. The phone rings off the hook here. Feel free to fire some more. I’ll be right back.”

  Left alone in the shooting range, Chelsea dug around in her purse for her phone to try Elizabeth again.

  “Hey, how’s it going?”

  She spun around.

  It was Elizabeth. “Sorry I’m late. But it’s so damn early,” she said, yawning. Elizabeth pointed to Chelsea’s used target. “You do that?”

  Chelsea nodded.

  “No way.”

  “I’m serious.” Chelsea smiled.

  “Damn, girl!”

  Chelsea shrugged. “I got lucky.”

  “Let’s see you shoot some more. See if you have a sophomore slump.”

  Chelsea fumbled with the bullets but eventually loaded the magazine and clipped it into place. She pulled her ear gear and safety goggles on and told Elizabeth to do the same.

  Her second round was just as good as the first. She pushed the button that pulled the target toward her. Elizabeth whistled when she saw the holes in the paper.

  “So, what do you think?” Chelsea asked, proud of herself for her previously unknown skill.

  “What do I think?” Elizabeth said. “I think Ethan better watch his back.”

  The mention of Ethan’s name brought Chelsea back to reality and the reason why she was firing a gun in the first place. She felt the smile on her lips fall a little.

  “Look,” Elizabeth said, “I know you aren’t crazy about this, but you’ll be glad you have it. If nothing else, it should bring you some peace of mind that it’s there if you need it.”

  “You’re right,” Chelsea said. “Thanks for doing this for me. Going through all the trouble of getting the gun. Setting up the lessons. You’re an awesome friend.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad to see it didn’t take you long to learn your way around a gun.”

  Chelsea grunted.

  “Seriously. You’re quite the sure shot.”

  Chelsea grinned. “Eh. So I’ve been told.”

  CHAPTER 13

  WHEN BOYD ARRIVED hours later, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, making her breath catch in her throat.

  After he put his stuff down and got settled in, they went out for a late lunch. They picked a Thai restaurant around the corner and sat at a quiet table in the back, ate, and talked.

  Chelsea learned that he enjoyed a clean, tidy space just as much as she did. That he had a fear of small dogs (this one surprised her). That he was looking for a new job. Right now he was still working for his soon-to-be-ex father-in-law’s company. He’d been doing a lot of soul-searching, trying to figure out what he would be passionate doing for the rest of his life. He said he still had no clue what he wanted to do, but he doubted it would be anything in sales. He talked a lot about his life, much more than he had before, and Chelsea got the feeling that a lot of what he was telling her had been bottled up for some time.

  A couple of times during the conversation, she’d started to tell him about her windshield, but they were talking about mostly normal things, so she decided to wait until later.

  As they ate dessert, he turned the conversation back to her. “Is there something you really want, but sometimes fear you’ll never get?” he asked.

  Yes, a lot of things. She thought for a moment. “Acceptance.”

  “What? Who wouldn’t accept you?”

  “Ha! I’d imagine a lot of people. Guys, especially.” She motioned to her face, her arms, her hands. “Look at my scars. C’m
on, you have to realize that not everyone has a scar fetish like you.”

  “No?” he asked, then winked.

  She smirked. “Normalcy.”

  “Normalcy,” he repeated. “That’s a good one. But I wonder if anyone feels completely normal.”

  She thought about that. “That’s a good point. I guess I’ve never thought about it that way.”

  He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb. “Another one: What do you love?”

  She looked up at the ceiling, trying to think. “Harry. Coffee. A clean apartment. The scent of lavender. Warm laundry. How about you?” she asked.

  “Hmm. When the heater in the car starts actually blowing warm air.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, I like that one, too.”

  “You again,” he said.

  “Honesty. I also love honesty.”

  His eyes flitted to his empty plate. He looked back up at her and grinned. “Yeah. Honesty is good.”

  She noticed the hesitation and wondered what it had been about. Before she could ask, the waiter brought the check, and the moment was gone.

  After lunch, they decided to take in a matinee. As she watched the movie on the screen, Boyd placed a hand on her upper thigh. Every once in a while, he gave it a little squeeze, sending shivers shooting through her body. And she realized she loved every second she spent with him.

  Just a couple of weeks ago, her world had consisted mainly of her cat and Elizabeth. She’d been merely existing. Not living. Then in a blink of an eye, Boyd’s presence had changed everything.

  Five minutes before the movie ended, Boyd’s breath was warm against her ear. “I brought my toothbrush. In case, you know, you want some company tonight.”

  Chelsea smiled in the darkness of the theater and felt a twinge in her middle.

  Of course she did.

  In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be with him.

  After the movie, they went back to her apartment, and Chelsea let herself drink wine again. She had learned that she loved the numbness she felt after drinking a glass or two. It was pleasant, the polar opposite of the horrible, debilitating kind of numbness she’d suffered during her depressions.