by Gail, Allie
“Even though I wasn’t impressed with all his self-exaltation,” she continues, “I still agreed to have coffee with him the week after that. And that’s when things got really weird. You wouldn’t believe the crazy accusations he was making.”
“Like what?”
“Like how all my friends were shallow, stupid bitches that apparently weren’t good enough to breathe the same air as him, seeing as how he was intellectually superior. At least, that’s how he saw it in his own mind. Then he gets all pissed off when I won’t commit to another date with him. And then he refers to me as his girlfriend – after one date, mind you – and proceeds to inform me that it’s my obligation to provide him with sex.”
What?! Holy fuckballs in a funny farm – she wasn’t kidding about the weird factor! Sounds like this guy was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. “No shit! He actually said that?”
“He said that. Which is when I began to realize this guy wasn’t just quirky – there was something not quite right about him. So of course, after that I went out of my way to avoid him whenever possible. I wasn’t deliberately rude to him or anything, I still said hello and tried to be nice but that was probably the wrong thing to do. Because he didn’t give up. He started sending me gifts, really inappropriate things like body oils and lingerie, creepy stuff like that. He kept calling, and when I wouldn’t answer he started in with the constant texts until I had to block him.
“And he was following me around. It seemed like every time I looked up, there he was. Watching me. It got so bad I finally reported him to the Behavioral Intervention Team. He was reprimanded, instructed to stay away from me and sent to counseling, but it didn’t do any good. I came back to my dorm room one night to find him waiting there for me. It turned into an ugly scene.”
I take it back – forget the fries, he’s missing an entire cheeseburger. I have to fight the urge to clench my teeth. If she tells me this fuckwit did anything to hurt her, I think I’ll flip my shit. “What did he want?”
“He wanted me to go away with him. Said he’d already made reservations at some hotel in Daytona. It was the end of spring quarter, see, and we were about to have a couple of weeks off so I guess he got it into his head that we were going to have some sort of romantic rendezvous or something. To which I told him not just no but hell no, and then he got all handsy so I punched him in the face and threw him out.”
“Good girl.” I’m glad to hear that she knows how to defend herself. “Did you call the police? Get a restraining order?”
I realize when she lowers her gaze that I’ve said the wrong thing. She looks abashed, ashamed for me to know that she neglected to do what should have been obvious, and I belatedly wish I’d kept my mouth shut. The last thing she needs is to be criticized for the choices she made years ago.
“No,” she admits softly. “I was going to call campus security, but he begged me not to. He would’ve lost his scholarship and I didn’t want that on my conscience.”
“Of course. I understand.” Maybe I don’t, not really, but I don’t want to give her the impression that I find her decision a foolish one. She seems to be harboring enough guilt already.
“Besides, I was leaving in the morning to go home. I figured getting away from him for a while would solve everything. I guess I thought he’d just…get over it.”
“But he didn’t,” I speculate.
“No.” Taking a deep breath, she releases it slowly before resuming her story. “I’d been home for four days. My sister was back from college too, and that night she was babysitting so I thought…I thought it would be fun if we all went to see a movie. We even talked my parents into going along. And then after the movie we couldn’t agree on whether to go out for dinner or just pick up a pizza and go back home. I voted for pizza at home, but then Madelyn mentioned some new Chinese restaurant that had just opened up. And Penny – the little girl she was babysitting – well, she loves to read the fortune cookies so in the end we let her have her way. Which probably saved all our lives.”
I reach for Melanie's hand, wanting somehow to reassure her even if it seems a bit late for emotional support. Whatever went down, I find myself wishing I'd been there to help her through it.
Weaving her fingers through mine, she stares vacantly at our hands while continuing to speak quietly.
“When we got home, the first thing we saw were the flashing lights in our neighbor's driveway. She was the one who called the police. You see, while she was sitting out on her front porch, it seems a young man showed up at our house and stood there for a long time pounding on the front door. Ms. Walters had seen us drive off earlier that evening so she knew nobody was home. So she gets up and goes over to the edge of her porch to ask if there’s something she can do for him. That’s when she sees the gun in his hand. Naturally it scares her half to death and right away she goes back inside and dials 9-1-1. But of course the man had driven away by the time the police arrived.”
“Luka?” The word lodges in my throat. It’s clear what his motive must have been, and the knowledge makes me sick to my stomach.
“Yes. I knew as soon as she described the black Miata he was driving. It never occurred to me how easy it would be for him to find out where my family lived. I mean, I thought since I never mentioned where I was from…but honestly, I never would have expected him to come looking for me. Plus, four days had gone by without him trying to contact me so I figured he must have finally gotten the message. I’d stopped worrying about it. I thought it was over.”
Her eyes catch mine for a fraction of a second before darting away.
“I didn’t realize just how unbalanced he really was. I don’t think anyone did. If we’d been home that night–”
“But you weren’t,” I remind her. The alternative is something I refuse to consider.
“I would have opened that door without a second thought,” she persists. “Or more than likely, Penny would have gotten to it first. And I have no doubt…” Her voice trails off, as if she doesn’t want to put her fears into words.
