by Quinn Loftis
“See you later, Sam,” Henry called out sounding extremely confident that he would indeed be seeing her again very soon.
When they were no longer in view of him, Jessica stopped and looked at her. “Okay, that dude is odd. He’s definitely stalking you.”
“I don’t get an evil vibe from him though,” Sam said. “I mean, odd, definitely. But I don’t think he wants to hurt me.”
“Just like that serial killer from about five years ago who was embalming his victims so he could keep them forever didn’t want to hurt them. He wanted to free them from their human state so they could no longer be hurt by the world. Crazy doesn’t always mean evil, but it means not rational, which can mean dangerous. You get me?”
“Are you purposely trying to freak me out because it’s working,” said Samantha.
“I just don’t want you to be naïve,” Jessica explained. “Just be careful with that one. Maybe, if we go to Vegas, he will get over this weird fixation while you’re gone.”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “Oh, or maybe he will see himself in his psychic vision with someone else instead of me.”
“Let’s hope for that. But if that doesn’t happen, you can just tell him that you saw a psychic while you were there and they told you that you couldn’t be with any man who had a name that started with H because his life would end in a horrific, tragic accident.”
“What would the horrific, tragic accident be?” Samantha asked.
Her friend smirked. “It would be hurricane Jessica and tropical storm Charity that tragically takes his ass out.”
Chapter Ten
An email notification popped up on Charity’s screen. She stifled a squeal when she saw the sender—Jason O’Neal. Apparently, she didn’t stifle it well enough.
“What’s that?” said the irritated voice on the other end of the phone.
“Oh, sorry,” replied Charity. “A little spider just ran across my desk. Startled me. But as I was saying, sir, I cannot do anything about the body shop. If they say it’s going to take a month to get your car repaired, then that’s how long it’s going to take. There is nothing I can do to make them go any faster. We work with one other body shop in your city. If you’d like to try them and see if they can get your car repaired any sooner, you are more than welcome to take your car there.”
“Uh-huh, and how the hell am I supposed to get it there? The car is practically totaled. Are you going to pay for the tow?”
Charity’s eyes scanned the email. Would love to meet you, blah, blah, blah, June 16th, blah, blah, blah.
“Ma’am? Ma’am!” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“Huh, what?” said Charity, her attention returning to the caller.
“My car. How the hell am I supposed to get it to the other body shop?”
Charity bit her lip to keep from snapping at the customer. Crap, I’ve got to get this guy off the phone. Who cares about his car? I’ve got something important to do here.
“Oh, right. Sorry,” said Charity, her voice taking on a sickly-sweet tone. “Yes, we will pay for the tow. Here is the number of the wrecker service we use. Call them. Just give the wrecker driver your claim number. Thank you. Goodbye.” She hung up before the man could respond. Now, on to bigger and better things. She switched the button on her phone, signaling she was unavailable for calls at the moment, and turned her attention fully to Jason’s email.
Hello Charity,
Thanks so much for your message and your condolences. I really appreciate you watching my videos. And congratulations on your wedding. I hope you will be happy. I’m glad my videos are having a positive impact on people, including your friend. I’d love to meet you, Samantha, and Jessica when I get to Las Vegas. I’ll be there in three weeks, I think. Around the 16th of June. If you guys happen to be there, I’ll message you when I get there and we can meet up. Looking forward to it.
See you on the open road,
Jason
Charity’s heart leapt up into her throat as she recalled Jason’s wedding day from the public record—June 20th. He had said in the earlier video he would be in Vegas on his anniversary. And now he wanted to meet her and Samantha on June 16th?
Charity also knew from the obituary that Jason’s accident had occurred in November last year. So, this would be his first anniversary without his wife. What kind of state of mind would the man be in a few days before June 20th? Probably in no mood to restore Samantha’s faith in humanity. Charity tapped a pen on her desk, debating whether she should just call this whole thing off. Perhaps she hadn’t thought this hair-brained scheme all the way through. She suddenly realized her plan had the potential to blow up in her face in the most spectacular of ways. What if she’d made a huge mistake? What if Samantha flipped her lid when she realized what Charity had done and refused to speak to her, much less be her maid of honor? What if Jason realized what she’d done and made an internet video about how some crazy woman tried to fix him up with his baggage-carrying friend? No offense to Samantha, but she does have baggage.
But that’s not what Charity was doing, was it? No, of course not. She was simply allowing two perfectly nice people to meet each other by—mostly—sheer coincidence. There was nothing nefarious about that. There was certainly no ‘fixing up.’ ‘Fixing up’ sounded as if she were expecting Jason and Samantha to fall in love at first sight, get married, and have a house full of children. Charity expected nothing of the sort. She just wanted Sam to realize if someone as good as Jason O’Neal could exist, then a perfectly normal, kind, acceptable guy was out there for her too. Someone—anyone—who was not Derek Briscoe … the son of a bitch. Charity had taken to saying that to herself mentally every time she thought about Derek. She wasn’t entirely sure it was accurate, as she’d never met Derek’s mother, but how could it not be true? Anyone who could raise such a lowlife must be a bitch of the highest order. Hell, at this point, she was willing to set Samantha up with Henry the stalker if it would keep her friend from jumping back in bed with Derek.
