“And you called me out at my own party. Broke up with me in front of damn near half the school. On Valentine’s day.”
“So because you’ve forgiven me –”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“By all means, then, go ahead on.” Jessica slinked to the couch. Her shin banged against the coffee table. She hardly felt it, sunk into the soggy cushions. Kicked her feet up and laid herself down. “Guess we might as well get our hands dirty.”
“Look, oh-eight was a bad year for my family. My mom got her leg all shattered in that accident, her clinics got shut down, she lost her job. I was on antidepressants and my pops wasn’t around for any of it. I stole shit. I lied. I messed things up for myself and everyone around me. But I’ve changed.”
“Your underwear, maybe.”
“Well, if the concept’s such a damn problem for you…”
“Don’t sulk.” Jessica could hardly stand how good the cushions felt. “I just don’t know what’s left to say.”
“I love you.”
Jessica was too tired to hide the wince. “I… don’t see how that’s really true.”
Way to go, Jessica.
Malik frowned. “You can tell me lots of things. How I feel ain’t one of them.”
“How do you know you love me?”
“I’m going to assume that means that you’ve never been in love.”
“Which, I know, means I was never in love with you.”
“No?”
Jessica rolled onto her side. “I guess I wasn’t.”
Malik’s voice was a dead giveaway in the dim light. “Were you even attracted to me?”
“Obviously. Nobody gets to third base with me on plain game.”
“But still, we never…” Malik trailed off.
Jessica smiled, lips lazy. “Don’t think I’m not going to make you complete that sentence.”
“Made love?”
“Malik, please. Don’t get all antiquated just ‘cause there’s a lady in the room.”
“Antiquated?”
“SATs are right around the corner.”
“Seriously, why wouldn’t you?”
With her arm hanging off the couch, Jessica let her finger make lazy spirals along the dusty floor. “I’m not one of those sex is sacred kind of girls. If I want beauty, I’ll watch a sunset. But before I moved here, I treated it with downright disrespect. It’s a miracle I never got pregnant, let alone the fact that I’m clean.”
“So now your attitude is, what? Never again?”
“I don’t know what my attitude is.” Jessica curled up, body melding with the couch. “But who knows…? Maybe if we’d talked about it back then, you might have closed the deal.”
“If we’re talking about it now, does that mean –”
“Oh, so hell, no.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Actually, the woman’s manifesto clearly states you can blame a guy for pretty much anything.” Jessica yawned, eyelids drooping. “And eventually you’ll have to.”
“So there’s no chance for us?”
“Be realistic, baby,” she murmured. “You’re leaving for Wesleyan at the end of the summer.”
“Summer’s not over yet.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?” Jessica managed, as Malik’s silvery outline grew fuzzy. Became one with the room before slipping away.
Chapter 17: Someone’s In The Kitchen With Dinah.
Jessica awoke with a start, thrust into a black, shapeless void. A cold wave washed over her as she tried to open her eyes. Petrified to find they already were. She struggled, felt herself bound head to foot, unable to move. For one fleeting, high-pitched instant, she was certain she’d been caught. Drugged and bound, eyes eviscerated. The next victim on Angry Jonny’s list.
Out in the darkness, the apparitions of Jason Castle and Clarence Davenport were choking on their own laughter, empty sockets and bloody mouths dripping with delirious retribution.
Jessica gasped, air rushing into her lungs in a rasping, lacerated scream.
Stop.
Wait.
This wasn’t some anonymous cellar, or deteriorating woodshed in the forest. Not the trunk of an unmarked vehicle, or a makeshift coffin buried six feet under.
Her eyes slowly adjusted, abstract shapes now solid. Nerve endings recognizing her straight jacket prison as a tangled blanket, cocooning her body. Light blue wool weaving in and out between her legs, arms. Sweat pasted along a pillow that hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep.
She was home.
She was lying on the couch. In the living room. In her apartment.
