Hello, Martin

by P. J. Burgy

  Tommy woke up around ten, surprising her. He still didn’t seem up to talking, but he mumbled about food within earshot, and she offered to make him something. He accepted. She fried him up some eggs, resenting him as she jabbed the spatula into the pan.

  He sat at the kitchen table, surprising her a second time. She made a plate for him and set it down in front of him.

  Tommy exhaled. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Lizzie…”

  She turned on the faucet to wash the pan. “Yeah.” Hot water seared her hands as she scrubbed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t reply.

  He spoke again. “About last night…”

  “If I want to work for him, it’s my choice. Just like it’s my choice to stay with you, Tommy. If you don’t like that, you can choose to leave.” She let the pan drop, her hands wet, her fingers curling over the edge of the sink.

  “What?”

  “I said I’m doing work for him. He’s paying me. Without the bookstore, it’s the only way to pay the bills, and you know it. Be as pissed as you want, but I’m not going to run off with him. He’s my boss. You’re my fucking boyfriend.”

  He stood up, pushing his chair in. “He came to the house, Lizzie. The house. Why was he here last night? What did he want at midnight?”

  “He probably wanted to talk about the artwork I’m making for him. Or the book he’s sponsoring. Who knows? But you had to go flip out like a jealous weirdo. He’s not after me. Never has been. He wants to pay me money to make him things. No one has ever showed that much interest in my stuff. Don’t take this from me!” She spun around on him, fists clenched and dripping.

  He staggered back a foot. “Hey.”

  “All you do is take, take, take!” Her face contorted, her eyes burning. Blinded by her own tears, she shook her head. “Let me have something for once!”

  A scowl took his mouth. “Is that what it is, huh? You hate me now? Because I made you feel bad?”

  “No,” she replied. “I’m just telling you what I’m doing. You can choose to accept it or not to. I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care about us?”

  “I do care about us. I’m the only one who does. We literally cannot survive without the pay he’s offering me. You can’t get a job to support this house. Nowhere is hiring nearby. I love painting and he will pay me to do it. If we want to keep living in this house, we have to work together. You have to stop trying to control me.” She pointed at him, her breaths loud and deep through her teeth.

  “I don’t try to control you…”

  “Then let me do what I need to do.” She turned back to the sink to finish washing the pan.

  “Why is this dude so important to you?” He stepped up behind her, his shadow looming over her shoulder.

  “It isn’t Martin. It’s the work. I’m finally doing what I love and he’s making it possible.” The lie felt like poison in her mouth, her tongue aching. “He’s just my client.”

  Tommy sighed. “I believe you. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll make sure he knows better than to drop by at midnight, but if I have him over you owe him an apology.”

  “Come on now…”

  “Tommy.”

  “He was kind of rude too, y’know.”

  “He was polite considering.”

  “How about I just stay upstairs if he’s over?” he asked. “Look, I gotta burn off some steam. I’m going to hop on the system.”

  “Going to work tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded curtly. “Okay.”

  Tommy bent to kiss her cheek. “Maybe we can cuddle before I go to work?”

  She sniffed. “Cuddle.”

  He laughed a little. “Well, I thought it’d sound nicer.”

  Tommy left at eight-thirty, taking the keys with him. She locked the door and watched him pull away in the Honda from the living room window.

  In her office, she checked her email and found Martin had replied to her.

  ‘Lizzie, great to hear. Things will be fine. Thank you for the chapter. Thrilled! -Martin’

  His short messages amused her. She leaned back in her chair and checked the news. The local site had a thing about the fire at Kat’s Corner. Lizzie read the short article before messaging Margo, who called her within minutes.

  Outside, it began to snow.

  Her alarm went off at six in the morning. She’d slept soundly through the night and stretched out an arm, grabbing her phone and silencing it. Rolling over, she found the bed beside her empty.

  She frowned.

  In a moment she was up, parting the blinds at the window and looking down at the street. Less than an inch of snow had gathered on the red Honda while the street, sidewalk and lawn had been covered in two or three. She squinted her eyes, staring at the car. The streetlights flickered.

  Lizzie threw a zippered hoodie on from within her closet and trudged down the steps. The front door was still locked. She unlocked it and threw it open. Clumsily, she stepped into her boots from the boot tray in the closet. She went outside. Flurries fell from above, landing on her as she walked out from under the covered porch and stood in two inches of snow.

  The Honda sat there, the interior dark. She saw heavy footprints starting at the closed car door. They continued for many feet along the sidewalk until, halfway to the house, they stopped.

  Lizzie blinked, her breath misting.

  She rushed over to the car, checking in through the glass. He hadn’t locked the car. She opened the door, peering around inside. Empty.

  She searched the ground for any other clues. No keys. No footprints trailing off into the grass. They simply ended. She’d walked right through them before stopping to take a picture with her phone and cursed under her breath.

  Lizzie ran back into the house, closing and locking the door behind her.

  Chapter 8

  “Ma’am, you have to wait twenty-four to seventy-two hours before filing a missing person’s report,” the woman on the line said. “You said he’s what? Thirty years old?”

