Joe is studying me. “Come to think of it,” he says, “you do look a bit like Sharon.” He screws up his eyes and cocks his head to one side. “Put a different haircut on you, take off the glasses, and you could pass for her. I never noticed it till now.”
My face turns ashen. “Joe? What the fuck? You can’t seriously mean that. And how do you think that makes me feel? Now I’m going to think of Sharon every time I look at myself in the mirror. That’s enough to make me want to kill myself.”
My horror at him having connected the dots of Sharon’s and my appearance makes the depths of my emotion ring true and Joe raises his hands in surrender. “I went a bit too far there,” he says. “Forget I said that. But I’ll need to see where you claim to have been living and I’ll need you to come down to the station with me and put this in a formal statement.”
“Of course,” I say and I get up. “Let’s get this done so I can put it behind me and get on with my life. I’m not going to tell you that I’m sorry he’s missing. He’s scum. How can I be sure he won’t pop up again and try to kill me? You don’t even know for sure that he’s dead. Missing isn’t dead.”
Joe shrugs and we leave. He follows me to Beatrice’s house and we climb in through the window and I show him around.
“Creepy,” he says. “I wouldn’t stay here, not if you paid me a million bucks.”
“I was desperate,” I tell him.
I take him upstairs, careful not to look at the crib where the drug money is stashed but Joe can’t wait to get out of there and I needn’t have worried.
“Not for a million bucks,” he repeats as we stand outside in the garden and he rubs his hand across his face. “I had this weird déjà vu in there. And I felt like a bunch of ghosts were watching us. Did you feel anything?”
I shake my head. I am certain he will ask me for details of the woman in hospital who mentioned the place and I am ready to say that I can’t remember exactly, I only remembered what she had said about the location. But he doesn’t ask me anything else; he is keen to leave.
I follow him to the station in my car and, once I am there, I continue my rant of the possible dangers of the reappearance of the missing Junior and I get quite wound up.
By the time I have repeated my story over a dozen times and endured countless interrogations, close to eight hours have passed. I sign a statement and nearly everyone believes my story. The cops check the mileage on my car and it supports my claims of having driven around aimlessly. My gun is checked, as well as my story of having recently practiced at the firing range and everything ties up neatly.
“You’re free to go,” the Deputy Chief tells me and I thank him.
“What are you going to do now?” Joe asks as he walks me to my car.
“I am going to go back to my apartment and I’m going to have the longest, hottest bath ever. Washing with cold water out of a kitchen sink sucks, I’ll tell you that. Listen, Joe,” I stop. “You still think it was me, don’t you?”
“We’re friends,” Joe says awkwardly. “I never want that to change.”
“But it has.”
He sighs. “There’s something weird about this whole thing,” he says. “I can’t put my finger on it. But I’m still here if you need me.”
I get into my car and snap the seatbelt in place. I open the window and Joe leans his hand on the door trying to find the right thing to say but he can’t come up with anything and he steps back. He looks tired and drawn and I feel bad for what I am putting him through.
“You’re a good friend to me, Joe,” I say. “Love to Ella. Will you ask her to give me a call?”
“Yeah, sure,” Joe says and I look at him, wishing there was something else I could say to fix things but knowing there isn’t. I drive off and when I look in the rearview mirror, he is still standing there, watching me.
I’ve lost him and that hurts. But it couldn’t be avoided and I did what needed to be done.
PART III: HERE AND THERE
51. PURGATORY
I FIND NO PEACE back at my apartment. I can’t rid myself of thoughts of Junior’s last call to me when I was so terrified. I try to soak in the tub but I am restless and nothing soothes my nerves. I am determined to get some sleep and I take not one but a couple of sleeping pills. I want to be transported into the land of sound and dreamless sleep, but instead I bounce back to Purgatory.
I come to in one of the white hallways and hear a beeping sound and I nearly get run down by Shirley the Driver who barrels past me, grinning.