Malik was gone.
Light streamed from the hallway, giving shape to Dinah’s silhouette.
“Hey, baby…” Dinah said, softly. Glass of wine balanced in her hand. “You awake?”
“Yeah,” Jessica mumbled, sitting up. A thousand needles stabbed into her left arm. She drew in a breath, hissing through her teeth. “Most of me is.”
Dinah chuckled. Moved in, still wrapped in shadows.
She sat on the couch, resting at Jessica’s feet.
Set her glass of wine on the table. “You all right?”
“No…” Jessica grimaced, flexing her fingers. The room was now good as lit, readout on the DVR displaying a rigid 8:58. “Jesus… It’s not morning, right? Evening?”
“Evening. I came in and you were asleep, I thought –”
“Are you OK?” Jessica asked sharply. Too many events, thoughts, all scraps in a junkyard. “I sent you an email… they sold our place. The cops, they came for me this morning… Blondie, what happened last night – are you OK, are you safe?”
Dinah took Jessica into her arms, seamlessly. “It’s cool, Jess. It’s all good. You’re OK, I’m OK. Everything’s fine. Just fine…”
“Oh, God…” Jessica pulled away, breaking free of the blanket. Blindly reached for her glass of tonic, drained what was left of the flat, watery mix. “Do you even know what’s happened? What happened today, what happened with Angry Jonny?”
“Yeah, I heard… Of course I heard. Talked to the cops this morning.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, had my time under their hot lights.”
“Blondie…” Jessica was switching subjects in her head, trying to keep track of her own playlist. “We’re about to lose our apartment.”
“I know. Slow down. Catch your breath.”
“Yeah, that’s the stuff...” Jessica breathed in, out. Fighting the nausea that came with an interrupted nap. “Everything’s fine.”
“Neither of us is in jail. Neither of us is out on the streets.”
“Yet.”
“Yet beats the hell out of now. Now, calm down.”
“What do you suggest?”
“On the Rail,” Dinah replied, scooping her glass off the table and standing up.
“That’s your solution to everything.”
Dinah shrugged. “Until you come up with a cure for the blues, it’s the best one we’ve got.” She headed for the hallway, hips swishing.
“Don’t play. We’ve got to talk about this.”
“Get yourself changed, we can be out of here in fifteen.”
Jessica bundled the blanket and tossed it aside. Eyes dry, tongue swollen with thirst. With each breath, she slowly began to distance herself from the storm clouds in her mind.
She wasn’t in jail. She wasn’t out on the streets.
And more importantly, Angry Jonny had yet to find her.
“Yet,” she repeated, and remained seated for another five minutes before finding the will to move on.
***
Slow night for a Saturday.
Jessica was seated in the corner by the front door. The heavy wooden bench beneath her was built right into the wall. Red and white neon shone down from the sprawling, polymer window at her back. She rested her elbows on the table, eyeballing the stained felt, residue of bygone card games.<
br />
Dinah returned from the bar, served up their drinks. Parked herself on the bench perpendicular to Jessica’s. Had a sip of beer and popped a cigarette in her mouth.
“So how was your day?” Jessica asked, tossing a pair of matches across the table.
Dinah lit up, exhaled. “OK, confession time.”
“Oh, I do love the sound of that.”
“I went to the cops,” Dinah said, taking out a sizable withdrawal from her beer. “Went to the station this morning. Told them all about Davenport and how he attacked you. Spilled the beans, you might say.”
“No, I would not. It’s a stupid expression. Didn’t we all agree to keep our mouths shut?”
“I barely remember hide nor hair about what we agreed.”
“What’s with you and these old-ass sayings –”
“Look….” Dinah leaned close. “Day two, things looked different. I was worried. I felt if we didn’t nail Davenport now, it would be never. I filed my complaint down at the station. Had the pleasure of talking to your two detectives. Then I went to work.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Christ.” Dinah reached back into her hair and removed the twisty tie, liberating a cascade of blond locks. They bounced happily before her frustrated eyes. “What does it matter?”
