The Neighbor

by Joseph Souza

  “We need to have a serious talk.”

  “Now?”

  “What better time is there to do it?”

  “How about I get us some drinks before we start.” I grab his empty beer bottle and my wineglass. My hands are shaking as I carry them to the counter. I grab another beer out of the fridge and fill my glass to the rim with Chablis. I knew this day was coming. But am I ready to confront my past and spill my guts to Clay? I return to the living room and hand him his beer.

  “We need to be completely honest with each other,” he begins.

  “I understand.”

  “If we’re to stay together, this is something we need to do.”

  I grab his hand and we begin to peel away the layers of our complicated past.

  LEAH

  Tuesday, August 25, 8:12 a.m.

  I WAKE UP WITH A MIND-CRUSHING HANGOVER. CLAY’S SIDE OF THE bed is empty. It’s hard to believe he could get up so early for work after the marathon drinking session we had last night. I vaguely remember the kids coming downstairs, saying good night, and watching as Clay broke down in tears while he hugged them. We slurred our good nights and then watched as the kids slumbered back upstairs.

  Despite my hangover, I feel optimistic this morning. I get the kids off to summer camp and call in sick to my job at Goodwill. The media has stopped camping out in our neighborhood, but that won’t last long if new charges are filed.

  I stand by the kitchen window, waiting for Clarissa and her kids to leave the house. I have a small window before Russell’s caregiver arrives to assist him with his physical therapy. I know this because I’ve been making detailed notes about their daily habits.

  Clarissa rushes out of the house with the kids in tow. Just the sight of her enrages me and makes me wish I never tried to befriend her. She buckles them in, climbs into the driver’s seat, and zips out of the neighborhood. I stare into their quiet house and see Russell, thin and depressed, staring out the shutters. I imagine he’s relieved now that his draconian captor is finally gone for the day.

  Five minutes pass before I slip out the patio door. Mr. Shady barks as I slide it shut. He wants to come with me and sniff out the neighborhood, but I ignore his entreaties and move to the neighbor’s backyard. Once I arrive at their deck, I pick up a few small pebbles and pepper the sliding door. I stay out of sight of the security cameras. After I’ve thrown pebbles against the window for about a minute, Russell’s dour face appears. He looks around until he sees my eyes peeking above the decking. He shoos me away, but I don’t budge until he opens the sliding glass door and sticks his head out.

  “Get out of here,” he whispers before disappearing inside. Is he calling the police? I debate whether to stay put or run back inside my home. He returns a minute later and pops his head back outside. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Are you nuts? About what?”

  “Did you go back inside and call the police?”

  “No, I temporarily shut off the security system. Come inside. We have about ten minutes before it alerts the monitoring company.”

  “Are the cameras on?”

  “Nah, everything’s off. Now, hurry up and get inside before any of those reporters come by and see you.”

  I run up the deck stairs and slip inside the house. He motions me to the kitchen table and sits across from me.

  “You can’t be coming over here.” He looks around worriedly.

  “Why’d you lie about me on TV?”

  He paws his strong jaw. “Look, I’m sorry about that, but I had no other choice. This is the way it has to be from now on.”

  “If you give in, Russell, she’ll push you around for the rest of your life.”

  “It don’t matter now. We can’t prove a damn thing.”

  “We can if we work together.”

  “Besides, they got you on tape sneaking in here and reading her diary and taking liberties with our wine. Then you made up that crazy story about her being white. It’d be madness if I came out now and told the God’s honest truth. I’d look like a damn fool.”

  “The truth being that your wife wants you dead?”

  “Wanted, as in the past tense. Everything’s cool now between us.”

  I laugh at this. “Please, Russell. Do you really believe that?”

  “There’s too much at risk. I could lose everything.”

  “She’s on her way to achieving everything she’s wanted in life: celebrity, money, legitimacy. She’ll leave you in a heartbeat if it’ll benefit her.”

  “Says she truly loves me now.”

