Passerby: A Psychological Thriller

by Britney King

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Well, it’s just… If you saw him, then you’d know. You’d know how he feels about you.”

  “It doesn’t matter how he feels about me.”

  “Yeah, well—your body language and your brother tell me differently.” She laughs like she’s joking, but also like the joke is on me. “What I’m trying to say, Ruth—” She pauses and walks over to the sofa.

  She sits next to me and places her hand on my knee. It feels like we’re either on daytime television or she’s about to deliver some really important news. Finally, through bated breath she says, “What I’m saying is you could have him if you wanted him.”

  “But I don’t.”

  “Come on, Ruth. This is me you’re talking to. We’re practically sisters. There’s no reason to lie. Not to me.”

  After removing her hand from my knee, I scoot off the sofa. I walk over to the large window and stand in front of it, looking out. I’m just about to tell her what I know, to demand that she tell me the truth, when she says, “I could help you, you know.”

  “Help me how?”

  “I know a thing or two about men.”

  “I have no intention of breaking up a family.”

  “They’re hardly a family.” Her tone grows both desperate and excited, maybe a little frantic. “If you’d been there—if you’d seen what I’d seen, then you’d know. Look at you! You’re sitting around here miserable for nothing when what you want is right there for the taking. All you have to do is reach out and grab it.”

  “I think you’re mistaken.”

  “I’m not. That’s what she did, isn’t it? She wanted your boyfriend, and she took him. Didn’t she?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “You see, Ruth, that’s the thing. There’s no statute of limitations on revenge.”

  I watch out the window as the little girl next door plays in the yard. A man I assume is her father looks from the porch intermittently. Most of the time he stares at his phone.

  “Don’t worry, though,” Ashley quips. “You’ll see. Because surprise! I invited them here.”

  My head snaps in her direction. “Why would you do that?”

  “What? It’s my engagement party. I can invite who I want.”

  “Not them.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’ll be good for Gabby. She’ll like you once she gets to know you. She’ll see that this is all for the best. All you have to do is sit back and relax.”

  “Is there something wrong with you?”

  “With me?” She touches her chest lightly and lets her hand rest there. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You sound crazy. And I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Nope,” she quips. “There isn’t.”

  “I know your name isn’t Ashley.”

  Her head cocks, and her eyes narrow. I think she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “I know you aren’t who you say you are.”

  “No one is who they say they are.” She sighs and she seems relieved. “Not even you. Haven’t we established that in this conversation? You’re living one big fat lie. So is Ryan Jenkins. And how funny that you have it in you to point fingers at others.”

  “I’m going to tell Davis.”

  “What makes you think he doesn’t already know?”

  “I—”

  “I’m not one to be messed with,” Ashley says, cutting me off. “If there’s anything you should know, it’s that.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No,” she tells me. “Of course not.”

  “Because I find it interesting that since you showed up, men around here seem to be dropping like flies.”

  “I have nothing against women.” She flashes a wicked smile.

  “I don’t think you know as much about me as you think you do.”

  “I know enough.” She leans forward and checks her reflection in the mirror over the mantle. “Any-who, the party is a week from tomorrow. I checked the calendar in your office.” Her eyes meet mine. “It’s a Sunday, which wasn’t ideal. But what is it they say? Beggars can’t be choosy?”

  “We’re not having a party.”

  “Don’t be difficult, Ruth. All you have to do is put on a nice dress, sit back, and look pretty. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?”

  “Who’s paying for this?”

  “Davey is. In fact, it was his idea.”

  “Like hell it was.”

  “If you don’t believe me, ask him.”

  I plan on it, though this is not what I say. “I am running a business here. I do not have room in my schedule for your whims.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  I watch as she starts toward the front of the house. She almost reaches the door before she stops and turns on her heel. “Oh,” she says like she’s forgotten one tiny detail. “What should we do about Cole?”

  “What about him?”

  “Think we should invite him, too? Considering?”

  “Considering what?”

  “Don’t be dense, Ruth. That man is head over heels in love with you. It would be a real shame for him to get hurt.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ruth

  My mouth is open but I cannot force sound out of it. I try to call out for help, but a lump has formed in my throat and I cannot seem to form words around it. What comes out is raspy and hoarse. I sound like a dying animal.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  Please, no. Please. Please don’t let this be happening.

  My tongue feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. It sticks to the roof of my mouth like sandpaper. I take the steps two or three at a time, going just as fast as I can manage until I reach the last one.

  Julia is lying at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She isn’t moving. I’m not even sure she is breathing.

  “Help!” I yell, willing someone to appear. “Hello?” I call out, hoping someone will hear me, hoping someone will come. “I need help! Now!”

  No one answers. No one comes.

  I have no idea where Johnny or Davis are or where Ashley or whatever the hell her name happens to be is. I only know that I’m calling for help and that it seems I’m on my own.