She doesn’t have to. I know what she’s thinking. That the psycho wouldn’t have had any reservations about taking out every person there.
“Was he arrested?” She mentioned that someone had died. I can only hope that it was him and not some innocent bystander.
“The police in St. Augustine went to his apartment to pick him up for questioning, but the only person they found there was his roommate. They asked him a few questions and then left, just telling him to call when and if he heard from Luka. Not half an hour later they received a report of gunshots coming from the same apartment complex. They returned to find the black Miata in the parking lot. I don’t know what happened exactly, no one will ever know for sure, but apparently there must have been some sort of altercation between the two of them. The roommate had been shot three times. After that Luka turned the gun on himself. They were both pronounced dead at the scene.”
Shaking my head slightly, I give her hand a reassuring squeeze and wait to hear the rest.
“The roommate’s name was Braden Keane. He was a second-year student at Flagler, majoring in criminology. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” She tries to smile but it’s a feeble attempt. “I didn’t know him personally, but I’d seen him around campus a few times.”
“Oh…hey, wait a second…” A vague memory is coming back to me, and I suddenly realize why the name Luka Martelli sounded familiar to me. “I think I remember reading about that when it happened! The name of the apartment complex was Pine Hill or Pine Grove, something like that, wasn’t it?”
“Pinewood Villas.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I read about the shooting in the paper. But I know damn well your name wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the article. I would have noticed that right away.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t. My involvement was kept from the press. My father made sure of that. He’s a lawyer, remember?”
Her involvement. As if any of this had been her choice.
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Melanie’s eyes stray off into the distance with a tired, faraway look. “Luka left behind a twenty-page manifesto. He must have written it in the days before he came looking for me. They found it printed out, tied with a black ribbon and lying in the middle of his bed. The investigators let me read it. I couldn’t even tell you what it said, not really. It was just a bunch of paranoid rambling. None of it made any sense. It was totally delusional. He kept referring to me as his girlfriend, and said the Illuminati had gotten into my head and forced me to betray him and all kinds of weird shit like that. I kept telling them I wasn’t his girlfriend, I barely even knew him. For some reason he was completely obsessed with me. I don’t…I don’t know what I did…what I did to make him–”
“You did nothing.” Cupping her chin with my free hand, I force her to look directly at me. “Sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong. Not a thing. The guy was sick. You said yourself he was delusional. To do what he did, the guy had to be seriously mentally ill. If his infatuation with you hadn’t pushed him over the edge, something else would have.”
She wiggles impatiently out of my grasp. “I should have tried harder to help him. Maybe I could have done something. But I thought he was just being a dick. I didn’t know – how could I have known what he was capable of?”
“Exactly. How could you have known?” Lifting her hand, I brush it against my cheek. Mine, I think to myself possessively. The Paleolithic side of me feels a desperate need to protect her, and it pisses me off that I’ve arrived on the scene too late for that. “The answer is, you couldn’t. Baby, sometimes there are things in life we just don’t see coming no matter how wide open our eyes are. And yes, we may end up getting blindsided, but if you spend all your time questioning the past you’ll never be secure enough to take any chances on the future.”
“I know. I mean, I know you’re right. It’s just…I feel responsible. How can I not?”
“You weren’t responsible. Not even remotely. I’m sure deep down you already know that. So why were you so reluctant to tell me about this?”
“I thought you might not believe me.”
“What? Why on earth would you think I wouldn’t believe you?”
“I was afraid you’d think I must have led him on. Especially after what happened between us that first night. I know it’s hard to believe anyone would act the way he did without provocation but I swear, I didn’t intentionally do anything to give him the wrong idea. It wasn’t like that. All I ever did was try to be nice to him.”
My God. What kind of a bastard does she think I am? How can she think for one minute that I’d ever put the blame on her?
“I know,” I tell her. “And do you know how I know?”
“How?”
“Because you told me. And I trust you. What I’m hoping is that at some point you’ll realize you can trust me, too.”
~ Chapter Twenty-Three ~
The wind is still shaking the trees like barley in a field.
I can see them through the strips of glass that border the door. The palm trees are bending and swaying like rubber bands ready to snap and fly away. For the most part, they’re holding up surprisingly well. I don’t see any uprooted or broken. They may look flimsy, but palm trees are a lot more durable than one would imagine.
I’ve become accustomed to the hurricane’s soundtrack. Powerful gusts that howl relentlessly. The thunderous deluge of rain as the sky empties the Gulf of Mexico into the streets. The occasional clatter of the metal storm shutters as they shudder against Elliott’s assault. They help to block out some of the noise, but plenty still gets through.
The wind carries an eerie undertone of whistling that sounds just like the wail of a siren. The first time I heard it, I thought maybe there were emergency vehicles still out on the roads. But now I know better. There’s no one out there. The town is deserted, its people hidden away. Until this blows over, we are all on our own.
And as far as I’m concerned, the wind can go on shaking the trees.
The rain can go on falling.
Because when the storm moves on, so does he.