“What the fuck?” I say, looking around. “What am I doing here?”
“Welcome,” Agnes says popping up next to me. “This is Purgatory and I am Agnes. I will be your Introducer.”
I grab her and hug her. “Agnes! Good to see you! But why the fuck am I here? Did I die again? Did two sleeping pills kill me?”
“Calm down, calm down,” Agnes pats me on the back and extricates herself. “Glad to see you’re still your usual hysterical self. You didn’t die. You’re here to check in, that’s all. Calm down, grasshopper, and follow me.”
I am soon back in the caf with the others, inhaling the aroma of a fresh tray of Tracey’s cookies and there are mugs of coffee all round.
“I am so happy to see you,” Samia says excitedly. “We’ve been Viewing you the whole time. Could you feel us?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to disappoint her but I cannot tell a lie. “But I did feel like Beatrice was talking to me, in her house,” I say.
“Yeah, I was,” Beatrice says in her gravelly voice. “I told you to stop being such a ninny. And before you think I’m a basket case, what with the upstairs bedroom and the baby stuff, that was my sister’s. Her infant was stillborn and she lost her mind. We always lived together, her and me. We inherited the house from our granny. Anyways, my sister gets pregnant, no husband, just a one-off thing and we were both happy about it, thought it’d be nice to have a kid around. Then it goes and dies and takes my sister’s mental faculties with it. She lived in that room for thirty years, exactly like that. After a while, I never went up there. She came down when she needed something and that was it.”
“That’s very sad,” I say. “Thank you for loaning me your house. I don’t know what I would have done without it.”
“It worked out the way it was meant to,” she replies.
“How are you feeling about things?” Cedar asks me and I jump. I didn’t notice that he was there too and I focus on not punctuating my tale with any profanities.
“Good,” I say. “I feel good. The only thing I miss is Joe. You know, Eno. He knows what I did and I think he can’t forgive me.”
“It goes against his moral principles,” Cedar says. “Vigilante justice.”
“He won’t ever forgive me?”
“He will try, but he’ll feel like he can’t trust you.”
I am silent. That hurts.
“A bit rich coming from a tweeker drug addict,” Tracey comments.
“Joe’s not Eno,” Cedar says. “He’s the good man that Eno wanted to be.”
“I thought he was my friend,” I say, and I am stupidly close to tears.
“There is always a price to be paid,” Cedar says, but he says it gently and I feel a bit better.
“Auntie Miriam’s gone to heaven,” Agnes informs me. “She stopped by here and we had a great time together but she moved on. Which is fine. I’m happier knowing she’s in a good place. Thank you for that.”
“She nearly gave me a heart attack when she died,” I tell her and the others laugh.
“Yeah, we could see that!” Samia comments.
I turn to Grace. “I’m sorry Richard overdosed,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“I’m not. You didn’t see it, but he was getting crazy at home. He even hit my sister. This way she gets custody of the kids and he’s no danger t
o Beatrice when she grows up, which always worried me. They’re moving to a smaller house, which is better too. I never wanted them to grow up to be spoiled rich kids.”
“You got Mr. Cockney good,” Tracey says. “Thanks. I wish there was a way we could have proven it wasn’t Mom’s boyfriend who killed her. He spent all this time in prison. But he’s such a drugged-up loser, it’s not like it’s any loss to society.”
“And thank you,” Samia chips in. “From me too, for killing Cockney. I never wanted to die and embarrass my family like that.”
I don’t know what to say so I nod and change the subject.
“I never saw your Cadillac,” I tell Beatrice.
“It’s in the garage, through the side door of the kitchen. Listen, Julia or Lulu or whatever, if you like, I’ll give you the house.”
I gape at her. “You can do that?”
“Yeah, there are always ways. Earth people call them miracles.” She grins at me. “You can redecorate, you have my permission. I might be wrong but I don’t think you love my artistic leanings.”
I blush and she continues.