“Guess the cops didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Jessica replayed her meeting with the detectives, bullet points. The letter, her possible motives for sending it. Her possible motives for eliminating Davenport. She recounted the conversation with Al Holder, and the subsequent press conference.
Casper strolled by and placed a fresh beer on their table before moving on.
“No one’s mentioned the letter yet,” Jessica concluded.
“And if the cops didn’t ask me about it, you’ve got to figure they really do want to keep this under wraps.”
“Yeah, but who’s watching the detectives?”
Dinah glanced over her shoulder, various regulars at the bar placing bets on the nearest game. “Does this mean Angry Jonny is someone we know?”
“Someone who knows us,” Jessica said. “Or, at least, someone who knows me. And if that’s the case, I need to know more. I need to know all there is to know… I need to know what you told the cops.”
Dinah sighed. She eyed the matchbook in Jessica’s hand.
Jessica struck one up, did the honors.
Dinah expelled a cloud of smoke, leaned back in her seat. “I told them everything there was to know about you and Davenport. I described everything that happened that evening. I told them everything you already know.”
“What about the rest of the night? Did they ask you for an alibi?”
“Yes…”
“So what happened last night after I left?”
Dinah hesitated. “Eli and I went downtown. We parked across the street.”
“The lot across from Bill McAllister’s?”
“Judging from opening night, it’s going to be known as the one across from The Cardinal… packed house. Maybe only two-thirds of the crowd had come in disguise, but when you can barely make it to the bar, who’s going to notice?”
“Go on.”
“I opened a tab on the card, and told Eli to pick our poison. We drank. Drank a lot, actually. For a cat that skinny, he can knock ‘em back with the best.”
Jessica nodded, though she sensed Dinah was stretching the story.
“We got ourselves caught up with a group of Pantheon business majors. I told them to put a few drinks on my tab, and we had ourselves a time. The party got shut down at two. I managed to settle at two-thirty…”
“Dinah, apart from Eli, do you have any proof that you were at The Cardinal for as long as you were?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I know how it can be. How much do you really remember about last night?’
“…Not much.”
“Do you remember the names of anybody you were hanging with?”
“No. Not really.”
“You were at a costume party,” Jessica said. “As far as witnesses go, there’s no way anyone could have placed you there. What could the cops ask them: do you remember a girl dressed in a costume?”
“Cat costume.”
“Great. Slutty cat costume. We have achieved clarity.”
“The cops made the same point,” Dinah said. “I went online, brought up my Visa account. Printed it out, showed them the charges incurred on that particular night. The time stamp was two thirty, on the nose.”
“And then what happened?”
“And then what happened what?”
“Donahue and Randal were kind of keen on knowing your whereabouts this morning. Whether you had stayed at the apartment, or if spent the night out. Or if you had come in early and left for –”
“I went back to Eli’s place, and we slept together.” The revelation was rushed, straight off the auction block. Within the same breath, she slowed it down. “Eli and me. We slept together.”
Jessica leaned back in her chair, reached for her drink.
Those actions, when combined, didn’t quite work out. Her hand fell several inches short of the bottle, leaving her fingers to rest on the edge of the table. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Dinah handed Jessica her drink.
“Talk about confession time…”
Dinah wasn’t exactly her mother, and thirty-six years old wasn’t exactly the end of the rainbow. It wasn’t as though Dinah hadn’t brought men home before. Not just the random ones; there had also been several brief relationships that had never gone anywhere.
But this felt different.
Jessica switched gears, lurched forward. “So after… after all that with you and Eli… well, I can’t imagine you exactly had your eye on the clock, but –”
“Fell asleep,” Dinah said, happy to move on. “I woke up at around eight-thirty. Let Eli rest for as long as I could. Finally, I had to wake him up. Get back to my car.”