  Kneeling beside Julia, I plead loudly, very loudly, for her not to be dead. My fingers find her neck and then her wrist and everything happens in slow motion as I check her pulse. Do I feel something? A faint rhythm beating against the pads of my fingers? I can’t tell.

  I lay my head on her chest and listen for the familiar drum of a heartbeat. It’s hard to hear anything over the sound of my panicked breath. This doesn’t make any sense. I was just laughing with her. What was it? Twenty minutes ago?

  Smoothing her hair, I tell her she is going to be okay, even though I’m not sure it’s true. I call out again, several times, but when no one comes, I realize I have to leave her and get help myself. I dart to the kitchen where I yank the receiver off the old corded phone attached to the wall. I dial 9-1-1 and then I stretch the cord as far as it will go, so that I round the corner just enough so that I can see her. I don’t know why this matters, only that I’m panicking, and that it does.

  As I wait for the dispatcher to pick up, I’m pretty sure I hear movement coming from upstairs. Footsteps or some sort of shuffling. Hairs stand on the back of my neck. I sense someone watching me, but when I look around, no one is there. Then, there’s more shuffling. It’s lighter this time. It could be a guest or it could be an ax murderer. Nothing in this house feels normal anymore. Friend or foe, surely whoever is up there would have come when they heard me screaming for help. Unless…

  I give the dispatcher our address. I request an ambulance. Then I lay the phone down, leaving it dangling from the cord. Our insurance company made me take a training class once in exchange for a discount on our policy. They taught me a lot o
f things, one of them being that in the event of an emergency or an accident on the premises, to say as little as possible. Nothing other than pertinent medical information should be conveyed without an attorney present.

  The ambulance arrives within four minutes. I listen to the paramedics as they work. They suspect cardiac arrest. Julia’s breathing is shallow. She has a pulse. She is not dead. But she does not regain consciousness. As the paramedics wheel her out on a stretcher, and I am questioned, it occurs to me that I am going to have to call her family. I don’t want to have to be the one, but who else is there?

  As they load her in the ambulance, I stand at the curb holding her rosary beads. The man who lives next door comes over to ask if there’s anything he can do to help. When I tell him there isn’t, he says, “I hope you have good worker’s comp.”

  It feels like such an odd thing to say, but then I realize that I don’t know what our insurance coverage is, and anyway, that’s the last thing I should be thinking about at a time like this.

  But he goes on. “I see this all the time. People trying to get out of a hard day’s work.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh.” He shifts on his feet and extends his hand. “I’m sorry. How rude of me. I’ve forgotten to introduce myself, I’m Zach.”

  “Ruth.”

  “Yes,” he smiles. “Lily told me all about you.”

  The police briefly speak to the paramedics. I try to make out what they are saying, but the man, Zach, he won’t stop talking. “You wouldn’t believe the things people do. Anything to keep from getting their hands dirty.”

  I want to throat punch him. He doesn’t know it, but he is literally talking about a woman who is a second mother to me. I lost the first one, and while it seems preposterous now, it never occurred to me that this one wouldn’t live forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Passerby

  A gentle shove down the stairs was all it took. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. I don’t usually go around taking down old ladies, but this one had it coming to her. And really, she was going to die before too long anyway, so why not save her the trouble of losing her looks, her hearing, and her mind beforehand. You wouldn’t let fruit sit and rot away on your kitchen counter. Why let a human go through that experience?

  Wouldn’t it be better to go out on a good day doing what you love?

  Except, and this is my one regret, it wasn’t a good day for her doing what she loved. It was just like every other day: her cleaning up after other people, her taking care of other people’s messes and doing it all with a fake smile plastered on her face. Tell me, what kind of person would want an existence like that?

  So, you see, time was of the essence. She should have kept her mouth shut. What is it with people in this day and age that they simply cannot mind their own business? Let it be known: meddling only leads to trouble and in the end that’s exactly what she got.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ruth

  “She is not who you think she is,” I say to Davis after storming the guest house. Thankfully, he’s alone. I have just spoken with Julia’s family at the hospital, and it was the third worst thing I’ve ever had to do.

  “Where is she, anyway?”

  He looks up from his laptop. “She went into town.”

  “Perfect.” She seems to go into town a lot now that Davis has gotten her a rental car. “Because we need to talk.”

  “Good evening to you, too.”

  He says this to annoy me. We are not, nor have we ever been, the type of family to cower or to hide behind small talk. “It’s not a good evening. You could be over at the house helping out. Then it might be a good evening.”

  “You’re in such a great mood, I’m just dying to be around you.”

  “Half of that statement just might be true.”

  He turns his attention back to his computer, and he tilts his chin in my direction. He doesn’t look at me, though. “What is it Ruth? What can I do for you?”

  I smile. I’m really glad he asked. “You know what I find interesting?”

  “No. But I’m certain you’re going to tell me.”

