by Rob Watson
Alex gave his sister a knowing look and shook his head.
Alex: No, Lexa. This isn’t you.
Lexa cast her eyes downward for a long moment. She snuck a look at the prescription bottles inside her purse and looked back up at her brother.
Lexa: I know it isn’t.
A smidgen of alarm hid behind Alex’s comforting smile. Yeah, that outburst was more Alex than Lexa.
Claude and Amanda looked at each other with concern, then back at their troubled niece.
“Maybe it was a little too soon for you to go away on your own like that,” Uncle Claude said.
Lexa whipped her head around to face her uncle with appalled eyes.
“Oh shit,” Alex said quietly, sinking down in his seat.
“Too soon?” Lexa snarled. “Too soon for what? Are you trying to tell me that Kimmy was killed because I left home too soon?”
“No. No, sweetheart! I just meant too soon to go off into the world without having your psychological support structure, that being your aunt and I, Dr. Cross…and Alex.”
“What does my psychological support structure have to do with Kimmy?”
“Nothing. That’s the whole point,” Claude said. “It has to do with you and the way you’re dealing with her death.”
“I’m dealing with it just fine.” This is only making the pain worse. Just leave me alone!
“Are you really? You’re not acting like the same Lexa who left for that damn trip. I’m sure Dr. Cross would say the same.”
“What is it that you all want from me?” Lexa yelled. Her hand unconsciously reached into her purse for a medicine bottle. “I’ve already spent practically my entire life right here inside this house, making it feel more like a prison than a home. For reasons unknown to me, Alex was allowed to get his education like most other kids, while I was sentenced to home school.” Lexa took her hand out of her purse to wipe a tear falling down her cheek. “I’ve missed out on so, so much.”
“What are all these things you missed out on?” Uncle Claude asked.
“You want a list? How about playgrounds, field trips, summer camps, sports, dances, friends, birthday parties?”
“That’s not true!” Amanda exclaimed in desperate defense of decisions she always thought were right, and ones she was always told were right. “You haven’t gone not one year without us celebrating your birthday.”
Lexa snorted. “You and Uncle Claude sitting at the table with me and Alex is not my idea of a loads of fun birthday party for a young girl. Oh I forgot, Dr. Cross did manage to make it to my Sweet Sixteen.” She picked up the cup of tea and held it aloft. “Here’s to the good Dr. James Cross.” She slammed the cup down without taking a drink. “I was robbed of a normal childhood because of him, and because of you.”
“We just figured that—”
“I wanted so badly to go to school, to be a normal kid like all the ones I used to watch through the window walking to the corner to wait for the school bus. I never was allowed to go. I had to wait until I was old enough to enroll myself, but by that time school was freaking college!”
“I’m…we’re sorry if you suffered because of us in the past,” Claude threw out. “But look at you now, graduating with honors, working toward your master’s degree, and what about all the new friends you have? Like your Magnificent Seven?”
Lexa scoffed. “Friends? Do you seriously think I know what it means to have a friend, or be someone’s friend? I’ve just been going through the motions. The sad reality is I haven’t a clue what real friendship is supposed to be. I have no frame of reference other than what I’ve seen on TV.” She looked over at Alex standing next to the fireplace. “There’s only been one person in my life I’ve ever been able to feel a connection with, one person who sees and knows the real me that’s trapped inside of here.” Lexa pointed to her head. “And the Magnificent Seven? You wanna know how I feel when I’m around them? I feel like an alien. They only like me because I’m smart and nice to look at. None of them really know me.”
For that matter, do I really know myself?
“And anyway, it’s not the Magnificent Seven anymore. We’re down to six, remember?”
The heart-wrenching feeling of complete and utter failure ravaged Amanda. Through apologetic eyes, she looked to her niece for some degree of absolution, but none was offered. “We were only doing what we thought was best for you, Lexa. We, all of us, have always done what we thought would make you better.”
