Like, Follow, Kill

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  I yearned for the safety and solitude of my own house.

  “I’ll take a Jack and Coke. What do you want?” Lincoln nudged me.

  “Oh.” I should have prepared for this. But maybe, deep down, I knew this was coming.

  Order a soda. Order a soda. Order a soda, I repeated in my head.

  “Sprite with a splash of vodka,” another version of me told the man.

  “Splash of vodka,” the bartender repeated back to me, then turned around to make our drinks.

  “When he gets back, we’ll ask him about your friend,” Lincoln said, hopefully. My eyes were glazing over, the shiny glass bottles behind the bar blurring together as one … Lincoln was still watching me, his eyes etched with concern.

  “Yeah. Let me find the photo.” I dug around for my phone and found the same picture of Valerie I’d shown to the motel manager. What were the chances someone would recognize her in here?

  When the bartender returned carrying our drinks, my mind was so focused on the shiny glass tumbler, that Lincoln had to nudge me again to show him the pic.

  “Excuse me,” I leaned in and shouted over the music, “I’m looking for this girl. Have you seen her?” I held up her picture on my cell phone.

  The bartender frowned, looking around at all the waiting customers crowding in behind us. He glanced at Valerie’s picture, his face morphing instantly. His eyes turned soft. “Yeah, I saw her here. She’s kind of hard to miss, you know?”

  Yes, I do know.

  “Is she here now? When did you see her?” I asked, excitedly.

  The bartender shrugged. “Days ago. Maybe Monday or Tuesday? Not sure.”

  “Who was she with? Do you know?” I asked, my heart sinking with disappointment.

  “She was in the VIP section with several guys from Whole Spring. She came up to the bar a few times to get beers. She was sweet. I think she said she was a traveling nurse or something …”

  “A pharmaceutical rep,” I corrected him. “You said she met with some guys from Whole Spring. What is Whole Spring exactly?” My mind instantly conjured up a picture of the Whole Foods store back home.

  “Mental health clinic in town,” Lincoln said quietly in my ear.

  “Did she leave with those guys?” I pressed.

  The bartender shook his head, clenching his jaw in annoyance.

  “Look, she’s missing. She was staying in a motel up the road from here, but now she’s gone. She said that she thought someone from the bar followed her back to her room the other day …”

  I could see Lincoln’s mouth fall open in surprise in my periphery. This was more information than I’d given him, but what did he expect? I didn’t know him well enough to share all the details yet …

  The bartender looked less surprised.

  “Well, I couldn’t see anyone from around here hurting a girl like that … but I do know one of the guys she was with from Whole Spring. We went to high school together. His name is Aaron. He comes in occasionally, but not very often. You might check with him and see if he knows anything … other than that, I don’t know how else I can help you …”

  “What about this guy? Have you seen him?” I held up the smudgy photo of the Chris lookalike from the concert.

  The bartender rolled his eyes. “No.”

  “The other bartender? Might she know anything?”

  “No, she only works two days a week. Listen, I got other customers to help.” He pointed at the man in line behind us.

  I took that as our cue to move on.

  “Wait. I’ll grab our drinks,” Lincoln said, but I was already pushing my way through the crowd, trying to find an open chunk of space to breathe in.

  Moments later, Lincoln spotted me and smiled. He was carrying his Jack and Coke in one hand, my vodka and Sprite in the other.

  I could already taste the vodka on my tongue.

  “Here.” He slipped the ice-cold glass into my hand and instantly, I was tipping it back, the rim settling comfortably between my lips.

  The vodka went down smoothly and bloomed like a fire flower in my chest.

  One sip is enough. But one sip was never enough, not for me, just like one pill wasn’t enough either. I finished off the drink and thrust it back at Lincoln. “Can we get out of here, please?”

  He looked surprised, only just now lifting the whiskey glass for his first taste.

  “Do you want to sit down? You looked peaked,” Lincoln said.

  “No. Can we just go outside? I can’t breathe in here.”

  “Sure. Of course.” Lincoln downed half his drink, then motioned for me to follow him back out. The bouncer looked irritated to see us again so soon.

  My hands were shaking from the vodka as I held up my phone with Valerie’s picture on it in front of the bouncer. “My friend was here several nights ago. The bartender with the mohawk saw her. She’s gone missing. And she said someone followed her home from here the other day … have you seen her?”

  The bouncer stared at the photo of Valerie, his tough mask never slipping. “Nah, never seen her before …”

  “Are you sure? The bartender mentioned she was with some guys from Whole Spring?”

  The door to the club swung open. Two young girls, who looked barely old enough to vote, stumbled into the club. They were holding out their phones—once again, I felt like they were pointed at me, at my cluster-fuck of a face.

  “Move along,” the bouncer barked at us.

  I mumbled an awkward “Thanks” as he let us back through the door.

  Up the steps and back outside in the chilly air, I was surprised to see tiny snowflakes falling from the sky. We followed the alleyway back out to the parking lot. I glanced at the empty spot where the Jeep once was.

  “Shit. I forgot to get my keys back from the guy at the door …” Lincoln said.