“And that way, Emma can come and stay with you sometimes, if she wants to, and you’d be near to Bev and her school.”
“That’s fantastic. But…”
“But what? I know the house isn’t in that bad a state.”
“The house is great. I love it. But I don’t know if I want to go back.”
This has the others staring at me open-mouthed.
“Why not?” Cedar asks. He is the first one to speak.
“I’m lonely,” I admit and it’s not an easy thing to say. “I have been so lonely my whole life and I never realized it. I worked like a demon so I would never have to admit to myself how alone I was. And then I met you guys and you were the closest friends I ever had. But now, I don’t have anything. And I’ve lost Joe and Ella.”
“You haven’t lost Ella,” Cedar says. “And what’s more, she needs you. She doesn’t have any family either, remember? Right now, Joe’s telling her that he thinks you got rid of Junior and she’s reading him the riot act for giving you a hard time.”
“She is?” I sit up straighter.
“Yeah, and trust me, she’s got a tongue on her. She would have been bounced out of my office a dozen times by now. And her take is so what if you got rid of Junior, he deserved it. So, you’ve got her and you’ve got Emma. It would be a great loss to Emma if you left her.”
“She’s got Bev and Jackson and a new baby brother or sister.”
“She does, but you’re her aunt and as she grows older, she’ll need you more than she’ll need Bev, you’ll see. She’ll become like a daughter to you. And you never know, you could fall in love, have a kid of your own.”
I burst out laughing. “Um, I’m too old, Cedar, to have a kid.”
“No, you’re not. Remember what Beatrice said about miracles.”
“Yes, well, please let’s not fill the nursery yet,” I tell him hastily. “It’s not like I ever wanted kids. In fact, I never did. But so what, I’ve got Ella and Emma. Two people are not exactly going to keep the cockles of my heart warm at night.”
“The circle will grow. Being with Emma and Bev will force you out into the world and you’ll meet new people. And you’ll do well at your job because you do love to work hard, but this time, you’ll make friends. And you’ll enjoy the work too. You might find this astounding but you’ll have fun at trade shows and conventions. Real, actual fun.”
“Go Cedar!” Agnes is grinning. “He’s right,” she says to me. “Friends grow in increments. One at a time. And you don’t need as many as you think. Loneliness is terrible, trust me, I know better than anyone, but it won’t be like that forever.”
“Listen to you guys, kicking me out,” I say. I’m crying and I blow my nose on a Kleenex that Grace hands me. “What about the sins I committed? I just killed a bunch of people.”
“You didn’t see the sign when you came in?” Cedar asks.
“No. And besides I thought you couldn’t see the sign.”
“I was just messing with you. Of course I can see the sign. Go out into the hallway, it’s there. It will answer your question.”
I go out and there is the sign.
Ezekiel 25:17
I go back to the caf.
“It says Ezekiel 25:17. How I am I supposed to know what that is?”
“You haven’t seen Pulp Fiction?” Agnes is horrified. “It was one of Samuel L. Jackson’s finest moments.” She gets up and closes her eyes. “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he (or she),” she interjects, “who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children.” She opens her eyes, points at me and raises her voice. “And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.”
She sits down. “You were the Lord’s weapon of vengeance,” she says.
“Wow,” I say. “That was impressive, Agnes.”
“You know the Bible?” Tracey is incredulous.
“No, dufus, I know Pulp Fiction. But my point is that Julia doesn’t have to feel guilty.”
“Pulp Fiction took some liberties rephrasing what the Bible says,” Cedar comments. “But Julia, I would encourage you to embrace Agnes’s interpretation.”
I want to hug him.
“Are you going to stay Lula or go back to Julia?” Samia asks.
“Go back to Julia. It’s who I really am. But what is odd is seeing myself in the mirror. I still expect to see my old self.”
“I never got used to it,” Grace says. “It is strange.” It helps, her saying that, and I nod.