I turn my head to gaze at him, this memory from my childhood who swept back into my life with more force than the hurricane raging outside.
He is leaning against the door frame that separates the living room from the hallway, arms folded casually across his chest, watching me intently. He is beautiful. So beautiful it makes my heart ache. His face is expressionless though, which worries me. I don’t know what he’s thinking of me, now that he knows what I did. What I caused. In spite of what he said, I fear he may be viewing me in a whole new light.
Perhaps as a cold, insensitive bitch who ripped out a man’s heart, mauling it like a cat with a mouse before crushing it into dust.
And I couldn’t blame him. He has every right. After all, didn’t I have sex with him at first sight? Without even a word passing between us. What else is he supposed to think after that? I know how crazy the whole account must have sounded to him. I know it doesn’t make sense that a man would resort to murder and suicide over a woman he’s had one platonic date with.
No, of course it doesn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense to me, and I was there.
Nervously wetting my lips, I study him and wonder what’s running through his mind right now.
“What are you thinking?”
Startled, I level a blank stare at Shane, who has somehow managed to voice my internal musings out loud. “What?”
“You had this intense look on your face. I was just wondering what you were thinking about.”
A sharp exhalation sticks in my throat, kind of a half-sigh, half-laugh. “That’s funny. I was kind of wondering the same thing about you.”
His lips curve into an indulgent smile. “There’s nothing all that profound going on up here. With me, what you see is pretty much what you get. If I have something to say, you better believe it will be said. I’m not one to keep things hidden.”
“You mean the way I do?” I’m probably coming off as defensive, but there’s little doubt who he was referring to just now.
“That’s not what I meant, Melanie. But it does seem to me that maybe you tend to overthink things. Make them more complicated than they need to be.”
I stop to ponder this as he leisurely makes his way over to me. Uncrossing his arms, he envelops me in their embrace and nuzzles my neck gently.
“What happened, happened,” he says quietly. “It’s over and done with. You can second-guess every single word, every single action leading up to that night, but it won’t do you a bit of good. However much you may want to, the fact remains – there is nothing you can do to change the past. Nothing. It’s over. And now what I see is you trying your damnedest to dig up any reason, no matter how trivial, why you should be the one to accept the blame. But you’re coming up empty-handed. And you always will. So stop. Stop looking for reasons to blame yourself. You won’t find them because they don’t exist. They never did.”
Tears spring unbidden to my eyes, and I hastily blink them back. Keep your composure, girl. The last thing I need right now is another panic attack. I don’t want him writing me off as a complete basket case.
“Do you think you can do that for me?” he persists in a whisper.
“I’ll try.” I’ll keep on trying is what I mean. With every month, every year that goes by, the guilt and the memories fade just a little bit more. Luka’s somber blue eyes haunt my dreams far less frequently than they used to.
“That’s my girl. You’re forgetting, I know how strong you are. You had to put up with me all those years, didn’t you?” Breathing a sigh, he presses a kiss against my temple. “Can I just ask you one more thing before we drop this subject altogether?”
“Okay.”
“Is ‘angel’ something you don’t like to be called?”
Now that the air has been cleared, I suddenly realize how petty it was for me to get all bent out of shape over something so trivia
l. “He had a habit of calling me that. So I have to admit it’s not exactly my favorite pet name, but I won’t hold it against you if you let it slip once in a while.”
“Tell you what. Maybe we should just stick to Felony.”
“Well, now you’re just being mean.”
I laugh along with him, even as I cringe inwardly because once-in-a-while implies that we'll be seeing more of each other in the future. I want to see him again – hell, at the moment I can’t bear to let him out of my sight – but I don't want him to think I'm being presumptuous or that I expect it. Especially after I made such a big deal about this being a casual thing.
Resting my head against his shoulder, I let my eyes wander back to the glass panes. Even though it’s only mid-afternoon, the storm’s darkness resembles dusk.
The rain lets up briefly, and through the misty gloominess I catch sight of something unexpected.
At first I think it has to be my imagination. That I’m seeing things. But the harder I focus, the more I come to realize the tiny sparks are not my eyes playing tricks on me. They’re really there. Thousands of them, shimmering and glowing like moonlight reflecting off the ocean.
“Now that’s strange.” Raising my head, I stare out the window at the sparkling lightning bugs.
“What’s strange?”
“The fireflies are back.” I watch the twinkling little lights in wonder, marveling that something so small would be able to withstand such savage winds. How is it they haven’t been swept away? “I don’t get it. Why would they be trying to mate in the middle of a hurricane? And how can they be strong enough to fly around out there in all that wind?”
Shane turns his head to follow my gaze before replying simply, “They aren’t.”
“You’re telling me you don’t see that? Look. See all those lights?”
“I see them.” He sounds amused by my bewilderment. “But there’s nothing out there. Not really. What you see is an illusion. Your fireflies are nothing more than sand particles blowing in the wind. The grains collide while in flight, and the friction creates millions of electrostatic sparks. It isn’t fireflies. It’s just one of those rare phenomenons of nature.”