All of a sudden, Charity’s phone vibrated, indicating she’d gotten a text message. She unlocked her screen and saw a message from Jessica.
The fish is on the hook.
Charity let out a long sigh. She could still back out. She could come up with some excuse for them not to go Vegas. Charity could say she had an unavoidable meeting that weekend or something. She hadn’t actually purchased the tickets yet, so they weren’t out any money. She and Jessica had made up the cockamamie story about Jessica’s father’s frequent flyer miles. In reality, the ladies had pooled their money to afford Samantha’s plane ticket. They had only been waiting for Jason to tell them when he would be in Vegas before Charity bought the tickets.
Jessica’s sister’s timeshare was actually legitimate, however. She was letting Jessica use it for the weekend, and that was truly saving the girls some serious money. But Jessica could simply tell her sister they didn’t need the timeshare after all. Yes, that was probably the best course of action. After all, how in the world could she restore her best friend’s faith in humanity by tricking her into taking a trip across the country to meet some random stranger on the internet? It was a stupid idea. She had to call it off.
But what would she say to Jason? Surely, he would understand. Charity could make up any story for him. She could simply tell him that June 16th was the one weekend in June they couldn’t make it. Bummer. Oh well. No harm, no foul. Have a nice life, Jason.
She pulled up his message, hit the reply button, and began typing.
Jason,
OH NO!!! This is terrible. I have an unavoidable commitment June 16th. I was so looking forward to meeting—
Before she could type another word, Charity heard loud swearing and pounding coming from Samantha’s workspace a few cubicles down.
What the hell? Charity jumped up from her computer and rushed to her friend’s desk. Thankfully, the cubicle next to Sam was unoccupied. Charity ran into it and leaned over the cubicle wa
ll, looming over her friend, who was sitting at her desk with one hand over her eyes. The other hand was balled into a fist, steadily coming down onto the desk’s surface, vibrating the entire workstation, making the pictures and reminders pinned to Sam’s cubicle walls bounce under their tacks.
“What the hell?” said Charity, now giving voice to her earlier thought.
Samantha stopped drubbing the desk and looked up at her friend. She grabbed her phone and handed it to Charity. The blonde looked down and read the text message displayed there. Then she, too, let out a string of profanities and began pounding the desk of the empty cubicle in which she was standing.
“Uh, you two might want to lighten up on the office furniture,” said Jessica, walking up from her own cubicle. “What the heck is going on?”
Without answering, Charity handed the phone over to Jessica, who peered down at it. To her credit, rather than abusing the helpless desks, she only stared at the phone with a troubled look on her face as she read the words of the text.
Samantha, it’s Derek. I know you don’t want to see me or talk to me. I understand. I just want the chance to apologize. Closure for both of us. Nothing more. This is my number if you decide to hear me out. If not, best of luck to you, and I truly am sorry for what I did.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” Samantha asked, her eyes pleading and her voice almost a whisper.
“I’ll tell you what to do with it. Not a damn thing, that’s what. Give me that,” Charity said, snatching the phone from Jessica and quickly deleting the text. She blocked Derek’s number (the son of a bitch) and made sure it wasn’t stored anywhere in the call history. Then she handed the phone back to Samantha.
“You don’t think I should even hear him out?” asked Samantha.
Charity’s nails dug into the fabric cubicle divider, and a look of pure fury passed over her face. “Not. A. Fucking. Chance.” She growled through gritted teeth.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” said Samantha. “I told you before I wouldn’t have anything to do with him and I meant it. I’ll ignore him. I’m sure he’ll go away eventually.”
“Good,” Charity replied. Her face relaxed a little, but her nails still dug into the cubicle wall.
“She’s right,” said Jessica. “The man is a cancer. You don’t listen to cancer. You don’t hear it out. You don’t listen to its apologies. You cut that shit out, you take your chemo, and you move on with your life. I know it hurt like hell, but you have already cut him out of your life. Now you’re just healing and doing your chemo. It sucks. It’s a long process, but it’s going to work. We are with you.” She indicated Charity, who’d finally released her death grip on the top of the cubicle wall.
“Yep,” said Charity. “More of that healing starts tonight. I want you to come over and do some more wedding stuff. We need to find the right photographer.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to work at the coffee shop.”
“Oh great, that means you’re going to see crazy stalker dude. That’s what he meant when he said he would see you later, Samantha.” Jessica groaned.
“Wait.” Charity held up both hands as she looked at her two friends. “When did Henry Hyena say he would see you later?”
“We sort of ran into him at lunch.”
Jessica shook her head. “There was no sort of about it. That crazy white man was looking for her.”
“And he said he’d see you later?” Charity asked Samantha.
Samantha nodded.
“Honestly, I think he’d be a step up from douche monkey,” Charity sighed. “I mean you could make crazy, stalker dude useful and pretend to be with him. It might reinforce to Derek that you’ve moved on and the Golden Age of Dickhead is now over.”
Jessica frowned. “While I appreciate your desire to utilize any means necessary to get rid of Derek, I don’t think encouraging the crazy stalker dude to see himself as Samantha’s boyfriend is a great idea.”
