But what if her body resisted the tranquilizer?
Morris thought about all the details, but there was still some risk. The building wasn’t located on the busiest street, but it wasn’t isolated either. Cars and people passed by, cars went in and out of the garage. He changed his license number and his appearance wasn’t easily recognizable, but he still had to act fast. That was why he had never chosen the ones who drove cars or lived expensively—too much work. It was more precise with those who took the subway or a bus, then walked home. He couldn’t refuse prey like this.
Everything was taken care of. Only, ten minutes later Morris still waited and there was no sign of her car. He almost jumped when he finally saw it, but it was the same type of car only it belonged to a different person. Morris’s legs started to freeze and did a little dance in one place. Another twenty minutes and he started getting angry. Why did she decide to come home late tonight? His teeth were already chattering. After thirty minutes, he swore and kicked stones, broken tree branches, and empty beer cans. After forty minutes, he went to the road, thinking he could have missed her. Was it possible? Morris went back, his body shaking, his jaw frozen. After an hour of waiting, cursing everything in the world, he went back to his van and jumped out only when he saw some approaching car lights. After one more hour, he was so thirsty and hungry that he felt like throwing up.
“Bitch! Damn snotter! Where did that bitch go? Whore!”
Morris waited another ten minutes before leaving his hiding place and heading home. He yelled, spat, and hit the steering wheel, taking his frustration out on it. Stopping by the convenience store to buy a bottle of water, he screamed at a young girl behind the counter who didn’t hand him his change fast enough. Her face wrinkled, and it looked like she started to cry when he left. He didn’t feel better from the outburst and he cursed all the way home. He spilled water on his chest when he drank it, getting even more heated. He burst into the shed and kicked the bed when he returned home. The bed where this bitch should have slept today. This lying snotter.
“Don’t you worry, bitch.” Morris sat, exhausted, looking at the scattered sheets and pillows. “You think we are done? Right. Don’t even think about it! Look what I did because of you!”
Morris stood and started collecting things, making the bed fresh. Concentrating on his actions helped him to relax. Checking the clean room, he calmed down completely. He had to accept the fact that this weekend was going to be spent without her, but next week, everything would be the way he planned.
CHAPTER 45
The floor is creaking in the house. I want to scream, but my mouth is sealed. A bell. Is it a door or a phone? White ceiling and white walls. The smell of burning milk. A flower in a pot on a windowsill. Mother smiles and moves her arms toward me.
“What if I would never grow up?”
“You don’t have a choice.”
White linens flutter in the wind. A cold hand slides over my skin. I want to scream.
And I scream.
He screams.
Max sat on the bed breathing heavily, clasping wet, cold sheets in his fists. Cold room. Silence. His apartment.
“Ann?”
The room was empty. No one in the bed beside him. He remembered. His wife left. No, she didn’t leave; she went to her parents’ for the weekend. Why? It wasn’t important. He was alone. He wanted to stay alone because he didn’t need anyone now. Angelica couldn’t remember, but if no one bothered her—she would go there and remember everything. He would find out who killed her.
Max lay down again, pulled the blanket higher, and closed his eyes. Just a few seconds and he sank into a deep sleep. Into chaotic madness. Into white walls, white linens, hot and strange breath. Cold touch and tears running.
He woke up again and wiped his face. Wet from crying.
“Shit.”
He wanted to see the killer, but he would be lying if he said he wanted to feel her emotions. He didn’t just let them penetrate his mind as he did before, working on his books. He felt her as if he was her. He felt them like a cut with a sharp knife upon his skin.
Max climbed off the bed, crept to the kitchen, and drank a glass of cold water. He glanced outside at the empty street. He hadn’t been home alone in a long time. The silence seemed alien. Was he alone though? No. Angelica was with him, she had never left. She needed him and he needed her. She found him and he knew that she waited a long time. He knew that somebody had been looking for him in the universe, so he could right a wrong. To stop him. Who?
“Whom should I stop, Angelica? You have to remember. You have to.”
Max touched the glass with his palms and his forehead. What if he was going crazy? What if his mind played games with him? Was it true? It couldn’t be. Because there was a house and a mother. Her mother. He didn’t make her up.
What if he had? What if he created a reality? Things like this happened. It was schizophrenia or something else. What did he inherit? He would never know everything.
After a glass of water, Max went back to bed, hoping to get more sleep and maybe in one of his foggy dreams he would see him. The killer.
CHAPTER 46
Anna spent Friday night with her friends. Something she hadn’t done for a long time. On Saturday, she went shopping with her mom, looking for a New Year’s dress for her mother. Anna bought a dress for herself and a shirt for Max. Afterward, they sat in a café, discussing their purchases and ordering desserts.
Anna couldn’t get rid of the thoughts of Max even for five minutes. She ground their last conversation and everything before that to dust in her mind. She thought of what he would have liked from the store or café. She needed their chats about books, TV shows, and plans for the future. She was afraid to think that nothing could change. She was afraid they would have to separate.
