As the proverbial lightbulb went on in his head, there was only one person whom he imagined had any sort of resentment against him of this magnitude: his ex-fiancée. After all, they never really did have closure. Upon unofficially breaking up, neither had made formal contact in years. Perhaps she didn’t know he saw her that night at the restaurant with that guy. Maybe all this time she thought he simply left her for no reason, and when things fell through with the other guy, she got lonely… and now she wanted him back. Could that be it? Would she be so full of bitterness or resentment that she’d kill his dog? It seemed too far-fetched to make sense. She would have called and left a normal message. An angry, screaming message, but normal for her nonetheless.
Who else, then? Nobody. There was nobody that Marc felt would be this angry with him, or this deranged. It wasn’t going to be easy putting the sparse pieces together. Without a voice, he had nothing.
There was always *69. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He quickly dialed the number that he hoped would allow him to trace back to his last caller. A piercing beep hurt his ear, so he held the phone away as he listened to the subsequent digital message telling him the number was blocked.
“Figures,” Marc mumbled.
There was no choice but to involve the police. Perhaps they could trace the number or figure out how Sheba was killed, since there was no discernable cause of death. Marc hoped they would analyze the box of letters and find out if there was any way to start narrowing down his offender’s identity.
**
The police had come and gone, taking his statement and filing the police report. He had handed over the letters and pictures. After spending hours leafing through the discomforting artifacts, there was no substantive evidence that pointed to any particular person. They’d determined that Sheba was fed antifreeze—based on the remnants of a pool of it near the end of the driveway—and died from the toxic poisoning. But everyone had antifreeze, so that clue led to a dead end. There was little doubt that it was intentional.
With a mere case of animal cruelty and communications harassment, the police department’s hands were tied until a dead body showed up, and by then it’d be too late for him. Marc figured it’d be up to him to protect himself.
He retreated outside to his back porch for fresh air to clear his head. Agonizing over the details wasn’t getting him any closer to the big picture; it was driving him crazy. He stood staring at the horizon, releasing the strain he held on his thoughts. He was tired of trying to force an answer. It wasn’t up to him anymore. It was beyond him now.
As the sun dipped into the surface of the water, its descent reminded him of something. He couldn’t pinpoint what, though. He turned to go back into the house. He couldn’t enjoy the view with so much stress weighing him down. The back door slammed shut behind him and he walked through the kitchen to the living room. He paused at the picture on the wall that Haley had given him during their dinner together when Allen Michaels had stopped by. His memory wandered to that night. He remembered thinking that Allen was a little on the eccentric side, but Marc contributed it to Allen’s Los Angeles background. It had definitely been an interesting night.
He pulled the frame off the hook on the wall and examined it for a moment. For some reason he was compelled to look closely at the picture. He unhinged the back flaps that held the thick cardboard backing on and pulled it off. A personal note was written on the back of the picture. Nothing unusual, just a generic note about lasting relationships and the date and year in the corner. He turned it back over and stared at the image. Nothing. Or maybe there was something. Flipping it over, Marc searched for the answer. And then he saw it. He found what he was looking for—a scribbled word that told him exactly who was behind the threats.
Chapter 36
It was getting late and she was anxious to see Marc. Not an excited anxious, but a worried anxious. After listening to his strained voice mail on her cell phone, she recognized his urgency. He hadn’t said much more than that he needed to see her as soon as possible, and for her to be careful. His disconcerting message was from earlier that morning, but she hadn’t checked her messages until later that evening. When she tried to call him back, his cell phone was off and his landline was busy. Something wasn’t right.
She sped down the highway, passing slower traffic with determination. She glanced in her rearview mirror during one such maneuver, and noticed that the same headlights had been behind her for past few miles.
Thinking little of it, she continued her drive, subconsciously gripping her steering wheel tighter with each passing minute. Knowing several back roads that could get her to Marc’s faster, she pulled off the next exit. The headlights followed. Strange. It wasn’t the most well-traveled road, since it was a country road that only local residents used. But at this time of night it could have been anyone behind her. Tossing the thought aside, she continued on to Marc’s.
Searching for her next turn, she decided to detour down some even more obscure roads that cut through the dormant cornfields and vineyards to shave a couple minutes off her time. Half expecting the all-too-familiar headlights to have been long gone by now, she glanced up anyway. Still, the headlights pursued her. Only about a mile until she’d be in town; perhaps they’d turn off of Main Street. Her follower seemed to keep a safe distance behind her, never tailing her, but always within view.
When Main Street came and went, and the same headlights threatened her from a little closer behind, she tested her pursuer even more. She slowed down at the first green light she came to, cruising up until it turned yellow, then darted through just before it went red. Sure enough, her resolute follower stayed on her tail.
“What the—?”
Fear set her heart into a panic. Her fingers reached into her purse, probing for her cell phone. She found it and flipped it open, noticing her battery light blinking. Would there be enough power left for a phone call? But then the screen went dark as it died and she tossed it back into her purse. She was on her own.
Why hadn’t she charged it? But there was no time for regret. She glanced in her rearview mirror. The car was inches away now, it’s nose uncomfortably close to her bumper. It continued inching closer by the minute—the car was aiming to hit her bumper!