  “Sure, until you become a burden on her. Then she’ll find someone else to knock you off.”

  He looks down at his watch. “Why you have to ruin my good mood?”

  “Are you going back to Chadwick?”

  “What else am I gonna do? Sit around the house all day and bake cookies like you?”

  I let this insult pass. “She’ll set you up again. I bet she has a lot of dirt on you.”

  “Enough to ruin my life and take away the kids.”

  “Then you have to work with me so she doesn’t destroy both of our lives.”

  “She was an undergrad when I first met her. Girl played me perfectly. I bet she taught Mycah everything she knew about men and how to please them, sexually speaking. How to control your man.”

  “She took Mycah under her wing and the two of them devised this plan. She used Mycah to get to us. Only Mycah didn’t realize how dangerous your wife was.”

  “Hateful bitches.”

  “I bet she made Mycah trust her and feel wanted before she set out to kill her.”

  “She’s good at that—being your best friend when she wants something.”

  “Please help me put her away, Russell.”

  “Tell me, what should we do? And hurry, the security alarm will go off soon if I don’t restart it, and then Clarissa will become suspicious.”

  “We set her up like she did to us. We beat her at her own game.”

  “Jesus, get on out of here before we get caught. Come on now, scoot,” he says, rushing over to the panel located near the front door.

  “You’ll help me, Russell?”

  “Yeah, I’ll help you. Now, get the hell out of here before she finds out you were here.”

  “Tomorrow morning, I’ll leave an envelope with instructions on your deck. We need to do this as quickly as possible.”

  “Okay, okay. Just go.”

  I slide the door shut and then scamper back to my house. Upon seeing me enter through the patio door, Mr. Shady lowers his head and runs into the other room. I immediately see why. The poor little guy has pooped on the floor. I clean it up and then sit quietly at the kitchen table, racking my brain to come up with a plan to ensnare Clarissa. The pain in my head has been reduced to a dull thump thanks to the three Tylenols I gulped down this morning. The urge for a glass of wine is strong, but I resist the temptation. I need to have all my wits about me if I’m to pull this off.

  LEAH

  Wednesday, August 26, 9:56 a.m.

  I WATCH THROUGH THE WINDOW AS RUSSELL STEPS OUT ONTO HIS deck. He moves gingerly, looking around to make sure no one sees him. The air is warm this morning and he’s dressed in tan cargo shorts and a polo shirt. Being in a coma has changed him. He’s lost a lot of weight and muscle, and isn’t nearly as intimidating as before. In fact, he looks rather harmless.

  He snatches up the manila envelope I left for him and slips back inside. I trust that he’ll follow my instructions to a tee. Clarissa is no doubt monitoring his every move on social media and through the surveillance camera.

  At ten o’clock I make my move, praying that he’s shut off all the security systems. I tiptoe over to their backyard and enter through the sliding glass door. It’s eerily quiet inside and I wonder if I’ve done the right thing by coming here. My phone is charged and at my disposal.

  I scamper up the steps until I reach the master bedroom.
I practically know the layout by heart now. Russell is waiting inside and motioning for me to scoot under the bed. I fall to my knees and then to my back and slide beneath the mattress until I’m staring up at the cross boards.

  “I’m going to turn the security system back on and then call Clarissa,” Russell whispers. His face is parallel to the floor.

  “Make sure you and your wife speak up so I can record it all on my phone.”

  “Oh, we’ll raise our voices all right. We usually do when we get into a big-ass fight.”

  “You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  “Tell me about it. After all the crazy shit that woman put me through, I should be treated better.”

  “Good luck, Russell.”

  “Don’t need luck when the wind’s at my back. I’m filled with righteous indignation.”

  I place my hands over my belly and wait, thinking about everything that has led me to this point in time. Things will need to change after this is over. I need to develop a goal in life. A passion that will give me meaning and purpose. Clay has agreed that when we sell the house we will move back to Seattle. It’s expensive out there, but I know we can make it work. I’ll land a full-time job doing something or other. Clay’s a talented and resourceful man. He’ll find a way to make ends meet even if he has to go back into the computer industry. Zack and Zadie will be okay with the move. They’ve gone through so much in the last few years that nothing seems to faze them. Maybe moving home will be beneficial to them and they’ll make more friends.