  “I think it must be parked over there.” I pointed across the street, to a dimly lit parking garage. “I’ll wait here.”

  Shakily, I lit a cigarette while Lincoln jogged back down the alley and disappeared back inside the cavernous nightclub.

  It was just one drink. Well, two, if you count that little shot bottle the other day … oh, and there was the rum …

  But somehow, it felt like so much more … like something old and horrid had crept back into my heart and taken refuge there. Something that had never left in the first place …

  “Alright?” Lincoln was back with the keys, shaking them and smiling. I could tell he wasn’t drunk, but there was an edge to his voice from the whiskey.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You were right. It’s over there,” Lincoln pointed toward the garage.

  Together, we crossed the dark, empty parking lot, neither of us talking for several minutes.

  “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I read the article. I know there was alcohol involved in your accident. I don’t know what I was thinking …”

  “Lincoln, stop. I’m the one who asked you to bring me, remember? And I’m the one who ordered the drink.”

  I kept going, eager to get back to the motel room and think. Maybe when I get back, Valerie will be there, I thought, hopefully.

  “I know what it’s like to have scars,” Lincoln said, catching up with me. I stopped and whipped around to look at him. His face was soft and smooth, shiny like a marble countertop. All his limbs were intact. What the fuck does he know about scars?

  As though he could hear my thoughts, he said, “I was stationed in Iraq for six years. I moved to Paducah after I got discharged, to take care of my mom, and because my wife wanted a divorce. Mom was sick with Alzheimer’s. She died last year.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” I said, quietly.

  “Don’t be. We all have things that leave scars. Some visible, some not. I had PTSD really bad when I first got home, and I couldn’t take care of my mom properly … and I couldn’t blame my wife for wanting someone else. I wasn’t who I used to be anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” I s
aid again, feeling like one of those robots commenting on Valerie’s page. “You don’t look anything like how a soldier is supposed to look …”

  Lincoln laughed, that nasally giggle of his.

  “Maybe that’s the point. I wanted to do something different, be someone else after I got better,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Camilla, your scars aren’t bad. I can tell you hate them and that you try to cover them up. But I think you look beautiful just the way you are.”

  “I don’t hide them.” But we both knew that was a lie.

  “Sometimes hiding is good … it helps us heal. I turned into myself for a long while, put up all these walls around me, to shield myself from the world and to keep the world from seeing how fucked up I was after the war.”

  “What changed? How did you get better?” I asked, curiously.

  “I went to therapy. Talked to people. Went through the motions of life until they stopped feeling like motions. And I still struggle with it … but for some reason, when I first saw you, and then I read that article … I don’t know, you just felt like someone I needed to know. Like someone who’d been through something like me. Does that make sense?”

  “Kind of,” I said.

  “This Valerie person … is she your person? I mean, does she help you deal with the trauma from the accident and … and your husband’s death?”

  I squeezed my lips together, thinking about my online chats with Valerie. Had we ever discussed anything of substance? No, not really.

  Part of me wanted to let the truth spill out, but it all sounded so crazy in my head.

  I nodded. “I guess she is. Let’s get back. I’m cold.”

  Lincoln draped his black leather jacket over my shoulders, which seemed ridiculous and cheesy, but it was thick and warm and smelled like cinnamon.

  “Through here.” We ducked under a low overhang and entered the parking garage. By the time we made it to the third level, my legs were burning, and I was out of breath. The vodka burned in my chest, heating up my cheeks and making my head swim gloriously.

  “You okay?” Lincoln asked for the third time as he held open the passenger’s door of the Jeep for me.

  “Fine,” I huffed. We were quiet on the ride back to the motel. Too fucking quiet.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Lincoln asked as he parked in front of my motel room. There were no new cars in the lot—no sign of Valerie in sight.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and put my hand on the door handle.

  “What plan?”

  “For finding your friend. You said someone followed her back to her motel room. Don’t you think you should file a police report, or something, if she’s missing?”

  “I’m going to find out more about this Whole Spring first. Maybe go there in the morning and see if I can talk to that Aaron guy the bartender mentioned. Maybe he knows something. Or maybe one of the other guys that works there does …”

  Lincoln chewed on his lip, thoughtfully. “You sure you don’t want to grab a bite to eat tonight, or meet in the morning? I could take you over to Whole Spring on my way to work?” he pressed.

  I shook my head, thinking of Chris-in-the-box, waiting for me inside.

  “I can take it from here. Thanks for taking me to the bar though. And I’m sorry I kind of flaked out back there.”

  “It’s no problem, really. You sure you don’t want me to go with you tomorrow?”

  I shook my head again. He was trying too hard, and it made me feel bad. “I’m sure, Lincoln. You’ve done enough already.”

  I gave him an awkward wave and stepped out, closing the door of the Jeep behind me. He waited, watching me unlock the door and go inside. I listened on the other side, waiting until I heard him pull away.

  A strange feeling of guilt bubbled inside my belly. I don’t know him. Why does it matter if I disappointed him?

  But that’s all I’d been doing lately—disappointing everyone around me. After a while, you start to want to be something good, to do something redeemable that makes people proud …

  I flipped the lights off and crawled under the sheets with Chris’s ashes, wishing I had more vodka or rum. I’d even settle for a Jell-O shot.