She struggled for self-control and pressed the accelerator. Alone and being chased by some stranger with who-knows-what intention, she picked up speed as she flew through every possible side street she could find. With every turn, with every increase in speed, the yellow-white lights from behind reflected directly into her sight, blinding her as her rearview mirror bounced the light directly into her eyes.
When she glanced down at her gas gauge, the arrow hovered just above empty. A dead cell phone battery and a near-empty gas tank. Could things get any worse? The night was growing late, and she just needed to find somewhere public to stop. But she was miles from a pay phone. There was nothing left to do but pray.
“God, I need You right now. Please help me out of this situation.”
She almost thought her prayer was answered when the headlights disappeared. She must have lost the pursuer at her last turn. The road ahead was dotted with a few trailers and a long abandoned gas station. Without a second thought, she pulled into the empty parking lot where weeds grew through the cracked concrete and she hid the car behind the building. She shut off her lights and strained to listen for the sound of passing cars.
Everything became penetratingly dark and quiet. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she anticipated the lurking vehicle that had followed her. Her palms were sweaty as she gripped the wheel, and the silence of the night added to her fears. Her gaze roamed around her in search of a slice of light that would cue her to the pursuer’s presence. A car rolled by the vacant lot and continued down the street as quickly as it came.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lungs tightened as she wheezed for air. She again pleaded with the chilly emptiness to help her, to calm her, to guide her to safety. As
she prayed, she realized her pursuer had likely given up on the chase. But that didn’t mean she was safe.
She came up empty-handed for a logical explanation of the evening’s adventure, then wondered if this had anything to do with Marc’s bizarre urgent call to meet him at his house. It had been hours since he had left that message, and her imagination conjured up the worst. Was he okay? She feared what she would find if she ever made it to his house.
Chapter 37
Haley pulled onto her residential street lined with old-fashioned streetlights and quaint happy homes. She imagined content little families gathering around the hearth sharing warm stories while sipping hot chocolate. Not in her case. She was far from at ease, mentally and emotionally drained. She wanted nothing more than to go to bed and forget the day ever happened.
She pulled into her driveway, seeing her dark, empty house with new clarity, with a saddened realization that she was alone tonight. She was too tired, exhausted, and in no mood to tell Marc what had happened. All that would have to wait until morning. Sleep was what she needed. Lots of sleep.
Her key found its way into the lock and she promptly let herself in, too numb to realize she hadn’t locked the door behind her. She didn’t bother turn on any lights as she headed straight to the living room sofa, where she fell into the worn cushions. Haley managed to shed her coat while grappling for a throw blanket, but left her shoes on before falling into an unsettling sleep.
**
Morning followed a night of tears, and she awoke with an achy neck. She had propped her head at an awkward angle on the arm of the sofa, leaving her with a tinge of regret for sleeping on the couch. Her eyes ached from crying. She was sure they were bloodshot, if how they felt was any indication.
Lack of sleep was now catching up to her as she sniffled. Not knowing if the congestion was due to pre-dawn sobbing or an encroaching cold, she wondered what today would bring. Certainly not relief from the nightmare that was now her life.
Pushing off the quilt that was wrapped around her like a cocoon, she hobbled to the table where she had left Marc’s love letters. She had plans for the memorabilia in the form of a scrapbook to present to Marc one day, perhaps for a birthday or an anniversary. An anniversary they may never see. Even if she did forgive him for hurting her, how could she be assured that he’d never do it again? Yet somewhere in her heart, there was a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could end up back together happily ever after. Yesterday she had decided to try to fix things between them, but today she wasn’t so sure he was worth it anymore.
She flipped through the heartfelt poems, the tender prose, her scribbled journal entries beckoning their future together… it was how she truly felt. If their love for one another was so pure, so deep, how could Marc replace her with someone else? And so quickly? One minute they were in love, and the next he was wrapping his arms around someone else. Did Haley not fulfill him? Something divided them, came between them, and it was her fault. She had let it happen. Haley worried that she would never be able to win him back.
You will win him back, Haley. You must win him back, a familiar voice told her. It was the voice that had once given her comfort while going through the pain of losing her father. Years later it became the voice that confirmed that Marc was the one for her. This was the only voice she trusted nowadays.
He’s not worth it, something else within her countered.
You just need to fight harder, the voice bristled.
But she was so tired of fighting. Her entire life felt like one perpetual battle. As she considered the command—to keep pushing for what she wanted—a soft whisper winnowed out all the bitterness. Unlike the voice that dominated her brain, branding her thoughts with hot metal, whoever broke into her mind at that moment spoke to her like a warm breeze gently washing over her.
Haley, you can be healed if only you let go of Marc.
The calm in those words took her by surprise. It made so much sense—just let him go. Move on. Let it heal, the hole that first opened fifteen years ago and had been festering ever since. The answer was right there in front of her. The solution to the problem. Let go.
Let go? That’s what the weak do, Haley’s flesh retorted. You screwed it up, so fix it! Don’t let Marc leave you like your father left you. Like Jake left you. This time you can control it! You can have what you want. You deserve to be happy.
