by Dana Feldman
I look inside and see the documents from Bob Brown. I take the folder out and count the pages. All sixty-three are there. But he could’ve taken pictures of them. I also count the money I have set aside for an emergency. Nothing is missing. Then I check my jewelry and make sure that everything is as I left it.
He didn’t take anything. He doesn’t need my money or jewelry with everything his father left him. Obviously, robbery wasn’t the motive here. So what did he want? I’m assuming to find out who I am, and why I’m helping him. He knows everything if he read the documents. And I’m sure that he did.
I must’ve interrupted him earlier, and when he’d heard me opening the door, I’d given him just enough time to put everything back and close the safe. Unfortunately for him, he forgot to make sure that it was locked. Well, it is now. I quickly change the combination on the lock. I’d been sure to have the man I bought the safe from show me how to do it as a just in case.
I move the clothing back into place covering everything up as it was and head into the bathroom and turn the shower on. I think that maybe it was Gabe, not Peter. He could’ve found out where I live, come here when Peter was at work, and I was with Dr. Bryer. Yes, that must be what happened. But then I think about the unopened bottle of Tylenol. I feel sick to my stomach as I listen with my ear to the closed bathroom door.
Over the running shower, I can hear my bedroom door being slowly opened. I listen as Peter walks carefully and slowly into my room. The creaking of the floor beneath the carpet as he pads through my bedroom and into the closet just outside the bathroom lets me know that he’s here.
And then just as I expect, I can hear as he wriggles the knob to the safe making sure that it’s been properly locked; that I haven’t noticed that it was left unlocked. I hear the metal clicking against metal on the combination lock as he twists it to the right and then the left. He’s satisfied that he’s covered his tracks. I hear him walk back out into my bedroom and close the door quietly behind him.
My heart sinks. I knew that it was too good to be true. I bury my face in my hands and sob quietly into them. As I get into the shower, a cloud of steam surrounding me, I sink slowly to the floor.
I’m better off on my own. Trust no one. Ever.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GABE AKA EDDIE
“I got your message, came as fast as I could,” Jay says, quickly getting into the car. The engine is running. This means this is going to be a very quick meeting or they’re going for a ride.
As Gabe puts the Land Rover into drive, he has his answer. “Seatbelt,” is all he says.
He puts his seatbelt on, doesn’t argue. His friend has always had an odd obsession with the rules of the road. When Gabe trained him years ago, he’d always say, “What a pathetic way it would be to get caught: over speeding, a seatbelt, or any other foolish traffic-related issue.”
“Where are we going?” Jay asks, watching the road ahead. He thought it a random meeting point, a trailer park in Malibu, but he trusted his mentor. He’d yet to lead him astray.
“Jay, when are you going to learn? I ask the questions, you provide me with the answers. It’s not, nor has it ever been, the other way around.”
He says nothing in response, just keeps his eyes on Pacific Coast Highway. Traffic isn’t too bad even though it’s a perfectly sunny day out. People seem to already be at the beach, not on their way to or from. They head north. He has a sinking suspicion that he knows where they’re going.
“Because I’m in a good mood, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Gabe says. He knows that he has his friend’s full attention, and he suspects that since he must already know where they’re headed, that he’s probably wondering why.
“Ok, I like to be in on secrets,” Jay says, staring at Gabe now.
“We’re going to meet someone at our usual spot. And then we’re going to do a quick job.”
“Sounds good. Can we at least get something to eat first? I’m starving.”
“Of course,” Gabe says, the mood lifted. “I’m just happy I got to you before you completed the last one.”
“By minutes,” Jay tells him. As he looks over he notices the single bead of sweat as it makes its slow descent from Gabe’s forehead to his cheek. “What made you change your mind?” he asks, realizing his mistake. “Shit, sorry man, my bad. I don’t ask the questions.”
“Well, I’ll tell you since I’m in such a good mood. Because killing her at this point would be too kind. And she deserves to suffer.”
Jay was supposedly within minutes of killing Ella. He wasn’t really going to do it; he would’ve stalled for as long as he could. Sometimes Gabe just takes things too far. He makes everything so personal.
“Yeah, that was a close one. What do you plan to do regarding her involvement with your son?”
“That’s what I need to figure out. But first things first,” he tells him as they pull into the parking lot of Neptune’s Net.
They can smell the seafood. Both men are hungry. Gabe parks out front and the two get out and head into the restaurant. Gabe is in full biker mode minus the Harley. Worn jeans, leather jacket, white T-shirt underneath, bandana covering his head, and black sunglasses. No one from his old life would ever recognize him, even if they passed him by or were engaged in conversation.
Everything about the man has morphed into this new person, Eddie. He even speaks differently. It’s not only that his voice is now deeper, more brooding. But the slang, casual usage of the English language is everything that the sophisticated and elegant Gabe Griffin was not.
“Hey,” he says, shaking a man’s hand. “Arnold?”
“Yes. Eddie?”
“Yep, that’s me. And this is Jay.”
“How’d you know I was the one who called you?” the man asks, gesturing for the two to follow him to a table in the back corner.