  “Ashley—or is it Caitlyn?”

  “It’s Ashley.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He looks at me then. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not sure of anything when it comes to her.”

  “Get to the point, would you? I haven’t got all night.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask this because I’m curious, but also, I have a right to know. Davis doesn’t really work. He’s what you might call a “dabbler.” He tries things, but he never sticks with them. Certainly not long enough to make any money, anyway. Mostly, he lives off distributions from the trust that our parents left for us. It’s a sore subject between the three of us, seeing that Johnny and I, we actually work for a living.

  “Research. I’m thinking about getting into investing.”

  This sounds like a terrible idea, but right now I’m trying to pick my battles, and it’s one of his other whims that I’m more concerned about at the moment.

  “Ashley—she doesn’t seem to be the least bit worried about getting shot up and run off the road. Doesn’t that seem a little strange to you?”

  “Not everyone lives their life in fear, Ruth. Not everyone is you.”

  “Just explain to me what you’re thinking with her. I have to know.”

  “My relationship is none of your business.”

  “Bullshit!” I feel heat creeping up on my cheeks like a hot summer’s day. Any prior notion I had of remaining calm flies right out the window. “You made it my business by bringing her here!”

  “This is my house too.”

  “So?”

  “So,” he repeats in a sing-song voice, mocking me like we’re children again.

  “She lied about something as basic as her name. What else do you think she’s lying about?”

  “Lots of people go by names that aren’t theirs. It’s a nickname.” He shakes his head slowly from side to side and then meets my eye. “Why do you care so much, anyway? You’re not the one marrying her.”

  “You don’t even know anything about her.”

  “How do you know what I know?”

  I want to drop-kick him. He sounds like such an entitled brat. Come to think of it, he always has been. “Do you know where she went to college? If she went to college? Do you know that she’s not actually a teacher?”

  He laughs angrily. “You’re so sure of yourself, Ruth.”

  “And you’re avoiding the question.”

  “I’m not avoiding it. It’s just that I don’t owe you an answer. In fact, I don’t owe you anything.”

  “You’re engaged to someone you don’t even know, Davis.” I sigh heavily. “What the fuck?”

  “I have nothing more to say to you, Ruth.” His tone is dripping with venom. “I’m not defending—I’m not discussing my life choices with you. Anything to do with me and my future wife—it doesn’t concern you.”

  “Why are you in such a rush to get married? I don’t get it. What’s wrong with dating? Maybe live together for longer than five seconds. You just met and suddenly you’re ready to make a lifelong commitment.”

  He gives me a look and suddenly something snaps into place and a lot of thoughts come through at once. It’s like a download from the universe. And then, in that instant, I get it. Finally an answer that makes sense. “Wait a minute…”

  “Ruth. Stop.” My brother knows me well enough to know where this is going. He can see it in my eyes. I’m on to him.

  “Not only do you not know her, you haven’t even had sex with her.”

  I’m half-expecting him to deny it. But when I see his expression, and the way he sets his shoulders, I know he can’t. “Not everyone has loose morals, Ruth.”

  “Oh, my God.” I throw up my hands. “You are so fucking stupid.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six<
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  Ruth

  After my conversation with Davis, not much happens. The days pass in a hazy blur. They all seem to fold in on one another, blending together, until it truly feels like it might actually be an endless summer.

  With Julia in the hospital, things around Magnolia House are particularly hectic but also quiet in a way that makes me sad. She’s always been like my right arm, and the more time that passes without her, the harder time I have managing. While I haven’t quite figured out Ashley’s con, I do at least have a sense of the game she’s playing, and my initial enthusiasm for figuring out her motives starts to fizzle.

  If Davis wants to be an idiot, he deserves what he gets. That’s what Johnny said. If only I could get fully on board with that sentiment.

  Even so, the fight drains out of me some. I revert back to not wanting to get out of bed. I don’t feel like working. I don’t feel like doing much of anything. The days drag and the nights seem to expand out forever. Grief settles deep and heavy in my bones. It feels like the fog will never lift, that it may never leave. There are some days I cannot sleep and some days that’s all I want to do—some days it’s all I can do.

  I hire a temp from the small agency in town. She picks up some of the slack. Johnny helps with the rest, although I do my best not to let my mood affect my work. And when I can’t help it, tequila helps me get through the day.

  Then the letter comes. Like a lot of things in my life recently, it arrives out of nowhere. I can’t say that I am not expecting it. But I can’t say that I am, either.

  I have a hard time making sense of it. First, I’m sad. And then I’m angry. And after that, I’m just bitter. The lows are low, and sometimes I manage hope, but it feels too sporadic, too short-lived to count for much.

  I guess what I’m trying to say is Julia has worked for my family for over forty years. Since she was a teenager. Since long before I was born. She changed my diapers and carried me and my brothers around on her hip. On the rare occurrence that my parents left town, she stayed with us.