“You want the house or not?” Beatrice is brusque.
“Beatrice, I would love the house. Thank you, that’s huge. What’s going to happen to all of you? Will I see you again?”
“Of course you will,” Cedar is hearty about it. “At one point or another. We’ll meet up eventually, have no doubt.”
“Oh dear, I’m starting to fade,” Grace says. “Thank you, Julia. I’m finally ready to move on—” and next thing she is gone.
“And she ain’t coming back,” Beatrice says. “She’s moved on up, and good for her.”
“I am ready to move on too,” Samia says in a small voice, and Beatrice nods.
Samia looks at me. “See you when I see you,” she says and her voice quavers. “I’ll have a latte ready.” And with that, she vanishes too.
“Yeah, well, I’m not ready to be a heavenly body, but I got a bounce coming on,” Agnes says. “Love you, Julia. Have fun in the real world. Give them shit and take no prisoners.”
“What she said,” Tracey adds and they both bounce and I am left with Cedar and Beatrice.
“Where’s Jaimie?” I ask.
“Wandering the halls, looking for a mirror,” Beatrice says. “Pretty boy needs some time to realize a few things. Now Julia, don’t get weepy again. Like they said, we’ll see you soon enough. I’ll be waiting with the Scrabble board and for god’s sake, do some practicing, girl.”
She leaves and it is just Cedar and me.
“Cedar,” I say, and my voice fills with tears.
“Ah, none of that,” he says and he gets up and hugs me. “You are one of my success stories.”
“Of course I am,” I tell him and we grin.
“I love you Cedar,” I say, but I say it out loud to my empty bedroom, with no one there but me, and a full moon shining down through my window.
But in my hand, I find a feather necklace.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to my
beloved Inanna Publications, particularly to my incredible Editor-in-Chief, Luciana Ricciutelli, for making my most important dreams come true. You are beyond amazing. And, as always, huge thanks to the wonderful Inanna Publicist, Renée Knapp.
To my family, thank you for all your love and support, and thanks in particular to Bradford Dunlop for reading every version of every story and for encouraging me on this creative journey. Thank you, also, for all my lovely author portraits.
Thanks to Samia Akhtar for being a muse for the Samia in this book, and for a wonderful friendship.
And, while I have worked in magazines for many years, it’s important to note that angry, feisty, arrogant Julia Redner is a complete work of fiction—all my real life editors have been kind, generous, professional, and lovely people.
Thank you Rogers Media for letting me go after nearly six years on the job — the anger I felt certainly fuelled this book into life!
Grateful thanks to early supporters of the book: James Fisher, John Oughton, Jacqueline Kovacs, Suzana Tratnik, Liz Bugg, Miguel Ángel Hernández, Rosemary McCracken, M.H. Callway, Jade Wallace, and Shirley McDaniel.
Slogans for the signs outside Cedar’s office are taken from various sites on the Internet.
Thanks to the Mesdames of Mayhem, without whom, Agnes would not exist. She started out as a short story for Thirteen O’ Clock and I had to know what happened to her. Many thanks to the Toronto writing community, the Sisters in Crime, the Crime Writers of Canada, and the Toronto Public Libraries. The camaraderie makes all things possible.
I thank and acknowledge the support of the Ontario Arts Council and the funding supplied by the Writers’ Reserve program that helped support the writing of this book.
Photo: Bradford Dunlop
Lisa de Nikolits is the award-winning author of seven novels: The Hungry Mirror, West of Wawa, A Glittering Chaos, The Witchdoctor’s Bones, Between The Cracks She Fell, The Nearly Girl and No Fury Like That. Her short fiction and poetry have also been published in various anthologies and journals across the country. She is a member of the Mesdames of Mayhem, the Crime Writers of Canada, Sisters in Crime, and the International Thriller Writers. Originally from South Africa, Lisa de Nikolits came to Canada in 2000. She lives and writes in Toronto.
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