  “You don’t understand. He didn’t come home last night. I mean, he did, but he didn’t get to the house.” Lizzie caught her breath, organizing her thoughts. “You know there’s a killer out there, don’t you?”

  “He doesn’t fit the victim profile. Those were young women, ma’am. Your boyfriend is a man. A grown man.”

  “But he’s missing. Please.” She choked.

  “Did you try calling him, ma’am?”

  “He isn’t answering his phone. Please.”

  “We’ll send out an officer to take a statement, but please understand that there is a procedure to follow.”

  “Thank you,” Lizzie said, voice wet.

  She hung up and wiped her eyes before calling Margo.

  When the officer arrived, hours later, Margo was in the house with Lizzie. She hung back while Lizzie explained what she’d seen outside. The footprints were mentioned multiple times.

  The officer, a young man named Daniels, wrote down everything she said and nodded sympathetically. They stood inside of the foyer where it was warmer.

  “You better do something about this,” Margo said, pointing at him from the living room. “There’s people dying here, you know.”

  “We’re trying, ma’am…”

  “Ma’am?” She scoffed and turned away. “I’m still a miss, you jerk.”

  Officer Daniels wiped his brow, his wheat-colored hair short and sticking to his skin. “It’s been hard on all of us here. Not used to this kind of excitement.”

  “Just please… look into it.” Lizzie closed her eyes, hugging herself.

  “I will.” He nodded and then took his leave soon after.

  Lizzie cried on the futon while Margo stroked her hair.

  Margo left around four at the behest of Lizzie who felt the need to be alone. Sitting in the living room, curled up on the futon, she thought of Tommy and wondered where he wa
s. Horrors passed through her mind, her imagination growing dark and unpleasant. Her eyes squeezed shut and she let out a wretched sob.

  At eight, her phone rang. She scrambled to check the ID and saw Martin’s name. Answering, Lizzie immediately burst into tears before he could even say hello.

  If he understood her through her gasping cries, she wasn’t sure at first. She just wept and tried to explain what was going on, her throat aching and weak.

  “Lizzie, it’s all right. It’s all right,” he said, calm.

  She sobbed at him that it wasn’t.

  He interrupted her wails. “Let me come pick you up.”

  Although she’d wanted to be alone, she agreed.

  She wiped at her face during the car ride back to his home while he played soft music. They didn’t speak. As like every other time in his presence, she felt oddly paralyzed – a strange comfort now that her chest hurt so badly. It felt better to sit in silence.

  It was an odd thing to note as she ached inside, but he drove well in the snow. Not even a skid or a slip of the tire the entire time, even when he pulled onto the hill of his driveway.

  Parking, he told her to stay seated before getting out, closing his door, and coming around to her side. Watching him open her door and offer his arm, her heart skipped a beat. She took his arm, the sudden mix of emotions clashing.

  He had indeed procured some wine for her and poured her a glass to drink from as they spoke in his living room. More work had been done to the walls – perhaps he’d hired a painter. The couch was new, large, and plush.

  She drank from the glass at first and then from the bottle, taking it from him before he could pour her another. He acquiesced instantly, lips parted and brows heavy. Not even attempting to disguise his curiosity, he slid closer to her.

  After many swigs from the bottle, she gained the use of her voice again. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Is there a chance he would have left? Gone somewhere else?” Martin asked.

  “Not without the car,” she replied.

  “You think he’s been kidnapped?”

  “There’s a killer in Puhtipstie, Martin. You must have seen it in the news by now. Maybe the killer got him. Took him away and…”

  “Or maybe a friend picked him up and he left town. He was very angry that night, my dear. Men don’t think straight when they’re angry.”

  She shook her head, taking a swig of merlot. Eyeing the bottle, she swallowed thickly. “He doesn’t have any friends.”

  “Is that so?”

  “None here. None back home who’d drive this far to see him. No, all he had was… was me. I’m all he had.”

  “Hmm. He wasn’t very appreciative, was he?”

  “Not really. Sometimes…”

  “I… hate to say this, but…” His eyes focused on hers and he leaned close. “In a way, isn’t this… a blessing?”

  She balked. “A what?”

  “A blessing. He’s been holding you down for a long time, I think. You’re better off without him.”

  “Martin, that’s awful to say… but,” she stammered, “I can’t lie. He’s held me back. I hated him for it.”

  His head tilted, the blue of his eyes darkening. “And do you feel a sense of relief now that he’s gone?”

  “Yes,” she answered. Lizzie clasped a hand over her mouth, horrified. “Mmm!”

  “Don’t be upset,” he said. Again, the light had played a trick and his irises were back to their lovely shade of blue. “I’m sure it’s very painful regardless. It’s all right to feel however you feel.”

  “I didn’t want him to disappear.” She closed her eyes, head low. When she looked back up, she saw Martin reaching to her face. Her brows knit. She allowed it. His fingers, cold and smooth, brushed over her cheek.

  She watched as he studied her face, his expression hard to read. Fascination perhaps? Adoration? Worry? She couldn’t tell as his lips hung open slightly, his teeth showing.

  Their eyes met.