“You didn’t cook him breakfast?”
“Have I taught you nothing? Morning after is the man’s job.”
“Like it takes some kind of effort to make toast.”
Dinah’s laughter was layered unease. “Took a look in his fridge. Nothing but light bulb and a thermostat.”
Jessica smiled. “Can’t blame him for that. Not like it’s his house.”
“You’d think he’s been in town long enough to score some groceries.”
“How long has he been in town?”
“That’s a good question…”
They retreated from the conversation, suddenly engrossed in game of cutthroat at table one. The jukebox doubled back on itself, a little Joe Jackson for everyone to hum along with.
“Figure you’re going to be getting any more fan mail from Angry Jonny?” Dinah asked.
“Hope not…” Jessica checked the time on her phone, polished off her drink. “Don’t really matter, long as they don’t directly benefit me. Either way, I think I’ve had enough for one evening.”
“Don’t go,” Dinah whined, tugging at Jessica’s shirt. “Eli’s going to be here soon. We can all hang out.”
“Well, he’s not going to be here soon enough. Do you think he can give you a ride home?”
“Sure. I’ll just stay here and lick the ashtray.”
“Lick whatever you like…” Jessica inhaled a glorious amount of smoke, leaned over and kissed her aunt goodbye. “I’ll see you at home later, then?”
“Yeah, probably.”
If Jessica had to lay odds, it would be even money on whether Dinah would come through with probably.
After all, Eli was coming.
Chapter 18: Disney Owens.
Jessica stepped into the shower. Washed away all traces of sweat and cigarettes, wrapped herself in her bathrobe and put the kettle on. Her every movement echoed through the empty apartment. She could actually hear the tea steeping. She wandered into the livin
g room. Crouched down in front of the sewing machine, eye level with the two miniature vodka bottles. She turned the radio on, moved to the window. Streetlights like anemic cherries cast their glow on a conga line of parked cars .
Jessica’s eyes narrowed, zoomed in on a dark blue Pontiac stationed across the street.
Through the tinted windows, she caught the glow of an onboard computer.
“Sup, officers,” she muttered. Good chance someone was seated within that dark interior, checking on her every move. Her observation filled her with a sense of secondhand despair.
What did you do with your Saturday, Jessica?
I noticed a car outside my apartment that ordinarily wouldn’t be there. Thanks for asking.
“Someday, I’ll own several hundred cats,” she sighed, sipping her tea.
She sat down with her laptop.
New message from Malik, checking up on her.
Jessica shook her head, moved to the next message.
Didn’t recognize the sender: a Hotmail account belonging to one Disney Owens.
Didn’t much trust the subject heading: HAVE SOME COFFEE.
“Are you spam?” she asked, clicking once. “Spam, spam, spam, spam –”
It took her less than five seconds to read the message; three simple sentences, stacked one atop the other in a dry, uninspired piece of poetry.
The police know something you don’t.
They know how the alarm went off.
Do you know how long it takes Angry Jonny to brew a fire?
Jessica stood up abruptly, knocking her chair back onto the floor. Went to the window. The Pontiac was still parked outside. With measured strides, she double-checked the front and back door. Took the baseball bat from its resting place by the hallway entrance. She set the chair upright, took a seat, and stared defiantly at the message.
Went over each line, until they were burned into her brain. Satisfied, she archived the message and headed for the bathroom, bat resting on her shoulder.
Jessica flipped the light switch, lowered the toilet lid. Sat down, and reached for the pile of reading material stacked on the electric scale. She tossed aside a few copies of Newsweek, The Economist, and came upon a worn paperback. Same shape and heft as a high school textbook, cover boasting the user-friendly title: What’s What.
Published nearly thirty years ago, it was a surprisingly handy reference tool. Self-described as a visual glossary of everyday objects, filled with pictures ranging from baseball gloves to religious attire, space shuttles to pottery wheels.
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