“What she said.” Samantha pointed at Jessica. “Let’s not give him any reason to think he truly is a psychic by inadvertently making his made-up prediction come true.”
Charity folded her arms in front of her chest. “Fine. I guess jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire isn’t my brightest idea.”
“You get an A for effort,” Jessica said, smiling as she patted Charity’s shoulder.
“Back to tonight. If Henry does show up, I will be there as a buffer. I’ll bring the magazines to Roasters. We can pull two tables together and spread everything out. I’m sure Tran will love that.”
“Oh, that’ll be awesome,” said Jessica. “I love to see Tran lose his crap. Can I come?”
“The more the merrier,” said Charity. “As long as the maid of honor here doesn’t think you are pushing in on her territory. I’d hate for you two to get into a fight before the wedding.”
“Ha,” said Samantha, rolling her eyes. “Jessica is like the co-maid of honor, and I have no problem with it. She’s already planned your bachelorette party.”
“What?” said Charity, her eyes wide. She plastered a surprised look on her face and hoped it was convincing. “You’re kidding. Where and when, ladies?” Charity asked.
“No, no,” said Jessica. “We’ll save that little surprise for tonight over wedding magazines and coffee.”
“Okay, fine,” groaned Charity. “Look, it’s almost quitting time. Let me shut down my computer, and we can walk out together.
“Me too,” said Jessica.
“Be right back,” said Charity as she and Jessica moved off in the same direction toward their cubicles. They paused outside Charity’s workstation.
“This is bad. You know that, right?” said Charity quietly.
“Yep.”
“The worst thing about cancer,” said Charity, “is that you can’t simply ignore it. And just like cancer, Derek is not going to go away because Samantha ignores him.”
“I was afraid of that,” said Jessica. “I guess we better hope your man, Jason, turns out to be the medicine she needs.”
“We’ll see,” said Charity, shaking her head.
“What about the hyena man? Should we be worried about him?”
Charity tapped her chin as she thought about the odd man. “No clue. I honestly don’t know if he’s a dangerous stalker or just one of those weird people that thinks they’re normal and everyone else is weird. But you can never be too careful, so let’s just be sure to ask Samantha about him. With Derek around, she might forget to mention anything hyena does.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Jessica as she moved off to her own desk.
Charity sat down and stared at her computer screen. The unfinished message to Jason sat staring back at her. She let a long sigh then deleted it. Quickly she typed out a different reply.
Jason,
June 16th is perfect. See you then.
Charity.
She shook her head at the screen, hoping her plan would work. “The stakes have just been raised, Jason,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll see you in Vegas.”
Chapter Eleven
After speaking with her sister, Jessica had told Samantha and Charity the best weekend to use the timeshare for their trip to Vegas would be June 16th. Jessica had taken care of buying their tickets and getting the entertainment planned. Samantha was thankful the co-maid of honor was handling the details of the trip because Sam had spent the past three weeks in a numb haze.
She wanted so much to just push the thought of Derek out of her mind and close the door on him forever. But every time she tried, he somehow wormed his way back into her thoughts. His face kept appearing in her mind’s eyes. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d looked when he’d shown up at her door unannounced. Though she’d been staring at him through a hangover fog, she still noticed how well he seemed to be faring. His crystal blue eyes were clearer than she’d ever seen them in their three years together, which meant he was probably not doing any drugs or alcohol to speak of. She wasn’
t used to seeing her former fiancé clean for any extended period of time. Though Sam didn’t use herself, she’d tolerated Derek’s recreational drug use because he always assured her he had it under control. Now, maybe he really did.
Derek had gained some weight, and none of it was fat. This puzzled Samantha the most. Derek wasn’t a big guy, and he’d never set foot in a gym. But despite this fact, he usually came out on the winning end of the fights in which he was involved. And Samantha had witnessed several. Derek was wiry and had a street toughness that came from running with a rough crowd. Those two things seemed to matter a great deal when it came to the kind of drunken back-alley disputes that Derek always got himself into. Still, the extra muscle suited him. Samantha could see, just before she puked all over him, that Derek had been filling out the tight AC/DC T-shirt he’d been wearing, quite nicely.
Derek had traded the full face of stubble he usually sported for a closely trimmed goatee. Samantha growled at herself, wishing she didn’t think it looked so good on him. Though she tried not to admit it, even to herself, she wondered what she’d do if he showed up on her doorstep unannounced again.
To Derek’s credit, he must have been telling the truth about not bothering her if she didn’t want to hear his apology. She’d not heard a peep out of him since Charity deleted the text. No calls, no texts, no unannounced visits. Nothing.
What Samantha hated most was the way she grabbed her phone in anticipation every time she got a text message or how she listened intently every time she heard a car door shut outside of her apartment and then how she breathed a sigh of relief—or was it disappointment—every time no one knocked on her door. Derek had actually made shutting him out of her life so much more difficult simply by doing nothing. The old Derek would have hounded her at every turn showing up at the coffee shop until Tran ran him off. He would have waited outside her apartment or called and texted relentlessly.