Yes, she did deserve to be happy, didn’t she?
Will that really make you happy, Haley? Marc doesn’t belong to you, reasoned the voice inside her head. Let go… just let go and embrace peace for once in your life…
But her flesh refused surrender. With the threat of losing its mastery over Haley, the voice bit back, this time drawing blood. You are worthless, Haley! And Marc never loved you!
“Stop it!” she screamed out loud, shutting up both voices. Shaking the dispute away, she frantically rifled through the pile of paper looking for answers, solace, she didn’t know exactly what. All she knew was that she wanted to feel better.
Pausing to study a picture of Marc smiling, she pulled the image to her chest, holding the photo close to her heart. When he didn’t speak up the night she caught him with Julie, his neglect spoke loud and clear. He apparently wanted her to let him go. He wanted something, or someone, else. But why? Why would he do that to her? If he was in front of her at this very moment, that would be all she’d ask: Why had he broken her heart? It would kill her to do it, but she had to move on.
But how?
Her gaze found the fireplace. There was enough kindling to start a fire. She lit a match, placing the red flaming tip against some dry twigs and crumpled corners of paper. The flame took. Then grew, just enough to emit steady heat against her cold ears. She reached over and grabbed the stack of papers, knelt by the hearth, and one by one she fed them into the yellow flames until every last letter had turned to a powdery gray dust.
“Well, I guess this is it,” she said through swelling tears. She swallowed the vomitus taste that hung on the back of her tongue. “It’s over now. I’m giving up.”
Her steady gaze held the image of her lost memories charred to ashes. She could not find the strength to pull herself from its magnetic force. Everything she had grown to love was now stripped from her. No more Los Angeles. No more screenplay writing. No more Marc. In her efforts to hold onto it all, she’d lost it all. Pain sliced through her skull, and she pushed both palms against her eyes, forcing the pain in her forehead to submit to her will. All she wanted was to be numb, to feel no more pain. There was only one way she could achieve the freedom.
Chapter 38
It wouldn’t hurt. Just one slice across—not too deep—and it’d be over. Like a paper cut. A very bloody paper cut.
She knew better than to cut herself lengthwise. That would kill her, and that wasn’t her intention. At least not today. No, she just needed to show Marc how serious she was.
One cut. One swift movement across pink flesh. In a moment of desperation it sounded so easy, so quick. But as her hand hovered above her wrist with measured pressure, the cold stainless steel blade taunted her. Her courage waned as her hand trembled with each heartbeat that pulsed beneath the knife’s serrated edge, with only a thin layer of skin containing her precious lifeblood.
In picture-perfect clarity, she imagined the jagged grooves puncturing and tearing her skin. She regretted being so hasty in picking up the first knife she came across. A smoother blade wouldn’t take as long to do the job, and it likely wouldn’t hurt as much. The thought itself startled her, striking her with its ferocity. She was actually deliberating the efficiency of her own suicide.
“No, no, no,” she scolded herself. No doubts, no hesitating. One slice and this part would be over soon enough.
Haley never felt the blade pinch and then slide into her skin, moving right to left, catching on the tiny bone about halfway across. Her mind blocked out the pain, focusing her thoughts on his face—the only face that mattered to her now. Und
er the force of her steadied hand, she pulled the blade across and out, and leaned into the cushions of her sofa, watching blood ooze from the cut, then build momentum as it trickled down her palm the way rain collected on a windowpane. The puddled droplets eventually found residence in the quilt beneath her that protected the microfiber cushions, the crimson chaotically adding to the kaleidoscope of colors.
She still had one wrist to go, but she needed to make the phone call first while she still had the strength and ability to dial. She fumbled to open her cell phone, then concentrated on pressing each of the memorized numbers. The line rang. Voice mail picked up, just as she’d expected.
“I kept my promise,” she said. There’d be no more pain after this.
Marc would hear the message and understand.
Both Marc and her dad had made her promise to find freedom from the pain. But there was no freedom except in pain. Cycles of history attested to this truth as soldiers laid down their lives in the pursuit of freedom—freedom from tyranny, from slavery, from religious persecution. Bloodshed was the only means to freedom. And it was the only solution to this lover’s battle.
A hazy image of Julie flashed through Haley’s mind. If Marc and his newfound lover wanted their happily ever after, they could now have it now, for all she cared.
**
Whether it was due to her throbbing headache or the loss of blood, Haley had blacked out and woke up about a half-hour later. The droplets no longer coursed down her wrist, rather they formed a thick gel-like substance as her body worked to seal the wound. Yet the wound of her heart was still present.
Ever present. Ever painful.
Pulling her shirtsleeve down over the cut, Haley sadly accepted that there was no way to drain away her bitterness. Perhaps suffering wasn’t enough. Cleansing sometimes required exfoliation, and scrubbing took work. It was raw and harsh, but even that could not eliminate all traces of the past. The scars would always remain. She just didn’t know if she could live with the scars, or if she’d have to extinguish the last of the pain for good. Life without Marc was a life not worth living, after all. She just hoped Marc would understand.
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