“I do my homework,” he answers as the three men sit down.
“Of course. You guys hungry?”
Jay lets Gabe answer. He lets him do all the talking, in fact. His job is to sit here and gather as much information as he can. Jay has an incredible memory. He can remember entire conversations verbatim. His knack for remembering sequences of numbers is unparalleled. He can remember credit card account numbers, bank account numbers, social security numbers, license plates, makes and models of cars, everything.
He can remember vast amounts of information without having to write anything down. This, he knows, is the main reason that he’s sitting here. The other reason is that he’s never failed to get his friend anything that he’s ever needed in regards to setting up an entirely new identity and a new life. Oh, and the fact that he’ll kill, if the price is right, and he’ll do so leaving no trace, also helps.
He was labeled a child genius. A prodigy. Unfortunately, he’d chosen to use his gifts for this and not something beneficial. If his mother knew, she’d probably die of heartache. But how does she think he pays for her to live in that place? Her rent and the cost of her medical care are well over ten grand a month.
No one in his life asks questions. They all live well. Very well. He lives two lives, this one and the one for show.
A waitress comes over and brings three large sourdough bread bowls filled with their famous clam chowder and an array of seafood baskets. This is where they always take their meetings with new clients.
“So, what do you think, Jay?” He panics, realizing that he hasn’t been paying attention. Shit. He takes the photos from Gabe aka Eddie. He’s easily able to size up the job.
“Easy,” he says, handing them back to Arnold.
“Good,” he says nervously. “When do you think you can have this done by?”
Gabe and Jay look at one another.
“I mean, the sooner the better obviously,” the man says. Both men know what this means. Faster means more money; they like that. “He’s fucking my wife and draining my bank accounts. I’m just a man trying to support my family here, you know?”
; “Yes, we do know. We can do it by the end of the day today. If that’s fast enough?” Eddie tells him. He knows a thing or two about betrayal.
“Yes, yes, that’d be great!” the man says excitedly. “With that asshole out of the way, I can finally work on things with my wife, fix my business.”
After they eat the man hands them a large paper bag with a few ‘to go’ containers. When they get in the car Gabe tells him to make sure it’s all there before they proceed.
Jay opens the bag and under three containers of seafood baskets he finds another container with the cash. He pulls it out and counts the fifty thousand dollars in front of his friend. They’ll split it fifty-fifty, just as they always do. It’s nothing personal, this work. It’s just a means to an end.
When he first started, he always felt guilty afterwards. But his friend, his mentor, would always remind him that if they didn’t do it, someone else would. “And these are the scum of the Earth,” he’d always remind him. They were doing a service, ridding the world of dirt bags.
They glide back onto PCH, this time heading south. “We’ll take Topanga over,” Gabe tells him. He doesn’t ask any questions this go-around. But he can sense that Gabe wants to vent.
“Can’t believe Peter is all grown up,” he says, making conversation. If he’s right, Gabe will talk.
A few minutes pass with no response. He isn’t sure if he should’ve said anything. His son has always been a very sensitive topic of conversation. They rarely discuss him. He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was that Ella found out about him.
This one is smart. He warned his friend not to get involved. This one, he always knew, would be a problem. But he was in love. That was the beginning of the end for more people than he could count on two hands.
“Yeah, my boy is a man now.”
He waits. He knows it’s coming. Rage. The quiet that precedes it frightens him more than the actual outburst. Gabe has a temper, a bad one.
He looks over at him. He can see the beads of sweat being absorbed into the light blue pattern of the bandana. His face is getting red, and his jaw is clenched so tightly that he can see the muscles tense and the veins in his neck bulge. He’s trying to contain it, hold it in. This is never a good sign with him.
Everyone is much better off when he screams and curses, throws something. Whatever he needs to do to get it out is better than this.
“Find out how she found out about him. And find out what the fuck is going on between them.”
Gabe’s voice is even, controlled. Jay knows this is bad, very bad.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IN PERFECT ORDER
I watch Dr. Bryer now, studying his face. I’m searching for any clue as to what he’s thinking. I’ve just told him about Peter staying with me. Depending on his reaction to this news, I may or may not tell him about my suspicions about Peter after the other night.
He looks surprised, yet he remains silent, which makes me nervous. The quiet is definitely bothering me more than if he were to criticize or lecture me.
I’m waiting for him to do his job and psychoanalyze me, and tell me what a poor decision I’ve just made. I won’t disagree with him. I’ve gotten too close to Peter.
“I don’t get it,” I exclaim, slightly annoyed but also curious.
“What don’t you get?” he asks, sitting in the chair opposite me. He has one leg crossed over the other, his right ankle resting on his left knee. His notebook sits on his lap, and he holds his pen tightly laced between his fingers as both hands intertwine, holding up his chin. He’s leaning forward, resting on his elbows. He appears to be listening to me, paying attention. But maybe he zoned out, is off in his head somewhere. I’d certainly understand, as I myself do this all the time.