  He blinked once. “Seeing you in pain, it grieves me. I cannot stand it. I wish I could do something for you.”

  Her voice caught in her throat. “I… I don’t know what you can do, Martin. But thank you.”

  “I realize that it might be hard to focus on your work right now. And that’s fine.” He pulled away hesitantly. “I’ll pay you a lump sum now, to tide you over.”

  “Why are you so kind to me?”

  “Because I care for you immensely.”

  She offered him the wine bottle and he drew back slightly, shaking his head.

  “Any reason?” she asked.

  “Ah, I don’t touch the stuff…”

  “Not even to share with a friend?”

  He grimaced, took the bottle from her, and took a slow, careful drink from it. His face twisted in pain, and he threw it back up, bright red vomit spilling across his chin as he gagged.

  She snatched the bottle before he could drop it and set it down on the floor. “Oh, no! Oh, Martin, are you okay? Oh shit.”

  He stood, wildly indicating in the negative, waving at her to stay seated as he fled the room. She heard him vomiting and dry heaving in the kitchen.

  He came back out, wiping his face with a towel. The merlot looked like blood stains on the fabric. “That was… my fault. Stupid of me.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” She folded her hands in her lap. When he sat down next to her, she scooched closer and touched his cheek, cool to the touch, urging him to turn toward her. He complied. Pulling the towel from his hands, she continued the cleanup, wiping off his chin. “You said no, and I pushed it. Are you okay? Holy shit, Martin. What, are you allergic? Shit.”

  “In a way, yes. I’m okay now.”

  “Dammit. I’m so sorry.” She wondered at his flesh. Smooth and lively in appearance only. Her eyes narrowed. Something felt off about it, like something felt off about him.

  His gravity had grown stronger than before, his eyelids drooping as he stared at her, transfixed.

  She realized what she was doing and blushed hotly, mouth hanging open. “Oh…”

  “You can care for me as I care for you. It’s all right,” he whispered.

  “Ah…” She finished wiping the red from his face, the smell of wine and copper mixing in the air between them. He’d coughed up blood, hadn’t he? Her throat tightened. “Martin, are you sure you’re okay? You’re so cold.”

  “I’m cold, yes.” He nodded, taking her hand in his. “This body is always cold. The warmth is here.” With a gentle tug, he placed her hand on his chest, pushing her fingers into the dark fabric.

  Thoughts of Tommy passed from her mind for those next few moments. They merely stared into one another’s eyes.

  “What is this, Martin?”

  “My adoration for you. My desire to care for you and see you happy. My love of your ability to create. My need to have you with me, always with me.” He squeezed her hand softly. “I would do anything for you, Lizzie.”

  “Do… you love me?”

  His lips hung open, his dark brows lowering. His face twisted ever so slightly, as if it hurt to speak. “Yes.”

  Her eyes closed. “You said you… didn’t… I mean, ah, wooing the starry sky, I mean…”

  “You are my starry sky. I only wish to gaze upon you, bask in your beauty. That is all.”

  “You don’t want to… ah… make love to me?”

  “Love takes many forms. Do you want this body? Would it please you?”

  “No, I mean, I…” She pulled away and he released her hands. “I don’t know what I’m saying. My boyfriend is missing. I’m not thinking straight. I really appreciate you, Martin. I don’t want to do anything to mess up our friendship. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m upset and drunk and saying stupid things.”

  “Lizzie…”

  “It’s just… he’s gone. He’s all I had,” she said. “My parents died last year. I’m just so tired of losing people, Martin. So tired of people disappearing.”
r />   “I won’t disappear.”

  It hurt to smile. “No?”

  “I’ll never leave you. Not ever.”

  “You’re a good friend.” She blinked back tears.

  “It will be all right, I promise,” he said. Standing, Martin offered her his hand. “You look exhausted. Why don’t I take you home so you can rest, my dear?”

  She took his hand and he helped her up. “That sounds good. Thank you.”

  He led her through the house and to the car, opening the door for her and closing it after she’d taken a seat. The ride home was quiet, and he played music again.

  At her doorstep, he stood at her side, having helped her traverse the sidewalk. His strong arm supported her weight as she leaned on him, feeling ashamed of her shaky steps, her wine addled brain telling her to thank him repeatedly.

  She fumbled with her house keys and smiled at him, tears still running down her cheeks. She could feel them turning into little icicles and laughed nervously when he wiped a bit of frost from her face and showed it to her like a child might flaunt a brightly colored rock they’d found in the dirt.

  Martin leaned down, lips moving to wish her a good night. That what was he’d been doing, she was sure, but it occurred to Lizzie that he might’ve been moving in for a kiss. She leaned up and pressed her lips against his – they were cool and soft.

  Backing up, she gawked in self-aware horror. “Sorry!”

  He’d been unprepared and grinned at her. She blushed deeply, realizing that he’d been trying to help her fix her purse on her shoulder, not leaning in for a smooch. She apologized profusely and he held her close.

  “Sleep. I’ll see you soon, my dear one,” he whispered.

  Her jaw worked weakly. “Dear… one.”

  “Go to bed.” Martin touched her cheek.

  She unlocked her door and stumbled in.