[Ash Park 01.0] Famished

by Meghan O'Flynn

  “Is there anything I can do?” Turner’s voice cut into my owl assessment. “If I understood the problem…”

  I blinked. His frustration was palpable, his fists clenched, and I resisted the urge to duck. A bruise on my arm throbbed.

  You’ve got this, Hannah. You’re okay.

  Turner’s eyes flicked to the security guard.

  I followed his stare, relieved to see we had Jerome’s full attention. Jerome always made me feel safer, like he could somehow shield me from anything that might come through the doors. If only he could protect me from the psychos in my past. My heart lurched drunkenly against my breastbone.

  Jerome approached the cubicle. “Mr. Turner, you will have to come with me.” His voice was the texture of wet silk.

  Turner stood slowly.

  I pushed the papers toward him. “I need your signature at the bottom of this form.”

  Turner signed it, barely glancing at the few lines of text, and walked from the cubicle toward the main doors. In seconds, he was eclipsed by Jerome, the guard’s gleaming bald head the sun to Turner’s gray misshapen moon.

  I took a few deep breaths. Human resources wasn’t the perfect job for me, but the guards and the locked entrance made it safe enough. And it was far, far away from … him.

  Lovers ain’t nothin’ once they go south. I couldn’t remember where I had heard that, but it was more poignant than most of the nonsensical songs about true love and happiness and beauty and bullshit.

  I looked at the clock in the lower corner of my computer screen. Half an hour. Would my chest palpitations ever relent? Maybe I should pound on my breastbone, gorilla style, to subdue my heart. But I’d just end up looking like an idiot.

  “Hannah?” Noelle leaned over the partition. Her blond hair floated in silk strands over blue eyes and full lips made even more supple by pinkish gloss. Men followed her with their eyes, if not their actual penises.

  Even I couldn’t help staring at her sometimes.

  I forced a smile and moved my hand from my chest to the desktop before Noelle thought I was playing with my boobs.

  “I’m going to grab a coffee, then take some dismissal forms back to the filing room,” she said. “Do you have any more?”

  “Sure do. I’m the most popular person here today. As long as popular means everyone wants to punch you in the throat.”

  Turner’s dismissal papers required my signature as the bearer of bad news. It was like signing a death certificate, as if before that moment, nothing had happened that couldn’t be taken back. Adding the final signature always made me feel like the biggest douchebag. Maybe coroners felt like that too, with their endless parade of dead-on-arrival cadavers.

  I scrawled my name on the form.

  Rest in peace, Turner.

  Stop thinking crazy shit and say something.

  I looked at Noelle. “I like the pink gloss, by the way. It looks like you blew a dude made out of cotton candy.” Crisis averted.

  “Cotton candy doesn’t talk back. Hey, you going to the company picnic tomorrow?”

  “Oh … yeah, I think so.”

  Noelle squinted at me. “What’s up with you? You look like someone just killed your dog.”

  “I don’t have a dog.”

  “Something happen with Jake?”

  I pulled my sleeve over my wrist, folded the cuff into my palm and tucked my fists into my lap. My sweaty handprint remained on the desk top.

  “Did he find a job yet?”

  Is littering the house with fast food wrappers a job?

  Noelle stared at me.

  “No. It’s not Jake. It’s just … this.” I nudged Turner’s termination papers on the desk.

  Noelle nodded, her silver earrings swinging. “You want to go out somewhere tonight? It’ll take your mind off of it.”

  “Nah, I told Jake I’d be home early.”

  Noelle’s eyes darkened, and my breakfast skittered around in my stomach.

  “Soon, okay?” I said.

  “Sure. Here, I’ll take those papers.” She smiled and I watched her go, swaying her hips to unseen music.

  I turned back to my computer and glanced again at the clock. Twenty more minutes and I’d be on my way home to the man I loved, or at least, was pretty sure I loved. And he loved me back, as long as I didn’t make him mad, which happened more than I wanted to admit. But he was the lesser of two evils. No matter how much of an asshole Jake was, he wouldn’t kill me. That had to be enough since I couldn’t take Jerome home. Maybe I did need a dog. Not a Chihuahua though. Those things are yappy jerks.

  I set my jaw, pulled the keyboard closer and went back to work.

  Dominic Harwick sat at his desk, his manicured fingers tapping on the keyboard as he finished reviewing the newest batch of engineering resumes. It was a menial task, beneath him, but it was necessary; each individual represented a dollar amount he would not forget.

  He had begun a startup engineering staffing firm fresh out of Harvard. When the recession hit, he put his inheritance to work for him, buying up property in California, Texas and New York. But he’d finally settled on Michigan as his home, unable to convince himself to abandon the glorious buyer’s market that had developed in the blighted Detroit Metro area. A few years later, Harwick Technical Solutions had acquired international acclaim by securing a staffing contract from a large aeronautical corporation, prompting local papers to ask, What Recession? when covering the construction of his ultra-modern, four story contract house.

  His father would have been proud, though he’d have gotten nothing more than a curt nod from Rupert Harwick. Dominic could still picture his stocky legs, his barrel chest and the salt and pepper hair he had kept buzzed close to his scalp. Even if he had let it grow, no one would have dared call him anything other than ‘Colonel,’ ‘Mr. Harwick,’ or ‘Sir’.