“Do I look better?” Lexa shouted. “Wasn’t it bad enough I was an orphan? Why did you have to go and make me a goddamn social retard as well?”
Lexa averted her eyes as her aunt’s expression brimmed with telltales she was about to emotionally unravel. After a gut-wrenching moment, Amanda lost the battle and ran weeping into the kitchen.
“You happy now?” Claude asked. He took a deep breath, counting to ten to himself. He had to remain calm and remember that it wasn’t her fault. It never was. Claude looked at the ajar kitchen door, then walked over and stood facing his niece. “You know this isn’t you, Lexa. This isn’t who you really are. Have you been taking your medication as prescribed?”
“Yes,” Lexa snapped.
“Really?” Claude motioned to the bag on her lap. “Let me see.”
Lexa’s hands tightened around the purse’s strap. “No.”
Alex sighed. “Looks like I’m not needed here.” He headed over to stoke the fire.
“No?” Claude repeated. “Why not, Lexa?”
“I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman. An adult capable of keeping account of my own prescriptions.”
“Well if that’s the case, why don’t you just let me see them?”
“Why don’t you just go to Hell?”
“Lexa!” Amanda cried out from the kitchen entryway with shocked disbelief. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve never addressed us in such a manner.”
“Yeah, well I’ve never witnessed a fried human head fall out of a goddamn stock pot either.” Lexa got up and headed upstairs. Alex put down the fireplace poker and followed his sister.
***
Lexa crashed down upon her bed with both the sorrow of her loss and the pain from her headache fighting for her attention. She rifled through her purse for her medicine bottles.
Shit…Shit…Shit!
Each bottle she pulled out of her purse was empty.
Watching silently from the hallway, Alex sauntered into Lexa’s bedroom. He brushed aside the empty prescription bottles at the foot of her bed and sat down.
“That was so Twilight Zone I can’t believe it,” he said with an air of delight. “It was like I was watching myself have a go at auntie and unkie.” He pantomimed boxing moves.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Lexa confessed. “But whatever it was, I couldn’t stop it.”
“Don’t worry, Sis. It’s probably just all your pent-up sexual energy desperately looking for some kind of release. I told you how to take care of that.” Alex laid down on the bed and made a loud buzzing sound, mimicking the moves of a woman pleasuring herself with a vibrator.
“You’re an idiot,” Lexa said with a girlish giggle. Then she realized that not only had the edge been taken off her headache, but it was starting to lessen in intensity.
“Yeah, well what does that make you, oh twin sister of mine?”
“It makes me the luckiest girl in the world.” Lexa embraced her brother tightly. Why was it that him, and only him, could always make her feel better?
Alex grinned. “Headache starting to go away, huh?” Lexa nodded. “Lie down and relax, and I’ll go and get your scripts refilled, okay?”
Lexa placed her hand on Alex’s cheek and asked, “What would I do without you?”
Alex stroked Lexa’s hair thinking, That’s something you’ll never have to find out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
REQUIEM FOR ONE
Dark rain clouds hovered ominously over Holy Cross Cemetery, where old Father McCurtain was
commencing Kimber’s graveside services. Alex, Lexa, Paige, CK, Cassie, Bastian, and Palmer gazed sadly at their friend’s closed casket.
“May her soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen,” Father McCurtain ended with grave solemnity, after which he walked over to comfort Kimber’s family members.
The friends remained seated while Alex and the rest of the funeral party departed. The sealed casket sat before the six friends like a grim herald of tragedy yet to come.
After allowing them a few minutes to lament, Captain Styles exited her car and approached the group from behind. “Sorry to disturb you at this time, but I said I’d be here.” Captain Styles pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Do you have any leads yet on who killed Kimber?” asked Bastian.
“Not one. That’s why I’m here today,” Styles replied, privately thinking, So I can do a little more fishing in your ponds. “By the way,” she faced Bastian, her words dripping with sarcasm, “Thanks for your sincere vote of confidence the other day on TV.”