The reasonable part of her brain tried to convince her that everything was fine, that everything would return to normal as soon as he finished the book, but a worm of hopelessness burrowed through her mind. Would he return to the way he was? What if she didn’t interest him anymore? What if he was over this relationship? What if it was all about a child? This thought seemed absurd under the circumstances, but it didn’t go away. They both wanted a child, Max as much as she, but she couldn’t get pregnant. What if he didn’t tell her how much it bothered him and now it all came out this way? Psychological dissatisfaction could take any form, even the most unexpected.
“Mom, I’m going to call him,” Anna said as she put away half of her chocolate cake.
Mother shook her head, and sipped her coffee.
“What if something happened to him overnight?” Anna asked.
“What do you think could have happened to him?”
“I don’t know. Forgot to turn off the water.”
“Anna.”
“He’s not calling.”
“Give him some time. Let him think. I’m sure he noticed this morning that you weren’t there.”
“I doubt that. He would have called already.”
“Dear.” Her mother covered Anna’s hand with her warm palm. “I know how much you love him, I know how much you worry about him, but now you both need a break from each other. I don’t think he’s crazy, but he needs to be alone. Think about it, dwell on it, understand.”
Anna sighed. Her mother patted her hand and picked up her cup of coffee.
“Try not to think of him. He’s not a child and will be fine. Ask Kelvin to visit him or call. Maybe his cousins.”
“He didn’t like that much last time.” Anna chuckled. “Kelvin called, but it only made Max mad.”
“Ann, you know what? Enough about that. Eat your cake and enjoy your life. It’s not good for you to be stressed like this. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
Anna smiled and finished her dessert. She barely noticed the taste and she definitely couldn’t enjoy it. Her mom had an amazing ability to calm her down, and make her believe that everything was really going to be fine. This time A
nna knew that mom’s brainwashing was not going to work for long, but she hoped to have a good time at the café. Maybe her mother wasn’t taking this problem seriously. She didn’t understand creative people and didn’t believe in writer’s blocks and other BS. She thought that artistic people created problems for their image. She accepted the seriousness of Max’s situation, but at the same time, she thought he had been fooling around and would come back to his senses. She worried when, at the beginning of the story, Anna mentioned cancer, but when the possibility of it was dismissed, she relaxed and only played along.
Anna hadn’t told her parents that the girl Max had seen in his dreams existed in reality. She hadn’t told them about a ghost, telling him the story of her life. She would think it was a game and wouldn’t believe it. Anna didn’t know herself what was happening to her husband, but she wanted to believe her mom and think that everything really was going to be fine.
They finished their cakes and coffee, and went home to show Anna’s dad their new stuff. Her mom was in a good mood, and Anna decided not to talk to her about Max until it was time to go home.
CHAPTER 47
Max woke up at six on Saturday morning and didn’t try to fall back asleep. Night became one big nightmare for him, and he couldn’t wait for it to be over so he didn’t have to sleep, didn’t have to force his exhausted body to rest. Dreams drained his energy, and instead of rest, he felt even more tired.
Max entered the bathroom, took a warm shower, and after that, he went to the kitchen to make coffee. While the machine was preparing his drink for him, Max got dressed and then stepped to the window with a cup of fresh cappuccino. He didn’t turn on his laptop. He labored almost the entire day at his novel yesterday, but hadn’t found the answer and didn’t see the reason to wear himself out even more. He drank coffee, gazed at the whirling snow outside the window and at the black outline of his body on the glass, and thought about buying a box of chocolates for Wilma. Thinking how happy she would be to see him again. He hoped she would be happy, because he really wanted to see her.
A strange sadness occupied his heart, as if he missed this strange woman. How could it be? Was it a subconscious desire to find a mother he had never had? Wilma was a great mother. She was the type of mother he dreamed of as a boy. Most parents loved their children; he just happened not to have one of those. He was born into the wrong family. If he could have chosen, he would have picked Wilma, from Watervliet. Anna’s mother, though, was also nice to him.
“Anna?” Max put his empty cup on the empty shelf and looked around. About a dozen dirty dishes cluttered the table, and coffee beans had spilled. His wife hated mess.
“I need to call her.”
Max glanced about the kitchen one more time, and went to put on his coat and boots. On Saturday morning, he could get to town in an hour, but Wilma should be on her feet. If not, he would sit in the car and wait for the light to go on in her room. An even better idea for him was stopping by McDonald’s for breakfast. From there, he would go to see Angelica’s mother.
Max arrived in Watervliet at eight with his stomach heavy from a McDonald’s sandwich and shake, and with his head splitting from sleep deprivation. He stopped by the drugstore on his way and bought a bottle of Tylenol for his headache. He took two in the car, but they hadn’t started to work.
The light was on in Angelica’s mother’s house. In spite of being alone, the woman woke up early. Max didn’t want to make her nervous or scared with his early visit, but he thought about the possible negative reaction only after he’d reached her house, so he decided to take the risk. What could he lose? She could tell him to go away or not. If not, then they would talk and she would understand that he was just a typical creative person, living on impulses and emotions. She was happy to see him the last few times, and even invited him to come and visit her again. It was going to be fine.