  Dominic reviewed the last resume, made a note, and shut down the computer. The screen lowered into a special compartment inside the desk, leaving the opaque glass desktop perfectly pristine. Across the room, leather-bound books sat next to gleaming modern sculptures on custom glass shelves, all now cast in the orange glow of twilight from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk. An oil painting of Duke, his Great Dane, hung beside a door of the thickest oak money could buy.

  While the rest of the building was full of glass walls and low partitions to encourage openness and cooperation, his office was shut away from everything and protected by a bulldog-like secretary who let no one enter without his approval. An army of assistants kept his life just as he wanted it: uncomplicated, predictable, and efficient.

  Dominic glanced at his Rolex, stood, and walked to the window. On the glass near his right hand, a smudge left behind by the cleaning crew sullied his view. He frowned.

  Distasteful.

  Dominic peered past the offensive blemish. Below him, a large employee parking lot ended in an expanse of rolling hills that sloped down to meet the water. By day, he could see the lake peeking from behind the tall oaks, maples, and firs that surrounded the five-acre complex. At dusk, the west-facing windows provided an overture to day’s end. But these were not the reasons he had chosen this space for his office.

  For several minutes, all was quiet. Then he saw him.

  David Turner emerged from the building carrying the contents of his desk, his jacket, and, from the look of his hunched shoulders, his pride. He fumbled with his keys, popped the trunk of his car and hoisted the box into the back. As he closed the trunk, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Yesterday, Dominic had overheard Turner bragging to a fellow worker about his track record at the company.

  “Six years of service,” Turner had said, “and not one complaint.”

  People who got too comfortable became unimaginative workhorses and rarely came up with anything new. They were bad for business. Sometimes when Dominic fired people like that they seemed relieved, leading him to suspect an inherent boredom with their daily tasks. Turner di
d not strike him as that type of person, but Dominic suspected the man had some type of emotional connection to the company beyond a simple paycheck, something that would keep him there regardless of his motivational level. And he knew it wasn’t Turner’s wife, whose makeup-covered split lip at a fundraiser last week spoke volumes about her ability to influence her husband.

  Turner would have no trouble landing another job, and quickly at that. Yet, the man was crying. If allowed to, he would have stayed well past his usefulness.

  The idea made Dominic’s back tense. He turned from the window, plucked his briefcase off the floor, and left the office, each step on the open stainless steel staircase echoing his departure like a drum roll.

  Near the bottom floor, another set of footsteps sounded. He paused in the stairwell and watched as Hannah Montgomery appeared around the bend and hurried toward the glass doors to the parking lot, hair flying behind her, feet tapping at a nervous pace against the tile. Despite her constant deer-in-headlights demeanor, he had never once regretted hiring her. She was quick. Predictable. Reliable. Efficient.

  Unlike Turner. Dominic smiled and continued down the stairs.

  She startled at the sound of his footsteps and dropped her purse. By the time Dominic reached her, she was on her knees scooping items back into her bag. Practical things: a wallet, car keys, sunglasses. She avoided his gaze as he bent and handed her a standard issue blue checkbook. Their fingers touched. She snapped her hand away as if he had shocked her.

  They stood and she shouldered the bag.

  “How are you this evening, Ms. Montgomery?”

  She met his eyes, then looked at her shoes. “I’m fine.”

  She was an intriguing girl.

  “I got your email the other day in response to my request for new ideas in staffing recruitment. You had some great suggestions.”

  She looked at him again, and this time her eyes lingered on his face. “Really? I mean, thank you, Mr. Harwick.”

  “I am already implementing some of them. As you know, I believe that the people who work for me are the lifeblood of this company. There’s nothing more crucial to its continued success than quality hires. I’m glad to have people like you on the team.”

  Her face and neck reddened, as did the small swath of chest near her clavicle. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Have a great night, Ms. Montgomery.” He watched her disappear through the glass doors to the parking lot and headed for his private garage below the building.

  Hannah. It was a lovely name. He wondered if her skin felt as satiny as it looked.

  Dominic was still considering her when his Aston Martin crunched up the limestone drive to his expansive home of white concrete and glass. In front of the house, life-sized marble nudes looked forlornly over the grounds amidst a sea of lilies and vibrant red bee balm on its last blush of the year. Not a single weed, as it should be.

  He entered through the mudroom and removed his shoes to avoid marring the white marble floors that ran the length of the first level. The lights flickered on as he strode past a roomy half bath, through the kitchen, and into the living room, where a four foot high blown glass sculpture in blue sat on an iron table between convex white leather sofas. No coffee table. A television was hidden in the ceiling, though he usually had better things to do with his time. The Colonel had admonished those who spent their days on frivolous pursuits. Not that Dominic had ever argued with him about it.

  He took the open steel staircase at the back to the second floor master suite which was as open as the first floor, save for a bathroom and a gym at the back. He changed his clothes, returned to the mudroom to tie on running shoes, and took the door to the back porch.