  I close my eyes and envision how great our life will be in the near future. My relationship with Clay will grow stronger and deeper now that we’ve opened up to one another. It feels like a turning point in our lives. I’ve forgiven him for his infidelity and he understands why I did what I did. A smile forms on my lips and I drift off, lulled by the prospect of better days to come.

  CLAY

  Wednesday, August 26, 10:16 a.m.

  THERE’S A FIERY VORTEX INSIDE MY HEAD THAT REFUSES TO DIE. The beers I knocked back last night aren’t helping matters any. I’ve had four cups of coffee this morning and I still don’t feel right. Something seems off-kilter about my life. Everything just seems so messed up that I’m convinced that life is crazier than fiction.

  Leah’s words continue to haunt me as I lower the drill press over and over and over. Eight mind-numbing hours of this shit. Overtime if I want it, which I don’t. The thought of working here for any length of time depresses me, especially after opening my own brewery.

  My mind feels like a soda can used for target practice. I simply can’t get past the fact that my wife pushed her handicapped sister into the family pool. I went online and researched it in the Oregon newspapers and found her sister’s obituary. Leah claimed that she witnessed her sister’s abuse at the hands of her father and did nothing about it. She served eighteen months in a juvenile facility before moving in with her aunt and uncle just outside Seattle. I didn’t ask Leah directly, since we swore to be brutally honest with each other, but I got the distinct feeling that she was the one who was victimized by her old man.

  Why do I believe this? Because all the pieces seem to make sense now. She displays many of the behavioral symptoms that result from sexual abuse. She drinks too much, obsesses about every small thing, and completely shies away from sexual intimacy. I can’t be totally sure, but it seems obvious to me. Leah’s miserable, drunken father is the root of all her insecurities. She needs intensive therapy if she’s to put her sister’s death in the rearview mirror.

  But will that be enough to save our marriage?

  The notion that she murdered her own sister in cold blood frightens me. There’s Zack and Zadie to think about, and I worry constantly about their safety. I feel like I can’t trust her with the children anymore. I have nightmares about coming home one day and seeing their mangled bodies sprawled on the living room floor. Or floating lifeless in the bathtub.

  There’s no way I’m moving back to Seattle with her and resuming our old lifestyle. It’s a fantasy, a sick dream she harbors in order to make her believe everything’s fine. Well, forget her and her sick mind. As soon as I save up enough money, I plan on hiring a lawyer and suing for custody of the kids. She’s crazy and completely deluded, which is how we ended up in this situation in the first place. Yes, I’m partly to blame for the destruction of our marriage, but after comparing our respective crimes, I think hers is far worse in the greater scheme of things.

  I’m not paying attention when I lower the drill and the bit breaks. Damn. It’s the second time I’ve ruined a piece of equipment this morning. The supervisor comes over and rips me a new one, telling me that there’s lots of guys out there who’d like this shitty job. The economy in rural Maine sucks and good jobs are hard to come by. But I don’t care right now. Screw this job and the inbred supervisor who lords over me. I rip my gloves off and throw them down to the floor.

  “Where you going?” the supervisor asks.

  “I’m done with this place.”

  “Get your shit and get the hell out of here.”

  “You think I’m going to run a drill press the rest of my life?” I laugh.

  “You’re a loser, Skip. With an attitude like that you’ll never hold down a job.”

  “Open your mouth again, asshole, and I’ll close it for you,” I say, towering over this short little prick clenching a clipboard.

  He turns and walks away, and I’m glad he did. My frustrations are mounting and I feel like I’m going to explode at any minute. My fuse has grown shorter in the past year and I’m more prone to temper tantrums and explosive outbursts. I can see myself hurting someone if they say the wrong thing.