With his conscience calm, he left the car. He looked around and kept his eyes on the house of the architect. It was enveloped in darkness, gray and gloomy. The streetlights by his house were down. It was as if somebody deliberately turned them off to make the surrounding atmosphere heavier. Max didn’t like this house, and he couldn’t understand why he had dreamed about it first. He hadn’t thought about the architect this last week. Angelica had kicked him out of Max’s thoughts. Now he stared at the dark walls, the attic window, and couldn’t look away. The architect’s picture became a push for launching a mechanism. What was it? Why had Angelica picked him? He wasn’t the only one who read the article. Yes, he was more sensitive than other people, but she found him. Could he have some connection to the beyond he wasn’t aware of? Maybe Angelica wouldn’t be the last. What if he found her murderer and more ghosts crowded into his poor head, asking him to help them? They wouldn’t even ask for an invitation or permission.
“That would be some kind of life.” Max shivered from the cold or maybe from the joyless, grim, perspective of his life. He headed to Wilma’s house, trying to grasp what would happen if he found the killer. If he found… What if he became an unwilling refuge for lost souls? Would he be able to control it?
Max stopped on the porch and lifted his hand to the bell. Angelica couldn’t have found him by accident. Couldn’t the connection between them just be beneficent? There was something more between them. What it was, he had yet to learn. Just as he had to learn why the architect’s house appeared in his dreams more often than the more pleasant one made of red brick.
Wilma opened immediately, without even asking who was outside the door. She wore a plush robe and a thick scarf over her shoulders. She put on her glasses hurriedly to see the guest.
“Hi. I’m so sorry for the early visit,” Max said, and almost smacked himself. “And without calling.”
What didn’t he think? Why didn’t he call?
“Has something happened?” The woman tucked her locks behind her ears in a hasty gesture, wrapped her scarf tighter around her shoulders.
“No, I’m just …” Max grinned. “I feel like an idiot. All my thoughts are about Angelica and I forget elementary things. Like manners.”
“It’s all right. It’s all right. Come in. I was about to have breakfast. Are you hungry? I can make omelets.”
No questions. No rebuke.
Max remembered something and did smack his forehead.
“One second,” he said as he ran back to his car, taking out a bouquet of white roses and a box of chocolates he had bought at a grocery store.
“Here!” He jumped on the porch and gave the presents to the dumfounded woman. “Sorry, that’s all I could think of. Do you like roses?”
“I do.” Wilma didn’t accept the presents, but stared at them in puzzlement. “You shouldn’t have. Thank you so much.”
“It’s cold. You’re cold,” Max said.
“Oh. Please, come in.”
Max walked in after the woman and closed the door. He saw that she was too shocked to talk. She tried to hold her scarf and not drop the flowers and chocolate that she now accepted.
“I can make omelets,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come like this again. Let me help you.” Max took the presents from her and went to the kitchen, listening to the shuffling steps behind him. He put the box on the table, and threw the flower wrap in the trash can under the sink. Then he found a vase in the cabinet by the stove, poured water into it, and arranged the flowers. All his actions were confident. He felt like he was at home.
“How did you know where the vase was?” Wilma stood in the threshold, watching Max arranging the bouquet.
“How?” Now it was Max’s turn to feel confused. Really? How? He was confused, but not surprised. A surprise level was passed a few days ago. “I just knew. Your vases are always here, right? And your tea set with red roses that you take out only on holidays is in the dining room cabinet. You have three cups there that you use only on Christmas morning. They have roses, blue leaves, and gold rims. You broke one when Angelica was
five. Actually, she dropped it and was so upset.” She knew her mom loved those cups. Her mother wasn’t angry because it was an accident. “My mom’s so kind. She hugged and kissed me. She even laughed. She said not to touch the fragments because I could cut myself. I had already cut my finger, but my mom didn’t see the cut, because I hid it under the belt of my dress. My finger was burning, but I didn’t cry from the pain. Mommy, it’s your favorite. I am so sorry. Mommy said, ‘Dear, it’s all right, don’t you cry. Forget about this cup. I have more. You can break all of them. You are the most important thing in the world to me’.”
Max smiled. Outlines of the kitchen started to develop in front of his eyes, as in a film. He just saw her mother young and now there was a scared, old woman in front of him, clenching a scarf to her chest. Pale skin, round eyes, and trembling lips. Max stopped smiling.
“What happened?” He touched his face. It was burning, but his body felt like it was in ice water. The air felt stifling. Max unbuttoned his coat, hung it over his arm. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’d forgotten about that, but that’s exactly what happened,” the woman said in a trembling voice. “I saw her finger and put antiseptic on it.”
“She didn’t like that. It hurt,” Max said, and the woman nodded.
“That was what she told you? My Angel?”
“I don’t know.” Max sat down on the chair, put the coat on his knees, and rubbed his forehead. “I assume.”
Max didn’t want to say that he saw images. Before, it had happened only in dreams. During the daytime, he felt the story, but didn’t see it. Now, it was as if he jumped into the situation, like he was a part of it.
The land of dead flowers: (A serial killer thriller) Page 22