“Why you’re not saying anything! I’ve just told you that the son of my missing husband, that I never knew existed, is staying with me; and you have nothing at all to say about this? What the hell am I doing here?”
I’m completely exasperated by his lack of any response.
“What would you like for me to say, Ella? That I agree with this? That I think it’s a good idea?”
“I just want you to tell me what you think! Say something for shit’s sake.”
He is thinking very carefully. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me. He leans back in his chair and sets the notebook and pen down on the table beside him.
“Are you falling in love with him?” he asks.
Well, I was before the other night. Now I feel completely betrayed by him. “Well, I suppose that I might as well just tell you the entire truth,” I blurt out finally after holding everything in.
“The truth is a good thing in therapy,” he says. “You only hurt yourself by keeping things from me in here.”
“I was. Falling in love with him. Before the other night,” I begin, stopping myself. Just saying the words out loud aches. I’ve been thinking them for days now on a constant cycle; but somehow by keeping them contained in my head, they seem manageable. Once I say them out loud, to him, I’ll never be able to take them back. And what if there is some logical explanation in regards to the safe?
What if I left the safe unlocked and just forgot? Maybe I closed it, assuming it was locked, and left it that way? I know that I’d never be so careless, especially not now.
And then I remember the sounds of his footsteps as he quietly snuck into my room to check that the safe was locked.
The Tylenol, however, could be explained. It’s quite possible that there had been another bottle, and he’d taken whatever was remaining. I might not remember having two bottles. This could be.
“What happened the other night?”
“I’d come home early,” I say, leaving out any mention of my earlier meeting that day with Evelyn or that we’d stopped by the boat shop. “And Peter was there.”
“I thought that he was working?”
“Yes, he is. But on that day he’d gone home a bit early. He wasn’t feeling well. Anyway, I’d come home, and I noticed that the bike he’s been borrowing to get to work, since the shop is just up a ways, was locked on the bike rack in the garage by my car.”
“So you knew he was there before you went in?”
“Yes,” I answer, wondering why this matters. He must notice the look on my face.
“I’m just trying to imagine all of this in my head as you’re telling me,” he explains.
“So, as I go up the elevator I’m nervous for some reason. I don’t know why,” I continue. I see that I have his full attention now. He’s listening intently to every word I say.
“Why do you think you were nervous?”
“I guess I was just surprised that he was there, in the middle of a work day, I mean. So when I got to my front door I sort of jiggled the handle a bit, letting him know that I was coming in. Just in case he’d just gotten out of the shower and wasn’t dressed or something.”
I can’t read his expression now. “I didn’t want him to think that I was checking in on him or spying on him or something,” I explain, a tad too defensively.
“Understood,” he says. “You’re trying to give him his privacy, some space.”
“Yes, exactly. But when I opened the door, he was just coming out of my bedroom. To explain, the master bedroom and the guestroom where he’s staying are on opposite sides of the living room and kitchen area.”
“And you’re wondering what he was doing in your room?”
“Yes. Is that weird? Am I being paranoid?”
“No, I think it’s completely legitimate to wonder what he was doing in your personal space.”
“It’s not like I told him that he couldn’t go in there or anything. I just, well, I didn’t like the look on his face when he saw me standing there. He was like a deer in headlights. It was very awkward.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No. Before I had a chance to he told me that he’d needed some Tylenol, that he’d taken some from my bathroom.”
; “Ok, so that could be legitimate, right? If he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t have any…”
“Exactly. That was what I thought. I was so relieved at first. I brushed off the look on his face to maybe being embarrassed or feeling bad for not texting me to ask first.”
“And then what happened after that exchange?”
“Well, everything was fine. We had some tea on the patio, talked a bit. And then he said that he’d make us some dinner. I decided to go and take a shower first since it wasn’t going to be ready for a while. I don’t know why but something in my gut just wasn’t sitting right. I went to my medicine cabinet and checked the Tylenol.”
He looks at me expectantly. I take a few moments before continuing.
“The bottle had never been opened. The seal was intact. He hadn’t gotten any Tylenol. I’ve been trying to rationalize why he’d lie about something so innocuous. And the only reason that I can come up with is that he was doing something else in my room. I even tried telling myself that I must’ve had another, almost empty, bottle of Tylenol. That maybe he’d taken it, knowing that I had this new, full one.”
“Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“I want to, I really do. But I know that I didn’t. Being married to Gabe wasn’t easy. He was neurotic about the oddest things. Everything had to be in perfect order. Everything. I learned to live meticulously, with every little thing just so. You’d think that now that he’s gone I’d leave my clothes on the floor and have messy drawers, but the opposite is actually true. I got used to things this way. And I find comfort in this. I know if anyone has been in my things.”
“Anyone? Like Gabe, you mean?”
“Yes, or Peter. Anyone. There’s a safety in knowing exactly how you leave things. If they’re not the way you left them, then you know that someone has been there.” I sit there, waiting to see if Dr. Bryer can make sense of this for me. I want to tell him about the safe but wait. I want to hear his thoughts on this first. “What do you think he was doing in my room? He lied for some reason.”