  I clean out my locker and head to the parking lot. My brain is screaming inside my skull and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing my sanity. The days of making beer in my own brewery bring back memories, both good and bad. I get in the car and head home. It’s all I can do not to swerve off the road. Up ahead I see a dingy roadside tavern. I pull over in the near-empty parking lot. A neon-red sign flashes. It’s dark inside and smells of mold and mildew. A country song is playing over the speakers. I saddle up to the bar and order a Budweiser, as there are no craft beers on tap. Three more beers and a shot of Jack Daniel’s follow in rapid succession. The alcohol numbs my mind and reduces the voices in my head to a murmur. I feel better now with a few under my belt. I feel like I can go home, play the role of “husband” I auditioned for many years ago, and think of a way to end this troubled marriage. Maybe I can start searching for a good divorce lawyer, one who will ensure that I get full custody of Zack and Zadie.

  I grab a beer for the road and then head back into town. Everything is lush and green, and the air conditioner blows a cool breeze over my fat, sweaty face. I pass my old brewery, which has been taken over by a friendly rival. Ben’s still working there, and probably ripping off my recipes, but I don’t begrudge the kid. Good luck to him. I hope he falls in one of the fermenting kettles and drowns.

  I stop momentarily at the gates of Chadwick College and stare at the quaint buildings and meticulous landscaping. Summer classes are in session and a few students stroll lazily across campus. The gates in front of the college have always struck me as exclusionary and pretentious, and I realize that the biggest hypocrites on the planet take up space within those ivory towers.

  I continue on until I arrive in my deserted neighborhood. I live in a ruined development that I can’t escape: underwater on the mortgage and a turnoff to prospective buyers. Trying to sell it has been a nightmare, and for more reasons than the obvious fact that the neighborhood resembles the Gaza Strip: two ancient enemies at war and living side by side.

  I park haphazardly in the driveway and stagger up to the front door. A nice buzz counters the hangover still plaguing my brain. I look around the first floor, but Leah is nowhere to be found. Yet her car is parked outside. She’s probably upstairs, once again spying on the neighbors. What a nosy bitc
h. She thinks I don’t know that she goes upstairs and spies on them every chance she gets. It irked me at first to learn that she’d been peeping in on the Gaineses, possibly watching them make love. But I never dwelled on it, having too much to worry about at the brewery. But after hearing her confession, it all makes sense now. Her sickness is much worse than I thought, and I fear not only for the safety of Zack and Zadie, but for my own life, especially when she learns that I plan to leave her and file for full custody of the kids. It’s why I need to act fast, before she discovers what I’m doing. If I have to borrow money from my parents, then I will.

  It feels eerily quiet inside. Needing to fuel my addiction, I grab a bottle of beer out of the fridge and pop it open. Ahhh, the taste of a good craft brew still pleases me to no end. I guzzle it down in one swoop, savoring the heft and body.

  Fortified with a good buzz, I run upstairs, hoping to catch her in the act. But she isn’t there. So where is she? I move to the window and see the bedroom light on in the Gaineses’ house. One of the shutters is slightly bent from her fingers repeatedly pushing down on it. Her spyglass stands vertically on the nearby dresser. I grab it and push the lens through the opening.

  What I see surprises the hell out of me.

  LEAH

  Wednesday, August 26, 11:44 a.m.

  THE FRONT DOOR CLOSES AND MY EYELIDS SPRING OPEN. FORTUNATELY, I’ve always been a light sleeper, able to wake up at a moment’s notice. Footsteps scurry up the stairs and I hear the pitched tone of Clarissa’s low voice. I turn on my phone, hoping to record her confession.

  “This better be an emergency, Russell. What’s so important that you had to call me away from the office in the middle of the day?”

  “I shut off the security system so we can discuss this in private.”

  “You what?” Her voice sounds suspicious.

  “I know you wanted me dead, Clarissa, so it makes this conversation very hard to have.”