“Don’t mention it,” Bastian replied.
Styles reached into her purse and pulled out Lexa’s cellphone and held it out to her. “Thank you for the use of your phone, Ms. Rhodes.”
Lexa took it. “Were you able to trace where the texts came from?”
“Yes. Both calls were made from the victim’s cellphone and forwarded through a web service called Roommates.” Styles honed her attention on Lexa. “You have an awful lot of received and forwarded messages from that site.”
“That’s just a social network that we all belong to,” CK explained. “It’s the most popular—”
Captain Styles raised her hand to shush CK. “You seem to have a habit of answering for Ms. Rhodes, in a protective kind of way. Are you two boyfriend/girlfriend?”
CK lowered his eyes. “No, just good friends.”
“Then I guess you won’t mind if she answers my questions for herself, huh?” Styles took a notepad and pen out of her smart looking, but slightly worn attaché case. “You’ve all had time to get over the initial shock. Can any of you think of a reason why this happened to Ms. Clark?”
Lexa and the others remained silent while looking at one another.
“Did she have any rivals, enemies, jilted lovers…?”
“She was having problems with her ex-boyfriend Doug,” Lexa said.
“We checked him out. He’s been in county lockup for the past week for aggravated assault and battery.” Styles looked from one to the other. “Anyone else?”
No one had anything to offer.
Knowing sometimes silence spoke more than words, Styles said, “There were no signs of forced entry at the apartment, so either the killer was someone the deceased knew, or the killer had a key. Ms. Rhodes, do you know of anyone besides the deceased who had a key to the apartment.”
“No, no one.”
Wait, that’s a lie. Kimber gave me a spare key to keep in case of emergencies. But it’s hidden in a safe place that no one knows but me. Should I tell her? Alex would say, “Hell no—it might point blame your way, Sis.” Maybe he’s right. Besides, that’s what he would do. But I’m not Alex, I’m me, right?
During Lexa’s internal discussion with herself, Styles had been closely watching, trying to unearth any buried secrets the young woman might be struggling to keep covered. She allowed a few moments then prompted, “Miss Rhodes?”
“Yes, Captain Styles?”
“Is there something you want to say?”
No, don’t tell her about the key. Kimber wouldn’t want you to needlessly incriminate yourself.
“No,” Lexa said finally. “No, there isn’t.”
“You see,” Styles said, frustrated, “here’s my problem. By no means was Ms. Clark’s murder random. She was targeted by a sadistic, brutal killer. One who hated her with a passion.” She looked over the group. “Do you have any idea how messy it is to kill someone by cutting their throat? Ever hear of arterial spray? Ms. Clark didn’t just have her throat cut, someone sawed her head off with a hunting knife.” Lexa and Cassie cringed. “So you can imagine how much blood ended up on the killer.”
The six friends shut their eyes and grimaced in shared disgust.
“What’s the point of you grossing all of us out?” Palmer asked.
“The point is, Mr. Randolph, that Ms. Clark’s murder was very personal in nature. Personal enough to use a knife as the murder weapon, forcing the killer to get dead bang close to Ms. Clark. Personal enough for the killer to smuggle Ms. Clark’s head over to Catalina Island and then stuff it in a turkey pot.” Styles looked directly at Palmer and shook her head. “You can’t get much more personal than that.” She stood up and opened her attaché. “If any of you remember anything that could help us in our investigation, be sure to give me a call, huh?” She handed each of them her business card. “Thank you all for you time, and my condolences for your friend.” Styles turned to leave, then stopped and added, “By the way, why do you think the killer took on all of that trouble and risk ruining your little soiree? The killer first had to successfully transport the head undetected to Avalon. Then the killer had to slip past the caterers and stow Ms. Clark’s head into a boiling pot of peanut oil, and dispose of the turkey that was previously occupying it. After all of that, the killer had to avoid capture after the fact. That much trouble and risk suggests to me that the killer probably has issues with one or more of you, or possibly with the senator himself. In either case, you might want to play it safe for a while. You know, watch each other’s backs. I’ll let you know if we come up with anything new.”