  Like everything else, the black paint on the porch was a conscious decision–even the door to the outdoor bathroom where he cleaned off after running was the same deep, sooty color of his Great Dane.

  Duke had been a pup when Dominic had taken him from his dying father. Nothing makes a man more trustworthy than a dog, the Colonel had said. As always, his father had been spot on.

  Instead of running circles around his four acres of meandering waterfront property, Dominic jogged through the gate, down his drive and into the road. Duke followed at his heel, keeping pace through the quiet streets as the sun painted the sky with stripes of violet and fuchsia.

  A young mother pushing a baby carriage piled high with blankets smiled at him as he passed. He nodded in her direction. A few blocks later, an elderly man tending to some end-of-season gardening gave him a friendly wave. Dominic waved back and the chill air kissed his exposed hands.

  A few blocks from his home, open wrought iron gates welcomed him into the neighborhood park. The breeze off the manmade duck pond brought with it the scent of dead and dying cattails, and with them, the memories of summers on Lake Michigan, his father at the helm of their sailboat.

  He headed toward the pond, watching the withered grass along the side of the walk. Winter was coming early, but Dominic felt no anticipation for the upcoming holidays. There would be no tree, no gifts, no family gatherings. Those days were gone.

  As he passed a wide curve in the path, a woman came into view. She leaned over to stretch her legs, her spandex pants leaving nothing to the imagination. Diamond and amethyst rings sparkled on her fingers and a small dog yipped around her heels on a ridiculously tiny leash.

  Dominic did not recognize her face or the perfectly symmetrical breasts that swelled under her zippered top. She must live elsewhere, and from the way her gaze lingered on his expensive running gear, he guessed she probably lived in a less affluent subdivision.

  He ran past her, three steps, four steps, five, giving her time to start running, then glanced back and feigned surprise, both that she was still watching him and that he had been so unfortunately caught in his stolen look. He turned his face forward again and slowed his pace to match the thwap thwap of her approaching sneakers behind him. She bumped his elbow. Cheap perfume and another, undeniably female scent cut the earthy aroma of decaying foliage. Her lipsticked mouth turned up at the corners, playing coy.

  He didn’t buy it. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  Their sneakers beat blithely against the pavement.

  “Do you run here often?” she asked.

  She was into clichés. He could do that.

  “Yes, Duke here seems to love it. Well, that and the lovely animals he finds to play with.”

  Nothing made a man more trustworthy than a dog.

  “Yeah, Tootsie enjoys that as well.” She gestured to the tiny dog at her heel, scrambling to keep up.

  Tootsie. He kept his grimace to himself.

  “How about you? Do you like the view out here?” She winked.

  Dominic tried not to sigh at the stale innuendo. “Yes. I have a thing for Pisces women.”

  Her eyes widened. “How did you—”

  “Something in the elegant way you carry yourself.” And the birthstones on your fingers. “Sorry if I was staring, but you are exceptional.”

  She smiled. She liked that.

  They always did.

  Two miles and a shower later, Dominic took her out to a small Italian bistro. Women were all the same in the way they expected him to impress them. He did not disappoint. He bought her wine while he drank sparkling water and regaled her with witty anecdotes and tales spun to show how interesting he was, with an emphasis on his financial success. When dinner was over he stifled a yawn and took her back to her house, ten miles from the park.

  “I don’t usually do this,” she whispered as she pulled him through the front door.

  They always said that. Why, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if it would alter the outcome—or what he thought of her.

  He watched her carefully, determining her likes and dislikes before she verbalized them. It was basic science, the flush of blood in certain areas of the body, subtle arching, accelerated respiration. When she began to scream his name, he pushed her further, heightenin
g the experience to an art form as he drove himself into her. He raised his face to the window as she panted her way through her orgasm.

  Later, as she slept, he went into her bathroom. Soap scum ringed the tub. Spots blemished the mirror. He stepped into the shower, turned the water to scalding, and scrubbed his body until his skin was raw. Then he pulled on his clothes without drying himself and walked out of the house. By the time he climbed into his car, her name was barely a memory.

  Friday, October 9th

  Petrosky grimaced at the man in front of him.

  Preliminary research indicated that Meredith Lawrence didn’t have much in the way of friends, jobs or family. All she had was recently eviscerated organs, her blood on a mausoleum wall and this asshole in the doorway.

  “What do you mean she’s dead?” Ronnie Keil stood blocking the front door of his apartment, staring blankly through Petrosky with the beady eyes of a reptile. The sweet haze of recently smoked marijuana wafted around Keil’s pasty face from the room behind him.

  “Mr. Keil, I know this must be difficult for you, but we need to ask you a few questions about your girlfriend.”

  “Questions about what? I didn’t do it.”

  Petrosky exchanged a glance with Morrison. “No one said you did. But, we do need to know where you were yesterday. You sure weren’t here.”

  Keil’s snaggletooth scraped against his fat bottom lip. “I worked all day at the shipyard. After that I went to the bar on Rosenthall for my cousin’s birthday.”

  Petrosky had verified Keil’s work information the day before. “What’s your cousin’s name?”

  “Gerald.”

  “Last name?”

  “Keil, same as mine.”