  Chapter 12

  It was barely eight o’clock in the morning, but Whole Spring’s lobby was already full of patients. I signed in at the front desk and asked to speak with Aaron. The bartender hadn’t given me his last name, so my fingers were crossed there wasn’t more than one Aaron employed here.

  I’d stopped by the Manger’s office this morning and paid him a hundred dollars. I’d expected him to ask questions—about Valerie, or how long I planned to stay—but he’d swiped the money and that was it.

  The lady working the counter at Whole Spring was behind a Plexiglass wall, and I couldn’t help feeling like a criminal as she wearily instructed me to take a seat. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said.

  A man wearing glasses and too-high suspenders sat beside me. His lips were moving, some silent dialogue only he could hear.

  After thirty minutes, I was starting to wonder if this was a mistake … but then a wooden door in the wall swung open and a guy with spiky brown hair and fashionably ripped jeans called my name.

  “Do we have an appointment today?” He didn’t look suspicious of me, just curious.

  “No, but I was hoping you could help me,” I said, tucking my hands in my pockets. My clothes were rank; I hadn’t changed them in a couple days.

  “I’m looking for a friend of mine and I think you know her. Valerie from Rook Pharmaceuticals,” I said, quietly. I could feel people watching us in the lobby. I shifted from foot to foot, hoping for a more private place to ask him questions.

  “Ah, okay. Why don’t you follow me?” Aaron said. I did just that, zigzagging through windy corridors filled with doors, some open and some closed. I could hear quiet voices behind them, people talking in their therapy sessions. I tried to imagine the secrets that were shared between these featureless walls …

  “This is me,” Aaron said, pointing to a small eight-by-eight room with no windows inside it. There was a desk and two soft leather chairs, but the office was cramped and devoid of artwork. I did notice a neatly framed diploma on the wall behind Aaron’s desk—Aaron Andes, L.C.S.W.

  Aaron took a seat behind the desk and I plopped into one of the chairs, adjusting my hair around my face even though it did very little to hide my scars.

  Lincoln’s words came floating back to me … Did he really say I was beautiful? I definitely don’t feel beautiful …

  Aaron examined my face, his expression kind but thoughtful.

  “Do you know Valerie Hutchens?” I asked, getting straight to the point.

  “I do.” He folded his hands on the desk in front of him, then steepled his fingers—I wonder if he practiced this therapy stance in grad school.

  I waited for him to elaborate, to tell me how he knew her, but the silence continued.

  “I talked to the bartender at Cavern last night … he said Valerie was meeting with you and some other people that work here. Maybe trying to sell some new samples from Rook, I presume? You see, the problem is … she asked me to come here and now I can’t find her.”

  Aaron didn’t react the way I’d expected him to. He got up, closed the door to his office, then sat back down. His expression was strangely neutral.

  Finally, he said, “I’ve known Valerie for years, ever since she got in the industry. We are acquaintances, I guess you could say. I’d call us friends. She talked a lot about her aunt and mentioned a few friends back in Wisconsin … but I don’t think I know you. What did you say your name was again?”

  There’s the suspicion I was waiting for.

  “Camilla,” I said, conveniently leaving out my last name in case he decided to look me up and discovered my recent ash-stealing scandal. “Valerie and I went to middle and high school together. Truth is, I’m worried about her. I was hoping you might know where she went … you
said you know her, right? Do you know how to get in contact with her besides social media? She stopped responding to my messages …”

  Aaron shook his head. “I don’t. I used to have her number, but I don’t think I do anymore. To be honest, I’m a little worried about her too.”

  A rush of relief washed over me. Finally, someone else is concerned. Not just me.

  He continued: “Valerie posts constantly on social media … I’m not sure if you follow her …?”

  I nodded, probably a little too enthusiastically.

  “She hasn’t posted anything since she quit. I’m just hoping she’s in a good headspace and didn’t do anything too hasty.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I do follow her accounts, and that’s exactly why I’m worried. It’s like she fell off the face of the earth. But what do you mean by ‘quit’?”

  Aaron raised his eyebrows, his first real noticeable emotion. “Oh. Well, she was quitting the industry. Said she didn’t like pushing pills anymore. She put in her notice last week.”

  Now it was my turn to look surprised. “Really? That’s odd, considering she was just talking about going to New Orleans on business …”

  “Right.” Aaron steepled his fingers again, his eyes boring into mine so intensely that I felt like I was being examined by an X-ray machine. It’s a good thing you can’t see inside my soul, Aaron. It’s dark as shit in here.

  “She met with you and your colleagues on business. Why would she do that if she was quitting her job at Rook?” I kept pushing.

  Aaron nodded. “Well, initially, we assumed it was business. We all love Valerie. She lights up the entire office when she walks inside it. I hadn’t seen her come through Paducah in nearly a year, so I was eager to meet with her. We all were. But she dropped a bombshell on us … told us that she was leaving the biz and wanted to say goodbye.”

  He’s lying. My mind floated back to that post on Instagram. #allworknoplay #hustling.