The six watched Styles depart, their minds struggling to fully absorb the relevance of the captain’s unsettling warning. After a few moments, Cassie broke the uneasy silence.
“Lexa, are you sure no one else has a key to Kimmy’s place?”
“Like Doug perhaps?” Paige added.
“No, she would’ve told me if she gave him one,” Lexa replied with a hint of uncertainty that Paige noticed.
“Are you sure about that?” countered Paige.
Why the hell did Paige ask me that question? I’d know if anyone else had a key, wouldn’t I? Unless Kimber didn’t tell me. Or someone had a key made without Kimber knowing. Or someone used my key.
“I…I don’t know if I’m sure.” A familiar pain started building inside Lexa’s head, a pain fueled by her self-doubt giving way to self-accusation.
Maybe I used the key. No. I’d never hurt Kimber. What reason could I possibly have? And the way it was done—I could never do anything like that to anyone, let alone my best friend.
She put her hands over her face and wept, her head throbbing with pain.
CK cautiously moved toward Lexa. “Is there something—”
His attempt at consoling her was intercepted by Paige, who leaned over and wrapped her arms around her tearful friend. CK slumped back into his seat.
I sure blew that opportunity. I wonder how many that makes now?
***
Unseen by grieving eyes, somewhere dark, secluded, and hidden from view, a hooded figure watched Paige hug Lexa, talk softly into her ear, and stroke her hair.
CHAPTER NINE
SPIRAL
The pain in Lexa’s haunted head was almost unbearable as she walked through the front door. She shut it behind her, securely locking the deadbolt. She strolled over to the chessboard and studied it until the burning wood in the fireplace drew her attention. Her sea green eyes fixed upon orange flames performing a mesmerizing dance in front of a stage of blackened bricks. Once again, Lexa was overcome by the feeling of losing herself.
No. Please, no more.
Lexa struggled to resist, but could not prevent herself from spiraling toward the dead orange flames licking the red bricks…
***
I’m spiraling.
Carl and Lisa Rhodes screamed, thick smoke from the flames choking and blinding them.
Plea
se help me! Can’t stop spiraling.
Alex dragged his hysterical eight-year-old twin sister from the burning cabin as she screamed for Mommy and Daddy.
I’m spiraling back into oblivion…
***
After everything faded to black, a strong, familiar voice entered the void.
“Lexa, can you hear me? Lexa, wake up…”
Lexa opened her eyes. Dr. James Cross, now in his mid-fifties, was standing over her. Ever since the death of her parents, Cross had been Lexa’s treating psychiatrist and her primary care provider.
“There you are,” he said with a strong but soothing voice. “Nice to have you back with us.”
“Dr. Cross…what happened?” asked Lexa.
Am I awake, or am I asleep? And is there a difference between the two?
“You tell me,” Cross countered. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.” He picked Lexa up off the floor and cradled her in his arms. “I rang the doorbell several times, but there was no answer.” Cross gently placed Lexa upon the couch. “The front door was ajar, so I peeked inside and saw you lying on the floor.” He walked back over to the fireplace and picked up her purse from the floor.
Dazed and confused, Lexa tried to fill in the blanks. “But I…I thought I closed…”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Cross, handing her the purse.
“Nothing.”
“I better check you out.” Dr. Cross reached for his brown leather physician’s bag, the kind you’d expect to see in an old black-and-white movie. After a quick examination, he closed his bag and patted Lexa’s knee. “You seem okay physically. So talk to me, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
Why should I have to tell him? After all these years he should already know.
“My headaches are getting worse,” Lexa confessed. “They’re more frequent and intense than ever before.”
“Are you taking your prescriptions as I’ve directed?” His young patient gestured compliance. Cross folded his arms. “That’s not what your uncle thinks.”